Caught In Slips - Part 4

Caught In Slips Pt 4
By Christie Myr

I’d like to thank Emily 63 for providing me with factual information about various places and institutions mentioned throughout this story as she grew up and lives in Australia.

As it turned out, none of the outcomes with Mr Barraclough (the school deputy principal) I’d envisaged about over the weekend ever eventuated. In fact my meeting with him and Mr Mobs (the principal) lasted less than five minutes before I was instructed (when told I was dismissed), to visit the prefect’s room before first period bell and speak to the head prefect who would be expecting me.

At recess I found myself among my small group of friends in the playground unaware entirely that several of the school’s prefects were looking on a discreet distance away out of sight. Several bigger boys were hovering nearby me, loudly telling me that they questioned my manhood and in doing so seemed to attract more boys who curiously wanted to find out what all the heckling was about. The boys who were shouting the insults at me included one in particular who I knew to be a bit of a bully and seemed to dislike me even though I’d never spoken to him.

He came right up to me menacingly, while another of the group rushed behind me and wrapped his arms around me in a type of full nelson grip, thereby leaving me totally defenceless. Before I could feel the first punch hitting my unprotected stomach a loud whistle blast saw the out of sight prefects racing over, whereupon they proceeded to detain my “would be” attackers. By the end of lunchtime the “school grapevine” apparently must have made it known around school that I wasn’t to be harmed in any way, which was confirmed adamantly the following morning when before class, where at a school assembly Mr Mobs announced that several boys had been suspended for two weeks for bullying a student (not publicly mentioning my name thank goodness) and that anyone caught bullying students in the future would be summarily expelled.

After that it still took several days before most of the boys in my different classes started speaking to me again, because regardless of the actual situation that caused the suspensions (which most of them didn’t know firsthand but only through rumour), they still believed I was in some way to blame for the suspended boys punishment. Still, eventually things started returning to normal again and I was left in peace to be with my own small clique of friends as before and the entire episode was allowed to die.

“The Play” as I came to think of it, saw rehearsals being done three afternoons a week, where I discovered that Ms Carmody wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the stories I’d heard about her. The year 12 boys in the play confirmed that she was actually one of the better teachers to have for English classes when we were all hanging around during a (rarely) delayed start to rehearsal since (as it turned out) Ms. Carmody…….sorry “Trisha” to her student actors, was running late.

Although I’d hated the two plays I’d been dragged into previously, Trisha’s enthusiasm and occasional sarcastic comments over some minor error by a student actor (which most of the time I was the culprit), actually made play rehearsals fun and enjoyable. Since there was only seven weeks to prepare and rehearse before the commencement of Drama Week, everything about the play which included the building of stage props, and working out the stage settings, as well as the rehearsals, ensured that Ms Carmody (oops again) "Trisha" drove everyone relentlessly, especially myself till slowly but surely things everywhere started coming together.

I in particular had to learn how to project my voice loud enough so as to be heard at the back of the hall and doing so in a sweet and young teenage girl’s manner (which Juliet was in Shakespeare’s play). Although my vocal volume turned out to be hopelessly inadequate to do so, that difficulty was fixed another way by drama week’s commencement. Trisha had to give me a lot of direction, to ensure I could play my role convincingly, yet none of the year 11 and 12 boys treated me as anything other than an equal (instead of a hopelessly inept year 9 student), which I felt spoke volumes for Trisha’s ability to bring the ensemble together as a unit.

I also endured further rehearsals at home, specifically by mum (who should've plead guilty to being an out and out Shakespearean tragic). She even had Sue and dad playing some of the other character’s part's and lines in the script to ensure I was word perfect for Juliet’s role and we would rehearse the slightly amended script infinitum until mum was satisfied I was word perfect. (Trisha had revised certain wording in the play, because nowadays most people didn’t understand how people spoke back then, as she did for each year’s Shakespearean play)

I was now also (mum was determined) moisturising of an evening with mum carefully supervising how I did it making sure I did my face, neck and arms. As for my hair growing longer for Juliet’s role, Trisha didn’t succeed in getting Mr Mobs to agree to that, while he also informed her to tell me that I’d need to get my haircut over the weekend and report to his office on the following Monday morning to see that I’d obeyed his order. She told me after informing me of the principal’s order that she’d ask around her contacts to find me the ideal wig to wear for my role in the play.

I copped a lot of teasing at school about my role as rehearsals went on, since everyone at school eventually found out about me being in "The Play" and it almost got out of hand after Trisha asked the principal to allow her to address the school at a general assembly, where after a short explanation about how only male actors were allowed to perform female roles back in Shakespeare’s time, asked the school students to address the students who would be performing in her Shakespeare drama to address them as if they were back in Shakespearean times.

