Caught In Slips - Part 1
By Christine Myr

If I’d set the following story about cricket in England and how a girl could change things there, then to tell you the truth this story “really would” be a fictitious. That’s because cricket over here seems so dull and boring now we appear to have lost almost all the colourful characters (the press use to label them as eccentric) that once use to grace our game. I don’t know for sure why that happened. Perhaps it was the money they pay test match players today, or possibly because of the new political correctness that seems to be sweeping through sports in general that caused all the eccentric individuals to disappear from our cricket fields here. I just know that I miss watching them or reading about their antics in the national newspapers while having breakfast on Sunday mornings.

An author named OES posted a fun cricketing tale on this site yonks ago, but it seemed to vanish overnight when I began trying to find it to reread it again. Then recently I saw the name OES show up on TSBC’s obituary listing and unless OES’s story found its way onto an EBook somewhere, my shameless stealing of some of his ideas will hopefully be OK.

So let’s tell political correctness to go get lost for a while and let’s allow reality to take a holiday too as you read this story.....I’m not getting any money for writing it, so if you’re like me and you’re just simple, old and decrepit, but you wish you could still play the game, then why don’t you go look for your old faded yellowed whites along with your cricket kit tucked away in a trunk somewhere in the garage or up in the loft, try them on to see if the clothes still fit, then buckle on the batting pads make sure your hectors in place, grab your batting gloves and bat and come striding out with me to the middle (of your imagination) with me.....and just hope you don’t get out “first ball!”

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Oddly enough most people don’t tend to recall the exact moment in their life when it changed, I didn’t either (at the time).

Not that it matters now, but up until I was almost 15 my family always called me Michael. I was the youngest of three children, the others being Greg who was almost 4 years older than me and my sister who was a year ypounger than Greg. My parents must have had dominant Nordic/Saxon genes in their make up as all three of their children still have blonde hair (practically snow white in fact) along with pale skin. As for mum and Sue, to look at them any one would generally acknowledge their appearance as being your typical “peaches and cream” flowers of English womanhood. Today both are about 5’8” tall, blondish white hair, slim, long legged, have big busts and blue eyes. Dad on the other hand is a tad over 6’3” in height with a solid masculine build, strong as an ox, similar coloured hair to mum although slightly darker, while my older brother Greg wasn’t far behind dad being almost the same height as dad at 18 and according to all my school friends as solid as a stone wall.

So who had mum actually slept with to produce someone like me? When I was 14, 4’10”, skinny as a stick, blue eyed snowy white hair. I tipped the scales at nothing more than 38 or so kilograms back then and actually did get blown about on windy days if the wind gusts were sudden!

No, mum wasn’t to blame for me, or dad for that matter. I’d been afflicted with scarlet fever when I was five and at the time it was touch and go as to whether I’d survive. I spent almost a month in hospital and several months more recuperating at home afterwards. At the time it only mattered that I lived although a few years later the doctors agreed that the fever had to have affected my body’s natural growth.

Aside from the fact that I was generally smaller than everyone my own age, I also developed one symptom somewhat unusual to the “average” young boy in that I grew small but very definite breasts where only my chest was supposed to be. The medical people termed my affliction as “Gynecomastia” and said that my “chest” might grow slightly bigger but would eventually stop expanding and once it did, a simply surgery would allow them to take the swelling out and leave little scarring and I’d appear normal around the chest region.

Since the age of ten, I’d been forced to wear a tight compression bandage over my “chest” to avoid any embarrassing questions. It seemed to work at school or in public although at home both my brother and sister weren’t above teasing me if they saw me walking around with no shirt on even back then. Sue was probably the worst of the pair because she wasn’t above actually firmly clasping one tiny breast and gently tugging on it while asking aloud if I needed one of her bras! Her actions never failed to cause a fight between the two of us that always ended up needing mum to intervene if only to prevent my sister from hurting me as even then at thirteen years old, she towered over me besides being much stronger. Mum never teased me because she'd yell out to go put something on usually followed by for pity's sake if she saw me with no shirt on. Dad never said a word but his loud nasal breaths quickly had me hurrying into my bedroom to cover up.

As I wrote earlier, most people never know the moment their life is about to change, but I now know that my life changing moment began to happen when dad came home and announced that his company was seconding him (and us) to Australia to take over one of the agricultural operations there and that we would be moving there perhaps as early as sometime in late November. Wow, moving overseas to live would be MOST people’s idea of a life changing moment. Yes I suppose it was but my REAL life changing moment was what eventually resulted from dad’s announcement.

One of the conditions of the transfer overseas was the family obtaining medical clearances for immigration. The family was booked in for medicals one Saturday and as bad luck would have it (in my case) the regular doctor who saw me was away on leave so I actually had to see a locum female doctor. Unlike my normal doctor Dr. Bryant, Dr. Case wouldn’t accept my parent’s assurances about my condition and did a full medical which involved me being completely naked. I can still recall the look of surprised shock on her face, quickly changing to professional curiosity when she saw me after directing me to take off the gown I had covering me.

I was then subjected to a battery of tests for over an hour or more that at one point had my mum and dad joining me to answer Dr. Case’s questions. At least Dr. Case had allowed me to put the gown back on when she questioned my parents. As for Sue and Greg they were left to sit out in the waiting area as Dr. Case did “way” more tests on me that even had my parents asking if it was all necessary.

Dr Case questioned my parents thoroughly about the swelling in my chest region that both I and my parents already knew about so weren’t unduly worried after my regular specialist had said it wasn’t anything dangerous. Mum quickly told her that my regular doctor had diagnosed my “Gynecomastia” the previous year and that it would be removed by surgery when I was older. Dr. Case said that she thought differently and using a gentle touch of her fingers quickly had my two nipples, which I’d always thought of as pimples quickly hardening and prominently display themselves, (come on don’t laugh, I was only 13 back then and never been told about the birds and bees yet, so to me they were pimples)

Both mum and dad looked on horrified as Dr. Case slowly caressed my slightly swelling chest while she explained that what I was going through was more symptomatic of increased female hormone increments that she witnessed in transgender patients commencing transitioning then the swelling caused by Gynecomastia. She continued to fondle my “pimples” and something internally inside me was telling my brain “this feels nice” as with eyes dreamily closed I blissfully enjoyed her hand caressing my chest, which it took about twenty seconds after she had stopped for me to realize how oddly I must be appearing to behave.

As I tried to calm myself, the look of shock on my dad’s face was only matched by a dawning look of understanding on my mother’s face as she then came over and placed her own hand on my chest and started caressing one of my pimples (nipples). I involuntarily sighed loudly as my brain’s pleasure centers reacted again to the soft stimulation of my mother’s fingers and hand, before she stopped………….

Dr Case suggested to my parents that it might be prudent to do some more tests and I found myself finally leaving to go home three hours later with a lot less blood and urine in me than when I’d first entered the building. Of course my sister and brother were bored out of their minds having had to sit around for so long, so dad had to make sure that Pizza was bought on the way home as compensation for them. Nothing was said to them on the drive home about the fact I’d had to stay for so long and neither of them asked too much about it.

But for me things were turning decidedly pear shaped beginning later on the following week where on a return trip to the hospital Dr Case told me and my parents about the pathology results from the previous Saturday. She certainly sounded confident about my situation, supported by the pathology results, X-Rays and other tests. She explained to my parents that she wanted to wait for my own doctor to get back and discuss my case with him before she wanted to order even more tests for me then sent me out to wait in the public area while she spoke to mum and dad privately for about an hour.

Two weeks were to pass after that before I and my parents fronted my own doctor along with Dr Case I his surgery room. It seemed that Dr Bryant also now agreed with Dr Case’s diagnosis and the proverbial poop hit the fan as dad angrily asked how my symptoms had not been picked up previously until another doctor had examined me. Typical NHS (National Health Service – for the non-Anglos among you) services and doctrine then took over as blame was studiously avoided by the medical profession to the consternation and frustration of dad (and mum).

