"You'll wear what I tell you."
by
Angharad

When I was eleven my father died. The circumstances are a bit murky, but as far as I can gather it was a mugging that went wrong and my dad was murdered. I don't think I ever got over the shock nor did Mum. She was working but she couldn't afford the mortgage and we had to leave the house. That increased the stress and pain we both felt. I was very close to my mum and this made that even worse

As we lost the house my uncle told us both to come to live with him. He was my dad's brother but they were alike as chalk and cheese. Dad was a smaller built man and rather educated and civilised, quiet and gentle. My uncle is huge, a big man with muscles everywhere. He was a farmer and his two boys took after him, whereas I took after my dad in build which was considerably smaller than my uncle or cousins, they called me Shrimp which I found hurtful and embarrassing. They also called me girly because I was so emotional, I almost asked them one day if their dad had died and they'd lost their home, how they would feel but I felt so intimidated by them, I ran away crying instead. I heard my uncle say, "Leave her alone, you know what she's like."

Despite the less-than-perfect home life, Mum and I tried to help about the place. It was a big old farmhouse and she helped my aunt with the housework and cooking, laundry and all the other jobs created in the house like that. I was considered too puny for work around the farm but my aunt suggested I feed the chickens and gather the eggs when they were laying.

My aunt showed me what to do and it didn't take a genius to follow her directions. However, my cousins told me to feed the turkeys, they had three of them, and a handful of geese, without telling me how to do it and first time I tried the turkeys and geese chased me across the yard, the boys thought it was hilarious. I didn't I was terrified and burst into tears in front of my aunt and Mum who were cooking the dinner.

My uncle was disgusted but at the behest of my aunt, he told the boys off for teasing me but it didn't stop and although my aunt and Mum were protective off me, my uncle thought that my being a sensitive boy, as Mum called me, was a sign of weakness and he was determined to toughen me up. It didn't work and I ended most days in tears, humiliated, the men all laughing at my lack of masculine response to their tricks. I did find that if I took a stick to the turkey's and goose enclosure and gave them a tap, they tended to leave me alone, but I suspect they were less scared of me than I them, but I had the food bucket, so we sort of called it quits. The hens I got quite fond of and they came rushing to me, or my bucket, as soon as they saw me. With one or two I was even able to feed them from my hand, it hurt a little when they pecked but tickled when they were a bit more gentle.

I got used to feeding the poultry and they sort of got used to me. I knew that the turkeys would have a very limited lifespan probably ending a week or two before Christmas, so I tried not to get too involved with them. The geese were in a similar situation except they did lay the odd egg, which are ginormous and besides, my uncle had a restaurant which bought them off him at a good price. Again, we had a sort of truce and I noticed the odd one disappearing, being replaced by a young one for me to fatten up.

Life continued in this vein for some while, I had had to transfer to the school nearest the farm, which mean waiting on the roadside in the morning for the bus and being dropped opposite coming home. I had, therefore, to be ready to leave school on time of face a three mile walk home, much of which was lacking pavements or footpaths. In winter it was dangerous due to the darkness even carrying a torch or mini-lantern thing, if it was raining it was doubly dangerous and I had one or two close shaves. In one I was hit by the wing mirror of a transit type van which knocked me flying onto the grass verge where apart from bruising from the van, was scratched by the bushes, some of them blackthorn and splattered with mud, the verge was very muddy thanks to motorists driving up on it. My mother was not impressed as she had to try and get my uniform washed and dry for the next day, including mending a few tears from the thorns and the stony verge.

"If I can't fix them", my mother spoke about my trousers, "you'll have to wear shorts because I haven't been able to patch your other trousers where that bully tripped you in the playground and you put your knee through the trouser leg."

As the weather was cold and wet I didn't fancy wearing shorts, plus I didn't think the school would like it. I voiced my disagreement with that and my uncle told me I could wear tights under them, which should keep me warmer. I thought that the bullies would then have a field day at my expense. "You could wear tights, a slip and a skirt, that would warmer still," suggested one of my huge cousins.

"Would you wear it?" I asked my cousin. He replied in the negative because he wouldn't have been hit by the van anyway as he'd have worn a hi-viz coat or waistcoat as well as the torch.