She mentioned methods of speaking and behaviour (most of which were wrong and totally stupid I discovered several years later) but her request to the school eventually saw the various year 12 actors (and myself) slated to be the women, being spoken to by students and most teachers in phrases that “they” thought were used during Shakespearean times. It caused a lot of laughs around the school over the weeks leading up to Drama Week. In one instance that quickly circulated around the school, my Maths teacher, Mr Cox (whose student nickname was “Smiley” because every student at Farrer Ag thought he was a bastard with no sense of humour) asked me a question, phrasing it “Wouldst thou fairest Juliet tell this wretched soul the answer to problem 3c and how thou ascertained it?”

When Trisha retold that incident to the rest of the play’s cast at the following day’s rehearsals, it resulted in raucous laughter and humorous jibes directed at me by the others, but she was quick to point out to all of us that it was good advertising around the school for the play when even my teachers were speaking to me that way. Personally, I could have done without the notoriety and when I told it to the family over dinner on the day that it happened, my sister remarked that I could end up being tagged the school dork, if I wasn’t careful! (I’m sure that Trisha wouldn’t have cared what happened to me in the slightest, so long as her blasted play ended up a Drama Week success)

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With three weeks until dress rehearsal, the group allotted to build our sets had most of them practically finished awaiting painting. Since the balcony scene was so well known, the student building group had knocked up a portable balcony which I would be expected to stand on (steadily I hoped) and deliver the (in) famous and short “balcony” lines (then between change of scenes get down from it quietly after the curtain had been briefly drawn and I was out of sight).

In fact at Trisha’s request? (it sounded more like a decree to me) two Saturday morning rehearsals were added so as to perfect that scene along with others and she even invited along actual theatre actor friends to them, who suggested various ideas to try as well as suggesting easier staging ideas to make the production appear even better. As time grew closer to the opening curtain day, Trisha seemed like a whirlwind at every rehearsal. The theatrical group who helped us over the two Saturday mornings, on seeing her efforts at trying to promote Shakespeare in high schools, voluntarily offered to allow their costume wardrobe to be loaned to all of us to wear (after some temporary alterations as was necessary). With that offer the entire cast really would (and did) look more realistic for their roles.

The few sets needed for the play had been completed and looked good as well. So with the scenery completed and with professional outfits to wear instead of the poor and limited school wardrobe to choose from, everyone strove even harder to say their lines perfectly as well as master the cues and prompts. All the actors myself included were confident of remembering and saying their lines, so what could possibly go wrong after all of Trisha’s efforts.

As it turned out, there ended up being only one problem to possibly mar Trisha’s presentation that year and “of course” it had to be “ME” that caused the problem, didn’t it. Why? Because I think Trisha might have been striving just a little too much to make “The Play” be remembered as the best ever to be presented in Farrar Ag’s Drama Week history and become “legendary” to be handed down by word of mouth through succeeding years Drama Weeks, that’s why.

You see, the costume she obtained for me as Juliet, because of my short and skinny build would need considerable altering done to it and after being told how she planned to do to do this, (to make me look as realistic as possible) had me regretfully telling my director words she refused to have spoken at our rehearsals……. "NO, Trisha, I’m sorry but no, that’s just isn’t possible."

As soon as I spoke those ten words, the atmosphere in the hall that afternoon seemed to suddenly freeze over. The entire cast (all of whom I now considered acquaintances, albeit several years older than myself) looked at me in shocked disbelief, hardly believing how “anybody” could possibly say so adamantly, words that included NO to Ms. “Trisha” Carmody. Especially NO about any suggestions she wanted for “The Play”.

I also discovered for the first (and I hoped last) time just how quickly she could change from pleasant to nasty and abrupt with someone, in this instance, ME. She looked sternly at me and told me with a chillingly final tone of voice that I WOULD do what she had so pleasantly asked ME and THAT was the END OF ANY DISCUSSION. Stupidly but resolutely, I again voiced my dissent but asked that I be allowed to explain to her privately after rehearsals why I couldn’t allow what she wanted to do to me for the role. Surprisingly she promptly cancelled the rest of the rehearsal and asked everyone to leave quickly, which saw a lightning fast exodus by everyone, leaving just her and me remaining in the hall.

Once everyone had left, she sarcastically asked me “well I’m waiting for your explanation why you won’t do this Michael Brooks?” I then told her I had a physical deformity that didn’t allow me to be partially naked infront of anyone except my family and doctor and that she should speak to the principal about it, as he had a doctor’s letter stating my condition. She looked at me as if I was an alien from Mars before coldly stating I should leave her presence immediately and that she’d see the principal about having me caned for disobedient insolence!

