If there's one Andrej Pejic who looks sometimes like girl and sometimes like a boy - then there must be others.
Looking for a new Andrej
The arrival of Avril
If there's one Andrej Pejic who looks sometimes like girl and sometimes like a boy - then there must be others.
My name is Michael Russell and I’m really mildly ordinary. I don’t like it. I think that I’m special in my own special way but I don’t have anything special that would make me shine. I’ve had a girlfriend or two – as much as a fourteen / fifteen year old does. Currently, Sandra is kind of special.
Fortunately – I’m not at an average school. And I’m not the target for anybody. I gently drift with the tide, below the radar, out of sight out of mind. Sometimes I’d like my life to be more exciting – but how would I benefit. What would be the risk.
But I’ve got an elder sister, Alice, and a younger sister, Melanie, who know far too much about me. Alice is not even years older and just eighteen.
Melanie, whose name so neatly alters to Meanie when she is unreasonable, is 10 months younger than me. Yukk, it feels like a sort of babysitting. We’ve done the sums and realized that our parents must have – no – my brain will turn to porridge if I think about them doing …. Y’know.
And one day, well weekend, it all goes berserk and ballistic and bloody awful.
Younger sister, Melanie, sees a picture on the internet of some East European model. And her twisted imagination notices one startling and inconvenient blemish. The girl looks a bit like me and has a two small moles just below her cheek – on the opposite side of the face from the even smaller ones that I have. She giggles – does some nasty with the image and emails it to big-sis, Alice. They’re talking a lot about a party on the Saturday night that they’re both going to. I’m invited but the sort of party they enjoy is not what I enjoy.
I prefer an evening by myself catching up on Dad’s hoard of scifi from the 50s and 60s or on-line playing multi-player role-games with my friends. I know they’re not touch-friends; I’m never going to meet them for real. In fact, they are mostly disguised behind their avatars so I don’t even know if their on-line presence is real or fake. Because I got smashed in my first few games trying to be ultra-macho, currently my avatar is a Messenger-Spy with the ability to disguise herself as an Elf Trader. If this is my avatar – then what others use is just as meaningful.
Alice is apparently ‘sufficiently’ older and after some persuasion is allowed to ‘be in charge’ when both Mum and Dad are out of range for more than a few days. If it gets to be more than a week, then an older aunt or whatever is drafted in to ‘keep an eye on us’.
Whatever. I am not in the loop about what Alice & Mel are thinking about – Mel is swapping ideas with Alice too too much. It will be some time before I find out what is planned.
Nothing happens for a few days then it’s Thursday night and we’re sitting in the kitchen chatting about what’s going to be happening at the weekend. Alice has a school-gang thing on the Friday and wants to get prettied up as soon as she gets back from school. Melanie hasn’t got anything on – so to speak – but does have a small party to go to on Saturday.
We keep chatting until Alice raises the idea that it’s going to be April 1st that day. “Wouldn’t it be cool to do a really good April Fool. Huh?”
We look up on the internet to see what’s been done before. There’s not much that sounds sensible in the short time we have to arrange something. We come across the New Forest Gorse Topiary Competition which sounds dangerously prickly. And the Truffle Trust Donations to ex-millionaires as opposed to the Trussell Trust and their magnificent efforts for the deprived and homeless. Alice giggles and says what sort of charity should there be for the Depraved.
Ideas come and go until Alice says ‘It’d be a good Fool to take Jake to our girl’s party, eh?” As a family we’ve spent far too much time planning and plotting April Fools and spoofs generally. The downstairs toilet has five newspaper stories or internet printouts about what we’ve done.
Some time later, I realise that the whole conversation has been moving steadily to this particular series of suggestions, questions and answers.
I’m stupid. I say “Is that a dare or something?”
We babble on for a while until the party is mentioned again.
“Are you up for a dare then?”
“Um, ….”
“What else are you going to do this evening? Watch Youtube? Wait for your mostly non-existent friends to ring up and suggest something stupid? Play videogames until your eyeballs sweat? This could be a lot of fun, y’know.”
“Er, what do I get out of it, eh?”
“An evening learning about girls – from their side of the fence – so that next time you ask a girl out you can be more sensible than the majority of dumb-boys your age. That’d be really good for you. Even you’ve said you don’t know how to talk to girls. That you stumble and stammer and sit there with a puzzled expression waiting for a brain-cell to ignite. I’ve seen you. We’ve seen you and it’s not pretty. True, you’ve been doing better with Sandy in the last month or so – but even that is advancing slower than a slow snail. You do realise that Sandy talks to us.”
“And …”
“What, you want more?”
“It’s Oliver time, yup.”
“I need to think for a moment. How about - it’s not really proper but you’d get to see me in my bra and panties,” says Alice.
My eyes light up while my mouth says, “Eeew, my sister in her undies.”
“Sorry, sweetie, but you’ve been caught out there – your mouth said one thing while your eyes went all ‘golly wow yes please’.”
“Oh.” Not much more to say. “Oh dear. Er, how do I get out of this, sis?”
“I’m not sure you can, middle-sis.”
“Middle-sis?”
“If you’re going to go to this party then you’re going as a girl, in our clothes and all that. And it’s two to one and you’re in the middle of Big-sis and Junior-sis so ……. You’re middle-sis. Unless you’ve got an alternative that we like better.”
“You like better. Don’t I get a say in this, sis.”
“Oooooh, of course you do. If we do anything silly then you can so drop us in the pooh. You’ve got to be willing, and wanting to pretend your best and ….”
“And I’m still not sure what I get out of this deal?”
“You want more than being dressed all pretty, fooling all my schoolmates and, er, getting a close-up of a real pair of breasts?”
“You’re getting more persuasive minute by minute.”
Melanie chirps up, “How about we do a test-run. If we dress you up a bit and you feel more confident about the whole idea - would you take it on as a dare.”
Oh golly – the ‘Dare’ word. I’m so stupid as my skull contents go into no-brain mode.
“Well, sort of, maybe ….”
Before my brain has begun to react at zero miles per hour, I’ve been dragged upstairs to have another quick shower. I’m handed some of Alice’s shampoo and bodywash and told that’ll make me smell faintly more acceptable. No way are their clothes going to be infected with boy-smell, she smirks. As I’m about to finish, Alice opens the door and says, “It’s a bit over the top, but if you’re wearing anything of mine I’m going to have to insist on you shaving under your arms and trimming your pant-line if necessary. You’re not going to have to shave your legs or anywhere else. Once you start doing that, you really have to keep doing it every few weeks and that would be silly. But under the arms – or else. Okay. Then use some lotion very carefully. If you cut yourself, it might sting. Then pat yourself dry rather than a boy-type scrub with the towel.
I do as I’m told and, golly, is the effect different. My skins feels odd yet somehow lush with the slick of oil. My underarms feel very naked even though only a few wisps came off. Similarly down below, where I had trimmed just a little at the edges of where I thought was too fluffy.
Not much later, when I get to my bedroom, there’s some clothes on the bed. I see panties, bra and other slinky, shiny, sleek, sexy (to my eyes) underwear – and what I’m told later is a sundress.
Some of the clothes aren’t too difficult to get on – but the bra. How do girls do it. I’ve seen them on youtube and so on. They twist, bend and flip and suddenly they’re all arranged and, er, pretty. I can’t do the round the back thing. After a minute or so, I change how I’m trying to do it and stop and think. Technically a bra is a type of knot to be arranged around a cylinder with three major protrusions (neck, 2 arms). And I enjoy mathematics. How about …. At the front, twist to the back THEN put my arms though the straps. It feels really weird and twisty as my skin gets pulled this way and that. But the bra is on – even though there’s an ugly droopy look to the non-existent cups.
I call out for some help as I’m not sure if there’s a proper sequence to what goes where. “Big-sis, erm, …”
Almost before I’ve spoken Alice is in the room and saying, “Oh that looks so pretty. Your legs are so good even without shaving them and, well, you actually already look very sisterish.”
“I really don’t know if this is a good idea. Y’know.”
“Do you want a little more incentive?”
And before I can blink she’s standing in front of me in just her undies. My eyes have barely stopped spinning.
“Don’t be silly, bro. If you’re ‘doing girl stuff’ then you need to know that we often change clothes with other girls in the room. It’s not as if I’m going to take either of these off. There are limits. And I did promise to let you see me in my undies as an encouragement to get you to agree. Actually, I wasn’t sure I was going to do this. I was planning to just show you a phone-pic of me – but you’re my bro, I know I’m safe.” She giggled and patted me on the shoulder.
“I don’t know exactly how far you’ve got with girls – but you need to not be silly about anything girlish that happens to you.”
“So, this is just giving me a bit of extra education in Girly-101?”
“Yes, that’s as good a way of saying it as any other.”
“You have to carry this off calmly and with confidence. You’ll be dressed up and I think, with good styling and makeup, you will be rather attractive. And don’t forget this all started when Mel saw those pictures of Andrej Pejic looking so half-and-half. I think you’ll be very persuasive. But we need you to not be thinking of sex all the time. You’re a boy so you probably can’t help it.”
“Yeah, I’m a boy and you want to put me in a dress?!” I could hear the question-mark as well as the exclamation mark in my voice.
“Could be. But we want you to enjoy the evening. So, you’ve got dressed, now to show you that we can conceal any evidence of boy so thoroughly that even you’ll be willing to fancy the girl in the mirror. Let’s get to it. Stand up, turn to the left, forward three paces, turn, sidestep and sit down, good d…. girl.”
“Woof.” Which was the correct response when anyone tried the ‘good doggie’ routine.
“Stay.”
“Grrrrrrfff.”
“Stay, or no treats.”
“Nyyyyyeeer”
“Don’t whine, don’t whimper, don’t use puppy eyes. I am immune. Most girls are immune from puppy eyes unless they love the puppy.”
“Grmphhh. Okay”
Some minutes later, I was standing again while my first dress swirled around my legs. The sensation was new and almost disturbingly interesting. The feel of the lined skirt against my, MY, panties was very nice, exciting.
Some socks had been rolled up and stuffed into my bra – my first bra. Urk – what a strange sentence for a boy to write. So now, the view downwards was equally disturbing. Instead of being able to see my feet there was a strange double curve blocking my view – I glanced at Alice who noticed my new interests.
“They’re called tits, dear brother. Boobies, breasts, puppies, boy-attraction-units, man-magnets, and god only knows the hundred horrible words that boys use for them. If yours’ were real, they’d have grown on you so to speak – but these socky-bumps will have to do until later.”
?Later?
“Erm, sis, how are we going to do this well enough that it’s an April Fool and I don’t get hammered either at the party or at school?”
“Hush, questions later, I’m busy.”
And after another half hour or so of fiddling, pushing, pulling and all sorts of make-upery stuff, the person in the mirror was NOT a boy. It wasn’t that fantasy-figure of the second most beautiful girl in the world. Don’t be arrogant. I would have scored a couple of millihelens. [If Helen of Troy had the Face that launched a Thousand Ships then Asimov’s millihelen can launch one. Wikipedia now lists intervals from the attohelen to the terahelen.] But I was not the ‘prettiest girl around’ like happens in some of the fantasy stories. I wasn’t going to suddenly be a better, cleverer, more attractive girl than any of the real girls I knew – life is not like that. Only fantasy stories where the author lets their imagination get a little out of control have that sort of thing happen to the hero-ine.
“Wow. That is impressive, sis. If I wasn’t looking into that self-same mirror, there’d be no way I’d accept that I could look this good. I’m actually pretty neat aren’t I?”
“So, it’s a deal then. You’ll take the bet and come to the party and everything.”
“Yes – but what does ‘and everything’ mean.”
“In order to do your best at the party, then you’ll have to be confident and comfortable. To do that, I strongly suggest that we have at least some practice and rehearsal beforehand. There’s not much we can do more tonight except give you a nightie to wear. There’s even less tomorrow night because I’m going out and you two have the whole weekend’s homework to do in one night.”
“Why all on Friday.”
“Because Saturday is booked out and we’ve already got things planned to do on Sunday.”
“Oh.”
“So it’s settled then. You’ll do it.”
“Okay.”
Yeah – that’s how dim I can be. A set-up, I would never have guessed. Well, not until some a day and a half later during Saturday morning.
The night before, we’d all been delayed in various ways at school and by the time I got home, Alice was on her way out for the evening and after a snack the two of us sat around doing stuff, sometimes with each other (ie homework) and after that each in our room.
The same as the previous night, Alice had left a nightie on my bed. Last night, I had been persuaded to wear it and the feel of it was incredibly different from my usual style, which was to be naked. The material, satin I learnt later, slid around my body and during the night wrapped itself round my legs in a most unsatisfactory tangle. Eventually, I got up, shook myself to get it back into position and then climbed into bed and lay more carefully.
As I lay in bed in the morning, still wearing my nightie, I thought about what and how was going on. What were our parents doing not being there to look after us – overworked, underpaid, like so many. Dad is an architect working on quite major projects anywhere within Britain and sometimes France (he speaks excellent French). Mum is a Civil Servant doctor-troubleshooter-type who also gets sent away for days or weeks at a time. They both try to be at home through the holidays but believe that the combination of school and homework keeps us busy enough for most of a term. Mum has said recently that she's being encouraged to work less hard.
Dad was away for a fortnight and Mum had been called away on Tuesday to help out at a conference in Scotland where somebody had fallen sick – and she’d be back during Monday. At a few days over eighteen, Alice was in charge.
My mum is a doctor – therefore in the same way that cobbler’s children have worn out shoes – she doesn’t really notice her own children needing medical attention. Most of our family medical cabinet is ibuprofen for kids, cough medicine for kids and sticky plasters. That’s how it is.
I’ve been getting more and more worried about ……. Puberty. My balls have dropped – but they’re tiny. I’ve spent far too much time looking on the internet for reasons, options, suggestions and advice. Almost all of them say ‘wait for it – it will happen’. Unfortunately a few of them say ‘Perhaps there may be a problem – talk your parents and get to a doctor’.
