I was dancing with Simon and one of the other girls walked up behind me and pulled down the zipper on my dress. Of course my boobs were displayed which was embarrassing enough, but then the glue came unstuck and they fell on the floor, exposing me as a fake. Astley was furious, and hit me across the face. Everyone else was stood around laughing, to make matters worse, I felt myself peeing with humiliation and fright.

Charlotte’s Tale.
Part 6.
by Angharad.

It looked as if I was going to this blessed dance thing with Prince Charmless, whatever I thought about it. Astley, what a dipstick for an escort! I suppose, he would be safe, at least he isn’t likely to try anything on, is he. Or is he?

I mean he’s familiar with me as I now am, and as I was. Okay, so he may think I’ve had surgery, he may think that my chest is real, he may also think the moon is made of green cheese for all I know!

At the moment, he has the initiative. I need to get some of it back, then I shall feel a bit safer. Quite how I shall do that, I don’t yet know. I just hope he isn’t aware that it will be happening. If I don’t take some initiative, then he will call all the shots, and I will simply be his puppet. That fills me with dread. Actually, the whole thing fills me with dread. I don’t really want to go, but twenty five quid, is twenty five quid. I could use the money.

After dinner, I checked out the dress I’d worn to the concert. It was clean, and still fitted me. In fact, in donning it, I recaptured some of the sense of self, I’d had at the concert. Without wearing any makeup and with my hair in a pony tail, I still looked a babe, with the rest of the disguise, I would look a hot one!

I had to. My only chance of holding my own with Astley, meant I had to be an equal. He was bigger and stronger than me, he was also older which gave him the advantage. However, I was far more visually attractive than him, and if used carefully, could level things enough for me to make some things go the way I wanted, not just be a puppet.

I recalled the fun I had with the boys at the rehearsals and the concert. I felt in total control then. It was true that the competition was going to be stiff, or should that apply to the boys? Anyway, I felt I had as much chance as any of the other girls, all I had to do was be aware of them, not seem too much of a threat if possible, at the same time not allow any intimidation. A tough assignment.

Astley has no idea how difficult this is going to be for me. He just wants a bimbo on his arm, to show off to his peer group and rivals. I want some fun and a share in the profits. Looking like I did before, I might just pull it off.

I went to bed, but sleep was difficult. I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, plotting and scheming, then rehashing and starting again. Eventually, I suppose I fell asleep. I must have done, ‘cos I remember waking up in a horrible dream.

I was dancing with Simon and one of the other girls walked up behind me and pulled down the zipper on my dress. Of course my boobs were displayed which was embarrassing enough, but then the glue came unstuck and they fell on the floor, exposing me as a fake. Astley was furious, and hit me across the face. Everyone else was stood around laughing, to make matters worse, I felt myself peeing with humiliation and fright.

When I woke up, I was wetting the bed, something I haven’t done since I was
about two or three. I was crying with shame with fear and everything else that accompanies them. It was awful.

Thankfully, the bed wasn’t too wet, so I just shoved a towel over things and after changing my nightdress, I went back to bed, still upset, but so tired that I fell asleep.

More dreams followed, in one Jane called me “Charlotte”, which gave the game away and soon everyone knew who I was. In another, Astley and Watson had a fight over me, and Watson was winning when I woke up in fright.

I did go back to sleep, and tried to think positive thoughts about tomorrow, but it was difficult. Fatigue or exhaustion eventually set in and I did finally sleep awaking late the next morning. Mum let me sleep in, because she knew I was tired and that I’d be having a relatively late night.

I very shamefacedly told her about wetting the bed, and too my surprise, she was very understanding. However, she made me strip it, turn the mattress after wiping it and spraying it with one of those fabric fresheners, then remaking it. I also had to put my dirty linen in the washing machine, and when ready hang it on the line.

I had done it before when helping around the house, but not very often. Mum simply said, “All girls and most boys should learn how to do the washing. One never knows when circumstances will require such expertise.”

