Disguised in Skirts (Part 2)
Transgender FictionPart Two, By Clare Cavendish
"I can't," He whispered.
"You've got to," She replied, firmly but encouragingly.
"Lift up your arms," she ordered. He continued to stare at her.
"Do you want me to put you on that train?" He shook his head vigorously.
"Then lift up your arms." Slowly he did as he was told and his mother slipped the dress over his head. She knelt down in front of him and did up the little buttons down the front of the bodice. She stood up and looked at him, nodding her head with satisfaction. The dress fitted him perfectly. With his full head of now blonde hair nobody would associate him with Roger, she decided.
"Sit down," she said kindly, handing him the white ankle socks to put on. As he pulled them on his mother produced a flat heeled pair of white court shoes. They fitted perfectly.
"Come over to the dressing table," she said.
He went over and sat down in front of the mirror staring in horror at the little girl that was him.
"It's lucky we managed to stop your father having all you hair cut off," his mother said. It was, in fact, almost shoulder length - not at all uncommon in the early seventies.
"No!" Roger protested as he saw his mother produce two wide pink ribbons.
"Don't be silly, Roger," she sighed, "It's all part of the disguise."
Roger sat silent and miserable as he watched his mother tie two large bows in his blonde hair - one each side of his head.
"There," she said triumphantly, "Nobody would ever guess that you were a boy now. You really do look very convincing," she smiled.
"It's so embarrassing," muttered Roger.
"You'll soon get used to it," his mother assured him brightly.
He stood up, his beribboned head downcast, his hands automatically searching for non-existent pockets. Eventually he simply clasped them in front of his skirts.
"Rita - that's what we'll call you. From now on you're Rita. Alright?"
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