As soon as my parents got home that evening and before they went and got changed I told them what had happened at rehearsals earlier on. My parents agreed with my actions and told me that only if I agreed to allow a third person at Farrer Agricultural becoming aware of my medical condition, would my gynecomastia be divulged to Ms. Carmody (as I was again now calling her).

Mum was particularly adamant that if Ms. Carmody still wanted me to be in the play (which between ourselves, I was actually still hoping she was even after her ominous threat) then she would first have to sign a deed of confidentiality, before my condition could be allowed to be explained to her. Then mum suggested I ask Ms. Carmody at school tomorrow would she mind visiting her and dad after 7.30pm any evening, so my parents (instead of me) could explain things to her. Sue was told all about what happened at school today (and what might happen) by mum during desert later on.

The following day before I had a chance to speak to Ms. Carmody, saw a note being handed to and read in first period by my geography teacher Mr Maddox. He simply informed me (along with the entire class) that I was to report to the principal’s office at recess. On knocking at the principal’s door later and after announcing my name, I was invited into his office to find Ms. Carmody seated there along with the school nurse who was standing at the far wall of the office. Mr Mobs began by telling me that Ms. Carmody had asked him if he was aware of any existing medical condition that I had that might prevent me form being in her play or possibly cause embarrassment to me if it were made public. He then advised me that she was now aware such a condition did exist (and quickly assured me that he had not informed her what the condition was) and that the school nurse Mrs Carbide was there if necessary as a witness.

I then politely advised Mr Mobs that if Ms. Carmody would agree to sign a confidentiality agreement and would consider visiting my parents any evening after 7.30, everything could be explained to her by my parents (meaning mum). I also said that I really did want to be Juliet in Ms. Carmody’s play, but only if I could do it as professionally as Ms. Carmody’s standards demanded, (which made her smile briefly for a moment) but then unnecessarily reminded Mr Mobs that she would first have to sign the agreement, and provided she still wanted me to be in the play, could hopefully this evening or any other evening, visit my home where my parent’s would explain the difficulty so that she could understand my situation (and problem).

Ms. Carmody silently stood up, walked over to the principal’s desk and promptly signed the three copies of the agreement on it (one was her copy, one the schools, with the third being for my parents) then was again reminded by Mr Mobs about the penalty clauses within the agreement, which included a financial sum considerably greater than her yearly salary. Ms. Carmody to her credit turned and politely (but icily) told me that she expected to see me at rehearsal after school and that I was to tell my parent’s she would call over this evening, before taking her copy of the agreement Mr Mobs handed her and walking out. After she had left, Mr Mobs asked me if I felt that everything had been done to ensure my privacy, which after agreeing it had been saw him dismissing me along with a signed late note to my next class.

Ignoring a few questions from school friends during the day, I went to rehearsals where I tried my best to be word perfect and to Ms. Carmody’s credit, her pleasant cheerful personality saw no one asking or worrying about the previous day’s upset and me again being allowed to address her as “Trisha” if I had any questions about her directions.

That evening just before 7.30pm Ms Carmody’s car arrived at our farm and after being met by my sister and invited inside, I introduced her to my family, (who asked my parents to call her “Trisha”) before mum told Sue she was excused to her room. Mum then sat the four of us in the lounge room where she explained to a quickly becoming incredulous “Trisha”, about my “gynecomastia” condition. After mum asked me to take my shirt and pressure bandage off, “Trisha’s” loud gasp of surprise was quickly followed by an unashamed apology firstly to me and then to my parents along with her assurance that she would never divulge my condition, but that she more than ever wanted me to now play Juliet.

When she finally left just after 9.30 “Trisha” and mum were the best of friends (dad had gone into his study shortly after I had displayed my condition after being nodded to do so by mum). Mum seemed genuinely excited about “Trisha’s idea for my costume along with her other ideas for my appearance. Trisha even more than mum that now knowing my secret, was very enthusiastic and said to my mum that with the right makeup hopefully I’d leave the audiences (both at school and of an evening) in wonderment over Juliet. “Trisha” advised mum who accompanied her (along with myself) to her car that she’d be over in two evening’s time to show both mum and myself the costume she wanted me to wear so that the two of them could do any pinning for a professional seamstress to sew later on.

From that evening on, mum was even more zealous in her efforts to make me walk, talk and act as femininely as possible, which I suffered through stoically. At school (and rehearsals) the following day, Ms Carmody “Trisha” displayed no iota of knowing about my medical condition, although she was now even more exuberant then ever in her directions on how I was saying a certain line or other, necessitating me having to repeat how I spoke my lines until she was satisfied with the inflection in my voice. On Thursday night, dad was given permission for a “night out” so that Mum and “Trisha” (even my sister Sue was allowed to watch) could have me model for Juliet’s costume.