“Expertise,” I thought, it hardly takes a brain surgeon to drive a washing machine. Sometimes Mum can seem awfully pompous! In principle she was probably right, everyone should know how to do the washing or at least use the machine, like they should be able to cook a basic meal or vacuum the house. Even my dad can do most of it, although he prefers to act stupid and let Mum do it.

I know in days gone by, most men could hardly boil an egg or make a cup of tea. My grandfather, was apparently like that, helpless in the house, whilst Grandma was not allowed to do much in the garden or to the fabric of the house. Apparently, Grandpa was a dab hand at DIY, which is where my dad gets it from, I s’pose.

While the washing was going round and round, I went off and began my preparations for the evening. My heart was pounding just thinking about it. Was I making a huge mistake?

I’m not sure what set off the teenage tantrum, forgetting to put my dirty nightie in the wash or dropping the hair dye, but I really went off on one. On reflection I know it was stress, the worry about the dance, but the air turned blue as I stamped around, shouting and swearing at the top of my voice.

My mother came up to remonstrate with me and to ascertain the cause of the minor nuclear detonation. She overheard me using rather unlady like words, and I don’t mean gosh or golly, which she insisted I desist from using immediately. I told her to, “piss off”, not something I would normally want to say or dare to say to her. Her reaction was rapid.

“That does it young lady, you can go to bed, now! Cinderella will not go to any ball. How dare you speak to me like that!”

Already in tears of frustration and anger, I burst into a heavy sobbing session, apologising profusely, that I hadn’t meant to say it, it had just slipped out. But I went off to my room, and got into the bed. Astonishingly, I was asleep within minutes, as if the effort of the tantrum had depleted me of all my energy.

I didn’t notice the time when I went to bed, so didn’t know how long I’d been there when my mother awoke me. I had slept through lunch and it was now about three in the afternoon.

“How do you feel now?” she asked me.

“Much better,” I replied yawning. “I’m sorry I was rude to you.”

“I should think so too. However, you need to be punished. I think I shall stop you going to the dance tonight.”

“Okay.” I said feeling a deep sense of relief.

“You don’t sound very upset about it.”

“I’m not.”

“You’d better phone Simon and tell him.”

“Oh dear! I was kinda hoping you would do that as you were stopping me from going.”

“Indeed I won’t. You can do it as part of your punishment.”

“You realise he will kill me the next time he sees me, and Jane will suddenly stop seeing me.”

“Should have thought of that before you were rude to me.”

“I know Mum, and I did say I was sorry, or weren’t you listening?”

“Charlotte, you are doing it again.”

“Doing what, for God’s sake!”

“And again. How dare you speak to me like that!”

“I’m not doing anything.” I shouted, tears running down my face as I pulled the bed clothes over my head and lay down on the bed.

I felt my mother get up off the bed and heard her footsteps walk across the bedroom floor. I lay there listening for some while until I fell asleep again.

An hour later, Mum woke me again. “If you are going to behave, we might be able to negotiate some way out of this impasse.”

I lay there without saying anything.

“I have spoken to Simon, and he was very upset to hear what had happened, agreeing that you should be punished. However, it would also greatly inconvenience him for you not to go.”

“I don’t care Mum, I’ll stay home if you want.”

“Please don’t interrupt Charlotte. I have decided that you will go as Simon’s escort, and you will act the part.”

“I think you were right the first time Mum, I’ll stay home this evening as a punishment.”

“Don’t you want to go then?”

“Not really.”

“Why ever not?”

“Can’t be bothered. He only wants me to go to act as his bimbo.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t.”

No, I thought, he wants me to go to win his bet.

“Anyway, I told him that you would be ready for seven, and as it’s now after four, I think you’d better get up and get yourself ready.”

“No, I’ll stay in and finish my punishment.”

“Didn’t you hear me Charlotte? I distinctly said you’d be going, so you had better get up and get ready. Don’t you have to dye your hair again?”

Reluctantly, I got out of the bed and went towards the shower. I really didn’t want to go anymore. The idea of fun had receded and I was now more fearful of coping with the other girls, or of being discovered. It would only take one slip of Astley’s great gob and him to call me Charlotte, and I could be identified, and then vilified.