I couldn't win. I wasn't very warm in the trousers and my coat, so shorts would be freezing, but I had to admit tights would help. In the end, Mum came up trumps and mended the tears in my clothes, except the ones in my coat. I wore tights under my trousers and had to borrow my aunt's old anorak thing which was quite girly but came well down my legs as she was much taller than I. But with the combination I looked a narna but was actually much warmer, warmer than my coat.

I was teased by my cousins before I left home and by the bullies once I got to school because we aren't allowed into the building more than a few minutes before the official start time. This means we are outside and thus open to jostling by bigger and meaner boys and some girls. I refused to hit girls even bigger nastier ones, because that was how I'd been brought up, but I did react to boy bullies and kneed one in the balls who pushed me and called me a fairy. I told him that this fairy was like bee and I had a sting. One who had a modicum of knowledge shouted that only female bees had a sting, drones didn't. He was quite right and I was called Queen bee after that, shortened to Queenie by the end of the day.

At eleven, I attended the middle school, but was the smallest in my year, at least among the boys and quite a few of the girls were taller than me as well. They were all calling me 'Queenie' by the day's end and it even persisted to the bus, by which time I had been sprawled in the mud by two bullies on my way to the bus, where I had the option of catching it dirty or dashing into the school trying to clean myself up somewhat but being too late to catch my bus home. I had to walk across a bit of muddy grass to mount the bus and if I had been able to clean myself up, they may well have knocked me flying again.

My coat was laughed at, or I should say my aunty's coat, but I huddled down in my seat, trying to pick off the mud and leaves and ignore the bullies. At least I didn't cry this time, the combination of trousers and tights had saved my knees and the longish coat kept me warm and drier than my own.

Mum was not pleased by having to wash and possibly repair my school clothes and she told me not to be so clumsy. I told her it was difficult to stay upright when being hit or tripped my someone bigger than I was. It seemed that wherever I was, I was being picked on and fighting back got me nowhere, except to be attacked by the friends of the bully later, after I'd dropped my guard.

I foolishly told my mum about being called Queenie at school after fighting back and my cousins heard it and started calling me it at home. It just wasn't fair. I'd had enough that night and after dinner when my cousin teased me with the 'Queenie ' nickname I flew at him and scratched his face. He told me I fought like a girl and my uncle told me to fight like a boy. "If I do that what happens if I actually hurt one of them?"

"I don't think you will, but serve him right if he can't stop you." I was thus dismissed and my cousin poked out his tongue, so I punched him in the nose. Of course, it bled and he punched me in the chest and I fell backwards, and banged my head and knocked over a chair. I was berated for rough-housing by the adults who didn't see him pull a face at me and I was very sore on my chest, he caught me on the nipple and it bloody hurt.

A few days after this one of my favourite hens had stopped laying. My uncle noticed and grabbed it. Despite my protests he wrung its neck, throwing its still warm body at me telling me to pluck it. I burst into tear calling him murderer and ran off very upset.

I was upset much of the day and refused to eat the chicken dinner we had that evening, once again crying and calling my uncle a murderer. He turned and back handed me across the face, I think they call it 'bitch slapping', I went hysterical and screamed at him. He shouted at me again and told me if I acted like a girl, I should dress like one. I was sent to bed still screaming at him and when he went to slap me again I attacked him by trying to poke him in the eye and ended up scratching his cheek.

That did it he slapped me hard and dragged me up to my bed took all my male clothes and threw me on the bed, the blood dripping down his cheek. His language as well as his actions was not nice and he accused me of being a girl several times.

My face hurt the next morning when I woke. I stayed in bed not having any clothes to wear until he barged into my bedroom and threw a bundle of clothes at me, told me to get dressed and off to school. "If I get any messing, I'll send you there in your underwear." I could see the marks of my nails on his cheek and I felt ashamed for doing it, but didn't have a chance to apologise.

I lay there for a moment before examining the clothes then to my horror discovered it was blouse and skirt with bra, knickers, waist slip and tights. I screamed saying I couldn't wear it and my mother came in and tried to calm me down. "He was really upset by you shouting at him and then scratching his face."