Neither Mum nor Sue showed the slightest amount of embarrassment (unlike myself) to Trisha’s suggestion that I’d need to be dressed entirely like a female if I was to be able to perform the role of a female. She showed mum a plastic bag’s contents which was then handed to me and mum telling me to go to my room and get changed, asking my sister who had enthusiastically stood up to start heading for my room as well, to stay where she was, while mum went and helped me get dressed.

When I timidly walked back into the lounge room ten minutes later, my sister started giggling loudly at my appearance which saw me wearing a white corset (a Merry Widow style was what mum had called it when she helped me into it) and a pair of white cotton panties. Then with “Trisha” directing them, mum and my sister were frequently chuckling as the two of them worked together to tighten the lacing at the back of the corset, that finally saw my stomach being crushed down to where the corset was pinching it and (without me knowing) helping to make my tush balloon out. After mum measured me, she happily informed everyone that her temporary daughter now had a 31-23- almost 30 figure.

Trisha then took command again, asking me to turn around slowly until being told to stop, where upon she and mum exchanged remarks about how my body now looked. Mum’s initial shock at my exposed upper breasts quickly became a thing of the past and to my complete shame was asking both “Trisha” and my sister for their opinions about them. I quickly remarked that I was scared that if I bent forward my breasts would fall out, but Trisha hurriedly assured me (and therefore my mother and sister) that once I put on the dress, my breasts shouldn’t look so risqué. On being asked her opinion, my sister's excited “my breasts are way bigger, but she’s got a butt I’d die for” that had mum and Trisha humorously and enthusiastically saying they were jealous too.

Trisha then went and picked up the black plastic covered dress, which she then carefully took out of the plastic to reveal a very long white satin gown creation, which she asked mum to help her put on me. As they carefully help me into it, I felt the inside lining slide over my skin sending tingles down my spine. Once I was in it and fastened up, the bottom of the dress actually dragged on the floor, which saw mum and “Trisha” helping me to stand on a chair, then taking pins from my sister’s hands one after the other, they pinned the bottom of the dress up so that it no longer dragged on the ground. After being helped back down, I suffered a few sharp pin pricks so that my sleeves were also the right length. The hopes that my breasts would be more discreet were quickly quashed as the neck line of the dress was already cut provocatively low, but at least it covered the tops of my breasts slightly more, thereby offering (in mum’s words) a “slight” modicum of decency.

When the two of them were finished, Trisha placed a long light blonde coloured wig onto my head saying, “now she’s your stereotypically English actress Juliet” to which mum and Sue wholeheartedly agreed although both had white coloured hair themselves. Then “Trisha” told me to sit on a pouf and began (while Sue and mum looked on amused) applying make up to my face. Trisha explained to mum that my makeup would be more severe for the actual performance itself, to allow the stage lighting to be effective. I got fed up repeatedly hearing “he has such lovely skin for a boy” time and time again in tones of amazement by Trisha and agreed with by mum. She then placed/pinned a pointed hat with a veil trailing behind down at the back, on the top of my wig to finish everything off.

Finally I was told I could stand up then gently coaxed by mum into hers and dad’s bedroom, (with Trisha and my sister following behind) where the large mirror reflection revealed the makeup effort’s results. Looking back at me was a quite attractive blonde haired girl in a low cut white satin floor length dress, with a now prominently displayed small rounded pair of breasts that were just covered enough (and only just mum kept reminding me) to be descent in public. For the play I was informed by Trisha I’d be wearing matching coloured ballet flats on my feet, asking my mother if her or my sister might already own a pair I could borrow, which my sister promptly volunteered a pair she owned.

Naturally mum had to take photos because she couldn’t believe her “temporary daughter” could look so lovely, and Trisha was allowed to take several photos on her phone (on the condition they were never to be circulated) so she could look at them later on to see if she thought I might need any changes to my makeup. Regrettably for me, Sue took some phone photos of her own too and uploaded them to the computer in her bedroom……… ending up "temporarily" as her main screen!

Mum and Trisha then commenced the slow and laborious job of having to remove my facial makeup, which entailed using a countless number of tissues coated with cold cream being wiped on my face to remove the makeup. This was followed by lifting off the dress (without pricking me with any of the thirty or so pins still in it) and finally the merry widow corset, which mum helped me off with back in my bedroom. As soon as that (and the panties) came off, I hurriedly put my shirt and shorts back on then along with mum and my sister, I saw Trisha to her car and watched it drive slowly up the long dirt driveway to the main gate before turning onto the bitumen road back to wherever she lived in Tamworth. Mum had told Trisha she'd hand wash the corset and my bottoms and that I'd return them to Trisha the following Monday. After she'd driven off, I spent twenty minutes under the shower trying to make myself clean, (physically and mentally) before mum watched me apply moisturizer my face to get ready for bed.

