Darin Dares

Chapter 4 of 7

© 2014 by D.L.

I'm at the age where I'm supposed to become rebellious. I didn't fancy going goth or grungy, so I decided to be different and go girly instead.

The journey home was uneventful. I am able to reach my road without anybody yelling or attacking me. With my wig on, nobody seems to notice me. A few of my fellow students overtook me by bike, but they don't stop.

As I glided along I noticed our neighbour, Mrs Perkins, was out in her front garden deadheading her roses. She glanced in my direction, but failed to recognise me. I took a quick left into my driveway and swiftly skated down the side of the semi-detached house. Our driveway leads to a garage at the back of the house next to the back garden. I unlocked the back door and sat on the doorstep to take off my skates. I carried them indoors with me and I headed to my bedroom.

It was still quite hot, so I decided to take advantage of the warm weather and spend the rest of the afternoon outside. As we couldn't cut the grass at the weekend due to showers, I chose to do that that now. I took off my school clothes and put on a pale yellow summer dress and a pair of white tennis shoes. I lifted my mattress and let it slide off the side of the bed. I carefully laid the uniform I had been wearing on the bed base and pulled the mattress back into position, gently putting it down so as not to crease the clothing underneath. I did this as I am expecting a big argument when my parents get home. I wanted to be able to wear the uniform again the next day and hoped that it will fail to be found and confiscated.

I headed to my parents bedroom and borrowed my mother’s sun hat. It is a straw hat with a very wide brim. It will keep the sun off me while I work. I stepped out into the back garden and across to the shed. Our back garden is surrounded by six foot fencing on two sides, the other two sides being the house and the garage. This means it is secluded and I can only be seen from the upstairs windows of the neighbouring houses, should anybody be there, and then only from certain angles.

I plug in the electric lawnmower in a socket in the kitchen and proceed to mow the back lawn. This only takes me about 10 minutes to cut the small lawn. The back garden is roughly square and is half taken up with paving and a greenhouse.

Up until now I haven't been seen dressed by the neighbours. I could have still changed back into boy mode. However, one of the arguments my parents have against me is that they won't let me dress in case the neighbours see me. I am about to circumvent that argument by letting that happen.

Heading through the house I put an extension cord out the front window. I noted that Mrs Perkins was still outside as I did so. I pulled the lawnmower round to the front of the house and plugged it into the cable hanging out the window. I see Mrs Perkins looking over at me. I smiled and headed over to speak to her.

"Hi, would you like me to mow your lawn while I do ours?" I asked. Our two houses are semi-detached. Mrs Perkins, who I believe to be in her eighties, lives alone. She has had her back garden paved over for lower maintenance, but still has a front lawn that we usually mow for her. Our lawns are connected and form one large piece of grass. The boundaries of the properties on our road are separated by ornate chains hung from two foot high posts. By removing some of the chains, I can mow both lawns at once.

"I almost didn't recognise you, Darin," Mrs Perkins replied. "That's a very unusual outfit you're wearing. It's not very often you see girls in dresses these days, let alone boys."

"In this heat it's actually the most comfortable thing to wear. It’s lighter in weight than shorts and a t-shirt, while also being a looser fit. I would wear dresses more often, but my parents don't let me. They are probably going to go ballistic when they find out."

"I won't mention seeing you dressed up in that case," my neighbour declared. "Why are you wearing that if you know you'll get in trouble?"

"I'm at the age where I'm supposed to become rebellious. I didn't fancy going goth or grungy, so I decided to be different and go girly instead," I joked. Turning slightly more serious I added, "I've always been a bit on the girly side, I'm just taking that to its logical extreme."

Mrs Perkins picked up the cuttings from her bushes and moved out of the way so that I could cut the lawns. I carefully and methodically worked my way across the gardens. I have to empty the grass box a couple of times as I do so. I'm glad I did choose to wear the dress, as it does keep me cooler that the clothes I normally wear.