But as I just said, getting her to take me to a real doctor is verging on the edge of really unlikely.
But the parental-units also expect us to do ‘projects’ every now and again to keep us out of trouble. Sometimes these are really dull, sometimes they’re fascinating. We did one on Truth, Near-Truth and Lies based on newspaper reports of football hooligans at the European Cup. We did one on the Causes of the First World War where we had to get translations of German newspapers – wow. Like the Bible says ‘What is truth?’ Last year, we had to look at Tolerance – what people say versus what they do. This year’s summer project hadn’t been decided.
The biggest effect of the projects was to encourage us to look at things in a much more grown-up way than we expected. I wouldn’t say any of us was stupid – but we were unknowledgeable or at least short of information. Working at these projects got us talking as a team – and judging by our friends’ comments what we said actually made us sound more grown up too. Each of us could remember quite a number of occasions where we were thanked for our advice.
And the other advantage was that each of us was becoming more aware of the other gender’s differences. And the girls got thanked for the advice I passed back, and I was thanked by the boys who listened to me. As a ‘semi-weirdo’ on the edges of social acceptability at school, there weren’t that many who listened to me – but enough. Each time it happened, I felt good. And each time I got a message from one of the girls that they knew it had been me who gave their idiot-boyfriends some guidance – that was good too.
So – it looked to me like this was going to be an opportunity to do some ‘tolerance-testing’. I felt fairly sure, well slightly sure, that S&S hadn’t planned it this way. But …. Should I go as the brother dressed up – which would be very up front and would commit me to the very strong likelihood of a distorted reputation and a probably distorted face next week at school. OR should I be ‘the cousin from pout of town’ – which might backfire with equally tragic results. After all, April Fools were supposed to be funny – weren’t they. How could I join in and ensure that the result was sufficiently funny and clever and not-future-damaging?
After breakfast, I set all my brain cells to work while Alice helped me into my second dress. Putting on the relevant underwear wasn’t quite so strange – it was now the second time and I was slightly used to the feelings – and the reactions. To my considerable surprise, on neither occasion had I got an enormous stiffy like I would’ve expected. A stiffy – yes – because there were a lot of new sensations and many ideas which involved female body parts and all that. Lots of all that actually. But not a stiffy that prevented me thinking – or required ‘assisted removal’.
But the dress was a startling new series of sensations. It was a jersey style which clung to my body yet had little weights sewn into the hem to exaggerate the sway and flow around my knees. It felt amazing.
“Right, that’s your dress for this evening. I needed to check that it would look suitably, er, suitable.”
“So tell me more about tonight.”
“I have a cunning plan, my lord.”
“Oh, no. Not one of those. In how many ways is this going to go wrong.”
“N, n, no. It is all calculated to the last millimetre. Your young lady Sandra realised what we were doing when Junior and I were talking in the canteen. She is going to come out as a lesbian and smooch you until your eyes and ears explode – then when she’s accused of being a lezzy, she’s going to explain that this is a quality April Fool because you have been willing to dress up so that SHE can do the Fool on everyone. That puts you in the clear and – bob’s your auntie.”
“S ..S ..S ..Sandra knows?”
“Yep. It was mostly her idea. I say mostly, because girly I can tell you, the idea made her moist as well. She told me to tell you that. She said if anything would give you that extra incentive then that was going to be pretty much the master-stroke. Well, mistress-stroke perhaps.” Another grinning smirky thing.
My mind and lower-brain got very interested at the idea of Sandy getting wet thinking about spending the evening with me, and especially with the smooching. I took a deep breath.
“So what – exactly – will be my role at this party? To be the pretend-lesbian partner of a pretend-lesbian and to be unmasked in front of all my friends, colleagues, schoolmates and several enemies in one swell foop.
"Aaaaaarrrrggghhh. I just don’t believe it.”
“Relax, sis. You’ll be just fine.”
"Don’t you mean I’ll be only just fine even if it all works perfectly?”
“Don’t you trusssst me, dearie,” she put on a truly horrid witch’s cackle (rehearsed thoroughly at last year’s school play).
“Oh, most wondrous lady, foul of feature and grim of visage, tell me not my fortune, brew me no potions, all I ask is that you protect me merely from the foulness of man.” I knew the lines too from constant rehearsal.
“Protect YOU from MEN. When you flaunt your body in such a lewd manner, shaking your hips and breasts to allure the stupid male, exciting them with the scent that wafts from you.”
“Nay, I am not such a girl as that. I am pure maiden. Free from fault or desire to entice or entrap. I am dainty, gentle, timorous and need some simple made of herbs and wishes to lessen their ardour. Can you help me, I beg.”
“Neither girl, nor woman, nor aged hag should beg from me. I can do much. But thee must make some suitable offering to me and my coven. What would ye offer, trusting damsel. It must be of worth to thee and clearly of worth to me else I consider thy plaint.”
“Cor, enough of that. I can’t think what to say next. Anyway – it’s been your idea so far. You and sis – and now Sandra too. Let’s take a break.”
“Okeydoke. But it’s still a dare, still a bet, Bet-boy. Yeah.”
“I thiiiink so – but you keep changing the rules – or at least the goalposts. I’m not sure what’s going on. Can I back out still.”
“It’ll be hard to back out with these photographs wot I’ve got in my little pink phonio!” came a voice from the doorway.
Junior-Sis !!!
“Noooo. What have you got. Come on, it’s your idea. You can’t make me do something and then make threats. That’s just so not fair.”
“Who said anything about threats, sweetie. And you look very swish in that dress. Talk about curves – well, since you’re so skinny they’re not so much curves as slight bends from a straight line. Maybe they’re sort of kinks , which would make this whole plan definitely even more kinky than before.” [Did I mention that the whole family does this thing with in-jokes, puns, catchphrases and so on. Some other people HATE it.]
“Now, let’s slip that dress off and you can wear a simple blouse and skirt while we go out and get you some real-world practice.”
Not many minutes later, I was wearing an outfit that Alice and Melanie approved of.
There’s a pause while we had a cup of tea [a British solution to many complicated issues].
“Okay,” says Alice. “We’ve got about 10 hours until we leave for the party. You need to be well comfortable with wearing a dress, walking in, say, 2 inch heels and feeling sexy enough and girly enough to be noticed in a good way by the people at the party. What’cher fink, little-sis.”
“I’d suggest a drive to the mall, a promenade to the coffee-shop, and the purchase of quality stockings, a brief pause at the salon which I have conveniently booked for after lunch. You’re getting at least a massage, a manicure and a trim. Then we’ll work to get a bit more confidence.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Top-sister.
“Don’t I get to say anything?”
Chorus “Nope.”
So it turns out that we do as suggested. And some of their planning becomes true. I do get more comfortable as the day progresses. Of course, I don’t wear the jersey dress into town – it’s not a daytime costume. Instead I’m wearing a thick cotton shirt, well blouse, a thin fleece thing, a skirt and leggings as well as relevant underwear. It’s all quite comfortable and very different.
The bra straps pull across my back and chest. The panties slide across the skirt or vice versa. The downward view continues to be a surprise. The clip-on earrings actually stop being a nuisance once my ears go numb, but the little tinkle as the rings flick together is a constant reminder.
We’ve been in the mall for a while, looking at shops, feeling fabrics, checking the look of so many clothes. I know I’m being given an insight into Girl-101 which is exactly what S&S are aiming at.
And I do begin to relax. And I do begin to assimilate my Girl-101 lessons. At one moment, I find that I’m holding a dress up to myself and checking the effect in the mirror. I sway from side to side to see how the fabric moves. A voice in my ear whispers “Nice choice, d’you want to try it on.”
The voice is neither Alice nor Melanie. It’s an assistant. I flush, blush, stammer and try to say ‘no’.
I am no match for a professional saleswoman – even if she is at least six inches shorter than me with an excellent set of curves and a displayed cleavage (from my vertical view) that is a danger to shipping, builders and men of most descriptions. And she’s pretty too with curled blonde hair and wide-open blue eyes. I am putty in her hands. I find I am escorted into the changing rooms, placed in a cubicle and have become the subject of intense questioning from Josie.
“Does it fit? Is it too long, too short, too tight? Do you need a different bra? Do you need an extra opinion? …….” It’s like being the target of a machine gun.
Some minutes later my giggling, smirking twosome arrive to ‘assist’. “That does look good. I’ll buy it for you, just in case.” says Alice.
[This is a big family in-ioke. Last year, I got some fake ID in the name of Justin Case. Once my parents got to hear about it due to my dropping my wallet at Mum’s feet, they set up a bank account in that name and now I’ve got credit cards and all to go with it. They bought the web-site and put some of their business into a company now called Justin Case Projects Ltd. Actually all of us have credit cards to the business account. We had a long family planning session, so to speak, when the whole concept of long-term tax planning and estate planning was explained to us. Dad said, we try to teach you grown-up things before you get to be adults so that you may, I repeat MAY, not make quite as many mistakes as we did and as your mates will likely do. It is nice being treated as if you have some commonsense. But all three of us were teenagers so mistakes were going to happen.]
But I was feeling enormously more relaxed after being in public almost all day with my sisters – in a dress, wearing a bra and panties, being a pretend-girl IN PUBLIC ….. I should have been screaming or at least whimpering and panicking. But I’d got past that. I still didn’t feel good about doing the same thing in front of people who already knew me – but it would be darker and noisier.
As we leave the shop, Melanie congratulates me for my purchase. “We’ve spent most of the day doing this and I’m so proud of you. Picking that dress up and checking it out like you did, it was just so right, so proper-girl for you to do that. And it suits you so well. You’ve got a good eye.”
Without realizing the amount of indoctrination that was being poured into my all-too-receptive ear, I enjoyed being told this.
Next I was escorted into the salon. You’ve read the stories. It was pretty good. I’d never had a massage. I’d never had anybody pay strict and controlled attention to my hands or my feet for half an hour each – and they did look pretty with nail polish. And my ordinary hair, albeit quite long due to barber-shop inertia, was trimmed and mildly primped into a delicate arrangement that no boy would ever have dared have.
I had little option but to enjoy this new clutch of sensations. I did feel quite different. The heels, even at only an inch and a half pulled my leg muscles in a new way. I could feel myself sway even without the benefit of hips, waist or genuine boobage. I did now have a pair of silicon ‘pushups’ to give me the faintest of shapes rather than the sockage of Thursday.
The concentrated dose of ultra-girliness injected into me at the salon did make me feel good.
A lot of things happened in the two hours that I’d never had done to me before. And being looked after is great. Pampering is now, for me, understood as a great pleasure. And I actually said as we left, “I think blokes miss out on a lot by not doing any of that sort of thing. I mean, I guess that some men do some of it, like massage maybe, but most men would run a mile. It’s kind of nice having time spent on looking good.”
Alice smiled, “Looks like you’ve actually learnt some good lessons already today.”
Back at the house, there were two hours before H-hour. “Remind me what’s going to happen.”
I was sitting at Alice’s vanity while she painted and decorated my mildly willing, completely manipulated brain-body system.
“Be nice. I won’t take long. All I’m actually doing is turning you from a strangely pretty girl to an exotic eyecatcher suitable for Sandy to cosy up to.”
“Is Sandy, er, flexible.”
“Nope. But because she plays some sport and is a bit chunky, she’s been given this reputation. At the party she can give you immense kudos as a jokemeister willing to go that bit extra and at the same time remove all the ugly slurs that They have been spreading about her. Sort of a win-win, really.”
“Riiight, I think I get the situation. But I always get twitchy when you have ‘a cunning plan’. Not unreasonable really.”
“What are you complaining about.”
“You mean you’re trying to persuade me they don’t go wrong – well not always.”
“Your plans might; Melanie’s plans do; my plans sometimes; but this is Sandy’s plan –so it’ll be alright on the night.”
“That’s a television program about everything going WRONG.”
“So – this isn’t television – this is real.”
“Yeah – tell me that when everyone has their phones out for youtube clips.”
“It’ll be alright. Trusssst me, my pretty one.” (Cackle!)
Some minutes later. I was ‘ready’. Well I was never going to be ready but Alice and Melanie decided that I was ‘ready enough’.
We set off the short distance to the party. All of a kilometre or so, but Alice wasn’t going to risk drinking and driving. I definitely wasn’t – and I wasn’t qualified either and nor was Melanie. It was a cool but not cold evening and it was exciting to hear the click click of our heels as we stepped out arm in arm.
It felt quite powerful to be strutting as a determined threesome of stylish girls. Woe betide any mere mortal who dared get in our path as we trampled the dust beneath our feet.
Somehow, I didn’t feel scared. But I didn’t really feel confident. These were people I knew – what the heck would happen if it all went wrong. I’d be THE target for every bully, every person in the school – and then all their friends and then everyone. I shuddered.
“What’s up, sis.”
“I’m really not sure about this.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s all set. In a little while, there’ll be some dancing. Sandy is going to pick you out and dance with you. You’ll enjoy it, she’ll enjoy it. Then the evening will progress until we start the rumour about Sandy being a lesbian and she’ll announce that it’s an April Fool. Oh, by the way, we’ve had a chat with Sandy, and you’re not our sister of course, you’re our friend over from France called April. If you want the French version, you’re Avril Nigaud. But you’ve been living in Corchester almost since you were born. [Corchester is about thirty miles away. Avril is 'April' and Nigaud is French for ‘fool’.]
“Ah, oui, you err ma cousan,”
“Oh, wow, Avril, that sounds so good. Keep that going and it’ll be easy.”
It was a lot easier to keep control since I was too young to drink. I was actually one of the youngest there apart from Sandy and the half-dozen classmates who had been invited. And I looked some years older. And the exotic accent made me sound more sophisticated too (I won’t quote Tom Lehrer).
It was about an hour before Sandy got to me. She came over and spoke dreadful French at me and suggested that we join the various couples on the dance floor. Even if it wasn’t what a normal teenager would have called ‘dancing’. Wobbling and jiggling in time to the music or, more often, some dire and off-beat internal rhythm.