At breakfast dad greeted me “and pray doth tell fair maiden, how is thou fair Juliet this morning?” so I knew that mum had obviously shown dad her photos of me last night! Fortunately it was Friday today, so there was no rehearsal after school. I also managed to avoid seeing Ms. Carmody either and came home to face nothing more than a printout of Juliet on my bed from Sue which I saw when I went into do my homework after dinner.

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It was almost a relief to have Drama Week finally commence. Our ensemble had managed to get a first and only final dress rehearsal in, but only by staging it on the last Saturday before Drama Week so that none of the student body would see the play beforehand. Everyone had to wear makeup and costumes although "Trisha" organized for me to wear a dodgy old dress from the school wardrobe while I was exempted from makeup too, which amazed everyone there knowing her penchant for perfection. She simply smiled telling everyone there that Juliet would be a revelation when she appeared at Drama Week.

She had also found a way to enable that no one had to raise their voices to say their lines, as her theatre contacts had arranged to loan her (among everything else) ten throat mikes and an amplifier, which a year 11 techno geek (who Trisha asked to come in to do) had a wonderful time tuning to the antiquated school hall speaker system. It worked a treat and our final dress rehearsal allowed everyone to talk normally which allowed them to modulate their voice inflections more easily, especially the women.

In the running order timetable for the student’s two Drama Week days, the plays were presented in school year order, with year 7 commencing the program and finishing up with year 12’s presentation which for the previous five years (and since Ms. Carmody had joined the faculty) had been a Shakespearian adaption. As it turned out Year 12 were to perform straight after lunch on Tuesday, which was ideal in allowing us more time to get ready. This also allowed for year 11’s play which turned out to be a comedy review to be finished at around about normal school lunch commencement.

That meant that several rooms below the stage could be exclusively available to Ms. Carmody to use on top of the normal backstage rooms. It also allowed for the props to be set up and everything sound checked to make sure everything operated correctly. I was placed in a small locked room beneath the stage with Ms. Carmody, initially so she could organize to help me to get dressed. While she’d also do most of my makeup, I was told that one of the year 12 boys would also be helping with that, as he was hoping to go into the theatre on graduating Farrer Ag in two months and was far superior to anyone else at school at putting on stage lighting make up.

When he was lead into the room by Trisha and saw me sitting in the chair he was gob smacked at my appearance. Ms. Carmody told him hat he only needed to apply the makeup necessary for my face to stand out under the hall’s stage lighting and to then go upstairs and make sure the correct lights were set up for each scene, especially for Juliet’s scenes Ms. Carmody instructed him. As he finished and the sheet covering me was taken off, he gasped in amazement at my small pouting breasts which came close to falling out of the top of the dress.

Countless OMG’s from him had Ms. Carmody smirking while explaining to him that my breasts were expensive “falsies” on loan, none of which stopped him from staring. She asked him not to say a word to anybody about me while he checked the lighting, as a shout of “fifteen minutes” from someone outside saw him quickly hurrying out of the room to check the lights. Trisha quickly followed him and left, closing the door behind her so as to make my entry backstage even more dramatic when it happened. I waited in complete trepidation afraid of how the others in the play would react when they saw me.

A tap on the door saw "Trisha" entering and telling me time for you to meet your Romeo fair Juliet, saw me slowly rise off the stool I was sitting on, then after a last slow turnaround and telling me I looked perfect, she led me out the door and carefully up the stairs to the back wings of the stage, where everyone else was waiting. I could hear the muffled drone of murmuring noise as students quietly talked to each other in the hall area infront of the drawn curtain stage. My gradual appearance up the stairs saw excited gasps and exclamations coming from the cast and stage hands as I slowly came into view. “Here’s your Juliet, Romeo, aren’t you the lucky man?” Ms. Carmody proudly announced while everyone started talking at once in louder whispers asking excited questions about my dress, my boobs and how I looked like a real girl.

Trisha chuckled happily as she soaked up the cast and stage hand’s reactions and said that my bust was silicon inserts but it should be priceless to watch and listen to the impact I’d make when the audience saw me. One or two of the braver (and more inquisitive) ensemble couldn’t resist themselves and lightly touched my breasts, which bought stern rebukes for them from Ms. Carmody with the advice “look, but DON’T touch people!”