The result of everything which was carefully explained to me in simple terms a 13 year old boy could understand, was that the scarlet fever I’d contracted when I was 5, had somehow or other caused my male reproductive area to be affected. This unforeseen problem (which neither of my parents seemed to accept as they heard the doctor explain it me to, having already spoken to them privately) saw my testes apparently being affected and unbeknownst to anyone at the time, they began atrophying and were now destroyed and permanently useless. Dr Bryant then informed me that the damage done to my testes had over time caused my body to start thinking of me as a girl instead of a boy and also affected how my body growth had developed, which was only becoming more apparent "as puberty should have been only just around the corner for me". My body frame, height and physique had been affected since I didn’t have male testosterone coursing through me, instead having an unusual amount of oestrogen beginning to store up inside me. This was the reason for my breasts and not because I had Gynecomastia as had been diagnosed initially.

I have to admit that I had no idea what Dr Bryant was telling me until Dr Case who had been sitting back quietly not saying much saw my look of non-comprehension and told me that my body thought I was a girl and not a boy and because it thought I was a girl had started developing me as a girl, mentioning my breasts (this was a word I could understand because of my own sister’s growing up) as an example although she quickly explained to me that I had a penis and not a vagina so I’d never have to worry about babies and things like that. Her explanation as simple as it was, needed a further 30 minutes discussion (where I was told about the birds and the bees, I think to my dad’s gratitude judging from his expression) before I began to realise that I wasn’t like most young boys and in fact never would be.

It was then explained to me that I’d have to be castrated in the near future so as to remove any possibilities of my destroyed testes further harming my body in some way before dad suggested I go wait out in the car so that he and mum could talk with the doctors. The stop off for Pizza on the way home afterwards actually had me thinking that long trips to the doctors mightn’t be so bad if it entailed Pizza afterwards!

*** I’d especially like to thank Emily 63 who lives in Australia for her knowledge about various places and institutions there mentioned throughout this story. (I promised you I’d write it one day Em) Without her advice, my tale about living in and growing up there (as well as playing cricket there), would be just this English person’s fantasy idea of Australia. ***

*** None of the persons mentioned in this chapter are real or to the best of my knowledge ever lived. ***

*** Any pictures or photos in any of this story's chapters will have been taken from "clipart" out of Word, which I'm led to believe will not breach any copy write laws

Caught In Slips - Part 2
by Christie Myr

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Season’s Greetings everybody OR if you’re as old as I am and you can remember Benny Hill on television in the UK………"Sea Suns Gleetings Everly Bloody.”
I’d also like to thank Emily 63 for her knowledge about various places and institutions within Australia mentioned throughout this story.
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My hospital visit to have the surgery Dr Case said needed to be done turned out to be uneventful and didn’t seem to affect me in the slightest. Then the family started slowly preparing for our move to Australia now confirmed to be just after Xmas and the last 3 months in England seemed to disappear in a blur. The five of us spent a quiet Xmas day at home with mum constantly reminding everyone that the walls and floors of every room had to remain spotless for potential buyers since the house was still up for sale. We’d already done the various family visits to relatives to say our goodbyes, so Xmas day was just one long drag and waiting for two more days until finally we boarded a plane bound for Australia.

The first thing that struck me about Sydney, Australia was how hot it was out in the open air as soon as I stepped outside the air-conditioned airport terminal, especially having come from Essex where it was early winter. By the time the family arrived at Tamworth by hire car, having stayed the previous night at the motel near to the airport, air conditioning in the car or not, all of us were hot, sweaty, exhausted and cranky. Needless to say none of us had gotten enough sleep in the hotel for our jet lagged minds and bodies to enjoy, so the 10 hour car trip to Tamworth felt like “the car drive from hell” you often heard people telling others about.

By noon of our first day after arriving at Tamworth, the entire family could add painful glowing sunburned faces, arms and legs to the list of things that could only have shown the locals our ignorance and English heritage. We then spent several restless days either in our cool air conditioned lounge room or at air conditioned shopping centres browsing the shops and the uncomfortable nights trying to sleep in our rooms with little or no clothing on, which added to our not yet adjusted from jet lag bodies and made our first week in Australia less than memorable.

Mum on visiting the main shopping complex in Tamworth quickly purchased tubes of extreme sunblock of god knows what block out strength factor along with Akubra hats for her men and huge white floppy sun bonnets for her and Sue to wear outside. Mum also decided after commenting about how the local women’s skin complexions looked, said that she didn’t want hers or Sue’s skin to end up looking like old leather. When my sister and I went to the shopping centre a few days afterwards and saw the local people, the guys and younger women and girl’s bronzed appearances actually looked good on them we thought.

By the middle of January courtesy of the fact that dad’s job entailed him working mostly outside, had his skin looking like an “trainee” Australian male as he was well on the way to the dark mahogany colour that showed you worked the land here judging from the appearance of some of the men we saw while shopping. Greg, Sue and I (after strict 15 minute supervision checks by mum) sunbathed in our bathing suits twice a day to slowly accustom our bodies to the blinding sun and had all actually started turning a nice brown colour all over although Sue kept her face protected by her white bonnet. Even mum couldn’t avoid the inevitable and soon had a healthy light brown tan on her arms and legs too. Although I hated it at the time, mum made Sue and myself moisture our faces of an evening, (my sister already did it each morning anyway because that was how mum had taught her) which might possibly have played a small part in the cause of my eventual undoing.

Every day was one of exploring for mum and us kids while getting accustomed to what happened around us. Although most of our clothes were still on the water in a shipping container, we had packed enough to get by with which after our first few days in Tamworth quickly saw mum buying more suitable clothing for summer in Australia. Greg and I went shopping with mum grudgingly, but our sister loved clothes shopping and it was where (and why) she fitted in so quickly with the local girls shopping for clothes, that also quickly saw my older brother Greg being sized up as possible boyfriend material by several of Sue’s new found friends. He didn’t seem to complain about the clothes shopping for long and enjoyed the attention being shown by girls who were chatting with his sister.

The house we lived in was on one of the larger farms that dad was expected to consolidate and had several air-conditioned rooms as well as ceiling fans in every room, while the house was large enough for us siblings to have our own bedrooms too. Great no more fights with Greg over musical choices in the bedroom. The house was located about eight miles outside of Tamworth and although mum was the official taxi service for getting around initially, dad had quickly purchased bicycles for Sue and me while Greg was presented with a helmet and the keys to a 2nd hand 175cc motorcycle, which quickly ensured no one ever saw him at home except around dinner time of an evening.

Nearing the end of January saw our initial leisurely existence coming to an end as all three of us had to get ready to resume back to school again. “That” was another new experience in itself as the three of us had all gone to the same school back in Essex, whereas now Greg and I would be attending a boy’s only school/agricultural college while Sue would be going to another high school which was coeducational like the one back in Essex.

We’d all had to do pre enrolment interviews with our parents, where I was informed by my prospective new principal (Mr Mobs) that I’d be attending Farrer Agricultural High School as a year 7 general student although I’d had to repeat a year of school in Essex after my illness so I was a year older than most of the other boys in my year even though UK school terms meant that I had actually been in year 7 already for 6 months back in Essex. Greg was advised he’d be a year 11 student, concentrating mainly on agricultural studies which suited dad who’d emphasised to the school’s principal during the interview about Greg’s possibly wanting to take up one of dad’s firm's cadetships. Sue was going to be attending McCarthy Catholic College as a year 9 student and was glad (and lucky) to find that most of the subjects at her old school were covered in the curriculum with the exception being substituted for a “Religion Studies” subject which was funny in itself as our family was C of E and definitely not church attendees excepting for Xmas Eve services.

