Fridays are Good Days now!

My story is pretty typical – even if the beginning wasn't so neat. But nowadays, I often feel FABULOUS and sleek and wonderful just like my undies. And, as you'll learn, most importantly, Fridays are Good Days.

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My story is pretty typical – even if the beginning wasn't so neat. I must have been about 11 when I first noticed my big sister’s panties and so on in the bathroom laundry basket. What can I say. They were brighter colours. Softer materials. Decorated. Frilled. Interesting.

And after looking at them and sometimes touching them quite often for at least a month – then I took a pair of panties out of the basket and wondered what they would feel like. And they were nice. Different. Stretchier. Huggier. And, if you think about it, because girls change their panties every day, they were pretty clean. I didn’t like the monthly yukky ones. A step far too far. No thanks. But I was beginning to enjoy sister’s panties.

Jillian was three years older and the panties didn’t really fit. But to my good fortune, a few weeks later, she said she was going to send a bundle of ‘old things that are too small for me’ to the charity shops or to the church for Africa. I offered to look through my things and do the same. ‘What a generous boy,’ they said. ‘How kind and thoughtful for those poor orphans and so on’. I wasn’t being kind to anybody except myself. I would check through her bundle and collect a few items for myself.

And that’s what I did. Four pairs of panties, a skirt, a sundress I think it was called, and even a bra. And I began wearing the panties more often.

I got used to wearing panties as a regular thing. But this had side-effects. Calamity and Panic – what was I to do when they got dirty? Did I wash them myself and try to dry them in my room – y’know – the room that mum or Jillian sometimes walk into unannounced. Do I ask one of my girl-friends to wash them for me? I think not. And what girl-friend anyway. I didn’t even have any friends that were girls. Do I put them in the wash as normal, what! And hope they get returned to me without Mum noticing. As if. On the horns of a trilemma !!!

I was getting comfortable with my panties – and careless. Even so, it was more than a year later before I was actually caught.

One evening, a few weeks after my thirteenth birthday, Jillian caught me on the landing upstairs and hauled me into her room. “Y’re a dirty little pervert aren’t ye. Ye’ve bin stealin panties and y’re wearin a pair of mine right now, eh. Nasty little bugger. I suspected somethin’ like that a few weeks ago but I wasn’t sure.”

I do not know where it came from. Instead of grovelling as usual, cowering before my rough tough taller stronger beautiful sister, I replied with a calm that amazed me. “Actually, they’re my panties and I like wearing them. You’ll recognise them because you were throwing them out. But I wanted them and kept them. I like wearing panties.”

She managed to not quite scream. “My panties, ooh that’s so much worse for you.”

I persevered. “You had thrown them away. I kept them for me. I like them. They’re pretty and soft and I like them.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Nope.”

“What d’y mean, ‘nope’.”

“I mean you are not going to scream the house down. You are not going to drag me in front of mum and dad so you can have me labelled by them as a pervert, molester or whatever.”

“What’s stopping me?”

“You are. Because you don’t want the condoms and the vibrator in your top drawer to be known about.”

“Have you been going through my drawers?”

“Only the once, I was looking for where you keep your lipstick.”

“Oh gawd, y’re doing the lipstick too. An’ wit else?” At times of stress my sister reverted to a rural Irish accent. Nobody knew how she picked it up. She was only about three when the family left Fermanagh in the west.

“Like I said, just the once. And I’m not going to drop you in it unless you do it first. You’re my sister. The rules say it’s always going to be us on the side of the rebels and the parental units for authority.”

“Y’ might be roit at dat. Alright, f’ now. But no more stealin’ of my stuff.”

“Can I ask for your old things, maybe.”

“Now askin’, mebbe I could cope w’ dat.”

“Can we go to the beach, and can I wear your old blue swimsuit and the blue-green sundress?”

“By golly, y’ move fast. I’ll be thinkin’ about dat. I need coffee for this awfy shock.”

But we did go to the beach for a few hours in the early evening. And I did wear the swimsuit and the sundress. It felt wonderful. And better still, Jillian saw how relaxed I was when I dressed up.

And in the next few weeks, Jillian and I got on much better. We even went to the shops a few times, and sat, and had a drink – while I watched the girls and learnt as much as I could.

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It was a month or so later when my mum caught me out. Yes, I was wearing panties again. I bent over to pick something off the floor. I heard a gasp. Then the accusation.

“Why are you wearing panties, boy?”

Brain-stop. Options – a truth – ‘I like them’. A lie - ‘it was a bet’. Or ‘I didn’t realize’. Or ‘Does it matter’. Or ‘Sorry, I should have asked’. What came out was “Er.”

“Take them off. It’s not as if they’re yours, are they?”

Brain-oops – but once more I decided to be up front and bold about it - “They are mine actually.”

“What. Explain yourself. What a stupid thing to say. They can’t be”

“I bought them last week. I like the feel of them compared to my ordinary gear.”

“Hmmm. Are you a pervert then? A homosexual? A bum-boy? Or whatever the modern words might be … gay maybe, yuk, what a misuse of a once-pretty word.”

“No. None of those. Quite simply, I’ve discovered that it’s really unfair that you women, and girls, have so much more fun with your clothes. And, to be blunt, I can’t see anything wrong with that. And I really do like the feel of these panties.”

“Show me!”

Not easy to refuse a command that determined. I dropped my trousers enough for her to see. Fortunately, I was wearing a plain pair of pale pink nylon panties. No lace, no frills, no bows or embroidery.

“Well, they’re not like anything your sister would wear, that’s for sure. So I have to believe you. And you say you like them and prefer them to the proper sort of boy-type pants.”

“I’m not doing anything actually wrong.”

“Huh. There’s many who would disagree with you there. They’d shout and scream at you and some of them would even quote bible verses at you. But most of them would just go on saying ‘its’ wrong’. And they’d add to it by accusing you of every variety of what they call sinful behaviour. Right up to having improper feelings about dogs, sheep, rabbits, baby rabbits, hamsters or whatever.” There might have been a glimmer of a smile.

“Yuk. No. Never with baby rabbits.” I thought I could try to put things onto a lighter footing.

That got the look it deserved. I tried again.

“I really don’t think there’s anything wrong with these.”

“Well boy. You might not think there’s anything wrong with it. But as I said there’s enough out there who would disagree. And beat you senseless for it. And, like it or not, my job as parent and your dad’s job as being in charge in this house is to stop you being hurt. We only have you for a few years before you leave for the big wide world – and out there, there’s much less we can do to protect you. We can support and encourage – but protect, that’s going to be tricky at a distance. You’ll be too far away and wanting too much independence. Are you listening for once, boy? Can you hear how much we care about you? If you can hear me, then you’re becoming an adult. If you’re blotting my words out with ‘I want’ and ‘I want now’ then you’ve got some growing up to do.”