However, I also gave my mother great respect, so if she told me to do something, and reinforced it, she meant it. She had also been duped into giving her word to that polecat Astley, so I had to honour that promise. It didn’t, however, mean that he wouldn’t pay for it, when I got the chance to avenge his duplicity.

I dyed my hair dark again and dried it, my mother helping me to style it in a slightly more ambitious manner than we had for the concert. I checked out the breast form. It was stuck on securely, and I applied the necessary covering make up. I could hardly see a join in the bright light of the bathroom, and I knew where to look.

Then, my sexy underwear, even though no one would see it, and my patterned tights. Finally the dress, my cleavage displayed enough to whet most of the boy’s appetites.

I did my makeup, heavier than for the concert, emphasising my eyes with dark lines above and below, and my eyebrows became much darker to match my hair. Finally, a pink lipstick and matching nail varnish. On with my shoes, a squirt of Anais anais, some jewellery and my watch to finish. I was ready. It was six forty five.

I checked out myself in the mirror, once more I was a hot chick. Up to now I had been so busy with my preparation, I’d had no time to feel apprehensive. Now I had time, and the butterflies in my tum were turning into eagle sized objects. Nevertheless, the effect I had of seeing myself as the finished ‘babe’ seemed to calm the anxiety to manageable levels. A little was good, it would keep me on my toes.

I thought I looked better than ever, Astley would blow a fuse when he saw me and hopefully mess his pants, the dirty rat. If I got the chance to brush against his little woody, then I would. To have him make a mess in the front of his trousers would be reasonable revenge. Things were becoming better by the minute.

The door bell disturbed my musings, he was here! Oh bugger. I suddenly felt the shadow of the grave fall across me and all my confidence left me. My mother came to get me, and led me silently down the stairs.

“Simon, may I present Miss Christine Monk.”

Astley was stood with his back to us watching the telly, he spun around as my mother spoke and his mouth dropped open.

“Jeez, is that you Charlotte?” he asked, his voice squeaking a little as he said it.

“No, I’m Christine, if you can’t get my name right now, how are you going to cope all evening. There’s no point in going with him, he’s a prat!” I pouted and folded my arms across my chest.

“She does have a point Simon.” Chipped in my mother.

“I’m sorry about that,” started Simon, “I was so knocked out by your appearance.” I could almost see the pound signs whirring in his brain. “I think I can manage to remember, you do look quite different, actually, you look fantastic. If I didn’t know better, I think you were a girl.”

“Astley, you dip stick, I am a girl.” This was becoming evermore farcical.

“Yeah, you know what I mean.” His stare was drawn to my chest. It was not an unusual experience, but it was irritating unless I wanted something.

“Christine is a young woman, and I expect you to take good care of her, young man. I want her back safe and sound before midnight. Do I make myself clear?” said my mother in a firm voice which nearly took his attention away from my chest.

“Simon!”

“Yes Mrs Church.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes Mrs Church, I’ll take great care of Char….I mean Christine.”

I pouted and protested but to no avail, she ushered us through the door, handing me my small handbag as we went. The sound of a taxi outside, reminded me, we were only minutes away from disaster. “Oh hell!” I thought to myself, as we boarded the cab and were driven off to the school. As we drove, I noticed the cab driver was glancing frequently in his mirror, and I knew he wasn’t looking out the rear window.

We were dropped by the taxi, in the school car park. It was a warm evening, yet I was shivering with fearful anticipation, no, make that dread. There were boys and girls milling about outside, some in groups some in pairs or even singles. The assortment of fashions on parade varied from simple jeans and tee shirts to complex collections of zips and straps sported by the Goths.

Simon was wearing a pair of K K, grey trousers and a grey and white striped designer shirt. He had a thin gold chain around his neck and a gold men’s bracelet on his right wrist. He looked tidy and casual. He had his arm around me as we waited in the queue to enter the dance, I could feel the warmth of his hand on my back.

I thought about placing my arm around his waist, but wondered what his reaction would be, and would it be encouraging him to do things I wasn’t sure about?

Would he see me as a boy or girl. The bulge in his pants tended to suggest the latter, but I wasn’t sure enough yet to do anything too affectionate, or if I would do anything which might be described that way.