Sandy did too much touching and too much eye-contact, on purpose I knew.
We went off to what might have been called a buffet at a proper party – pizza slices mostly and takeaway nibbles, with lots of fruit for the non-fat girls. Sandy upped the stakes for people to notice us by occasionally feeding me with something special.
The party was due to slow down by midnight, a bit early I thought but some of the boys belonged to a team that was playing a key match in the morning. I was quite glad because it was an effort to keep the French accent going especially when someone pinched my bum while we were dancing.
It was about half past eleven that I noticed some of the looks being sent our way. I nudged Sandy. “The rumour has obviously started!”
“Some time ago you French ninny. It should blow in just a few minutes. We can’t wait until the boys have already started leaving. We want them sober enough to join in the joke.”
“Oh. Have I been missing something.”
“No, sweetie, It’s all under control.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“Well if you had known then you wouldn’t react right would you. It’s all sorted.”
Not many minutes later, Alice’s friend Janet came towards us. We had found a table to sit at, and we were clearly talking as if we were a couple intent on each other.
“So, little girl, you’re coming out of the closet at last, eh? You won’t be able to deny that you are the lezzy we’ve always suspected. And this is your little French bit, is it? Or is it bitch, eh? I’ll say you’re a quick worker – or do I mean a lick worker. I’ve got your number.”
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Queen Bee – by which I mean the Queen as in whatever you think it means and B as in actual B … for whatever you want THAT to mean.”
“Ooh, getting defensive now are we. Don’t like being pointed out to everyone for what you are.”
“Janet. I think you should know that you have not been using the few little grey cells that you believe are filling the space between your ears. Some of your statements are right but your conclusions are very wrong. You do realize you are talking about my new friend Avril Nigaud. But I’m confident that you do not know what Nigaud means in French.”
“So what.”
“Daaarling. Nigaud means ‘fool’ and you have been Avril Fool-ed. This is my lovely boyfriend.”
It’s getting late – you can see the cogs slowly going round. By this time, strangely, a small crowd has gathered at Janet’s raised voice and quite loud accusations.
“What d’you mean – boyfriend – that’s a girl.”
“Yep – boyfriend – and most definitely not a girl. This is my boy and we have won our bet.” And she called over to Alice, “I’ve won the bet, Alice.”
“Boy? Bet?”
“Duuur. Yep, we had a bet that nobody would realize that Avril was just too fake to be real. She’s not a girl. This is Michael Russell, and he’s mine. And he’s helped me win my bet. Despite what you all think, he’s mine and I’m not and never have been a lesbian. So suck it up, sweetie, shut it up, sweetie and we’re going home to learn basic anatomy.”
There was quite a hubbub as we stood up.
“But I really fancied her.” “That’s a boy, no way.” “I pinched his bum, her bum, whatever sort of bum that’s a sleek piece.” “I’ve come all over weird, don’t tell me I’m queer. Weird is enough.” “But she’s so gorgeous.” “It’s not fair – that’s a boy.” “Wow.”
Then gradually, “Nice one, Sandy.” “You’ve got style, Avril.” “You’re a player, Mike.” And variations on them. That was when I began to believe that our efforts had worked. Sandy was not going to be seen as a lesbian and I was a player.
Sandy whispered to me. “Now you have to become as blokey as you can. Lean back, spread your legs in relaxed-man style. Sat something like ‘Wow, that was hard work. I’m glad I’m not a girl having to do all this every day for real.”
Brain overload. Reboot, recalculate. Set all sensors to ‘stunned’. “Yeah, right. Good idea.”
I did as I was told. I leant back on the sofa and spread my legs. I did know that my dress reached just below my knees. I’m not a slut or a prude – just average common sense.
And Janet screeched ‘don’t show the whole world your panties ….. and suddenly stopped. “You bums. You had me good and proper. Nice one. But wait till next year. I’ll get you back.” And she leapt at the two of us and hugged us big-time.
There was a chorus of (mostly) stunned approval. Those who really disapproved kept quiet as they could see that the crowd was in our favour.
I did put my legs back together, sat up straight and behaved as I should.
Janet said “You’re a bad boy, girl, whatever.”
“I’m not a bad girl. I washed me ‘ands and feet before I came I did.” [Audrey Hepburn, Eliza Dolittle, My Fair Lady]
Sandy jumped a few lines …. “By Jove, she’s got it. I think she’s got it.”
We let the reaction continue for a while – then the boys started to leave. Several congratulated us as they went. It was very satisfactory that there were more comments about how pretty I looked, how pleased they were that Sandy wasn’t a lesbian, how entertained they were with such an excellent ploy.
Two of the drama crowd, Liz and Tony, both said that i would have to contribute more now that they knew how well I could hold a role in public. We all knew that in public was so different from a stage performance.
“Come on Michael – time to go. I promised you it was a sucker bet – and I’m going to hold you and me to that promise. Let’s go – Sucker.”
Not long after we set off home. The three of us, plus Sandy and Janet. The synchronised drumbeat of our heels was awesome. We felt great.
The summarising and de-brief, so to speak, went on till late. After all, none of us was playing football. There was a mumble of ‘do we get up in time to go and watch’ followed by ‘let’s try but not make promises.”
And for the dirty-minded – no we didn’t don anything grubby. We didn’t practise any basic biology. We didn’t do any ‘sucking’ of anything except a bit of lip and some tongue-dancing. And yes, I did get to hold another pair of breasts, well one actually, from the side. But it felt so different from when Alice made me do it. Sandy’s breast was smaller, softer. I could feel her heartbeat flutter against my fingers. I remembered Alice’s words about boys always being too rough so kept my fingers gentle.
Sandy murmured, “That’s nice. You do that so nicely. Stroke my little babies, if you want.” She snuggled closer.
Alice was watching and winked at me. She knew what my fingers were fondling fondly. And she knew we were good for each other. We might only be fifteen and oh so certainly and all too likely life would break us apart – but we were each our own first loves and that’s a sort of virginity.
Alice smiled and I heard her quiet whisper, “That’s a lot of firsts happening for you, yes no, bro?”
And I smiled and curled Sandy closer to me. Then I untangled myself from her almost sleeping body. I kissed her cheek and felt her smile wrinkle against my lips I arranged blankets over her and went upstairs.
Beds were inhabited, Couches and so on arranged for the two extras. Sleep came at last. This time, I didn’t wear a nightie.
As I fell asleep, Alice came in and sat on my bed. “That was well done with Sandy. She may come across as tough but tonight was a big risk for her. You did well. I’m proud of you. And you’ve still got a score with us as soon as you’ve decided what it’s going to be. Like the boys said, you’re a player now and we need to keep you on the topside at school. Not at the top, but on the top of middle-of-the-road. Sleep well, bro. And I’ll say goodbye to middle-sis too.” And she kissed my cheek. I wondered if she felt my smile in the same way as I had with Sandy.
Looking for a new Andrej. part 2 of 3
The hunt for Avril
The grapevine has the news about 'the new Andreja Pejic' - who is going to find her ?
[You’ll notice the name change in most of the main text – well, it’s the polite thing to do now she’s come out as transgender. I wrote this a while ago when the model was Andrej. I have left the name as Andrej a few times because that is what my less knowledgeable characters might do in real life!! I try to write ‘real’ stories with a kindness in favour of TV/TG/TS. Sadly real life is not as kind as one might wish so sometimes I reflect that.
I’m uncertain about the new-politically-correct manner to address a transperson prior to their own acceptance of that fact! I have heard transpeople use the phrase "when I was ‘previous-name’ " about themselves. My authoring use of Andrej has caused more ripples than anything I have put out in over 5 years except when I wrote about Physics v Creationism.]
In the morning, we had to deal with the social chaos caused by our efforts. All of us had to spend quite some time dealing with Facebook and with all the other media links that we or our friends used. Dad had encouraged us to keep our webbiness to a minimum. But there’s a typical-teen-minimum and a Dad-suggested-minimum. They’re quite different.
There was a lot of, well, applause – and very little nastiness. We began to relax. Then, wandering onwards to what was trending locally, we noticed some comments on Facebook talking about the new Andreja Pejic being found and that she was called Avril Nigaud.
Our small and carefully planned April Fool was being exploded. We hadn’t planned for this, cunningly or otherwise. We were being Blackaddered.
What were we going to do?
My suggestion was to minimise, keep it quiet, and be very clear that there was no Avril Nigaud, never had been and, even if there was that we knew nothing about anything, we hadn’t been there, it was dark too and whatever anybody was saying, nothing had happened. That I was Michael Russell and we had had a busy but not especially complicated weekend with some friends.
To my amazement, there was general agreement with this plan. Nobody wanted to face the complications of dealing with parent-units on the rampage. How long would any of us be grounded for. Four weeks, four months, four years, forever.
Keep it simple. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about ossifer.’
Murphy’s Law was already in action. If it could go wrong it had already – even if we knew nothing about it.
The key problem was that Andreja Pejic has, first, a small but potent fan club and, secondly, a small but potent lawyer keeping an eye on those who might damage his/her reputation. And one, just one, youtube clip was enough to get them going.
Youtube keenies have wondrous weapons at their command. They can find when and where a clip was loaded. They can scan each frame to get extra details ….. trouble, BIG trouble. And the fashion industry has so many people at the edge who want to get closer. So many of these were now looking for Avril. After all, Pejic had made a lot of money for a lot of people. A second Pejic might give them a boost up the greasy pole of fashion.
By the time we were looking at our emails, ‘They’ knew that a Pejic-lookalike lived in Barwell (back-calculated from the ip address of the schoolboy who had taken and downloaded the image).
Obviously I wasn’t dressed as Avril when we went to the football. But there were spies looking for me. Tall, skinny, below-the-collar blonde hair, small moles …… . You try and guess how long I was going to stay hidden. I didn’t give it a thought. None of us did.
Not too late, we set off to the match. We might miss the first few minutes – but we weren’t worried. We knew five of us would be significantly expanding the attendance.
We had a good time. The boys all smiled when they saw me in proper boy-mode. Charlie, the captain, congratulated me. “Nice performance there, Mike. I’ll be a lot more careful next time a French chick comes near me.”
I smiled at Charlie, “Well you can be confident it won’t be me next time.”
“Thanks for the warning, mate.”
Wow – I was a ‘mate’ with one of the school hierarchy. That was a bonus.
Some of the other lads now knew about the events of last night. Their reaction seemed to be pretty good-humoured. The only person on the team who was known to be gay smiled and said ‘I wouldn’t have known what to do – a boy showing his femme side for tough macho me – lovely.”
“No, no, that wasn’t the thing at all. It was more of a theatrical performance than anything proclaiming my brother’s gender or sexual proclivity. Don’t look for what isn’t there, young Patrick” responded Alice with a grin.
“Can’t blame a poof for being hopeful. With all these rough, tough sporty folks I have nobody to go out with.”
“Now that I don’t believe.”
The match was fairly even – it being a calm, sunny day made it nicer for everyone. A winter-type day with drizzle, cold winds and frozen ears as is more typical. It makes spectating dire and the playing uncomfortable. I was glad I was on the touchline in a nice warm jacket.
When the match was over, we set off home. It was about a mile and, again, was a lovely day. We all felt the need to walk so we had left the cars behind.
“There’s a sale on, y’know. Would you mind, Mike, if we made a little detour?” asked Sandy.
“Oh, come on. I learnt something yesterday about girl-shopping. I doubt if any of you has the ability to make a little detour when there’s a possibility of shopping. Yes No?”
“Alice, perhaps it was a mistake to show Mike too much of our world?”
“So, tell me, Melanie, what can we do about it. You can’t put a scrambled egg back in the shell. He knows. Either we kill him or we accept his interference.”
“We’re not supposed to kill siblings – not while anyone’s watching’.”
“Yeah, spoils it all somehow.”
I smiled at my sibs. “Okay, we can spend some time in the shops – but I want something in return and I claim my right to say what that’ll be before midnight.”
“Fair,” came a chorus of four.
We hadn’t realized that clothes shops are part of the fashion / publicity network. We were in the second shop when a woman came over to us.
“It is you, isn’t it. You’re this Avril Nigaud. The one they’re calling the new young Andreja Pejic. I’m so excited you’re in my shop. Do you want to come in and have a proper look – with all your friends.
I was so far beyond speechlessness and blushing that I was a silent beetroot. The others weren’t much better.
Sandy recovered first. “I think we’d better go somewhere quiet where we can sort this out.”
A few moments later we were sitting in the lady’s office.
Sandy seemed still to be in charge. “Excuse me, ma’am, who are you and what are you wanting? You jump out at us, to be mildly blunt, and what’s it all about.”
“There’s been a storm all morning about the new Andrej Pejic being someone local. And I’ve been keeping my eyes out just in case. And suddenly, there you were. I couldn’t keep still.”
“I’m really not sure what this is all about.”
“I’ll keep it simple. Andrej Pejic is a phenomenon. Somewhere between a gorgeous boy and a beautiful girl. He began as a boy but, while making millions of dollars as a model, has transformed recently into a girl called Andreja. No one can replace him – but everyone is on the lookout for a similar possibility. And this morning, someone with a very similar style has been discovered. And it’s you, my pretty.”
“Er, what.” My first contribution to the discussion.
“Honey, if you have even a percentage of the style and panache that gets through the camera that Andrej had and Andreja has, well, if you’re interested then you could be a top market model. Fame, fashion and a likelihood of much money. Unless you’re a startlingly abnormal human – some of that has to be tempting. If you’re quite good rather than as-good-as then you won’t have as much impact or penetration, so you won’t make as much money and you won’t last as long. The life-cycle of a model is often short and brutal – but I think you have a really good chance to do well.”
“Er, yeah, and how exactly.”
“First off, we need to get you in front of a camera in a variety of costumes. If you do look good through a lens – then we look or your agent looks for ways to make you make money.”
“What do you get out of it, hmm,” was Alice’s input.