There was a pause before she spoke again, “So, as this proto-adult as you might be, give me some suggestions about what we do with you and for you about this interest in wearing panties. Should you be punished? And if so, what punishment would have any meaning? When do you tell your father? What do you wear to school? At weekends? Do you want more than panties? Have you bought or got anything else already? Get to your room and think about what questions we should all be thinking about and what options and what are the best and worst answers. One hour from now – we’ll talk before your father gets home.”

This was worse than I could possibly have expected. I was being treated as a sensible, responsible semi-adult and it was only a couple of months ago I became a teenager. Oh dear. I got to my room. I rang Jillian.

“Sis. I’ve been busted by Mum. She found me wearing panties. And I’ve got to present her with what I want for the future. You know how she works. Suggestions, Options, Choices, Expectations, Best-Worst, all the jargon. What should I say, hmmm?”

“Kid, we’ve talked it over. What’s in the heart of you. Boy or Girl? What sort of life do you want to lead? One of being different or being apparently ordinary? They’re big choices. And the time has come. Or it seems likely that some actual decisions are coming into range. Be solid, kid.”

By the time the hour was up, I had some of my ideas lined up.

Rather than sitting in the comfy chairs (no, no, not the Spanish Inquisition – sorry) we sat at the table so that my computer screen was easier to see.

“Mum, I put this together in the last few weeks. I was never expecting to talk this through as a sort of public performance but it helped get my head organised. To make it clear – I’m not a girl on the inside looking for the whole surgery and stuff. I’m a boy and I like a lot of being a boy.”

I continued, “There’s a really big difference between being confused about gender and being confused or different about sex. There’s all the letters but LGB, you know Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, means the significant minority who do not prefer heterosexual relationships. There’s more letters like TIQ for those who have difficulty with accepting that the physical equipment between their legs is a complete and final identifier for their gender. But it really important to know that the percentage of LGB is vaguely between 3% and 8% of the population – and by golly don’t the figures alter depending on who is presenting them – however, this 3 – 8 % is approximately the same for the TIQ group. But if the LGB is a minority then the TIQ is an even less known and less accepted minority.”

“And there’s an amazing number of subgroups too. Facebook, if you can believe it, has some 50 different labels for people to identify as non-heterosexual. And you won’t believe some of the descriptions. The overall label for the whole T variety is ‘transgender’. But within the T or trans group are transsexuals who want to physically change their gender, yeah, the dangly bits, to match what they think their brain tells them about themselves. There’s the transgender who want to dress up and be treated as women when they are so dressed. The wider label of the two is transgender as it usually includes the transsexuals, as well as people whose gender identity is the opposite of their assigned sex as per aforementioned dangly bits or their absence; as well as those who feel they are not exclusively masculine or feminine (people who are genderqueer/non-binary, e.g. bigender, pangender, genderfluid, or agender); another definition of transgender includes people who belong to a third gender or having two-spirits and so on. Infrequently the trans label widens to include transvestites – who are mostly only interested in the dressing up but often there’s a fetish label attached to them and they really have less or no interest in altering their gender identity. Oh, and almost everyone who writes about this has different definitions and makes different arguments for and against. I’ve tried to put together a sort of middle of the road mixture.”

“But to be blunt, the LGB is about sexual orientation, and the TIQ is about gender identification. The two are barely connected and there is no statistical correlation between the two groups. And, weirdly, for a group which is a minor minority there are an enormous number of descriptions and self-defining categories.”

“Oh, there was one neat quote about the whole gender-changing options which said there’s three key conditions to reaching that stage – Desire, Diagnosis and Dollars. Clearly an American article although over here we could say Dosh instead to get the three Ds.

“But that bit about the three sorts, three MAIN sorts of trans person was a sort of technical bit which I mostly stole from Wikipedia. As I said, I’m a boy. I like being a boy. I am not homosexual. I like girls as people and when I think about sex, and even though I’m only just a teenager so that’s quite often, I think of it as me with a girl. The idea of another boy kissing me and so on – no thanks. Not my idea of pleasure or even entertainment. And the idea of trying it as an experiment – again, no thanks. So, forget any ideas you have about me being gay or a faggot or a bumboy. Not going to happen. To be blunt, until you asked if I was a homo, the idea had never really crossed my mind. I think my best answer now you have asked is ‘yuk’.”

“Another thing I read is about the idea of a spectrum, shading from one colour to the next. There’s really very few people who are 100% masculine or 100% feminine. Mind you, there’s not many men who are less than 50% masculine but probably the gays, bisexuals and transvestites are at that borderline while the transsexuals and transgenders are beyond it – because they believe they are significantly female. But, for me, the spectrum idea is a whole lot more valuable and accessible than the stark black-white that most people see.”

“And there’s so many of these spectrums. The most common one these days is the Autism spectrum. I’d guess that any pattern with a range of options where black-white is too simplistic would be best described as a spectrum. From another angle, the normal curve that is everywhere in statistics, that’s a sort of a view of a spectrum but with a predominance for the middle to be the most common result. In terms of feminine and masculine, the graph would have two high points.” I chortled. “It would probably look like the curve of two breasts. Maybe I’d better not use that description in front of a bunch of schoolkids. The boys wouldn’t listen for the next few minutes and the girls might be embarrassed.”

“Sorry, went a bit off message there. I told you – I just enjoy the feel of the clothes you get to wear. And I’m going to find ways to enjoy them. I’m not going to be a drag-queen. That’s just dressing silly and, usually, being gay too. Two things that are not going to happen. And the clothes aren’t a fetish. I don’t get or want a sexual thrill out of wearing them. I don’t wank with my panties, nor with Jillian’s - nor your’s for that matter. The idea is just yuk. So not a fetish. I’m only thirteen anyway. Just because some thirteen year olds are sexually active doesn’t mean that I am.”

“I think what I want is to wear pretty clothes some of the time. Just dressing at home would be enough but, I think, eventually I would want to be able to go out now and again as an ordinary girl. Just ordinary.” I took a deep breath as I realized that I had barely been able to breathe while I was talking. Nervous, no, not much!!

Again with the pause. Mum sighed and then “I hear what you say. And I hear some of the words in the gaps too. I’m glad you’re not a homo or whatever the current word is. And, by the way, I really do apologise for some of those words I used at you. But I had to push to find out something about the why of you doing it. I am thankful that you were upfront about it and told me the truth – or as much of it as you felt you could get away with, eh. I never suspected you of being homosexual or of being a pervert, so relax, eh? And I’m glad it’s not all about sex either. But the most worrying part of this is ‘you want to be different’. You want to be different in public. That’s a choice full of risk. And that’s the bit I’m not happy about. I’ve got questions now. Have you ever worn anything outside the house? …….. Well, that blush says ‘yes’. What, where, when, how often? I need to know.”