As I finished I saw Mrs Perkins come round the corner of her house carrying a tray with two glasses of fresh apple juice. I took one and sipped the refreshing cold liquid. I like our neighbour. She is a kind old women and I get on with her well.

We were discussing some of the plants in her garden when I hear a car pull up and go into reverse. Turning round, I saw my mother starting to back into our driveway. She glanced across in our direction and I caught the look of surprise on her face as she recognised me. Her gaze was broken by the screaming of the reverse parking sensor as she came off the edge of the drive. Before she could react the car came to a sudden halt as it hit the fence post separating our drive from our other neighbours.

My mother flung her car door open and stormed round to the back of the car to survey the damage. Her face was like thunder as she paused to take in the situation before turning and approaching me.

"What the hell do you think you are doing dressed like that?" my mother asked me sternly. She wasn't shouting, but the anger was very evident in her voice.

"Mowing the lawn," I answer, "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Don't take that tone of voice with me young man! Get inside and take off that ridiculous outfit this instant and don't you dare come out wearing another outfit designed for a girl. I want you out here dressed properly as a boy a.s.a.p."

I handed my glass back to Mrs Perkins as I shrugged my shoulders, before turning and heading inside. If my mother hadn't specified boys’ clothes, then I would have simply changed to a skirt and top. However, she was wise enough to stipulate that I should dress as a boy. I don't want to directly disobey her, but I do have one final trick up my sleeve. I head to the bathroom and quickly rinse myself under the shower. I head back to my bedroom wrapped in a towel and pull out my forth outfit for the day. I began by putting on the white shirt I started out with first thing this morning. I then pull out a red tartan kilt. I'm not cheating with this, as it is a real kilt designed for a boy, not a girl’s skirt that just happens to look like the part. I even have a sporran to hang from my belt. I'm tempted to go traditional and not wear anything underneath, but I'm not comfortable with that, especially as Mrs Perkins might be watching when I go outside, and I don't think she would appreciate being flashed if my mother decides to try and remove the kilt. Instead I put on a clean pair of male underpants.

I put on my normal black shoes and walk back outside. My mother and Mrs Perkins are stood at the rear of the car discussing the large dint on the bumper. My mother turns round as I approach and she doesn't look happy. Before she can say anything I get in first, "Satisfied now? I'm not wearing anything designed for a girl. Everything, including my underwear, is strictly masculine, and this is a proper kilt, not a skirt, before you accuse me of anything."

I stand and face my mother, who is at a loss for words. I could see that she was absolutely livid, but rather than shying away like I have in the past, I stood my ground. I wasn't going to back down this time.

After several tense seconds my mother screamed at me, "Fine, you want to make a prat of yourself go ahead. Now put that lawnmower away and clean up this mess."

Mum stormed off inside, slamming the back door as she went in.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she'll calm down, dear," Mrs Perkins declared, probably to break the awkward silence more than stating an actual belief.

"Not if I have anything to do with it," I replied. On seeing a puzzled look, I elaborated, "this argument has been building for a while and I'm not going to back down or let it drop. I'll apologise in advance if there is a lot of yelling this evening, especially when Dad gets home."

"Well take care, and good luck," Mrs Perkins answered before heading home. I quickly finished emptying the grass box and wheeled the lawnmower back to the shed before heading inside myself to face the music.

My mother was in the bathroom when I entered the house. I decided to head to my room and stay there. I made a start on my homework and waited to see if the argument was going to continue. It didn't and I'm left in peace for the next hour while my mother made dinner.

I heard my father’s car reverse into the drive. Having finished my homework, I descended the stairs to meet him as he entered. Our lounge and dining room are open plan. I positioned myself on one of the three piece suite chairs, kneeling on the cushion, facing the back of the seat. I can see into the kitchen from here, but my parents can only see the top half of me over the back of the chair. My mother didn't notice me as she had her back to the door while peeling some potatoes over the sink. I can tell from her body language that she is still in a mood.