The girl in front, with her hand around her boy’s waist was wriggling and laughing as he fondled her bum. She gave me an up and down stare, checking out the opposition, saw Simon’s hand on my shoulder and half smiled at me. She was wearing a gypsy skirt with cami top, and a fringed shawl. She had high heeled boots on. I liked her boots.

“Hey Astley, dig de bitch, how come she wit a clown like you?” Called a large black lad called Oskar Medigo. He had been another of my tormentors. “Hey bitch, if he ain’t big enough in de trouser department, you know where to come.” He laughed at me, showing enormous white teeth.

My response was to feel intimidated, and to shrink back against Simon, who wrapped his arm around me in a proprietorial cum protective gesture. He spoke quietly to me, “Don’t worry about him Chrissie, he’s all wind and piss.” This relieved my tension and I laughed almost hysterically, nearly wetting myself in the process.

“Hi Simon.” The greeting came from a pleasant faced young man, red haired and freckled. He was wearing a denim shirt and jeans. It was a boy called, Sam. I couldn’t recall his other name. “So you got her to come then?”

“Yeah, piece of cake wasn’t it babe? She’s crazy about me aren’t you?” I blushed and looked at the floor.

“Don’t you mean, crazy to be with you?” Joked Sam.

“Where’s Louise then?” asked my escort of his chum.

“Just gonna go find her. She’ll be late I ‘spect, she usually is.” They laughed together and Simon rubbed his hand up and down my arm.

I really wasn’t sure what his signals meant. He seemed to have forgotten my past, but was all this just for show? He hadn’t tried to kiss me yet, would he? If he did, how would I respond? Serious questions, so far no answers.

We queued for about ten minutes, moving slowly towards the gymnasium where they held such events. During this time, several other boys spoke to Astley, they only spoke to me in mockery of him, or as if I was an extension of him. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

I reasoned that, I’m supposed to be a stranger here, whereas Simon was on his home territory. Lots of people knew him, few if any knew me.

I overheard two boys talking about me. “That babe in the black, the one with Astley, yeah with the tits. Wasn’t she the singer from the concert? Something monkey?” They laughed at their joke. I pretended not to hear. “How did he manage to pull her? Nice tits, bum’s a bit small but okay.”

I decided eavesdropping was not a good idea. Mum always says, “Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves.” To be seen as a sex object both pleased and disgusted me. I was having a minor impact.

As we got closer to the doors, so the noise from within grew louder. I knew there was a disco, what was unknown to me, was the karaoke, which would become a feature of the evening.

Jimi Hendrix, was blasting ‘Voodoo Chile’, as we eventually managed to get into the gym. There was a basic lights show, with strobes and occasional coloured lasers flashing. It was difficult to hear anything anyone said.

I found us some seats, Simon went off to get us some Cokes. While he was gone, three or four boys attempted to pick me up. I waved them away, all the time feeling far more vulnerable than the imperiousness my gesture conveyed. I spotted Watson on the far side of the room, I hoped and prayed Simon would be back before he saw me.

I followed his progress as the boy-mountain weaved between the dancers on the far side of the gym, at the same time trying to make myself look inconspicuous. This is quite difficult when one has spent much of the afternoon trying to achieve the opposite in one’s appearance.

Just as Watson saw me, Simon cut across the dance area and beat him to the spare seat. “Hi Watson,” he cheerfully greeted his rival. “I think we have some business to conclude.”

“Hi Astley, tomorrow okay?” Then looking me in the eye, he said, “Hello Christine, remember me from the concert?”

I pretended to blank for a moment, then smiling replied, “Oh yes, you gave me those lovely flowers.”

Upon my recognition, his face lit up like a flash bulb, it was that sudden. “It was my pleasure. You have a fantastic voice.” It wasn’t my vocal cords he was looking at however, but the down the front of my dress.

“Glad you liked it.” I smiled back at him, making Simon distinctly twitchy. I caught his angry glances a couple of times, but continued my flirting with the dinosaur.

Finally, Astley lost his patience with me, and dragged me onto the dance floor. “I hope you dance as well as you flirt, you slut.” He growled in my ear.