More truth, even from my unwilling lips. “I’ve worn panties to school – on days when I didn’t have PE or anything. And I went to the mall with Jillian twice. And I have bought a very few things too, mostly at the charity shops. Two dresses, a skirt and another blouse – and a pair of shoes.”

“Jillian’s involved?”

“Er, yes.”

“How, when? Tell me the details.”

“She noticed me wearing panties and then I took some of her old things from the charity bags.”

“Not just panties then, eh?”

“A couple of skirts, a sundress she called it, and two blouses and two vests that she called camis.”

“Is that all? Did she help you?”

“Well, she ….no not really. She talked to me about colours and colour matching. And we looked at a lot of her fashion magazines. And stuff like that.”

“…..stuff like what, exactly.”

“when we went to the shops, we sat in a coffee bar and people watched. I had to say what I liked and what I didn’t like. It was fun.”

“And what did you like?”

“Sleek was a word I used often. And layered, and pretty. And Gillian taught me about colours and materials.”

“And when have you worn these things? Anything more than panties at school for example?”

“I wore a cami once, under a thick jersey. Only the once.

“I’m glad you were able to exercise some restraint. I’m not happy, y’know.”

“Yeh, I get that Mum – and I’m really sorry. Ultra sorry.” [The family had a series of levels for being sorry. ‘Ultra’ was near the top.]

“And what were you wearing when you went out with your sister and did this people watching?”

“Erm, just plain clothes, y’know.”

“Exactly so – I do NOT know any more. Details. Now.”

“I wore a shirt and jeans as usual. Sis did let me wear panties though.”

“And?”

Was this woman psychic? Or was it just Mum-power? “And she fiddled with my hair to make it look sort of halfway neither boy nor girl. It was when my hair was quite long.”

There was a pause. “So, more of this research, please. You say you’re not transsexual and I guess actually that you’re not transsexual – as far as you can possibly know at thirteen without professional assessment. You’re not homosexual. You say it’s not about getting a sexual thrill out of it. Sounds as if you come close to the box labelled ‘cross-dresser’. Not that I know much about that particular slice of life. But I have looked before, y’know. And we need to know a lot more, eh?”

“Why on earth have you ever gone on the web looking for stuff on trannies?”

“Because a friend of mine was into that sort of thing.”

“What like me. I mean, if he’s like me than perhaps I could talk to him.”

“Nope. Almost exactly the opposite of you. For her, and pretty soon it was obvious my friend was a her, by then we knew how things were likely to turn out. Her parents were ardent church folk. Deeply religious, believing everything that any priest told them, reading the bible every day, using snippets from the bible or any church-related magazine to ‘guide their lives’. In effect, they killed her. She had been brought up to be truthful and up front with any issue. So she told them – and they shunned her, denied her, threw her out of their house and their lives. They moved away because of the possible shame she might have brought on them. They told everybody round here, her friends, their families, the school, any nearby school. She killed herself a few weeks later. But they had killed her first.”

Mum was looking fierce, angry, determined. “I may dislike what you’re doing; I certainly don’t understand what you’re doing. But my son will live even with his determination to be different. I didn’t raise my child to fail – at anything. If you want to dress up then you will do it well. You will do it with confidence, certainty and pride. And despite what I feel, I must help you and I will help you.”

“On the other hand, I’m not sure how your Dad is going to cope with this. But he knows the story of my friend Phoebe and he’s certainly going to prefer a live even if unusual child rather than a dead one.”

Her eyes glittered with tears – but she ignored them as well as the heartache memories while she was so concerned for me.

“I love you, Mum” and I rushed to hug her. “I’ve probably been a bit stupid to try and hide things. I do know that you’re there to protect me and with this, er, thing, I’m going to need advice and guidance. And you’re most likely to give me the best advice – provided you didn’t disown me for being weird.”

“Mmmm. I won’t deny that some parents can’t cope with a child who goes against everything they believe in and everything that makes their particular version of the word go round.” She snarled “like Phoebe’s parents. They never knew what a beautiful child they had.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m glad that you now realize and accept that we do have your best interests at heart and that you can trust us.”

I let go the hug at last.

“You know I’m going to make you do a presentation at school on ‘being different’. I will suggest that if I make you do the same at church that you borrow some large chunks from Corinthians 13. Y’know the one about Love fails not, Love is kind, Love is etc. Sometimes those church folks need a bit of reminding that it’s not all about Do not or you’ll be stoned to death and given leprosy.”

“Golly, mum, which sin gets you stoned to death and THEN given leprosy?”

“Arrgh, don’t twist m’words, y’ungrateful varmint,” and she raised her arm.

“Ooops, sorry. Don’t hit me” And I pretended to cower away from the pretend-threatened beating.

“Well then, let’s get started on this whole new thing. Let’s go to your room and see what you’ve got tucked away. Then we’ll discuss what you ought to have if you’re going to get anything at all, of course. Then we’ll see how to re-arrange your room so there’s room for your clothes as well as – what d’y call yourself when you’re dressed up?

“Ellen.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty name. How did you choose it.”

“Come on, who is dad’s favourite film character – and what do you call a pseudo-human who chooses to be different?

“Ooh, you didn’t – not Ellen from Alien?”

“Yep. That’s me. Ellen the Alien – the boy who wants to be really different.”

“Now wanting to be so different as to be treated as an alien – that IS wanting to be different.”

“Perhaps I’ll be one of the lucky ones, y’know, the first alien the other humans don’t want to kill before there’s any risk the aliens might turn out to be kind or helpful. I mean, doesn’t every story have the wicked, nasty, vile aliens threatening obliteration and being zapped in return by some gallant maverick.”

“You’ve got me thinking, Ellen. How about you think of any aliens who are a good thing, popular and stuff. And if none come to mind, then track some down – it might be a useful angle to try on some people.”

“There’s ET, I suppose. And there’s the policeman in Alien Nation – and I’m sure there’s others. But, yeah, not many nice ones. I guess all the films are just expressions of how frightened the average human is of ‘things that are different’. At least some of the ones in books are nicer.”

“Ellen, I think you’re going to find that being different can be a really ugly place to be. I’ll try to protect you – but there’s some really ugly people out there who will hate you, sneer, despise, be rude, intolerant, unkind, and just plain nasty. How will you cope?”

To my surprise, the answer seemed to bubble up from inside, almost as if was ready and waiting to erupt. “There’s only one way to do it really. To give thanks for those who are kind and to try my best to set aside any unkindness. I did read somewhere that a whole lot depends on how confident I can be and actually how confident I can remain when it gets nasty. There’s an awful lot of us who get thrown out of home and family when we do come out. And the suicide rate and injury rate is just awful. Another article said it was because we were the only group that actually made public our willingness to be different.”