“If I play my cards right, I get first refusal for something and at least the kudos of making the discovery. I’m a businesswoman. My aim, my need is to sell at a profit. Anything that increases sales or reduces costs is good for me. A good model, extra publicity, all those can help me. Any help I can get is good. Any help I can give to get help at minimal cost is also good. You may, repeat may, be a good thing. Are you willing?”
“Er, ummmm, I need to think. Alice, what do I do?”
“I think, my skinny yet potentially money-laden sibling – this is too big for us. It’s got to be time to talk to they-who-must-be-obeyed.”
“No,” gasped Melanie. “Not them.”
“Yep. Them. Not a lot of choice. We can say no right off – but this isn’t an opportunity that’s going to come round twice.”
“Er, Alice, how about we get some pictures. See if Mrs er
“Jones, Kathy Jones”
“Mrs Jones thinks that Mike has got whatever a camera needs, then we’ll know more,” said Janet.
“Mmm, that makes sense. Can you arrange anything, Mrs Jones.”
“Please call me Kathy. I’ll ring my friend Erica, she can do some portfolio shots if I ask.”
This was getting out of control – and accelerating round the bend.
“Do I have any say in this?”
“Well, you can either join in willingly or be a complete dull when the camera is pointed at you. But we are talking money here. With even a little luck, you can fund at least some years at university. I’d do anything to avoid the hurt of university debt. You have to do this at least.”
The suggestion didn’t seem unreasonable. I didn’t like being outed so quickly and I had no idea how this would go at school. But it would be silly to deliberately avoid a chance for money.
“Okay. But we get every picture, every negative, complete ownership until we have some competent advice from them or someone they recommend.”
“Er, ladies … and Mike, what are you talking about?”
“Mike’s my younger brother. We need to get the parents involved and they’re away for a while.”
“Just how old is Mike?”
“He’s 15.”
“What. Oh. That does make a difference. I thought from what I saw that he was 18 or thereabouts.”
“No, 15, at school. I’d guess he’s under the age to consent to pretty much anything. I know he can’t sign a contract.”
“But you think doing some pictures will be reasonable.”
“I see nothing un-reasonable about something like that.”
“So I can ring Erica?”
“Yes.”
“While I’m calling, do you girls want to find three or four outfits for Mike?”
The girls scurried for the racks. Sandy stayed with me for a moment. “Are you okay with this, Mike?”
“Not really, no. It might be turning into the biggest backfire of any cunning plan we’ve ever had.”
“Now don’t get your knickers in a twist. Be a big boy and look to make the best of it.”
“The best of it will be never ever wearing knickers of any sort.”
“Now, now. A best will be making a lot of money for wearing colourful costumes. And you’re a boy, I bet you’ve wanted to get into a girl’s panties.”
“Ha, but not like this. It’d be different if you ….” My mouth stumbled to a halt as the little voice in my head escaped through the open hatch at the front.
“I’m sort of glad you didn’t finish that sentence. We can talk about your interest in exploration later, much later. For now, we need to look at outfits for you.”
“Mmmm.”
“Do you want to pick something from the boy’s section. Might as well cover all the options. There’s a nice leather jacket – or I can see a linen jacket as well which would be worth a look.”
“Errummph, s’pose.”
“Good boy, I knew there’d be something to get you interested.”
“Errrumphh.”
“Well, get on with it. We haven’t got all day.”
While we looked at menswear, there was scurrying and scampering at the other side of the shop as three demented alien life-forms searched for The Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything.
It was only about four or five minutes later that Kathy came back to action with her news. “Erica will be here in about ten minutes. I’ve got two outfits in my mind. I’ll set them up and see what else you have found. We need about five or six so that we have a fair variety.”
“In case you didn’t know, most of the more famous pictures have Andreja wearing black, cream, silver or at least monochrome. Keep your eyes open for those combinations. Er, Mike, what size shoes are you.”
By the time Erica turned up, we had a set of possible outfits. Mike had gone with the linen jacket which was cream with a brown fleck. There were matching trousers and a dark grey shirt was what we felt went best.
The other girls had found a jersey dress similar to the one at the party. Dark Green with a cream trim and a little fascinator hat in reverse colours. I had no idea how Mike would react to that one.
A second outfit was a froth of multi-ruffled cream cotton and lace; a third was a black satin top with black leggings and a red and white scarf. Their fourth was another creamy white dress, sleek satin from top to ankle – but cut quite low on the bodice.
Kathy had two more. And there was general agreement that we had a good range whereby we could see quite quickly whether the project was viable.
I felt a bit sick at the idea of dressing up again. Sandy saw my expression.
“Hey, boyo. Treat this as a bit of theatre. Just a series of costumes to give your stage performance some extra colour and some more options.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’d be the best way to do this, Thanks, Sandy.”
What I had expected to take an hour or hopefully less–six costumes and some snaps of each – took bloody ages. At some point Janet went home and later Melanie left to finish her homework so it was Kathy, Sandy and Alice jabbering amongst themselves, telling me to do this, wear that, look this way, stand like so, and then Erica doing her ‘I have the camera so I can tell you to do things too’ bit.
And bloody make-up as well. Yukk. Like the Karate Kid movie ‘wipe on, wipe off’. Double multi-yukk.
And Erica said what a nuisance it was that we were rushing her so.
Head shots, body shots, long distance, close-up, face on, side on, walking, standing, …… if you get the picture then I didn’t. It was tedious, boring and such an introduction to the world of fashion that it turned me right off.
Fortunately, Sandy noticed. “Come on folks, this is coming across as amateur hour. Mike’s getting so fed up that he’s never going to agree to do this again. He’s bored, bored, bored. You’ve done four costumes in well over 2 hours – and you’re getting some extra outfits together. Ten minutes more is the max. Get real. He’s not your new toy.”
Erica burbled, “But this is such an opportunity. I just want to make sure everything is as good as it possibly can be. I feel I’ve barely had time to look at the pictures I’ve already taken. But I can be done with this outfit in just a few more minutes. It won’t take as much as ten, if that’ll help.”
Kathy put her oar in. “How about we take that break as soon as possible, get some food and drink in and look at some of the pictures so far. Then we can decide if we need to do any more.”
“No. Not good enough. First we ask Mike what he wants. Mike.”
“Well, thanks, it feels like the first time in ages that I’ve been asked about anything. If this is what models go through then I’m pretty sure it’s not the life for me. I’m tired. My feet hurt. I’ve got this muck smeared all over me, then I’m scraped bare and a different set of muck goes on – it’s so not what I was planning to do today. I’m not a girl. I’m not a wannabe-girl. I’m not some boy with fantasies about dressing up. I’m just me. For reasons unclear to me I’m dressing up as a favour to somebody I’ve never met before, being photographed on and on and on by another somebody I’ve never met before. It’s so beyond real that Salvador Dali and Magritte couldn’t invent it.”
“But – somebody did mention money a while ago and it would be stupid to ignore the potential. If indeed there is any. I don’t think you’d be putting in this much effort if you didn’t see there was something special in how I look. I don’t like the idea of wearing fancy clothes let alone having to be prettied up for the camera. But nor am I stupid.” I took a breath.
“I’m not comfortable with this. Heck, my comfort zone disappeared some while ago so it’s far out of sight. Let’s get some decent food in us, have this break, look at some pictures. If we start looking and I look obviously stupid then we know it’s a waste of time. If and I really mean if they are okay – then we take them all away with us and the chip and wait for the units to get back.”
“Okay, Kathy. That’s what’s going to happen.”
“I’m not in any position to argue. I’ll wait until we’ve finished our break before I say anything. And I’ll say the same for Erica.”
Sorting out the food took a while as everyone wanted different things – but Kathy, Erica and the victim did get the pictures done just as the food arrived. We sat around in the back room where we had been working.
The food and drink did make me feel better. Erica set her camera up linked to a big monitor. She said she had flagged some of the pictures rather than showing us everything. There were still far too many. But it didn’t take long before more than one of us was saying things like ‘that looks good’, or ‘yes’. It wasn’t as if I was a real model that knew how to look and stand – but by the end I managed the bored scowl, irritated grimace and looking uninterested on purpose as if it was completely natural.
Erica said “I’ve double-flagged the ones that people commented on. There’s about 50. Do we go on. If you haven’t noticed we’ve been going much faster. If there’s only those three more outfits, I can be done in less than an hour.”
“Haven’t we got enough yet, really. Please.”
“I can promise to be faster. And it would help if Mikey smiled more. The bored look is only really right for older models. Most of the pictures that we’ve selected have him looking interested. I almost said perky then. So – just a bit of happiness, please. I know or read somewhere that it’s helped before on shoots with teenagers so I’ve just gone and bought a joke book for Sandy to read out loud as we go.”
It’s hard to be grumpy when someone is reading out jokes. The next session was much more fun. Kathy stopped changing my makeup every time. More of a touch up here and there, and there was less fussing with my hair.
And I even agreed to a few more shots with two of the morning costumes.
We sat down again while Erica showed the final selection. “I’m sorry that it took so long. And I have to say the pictures this afternoon are much better, but we couldn’t have got them without all the effort we put in this morning. I’m really impressed with you Mikey.”
Alice took over. She had been thinking hard and talking with Sandy while the rest of us had been busy.
“I’ve got a draft agreement here. There is NO agreement to model or be photographed yet. This is simply a confidentiality agreement that, in effect, nothing has happened yet. There is no Avril Nigaud yet. There is no discovery of a new model yet. Nothing has gone outside this room – yet. And all the pictures are on the chip that I am taking away with me. And, of course, I promise to show what’s on the chip only to the people here and my parents. In return, I think we have to accept that Kathy and Erica have some sort of first refusal if the parents agree to anything at all. But the gist of it is – nothing has happened yet. Do we all agree? This is the only copy, so can Kathy and Erica and Michael and me all sign at the bottom. And I’ll promise that as soon as possible I’ll get the parents in on the whole business. And I’ll keep both of you in the loop.”
Soon after, we left. “Wow, Alice, that sounded pretty tough when you spelt it out like that.” I said.
“Well, you saw how excited Kathy was. It would have been too easy for her to do something silly and let the cat out of the bag big time. We have to keep control until we know what we want to happen. But, bro, I do think that there’s something there. Probably not as big and international as that Pejic person – but some of those pics had you looking good.”
On the way home, I asked Alice what we had been planning to do on the Sunday rather than what we were doing.
“Oh, that. I lied.”
“Bad girl, I’ll tell Daddy and he’ll spank you.”
“I had a reason. I wanted to be sure that the work was all done so that we could relax for the rest of the weekend. If something came up that looked exciting or interesting then I could fit it in without worrying about getting you to finish up in a hurry on Sunday night. So a little white lie to get your work done – even if Mel didn’t quite get there.”
“Well, at least we can have a rest from all this girly stuff. I’m exhausted and my feet hurt. And it’s all been a bit weird and getting weirder.”
“Bro, can I suggest one thing for you to do. It’d be really helpful for the parents to have some idea of the sort of money obtained by models, how hard they have to work, is there any real chance of you generating worthwhile mazoola. My personal view is that if you can get say £20,000 in a year then it’s worth considering. Any less, then it would be silly to have you chopping from one costume to another for the benefit of other people. If YOU are benefitting then it’s different. You know what the p-units are like. Facts, facts and detail. I want two or at most three pages if you can do it.”
“Bloody hell. More homework. I can see what you’re getting at though. Grumbling gently, I have to agree that it’s worth doing.” I grinned.
“There’s a good boy. I’ll get you a treat.”
“Rufff.”
The research was quite horrifying. The guts of it was that most models scrape by on occasional not-large earnings. Magazine work is between £150 and £300 for a full day’s work and you mustn’t be late and you are not in charge and the day can be long and and and. A magazine cover may be good for your portfolio (which can cost money too) but it can bring in as little as £200.
Catwalk shows show you off to more ‘real people’ but don’t pay that well, maybe £200.
Catalogue work is good but often requires useable hands, feet, arms, neckline and so on but several days work at £150 to £300 per day, probably 50% more for lingerie. Catalogues are more keen to offer some outfits to get them into the real world ie free advertising for them.
If you keep going for a while and keep a good reputation then sometimes you will be taken on by a name as a regular. This pays better but your prime concern is maintaining the exact shape that they require. And a new designer for the range may want a different look. And then the expected work has gone.
Lots of bookers try to pay in clothes – which can be good but doesn’t directly pay actual bills. Many models go into debt waiting for ‘the next big one’. Notoriously, others eat badly, starve themselves, develop eating disorders, smoke instead of eating, take pills of various stupid sorts. It’s easy to go wrong.
If you get chosen directly by a booker rather than having to start with an agency – then you already have perhaps both feet on the first rung of the ladder. But, and it’s a big but, do not believe any of the promises made to you. The only thing that matters for most models is cash in the bank.
The reality according to one model blogger is that ‘most models spend their days schlepping to casting after casting, usually being rejected from each one. They live in model apartments with three other girls, and celery is for dinner only because they can’t afford much else. How do I know? I’m a model myself.’
This was not enticing me towards the idea of being Avril Lingaud ever again. Too much effort for minimal reward. Not going to get any support from me.
Later, there was a phone call from Kathy.
Alice took it and came back to me quickly. “Somehow, there’s a lot more pressure about this Avril Lingaud. Kathy promises that both she and Erica have kept schtum about it – but she wants to ask if she can have one picture from each set to show to two bookers that she has used before.”
“Mum said she would be back tomorrow. Let’s have all our facts lined up for her to see and she can make that decision. How about saying to Kathy ‘We do understand that a promise from a booker has as much value as hot air – but what sort of amounts are they talking.”
“Not keen, but it’s you they want and ‘hard to get’ may pay real dividends. It’s worth a go. If Kathy expresses any concern – and don’t forget she’s made it quite clear she’s not on our side but she’s not against us either, she wants a good deal for herself and her business. I’ll go back to her.”