When the scene came for my first appearance, the sound of 500 gasps of shock followed by a lot of wolf whistles and loudly whispered questions including “who’s the girl” OR “she’s hot” A FEW “I’d screw her silly if she asked me” AND “cheesus, look at her tits” and I’m not so sure that all the voices I could just hear were those of students either because the stage lighting worked both ways in that the audience were mostly unseen in the dark of the hall. The throat mike I wore allowed me and the others playing females to talk gently and quite femininely, so that everyone in the crowd was listening and thinking (in my instance) that I must obviously be a girl that Ms. Carmody had loaned from another school in Tamworth for the play.

In fact, the hall’s acoustics enabled me to hear several students loudly whispering who I could have been since I obviously didn't go this school. I’m not sure if Trisha heard that behind the curtain, but if she did I bet she was grinning like a Cheshire cat. I was trying to give my best impression of a teenage girl too and the audience’s reaction was making everyone else on stage try harder too. You could sense as well as see and hear how the actors were striving for the best performance they’d ever done.

When the curtain came down after the short and final death scene, the volume of applause was louder than anything I’d heard in my previous two years performing on stage behind the now drawn curtains. As we lined up to take our bows Trisha's final training on how to bow was put on display. As the curtain drew back revealing the cast, the male actors bowed while the four women all deep curtseyed, myself having to hold onto Romeo’s arm. My bow was yet another chance for everyone to see my breasts almost came out of my gown even though I was extremely careful and slow when dropping to curtsy and slower still getting up again, while smiling demurely.

After the curtain closed infront of us, everyone involved in the play was excitedly talking about the audiences reactions and particularly to me. The principal came onstage to announce that with the last play ending, students could leave for the day which saw the usual stampede for the school exits. Of course, we had to pose for the school yearbook photo and I was being asked who I actually was and which girl’s school I went to, with two older boys asking me if I’d like to go out after I got changed.

My fellow actors were doubled over in laughter hearing the invitations, as they knew the truth and were just waiting for me to lower the boom (so to speak). It was Ms. Carmody that did that though as she loudly told everyone that we all had to go and take off our costumes and makeup, saying to me as she took my hand and leading me to do mine “I’ll take your makeup off Michael Brooks” which had a number of the year 11 and 12 boys that were still hanging around stunned into total silence or else laughing while pointing at others, I suppose mutely saying to the students they were pointing at “you said she was a girl and you’re dead wrong”.

After the makeup and costume were taken off along with the underwear, I wrapped my moobs down again before finishing dressing then quietly headed back outside where I saw there were still senior boys waiting to look and see who the girl was who’d played Juliet, obviously thinking that Ms. Carmody had been playing a practical joke on everyone. I wonder how long after I left did they wait around till it finally dawned, or perhaps Trisha stayed back to enjoy their astonishment again at being told Juliet was actually a Farrer Ag student and that I’d already gone home. Luckily for me, mum already knew approximately when I’d be leaving so was waiting outside the school gate to drive me home. On the way there I told her all about my “performance” and told her that she’d get to see it for herself tomorrow evening and Friday night as well.

That night at dinner I had to retell the entire story all over again to my sister and dad. I was still hyped up from my performance and listened in surprise as dad told my sister and me that the organizational change he’d all been warning us was in the wings, had been confirmed earlier in the day and that we’d be moving to Uranquinty by the end of the year if not earlier. So next year I’d be attending a new school for my year 10 exams, while Sue would now have the option of attending Charles Sturt University in Wagga Wagga instead of having to go to Melbourne or Sydney if her exams results were good enough.

At school the next day, I didn’t think about our impending move elsewhere, instead having to put up with listening to countless wolf whistles directed at me for my Juliet performance along with a hell of a lot of teasing and even advances from some of Farrer Ag’s more effeminate (and hopeful?) students. I also received a lot of congratulations from teaching staff and (surprisingly enough) students.

That evening’s Drama Night would see one play from years7, 8 and 9 along with Romeo and Juliet to fill the two and a half or so hours. On Friday night it would be the best play from year 10 along with year 11’s revue and Romeo and Juliet that would fill the shorter program. Thursday night was a mix of the best junior plays along with Year 11’s comedy revue. But generally everyone (in R&J) agreed that Wednesday night was more important than Thursday night while Friday night would be “the best of the best drama exhibited by Farrer Ag”.

To say that Romeo and Juliet was a hit on Wednesday evening would have been inaccurate. It was a sensation, or should I say Juliet and cast caused a sensation. But Friday night’s encore where again Ms. Carmody briefly introduced the Shakespearian story, (so that regular attendees each year now knew it by heart) soon surpassed Wednesday night’s audience reaction to the sight of the young boy who played Juliet, although most of the public there still thought it was actually a girl since the program read Juliet..……M. Brooks, (which must have been another part of Trisha's plan) My realistic appearance as a teenage girl (Juliet) left everyone in the audience (not a Farrer Ag student) astounded and was all anyone was talking about outside the school hall congregating around talking after the evening was over.