I paused, “I mean, all the other groups what are hated are either doing it behind closed doors or it is their unalterable appearance which triggers the hate. Black, Yellow, Brown, White, skin colour is pretty obvious. Tall, short, thin, fat – again obvious. Beardies, gingers and so on. The whole LGB group can, if it wishes, be what they are without being obviously public about it. But anyone on the trans spectrum – it’s part of your out and about daily life. If you need to wear skirts and dresses which ‘they’ deem to be inappropriate, well, you CAN restrict yourself to only doing it indoors but that’s not much of a life is it. So you have to go out into the world where the haters live. Just got to be brave about it, yeah.”

Mum raised an eyebrow. “That’s about it for your overview, yes?”

“Yesssss, Yes. I could make it better with notes and bullet-points and pictures – but for today’s draft – that’s it. Yes.”

There was another pause – it’s a family habit that dad’s dad had begun. If you want to speak then pause for a whole breath; if you want to interrupt then take two breaths; if you MUST interrupt preferably make a note or hold your hand up!!!

“Well, then kiddo, or perhaps is should call you kiddette when you’re dressed up - it does sound like you’ve been doing some thinking about this alarming and dangerous lifestyle you want to adopt. And it sounds like some of your ideas are sensible and worth discussing. And I did notice the use of ‘us’ a few moments back. But I have some rules too. I’ll develop them during the day – but here’s a few to be going on with.”

“One – you will not be going out dressed up unless I have seen and approved your clothing and presentation and you will not be going out unaccompanied. Two – for the time being, I will be approving any purchases and I will be with you when you go into relevant shops. Yes?”

I nodded – not too surprised at the conditions but well aware there were more to come.

“Looking good and confident is not just a matter of clothing. So, first thing, we’ll review your presumably tired and tatty collection of clothes and decide what must be replaced. Then we will go and buy some of what is needed. Then, the important step, we watch and you learn.”

“Does this mean you don’t mind me doing this?”

“Mind? Of course I bloody well mind! [My mother using a swearword – WOW – she was upset]. My son wants to take up a dangerous sport in public where an enormous amount of people are likely to disapprove and be very blunt in their outrage and intolerance. Of course I mind. But am I going to be able to stop you? I could stop you for a while. I could indoctrinate you with fear and trembling into such a state that you would be traumatised at the idea of wearing a dress. But that would be me being as cruel to you on purpose whereas the nasties out there, ‘Them’, would be cruel to you by prejudice and by their hatred of ‘people who are different’. I can’t do that. You’re my son – and even in a dress, you’ll still be my son. I can cope with my son wearing panties and all the rest, if that is what he, you, wants to do. I won’t like it. I won’t approve. But my job is to protect you even when you don’t see the risk coming towards you. It’s called being a proper parent. Learning this lesson is part of becoming an adult. Parenthood is for life.”

Mum was not polite about the clothes I had stashed away. She was even more impolite about how I had looked after them – or rather, how I had failed to look after them.

“These are crumpled and crushed into a corner. I’m not sure they’re really clean, either.” She sniffed the armpit of one blouse. “And if this one fits, then that one doesn’t – or vice versa. What a mess. Let’s assume the whole lot needs washing and then we’ll get you a minimum amount of wearable clothing. And first off, I’ll teach you how to read a washing label so that you treat each item properly. Not of course that we’ll ever be doing an item by item wash – that’s just silly. But I’ll show you which items need to be washed by hand – and how you do it. You’re going to have to learn some girl jobs if you’re wearing girl clothes. Yes.”

“Of course. But up to now, it would have been a bit of a giveaway if I had asked for advice on washing my panties or getting a stain off my skirt.”

“True enough, darling. Now, let’s get moving.”

There’s our own town about four miles away where the school is, but there’s a much bigger town eight miles in the opposite direction. More shops, more variety, more, er, cosmopolitan [or as they say in New York ‘sophisticated’ – thanks, Tom Lehrer]. It was a pretty obvious choice to go to Barcester rather than to Willington.

As we entered the main shopping area, I took mum into one of the charity shops where I had seen a really nice looking dress a few days before. To my amazement, it was still there. Mum was quite startled at being taken into one of those shops as it was definitely not her usual zone. I explained. “There’s a whole new world in these shops, mum. Sometimes it is total trash. For me anyway, but lots of other people are buying stuff. But sometimes, there’s some really good finds.” I pulled her towards the rack where the dress was.

“Look, wouldn’t that be super for Ellen. We could buy it and try it. They don’t mind as they know a lot of people take time to be sure. It’s just you have to bring it back within a couple of days or so.” My face must have made it clear that I did really want this dress. And for a charity shop it was expensive at £10.

One eyebrow was delicately raised, “For Ellen, you think. It’s not expensive and if it fits, she’d look very pretty in it. Let’s put it to one side until we come back in an hour or so. Mmm?”

“Okay.” My expression must have been an open message.

Mum dropped her voice. “You really want this don’t you?”

I nodded – and blushed.

“Alright then. We’ll take it – and there’s a small chance that Ellen can try it on soon.”

Just a guess – but my expression must have shown how happy this made me.

“Oh, dearie me. Darling you do have a bad attack of ‘the girls’.” And I could hear the careful emphasis. Clearly mum was going to be using the phrase ‘attack of the girls’ as a way of saying that she could see my need to dress up as an expression of my feminine side.

Mum interrupted my thoughts. “It feels like a long time ago, but this morning you did say ‘you would want to go out as an ordinary girl’. I need to understand a bit more exactly what you want. Surely if you’re wanting to go out ‘as this ordinary girl’ then you’re wanting to be girly? No? Yes?”

“Nuances, mother, subtleties of meaning. I can’t give you a better answer while I’m walking around. I’m a mere male unable to multitask, Urggh, grrr, crunch, dribble, mu brane is melting. Need seat. Need drink. Need stop.”

Fortunately this was an occasionally practiced scene and mum was already laughing. “Okay, okay. Sit and drink, or perhaps as a mere male, you need to drip and stink. Yuk. As always.”

By the time I’d sat down bringing Mum’s coffee and my orange, I’d had some moments to think.

“I think, or at least I believe, that ‘wanting to go out as an ordinary girl’ was a sort of an, er, attempt to show that I was aware of the risk of being detected as a boy-in-a-dress and that I didn’t want that. I still feel that my preference is to remain a boy but sometimes to dress pretty. I really have very little evidence apart from vague anecdote and rather implausible data from uncheckable sources but I think there is a major level increase from the very few trans folk who actually take the step to have surgery and all to get their body aligned with their head – I’ll put this bit into a verbal bracket and there’s stuff coming out now that does rather prove that a few of these have their heads so disconnected from their bodies that even that isn’t the complete and perfect solution they need, and that is really sad – back to the main line. But I think there’s a lot more who want to feel female and be treated as female and some of these even aim at a 24/7 life as females.”

