Trick of the Mind - 02 by Maeryn Lamonte Melanie Ezell's big closet ultimate writer's challenge — Written From The Heart Thanks to Wren Erendae Phoenix for editing/proofing. The contents of the bottom drawer of my dresser, that Dave so nearly saw that first day, were the collection of female clothes I had picked up from charity shops and the like over the previous few years. I hadn’t dared indulge my passion these past months for fear of being visited by Dave and his boot, for fear of my guilty secret getting out, and now here I was, sitting in front of all my friends wearing the prettiest, girliest dress I could imagine.

“Careful,” I told myself. “It’s obvious he has managed to hypnotise you, so chalk one up to Mr Mysterio. What we need to figure out is just how much of a sod he really is. Has he just made me think that I’m wearing this dress, or did he get me to change in real life?”

I looked at the audience. They stared back in breathless anticipation; no help there.

I glanced at the clock at the back of the hall. It had moved on about 2 minutes from when I had first arrived on stage. That wasn’t enough time for me to change into these clothes, but then there was no glass on the clock, it would be easy to turn it back ten minutes.

What to do? If I owned up to thinking I was dressed as a girl, I wouldn’t live it down for a long time. If I claimed nothing had changed and it turned out I really was dressed as a girl, then I wouldn’t live it down ever.

I looked at Dave. He was three quarters of the way down his third pint and it had been half full when I left the table. If this had taken ten minutes to set up he would have emptied his glass and started on mine... I think.

The dress was too perfect. I mean it t fit like a glove and even I didn’t know my dress size that exactly. And what about the design? How could he know this exactly, just what dress my neighbour had been wearing that day and just how much it had affected me?

No this had to be just a trick of the mind. I was still wearing my jeans and tee-shirt, I must be.

I made a show of inspecting myself again then, taking a deep breath and an enormous chance, I stared Mysterio in the eyes.

“Nope, nothing’s changed; this is what I put on to come out this evening.”

Mysterio’s confident grin froze on his face. For a moment I had him then he recovered.

“Would you mind describing for us just what you are wearing this evening?”

I shrugged. “Jeans and a tee-shirt, trainers. You know, what I usually wear.”

“Please would you describe the tee-shirt.” His smile was back, and with good reason. I couldn’t remember.

I made a show of looking down at myself and pulling the apron out to examine it. What was I wearing? Think!

An image appeared in my mind of me combing my hair in the mirror, thoughts of Jennifer running through my head. Yoda was staring back at me.

“Well,” I started, “it’s a sort of browny-green colour and it has a picture of Yoda waving his light sabre. Underneath it says, ‘Away put your weapon I mean you no harm.'”

He was beaten, and I could see he was angry about it. I bit back a smile as he turned to the audience.

“Well folks, it just goes to show that this is an inexact science. I did say there was a possibility that this wouldn’t work, and obviously tonight it didn’t. Please give a round of applause to Richard.”

I was off the chair and walking back to my seat with my skirt swishing around my thighs. I resisted the urge to skip. I had actually pulled this off! Tonight I would get to wear a dress in public and no-one would know.

Back at my seat I smoothed out the skirt beneath my backside and sat down. It was only when Jenny gave me an odd look that I realised what I had done.

“That seat was hard,” I said. “My bum’s gone numb.”

The odd look stayed for a moment longer then she let it go.

Mysterio finished off his act and left to muted applause. Dave was bashing me on the back laughing himself silly.

“Dude you were awesome,” he told me. “You played him like a fish. That was a stroke of genius, making like you went under and telling everyone that your secret fantasy was dressing in women’s clothes, and your worst fear was of being found out. You got everyone’s hopes up then it was him that crashed and burned, totally sweet.”

“Dave, you’re sounding just a bit like Bill and Ted.” I said.

“I can’t help it, you were just so cool tonight, wasn’t he Jen?”

Jen’s look was still thoughtful, so I covered by downing the rest of my beer and getting in the next drinks.
The rest of the evening went fantastically well. Somehow wearing a dress, or at least believing I was wearing a dress, did wonders for my self confidence, and for the first time in the months we’d all been together at university, I was able to hold a conversation with Jennifer.

I switched to cokes quite early, saying I had to get some study done the next day and didn’t want to start with a hangover, but really I didn’t want anything to spoil this evening. When we left the bar I was still feeling pretty sober and found myself very much enjoying the feel of cotton petticoats brushing against my nylon clad legs.

It was cold out so I put my leather jacket on, regretting that it would mess up the overall sense of how I was dressed. It came as a pleasant surprise that as soon as I put it on, it turned into a powder blue duffle coat that seemed to go well enough with the dress.