My father enters the back door and immediately notices the annoyed expression on my mother’s face.

"Is something wrong?" Dad asked tentatively as he passed. My mother didn't respond. Seeing that she was angry, he decided it best to leave her to calm down a fraction, and continued into the front room to deposit his briefcase under the computer desk in the corner and take off his shoes. Seeing me, or at least the top half of me, he asked, "I see you cut the grass. You did Audrey's lawn as well?"

I nodded as I answered, "Yes, but I didn't strim the edges as I had homework to do. Besides which, Mum arrived home so I wouldn't be able to finish anyway."

We have a band of grass going down the centre of our driveway, between the two concrete strips that the cars run on. With a car parked in the drive, it’s not possible to cut all the grass. I had mown that first as I knew Mum may arrive home before I could finish.

"I think the strimmer is out of cable anyway," my father stated, "I'll take a look after tea."

"I wouldn't be too pleased, if I were you," my mother said as she joined the conversation. Turning to me she added, "Come out from behind that chair. Are you still wearing what you had on earlier?"

I got up and walked to the side of the chair so that both my parents could see I was still in a kilt.

"You mowed the lawn in that," my father said as he started to laugh at me.

"No, this material is far too hot and heavy for this heat. Mum ordered me to change after she crashed the car, which for the record is not my fault," I said in a calm even tone, ignoring both the laughing and the stares from my mother. I nonchalantly walked over to the dining room table and began to set three places.

"What did you hit? The lawnmower?" Dad asked to Mum as he walked to the back door to inspect the damage. My mother followed him out, and I tagged along at the back. I figured a shouting match was about to start, but hoped that being outside would limit the argument.

"The dint may spring back out, but it'll certainly leave a mark too deep to polish out," he said as he inspected the damage to the car.

"I've a good mind to make Darin pay for this out of his allowance," Mum stated in annoyance, "If he hadn't have distracted me prancing round like a girl, I wouldn't have nudged the post."

My father turned to me with raised eyebrows. I responded with, "I wasn't prancing; I was stood still next to the rose bushes talking to Mrs Perkins. I also object to the word 'like'. You could have braked or ignored me and watched what you were doing."

"What exactly were you wearing?" My dad asked.

"Show him!" my Mother instructed.

I led my parents inside and up to my bedroom where the dress I was in earlier was hanging on the front of my wardrobe.

"You were wearing that?" My father exclaimed to which I simply nodded. "This stops here and now. I will not having people see you cross-dressing," he continued, "what would your friends think it they saw you in that?"

I couldn't help but grin at his question. I already had an answer planned for this. "Name one of my friends who you think would be upset by seeing me in that?"

This causes my father to stop and think. I can see him trying to rack his brain for any name. He has to glance at my mother for inspiration. I don't exactly have many friends as I don't fit in very well. Kevin is probably my best friend at the moment, but we have only been talking for a few weeks and I haven't mentioned him to my parents. The fact they are struggling to name anybody shows both my lack of social skills in making friends and the lack of communication within our family about our lives.

"Holly down the road would definitely laugh at you," my mother injected to break the awkward silence left by my father. I find it amusing that the only person she can think of is one of the neighbouring girls on our street.

"Holly is the ultimate tomboy, and would laugh at anybody wearing a dress, regardless of their gender. I don't think she is a good example," I replied. "If that is the only person you can think of whom I'm friends with I think it proves that you don't know a lot about me, or at least refuse to acknowledge that I don't fit in as a boy. Also, why are you assuming that I'm keeping secrets from my friends? My friends know that I'm really a girl and are the ones who helped me obtain this clothing in the first place."

"If you think you're a girl, you really do need you head examined," my mother stated, "or do I need to give you a biology lesson about what I know is between your legs."

"Hallelujah! You're finally getting it. Yes, I do need my head examined. Please go ahead and book a doctor’s appointment. I think I'm a girl in a boy's body. That is a recognised medical condition and can be treated. At the very least I should be in professional counselling to work out my problems."