“And I also think, although there is almost less evidence for this because the first two get so much media attention, I think there’s even more transvestites, that is, people who like wearing panties and dresses and so on. One old and not very reliable survey calculated that there were lots of people who had worn panties or stockings; but there was mostly about ‘had worn once’ rather than ‘wore regularly’. As Mr Brown says in maths ‘If you don’t ask the right question then you won’t get the right answer’.

“What numbers did you find?”

“Ludicrous numbers like one survey said ‘It has been determined that at least 75% of men have tried on panties at some time and data shows that 25 to 30% of men wear panties every day.’ Another said ‘Statistically, 2% of all men wear panties.’ One in the middle of their nothing data said ‘25% of men wear panties occasionally if only for a good stroking session, but it's such a personal thing and there are many different scenarios.’ Another said ‘ 5 to 10% wear panties all the time.’ How is one supposed to make sense of that. I got all those just by typing into Google ‘How many men wear panties’. Joke.

Mum looked quite thoughtful after that. After a while she said, “Let’s not waste time working on points for a presentation. We’re supposed to be looking at girls and how they present so that you can do better in how you present.”

We spent nearly an hour just watching, and making comments and taking notes. I had done this a lot more casually with Gillian. This was a much more thorough effort. I was now being somewhat accepted by my mum and needing to learn as much as possible so that I could go out and look like a girl.

By the time we’d trawled through the shops I knew more about clothes and individual items of clothing than I had ever guessed at. Later I did find some really useful web-pages about every aspect of a woman’s costume. Neckline, sleeves, cuffs, shapes, …. everything. I was really getting into the idea of learning about costume. And at the same time I was doing a lot of practice about presenting as a girl. Looking back, I was even then still determined to emphasise that I was not ‘being a girl’ I was merely and only presenting as a girl.

And almost more importantly, I was putting together my report on Trans Life for the school. I began being determined to show that the need for some people to question their gender had some genuine logic and really worthwhile argument and that the opponents often used ludicrous and vile irrelevancies against us. But my dad warned me on a previous project to make sure that I pointed out that often enough BOTH sides were appallingly willing and able to push misleading ideas and manipulated statistics. Not every day but quite often I was trawling the web looking for both the sensible comments for and against trans and also looking at the most bizarre and misleading articles in both directions.

For example, I found an article somewhere on the web and it gave me a really useful argument about the enormous difference in acceptability in the current western world (in my head and voice I underlined that bit) of the Male-presenting-as-Female and the Female-presenting-as-Male. I saved it once and then edited it to add my own understanding of what was meant.

For most biological males if they want to present as other than a regular man, it takes a fair amount of effort. If they choose to make their outside appearance match their internal identity they must seek medical help, wear makeup, etc… All of that makes their situation increasingly public, and the general public knows they are trans whether or not they announce it to the world. Even beginning with the family and then moving on to college or work and then the big bad world – they have to start with dressing differently in order to prove they mean what they say about ‘being or feeling female’. Some time later as part of their Real-Life-Test they have to start to dress differently in public; then there is the drastic and expensive choice to undergo a choice of mutilations and surgical corrections. Overall, such folk are likely to have either the big and confident “Ta-Da!” debut or, much more likely, the ‘Ugh, Yuk’ public humiliation.

On the other hand, any woman who wishes to present as a man or as a macho woman has an enormous flexibility of choice as regards clothing and enormous acceptability in whatever way she presents. And I know I’m getting some of the he-she pronouns wrong – mea culpa. Certainly it requires effort to dress or not dress in a certain way – but there is barely any attachment of guilt, disapproval or prejudice to how they present. A woman who is straight, gay or transitioning merely needs to wear clothing that is not immediately categorized as feminine and Bob is indeed your Auntie. Probably the strongest prejudice is against those who make the most effort to present as male while clearly female – the short-haired yet lipstick-wearing ‘dyke’ is the label attached by those over 60! At least, I hope it’s only the oldies whose brain patterns are locked in so deep.

I began to build my work into a final package. But I had been taught that the key to a good presentation was a real hook in the first or second sentence, a memorable final sentence and enough in the bulk of the package to make the listeners believe the subject actually mattered to them.

My first effort was on the lines of : “But it comes down to ‘we all die and in those last moments do you want to look back and say ‘I wish I had done that’ or the equally tepid ‘I’m glad I conformed to what society wanted from me’ or do you want to look back and say ‘I was ME and I took life in big bites and I’ll be glad if people say I was a kind and decent person’ Life is about choices, and I would really like to take some time wearing the clothes I want to wear.”

Mum rather demolished this by asking “Does that mean this is, or rather might be, a potential or probable choice of lifestyle rather than a sure and certain one? And anyway, it’s much too wordy to be a memorable hook.”

“Come on, mum. I’m only thirteen – who knows how and why and what will change in me over the next few years. Do you really want the Mark Twain quote?”

“Oh, no, not again.” [Reminder, Twain said “When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”

….. for some other favourite and relevant Twain quotes, here are : - #2 Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please.

#3 Of all the creatures that were made, man is the most detestable. Of the entire brood he is the only one--the solitary one--that possesses malice. That is the basest of all instincts, passions, vices--the most hateful. He is the only creature that has pain for sport, knowing it to be pain. Also--in all the list he is the only creature that has a nasty mind.

#4 Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to reform (or pause and reflect).”

And finally ‘5 The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself.” ]

So I kept working on my presentation of me as a sometime-girl and my equally important presentation to the school of ‘what it’s like to want and choose to be different’.

My next attempt was much clearer “Are you a man or a mouse? Do you do what others do or make a choice to be different? If you ARE different do you hide or do you stand proud? I believe we are all different, all special and we should all be proud of being different. I am proud to be different!”

“It doesn’t really matter if you believe in a God who made you special or whether you believe that Nature and Nurture made you different. Everybody in this room, in this town, in this world is different in some wonderful way.”

“You’re all wondering – what has that pretty ordinary guy got to be special about? What’s he sounding off about? He’s not a complete geek, or a sporty, or any of the other top or bottom groups. So I’ll tell you. I’m not going to hide. I’m a boy who has decided that clothes are important to me. I’m going to take an interest in what I wear. I want colour and shape and so much more than the dull drab BORING clothes I have worn all of my life. I’ve found an alternative – and I love it. And all I need to do is start doing what so many of the girls already do. Some of them wear boys clothes like trousers and so on. Some of them wear skirts and dresses – I’m going to do the same. Next time you see me, I might be wearing jeans …… or I might be wearing a dress.”