But in all the excitement backstage after the final performance, wisdom and common sense were somewhat lost in jubilant celebrations of another successful Drama Week finale. Inadvertently, several hopeful and aspiring students from other schools in the area somehow managed to find their way backstage, to have a close up look at the various goings on, and talk with the actors and stage crew (two of them claimed afterwards). Unfortunately my personal dressing room door under the stage was unexpectedly opened by some of them, curious to see what might be in that room and those same mingling students looked in stunned shock as they saw a young boy hurrying to close the door in his underpants (my boys pair thank goodness) with my breasts clearly and prominently on display trying to cover them with arms folded across them

Ms. Carmody had only just moments before left the dressing room to allow me my privacy to get redressed (after taking off my makeup and assisting me to carefully take off the expensive costume) and the room’s door had no lock so there was nothing to prevent what happened. Several of the curious group (who’d snuck backstage) hurriedly took photos of me on their smartphones before they quickly shut the door when they heard Ms. Carmody’s voice (as she rushed back) loudly shouting for them to get away from that door, too late to repair the damage.

She quickly spoke to the interlopers asking them to hand over their phones which she then immediately deleted the photos they had taken of me and her actions would have succeeded in preventing what would eventually result, “IF” she’d gotten all the “correct” mobile phones concerned and that “IF” one of the group hadn’t lied to her about not having a phone.

Somehow, for almost a week after nothing further seemed to happen about the incident backstage and saw the local paper reporting on another Drama Week success including an outstanding photo of Juliet on the balcony. However unknown to myself (or Ms. Carmody) several photos of a boy with breasts were being circulated around among students from another high school in Tamworth which were texted to other phones and so forth and so on until several students at Farrer Ag received phone text messages with attached photos and questions asking them if they knew who the “freak” was?

I soon learnt how vicious teenage boys could be a few days after that when in the playground before school, I discovered I was now the joke of the school as everyone was staring or pointing at me and talking to others standing beside them all of them shouting I was some sort of a freak (or worse). If I could have I would have crawled into a hole somewhere and hid. At lunchtime I went to the sports changing rooms for privacy from the heckling I’d been receiving and to also use the toilets there and had just finished, when six boys barged in and told me I was dead meat. I don't remember anything after the first punch aimed at my face that thankfully had me blacking out, so that way I didn’t feel any of the countless feet and fists that must have followed.

Late the following day (in hospital) I woke up to blurrily see my parents and sister looking down at me with apprehensive looks on their faces, but was to doped to the gills to fully comprehend mum’s explanation for why I was in a strange room and quickly fell unconscious again. The following day and now more lucid, my parents explained what happened. Apparently my disappearance from classes hadn’t been noticed (or discovered) until almost final bell, which after several phone calls to my parents, also triggered a room by room search of the school as well as the school grounds themselves, before I was eventually found unconscious on the tiled floor of the downstairs changing rooms, my shirt torn off and stuffed in the change rooms’ wall waste bin. My face and body were covered in blood along with urine and semen, but I was too tired to stay awake and hear any more. When I was fully awake again later on, dad slowly explained to me again what had eventuated after I was discovered.

Apparently the school contacted my parents to tell them I’d been found and that (as they spoke) an ambulance was transporting my battered body to Tamworth hospital. Dad, normally a reasonable man to deal with was furious about how the school hadn’t only delayed in notifying him and mum about my disappearance, but also that the Principal had also wanted to discuss privately with him and mum about trying to find a way to keep everything out of the press as much as possible, even while an ambulance was taking me to hospital!

Eight days after being admitted to emergency, my parents drove my badly bruised body carefully home. My injuries ranged from three broken ribs, a broken nose three missing teeth and a depressed fracture of my left cheekbone, which the surgeons had been able to correct while also straightening my broken nose. Luckily my eyesight didn’t appear to be effected although I was still having occasional blurry vision and for several days at home had to sleep with a bucket beside me as I was still spasmodically vomiting.

Both my parents wanted to stay home and look after me until I was able to start looking after myself, but mum reminded dad about the move to our new posting and the need to help the person named as his replacement for his job in Tamworth, so instead she stayed at home to nurse me. For several days I feigned sleep to avoid having to talk to her about what had happened and what would happen when we moved away.

Somehow, in my own mind I was torn between what I was physically, which was a castrated boy and how I felt dressed as Juliet, which I hadn’t dared to speak about with anyone, because a part of me really liked how I’d felt and looked as Juliet. Even my own sister said I looked hot that first evening and I kept recalling the expressions on boys faces I saw from on stage and about what I heard them whispering about and how beautiful some of them thought I was.