As for my medical concerns, they were going to be met by Tamworth hospital’s external medical centre. My medical records from England had been given to my parents to hand over along with an introductory letter to the specialist recommended back in Essex. And just like back in Essex I grew to loath the fortnightly blood taking as well as the monthly examination of my chest/breast. Mum and dad were always apprehensive the night before my monthly examination fearing bad news about my pathology results.

Still that aside, like the rest of my family, I quickly learned to love the Australian lifestyle and actually found I enjoyed the more laid back atmosphere of a country town far more than compared with living in Essex, although my body being what it was at the time 4’8” and skinny, quickly saw me learning my place in the school yard social pecking order.

Sport in Australian schools was mandatory for children, so given various sports to choose from I decided on athletics for school sport, because it appeared I wasn’t good enough during the school’s trials to play for their 14y.o. cricket team and in choosing athletics rediscovered my talent not only for running, (which proved useful when bullies chased after me I the playground) but also surprisingly enough for learning how to throw the javelin.

As it turned out Farrer Agricultural High School didn’t condone bullying at all and any boy or boys caught practicing it were suspended or summarily expelled. But take it from me. It certainly was there in the playgrounds let me assure you on that point and perhaps because I was small for my age, I did get bullied occasionally for the first few months. Never badly might I add, because I usually kept a low profile and mingled with a small circle of boys that avoided the “bigger” boys. But it didn’t hurt having an older and much bigger brother in year 11 either, although it would have been foolish to have claimed it to my persecutors in the hope that they would leave me alone.

Perhaps that was why the bullying against me wasn’t that serious, or perhaps it was because I never once complained to school authorities that I was being picked on and that usually I was unobtrusive outside the classroom that also kept me under the bigger boy’s radar most of the time, unlike some of the other small boys who were bullied and were considered loners in the playground and classroom, so overall high school didn’t seem “that” bad most of the time.

DRAMA WEEK SHENANIGANS & Ms CARMODY

I ended up staying almost three years at Farrar Agricultural and overall didn’t mind the school or most of the faculty and students there. Having written that, there WAS a certain female teacher in the English department (Ms. Carmody) who evidently had noticed me performing in my year 7 and year 8 plays during the annual School Drama Week (held the week before end of 3rd term holiday break each September) and besides becoming the bane of my existence at school, unintentionally also caused me to have to transfer to another district several hundred kilometres away.

Ms Carmody or to be entirely correct Ms Patricia Carmody……. How can I begin to tell you about the person who turned out to be the bane of my existence at Farrar Ag? Until I actually spoke to her sometime in October my first year there, all I knew about Ms Carmody was from rumours that school students spread about her. I’d usually see her at school assemblies where she sometimes made an announcement to the students, but as to why she became a problem for me is a long story and it might be best if I gave you some background about a particular school event if you are to appreciate some of the things that you’ll read in the next few chapters.

Drama Week is a festival held by Farrar Agricultural High that originally was thought would encourage students who had thoughts of doing something in the Arts after they graduated school, to participate in acting on the stage in high school to try and get some idea if they liked the sensation, or for shy or nervous boys, to try working behind the curtains helping out with props and such. It had been held annually at Farrar Ag for over 50 years and was considered an institution there. You therefore shouldn’t really be that surprised that I’ve included the following as background for anyone reading this tome, so you can begin to understand that some things happen during that week that simply aren't always run of the mill things. SO when reading the following background information, hopefully you'll begin to understand just how seriously some people take performing on a stage.

Several years before my family even arrived in Australia, Drama Week was already an established event and eagerly looked forward to by students at Farrar Agricultural High who enjoyed drama and performing in plays. When Ms Carmody was appointed to the school and being a frustrated thespian herself, she recognised Drama Week as a unique outlet for all of her pent up enthusiasm about performing. After producing her first Drama Week play, she contacted the local newspaper about promoting the school event more heavily in future years as a possible social attraction for local Tamworth people that might even raise funds for the school (or for charities) by selling tickets to the public for Drama Week’s evening performances and possibly create a new audience base instead of just the student’s parents who were the only ones who usually turned up.

Rumour had it that she’d agreed with an idea the local newspaper editor’s suggested to her about staging Drama Week more on a semi profession basis then it had previously been done before. This same editor who was himself a self-confessed frustrated amateur thespian, suggested that she might form several backstage working groups from among the students (and staff) especially for Drama Week. These groups would be responsible for building new stage props or remodelling old ones (which would be outlined for them to build) then another group would be responsible for setting up or removing props from the stage for each play to be performed, while yet another group would handle wardrobe clothing maintenance, finally leaving a small well trained group to apply makeup to the actors in waiting rooms behind the stage, saving Ms Carmody or other teachers from having to be involved in everything and so allowing her (or the actual English teacher whose class was performing) to do lord knows what else behind the curtains to ensure the success of the play.

Somehow or other, she managed to persuade (con more likely so the rumour goes) the school Principal Mr Mobs into not only spending school money on purchasing professional stage make up, along with materials for both new clothing and material for building new props each year, but also persuading the Manual Arts Master (wood/metalwork) at the time into using the year 11 and 12 students doing woodwork, to assist the group workers involved in building any requested stage props.

Her plan to achieve a certain level of “professionalism” worked and ensured that Farrar Ag’s Drama Week was considerably better than most schools attempts. It also was able to make a small profit each year (which was earmarked for future Drama Weeks).

NOW you know some of the background for what happens in the some of the chapter along with the next one.

Anyway the now accepted story handed down through Farrar Ag school boys was that Ms Carmody herself had supposedly been contemplating a stage acting career when she was younger, (and probably still is for all I know) but had had to take up teaching to pay the bills. Her oft stated intention at Farrar Ag was to cultivate culture among the school student body by directing/producing the best school play each year and was particular in always selecting a Shakespearean drama.

What always excited her especially, was that the best plays performed during the two days at school in drama week, were presented on the last three days of the week (of a night) to a paying public, along with parents and students who wished to attend (and pay) and her own dramatic production were almost always chosen as the best each year since she had started staging them.

Mr Mobs our principal would state at the first general assembly each year how Ms Carmody had improved the level of acting at Farrer Ag’s school Drama Week (particularly her “Shakespearean” re-enactments), and only asked of potential student actors that they give exceptionally high standard performances as repayment. He suggested to the new intake of year 7’s each year that they might like to consider being involved in Drama Week either as a budding actor or perhaps a stagehand assistant. Having seen her body language during the principal’s introduction, one has only to imagine a bird preening itself to picture Ms Carmody.

With the assistance and encouragement of the local paper, whose articles each year were proudly displayed on school notice boards and also in the English teacher’s staff room, it was general acknowledged by both students and faculty alike that Ms Carmody “HAD” raised both the level of each dramatic performance she directed, along with the production standards and quality of every other play selected for the evening performances, to where it was now considered an absolutely “mustn’t to be missed social affair” by a small section of Tamworth’s “society” each year (unless of course you weren’t interested).

My size being what it was back then (even though I was 14½) saw my English teacher “volunteering” me to be an actor in the 7D English class play. (I never even got offered the chance to decline my first acting role)

“So what I hear you say"………………Well yes I suppose I did end up doing it BUT you need to understand from my perspective that my introduction to acting on a stage was to be in the role of a “female" and worse still (aside from the fact that the play was crass anyway) I had to play the role of the “love” interest in the play. So that meant that for realism, I’d be wearing a dress, a women's wig, make up and so on (all of which came from the school’s meagre drama supplies and my dowdy clothing from the mothball smelling costume’s wardrobe) for me to be able to play the part of the infatuated girl hopelessly in love” with the acne riddled male hero. Worst of all, my English teacher instructed me that I had to romantically hug (not kiss I hasten to add) my lover during several scenes.