That was the beginning of about my twenty-third draft. I would do about three or four ….. and then start all over again. Exhausting.

And like I say some of the time I was learning about dressing. That was exhausting too – and I can’t say which was harder.

I was beginning to dress up most evenings and part of the weekends too. My wardrobe was increasing and Mum was making me learn about each of the pieces of clothing and when and where each was suitable.

I did keep emphasising that I was still only wanting to be a boy-who-likes-dresses but she was emphatic that the risk to me of being revealed as such was too high and the likely result too horrid. Once I had the confidence to be out as a girl-lookalike then I’d be close to being able to go out as a boy-who-likes-dresses. She was adamant that while her job was to protect me and that even if the law said I was an adult at 16, 18, 20, 21 depending on the relevant law, a parent’s job went on forever. And wanting to be an Alien in a world full of people who determined what was acceptable to them – that was risky.

I didn’t want to agree but the occasional comment slipped through and made me realize how careful I needed to be. And as I read more about my new environment, so I learnt how many Ts did kill themselves or slide into the abyss – no family, no home, no job, no life.

For various reasons, I never did the full presentation to the school. But I had rehearsed my arguments enough that sometimes they just popped out in ordinary conversation. I became a bit of a champion for my views on tolerance and such. And it did gradually get known and accepted that I had a wider wardrobe than the typical bland bloke.

=====================================

One day when I was approaching my 15th birthday, Mum took me to one side. “I’ve been watching, darling. There’s decisions to be made. You know that you’re getting to be fully male now – hair, puberty and so on. I think you’re still aiming to continue wearing dresses and so on occasionally, if not even often – but you’re not going down the 24/7 be-a-woman or look-like-a-woman or pretend-to-be-a-woman routes. Do you agree?”

“If you’re asking – again – if I want surgery – then no. No one ain’t choppin’ no bits. If you’re asking about being sort of full-time then that’d be easier with implants and even hormones – and that ain’t happenin’ either. I just like pretty clothes. A difficulty is that most of the clothes are designed for women with a feminine figure rather than for a male. I suppose if we looked at the mid-price options for, erm, fake, er, breasts and sort of body padding that might give us some ideas.”

“Are you trying to persuade me that you haven’t got half a dozen sites on quick-search already?”

I grinned. “I was trying to display patience and a willingness to take my time. Am I really that obvious?”

“Sometimes, daughter of mine, just sometimes.”

I did my best girly pout and flicked my hair at her.

Just a few days after this, the Social Studies teacher came to me and said she had been watching Youtube and seen the following from a well-known speaker on Trans issues. “It’s no secret that you are interested in T-spectrum issues. I need you to give you an insight that I’ve had about the change in views on the subject. My background is as a teacher and as a lecturer too. I gave a course some while ago on gender issues and then moved away from that topic for about ten years. In was amazed when I returned to this country and was asked to give the same lecture to a new set of university students. I was expecting to surprise them with a new idea about how they should look at the world, with tolerance. But they were way ahead of me. My endorsement of gender as fluid, multidimensional, and non-categorical had been learnt as part of a history of theoretical engagement, theirs came from their everyday life: who they were, who their friends were, how they imagined the world was and should be. These new students were as likely to talk about each other in the plural ("like they said") or by name, as use referential pronouns that assume two genders corresponding to two sexes.”

She continued, “Of course, not all the students were equally adept, equally informed, equally concerned about terms of reference, not making assumptions about identity, or prepared to refer to cisgender and transgender persons – but to find a group who were so easily willing to take the steps which I had thought of as nigh-on impossible – wow did I feel good. You need to be aware that in some parts of some countries there is a willingness to accept a more relaxed view of gender. Each person on the T-spectrum will eventually learn the degree of acceptance in their immediate world. This can be kind or ugly. But my work tells me there has been a significant shift in the last years. You’re very lucky, you know.” And she trundled off in a flurry of tweed.

The next thing was that Dad took me to one side one evening. “This thing you’re doing for school about ‘being different’ – what would you say if I asked you to do the same at the company where I work. I’ve a nasty suspicion that too many of our staff have no idea what is happening in the world they think they know.”

I had no idea where this particular extension of my mission would take me.

Mission Impossible?? More like - Mission incredibly unbelievable. I kept going with school and my slightly off-centre daily life of being a boy and a boy-in-a-dress.

And then suddenly, I was told that I would be presenting at the end of the month – in about three weeks. To my Dad’s bosses. And they wanted a handout for the staff. Eek, girly whimper.

Dad told me to send him just the bullet-points so that he could give me some feedback and hints as to how to tailor things. I tried to tell him that I was happy with what I had but he pushed a bit and I gave in.

• Types of Discrimination
• How Discrimination overlaps with Bullying and Abuse
• The views of the Bully-Abuser-Discriminator
• And of the Target
• How the law has changed recently
• How Laws often lag behind changes in Society
• Some of My personal experience

Dad came back saying that he’d like to hear me talk through the second and second-last pieces as he thought those were probably the most difficult. Again, I wasn’t very willing but at least he wasn’t wanting to tear the whole thing apart.

He said that a useful approach could be for one diagram for each segment; and two pages of well-spaced large-font text to read from. Each segment would then be about 2 minutes and the whole thing 15 to 20 minutes. Then he smiled and added ‘if you do what I did on my first such time, I spoke far too fast, skipped bits that I decided on the fly were too dull or suddenly no longer relevant – did the whole 20 minute piece in about 6 minutes. Not good value and not well received either. I am certain that you can do better.’

Getting my text into reasonable order was Stage One.

Then Stage Two was to talk with Mum. She decided that I would have to look business-like, professional and very confident. She introduced me to the pleasant idea that ultra-top quality undies were a key to feeling good and therefore to looking confident.

To say I felt apprehensive about going into the local shops looking for panties and bras was an understatement. Supermarkets, yes, I had done those. But these dead posh boutique things. I’d been pretty minimal in even going past the windows slowly so as to admire the contents. Going in – no way.

“Here we are!”

“Wha..”

“For your new undies, darling.”

“Bu…”

Yes, darling. Undies for YOU.”

And it got worse. “Can I help you?” said the gorgeous, but tiny, redhead assistant. And I couldn’t help admiring her – her hair, her skin, her cleavage, what was visible of her breasts. And noticing her badge ‘Petra’. Nice name, I thought.

“Yes, please, we need to look at some underwear and probably have a fitting to ensure that it’s all proper”

There was more to admire. It was hard not to focus on her lovely bottom as it swivelled away from us, and her legs, her pretty pretty shoes. Lovely. All lovely.

“Darling, stop being so male. It’s not the right look – and I mean you are LOOKing.”