One morning after my sister had left for school, mum had peeked into my room to see I was OK and told me she was going out to do some shopping. After hearing her drive off I gingerly got out of bed and slowly walked to my sister’s room and went inside. The room smelt slightly like fruit and flowers and looked so bright and tidy. My room was just as neat as hers, yet didn’t “feel” the same and thought I’d actually preferred how her room looked and smelt than my own. I’d never before walked into her room uninvited or ever touched her clothes before, (well perhaps I had when I was three or four and helped mum take in the washing and not being old enough to go to school yet) but that morning I had this need to want to be in her room.

I went over and opened her set of drawers first and saw a myriad of underwear in various colours and carefully picked up one pair after another, sometimes lightly bring them up to and touching my cheek with a pair. Some of them were cotton, some shiny which felt cool and slippery on my cheek when I touched them there. An emerald green colour pair really caught my attention so I replaced the others back in the drawer and taking off my bottoms put Sue’s panties on. My mind silently was telling me “bra next” and I looked through that drawer trying to find a bra colour matching the emerald panties.

I didn’t but quickly remembered my bra size would have smaller than my sisters and saw her bras had tags showing 34C and some 36B or 36C but nothing smaller. I finally however found a quite old ratty looking bra with a label that showed 30B and after some difficulties trying to put it on, somehow worked it out that if I fastened the two clasps at the back of the bra while I held it to the front of my chest, then I could tug it back around so that my breasts could then be held correctly, then while slowly managing to get my bruised arms through the straps carefully eased my two breasts into the cups. I then walked over to the mirror and saw how it looked, before moving over to Sue’s wardrobe to see what clothes I could try on.

On moving the various clothing along the rack I recognised a top and skirt that Sue often wore. Then taking the clothes hangers they were on out of the wardrobe, I placed the hangers on her bed and proceeded to take the clothes off them and put them on me. It still hurt me to lift my arms up in the air, but eventually I managed to put the top on and found the skirt easy to put on by stepping into it and zipping it up. Then I went over and looked in the room’s mirror and was disappointed not to see Juliet in the mirror. All I could see was a badly bruised and swollen face along with purple black bruised arms and legs, wearing a cute apricot top and a snowy white skirt that came down to around half way to my knees. I looked at my reflection for several minutes, occasionally doing half turns to see what I looked like from different angles.

Right at that moment I knew I looked ugly, but remembered how I’d looked being dressed as Juliet started me wondering how I might look in clothes like I had on when the bruising was no longer there. I began asking myself how easy it would be if I tried putting on a little bit of makeup and had longer hair in a style that could suit me and how I’d look in the mirror then?

I “must” have stood infront of the mirror turning from side to side for ages, practicing doing curtseys, before excitedly dashing back over to Sue’s wardrobe and taking out a dress I liked when she wore it, to see how It’d look on me and did exactly what Sue did where she would hold dresses or skirts on hangers up against herself to see how they looked, and in a dazed trance I lost all track of time imagining how I’d look if I was a girl, which was how mum saw me in my sister’s room when she came home from the shops.

I turned around suddenly as I heard a startled gasp behind me and saw mum’s look of shock on her face standing just inside the bedroom doorway. My mind had been (and I think still was) far off somewhere in a happy place daydreaming about how I was a girl instead of a boy and that although I could clearly see mum’s face, my mind was a few seconds slower catching up to tell me how I must appear to look to my mother. Mum’s sudden appearance quickly however had my mind brutally snapped back to the now reality, that was suddenly thinking how ashamed I was at being caught dressed in my sister’s clothes, but surprisingly my subconscious wasn’t ashamed for the what I’d been daydreaming about.

I looked guiltily at mum before bursting into tears, realizing instantly how it must appear to look to her mind’s thinking right then as I asked her in a frightened tone, “what’s wrong with me?” Only moments before mum’s sudden appearance, my mind had been telling me just how good it felt wearing my sister’s clothes while “somewhere else in my brain” another part of my thought process was telling me that I shouldn’t feel guilty or embarrassed and that It DID look (and feel) right wearing my sister things, even though I was her brother.

Mum rushed up and began hugging me, careful of the bruising and telling me what my mind had been saying quietly since I began putting on my sister’s clothes. ”It’s OK honey, no need to feel embarrassed or afraid, mummy always knew you secretly were never happy being a boy.” Then she told me there was nothing wrong with how I felt and that everything would be alright, as she tightened her hug around me comfortingly and protectively and like she always did to me when I was very young, started giving me lots of little kisses all over my face and head, quietly sobbing as well……………I kept asking myself isn’t mum angry with me………Why isn’t she???

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