I had no idea, I had never danced as a girl except at home, where I often mixed it with playing air guitar.

I simply copied what other girls were doing to the bouncy beat of a record I’d not heard before. No one seemed to take any notice of me, so I presumed it was acceptable, jiggling my boobs and bum in time to the music, like the other girls.

It certainly had an effect on Simon, there was something decidedly friendly in the way he pulled me to him for the slow dance. Something in his trousers was also, apparently pleased to meet me. I smiled to myself.

We did the slow shuffle around in small circles, me resting my head on his shoulder, while he held me close around the waist, his hand occasionally slipping to caress my bottom. The pressure from his groin, was increasing as he rubbed himself against me. He obviously had greater self control than I thought!

Once I relaxed, I actually began to enjoy myself, despite his hot, sweaty hands on different parts of my body. He was quite a bit taller than me, and not surprisingly broader as well. He was still smaller than Watson, but so was Mount Blanc. I was about the same size as most of the girls there, who covered quite a range. I spotted one or two, who must be close to six feet tall, and possibly a couple who were well shorter than me.

We went and sat down, someone came up with a digital camera and we got snapped, along with many others. Talking was impossible, save in short clipped and shouted sentences. The most common one was, “I can’t hear you,” frequently preceded by, “What?”

Simon shouted in my ear,” Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I’m okay.” I replied.

We danced some more.

Eventually, it had to happen, we were confronted by Richard Matthews and Karen Brown, Simon’s ex-girlfriend and the usurper. “You found someone then?” said Karen, almost with a sneer. She looked me up and down contemptuously.

Not quite sure how to handle the situation, I took my lead from Simon who had his arm around my waist and was pulling me closer to him. Matthews stood behind his girlfriend, seemingly as unsure as I was.

Simon and Karen stood glaring at each other, Karen kept sneaking her nasty glances at me, which began to irk me. As a boy, I tried to fight back but always got flattened because they were all bigger than me, as a girl, the match was more even. I felt my irritation rising, as she continued to look me up and down, only this time I caught her eyes and held the stare, “Do I pass the inspection or do you want to do a medical as well?” I asked loudly over the noise of the music.

“I’d be frightened I’d catch something!” she sneered back.

“As you were with Simon first, I think I’m more at risk than you.” Half a dozen girls beside us heard the exchange and began to laugh.

Karen went bright red, and snapped at Matthews, “Come along Richard, there’s a nasty smell in here.” They bustled away from the laughter.

I found myself shaking slightly, and Simon asked if I was alright. I was of course, it was just the comedown from the adrenaline rush of my first skirmish with another girl. I hoped it was over, but I couldn’t be sure. I might have to be careful near the toilets. Thinking of it, I decided, I would go now. I excused myself and made my way to the ladies.

I had just finished and was about to pull the flush, when I heard Karen’s voice. “Who’s the bimbo with Simon Astley?”

“Dunno,” said her friend, “I heard tell she thinks she can sing a bit.”

“Well, we’ll have to get her into the karaoke then won’t we.”

“What, up against you? Think she’s suicidal do you?”

“Anything you can do, I can do better….” She began to sing. I was tempted to sing back but thought better of it. Her friend was laughing. I waited for them to go. So it looked like songs at ten paces. I wasn’t sure if I liked the idea or not. I had never sung karaoke, and wondered if the sort of stuff I usually did, was suitable. My only advantage was in knowing what they were going to do, what I was going to do, was still news to me!

“Where have you been?” asked an agitated Simon, “we thought you’d fallen down the bog.”

“Can we go somewhere quieter, I need to talk to you.”

He shrugged his shoulders and led us outside. We walked away from the small groups or couples, several of whom were kissing.

“I overheard Karen in the toilets. She is going to challenge me to a duel at the karaoke.”

“What?” said Simon, showing that the ‘simple’ adjective which often accompanies the name, was not always inappropriate.

I explained again, what I had overheard. He just laughed, “Well that’s okay, you’re a singer aren’t you?”

“Not of the sort of stuff I believe they do for karaoke. Have you heard her sing?”