Jen peeled off as we passed her hall, and I found myself asking if she’d like to meet up for lunch the following day. She agreed and I floated home on cloud nine. Dave was prattling on about something all the way back to our halls, but I wasn’t listening. Conversational autopilot enabled me to give appropriate grunts from time to time, but most of my mind was luxuriating in the feel of being outdoors, in public, in a dress and no-one thinking it funny or disgusting.

All too soon we were back in halls. I made myself a cup of tea and headed to my room, where I have to admit I paraded back and forth in front of the mirror gazing at my reflection. I tried curtsying, sitting, twirling, just about everything to enjoy these last moments.

The instant I had taken off my duffle coat, it had gone back to being my beaten up leather jacket. The same with the Mary Janes; they had turned back into my filthy cheapo trainers the moment I kicked
them off, and I was convinced that as soon as I undressed the evening would be over.

Eventually I couldn’t put it off any further. It was past midnight and I was going to have to do some study tomorrow morning if I was going to be ready for the test on Monday. I slipped off the apron and dress and tossed the jeans and tee-shirt in my hands onto the washing pile. The tights came next leaving me with a pair of worn socks, then the frilly panties turned into a pair of cotton boxers.

I sighed and looked at my naked self in the mirror. My mother’s voice echoed out of the distant past in the back of my mind, “Don’t be sad it’s over, be glad it happened at all”, and I found myself smiling at all to recent memories.

I slipped into my dressing gown and slippers, grabbed my PJs and wash bag and headed for the bathroom.

My mind was wandering, reliving glorious memories of spending the evening with Jen whilst looking more like a girl then she did, so I didn’t notice a few subtle changes until I reached the bathroom. Having locked the door, I turned to the mirror and was shocked to see myself wearing a plush pink dressing gown with bunnies and flowers on the pocket. It looked and felt so much nicer than the tatty blue towelling one I had put on in my room.

I looked down at my slippers to see that my worn moccasins had been replaced by a pair of bunny slippers of the same colour and texture as the dressing gown. They were exactly like the one’s I had been jealous of my little sister wearing a few years back and I wondered if my pyjamas would turn into the My Little Pony nightdress that she had worn at the time. I showered quickly and got dressed for bed.

It wasn’t My Little Pony.

The reflection that looked back at me from the mirror was wearing a light teal satin nightdress with spaghetti straps and a lace bodice. The hem was about mid thigh and when I lifted it to see what was underneath, I found I was wearing a pair of matching silky panties with a small bow in the front.

I couldn’t help myself. All night I had somehow managed to keep myself under control, but now I was bulging massively. I grabbed myself through the silky clothing and exploded with shuddering moan of delight.

I undressed and showered again. I cleaned the mess in my PJs and after brushing my teeth, headed back to my room wearing just the pink dressing gown and bunny slippers.

I dropped the damp cotton PJ’s onto the pile of washing and pulled out a fresh pair from my wardrobe. By the time I had put them on it seemed that I was wearing a powder blue baby-doll with matching frilly knickers. Having shot my load, there was no more reaction from down below, so I climbed into bed with the unfamiliar yet delicious feel of soft lingerie close to my body.

Morning came, and with it the realisation that so had I. My dreams had been erotic, involving Jennifer and myself making out wearing matching evening gowns, so I guess there was no great surprise that there was some physical evidence of the dream. I pulled off the baby-doll and used the pyjamas I found myself holding to clean myself up as best I could. This was getting weird. How long before the trance wore off?

Still, I’m not one to complain about unexpected windfalls and it looked like I was about to enjoy a while longer indulging my secret passion without anyone knowing. I put on my dressing gown, which this time became a silky peach garment with flowers all over it, and headed for the bathroom for another shower.

Back in my room, I grabbed my usual jeans and tee-shirt (Black, I noted, with Motorhead emblazoned across the front; I wasn’t going to get caught the same way as last night again) and climbed into my clothes. By the time I was done and looking into the mirror, my reflection showed me to be wearing a white tee-shirt with slightly puffed sleeves and “Girl Power” in pink sparkling letters over a denim mini-skirt with white lace around the hem and powder pink woollen tights to finish off the outfit. I remembered seeing a fellow student on the bus wearing the same thing yesterday and thinking it was exquisite, but I felt rather vulnerable wearing such a short skirt and found myself pulling the hem down from time to time. I’d have to get on top of that before I went out in public.

I went down to the hall’s communal kitchen and made myself a cup of tea and a couple of rounds of toast. One or two of my neighbours were up and about, but not particularly communicative, suffering from various degrees of hangover and caffeine deprivation. I tried to strike up a conversation or two, but after a couple of grunts and a suspicious look (I had a reputation for being the quiet one in the hall), I gave up and went back to my room.

My usual position lounging on the bed didn’t work as I kept feeling the skirt riding up, so I cleared my desk and sat down to study. With earbuds in and music on, it wasn’t long before my usual selection of heavy metal didn’t seem to fit the mood. I hunted through the playlists for some of the gentler stuff I’d put on in case I was ever lucky enough to have a girl come back to my room.