"He killed my favourite chicken," I gasped they wondered why I was upset at dinner, then he smacked me across the face, he's a brute."

"It's different in the country, hens that don't lay end up in the pot." My mum tried to placate me.

"I can't wear these clothes, they'd tear me apart in school."

"I'm not sure he'll make you wear them to school, he just wants to make a point. So just put them on, eh?"

With Mum's help I put them on and stood there crying I felt so humiliated. She led me crying downstairs in the girl's school uniform and I was laughed at by them all. "That looks more fitting, you big sissy," snarled my uncle.

"You killed my chicken, you pig."

"Your chicken? look here little girl, if it's on this farm, it's my chicken, not yours. Now eat some breakfast and get to the bus stop or you'll have to walk there, because you're going if I have to walk behind you with a pitchfork. " I was still crying and screaming about child abuse when he shook me by the shoulder and told me to grow up and stop acting girly unless I liked wearing the uniform he'd borrowed for me.

Mum made me a sandwich in a bag and helped me don the coat and hat after brushing my hair. I had my old bag draped across my shoulder and I was walked out to the bus stop to start my humiliation in public. I had my bus pass and a letter was shoved in my hand to give to the headmistress, explaining my dress. I was still crying when I was lifted on to the bus. I stayed upset all the way to school and the rest of them had a whale of a laugh at my expense.

I was dragged into my class by a couple of bullies, I was red-eyed from crying and my face bore the sign of tears down my cheeks. My form mistress saw what was going on and took me to the head. He eyes almost popped out but she took the letter and read it.

'To whom it may concern,

This boy has been sent to school dressed as a girl for attacking his cousin and his uncle and trying to scratch their eyes out, he was warned that if he persisted he would be sent to school dressed as a girl. He persisted so that is why he's wearing a skirt.

Brian Simmonds.'

"So what have you got to say for yourself? I take it you didn't choose to come to school dressed as a girl?" asked the headmistress.

"I've been bullied ever since we came to live with my uncle, he treats me with contempt, so do my cousins, both of whom are far bigger than me. I got the job of feeding the poultry and have made real friend with the chickens, some of which will feed from my hand. He noticed my favourite wasn't laying and just grabbed it and wrung its neck and threw her little body at me.

We had chicken for tea last night and I knew it had to be my pet. I refused to eat it and accused him of murdering my pet. He shouted at me, then he backhanded me across the face. I really lost it then and flew at him, I scratched his face and he slapped me again threw me on the bed and confiscated my boy's clothes calling me girl. He gave me the girl clothes this morning and told me to get dressed or he'd send me in my underwear. Mum helped me otherwise I'd have missed the bus."

"Have you had breakfast?" asked the headmistress.

"No, I haven't eaten since yesterday's lunch."

She asked he secretary to get us some teas and toast. At last I got something to eat.

She eventually phoned my mother and said she would have to report the incident to the education department and the violence and sending me to bed without a meal, the sending me to school dressed as a girl all could be taken as child abuse. My mother told me we were moving out as we seemed incompatible with my uncle. The headmistress said she couldn't overlook it and the social services had to be notified and that I could end up in their care. My mum said she had collected some of my real clothes and would be in as soon as she could.

"Did you like wearing the girl's clothes?"

"They were warmer than I thought they would be, but it was just so humiliating. Don't blame my mum, she's really nice but my uncle dominates her, he's just a bully."

I sat in the secretary's office and ate my toast. I had to tell my story to a social worker who looked concerned in places. My mum arrived with my boy clothes and she had to face an interrogation by the social worker who expressed her concerns. I was happy just to change back to my boy clothes.

The social worker asked if we had alternative accommodation. My mum told her not yet the social worker then called her office and we were given a house to rent which had just become vacant. Things were looking up. We moved in a week later. I didn't see my uncle again but he faced a charge of child abuse on several occasions. I am not a homosexual or transgender as he implied, I'm an ordinary boy, just small and I think well mannered and respectful of all sorts of people unless they abuse me.

Mum kept custody of me and we thrived again like before Dad died. She got a job with a big industrial firm in town and she earned really good money for the first time since my dad died.

Life is so much better but just to keep me on my toes she has a photo of me in the skirt and blouse, I never need telling twice.

The End