Even though our play was performed by 13 and 14 year olds, I soon discovered that ANY play where the girl hugged the boy performed at Farrar Ag, received loud cat calls from the entire student body in the hall………and very likely a fair few of the teaching faculty in the hall too, especially if the teachers thought the same way as the students did about one another.

Drama Week went for two entire school days where every English class from year's 7 to 10 performed a play as well as one play each from combined year 11's and year 12's English classes. Then those plays considered the best, were performed over the evenings of Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, with several plays being performed more than once. I quickly found out that during the evening performances, it was mainly the adult men in the audience who'd do any wolf whistling and/or calling out of ribald remarks, but a few women in the audience were just as bad and more obvious.

The play I performed in was selected as the year 7 offering to the public, so I had to endure not only a night of being catcalled and wolf whistled at whenever I had was required to romantically hug my “lover”, BUT having to perform it “in front” of my parents and family was the ultimate humiliation (Greg and Sue gave me merry hell over it for weeks afterwards). For several days of the following week, I along with my love interest were the butt of taunts and jokes and minor bullying from most of the boys in our year at Farrar Ag.

As the middle of October rolled around, the start of junior cricket season did as well. Although I didn’t play cricket for the school, Tamworth had a very healthy Saturday morning cricket competition that catered for as many children that wanted to play cricket from around town and the surrounding farming communities. I tried out for a local junior club and found myself playing under 15’s cricket as a middle order batsman because I was considered far too slow as a “quick” bowler to ever get an opportunity to bowl in matches. Our coach (Mr Newman) having quickly learnt that I was English, discovered I also bowled slow off spin as well and after quickly telling me it was a waste of time bowling that, instead showed me how to bowl leg spin, which he assured me if I practiced bowling that in the nets, he’d soon allow me to bowl a few overs each game (for variety from all the fast bowling the kids usually bowled he said).

I went home with my coach’s advice spinning round in my head and whenever possible practiced bowling my “leg” spin in the backyard at an old 44 gallon drum as a wicket as well as at team practices twice a week. Sometimes my brother Greg would come out into the backyard and practice his slogging against my “trash” bowling and even dad wasn’t above getting involved in trying to help me, although he was disgusted that my coach had told me that “off” spin bowling was a waste of time in Australia.

One Saturday morning game, having been told by the team captain I was to bowl the next over, I took it upon myself to bowl “off” spin instead of “leg” spin (during Mr Newman's instituted 3 mandatory overs of spin each game that he liked to have happen after he finally decided I bowled “just” well enough not to be hit around too badly). His shouting out “what do you think you’re playing at Michael” before yelling to the captain (who was also his son) to take me off at the end of the over, then yelling out to me “you AREN'T allowed to bowl that pommy garbage off spin any more for this team son, or you can forget about ever getting another bowl for the rest of the season, and that includes at practices”.

So from that day onwards it was leg spin bowling or NO bowling for me if I ever wanted to get a bowl in a game coached by Mr Newman. BUT as a "batsman," I was no better or worse than most of the other under 15’s I played against. My top score was 30 that season but I simply enjoyed playing cricket. In our U15’s competition you could always pick the players who played representative cricket for town by either their batsmen constant hammering our bowlers to all parts of the field in a game, or the bowlers by the vast quantity of wickets a boy took against us.

Australia I quickly found out is a hot dry country and in summer you could actually fry an egg on a car’s front bonnet quite easily. I guess that’s why Australian cricketers are so tough, because the adults played of an afternoon when the sun is at its hottest. Junior cricket in Tamworth was played in the cool of the day (usually between 8am and 12noon) often stinking hot and the thermometer hovering in the low 90’s. How more kids don’t faint or collapsed on the field is a mystery.

When the middle of December finally rolled round, it was time for the long break school holidays which meant I didn’t have to think about school again until near the end of January. Six whole weeks of no more school teachers, no more books, no more teachers dirty looks!

One bit of surprising news during the year was being told by my parents (along with Greg and Sue) that an insurance settlement claim against the British Health System had been finalised and in November was paid into a trust account under my parent’s guardianship. I had no idea that this had happened thus my surprise when told what eventuated and which had come about because apparently mum and dad had been furious about my misdiagnosed Gynecomastia and had with the aid of Dr Case lodged a compensation claim for damaged against the NHS as well as Dr Bryant.

So after a lengthy family discussion, it was agreed that since we (my family) might well eventually end up emigrating back to Australia permanently once dad's secondment to Australia was over, since we were all liked the people, climate and lifestyle, then the insurance money (or part of it) should be used to purchase a property, preferably in Sydney which could be rented out to increase the value of my trust until I reached my majority.

To encourage prudent investing in a property, Greg would be leaving at the end of the following year to do an agricultural course in Sydney at the University of NSW, as well as at Goulburn and if I bought a property somewhere in Sydney, then he could live in it and pay board while staying there (well below whatever he housing rental market dictated dad decided). Sue had similar thoughts for when she hopefully got to university to study computer science, while mum and dad or I could use it if they or we ever visited Sydney during school holidays or on business.

So during the end of year holiday break, everyone except dad took a one week trip to Sydney to look at several houses that had been found and investigated from off the internet. My insurance settlement exchanged to Australian currency came out to almost $1million dollars, which meant that at the tender age of 14 I’d become a millionaire (for a short while at least).

Now we’d arrived and were staying in Sydney for more than just a night, it showed the four of us just how big the city was. We spent four days talking to 2 different real estate agencies looking at various properties and then every night afterwards we’d all go sightseeing around Sydney. Now $1,000,000 might be a lot of money to you (or me) to buy a house with, but in Sydney, it meant only the most basic of accommodation “if” you wanted to live anywhere close to the central area there. We quickly discovered that most of the properties for sale we were seeing were quite well away from the main CBD or any of the universities, although most had minor campuses in the far west of Sydney.

The second estate agency we used (the salesman having politely listened as property after property was rejected for one reason or another), asked if we might like to look at something older and smaller in a suburb called Fairfield that he had on the agency’s listings. He then drove the four of us there and showed us a small (very run down to look at inside and out) two bedroom unit, but which was close to public transport and shops. It had had several contracts placed on it, all of which had failed finance. After looking through it the four of us seemed in general agreement so mum phoned dad, told him about it, organised a building inspection for the following day and after another phone discussion with dad saw her placing a contract on the house, crossing out the finance exemption clause and instead adding a subject to structural inspection clause.

We spent our final two days in Sydney visiting Taronga Zoo and going to one of the local beaches at Manly, because my sister wanted to try out a new bikini she’d bought on our second night’s sightseeing. The swimsuit looked fabulous on her and encouraged several guys at the beach to ask her if she’d like to go out for dinner or to the movies. Much to mum’s relief Sue demurely deferred each invitation, only to have mum tell her that her father might not allow her to go to university in Sydney if mum told him about Sue’s visit to the beach! Greg didn’t join us, instead spending the two days using public transport to determine how easy (or not) it might be to use it to get to the university he was hoping to get approval to attend. The four of us headed back to Tamworth not knowing whether the house contract had been accepted or not.

Then three days after we had gotten back home mum received a phone call advising that the offer had been accepted and the contract paperwork was now with our solicitor to do title searches. As a further side issue to the initial purchase, the same agent rung back two weeks later on with another investment opportunity which after a quick trip down by mum and me, saw the paperwork done that eventually would result in my trust having to get a mortgage loan of $85,000 to be paid off over ten years for a small one bedroom unit (mum called it a hut when she spoke to dad about it on the phone) somewhere near Liverpool. The agent also encouraged our purchasing the property by stating that he’d organise for a rental tenant, (which he did) who was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money (to my parents way of thinking) to rent somewhere so close(?) to shops and public transport. The agent explained that the rent paid would cover the monthly loan repayments as well as any probable outgoings so that was the clincher. By the time I returned to school for the start of year 8, I was now the proud owner of two units in outer western Sydney.

