Let Him Wear A Skirt Then.

by Angharad.

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(Image courtesy of Google Images).

The summer that year was a scorcher and amazingly it started in April—well okay, end of April, but May seared its way across the country bringing complaints from farmers about the lack of rain which would cause costs of food to rise; warnings from self appointed health experts about sun burn and subsequent skin cancer; and warnings from councils for elderly people to drink plenty and keep cool.

Most of the air conditioning in England is in big public buildings like hospitals or in commercial areas like stores and shopping centres. Modern schools might also have it, but because it’s expensive to run, they might not.

Sheila Barnes wiped her brow, she’d just changed her son’s bed—he, like so many others was sleeping under just a sheet as the temperatures stayed warm during the night. It struck her as ironic that the weather which meant she could line dry any amount of laundry also had water companies asking people to do full washes to save water. Another week without rain and it would be a drought officially and then hosepipes would be banned, car washes would be warned and so on. She couldn’t believe that it was over a month since the heatwave had started and it was still going strong. So this was how it must feel in Australia or the Mediterranean or other hot parts of the world. It was good for drying the washing, but the grass was going brown and sleeping was difficult even with the fans they had running all night—they just circulated the hot air round the house.

Her son Joseph, usually called Joe, was suffering too. He was coming out in a heat rash, especially round his groin but also his legs and waist area. At half term holiday, he was able to wear shorts and tee shirts and the condition improved. It seemed obvious to her that the problem was caused by the school uniform. She sent Joe to school wearing a short sleeved shirt with tie and shorts. She gave him a note explaining why he wasn’t complying with normal dress code of long trousers.

She’d just finished hanging out her washing when the phone rang.

“Mrs Barnes?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“This is Mr Oldroyd, headmaster at Newtown Middle School.”

Her heart nearly stopped, had Joe had some sort of accident or been taken ill. “What’s happened?” she gasped.

“I’m having to suspend Joseph.”

“Why, what’s he done?”

“We have strict dress codes, here as you know, Mrs Barnes. We explain that in the information pack for new pupils.”

“But I gave him a note to explain why he was wearing shorts.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Barnes, but shorts are only permitted as sportswear and not in the classrooms.”

“But he’s suffering from the heat.”

“I’m afraid we all are, Mrs Barnes.”

“But that’s ridiculous.”

“The governors make the rules, I only enforce them.”

“But you’re affecting his education.” Sheila complained.

“No, I’m enforcing an agreed uniform code which applies to all students.”

“What about religious minorities.”

“If you’d like to send him in a turban, as long as it has the school crest on it, that’s acceptable, as is a hijab as worn by Muslim girls, they sell them at the outfitters as we explained in the information pack when Joseph started at the school.”

“But that’s ridiculous, foreigners can wear what they like but not English kids,” she was incensed.

“No, Mrs Barnes, religious minorities have some accommodation within the uniform code, but they still wear the school uniform.”

“So you’re telling me Joe could wear a hijab but not shorts?”

“It would be unusual, but yes, he would be within the dress code.”

“I see they allow girls to wear trousers instead of skirts.”

“Yes, the governors changed the code a few years ago, as girls wear trousers as much as skirts these days, and in cold weather we had a sort of fudged policy, and we also decided that as some girls from ethnic minorities were wearing trousers under their skirts, the governors changed the policy to allow girls to wear trousers.”

“That’s sexist.”

“What is, Mrs Barnes.”

“Allowing girls to wear skirts or trousers but not allowing boys to wear shorts.”

“Mrs Barnes, I understand what you say, but the policy suggests the dress code is a blazer, cardigan or pullover; charcoal grey trousers with a grey or white shirt; a charcoal skirt with white blouse; black opaque tights or white socks; a black and white striped short sleeved dress; a school tie and the religious minority additions we discussed a moment ago.”

“It doesn’t say recommendations for boys or girls?”

“Not directly, but I suspect very few boys would wish to wear a skirt.”

“But Joe could wear a skirt if he wanted?”

“Provided he wore the appropriate blouse and socks, oh and the school tie.”

“But not shorts.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, the governors have deliberated long and hard about school uniform policy and this is their ruling.”

“So you’re suspending my son because I sent him in shorts?”

“Only until he complies with uniform policy.”

“So the girls can bare their legs and keep cool but not the boys?”

“It would seem that way.”

“That is sexist.”

“No one has complained before.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree.”

“So the girls can keep cool while my Joe has to stay hot and bothered.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“That is sexist.”

“No, if you feel that strongly about it, let him wear a skirt. He would be in compliance with the school uniform policy.”

“That is total nonsense.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mrs Barnes, but I’m afraid that’s the way it is. I have to go.” He rang off and Sheila was fuming when Joe arrived home with a letter of suspension and a copy of the school dress code. Sheila felt like tearing it up there and then but instead she gave her son a hug who wasn’t at all upset he had an extra day off school.

After lunch Sheila set him to reading from his school books to minimise what he’d be missing, and continued with her housework. Her neighbour Debbie called by and over a cuppa they discussed the situation with Joseph.

“So what’re you going to do?” asked Debbie.

“For two pins I’d send him in skirt or a dress—except I haven’t got one.”

“No, but I have.”

“Of course, Mollie used to go there, didn’t she?”

“You’re welcome to have them.” Debbie offered although it was tongue in cheek.

“Joe would be subject to all sorts of abuse if I made him wear them.”

“But it might show the stupidity of the school dress code, especially if the local paper got wind of it.”