“Yeah, she’s quite good.”

“Maybe you’d better take me home.”

“What, and lose face. No way. You’ll have to face her and win.”

“But I have never sung karaoke before, she has. She could well win.”

“If she does you can kiss goodbye to your twenty five quid.”

“Simon, you promised.”

“Yeah, well you gotta earn it.”

“But I have, coming here with you tonight and standing up to Karen. I’ve more than earned it.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Simon Astley, you are a toad, and I am going home now. You can stuff your money and your contest, right where a monkey sticks his nuts!”

I stormed off towards the gates.

He came running after me. “Look Chrissie, I didn’t mean that about the money. Please, do this for me.”

“Go away.” I snapped as I continued walking.

His response took me completely by surprise. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me back to him, then he held me tightly and kissed me, forcing his tongue into my mouth.

I was in a state of shock, and began to push him away. He was far stronger than I, and just continued kissing me. I stopped pushing and started enjoying, although I wasn’t going to tell him that. I heard what sounded like applause. We broke the embrace, and a group of Astley’s friends and their girls were stood in a circle around us clapping.

I don’t know which of us were more embarrassed, especially as we had apparently missed the photograph that was taken of the event.

Simon took the initiative, shrugged his shoulders and kissed me again. This time I let him.
From the noise inside the gym, the karaoke was beginning. My stomach turned over. In a choral competition, I’d win hands down. This was her territory, and I was anxious, very anxious.

“Come on,” said Simon, his arm around me, “go and tidy up your make up and show ‘em what singing’s all about.”

I went off to the ladies with one or two of the other girls, who seemed to form my supporter’s club. My hand was shaking as I repaired my lipstick. “Oh boy!” I thought to myself.

“What the hell could I sing. I wasn’t much into pop or rock. Then I had a thought. Fields of Gold, I could sing that, not as well as Eva Cassidy, who had a wonderful voice, but I could give it a go. If not then it would have to be, Summertime. Did the karaoke machines have such songs?”

I talked with the girls on the way back, they seemed to think, either of those would be okay. The battle of the ballads, was about to begin.

We stood around for about half an hour, while the minnows of this competition showed how karaoke shouldn’t be done. They sang off key, off tune, off words and performed all forms of musical mayhem. The audience was sympathetic but seemed to be tolerating it only until the main protagonists got themselves ready.

Karen appeared from somewhere at the back of the room. The audience parted to let her through, applauding and shouting encouragement. She was obviously known to them.

To my surprise she opted to sing an old Dusty Springfield standard, Son of a Preacher Man. And she did it some justice. I forgot we were in a competition, and clapped at the end of her song. She was good.

I let another contestant have a go while I assessed my chances, they weren’t that good.

The boy who was singing was awful. I knew I could do better than him.

“Come on Chrissie,” shouted one of Astley’s mates. “We want Chrissie.” He began to chant and so did half the room. I had no chance of escaping now. Simon gently pushed me forward.

I spoke to the man operating the machine, he assured me it would do Fields of Gold. I took the microphone, my hand was shaking and I felt sick. The chanting stopped. I nodded to the man, and the music started.

“Ooooh, You’ll remember me when the west wind moves….” I was in key and my timing was okay. Thankfully I was used to singing with accompaniment. I also managed to shut out the rest of the room, singing from memory rather than reading the words.

I bowed at the end, to a silence which quickly became a noisy applause. I took a deep breath and gave the mike back to the man.

“Was that okay?” I asked Simon.

“That was brilliant,” he said, “you really can sing.” He hugged me and kissed me.

“What happens next?” I asked.

“The top three or four have to sing again.”

“The same song, or a different one.”

“A different one, have you got one?”

“I have dozens of songs, but they are hardly suitable for here.”

The top six were asked to sing again, in the same order. Two others had some idea of what singing was about, the remaining two were the best of a poor remainder. It was obvious that there were only two serious competitors, and the place was buzzing when Karen came back for a second turn.

Her supporters were boisterous and noisily clapped her back to the microphone. She chose her song, another old one, Lennon and McCartney’s, Yesterday.

I felt a little put out as it was one that I had considered for myself, having sung it before.