The end of January rolled around again and that meant school again. I was promoted to year 8 mostly in A classes (I’m a Brainiac nerd) and school seemed just like the previous year, except now I did Music, Geography and Economics as my elected subjects in addition to my core subjects of English, Maths and Sciences. My range of friends grew in size too and my guitar playing quickly improved curtesy of my fellow music students who were another small circle of school friends. Sometimes I’d agree to a Saturday afternoon “jam” sessions at our house or go to one of the other boy’s homes who was hosting and found them a lot of fun.

But none of what I’ve told you in this story so far was helping me with my embarrassing medical problem, but on the other hand my secret was still safe from anyone who knew me in Tamworth.

With my chest, Mother Nature simply wasn’t allowing me a fair go at trying to be a normal boy. When I was almost 15½ and half way through year 8 I’d also been able to grow another couple of inches to 4’10 and now weighed a “hefty”(?) 80 pounds or about 40 kilos. It didn’t matter one inch at school where my vertically challenged body saw only one boy in my year shorter than me. I was now labelled “runt of the litter” by my fellow year 8 schoolmates and most of the bigger kids.

To compensate for that and while trying to look like most teenage boys my age living in Tamworth, I started to happily sacrifice personal comfort for the discomfort of teen male fashion and during the hot spring/summer days allowed my hair to grow out about as far as Farrer Ag’s rules would allow. To abide by the school rules my hair had to be kept washed, neat and be no more than shoulder length, while being tied back for sport or PE and any boy with long hair was also required a to use a hair net for subjects such as Woodwork, Metalwork or Art (which didn’t affect me since I didn’t do any of those subjects).

The problem for me though was that between my shortcomings in height, weight, yet to break voice, my now sun bleached blonde white shoulder length hair and my blasted reasonably soft clean skin (which I think mum was to blame for) I often had to look out to avoid being bullied at school more than before. I wasn’t exactly sure why that was, although I admittedly still had my (proper) English accent although it was now mixed in with a hint of an Australian drawl to annoy others in class when I answered questions from a teacher. Mum was constantly reminding me about how to speak correctly and all three of us children had her constantly grinding her teeth at our “antipodean" pronunciation of words instead of sensible English grammar. Greg was the worst as he had assimilated quicker than even dad and was peppering his conversations with words like “mate”, “strewth”, “bloody hell” although she particularly hated him using Strine such as “Snives” meaning St Ives which sent mum totally batty.

Mum was doing her best to ensure none of her siblings was going to go native and often corrected one or the other of us over our grammar. Strangely enough she never said anything to dad about his newly evolving vocabulary at the dining table. She also continued to insist about the sun damaging Sue's and my young skin that always saw me trying to avoid…..but rarely succeeding, the evening moisturising sessions that mum insisted on for both Sue, who was quite happy to do it and me, who definitely wasn’t. I certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone at Farrar Ag about THAT fact. When you combined my height, weight, hair and facial skin, (I certainly never walked around shirtless any more) I suppose I DID look “slightly” feminine although I’d hotly deny it to any of my tormenting bullies if they ever caught me whenever I raced away from them in the school yard.

I suppose my “looks” was why I was again the first “volunteer” chosen by our year 8 English teacher Mr Mowbray for Drama Week ……..with (again) no chance to argue the umpire’s decision. You've guessed it haven't you………another female role and this time as the “leading lady”.

There was riotous laughter among my classmates as Mr Mowbray announced my role and further laughter erupted when my male lead’s name was announced, Brett Lyons who was generally considered (in private) by most of the class to be the Brad Pitt of our year 8 English class and was rumoured to have countless pretty girlfriends as well. Brett also didn’t mind performing on stage either. Mr Mowbray said he was quietly confident that with two potentially “brilliant” actors, our play should be a certainty to be chosen to represent year 8 during the evening session during Drama Week, which had me silently wishing for an injury “just” debilitating enough to allow me to be excused from the play.

As it turned out all the year 8 plays that year were actually quite good to watch as they shared hall or stage space when they rehearsed (apparently our Principal Mr Mobs thought so too). I was silently hoping (the reader may insert the word begging or pleading in place of hoping if they prefer) for 8D’s “The Trouble With Nothing” to be nominated as the year 8 play for the evening performances, but I suppose you’ve already guessed THAT too…….8A won the honour of representing our year for the evening performances. Most of the play’s performers along with Mr Mowbray were pleased with the principal’s decision, although personally, I wasn’t!

Our leading male Brett Lyons “would” have been described as the consummate amateur actors professional if you’d ever asked “HIM”. I’d have said something more derogatory to describe him if I’D been asked. He often spoke to me (during the endless rehearsals after school) about trying to relax more during our intimate scenes………Intimate should be clearly understood to mean in THIS instance – “where two actors come together to hug as a sign of showing love and affection” (with strictly NO kissing to be allowed).

Despite my best efforts to the contrary, (done very sneakily and subtly you understand) our performances during the five intimate romantic scenes in the play, “appeared” to the audience to be “thespian correct”, if such a term exists judging from the volume of the catcalling by the student audience. BUT in at least two of the scenes, I positioned my body in such a way as to give the impression that the two of us were hugging, but most of my body wasn't touching his although admittedly my arms were around him. The two evening performances we were allocated this time, had the adult crowd exceptionally vocal about our intimate scenes and even had Mr Mowbray quietly chuckling behind the curtain over one remark made by someone in the audience.

Photos of two of the romantic scenes from our play were published in the local newspaper several days later, taken by the school magazine’s theatrical critic and quasi local newspaper reviewer - who the newspaper used for the article……..perhaps because the editor had already approved our critic’s apprenticeship application to become a journalist with them. The school scribe wrote that our romantic scenes were “among the best he’d seen in a play in his six years at the school!”……. Now there’s backhanded praise for you…..and from such a professional drama review critic, wouldn’t you agree?

8A’s “two” evening performances both received standing ovations……….and I swear I would’ve punched anyone in the face who tried walking on stage to present me with a bouquet of flowers! It was bad enough listening to my brother and sisters comments in the car on the way home each night, but even dad and mum were chuckling as they reminded me not only about how I sounded (and looked) so feminine, remarking how I had to stand beside my leading male and bow for our encore ovation in all my feminine glory!

But folks, praise and applause can be such a fleeting thing, especially in the theatrically world.

The following Monday after the Friday night dramatic success, I heard during second period that Brett Lyons got punched in the stomach several times in the playground before school while I’d only gotten pushed and tripped on the stairs landing flat on my face while walking into the main building for 1st period. Worse followed after the next edition of the local paper came out and showed the photos of Brett and I embracing along with several scenes from other plays as well as our theatrical critic’s review of each play performed over the 3 nights.

Both Brett and I got roughed up several times in the playground in the days following the delivery of the local paper in Tamworth that showed the photographs along with the reviews and we both might have gotten beaten up worse if my brother Mike hadn’t spoken to some of his year 12 prefect friends, who then kept a close watch on both Brett and I, which included a disciplinary detention for several boys along with a verbal warning by my big brother to the boys as well, that saw the physical threats stop and the verbal teasing eventually becoming less and less until overnight, it finally stopped.

However the final word over drama week for me actually came after Ms Patricia Carmody stopped me as I was leaving school for the day after final bell one afternoon several weeks afterwards. She congratulated me on my recent stage performance and said she was looking forward to working with me on her favourite Shakespearean drama next year……….Oh what joy..... And now I had THAT to look forward in year 9? As she walked off I silently thought………"There’s NO WAY I’m doing that!!”