I was still working on the fact-sheet for Mum when she came back. “The bookers won’t make any promises – which sounds almost reassuring. They are willing to stop pushing if they get 4 pictures. But they want a proper portfolio by the end of the week. Apparently that’s a lot more outfits, as well as close-ups of neck, feet, hands, ears for all the accessories and so on.
To be brutal – most models get by on perhaps 10 days a month at say £250 per day less travel expenses and gym, makeup and keeping themselves in model shape (all of which are potentially allowable expenses). But lots of them are getting not much more than £20,000 for a hard year’s work. This did not seem worthwhile.
UNLESS.
Unless, I was willing and the interest in Avril Lingaud had already got me past the first steps into actual real income. That would be different. I was simultaneously excited and scared.
I liked the idea that I could help my finances and even the family finances but getting into the role of Avril on a regular basis. Even with help from Alice, Mel and Sandy – I wasn’t keen.
“It’s not looking good for this Avril project, Alice.” I called out as I was printing off my pages. “Too much effort to get off the bottom rung of the ladder.”
“What does Dad say?”
“If it looks too good to be true then it’s probably not true!” we chorused in well-trained harmony.
“Then they’ve got to find a way to sell it to us. I’ll call Kathy and push for something real to tempt us. It’s going to be easy to say that promises don’t pay bills and what’s it worth for a ‘boy at school’ to become well-known for wearing dresses for money. Money’s good but not if you’re battered for being weird or injured or worse.”
“Don’t forget, the lads currently accept that it was a master-joke, that I’m a player.”
“Ah, me dearie, don’t you know how transient and fickle is the reputation of a bubble in the cannon’s mouth.”
“Methinks, thou hast an hiccup in thy quote, sister dear, but I know it not for better. But I do know how quick the mob can turn from like to dislike and back again. I ain’t gonna be no target, no sir, not me sir, not never sir.”
“Then we just make it clear that first – nothing is going to happen until Mum has seen what’s on offer and secondly – they’d better have an offer or there ain’t nothing happening nohow nowhen.”
“Oooh, you sound so tough, sis.”
“How about we sound out a couple of people at school. Maybe Charlie, the captain. What would he think of the joke getting bigger. If we keep pushing that it’s not our idea but people out there getting the wrong end of the stick. Then it’s not about you – it’s about the joke.”
“Let’s have lunch and think about it.”
We went round and round all the options. Then we sat and looked at the pictures. For us, the problem was that we had no skill at choosing pictures. We really couldn’t see how one was that much better than another. We decided to call Kathy. And maybe we’d have to call Erica.
“Kathy, we’re getting whelmed if not overwhelmed by all this stuff. And there’s no way we can choose the right pictures. It’s not our skillset.”
She was on speakerphone. “I was wondering whether you’d be able to look at pictures with any confidence. It’s not as easy as it looks. You have to know how they would look bigger, smaller, trimmed and then there’s editing too. For portfolios, the rule is no editing or at least nothing more than cropping and red-eye. But the photographer should take care of that. What the bookers need to see in a portfolio is poise and willingness. What you’ve done already, well we think they’re very promising.”
“So, like I say, I did wonder how it was going and I’m glad you’ve rung. If you’re interested enough to be going through them then you’re not expecting me and Erica to do all the work. But it sounds like you’re asking for my help in putting together a package for your mum – and perhaps the bookers. If so, I do suggest we get Erica involved too. We won’t push if we can help it – but I can help with numbers and so on to show your parents that this has genuine potential.”
“Mike has summarised it as ‘as a model, he may have one foot on the first rung of the ladder …. Is that how you would describe it.”
“Oh, no, dear, several steps beyond that. There’s real interest on the net. There’s the air of mystery, the caginess, unwillingness even. The fashion world is so blinkered it cannot understand why anyone wouldn't want to join their parade. They know or think they know that I’m close to Avril. Even if I lied bigger and faster than I already am, they want her. I have to confess, the very last picture that was up on the screen, I managed to print off one copy – I didn’t mean to and I do accept that I’m stretching our agreed boundary. But every time I look at it, I think, this isn’t the find of the century – but this model has something special. I absolutely promise that you won’t become an international model or a viral sensation – but I’m confident that you’ll be able to make some £50,000 to £100, 000 which would pay off anyone’s student debt and give you a real lift towards whatever life you intend. I’ve been around for long enough. I’m listening in between what my bookers are saying. There’s some real money being thought about.”
“I am still determined to hold to our agreement. There’s a chance that your mum will be able to look at it within 24 hours or so. I have to give you that time, I’ve already agreed. But if you’re willing to spend some time selecting a first portfolio from what we’ve already shot – then we can hold them back a little longer. Do you want me and Erica to come over?”
“We’d be more comfortable here – but we don’t have a big screen like Erica used.”
“That should be no problem – it has its own carrying case. We can be there in about an hour.”
We used the hour in getting the house clean, well, cleaner. We’d already begun preparing for the arrival of Mum, which would probably be while we were at school. But an extra flick and lick was going to improve our reputation.
Kathy arrived early by about ten minutes. But we were ready. And Melanie had finished her work so joined us just as Sandy arrived. We thought four teenage amateurs versus two older professionals would give us some tiny leverage until reinforcements arrived.
Obviously, Alice and Sandy had been talking. It helped that her dad was a lawyer and her much older brother was studying law. She knew how to balance things better than we did. She had told us that she had to argue once a week on a chosen subject – with references and all the rest. She didn’t want to be a lawyer herself but she was a demon in the school debates.
“Can we agree that all we are doing is preparing a portfolio for Mum. Yes No? And once she has agreed that the project can proceed, we will show this portfolio to the two bookers that Kathy has been, is being pestered by.”
Kathy held her hand up. [Good interruption technique] “I’d really like to be able to show the bookers four maybe five photographs before your mum gets here. I’ve got to hold them off and yet I ought to be able to give your mum some real figures about the potential.”
“I do see where you’re coming from – but Avril needs to be very careful about how she is outed to the fashion monster. At least Andrej was two years older when he was discovered. There’s a lot of difference between 15 and 17, y’know.”
“Let’s ignore trying to be clever. We need a portfolio for your Mum, first. Let’s just get to the job. We’ve got to pick two or three from each set. If we also select a full-body, close-up and detail, ie arm, hand, or whatever, then we do the job that’s going to be required better. Just as a guide, I’ve brought two genuine portfolios with me so that you can see what’s required.”
“Let’s see how we’ve got on after an hour. We can’t spend all day on it, well, not yet.”
By golly it was tiring. I was tired enough from being in front of the camera. Having to process all the different looks and images was too much.
“I can’t do it. I’m already tired. I think I’ve done my share. I’ve done the modelling. I’ve done the draft presentation for Mum. I’m going to have a sit down and a relax.”
“Okay, boyo. And if you want to tidy up around the garden and so on be careful of your nails.” Melanie giggled.
“I’ll give it a look in a bit. It’s only April, the grass hasn’t really got going. But I’m going for a sit-down now. If I feel like it I’ll put the kettle on.”
“That’d be kind, bro.”
In the background I heard the five of them going, ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘that’s good’; ‘not that one – this one’ and so on for quite a while.
I dozed off.
Suddenly, I was being tugged at by Sandy. “Come on, Mikey, you need to come and look at the final selection. I think we’ve done a pretty good job.”
Still a bit dozy, I stumbled through to see how excited they all were. Alice’s printer had been busy and there was a selection of about fifteen pictures on the table.
They did look good. Not fantastic but then the girl in them was clearly young and amateur. But it was me. No way did I look that real. But I knew the truth, well, a truth at any rate. That was me – and the photographs made me look very real and some years older than 15.
I could tell that they could tell that I was quite stunned by what I was looking at. “So that’s Avril in all her glory, eh. That’s who I’m going to have to roleplay if this goes any further?”
“Well, me dear, I’ve looked into the future with my little ..”
“I’ve had enough of that for this weekend, thanks, Alice. Just chill. I gather that if we’ve made a selection then the next step, somewhat bending the original terms, is to see if we can make a pack for these bookers to see prior to getting approval from Mum. Is that still so?”
“Yeeess – but …”
“I’m not keen, after all, we had an agreement only a few hours ago. What difficulties will it cause if we wait until Mum gets home. And what benefits are there to handing out anything in advance.”
“Bro, in response, the difficulty is that Mum will say no without even considering the potential long-term benefits, money that is, for you. The problem with handing any pics out early is that the bookers are further away from us and more difficult to control. But – if they see some pics and we can tie them down for even 24 hours – then there will be better numbers to show to Mum to prove that the Nigaud project is going to be good for us.”
“Sandy, which side of the debate were you on – and did you win?”
“I don’t think anybody has won yet. We’re all a bit tired and a bit too involved to give any objectivity.” She sounded almost as tired as I did.
“Shall we sleep on it? I know these booker-type people can probably get the excitement to avoid the need for sleep – but we’re knacked. Kathy – what’s the problem with waiting 24 hours. Hold on, has anyone rung Mum to see when she’s due back? Has there been an email or anything?”
Melanie said, “I checked before we went to the football. I’ll check again.”
She was back in a moment. “There’s an update. Do you want to know what’s happening? Duh, duh, daaaah [the Millionaire wait-for-it music]” and she paused.
“Come on Meanie, [a truly hated alternative for Melanie]”
“Is she going to be on time, early or delayed by one day or three days? You have a choice!”
“Don’t muck us about.”
“She’ll be here in - duh, duh, daaaaah – about an hour.”
“What!”
“Yeah, one of the high-ups had to come back ultra quick and there was a helicopter. She won the ticket to go with him. About an hour.”
“Kathy – can you wait that long?”
“Don’t be silly. I can wait even though I know it’ll take more than an hour to get her up to date and in the mood for a decision.”
Now that we had another reason to be excited – we all ran around, except Kathy and Erica who sat talking in the lounge, checking the house, getting everything ready for school and preparing a wait-for-it dinner. That’s one that’s sitting ready for as long as necessary until we’re ready to eat. There’s two versions the ‘all-the-work-is-done’ and the ‘get-the-final-stage-done’. A casserole is the first sort; SpagBol is the second sort because you have to cook the spaghetti at the last minute.
We had a sort of mix – there was a big chicken casserole ready to go but we needed veg and potato. Aren’t frozen peas easy. And peeling spuds is easy too. I cut the skins with a knife so that we could have home-crisps as well.
In about an hour, we heard the car. Since this had been at the station, Mum had obviously got a lift there from the airport. She was engulfed as soon as she came in. We rather liked our Mum. And we had missed her a lot.
After the initial hubbub, she congratulated us for having the house so tidy but why was there an extra car at the front?
So we had to introduce Kathy and Erica. And that was when things got a bit, er, complicated.
Mum did keep quiet through most of the story. You can guess which part of the story we were at by her comments.
“You did what?” “You went to a party as a girl – in a dress !!” “Oh, Avril Nigaud, that’s clever – did anybody guess?” “They think Sandra is a lesbian, how stupid of them.” “You got dressed again?” “There’s photographs!” “They want you to be a model – how much?” “They’re not sure – why not?”
So we were up to date.
Mum was in full business-mode, problem-solving for the family rather than the government. “Right, come with me, Kathy is it and Erica – let’s look at these pictures. You can tell me or show me why they’re special. Girls – and Avril too – I want the table set for all seven of us and everything on the table in ten minutes. If the veggies are going to make it fifteen – tell me as soon as possible.”
It is tough being on the receiving end of Mum in business-mode. You can see how and why she’s known for cutting through the dead wood to the heart of the problem. Can’t see the wood for the trees – get Chainsaw Mum. Like the song ‘I can see clearly now the trees have gone’. Allegedly they sang this at one of the office parties – not in any sarky way but because they like her so much. She’s amazing. She’s tough but everyone approves; even those who get the chop see that she’s as fair as she can be.
I almost pitied the bookers if they met Chainsaw Mum in a bad mood.
It was just on eight o’clock by now and we would be expected to be slowing down as tomorrow was a schoolday. We didn’t have to go to bed but electronic boxes and exciting films or TV were frowned on in the two hours before bed. We often played board games – never Monopoly as this could get downright nasty. Speed Scrabble was the favourite now that we had an agreed set of house rules – Snail Scrabble with a dictionary while you waited was just tedious. But tonight it looked like a two-pair chess tournament. Sandy versus Melanie, me versus Alice.
The adults went off to do more talking. There was only going to be one thing they were talking about. I wasn’t worried – we’d all learnt that worrying was a useless activity. Dad’s summary was that worrying just upset everyone. ‘If there’s an issue that other people worry about, then either you do something about it, or you break a piece off and fix that or some of it is beyond your scope so ignore it. To spend time and energy on worrying is a waste of valuable resources.’ Very much against waste was our Dad.
The chess slowed down after two games each – surprisingly everybody won one game. “What do you think is going on. They’re still talking.”
Of course, we’d been talking ourselves while we played. Sandy kept asking how I would cope if I had to dress up as often as seemed likely with Project Avril Nigaud. I said several times ‘As far as I’m concerned this is a one-off and all it’s all a piece of role-play, a performance. I’m not a girl, I’ve never ever thought I’d be better or do better if I was young Meanie and I’ve never ever thought doesn’t Alice have an easy time, why don’t I want to be like her. I’ve done blokey type games, pastimes and activities except when we were very tiny and it was indoor-only weather. I’ve hardly ever done any dressing up in your frillies or stuff – and when I did it was at least 5 years ago. I wasn’t even a teenager. I do remember being persuaded to be at tea-parties and so on a few times. But never as a pretend-girl that I recall and, well, it’s just I’m a boy not a hidden-girl or a wannabe-girl. And certainly not like the people we read about when we were looking at tolerance who are ‘girls with a minor plumbing difficulty’. No sir, not me.”
“I think we’ve got the picture, brother dear. You’re not a girl or a girly-boy or anything other than a boy who is willing to wear a dress.” Alice giggled.