“It would embarrass the old farts on the governors wouldn’t it?” Sheila laughed and Debbie was soon chuckling away herself.

“Shall I go and get them then?”

“He’ll never agree to it.”

“That depends on how you ask him.”

# - # - #

“You’ve gotta be joking,” announced Joe as Sheila held up the clothes that Debbie had brought over.

“I thought you had more courage than that.”

“I’d be a laughing stock.”

“It would clear up your rash and I suspect the governors would climb down, so it would only be for a few days.”

“They’d kill me.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen.”

“You don’t know the thugs I go to school with.”

“Look, most heroes have worn girl’s clothes to escape their enemies, think of it in that way.”

“I’d look a total dork.”

“How can you say that, you haven’t tried them yet?”

The argument went on and finally to shut his mother up, Joe agreed to try the clothing on. The blouse sagged in the front and he was aware of a coolness round his loins from the skirt but it was comfortable enough much to his discomfort.

“I feel a right tit,” he said.

“Hmm,” said his mother pulling at the sagging top. ‘Take your blouse off a minute.” She returned with a bra.

“I am not wearing that.”

“Just humour me, okay?” She helped him on with the offending garment and to his surprise he didn’t catch fire. Balling up a pair of socks she filled out the cups and instructed him to put the blouse on again. Once he’d done so, she played with his hair which was longish to hide his ears—they stuck out slightly. He looked quite girlish and vulnerable and something inside her felt very strange.

She’d always wanted a daughter but when Darren died driving home from work that night, she knew she never would. For a moment she had what appeared to be a daughter and she was reluctant to lose her.

“Can I take it off now?”

“Here, try the dress on—leave the bra.”

Joe grumbled but did as he was told, stripping down to bra and boxers he looked as incongruous as he felt. Under the dress, which fitted him better than either of them expected, the underpants looked ridiculous so she made him change into a pair of panties she’d bought but which were too small to fit her. They fitted him and despite his protests she could see a certain part of his anatomy was enjoying his new clothes.

She handed him the cardigan and he pulled it on blushing as it gaped and revealed his ‘breasts’. With a pair of short white socks and the right shoes, he’d look quite natural.

“Can I change back now?”

“No, you need to get used to wearing a skirt.”

“Why?” he gasped blushing.

“Because, that’s what you’re wearing to school tomorrow—unless you’d rather wear the skirt and blouse?”

“No way,” he asserted standing with his hands on his hips and looking far more feminine than he realised.

“You are, and every day until they change their ridiculous policy and allow you to wear shorts.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Actually, I can, but I thought you’d like to help me make Mr Oldroyd change his rather stuffed shirt attitudes.”

“No.”

“You know that bike you wanted for your birthday, which I said was too expensive.”

“That’s bribery,” he said.

“Well if you were to help me, I might be able to find the extra money...”

“How long?”

“Until they back down.”

“Yeah but that could take weeks.”

“The rest of the term is only six or seven weeks.”

“What?’ he exclaimed.

“Come on, I have to show you how to sit and walk in a skirt.”

# - # - #

Joe looked at himself in the mirror. He’d been wearing skirts and dresses to school for three weeks and the school had refused to alter their policy. He felt quite comfortable wearing the uniform skirt and short socks, though the shoes his mother had got him with the bar across and slight heel clopped a bit when he walked on hard surfaces.

The local paper had run the story and the governors had held firm, releasing a statement saying that Joseph could continuing wearing skirts and dresses as long as he wished provided they met the standards laid down in the dress code. He tried to encourage one or two of his mates to follow suit to increase the effect, but they declined.

Some of the boys laughed at him but once he’d dealt with the embarrassment and it ceased to be a nine day wonder, he found one or two of the girls actually got much friendlier with him and began to include him in their group. Not only that but his mother had ordered the bike for him.

His resolve was strengthened when the headmaster asked him how much longer he was going to continue this stupid protest. Instead of caving in when the headmaster told him he looked ridiculous, he decided he would stop only when the school changed their policy.

Two of the girls saw him speaking with the headmaster and asked what was said. Joe told them. “You do look a bit like a boy in a skirt,” admitted Jenny.

“I am a boy in a skirt.”

“Yeah, but you could look much better.”

“What d’you mean?” After his makeover at her hands, aided and abetted by her friend Connie, he saw exactly what they meant. They’d styled his hair a little and taken him to get his ears pierced—just little gold stars—then applied a bit of mascara and lip gloss plus a little eyeliner, and he suddenly looked more like a girl in a dress than a boy.

“I can’t go into class like this,” he said.

“Yes you can,” the girls stated and to prove it almost frog marched him into class where there were a few gasps and the teacher did a double take and addressed him as Miss Barnes or Josephine. He blushed but stood his ground.

The girls seemed to approve although one or two of the boys called him a tranny, adjudging him to have gone beyond what was needed for a protest. He didn’t care, he’d got to prefer the company of girls and the bike had arrived.

When he returned home that evening Sheila loved what the girls had done and whisked him up to her hairdressers for a proper restyle and highlights, she also bought him his own makeup and nail varnish and a handbag to keep it in.

“You look really pretty, Josephine,” she said to him when they got home.

“Yeah, I feel pretty good too.”

“Thanks for being my daughter for this past few weeks, I appreciate your courage.”

“We haven’t won this yet, Mum.”

“But once school is out it’s over.”

“Is it?” he asked, “Perhaps you’d better get some more of those opaque tights just in case.”