Now I knew Ros was at work, her roommate Rose was downstairs with mum, and dad was at work, add to that, that I rarely got to go into the girl`s room, I instantly knew she was after something, and had high hopes, my mind instantly doing cartwheels! She led me along to the room, which I must say was ultra-tidy, in fact clinically neat, not a hair out of place not a bedcover ruffled, a complete contrast to my own, though I had tried more since mother had visited, perhaps in the hope of a return tryst! My sister turned to me, stood me in the centre of the room and sat down on the dressing table stool, placing her finger on my lip as if to say “silence!”After regarding me quietly for a second or two as I stood like a guilty man awaiting sentence, she asked if “what I said last time we met was the truth or some boyish ploy to get into her knickers!” I swore it was the truth, (though I admit now it was doubtful if I could remember all I had said!) she said “you said that there was an. .Aunt May was right: inside all thedresses and lingerie there was still a boy. When my mother found out that I hadn't gotten it out of my system,she wasn't as disappointed as I had thought she might be. I'vewondered sometimes whether she had been wishing for a daughter and wasletting me dress up as a way of fulfilling that wish. I've read thatsome boys' mothers do that. In any case, she resigned herself to mydressing with remarkably little trouble. Our joint conspiracy againstDad's finding out resumed. That year, whenever I didn't have gym or football practice, Iwore panties under my clothes when I went to school. And--wonder ofwonders!--for the class play they needed a boy to play a drag role (itwas some obscure and probably deservedly forgotten comedy), and I gotthe part. My Dad thought it was a hoot: his son, the tough littlequarterback, in a drag role. Apparently school theatrics were anexception to being a little man. But what a treat, to go on stagedressed as a.
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