Two and a half hours later I was halfway through the chapters I had to revise for Monday, and it was making more sense than it the first time through. Somehow sitting at the desk in a skirt and tights with gentler music in the background had focused my concentration.

Still it was now halfway through the morning and my back was stiff. I took the half mug of cold tea down to the kitchen and rinsed it out. I had a few hours to kill before I was due to meet Jen and decided to get the pile of washing sorted. Back in my room I grabbed my laundry bag and started to fill it. I had about two loads in the bag when there was a bang and the door flew into my backside.

“Ow!” Not the most imaginative of responses, but it did seem to fit the situation.

Dave’s enormous grin peered around the door.

“Sorry rabbit.” He said with not the least amount of chagrin.

“I do wish you’d stop kicking my door in, Dave,” I responded testily. “I’ve already lost most of my deposit from the first time you did it. “ I pointed at the dent in the wall.

Dave was taken aback.

“You never said anything about it before mate.”

“I didn’t think I needed to you great lummox.”

“Well sorry buddy,” this time there was genuine remorse, “I just thought it made a difference from knocking.”

“Hey, it’s no big,” I lied, still rubbing my violated bum, “it’s just that one of these days it may be Jen and me in here when you come crashing in, and that could be embarrassing for everyone.”

“Yeah I suppose,” Dave looked like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and a second or two later I burst out laughing.

Dave looked even more hurt, and that was just funnier.

Eventually I managed to get myself under control and said, “I’m sorry Dave but you look so much like a puppy that’s just peed on the carpet and is getting its first real telling off. Maybe I should call you Fido…”

Dave’s lopsided grin was back, but somehow still apologetic

“Make up for me calling you Rabbit all this time, wouldn’t it?”

With a flash of insight I realised how insecure David was. It had really knocked him having me yell at him like this.

“Hey come on, you daft pillock, it’s not like you meant it or anything.”

“I was just going down to the shops,” he said, “can I get you anything?”

“I’m getting low on butter and I could use another couple of pints of milk if you don’t mind.”

I knew I had some change in my pockets, but this skirt didn’t seem to have any. I tried reaching anyway and found my hand inside a small purse that I suddenly noticed over my shoulder — pink of course. I counted out three pound coins and handed them over.

“I think that’ll do it.”

“Yeah, should be fine.”

“I’ll probably be in the laundry room when you get back so could you just write my name on them and stick them in the fridge? There should be a marker in the kitchen you can use.”

“Sure,” he said and sauntered off. The exchange seemed to have settled him, and having something he could do for me seemed to give him back some of his confidence.

“Hey, whoa,” I thought to myself. “What’s all this touchy feely stuff? Put on an imaginary skirt and you start getting in touch with your feminine side; that’s just weird.”

I took the laundry downstairs lost in thought. It’s as well no-one else was in there with me as I caught myself crouching down with my knees firmly together on at least one occasion. This whole thing was going to have to come to an end sometime soon or I’d give myself away even if I wasn’t actually wearing girl clothes.

I sat in the common room while the washing was running through; there were a couple of girls watching some Saturday morning show with songs from the 70’s and 80’s. There were some lads grumbling about not being able to watch the sport, but there is a strict first come first serve policy on the TV in our hall.

Personally I preferred the music as I’ve never had much interest in sports, and some of the songs were pretty good, if dated. I especially enjoyed Summer Nights from Grease with Olivia Newton John dancing around in a plain white cotton blouse and very full, thigh length yellow skirt.

Anyway before long the washing was done so I went back to the laundry room and hung it up to dry. Having done that I figured I should head back to my room and change before going to meet Jen. I’d never much bothered about my appearance before now — probably a major contributing reason as to why I didn’t have a girlfriend yet. Now I had this thought in my mind that Jen might not be too taken with Motorhead.
I kept the jeans on but changed the tee-shirt for a blue check, short sleeve button down, and it was like having an instant makeover. The denim skirt and tee-shirt were gone, as were the tights. In their place was a plain white blouse with Peter Pan collar and a thigh length yellow skirt with several lace petticoats underneath. I was also wearing ankle socks and, as soon as I put on my trainers, a pair of flat white shoes. My leather jacket dutifully changed into a yellow cardigan draped over my shoulders with the top button done up — Sandy’s wardrobe from the film clip earlier.

I made my way down to Jen’s hall of residence, resisting the urge to skip but somehow unaware that I was holding an imaginary clutch purse in front of me. Jen must have seen me coming as she was outside waiting as I approached. She had a quietly triumphant grin on her face and as I walk up to her she fell into step beside me.

“So Richard,” she began, “what are you wearing today?”