Petra stopped at the lingerie department. My eyes, as always, were dazzled by the colours, frills,ribbons and the whole wonderfulness of sheer excellence. “Here we are then. Is this for a special occasion or just some self-pampering?”

Mum answered. “A bit of each really. Self-pampering is good, but it’s more for the presentation that my son here is going to have to do to the directors at Bright & Sons.”

The redhead’s eyes widened and she managed to stifle a little gasp. “Oh, er, right. Then you’ll be definitely wanting to make sure everything fits well. And we can certainly help. We do, when necessary, specialise in this sort of thing. Did you know already about us?”

“Not exactly, dear. But a little research shows that there’s plenty of men indulging in the hobby and where else would they go for the best than to a proper shop selling proper underwear. Yes?”

Petra spoke to me, “Could you get yourself down to your underwear – in the changing room, of course.”

Shortly I was standing, leaning on a chair in my bra and panties. Mum and Petra entered.

Petra cooed. “Oh, that set is so pretty but I can tell it doesn’t quite fit. We can do something about that.”

Time passed. Ten minutes, Twenty minutes. I tried on a number of bras until we were all happy with the choice. Then Petra came back with a selection of matching panties. And garter-belts, and slips, and half-slips.

Eventually, I was persuaded – ha, persuaded, to allow mum to buy me two complete sets and some extra bras and panties.

Then we went looking for a business-suit so that I would look the part when I did my presentation.

By golly did I feel a different person when I looked in the mirror at my new outfit. I could feel the slidy sleek softness of my bra, panties and slip beneath the cling of the fitted skirt, blouse and jacket. I felt determined and confident – exactly as I wanted and needed.

Mum smiled at me and said, “You feel so much more in control now, yes?”

My big grin in return gave the message, loud and clear.

“Right, now we’ll go and talk with a friend of mine. It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“Saying that just makes me worry. What’s going to happen?”

“I’ve got your first page and last page and your headings – you’re going to do a run-through to two of my friends so that you know what it might be like when you do it for your dad.”

My eyes bulged in horror. “I can’t.”

“Darling, you can and will. The first page and last page may be all that your audience hears. They’ll hear some of the words in the middle – but by no means all of them. In addition, it’ll help you trim your piece down to a more listenable 8 or 9 minutes leaving more time for questions and feedback. Your dad must have done a heck of a good piece of selling to get them to offer you a 15 minute slot. You mustn’t waste any of it. Which means you mustn’t talk for the whole time. Trust me, darling. I’ve done enough of these presentations to give you some valuable advice. Trust me.”

“Trust you when you’ve bounced me into a dry run with no notice! If it goes well and I feel ok at the end, then maybe. But …… shriek, whimper.”

“Go and stand at that mirror. Go on, go. Look at yourself and say ‘I can do this, I will do this, I am confident and determined’. Go on, say it. Out loud, please.”

Rather unwillingly, I did as I was told. And it made a difference. Each suggestion – Stand up straight, Look in the eyes, Enjoy your underwear and the pleasure of feeling professional. Each one made me feel more and more certain I could do this.

Then a secretary arrived and took us into a conference room.

There was my headmistress and my Dad’s previous boss. !!!!

I nearly stopped in the door. Then I saw the screen set up with the first of my diagrams and the headline ‘Abuse, Bullying & Discrimination – Understanding and Preventing’.

I took a deep breath and introduced myself. They didn’t recognise me. Then I thought to myself, why would they? I relaxed – fractionally.

“My name is Ellen. I’ve adopted the name because of Ellen Ripley in Alien. I have decided to be different from other boys and girls of my age – Ellen Ripley was certainly different from the others in the crew. And I do this in the certain knowledge that this will, not might, but will attract unkindness, intolerance, abuse and all the other words that occur when someone is seen and labelled as ‘different’ – and that’s what happens to most aliens.” I smiled, “But I don’t mean to imply that being different at my level is anything like as vile or revolting or scary as that Alien. For now, I’m not going to tell you in what way I have decided to be different. But I promise you, my decision to become a target is not a choice but a reelation that I must do this or reject something at the core of my being.”

I then went on with chunks of my text. I had my first page and conclusion plus the headings. I thought I was able to cover the essential points. And mum was right, the words did flow quite well and I was able to cut, or more accurately forget, chunks without it feeling I was losing my thread.

I talked briefly about physical differences and how easily and how often such people attracted unkindness. I talked about Abuse and all the different sub-types – physical, sexual, emotional, financial, social, medical and so on and how all abuse was more about power and control. I talked about the invisible differences too.

I reminded them that the whole western world was based on at least 2,000 years of judeo-christian teachings which were often summarised as ‘Do as you would be Done by’.

Obviously I talked about sexual labels and the discrimination that went on. I admitted to a complete failure to understand how the small minority of LGB had managed enormous alterations in the views and public acceptability by the majority; while other larger minorities had failed to do so. And, of course, I talked about gender and emphasised how different gender was from sexual orientation.

I wound up soon after that. I wondered just before I got there whether to read direct from my page or to do it on the fly. At the last moment, I decided to begin from the text and to try and remember the rest. I was looking alternately at the two people and trying to note their reactions. I realised that reading would prevent me watching. ……….

“Most people believe that they are kind, tolerant, nice and reasonable. They believe it is other people who do all the unkind, nasty things. The truth is that everyone is capable of ugly behaviour and that there is an enormous amount of it happening. The truth which is ignored is that it is the Victims who feel it is happening while too often the Perpetrators are fantastically ignorant or uncaring of what they are doing.” Here I had to go off at a semi-prepared tangent. “To give a particular example – I know that you are both of above-average intelligence …… and it is very likely that you will make a judgement about a person’s CV if their grammar or spelling are poor – even before they have walked through the door, or opened their mouth. If the person arrives and is 6 foot 4” with a red bushy beard and says ‘call me Jake’ with an Australian accent – yet more judgements based on little evidence will have been made. Have you ever done this and then thought back and gone ‘perhaps I was wrong’ ……. How do you think Jake would have felt receiving all your vibes?”

I paused. “I was watching you when I made those last statements – and there was for both of you an ‘Oh No’ moment when I saw that you had had such a moment. Is what I’m saying a wake-up call?”

I finished with “Abuse happens. Intolerance happens. Unkindness happens. The only way forward is to watch, to teach, to support and to prevent. Thank you for your time. If you have any questions, then I’ll do my best to answer them.”

I then tried to relax. Without falling into a pile of evaporated bones and slush.

“That was a brief yet thorough presentation. Impressive,” said Mr Grieves. “I thought the example at the end was thought-provoking. I’ll need to think more about my own activities. A quiet word with some of the people I know I don’t like, perhaps.”

I could feel my eyebrows lift. And I butted in with “It’s not so much about the past as, perhaps, doing better next time.”