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**** Now should anyone be wondering what this chapter has to do with cricket in the story’s title, I admit I have absolutely no idea whatsoever! But I DID manage to mention cricket a tiny bit in the chapter. But ideas about Drama Week flew into my head and my sense of humour (remembering about my own experiences acting in high school plays as a teenager) started me thinking about unusual situations and voila out popped this chapter (along with part 3, hopefully sometime next weekend).

**** After the 2nd of January I will only have time to post a chapter once a week (IF I’m lucky) and I promise they will include more serious cricket. I just don’t know how much until Michael grows a little older!

**** If you’re reading this story Emily63, why not contact me again by email because I could really use some help proof reading and catch up. Ciao, Chris
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Caught In Slips Pt 3
by Christie Myr

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I’d like to wish everyone a safe and prosperous New Year. I'd also like to thank Emily 63 for advising me about various places and institutions within Australia mentioned throughout this chapter.
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The year end long holiday break wasn’t as much fun for me this time because it also meant that my older brother Greg was now finished high school and would shortly be leaving home to attend university. Yes I know that we fought at times, but brothers no matter how many arguments and scraps they have are “duty” bound to look out for one another. Greg had been doing that for me for so long now, but at least I could say I was looking after him now, because he’d be living in the small 2 bedroom unit I’d purchased a year ago, as would my sister if she went to University too.

The first two years in Tamworth had been really good. Year 9 was beginning to look so too when first day of term started and the timetables were read out. My initial fear off ending up in Ms Carmody’s English class and being “volunteered” to perform in her class play vanished when the teachers name for 9A English was read out. Mr Hughes was newly posted to Farrer Ag and didn’t know me except as just another of his year 9 class English students, amid all the other classes that he taught which, was fine by me.

Although finding out that I wouldn’t have to face Ms. Carmody for English, I still had problems enough to cope with. My “gynecomastia” had started getting worse over the three months leading up to the end of year break just finished. To compound the problem, whether it was my body beginning its growth spurt (which I felt was long overdue) that caused it, but by the end of April in year 9 and much to my horror (and worry) my chest was now clearly large enough for both him, his nurse to advise me and my parents after my latest Saturday appointment that I now had a chest/bust equivalent to an “A” cup on a natural woman

The compression bandages along with wearing loose uniform tops to school I wore were now only “just” able to (and struggling to do so) hide my body's predicament, although the brutal heat in late summer and early autumn kept me constantly uncomfortable wearing inappropriate clothing for the outback’s heat. To aid me in trying to cope with the heat (at my parent’s request) Dr Roberts had written a detailed medical exemption letter request to my school principal Mr Mobs that allowed me to be officially exempted from participating in school P.E (physical education) or sports.

During my now fortnightly medical appointments, Dr Roberts always used the term “man boobs” or sometimes just “moobs” when discussing my medical problem with me and my parents (he knew I hated him using the term “budding breasts”). But he was still hopeful (he claimed) that my breast growth might begin to start to slow down shortly, although he wouldn’t exactly say when that would happen because my blood tests showed nothing now but oestrogen in my body. I was thinking that might have been why I was always finding it difficult to find pants that would fit when mum took me shopping for clothes. That was because my stomach and bum proportioning made finding trousers that were small enough to stay up on me meant they were always too tight around the bottom. This invariably led to the shop assistants always selecting larger sizes to mum which she then have to take in the around seat of each new pair.

Of course mum my sister understood my "gynecomastia" condition’s latest development, because on the weekends I’d always take the compression bandage off (unless I had to go out somewhere) to relieve the uncomfortableness around my chest area and walked around the house in a T-shirt where it was impossible to hide the slight bounce of my “moobs” under the T-shirt’s fabric, or if my nipples suddenly hardened and stood out under the T-Shirt I was wearing. While it was obvious whenever that happened, they (or dad and Greg) never said anything about it, I guess so as not to make me feel embarrassed or ashamed.

As a matter of fact, my sister privately gave me some advice on how to relieve the itching around my nipples that I now experienced most days and once even helped me gently apply the medicated cream I’d been prescribed for my nipples, all the while telling me quite unashamedly about how uncomfortable it had felt for her when breasts had started growing just after she turned 12. It didn’t stop me from feeling embarrassed, but I appreciated that Sue was trying her best to make me feel less embarrassed about my problem. If only she didn’t mention the word breasts or nipples so casually as if we were sisters instead of brother and sister.

The reason for our moving to Tamworth in the first place was because of dad’s job and he was now finding it extremely demanding both for himself and mum who was involved in trying to be his p.a. as well as looking after the family and home too. Sue and I helped out by cleaning up around the house and with Sue helping mum in the kitchen to try and help ease the burden on both her and dad.

Early in that first term of year 9, dad informed the family at the evening dinner table that his company Linchcombe’s, plan for establishing a new and efficient piggery abattoirs they'd initially planned to do (and had been an important strategy in his company’s long term plans of breaking into that side of the industry here), had now been decided upon to be postponed indefinitely, which meant that the family might no longer be needed to stay in Australia, because although dad had now consolidated eight farms covering a wide area surrounding Tamworth, senior management had discussed with him about the company selling the northern NSW operations to a competitor and re consolidating the Australian operations back to its core pastoral strategy of beef and grains.

Dad then explained that we may still end up staying in Australia because two of the company’s overseers elsewhere in Australia were starting to suffer health problems and he’d been asked by the head office in London if he might consider relocating to take over one of the operations, possibly as early as the middle of this year if health situations deteriorated unexpectedly, but certainly by the end of the year. If dad agreed to head office’s request, this would mean the family wouldn’t need to move back to England, but could be relocating instead to either a cattle station property in the Northern Territory or else to a small town called Uranquinty near Wagga Wagga in the Riverina district of southern New South Wales.

Every one of us (including my brother now down in Sydney) wanted the position in NSW to be offered to dad until at least the family had grown up and moved away, although by the end of this year my sister would no longer be at high school and hopefully would be attending the same University Greg was attending. But depending on Head Office’s final decision it could mean big problems for me, because next year would see me in year 10, which was as an important educational year in Australia as it was in England. Obviously dad had made all of these facts known to his London management and now had no choice but to wait for a decision from them. The indecision over our domestic future wasn’t helping the family unit synergy I might add.

By the end of June in year 9, my latest doctor’s visit saw him confirm my body had seen another short "growth spurt" over the past several months, that now saw me “rocketing” to an almost “towering” 5’2” and my body weigh a “humungous” 91 pounds. That now made me only 6 (or so) inches shorter than my sister and mother were, and just about 13 inches shorter than my brother and father. I no longer harboured hopes of being as tall as dad or Greg, but I still hoped to at least end up taller than mum or my sister!

June was also a time of the school year I now dreaded the most, because it was then when I always now seemed to always be “drafted” involuntarily for "D.W." But perhaps everything may have been starting to take a turn for the better and my luck surely changing when my English teacher Mr Hughes, didn’t choose me for any of the acting roles in 9A’s play for the school’s Drama Week which had me feeling completely over the moon at his decision.

That feeling of elation lasted until exactly 11.28am fourth period the following day, when Mr Hughes while explaining the outline of this year’s play, proudly informed the class that his fellow colleague Ms Carmody had several months earlier, asked if he’d agree not to cast Michael Brooks in 9A’s play, because “she” wanted him for an important role in her year 12’s Shakespearean offering “Romeo and Juliet” which he told me (along with the class) he was more than happy to comply with, adding that I must have been an exceptional actor because she’d told him how much she’d been impressed by my performances in previous Drama Week performances.

As “soon” as Mr Hughes mentioned the play’s title, I wished the ground under me could have opened up and swallowed me, because loud raucous laughter told me that almost everyone in the class had an idea as to why Ms Carmody had asked for me. Mr Hughes might have already known (or guessed) too because he was actually grinning broadly as he told me to report to Ms Carmody in the school hall at lunchtime.……….I was soon to discover that everything I’d ever heard of about Ms Carmody’s enthusiasm for Shakespeare would to turn out to be true.