“Hold on. That’s exactly the sort of comment I want to avoid. So, please don’t be tricksy like that. It’s not nice and it’s not kind and it’ll make me say ‘bollocks and you’re on your own.”
“You hold on – a big part of this is for your friend Sandy and the rumours the nasties are spreading.”
“Yes. So I don’t want any rumours about me. I’d guess that stories about being a tranny or a sissy would be noticeably worse than for Sandy perhaps being a les. Think about it and tell me I’m wrong.”
“No. I think you’d get it worse – and we’d get some of the flak too. We won’t tease you and we’ll both be more careful, okay.”
“Fair enough. And I’ve still got my dare-bonus to claim.”
“That’s true as well.”
“I think I’d have pulled out of the whole scheme if I didn’t think Thursday and then Saturday had showed I could look good enough. I was never completely confident but as you said it was be noisy and dark and you gave me some more help too. Is there a budget on my dare-bonus?”
“To be honest, I never thought about that. Do you know what you want yet?”
“No. But as the sacred Tom Lehrer taught us ‘Be Prepared’. And I promise not to either solicit for my sister or poison pigeons in the park.”
“We bow before thee, young maiden. Thy words are to me like lurid micturitions from a globsy bee. We list and learn and go to prepare the nightly potions which will ensure the softest skin on thy damsel-fair visage.”
“For crying out loud, stop mixing up your quotations and even worse getting one of them wrong. Yukk. I’ve had enough I’m going to go up and listen to some music – and maybe even do some boy stuff, heh heh.”
“Don’t be more revolting than necessary, brother dear. But going to bed is fair enough. I’m exhausted by the whole thing so I reckon we’re all done in – getting you ready – keeping alert throughout the party in case things went wrong – and all this talking. Sandy, do you want a lift?”
“It’s not far, I came on my bike.”
“Not at this time of night, not in the half-dark, I can’t allow it. If the bike won’t fit, I’ll drive fifty yards behind you. And don’t argue.”
“That would make me feel safer. Thanks, Alice. I know you’re tired but I would feel safer.”
“Let’s get to it then. Bike and Bed. I’ll update Mum.”
Melanie and I went upstairs while Mum set off to do Mum-things.
To my amusement, Alice had again left a nightie on my bed. When had she had time to do that, I wondered? Whatever. I wasn’t going to be wearing it so it put it to one side and quite quickly fell asleep.
Looking for a new Andrej. Part 3 of 3
Avril in public
How does Avril cope in the clutches of the Fashion World ? Can Mike keep dressing up only as role-play? How tempted is he?
In the morning, Mum got us up early for an update on Project Avril Nigaud. “I’m sorry to get you up early but if you’re not up-to-date and helping us keep control then things could get out of hand. This would cause or very likely cause immense difficulties for Mike.”
“A few things to make clear. I’m not comfortable with some of this. But money is tight these days and the amount of debt that students build up is just wrong. The majority of current MPs had grants and advantages far in excess of what they are denying their own children and grandchildren. Sorry, rant #43 – don’t get me started on government hypocrisy.”
“But they employ you.”
“Yes, but that’s for another time. Now is about this Project Avril Nigaud. I’ve done my research into both this Andrej-Andrea Pejic person and the whole modelling world. Your draft, Mike, was a good introduction, well done.”
“I have also talked with Dad. He’s a little confused – as indeed am I. Like any parent for the sake of avoiding being different, we’d prefer our children to be mildly normal because, like it or not, too many people lie about their tolerance levels. They hate ‘difference’ when it’s not according to their prejudices. Bluntly, in my opinion, being gay is an ordeal. Being trans is a nastier ordeal. Not having had either situation occur near us, we are confident we would cope. But we’d have to adjust how we look at things. One really ugly sentence from a blog hit me ‘would you prefer a happy live child facing problems or a dead child who had given up’. There’s no choice if the parent is sane.”
“You do have a resemblance to Andrej, yes. I’m rather confused about the naming rules when someone changes like that. But, to my mind fortunately, you do not have the same early-years interest in androgyny – which has for him-her now come out more completely as actual dysphoria and a willingness to change his apparent gender. As far as I am aware, you have never expressed any interest in being a girl, looking like a girl, behaving as a girl or had any questions about your boyness.”
“I am aware that you have played dress-up a few times, never as successfully or as thoroughly as this weekend, but you’re a young lad with two sisters so it’s not too surprising. There are occasions when having to play indoors just leads to unusual outcomes – like dressing up. But then they’ve joined you much more often in games, doing things outdoors and doing tomboy-type stuff and I’ve never had an issue about that either.“
“I am amazed and startled by how very feminine you look in these photographs. With this slightly weird demand by the fashion world for models who show less and less curve and femaleness, getting breastless skinny boys into dresses has to be a depressingly logical step. But the fashion world is not real life for the majority. It’s a pressure cooker arena with its own temporary rules. And don’t get me started on why they have to look so glum all the time. It seems the only ones who smile are in toothpaste adverts. Strange.”
“Several things drive my decision. Some for, some against. One ‘for’ has to be the money. One ‘against’ is we’re not doing it just for the money. Second is my confidence that you can do this for a while and still maintain your certainty as a boy. Third, you are intelligent but your schoolwork is not to be diminished in any way. Another ‘against’ is the whole strangeness of the fashion industry. There’s other reasons and factors too, of course.”
“For all the purposes of this project, you will be Michael Russell performing as Avril Nigaud. We’re not going to pretend that you’re a girl. You’re a boy who has been offered a job due to a wildly successful April Fool. I’d like it if you could do some more aggressively and visibly boy things to counter any suggestions of prejudice and the like.”
“I’m well aware that the world is not black and white and strictly segregated as regards sexuality or gender. But the huge majority of this world is very nasty and very vicious about anything that threatens their nicely boxed lives. Very few except those who are immersed in their own difference accept gays, lesbians, bisexuals or any of the sexual variation from fetish to whatever goes on behind closed doors. And Transexuals break the behind-closed-doors rule because their activities are in public. Most people will accept anything that goes on out of sight and out of mind because they can pretend it’s not happening and it’s not a threat.”
“I’ve lost count of the times people I know have said, willingly and openly and apparently meaning everything they are saying, that they are happy with or don’t fuss about anybody being homosexual. But they’ll wince when a man refers to ‘their husband’; they’ll wince when a man kisses a man in front of them; they’ll probably twitch when a man holds hands with another man. That’s not really full acceptance. But that’s their issue and they need to become a bit more flexible. The biggest encouragement to change is when someone you already know and like forces you to address these issues. Like here and now – with you.”
“But that’s general, and for you we have to be specific. I am well aware – since Mums know everything – that you are concerned about slow or delayed puberty, but I am not worried. I am mildly concerned, and have steps ready to be taken when you are ready, but that’s separate. We can talk about it later now it’s been mentioned or in a few days time. I say in a few days time, because I have booked an appointment about that issue, okay.”
“However, I’m certain and I think you’re certain that you’re a boy. I doubt you would be expressing concerns about puberty in the way you have if you weren’t sure about being a boy. It may upset you but I’ve already spoken with people about this and they have expressed no concern about you hiding, even from yourself, a desire to alter your forthcoming boy-type puberty. Which might be an issue during this project as you will immensely pressured to adopt a girly manner and behaviour.”
“What?”
“Hush, hush, dear. That’s for later. This is now. Key to what happens is how you deal with this at school. My preference is not to lie as lies almost always boomerang and bite you twenty times worse when you don’t want it and don’t need it. Not being informative is mostly a delaying tactic. The truth does come out, almost always anyway.”
“My suggestion is that you don’t deny anything at school if the subject arises. There are not that many who already know but you’ll have to see if anyone makes a fuss today. I would minimise it completely. It was an April Fool and as far as you know it’s over, yes. None of your male friends are going to need much more than that to ignore it. Your female friends are more likely to know about Andrej Pejic and they may pick up on Avril’s existence. Whether they connect the dots won’t be likely today and the thing may drift away schoolwise.”
“In the medium-term, if this does go ahead beyond mere talking, then Avril will indeed have a sort of existence. There will be pictures, articles and interest far beyond the casual. We need to plan for this NOW rather than wait and see just in case.”
“Now, if anyone does today accuse you of being a queer, sissy or any of the words that can be used, my suggestion is to say something like ‘don’t be silly, it was a great piece of theatre’. You can embellish, only if you have to with ‘it was my sister’s idea, it was a bit of a laugh, it felt really weird y’know’ and phrases of that sort. I really would encourage you to downplay and minimise. And I’d actually avoid strange, weird and anything that might label you as ‘too different’. Stereotyping and prejudice can be a bummer to get past. I mean, look at me, I was massively prejudiced against your Dad.”
“What. Why?”
“His name was Jeremy – and at school there was not one, not two, but three Jeremys. One was a ghastly vicious bully, one stank with BO, and the third was an arrogant piece of stuff with a mansion in the country don’t y’know. Horrible. I nearly walked away when your Dad said his name. Now that’s a specific example of non-logical stereotyping and prejudice. I didn't like it even though I could feel myself doing it and thinking it . I wonder why that story didn't come up last year when you were doing the Tolerance work.”
“Anyway, outside school, there is no issue until and only if these booker people do come up with assignments and contracts and options which are worthwhile. And I mean this both in terms of money coming in and effort being required. This will be your first major contact with the outside world and the pressures that can be exerted. It will require time, effort, energy and willingness and perhaps money being spent that you have never before had to expend.”
“It might need us to spend money?” I said
“Quite possibly, dear, but don’t interrupt – just make a note. I’ve spent a lot of time last night and this morning putting this all together, I’m a little tired. So – what decisions have I made?”
“As of now, and this may change within 24 hours, I have agreed that the 20 picture portfolio can be sent to the two bookers that Kathy knows well. If nothing happens, then nothing happens and I can get some sleep and it will all likely fade away. If there is interest, signified by actual promises that I can believe in and the imminent promise of coloured bits of paper, then I will make further decisions with your and our best interest at heart. You will not be objectified, mistreated, bullied or manipulated while I have anything to do with it. The fashion monster eats people – it will not have you and spit the bones out like it can do.”
“Modelling is a transient poorly-paying job for almost all candidates. Because of these strange circumstances, it may be that you can short-circuit the process. That is what we may find out in the next few hours.”
“Now, off to school, you two. Deny and slide off as many comments as come your way. And that applies to all three of you. Update Sandy as soon as you can. Remember the line about it ‘just being a bit of theatre, a bit of a laugh’. Alice, you’re at college for whatever few hours they demand today – try to keep a low profile and listen rather than comment. Go.
“Coo, that was a bit heavy for first thing on a Monday morning.”
“Yes, but it seems much more in control than before. Yesterday was weird even for a weird day.”
School was pretty much as Mum predicted.
Mel, Sandy and I met up at lunch. To my surprise, Charlie waved us over to his table. “How is the French cousin today?” Fortunately, the rest of the team was gone and the table was empty.
“Ah ahm joost fahn." And I flicked my hair as I had been taught. We all smiled "Doing just fine thanks. I just need to keep the drama teacher from finding out. Alice said I was a bit too successful and made her feel she needed to try harder at dressing up for parties! But as a one-off, it was a bit of a laugh.”
“Very successful too, chum. And no way is that Avril the same age as you. Excellent as one might say. But also tell Alice she’s already gorgeous and a boy two years younger says so.”
We all laughed and the issue seemed to slide away while we talked about forthcoming exams and how we were revising. This was going to be a useful topic for days and weeks.
Melanie told me that she had had one girl see us disappear into the back room at the shop and had wondered what was going on. She had invented that Kathy was an old friend and had needed us to do some sorting out in the back as she was short of staff. The girl had looked slightly puzzled but seemed to accept the answer.
When we got home, it was Alice who had been pestered most. She had had far too many comments about her pretty ‘sister’ and how much they were amazed to find out it was me. She kept on with the April Fool answer and she thought it would fade away. One girl had made a comment about what a career I might have as a model – but she herself wanted to be a model and knew a lot about how things worked. Her name was Francesca and Alice was going to keep an eye on her.
Mum came back half an hour later, with Kathy. After the various hellos were done, “Right, is dinner ready and do we update each other before, after or during?”
This was Mum in full ‘let’s-get-on-with-it’ mode. It can be a bit intimidating. She does it at work too, apparently.
“School went okay. Nobody got at me because of the party. To be fair, there was more a ‘you’re okay’ than anything else. Melanie didn’t have anybody making comments as far as I know.”
Alice said there might be some problem with Francesca if and when the story got about and if she linked it at all to the new-Pejic thing.
Mum said, “I took some time off this afternoon because the bookers were willing to come to me, which I felt was quite an indicator. They liked the photos. In fact they were enthusiastic – whatever that means in fashion-world versus reality. They know that you’re a boy of 15. They were a little surprised but I pointed out certain legal issues if they let out any improper information. So I am confident that we’re all talking the same language. They want you on Saturday for most of the day to take more photographs. If you can manage Thursday evening for about 2 hours then they may be able to make Saturday into an assignment – which means income. They think they can promise you about £1,000 for the day which sounds far in excess of the usual rate. They must think there’s something there which is worth their while.”
“So, big question – are you willing to do some live theatre – that’s how I’m going to be describing it each time. Do you have any problem with that. You understand why I’m saying it that way?”
I nodded, and smiled too.
“I will be there all the time and if any of the others want to come they can do so. They might as well learn something about how tedious and boring a real-life job can be.” She smiled at something. “By the way, life can be boring at times. A trick is to let the bad times slide and embrace the good times.”
“I can do Thursday of it means making a £1000 on Saturday. I’m pretty well up with my revision and there’s no exam on Friday. Do you know what they’ll be doing on Thursday?”
Kathy spoke up “If you truly can spare Thursday – I hope you don’t want me to check about Friday – there’ll be more portfolio-type shots but there’ll be a team to get you dressed and hair and so on – it’ll go much faster than Sunday and it should be pretty straightforward. Saturday is going to be a much bigger affair. They’ll want you for a proper shoot – with outfits for the summer season even though April is a bit late really.”