"You've been watching too much television," my father accused, "you don't need to have some quack filling your head with new age bullshit. You're male. Get that in your head and get used to it. You can also hand over these stupid girly clothes before anybody else finds out about them. How many people know about your cross-dressing? Obviously Mrs Perkins and probably some of the other neighbours saw you, and you said some of your friends know."

I have to think about this for a few seconds. There are around 800 pupils at my school, and considering the rumour mill I would expect three quarters of them at least would know that a boy turned up as a girl today. Factor in that at least a quarter of those have probably told their parents or siblings. Assuming the average family has 2.4 children, which gives a total family size of 4.4. Round that to four and a half, to make the maths easier, and times by 150 to get 675. Add back in the three-quarters of six hundred and you are already up to 1,125. The teachers would probably tell their spouses and we have getting on for thirty staff.

After throwing the numbers around in my head I conclude, "I would say approximately twelve hundred people by now probably know I'm a cross-dresser, although I doubt they all know my name or could pick me out of a crowd. That will obviously increase exponentially as time passes, although the wider the knowledge spreads the less likely the people are to actually know who I am and simply know that there is a gender variant child living in the town."

I think that one shocked my parents. I suspect they were perhaps thinking single figures, or low double figures at the worst. I decided to push the point further, "You can confiscate my clothing if it will make you feel better, but really you're only closing the stable door after the horse has bolted. I've stopped hiding what I am, and I'm not going back in the closet. You can make me look like a boy, but I'm no longer going to pretend to act like one.”

At this point I had expected my father to throw the old argument of 'while living in my house you follow my rules,' in which case I would have started to pack the suitcase enquiring where they wanted me to live instead. They can't chuck me out at my age, as they are legally responsible for me for several more years. However, it’s me who gets the surprise when my father asks, "If you so keen on living as a girl, then you will have no problem spending the next fortnight dressed in either skirts or dresses? Hand over all your trousers and jeans. If however, you are unwilling or unable to do this, then you will give up this nonsense for good."

I was sure that there was probably a catch to this, but I didn’t bother to work it out and immediately agreed to the challenge, "Fine, I'll not wear anything remotely masculine for the next two weeks. I'll be the most girlish girl I can. However, as I have limited clothing I'll need to supplement my wardrobe with some of my more unisex t-shirts and shorts in order to have enough to wear, unless you plan on buying me some more outfits."

My mother interrupted, "Don't be ridiculous, Luke. Darin can't go to school dressed as a girl."

I see a sly grin appear on my father’s face. He was counting on the fact that I'd be forced to attend school as a boy. Unfortunately for him, I've already got permission to attend dressed in a skirt. The only thing I don't have is a girl's P.E. kit, but as shorts and a t-shirt are unisex, I suspect I can get away with it. The girls are supposed to have gym skirts instead, but they can get away with shorts or culottes as well.

I ignored my mother and instead asked, "Would you like me to change back into the dress now, or do you consider the kilt girly enough to stay in until bedtime?"

I didn’t get an answer as the kitchen timer went off and my mother went to see to the vegetables. My father stayed a few seconds longer before also turning and leaving. The kilt is nice, but a bit heavy for summer wear, so I took the opportunity to change back into the dress. I arrived back downstairs as the meal was being carried to the table. I got some condescending looks, but nothing was said. We ate our meal in silence.

After tea, I grabbed my reading book and sat gracefully in a chair with my legs pulled up under me. There I remained until bedtime, ignoring the stares from my parents. As I went to the loo and brushed my teeth I reflected on the day’s outcome. I had successfully presented myself as a girl all day, keeping up my resolve and not chickening out. The result of the argument with my parents was a lot better than expected, especially as I still hadn't revealed that I'd spent the whole day as a girl. I felt extremely comfortable as I slipped into bed that night. I was wearing a pair of cotton pyjamas like I normally did, but these were pink and covered with hearts.