When I entered the hall to report to Ms Carmody, there were fifteen or so senior students standing around in groups of threes and fours talking to one another and they seemed to turn as one and stop talking when I walked in and was met by an excited Ms Carmody loudly welcoming me by name. That way I was introduced to everyone else there without any formal introductions and names, which as a result of saw everyone proceeding to welcome me from their huddles with a group “hi Michael”.

For the next 30 minutes, I sat silently as Ms Carmody explained to the group (although it was only for my benefit you’ll soon realise) about how in William Shakespeare’s time, only men were allowed to perform in plays. Looking at me (as well as several other boys) as she emphasised how even the “female” roles were played by men or small children, said she had very high hopes that this year’s play might go down in school folk-law since she had the same acting ensemble from last year’s year 11 play along with a talented(?) year 9 student. She further confidently predicted that by the time the play was performed to the public, she was positive (looking directly at me) that the performance of Grant John as Romeo and my performance as Juliet (O.M.G! why bloody me for cheesus sake!)) would make the pair of us as well known throughout Tamworth as Slim Dusty (a deceased but still famous Australian country and western singer).

Everyone was then handed out numerous stapled sheets of paper containing information pertaining to what the cast would need to know to perform each character in the play, as well as a breakdown of each character’s profile and the names of famous actors who had performed the role along with the script for the abbreviated and slightly amended acts we’d be performing and so forth. Towards the end of her dissertation, I learned I’d be expected to attend rehearsals after school Monday Tuesday and Thursday or to notify her (with a justifiable excuse only) the day before, as to why I couldn’t attend a rehearsal. If anyone was absent sick from school, a fellow (schoolmate) actor would be responsible for informing Ms Carmody of that student’s absence.

She finished by announcing (and I think taking her first breath since starting to speak) that rehearsals would start the following Monday after school, but that the actors she’d already selected for the female roles shown in the notes we were holding, were to meet in the hall after school this afternoon. The bell rung for the end of lunch (thank god) before she stated that she hoped we were all as excited as she was about this year’s play and she was hoping to make it the best ever seen at Farrer Agricultural before walking off to get ready to teach her next class after lunch.

Walking outside the hall entrance alone, I stopped and took a deep breath saying to myself “OH………CRAP!”

For the rest of the school day I didn’t say a word or hear a thing any of the teachers spoke about in any of my three classes. My mind was too busy with thoughts racing around it, most of them cursing my bad luck, my life, Ms. Carmody or William “bloody” Shakespeare in no particular order. But what I was “especially” cursing about the most was what would happen to me when everyone else started finding out about my role as “Juliet”. There’d be the obvious “Yoo-hoo Juliet dear……..” or “Julie darling…….” and THAT would probably be just to begin with. Then, (although I didn’t even want to think about it) I “knew” I’d end up being bullied in the playground once news spread about my role in the play. Last but not least, I’d have to tell my family about my latest acting role at dinner tonight, although I didn’t expect to get too much teasing at home about it since my brother had moved away.

When the final bell rang, I slowly trooped to the school hall to face the music. I walked into an empty hall but soon found myself being informally welcomed by three other students who were to play female roles in the play as they came in. Ms Carmody sailed in shortly after as if she were a stately 17th century Galleon in a strong breeze, saying it was time to get started. For the next fifty minutes Ms Carmody explained what she was requiring from each student in their female role and would have continued on until dark, except school rules stated (sport’s afternoons exempt”) that NO student was allowed on school grounds after 4pm unless in the company of a teacher, or with verbal or written permission from the Principal or Deputy Principal.

As she finished discussing her ideas with each student assigned to a particular female role, that person was allowed to leave. Her enthusiasm was contagious as everyone (except yours truly) spoke animatedly about suggesting ideas along with listening to hers and anyone else’s among the small group there. Although I’d never had to do this in either play I’d been in before at Farrer Ag, I had to admit I was impressed by the enthusiasm she'd quickly instilled in each student there. I was also surprised to hear each senior student address her by her first name abbreviation “Trisha” and that she’d use the student’s first name when talking to them and thought her clever to do this, as it apparently was creating a bond of comradery between each student (actor) and Ms Carmody (director).

Finally there was only me and Ms. Carmody left remaining in the hall. She smiled broadly to me and told me that during closed rehearsals I could call her Trisha and she’d called me Mike or would I prefer Michael, (Michael she was tersely informed) but that outside of school, or in the school precinct and in hearing of other students I was expected to show her the respect she was entitled to and address her as Ms. Carmody, or I’d be sent to the principal’s office for disciplining without hesitation. Somewhat still in awe (and shock) of her saw me immediately agreeing to do so. With that out of the way she told me that when she had first seen (and heard) me act, she’d been amazed at how easily (and well) I played the role of a woman.

Then with that still huge smile she told me that speaking now with me this close up, she had no idea how soft and blemish free my face was and that my voice didn’t sound very masculine either! She then added that because I seemed to be sailing so close to the wind on the school rules about hair length as well, that with my hair undone and styled, I could very likely pass as a girl in the role if people weren’t any the wiser, and excusing herself proceeded to stand up and reach over to take a hold of my hair and undo the hair tie, while then placing her hand at the back of my head and moving my hair about, as she looked at how it might appear in different ways.

She let go of my hair before sitting back down and casually told me that she still wasn’t sure whether I’d have to wear a wig or not for the role, but she was going to speak to the principal about requesting if I could have a temporary dispensation to allow me to let my hair grow slightly longer to see how I might look with hair long enough to style for the role of Juliet (oh double crap, why did I have to be so stupid and ignore dad’s request to cut my hair!) She also said that if I listened to her directions about how to perform Juliet and I performed Juliet anything like she believed I was capable of doing, then “that” alone would make the others in the cast lift their acting performances, especially the other three boys playing women and make everyone strive to reach new performing heights.

Then with an excited tone in her voice Ms Carmody said if I turned out as good a Juliet in rehearsals as she thought I could be, she’d arrange to obtain a specially made dress for me to wear for the role from one of her theatrical contacts (triple “crap!”). After quickly looking at her watch, Trisha said it was 4 o’clock and I could go home now and tell my family all about my role, then she walked off out of the hall in the same manner that she’d entered it, while I left thinking how badly I was going to be bullied once all of this was found out around school.

That evening during desert I told my parents and Sue about my impending role as Juliet. Aside from Sue’s stifled giggle and dad’s loud sigh of exasperation (or whatever) generally they all took the news quite well. It was mum who wanted to know more, as she excitedly exclaimed how much she enjoyed reading the play when she’d been in high school and without missing a beat asked me if I was still putting moisturiser on my skin, which I told I did (about once a week I silently said to myself).

What I’d just told my mother wasn’t exactly true, because it was more like once every blue moon nowadays and even THEN, only if mum was nearby and handing me the bottle, which then left me with little choice but to do it. So from that evening onwards, mum rigidly enforced me moisturising each night, by actually watching me put it on before getting ready for bed and often reminding me how lucky I was to have such a wise mother while “again and for the ten thousandth time” saying how most of the men and women she saw at the shopping centre had ruined facial complexions that looked like old work boots.

Sure enough after a few days to let the news filter around school, every day there saw me being roughly pushed into walls or doors by bigger students (which almost everyone was) along with others asking sarcastically if Julie was free to go to the movies (sometimes it wasn’t the movies mentioned but more lewd places). When I received a “clean” swirly** at lunchtime that Friday and walked into 6th period Maths in soaked clothing and totally dishevelled, I knew things were officially “entirely out of control”. My mathematics’ teacher furiously ordered me to the deputy principal’s office along with a hastily scrawled note stating how I had turned up for his class in such a disgraceful state.