“This is a magazine shoot – if I hadn’t done my homework I’d be expecting much more than that!.”
“The fee may increase actually if you do well on Thursday. If they can be persuaded to give you any sort of splash, sorry major mention within the article, then that’ll be worth more to you and them.”
“So, have we got the beginning of a forecast of the best outcome for Project Avril Nigaud. Obviously the worst is some effort by me and no significant money and a poor reaction at school. What’s on offer?”
“Both agencies are carefully talking to clients. Both agencies are taking a slightly lower rate because by good fortune we’ve already got the beginning of a name and reputation to offer. My forecast is that if you get £3,000 by the end of the month then there is a fair likelihood of takeoff into perhaps double that per month until your star fades. For too many that can be as short as this season and next – say six months. I am not in the business of making promises. But I can also offer you the web-site with two other local girls for all my adverts and I’m linked with about 10 other shops who share most of my range. As the web-boss for our group, I can offer you say another £1,000 for that plus a click on each page for 1% of the clothes you model that get bought online.”
“How much work would that take?”
“Probably 20 hours, if it’s as much as last year. We can use the promo shots we’ve taken already. And it would therefore take 7 to 8 evenings or 2 long days at a weekend.”
“That sounds like quite a good rate.”
“Well, Erica pretty much knows how to work with you. You’re quite amenable to direction and you don’t waste time like so many girls. Having help with hair and makeup would cost but would speed things up.”
“Who pays for hair and makeup assistance.” Melanie asked.
“Sometimes the buyer, sometimes you, sometimes other girls help each other. Does your Mum do makeup or hair?”
“Don’t be silly. Well, no, not as far as I know.” I said.
“Thanks, sweetie. If you’d kept your eyes open you’d know that I am sufficiently competent and I have helped both your sisters with hair and with makeup and with advice on dressing, deportment, style and so on. I didn’t attend for a year at classes in all those ultra-feminine activities not to be able to pass on my lessons.”
“You had lessons in GirlyPlus-200?” said Alice.
“Yep.”
“Ha, I bet they told you never to say ‘yep’.”
“Thou art a young and untrained maiden, yet there is truth in what you say.”
“Gee, thanks, ancient one.”
“Don’t push it, penniless damsel, reliant as thou art on the bounty of thy elders. In the meantime, we have food to eat. Documents to prepare and sign. Timetables to be made as to how we fit all these new things in. And, lucky Avril is going to the salon with me to see what we can arrange in a properly ambiguous way so that Avril is available and yet it is only Michael at school.”
“You’d all better read this article that we’ve drafted. It’s aimed to talk separately about Avril and Mike and at the same time to say that Mike is real and Avril is a performance based on the April Fool success. That’s the emphasis – a performance. We’ve discussed how we can counter-emphasise the solidity of Mike as the underlying character. One way you could do it is to become well known for man-sitting as Avril, that is to say, off-camera and only when you have a suitably long skirt, dress or whatever. We don’t need your actual whatevers to ever be visible whatever you’re doing.”
“Sometimes, I do wish the family didn’t enjoy wordplay as much as they do.”
“Ha, if we didn’t we would never have come up with Avril Nigaud. But man-sitting will neatly ensure that you’re only performing as a girl. And if you do some activity than can be labelled macho that’d help too. Perhaps you’d like to go cliff-climbing or whatever with Uncle Clive?”
“Oooh, but I’d have to be careful not to chip my nails.”
“Wrong answer dear. If you’re only acting as a girl then the makeup folk can fix your nails. You’d only care about your nails if they mattered to you. Although if they pay enough, then having good nails might matter a bit. For today, let’s wait and see.”
What was dad contributing during all this. Since he was away he left all the decisions to Mum. They trusted each other completely. He did want to be kept in the loop about everything that was happening and he set up links to whatever magazines and sites I was appearing on. A bit like a web-scrapbook really.
The way I’ve written the story makes it sound like he had little involvement with us. But that’s not true. But mostly, during the whole of Project Avril he was away and only available with Skype and the like. By the time he was back for Christmas, we could see that the whole thing was slowing down. By hindsight this was in part a deliberate action by Mum and him to start refusing jobs because school was becoming more important.
Their assessment was that I hadn’t been doing as well as necessary linking with the school on-line. They weren’t certain whether this was the teachers doing it differently, the timing being tricky or me just not working so well out of touch with my schoolmates – all they knew was that my work was beginning to slip and that was not good enough. So less Avril work and more Mike work was what happened.
Like most models, I got the offer of clothes on quite a lot of occasions. Some I had to keep so that on the few events where Avril had to show up – I had something to wear. Otherwise, Alice, Melanie and Sandy got almost all of it. They were all very grateful. Mum got some. Mum got asked a few times to model as well which embarrassed her enormously. But by then she knew what was happening and how to perform – she looked pretty good to my eye. And she did agree that taking part was more fun than sitting and watching.
I learnt a lot about girls during the year. And everyone said that I grew up very quickly. Part of that was having to spend so much time with adults intent on their own ends. You have to think fast and keep your balance at such times. Mum’s advice was invaluable but time after time, it was Sandy who kept me in control.
Kathy was right. My stint as a model didn’t last that long. I did my last assignment about 14 months after that April party. I had had a pretty exciting and exhausting time. The overall net profit as recorded in Justin Case Ltd’s books came out at about £64,000 which was going to cover a huge amount of
University loans. By agreement, it was shared out so that it wasn’t all for me.
I got half of it set aside into my University fund. Alice, Melanie, Mum and Dad got £2,000 each as a present; while I got another £5,000. The remaining money was used to have two fantastic holidays as my work had got in the way of anything except short-breaks for all those months. In addition to that, we reckoned that we had probably another £10,000 at least in clothes for Mum, Alice, Mel – and Avril.
Clothes for Avril were because I was expected to be in public as a walking talking advert for whatever clothes or accessory company was paying me. I even had all the other feminine items as well. Shoes weren’t a problem although I never liked heels more than 2 inches, but having to wear ‘the new teenage perfume’ was a bit tricky at school and as for the underwear endorsements – that was taking role-play to what Mike thought was to excess. But you need the right undies under pretty clothes so there wasn’t much choice.
To be clear about it, Avril had a bigger wardrobe than most real girls by the end of it. But within a few months of stopping, they were all no use – and hadn’t been worn anyway, becausfe a reasonable growth spurt had occurred.
The shareout took quite a lot of talking but the basics had been agreed in advance. As Mum often quoted about government schemes and payouts ‘If there is no money – then there’s nothing to argue about; if there’s lots of money then there’s enough for everyone; if there’s only some money then it can get very nasty.’
As far as we were concerned, once it got above about £20,000 then everybody was going to get something and we were all going to be happy. Mum and Dad were quite firm about avoiding greed. But then their general philosophy was the avoidance of the 7 Deadlies and all the Vile Symptoms. [ If you need a reminder - Sloth, Lust, Anger, Greed, Jealousy, Envy, Pride (SLAGJEP); Theft, Adultery, Coveting, Cruelty; Abuse and all the others are merely symptoms.]
They’re not keen on the Christianity taught in churches. They showed us just three rather large difficulties with the Bible and said what ‘we would like is for you to have a good solid moral code. This may well be based on parts of the Bible as you can hardly argue with thou shalt not steal or kill. But we’d really prefer for you to build your own code. On a day to day basis there’s not much better than ‘Do as You would be Done by’.
Their first examples were - in the first few verses, Man is created after the animals – and a few verses later the Man comes before the animals. Roman records show that if the Gospels are true then Christ was born before 4BC and also after 6AD. Finally, the idea of the Trinity, of Heaven versus Hell do not exist in the Bible. So – while the Bible may be a good document as a vague guide to Jewish history as written by themselves; also as a guide to how to run a nomadic tribe in 3000 BC and as a list of allegedly prophetic babblings – it is not wholly, let alone holy, relevant to 21st century westerners.
Like Mum, I like putting my thoughts down on paper.
But that’s how my life went from the age of 15 to 16 and a bit. Not the usual, you’d agree. I calculated that I spent not quite 1,500 hours wearing dresses, skirts, and even underwear. What I learnt was that girl’s clothes are much much softer and more interesting than what boys get. But being blunt, clothes were and continued to be of little interest to me.
I’m a bit mixed up about the Avril Project. It was fun, and it was hard work and it earned money. But I had to work really hard to keep focussed on it being a role-play and to avoid being sucked into the whole world of feminine that I was experiencing so often.
Because it seemed that every day I had to be aware of girl-ness in myself and in those near me. And I had to concentrate on retaining the boy-ness I had grown up with.
If YOU were completely satisfied with being a mid-average boy-type person and then you had to wear dresses, underwear, breastforms, lipstick, makeup, perfume and everything girl and you were surrounded by people encouraging you to think girl-thoughts and pretend to be as girl as possible and just be girly. How hard would you be able to resist?
Well, I tried. I tried really hard. But sometimes I got used to it. I, Mikey the Man, - oh don’t be silly I never ever was ‘Mikey the Man’. I, Mike, got used to being Avril and wearing pretty clothes, smelling all flowery and sweet, the slick of lipstick on my lips. There were plenty of time I was really enjoying myself as a girl doing girl things. I got to enjoy the materials, the enormous variety of colour – there’s a lot to enjoy if you’re not wearing shades of beige. That was what one designed said about men’s clothes.
There were some big difficulties. Even though enough people thought I was, let’s say, vague about my gender, my preference was to say nothing as often as possible. I didn’t deny and I tried not to lie. I knew I was a boy interested in boy things and aiming, if ever the chance arose, to do specific and particular boy things with some of the girls I was meeting. Since my selling point was the Pejic-like androgyny I had to play up to that for some events and features. But I tried to build on the role-play and April Fool format. Mentioning the translation of my model-name as being April Fool helped with that.
But I had to wear a dancer’s belt, a gaff. Ouch and squeeze. This helped keep me sensible the first few times I was surrounded by girls getting changed into different costumes as fast as was possible. I saw breasts, bottoms, the occasional glimpse of pubic hair, and perhaps a glimpse of something other if my eyes weren’t wanting to see more than was visible. But you get used to that after a while. That was a thing that worried me – when I began not to notice curves because it was just ‘a girl’ – I wanted to stay a boy which meant, to me, being aware of girls and their bodies at all times.
I never quite got to thinking I was ‘one of the girls’. I never quite said ‘the other girls were doing this’. No that’s a lie. I might have SAID ‘the other girls were asked to whatever’ but I never really meant to put myself into the girl box even though it might sound that way when I was talking.
I got to have a lot of fun being Avril. And there were times, especially after a several day shoot, that all the models would go off and have a major-level relax. And if it was just a group of girls (and me) we’d do girl-type things. Spa, Salon, Disco – and we went as a group of girls. And we did and behaved as girls.
So I did my best at times like that to be ‘one of the girls’. And often those times were fun.
I think that I kept my boy brain in line by telling myself often that I was taking a role; it was a special bit of theatre, I was a boy playing the part of a girl called Avril. To my surprise, it was Melanie who helped most. We’ve spoken since and she says her constant reference to me as ‘Mikey in a dress’ was actually her being jealous and nasty. But after Mum ripped her apart for being so nasty, Mel learned to be more cautious. But I took ‘Mikey in a dress’ as a major encouragement that that was the exact truth. I was Mikey in a dress and when the dress came off – lo and behold, hold ‘em below – I was Michael as normal.
One phrase that Mum came up with if anyone accused me of being girly, or sissy or a poof or whatever was to say ‘It’s no more than playing a role, actually it’s a great role because they pay me to do it’. On some occasions, I added ‘Some of the time it’s hard work – but there’s a real bonus in that I get to work and even go out for the evening with a really great bunch of pretty girls. I’ve learnt more about girls, how to listen, how to talk to them than anyone else I can think of. It’s all good.’
Eventually most of the girls I worked with knew that I was an Andrej-type model, androgynous and able to look a bit boy and a bit girl as required. And this was before Andrej actually signed up for the SRS surgery and turned out to be more girl than anyone had first thought. Personally I wondered if the constant exposure and probable pressure to take the girl route had got to him, her, Andrea.
Clearly both Mum and Dad had concerns about Michael and Avril. I went to a counsellor quite a few times to give me guidance as to the tricky path I was on.
I remember some of what he said. He was very blunt.
“Fortunately, the medical profession in all its various forms has been in agreement for some years that gender is no longer absolutely male versus female. The real world is years behind whatever the lawmakers pretend.”
“As far as I can tell you are a bit special. Not as far as unusual – but different from the average boy with gender dysphoria.”
“Is that what I’ve got.”
“No.”
“So.”
“What you do have is a physique that displays vaguely girl and simultaneously vaguely boy. You’re not intersexed. You’re simply androgynous. This is hugely a physical presentation with little or no certainty that your brain and soul will feel a lean in either direction.”
“I’ve been looking things up.”
“Well, of course you have. Who wouldn’t these days. And some of what you read sounds stupid, some sounds irrelevant, some hits the spot and some sounds just wrong. Would that be fair?”
“Too right Bruce.”
“I’ll give you some jargon. My version. There will be some who quibble about details. There’ll be others who would hate what I say and the way I say it. And there’s no quality data to back up much of it either. Every minority group and every offshoot with its own particular emphasis will exaggerate to try to make their views heard. From a third party view, some of it is ridiculous.”
“Words – Transvestite, Transsexual, Transgender, Cross-dresser, Drag, Drab, Cis, Fluid, Intersex, Questioning and there’s more. Like any community there are words which mean special things. So - Cisgender: ‘I'm okay with my gender I was assigned and born with’. Transvestite: ‘I enjoy wearing the opposite gender’s costume; I do not feel I am the wrong gender’. Transgender: ‘I need to behave, express and act according to my inner self which does not match my allocated birth gender’. Transexual: ‘I feel that the gender I was allocated when born does not match my true gender’; therefore I feel as though I need to surgeries performed to make me match, look, and feel better about the gender I believe I am.’ To a degree, transexual is more, not quite the right word, determined or perhaps necessary than someone who is transgender.”