Once more the noise stopped as soon as the music began, and once more Karen gave a good rendition of the song. The applause was rapturous, and I began to think she may just win.

I chose the Gershwin classic, Summertime. It was a song I knew backwards, although what the machine would do with it, was another thing. Silence descended over the crowd as before, I took a deep breath, and off we went. Then the music stopped a few bars in, I carried on singing. I heard a murmur run through the crowd, but it stopped. I carried on singing, now unaccompanied and feeling very alone. I slowed it down, and elaborated on the words and tune. This was a party piece of mine, and I was giving it what for, in no uncertain terms.

It was probably one of the longest four minutes in my life, but I think it was worth it. When I finished, the place was silent and stayed so for a few seconds. At first, I wondered if it was a negative sign, perhaps they didn’t like it.

Then, the noise was deafening as the applause nearly knocked me over. I bowed my appreciation and gave the microphone back to the man.
We waited a few minutes while the judges conferred. “That was amazing!” exclaimed Simon. “Where did you learn to sing like that?” I could have told him, right here at this school, but decided against it.

Lots of kids came up and patted me on the back. They had made their decision, now we had a verdict from the judges.

“In what has been a close fought contest, where all the finalists were so good.” Said the chairman of the judges, to a calls of derision from the floor. “However, we can only have one winner, and we felt that in view of the machine failing during her performance, and her brave continuation, which might have been even better as a consequence, we have to award the prize to Christine.”

There was a general agreement, I shook hands with Karen, who much to my surprise, gave me a hug. The prize was a twenty pound book token.

I seemed to have won my first skirmish in the competitive world of young women. However, I have to remember that I did have some experience in the skills used this time. Next time, it would probably be very different, and I could well end up as a casualty. Fitting in the hierarchy of my new school worried me, and I wondered how many of these girls attended St Margaret’s. But that was for another day, tonight I was the winner, and I was enjoying the feeling.

I looked at my watch, it was nearly eleven and the disco would operate for another twenty minutes or so. I wanted to dance, to celebrate my moment of victory at this place of so many bad memories. It might seem premature, but being a girl in a boy’s school didn’t seem so bad, and infinitely preferable to being a boy.

They played, Radio, by the Corrs. I bounced around with more abandon than before and Simon seemed to be enjoying himself more, too. This was really good fun. The dance floor seemed to have more space, and we began our version of the jive. I had seen my parents do it, and had danced it once or twice with my mother, which when I thought about it, I danced the girl’s part. Further thoughts seemed to remind me this was only because I was too small for her to go under my arm, but I was small enough to pass under hers, so I did. At the time, I didn’t think any more about it.

I was so high with endorphins and adrenaline, that I was bouncing about like a thing possessed. I could feel the sweat running down my back and under the breast form. Momentarily, I recalled the scary dream, then thought it couldn’t happen tonight.

Thankfully, the Fates of such events, looked kindly upon me and there was no untoward episode, unless I count Astley’s fumbling in the taxi, on the way home. But by then, my euphoria was beginning to ebb, and while I let him kiss me, I kept removing his hands from my chest and the top of my legs.
I was beginning to get the hang of this kissing lark, it was okay. Well, all right, it was better than okay, but that’s all I’m going to say about it for now. It was a pleasant surprise, which had I been asked about it before would have been ambivalent at best, possibly antagonistic at worst. However, experience of that first kiss, when Simon grabbed me and well, you know, brought me out in goose-bumps, which still seemed to happen when I thought about it. It had obviously made an impression on me, and a good one.

I was home at ten to midnight, my mother watched while Simon thanked me and kissed me. I blushed to the roots of my dyed hair. I don’t know what she thought about it, because nothing was said, except to ask if I had a good time.

“Good time? I’ve had a wonderful time,” I thought, the words of Andrea Corr playing in my head, “thoughts of you swimming forever in my head.” It felt appropriate, yes, very much so.

I think I floated up to bed, and after cleaning up and changing into my nightdress, fell asleep humming the words of, ‘Radio’ to a sequence of wonderful dreams, all of them starring a certain young man, who shall remain nameless