I saw the change in his expression, then the pause. “Yes, that’s a truth. I may have to start listening to pretty young girls giving me lessons on how to think and behave.”

I smiled, “And would you care to comment on the possibility that ‘pretty young girls’ implies a number of mildly improper views as to how much you listen to not-pretty or not-young or not-girls. But I’m truly glad you heard some of what I said and I do hope you’ll take some of my ideas back to work.”

“ ‘Oh no not again’ is what that makes me think,” he gave a sort of half smile. “Actually, Ellen, if I can, I’ll try to take these ideas to work, to home and to the golf club, which may be the place that most needs these lessons.”

Mrs Olivett raised her hand. “I completely agree with James. And I’m very pleased you came to speak to us. I hope I have learned something and I strongly believe that you will do an excellent job when you present to Bright & Sons. I would very much like you to write a lesson plan for my school to implement. I know we have bullying. I know some pupils, some parents and even some teachers have their issues with difference and tolerance. I want to break the cycle. And I think you can help. Will you do this for me, please? For us, please?”

I was speechless. Then they both came round and shook my hand.

I no longer wondered if I could do this. I knew I could.

On the way home, I realised that neither of them had asked what it was – the difference that I had decided I had to accept. And then I decided that them not asking was a proof that they had listened. They didn’t need to wonder about me being ‘different’ or even ‘too different’.

And I began to hope. To hope so strongly that I had at last found a truly alien environment where aliens and those who were different were treated equally.

======================

After not following through with the school presentation a year or more before, I had been asked to try again. And I had agreed. As I had intended, being different and being willing to be openly and overtly different had made me strong and confident. I even had a girlfriend now. Geena was in my year but we only shared English class. She did Science while I did Languages. But we had been together for nearly a year and we clicked. We had done some heavy breathing and heavy entangling but almost nothing below the waist. But we were getting closer and she liked me just as much when I was in a dress as she did otherwise. And I don’t mean ‘out of a dress’ either – rude reader.

My next offering began ‘You may have learnt in the last year or so that I’ve chosen to be different. I have volunteered to be different and unusual. I can hear the intake of breath from many of you. What does he mean? What’s he going to do? It’s simple. I’ve discovered after considerable investigation that I don’t like several things about boy’s clothes and what we are forced to wear ever since mid-Victorian times. Black, grey, brown, dark colours. Hard-wearing, tough, rough material. And I began to ask why are we so restricted. I began to look at the history of costume. And I learnt that MEN used to be the ones with bright colours and attractive plumage. And I want to be more like that.”

I took off my long overcoat and revealed my new costume. I had spent considerable time over the choice.
I was wearing a white shirt (a blouse actually but I had deliberately had the buttons and buttonholes swapped) – the more unusual bit was that it was in a sheer satin with short puffed sleeves. I had a dark pink scarf at the neck, and when I stepped out from behind the lectern everyone could see I was wearing a pair of vivid red wide-legged calf-length trousers – well, culottes actually for the girl-type description and it looked awfully, wrong word, gorgeously like a split skirt. Although the bracelet might have been a little more feminine than was ever typical for men.
The sheer stockings and low-heels might have surprised a few more.

There were several expressions of surprise. And shock, and dismay. And, of course, disgust.

“But” I continued, “Please note that EVERYTHING that I am wearing is part of a male costume from previous centuries. I am wearing NOTHING that at some time or another top-class and fashionable men have worn. Are you shocked at the heels – men wore them first. At the stockings, well, pop-socks actually - men were the only ones who could afford them. At the quality of the shirt – cost again, only men could afford the best. In past times, men spent the money on themselves before decorating their wives. And when they did so, it was, sadly, more to flaunt their wealth than to honour their women. The trousers – again, men wore these first. (This I was actually less certain of – but I wasn’t going to offer a weakness in my presentation.)

“But you’re looking all girly.” Came a shout from the audience. (Thanks Sandy, good timing).”

“I repeat. I am wearing nothing that in the past has been claimed first and frequently by men as their personal adornment. I do agree, that in these current times, much of what I wear is predominantly worn by girls or women. But look around you – there’s far more women here wearing clothes that until recently were the prerogative of men.” I smiled. “Even you headmistress, with your very stylish trouser-suit ……. need I say more?”

“I’m going to show you a series of prints, pictures, photographs and so on to prove that I am wearing a costume that is completely and definitely male. Then I’ll try to answer any questions. But, before you label me with any ugly or improper rumours, I’d like to ask my friend, my girl-friend, to join me on stage and answer anyone who asks if I’m homosexual or heterosexual. And I’m confident she’ll give you some specific guidance.” I smiled as Geena joined me.

Another person shouted, “He looks more girly than you.” Like I said, I had thought hard – and consulted with Geena – as to what I should wear – and what she should wear. Of course, I was looking girlier than she was. Duh.
Then another, “And what’s with the hair.” It was so helpful having a few friends who would ask the necessary questions.

I held up my hand “Enough. If you just shout you won’t hear anything. The hair is straight from a Georgian painting of not even two hundred years ago. I could show you a dozen like it. If it was a couple of inches longer than I could have shown you pictures from the Royal Collection with quite astonishingly styled hair. And it was always the men who were the peacocks, on parade to attract their olden days drab and plain partners. Times change. I refuse to be locked into the plumage, or lack of it, decreed by society. For me, this is my way of being different. Sometimes, you’ll see me in plumage, sometimes not. Like all of you – we have choices as to how we live and how well we live. For those of you who are Christians ‘Love one another is the Greatest Commandment’ for those of you who don’t know or actually reject religion, ‘Do and Behave as you want others to do and behave to You.”

“With the permission of the governors and the head, Fridays will now be relaxed as to uniform provided that all clothing is stylish, seemly and suitable. There will be those who will push the limits and those limits will gradually become clear and reasonable. Thank you for listening. For those who want to know more, my new email is on the screen and I will have leaflets with some answers and I will give links to others or where possible talk with some people.”

The head then stood up with the senior governor and said ‘Thanks Ellen. I stand beside you and say ‘we must all learn tolerance because the alternative is hate’. And I will not be a teacher or a guide or mentor if I allow any of my pupils to leave here unable or unwilling to be kind and considerate. The new Friday policy will change and grow in the next few weeks. Thank you and enjoy next Friday.”

And to quote-adapt Arlo Guthrie ‘ so friends, once 50 people a day start doing this then they may think it’s a movement – and all you gotta do to join in is do it with feeling ….

Yesterday was Friday so Geena, Susie, James, Angela, Joan, her twin Angus, - and me - all dressed identically in yellow front-knotted blouses, cream pleated skirts, yellow sandals and cream hairbands.

Fridays are good days now.