“Personally, I feel that the syllable ‘sex’ is really unhelpful as regards what has nothing to do with sexual preference. Intersex: ‘I have both female and male parts. This can be difficult for me in deciding a specific gender.’ Sadly, too many intersex children have their visible gender decided for them by parents or medics – if they get it wrong it can be a bloody disaster.”
“There’s many more words and, for now, you don’t need them. This is our fourth or is it fifth session. I can tell you that how you presented at our first meeting and what you say and do know has barely altered. That means, to me, that you’re pretty solid in your inner self. And that what’s happening to you is not screwing you up. Which is good. Although I make a great deal of money from screwed up people.”
“But even the people who are TG or TS can get into arguments about the exact meaning of their difference and how others should behave. Suffering intolerance very rarely makes the victim more tolerant.”
“Your parents are not stupid. And they care enormously about you. They’ve seen the stories and the stats. Too many kids with dysphoria harm themselves. And I think you do not have dysphoria in any way. Well, not significantly. You have the androgyny to deal with and the delayed puberty – but I see no actual dissatisfaction with your body or any desire to change. So, I can tell you that and because they are paying me I will give them the gist of this summary. Due to the doctor-patient thing I can’t tell them more than generalities unless you give permission. Do you give permission.”
“Just to recap on the dysphoria label. Among the key indicators, most authors suggest the following – and as far as I can tell, you tick none of the boxes. Disgust at your genitalia, social isolation from their peers, anxiety, loneliness and depression. I have seen and heard nothing to indicate that Michael is anxious, lonely or depressed. Mildly concerned about delayed puberty, but that’s rather separate. And there’s nothing to suggest that Avril is ‘better’ than Michael as regards loneliness or depression and so on. You’re okay, young person. See how carefully I avoid a label at this point. So I can tell your parents you’re not in a mess.”
“Oh yes. I’m quite happy for them to know I’m not screwed up.”
We smiled at each other.
“There are statistics but it’s so hard to have confidence in them. And I can never forget that the LGB brigade has actually almost nothing to do with the TI folk. There is little doubt that there are many more heterosexuals than homosexuals, that there are many more homosexuals than gender-variant. I would go with there’s 5 to 10% of people who are wholly or often homosexual. And there may be 3% who cross-dress, 1% who are transgender or transsexual and, from what I’ve read, actually the intersex percentage is in excess of 1%. You do the sums and see who shouts loudest and whether some of these minorities should have as much influence as they get.”
In the USA, there’s over 300 million people. In each age-year there’s about 4 million. Apparently, 400,000 mid-teen kids are kicked out of their homes each year for being gay or otherwise ‘unsuitable’ – which has to include trans-kids in one or other box. In New York, the average age for a trans-kid to be kicked out is just 13. Just think about it, they’re experiencing puberty and not coping with it and they lose their homes, friends and families. It’s got to be so wrong. Be grateful that you have immense support, sufficient resources to access professional support, that’s me by the way. And your core is solid.”
“I think, at the most complicated, you may, and I repeat may, be interested in cross-dressing but this is mostly because you are so good at it and you are being praised for it. This is a step on a path. Listen to my wording – not several steps – not THE path - just a step on one possible path. I also think that it is going to be completely your choice. You’ve possibly been taught at school that everyone is a mix of nature versus nurture. That’s very true. Your current nature is slightly flexible but your nurture is solid. Another concept to bear in mind is that people are rather obviously the sum of all the groups they belong to. Since you currently inhabit a world filled with pretty girls who are mostly treated as clothes-horses then you’ll be absorbing some of their ideas and values. That’s why you need to be talking to me now and again. I’d very strongly recommend that you talk over what we’ve talked about here with your Mum or your Dad or both.”
Get out of here and have a good time until I see you again.”
“Thanks, psychoquack.” He’d offered me this nickname when we first met. He said, it was a quick way to break down some of the barriers.
I was, of course, a bit younger than many of the models so my mum was with me quite a bit of the time, or else Alice. I don’t know how easily I would have coped on my own.
Melanie was actually really helpful even if that wasn’t her intention. She kept on talking about me as ‘Mikey in a dress’. And this was a real help in keeping my sweetly intoxicated brain on the boy path. I can promise you, being surrounded by girliness so much and so often was a difficulty.
There were times when I did wonder how it would end. There were times I thought hard about being a girl full time or even being a more real girl. But the idea of cutting off my penis never hooked me. I liked my penis however average it was. I liked the idea of doing things with girls – even with some of the girls I was undressing with. In case you hadn’t noticed, most boys love the idea of doing something with girls. So, as far as I was concerned, I was definitely a boy. And the reverse of cutting the penis, no I didn’t want breasts either. There were times that I had what looked like breasts but that was push-up bras and sometimes a filler. But even when the other models talked about it, no no. I talked to Alice about it.
She was pretty blunt. “Bro, if you had any significant girl tendencies beyond the ability to look astonishingly girly when you are needed to, then I might be worried. Nothing, well almost nothing, that has happened to you or that you’ve talked about suggests that you are thinking about going any further. You’re surrounded by gorgeous girls and it’s impossible for even me not to glance and compare. But that’s not being lesbian. For me, it’s more about lack of confidence.”
“You. Lacking confidence.”
“What you see is not what there is. Of course, I’m not arrogant enough to think every bit of me is fantastic. So I compare. Pleasingly, I’m better than some and obviously worse than others. Body-wise, brain-wise, socially, academically, there’s good and bad. That’s enough about me. But you need to know that every girl and every boy will shine when they are given approval and appreciation. It’s the quickest way to anyone’s heart.”
There was a pause. And I could see Alice thinking. I could see the change in her posture as she came to a decision.
“I think you’re getting all confused in your head. I’m taking a risk here. You need a lesson and I’m giving it to you because I love you and want to help you get this ‘do I love girls’ or ‘do I love being a girl’ thing sorted. You need a lesson in how girls are. I said before that when we’re getting changed or looking at each other’s wardrobe getting naked in front of each other is a thing that we girls sometimes do with each other. And once in a while we go a bit further. Well, some of my friends do. TMI. But you need to know what girls are like. I don’t want you all screwed up. We got you into all this – so we have to keep you on the straight and narrow, keep you sane and so on. Here’s a lesson.”
Before I notice that she’s undoing her bra. I see her breasts. They’re not big, not small. They are so real.
“You can touch them – very gently – as if they were made of feathers. Boys always touch too hard!”
I can’t believe what’s happening. My hands are touching soft, warm, flexible, real breast.
“Feel them, weigh them. Stroke them.”
They are so heavy in my hands. They’re not actually that big I’m told later (34 C) but they’re so very real. I stroke them and my fingers touch her nipples. I manage to control myself and move my fingers away. I run my fingers back underneath and once again feel the heft and reality. My curled fingers graze her nipples – again more or less accidentally.
Alice groans quietly “Oooh, that’s not really what you should be doing, but it feels very very nice. I think you should stop that at once, move your fingers away and just holding them gently, for just a few seconds, then gradually stop.”
Alice was smiling with her eyes almost closed. “Oh, that was definitely not what was I was expecting. We shouldn’t do that again – but it may well have taught you more in a minute and a half than you’d ever get from watching a video or playing with yourself.” She giggles. “Not of course I know anything about you playing with yourself other than the gloopy crunchy stuff you leave in your pants once or twice, now and again – and much too often.”
I cringe. But then I smirk. “And how, when and why – exactly – do you know about that.”
“It’s not guesswork. I do the laundry more often than you. I’m not stupid. I don’t like it much but you’re a boy – and I’m a girl so we each have these things happen.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s just your ‘mones.”
“What moans?”
“Hormones, silly. I can promise I’ve never heard a thing. Er, not like me, I can get a bit loud when I’m excited.”
“Yukky, TMI, big-sis.”
“For today, you need to know how girls talk when we’re without any boys around. It can get quite spicy, even vulgar, well, crude actually.”
“And, by the way, this is never going to happen again. I’m not that sort of girl, you’re not that sort of boy, and we are not a screwed-up weird family. We look after each other, do the best for each other and keep each other safe.”
“So – I guess those were the first breasts you’ve touched, yes?”
“Oh yes, definitely. I’ve got near to Sandy a few times – but not like that. Not in daylight so to speak.”
“I did wonder. Some of those girls you work with look quite, er, friendly.”
“Yeah, but they’ve never, I mean, I’ve never ….”
“Oh sweetie, you’re as red as a beetroot. That tells me you’re telling the truth. Oh dearie me.”
“This is several steps beyond embarrassing. Sis.”
“But you’ve taken a big step. Now some questions. When you held my breasts did you think, ‘these are wonderful I want them on me’ or did you think ’these are wonderful I want to do this more often with other girls’?”
“Once I got past ‘oh my god I’m feeling up my sister’, I think I thought, mostly, these are wonderful. I think my brain was overloading. I’ll try to answer the other bit. No, I don’t need to think, I’m positive – I don’t want breasts of my own – I’m not a girl however often I’ve been dressing up. I know, I’ve said it often enough, it’s a piece of theatre. I know just saying it isn’t enough. But, no, I don’t want breasts. I do want to hold them, feel them, enjoy them and enjoy the girl they’re attached to. That’s what I want.”
“I’m glad of that. Whatever they say about tolerance – too many of the real people don’t do it. They hated before they were told not to and they’ll hate just as much afterwards. We’ve all looked at the stories and read stuff, but being different is deadly. I’m glad you’re like you are and your head is still screwed on straight. But I still have to say, when you’re all dressed up, you’re very pretty and I’m proud of you. It’s got to have been hard these last months.”
I did often enjoy being pretty. I really enjoyed the attention I got by being able to look pretty. But underneath, deep in my brain, I knew that Michael was waiting to surface and have a normal boy-girl relationship.
“You’re right. And to be coarse, it’s been hard. Held down in its gaff, getting excited is not good. But, I’m so grateful to you and your two firm friends,” I smirked, “yep, I’m a boy and I’m happy about that.”
I was never worried about my sexual preferences. My genitals were analysed, poked, spiked, pierced and generally subject to an examination which was far too much for a modern boy to cope with. But I knew every time, while I wasn’t dazzled by the wearing of frills and all that, that I was a boy intent on staying that way.
It was doing events in public while in Avril-costume that tested me most. Often I had to interact with people who only knew about the ‘new Andrej’. And on those occasions, if I was dressed as a girl then I was treated as a girl. So I was expected to do girl things, like dancing round our handbags, not listening about sport (unless the screen showed something we were all excited about.)
I’ve not talked much about school. Did I get hassled about my Avril work. Not nearly as much as I could have been. I think it was because I called it ‘working as Avril’ and kept on with the role-play angle. I did have to do a presentation or two. The most embarrassing one was to the local girl’s school on ‘Life as a model is Hard Work’. I was expected to come in full dress – and then at the end, do a quick change and come out as Mike. Oh, awful.
Well, actually the embarrassment was because I had a new girl, not quite a full girlfriend yet, and she was in the audience. She was aware of my work but had never seen me performing. And Emma loved it. She couldn’t get over how real I looked and at how much I knew about fashion and creating an outfit and – yes – all the girl stuff that I had accumulated in the last year. Until she made me realize how much I had picked up, I thought I had remained immune or at least vaccinated against ‘girl’.
I bet you’re wondering if I ever dressed up because I felt like it. I’ve said there were times I was tempted …….. and there were times when I had several events close together and it seemed too much bother to flip into boy for a few hours. I’m not sure the few hours count as ‘because I felt like it’. There were some times when Sandy or the Sisters persuaded me to hang out as Avril. Yes, there were about three times when I dressed up because I felt like it.
Each of the three times were towards the end. I never really worked out why I did it. Perhaps Emma's enthusiasm had something to do with it. A short time before, she had persuaded me to go out with her as Avril; and it had been fun just the two of us. Fortunately perhaps they were just before another session with Psychoquack and we talked it through. I can’t remember exactly what we talked about but I never got dressed again ‘because I felt like it’. Later I talked with Mum and Dad about it. They hadn’t really noticed that I had done it, but they said they were pleased I’d told them and actually even more pleased that I had gone back to the role-play way of looking at all of it.
I do admit that I’ve changed the pants I wear to much more expensive styles which are closer in feel and material to panties than ever before. Not with the lace and frills, that’s not necessary – but sleek and sheer does feel so much nicer. I’m more attentive to materials and colours than most boys but that’s not surprising either. I look after my hair and hands more than most – but after over a year of indoctrination, deliberate or otherwise, there’s got to be some slippage.
Sandy was still with me – but we were now friends rather than boy-girl-friends. But we had never broken our friendship – I think we will always be friends and we’re both very happy with that. Both Mum and Dad said that first best-friends are really important and they had failed to keep theirs.
Puberty has at last arrived, Sandy agreed that things seemed to be working because we had another sucker bet – and I won.
If you’re wondering why I never got to feel or fondle Sandy. Well, it just never happened that way. A few times, snuggled together I did have my arm across her shoulder and my fingers did feel the edge of her breasts – but that was as far as we went. You can’t understand the whys and wherefores of every action that did or didn’t occur. We were always much more friends than lovers.
I see no likelihood of wearing dresses again as my voice has broken and at the moment I’m not doing anything with any theatre group. Perhaps at University, where Avril’s efforts help me considerably to avoid the need to work at grubby and degrading jobs just to keep the debts at bay. Dad refuses to let any of us consider not working because that will set us apart from many of our fellow students. And being ‘different’ can be the same as saying ‘here’s a target’.
I did spend some sessions with Psychoquack, and we agreed that I had no dysphoric interest or proclivities. I was merely a boy with a temporary pre-pubertal androgynous appearance which allowed me to make some money. A useful amount of money- and all I had to do was wear dresses and stuff.
Being Avril was fun. I’m pretty confident that she’s gone – but I’m only 16 so what do I know.
Thanks Avril.