When a gruff voice told me to enter, the deputy principal (Mr Barraclough) looked sternly at me without saying a word before I silently handed him the note from my teacher. After reading it he asked me how I’d gotten into this condition, so I meekly told him I’d received a swirly. On being asked why, (just for a moment could there have been just the hint of a smile on his face that just as quickly vanished) I told him what I thought the reason was for the swirly which saw him sigh loudly, before telling me that I wasn’t going to be caned and wasn’t guilty of anything except being too small to defend myself and too dumb to know any better and try to avoid such situations from happening. When he asked me who’d done it to me, he already knew I wouldn’t say who had, so instead of admonishing me any further, he gave me a pass to go home and told me to report back to his office on Monday at 8.30am “sharp”.

The following Monday exactly at 8.30 am I was standing outside his office door and after knocking and announcing my name, was told to wait as he opened his door and instruct me to follow him before leading me into the principal’s office directly across the hallway opposite his own office.

** SWIRLY: A practice favoured in many English schools (so I used writer’s liberty and included it here but don’t know if it’s done in schools here) where the victim going to the lavatory, is dragged inside a cubicle, then forcibly lifted up and turned upside down by two or more students where his head is then positioned inside the bowl and the toilet flushed, sometimes several times. This is the most common type of swirly and known as “clean”. If the victim is particularly disliked the toilet bowl may have unflushed urine and excrement or something worse in it. When done this way it is known as a “dirty” swirly.

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I apologise for having had to break up what would have been chapter 3 into 2 chapters (now 3 and 4). But the original chapter 3 was over 19 pages (almost 12,000 words) long and would have taken far too long and been much too hard for me to upload to the site using HTML. (isn’t there an easier way than HTML?) So instead I chopped and changed Romeo’s chapter a bit (to keep the momentum going about the story) before I reopen the garage and find my time very limited again. C.M.
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Caught In Slips Pt 4
By Christie Myr

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I’d like to thank Emily 63 for providing me with factual information about various places and institutions mentioned throughout this story as she grew up and lives in Australia.
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As it turned out, none of the outcomes with Mr Barraclough (the school deputy principal) I’d envisaged about over the weekend ever eventuated. In fact my meeting with him and Mr Mobs (the principal) lasted less than five minutes before I was instructed (when told I was dismissed), to visit the prefect’s room before first period bell and speak to the head prefect who would be expecting me.

At recess I found myself among my small group of friends in the playground unaware entirely that several of the school’s prefects were looking on a discreet distance away out of sight. Several bigger boys were hovering nearby me, loudly telling me that they questioned my manhood and in doing so seemed to attract more boys who curiously wanted to find out what all the heckling was about. The boys who were shouting the insults at me included one in particular who I knew to be a bit of a bully and seemed to dislike me even though I’d never spoken to him.

He came right up to me menacingly, while another of the group rushed behind me and wrapped his arms around me in a type of full nelson grip, thereby leaving me totally defenceless. Before I could feel the first punch hitting my unprotected stomach a loud whistle blast saw the out of sight prefects racing over, whereupon they proceeded to detain my “would be” attackers. By the end of lunchtime the “school grapevine” apparently must have made it known around school that I wasn’t to be harmed in any way, which was confirmed adamantly the following morning when before class, where at a school assembly Mr Mobs announced that several boys had been suspended for two weeks for bullying a student (not publicly mentioning my name thank goodness) and that anyone caught bullying students in the future would be summarily expelled.

After that it still took several days before most of the boys in my different classes started speaking to me again, because regardless of the actual situation that caused the suspensions (which most of them didn’t know firsthand but only through rumour), they still believed I was in some way to blame for the suspended boys punishment. Still, eventually things started returning to normal again and I was left in peace to be with my own small clique of friends as before and the entire episode was allowed to die.

“The Play” as I came to think of it, saw rehearsals being done three afternoons a week, where I discovered that Ms Carmody wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the stories I’d heard about her. The year 12 boys in the play confirmed that she was actually one of the better teachers to have for English classes when we were all hanging around during a (rarely) delayed start to rehearsal since (as it turned out) Ms. Carmody…….sorry “Trisha” to her student actors, was running late.

Although I’d hated the two plays I’d been dragged into previously, Trisha’s enthusiasm and occasional sarcastic comments over some minor error by a student actor (which most of the time I was the culprit), actually made play rehearsals fun and enjoyable. Since there was only seven weeks to prepare and rehearse before the commencement of Drama Week, everything about the play which included the building of stage props, and working out the stage settings, as well as the rehearsals, ensured that Ms Carmody (oops again) "Trisha" drove everyone relentlessly, especially myself till slowly but surely things everywhere started coming together.

I in particular had to learn how to project my voice loud enough so as to be heard at the back of the hall and doing so in a sweet and young teenage girl’s manner (which Juliet was in Shakespeare’s play). Although my vocal volume turned out to be hopelessly inadequate to do so, that difficulty was fixed another way by drama week’s commencement. Trisha had to give me a lot of direction, to ensure I could play my role convincingly, yet none of the year 11 and 12 boys treated me as anything other than an equal (instead of a hopelessly inept year 9 student), which I felt spoke volumes for Trisha’s ability to bring the ensemble together as a unit.

I also endured further rehearsals at home, specifically by mum (who should've plead guilty to being an out and out Shakespearean tragic). She even had Sue and dad playing some of the other character’s part's and lines in the script to ensure I was word perfect for Juliet’s role and we would rehearse the slightly amended script infinitum until mum was satisfied I was word perfect. (Trisha had revised certain wording in the play, because nowadays most people didn’t understand how people spoke back then, as she did for each year’s Shakespearean play)

I was now also (mum was determined) moisturising of an evening with mum carefully supervising how I did it making sure I did my face, neck and arms. As for my hair growing longer for Juliet’s role, Trisha didn’t succeed in getting Mr Mobs to agree to that, while he also informed her to tell me that I’d need to get my haircut over the weekend and report to his office on the following Monday morning to see that I’d obeyed his order. She told me after informing me of the principal’s order that she’d ask around her contacts to find me the ideal wig to wear for my role in the play.

I copped a lot of teasing at school about my role as rehearsals went on, since everyone at school eventually found out about me being in "The Play" and it almost got out of hand after Trisha asked the principal to allow her to address the school at a general assembly, where after a short explanation about how only male actors were allowed to perform female roles back in Shakespeare’s time, asked the school students to address the students who would be performing in her Shakespeare drama to address them as if they were back in Shakespearean times.

She mentioned methods of speaking and behaviour (most of which were wrong and totally stupid I discovered several years later) but her request to the school eventually saw the various year 12 actors (and myself) slated to be the women, being spoken to by students and most teachers in phrases that “they” thought were used during Shakespearean times. It caused a lot of laughs around the school over the weeks leading up to Drama Week. In one instance that quickly circulated around the school, my Maths teacher, Mr Cox (whose student nickname was “Smiley” because every student at Farrer Ag thought he was a bastard with no sense of humour) asked me a question, phrasing it “Wouldst thou fairest Juliet tell this wretched soul the answer to problem 3c and how thou ascertained it?”

When Trisha retold that incident to the rest of the play’s cast at the following day’s rehearsals, it resulted in raucous laughter and humorous jibes directed at me by the others, but she was quick to point out to all of us that it was good advertising around the school for the play when even my teachers were speaking to me that way. Personally, I could have done without the notoriety and when I told it to the family over dinner on the day that it happened, my sister remarked that I could end up being tagged the school dork, if I wasn’t careful! (I’m sure that Trisha wouldn’t have cared what happened to me in the slightest, so long as her blasted play ended up a Drama Week success)

With three weeks until dress rehearsal, the group allotted to build our sets had most of them practically finished awaiting painting. Since the balcony scene was so well known, the student building group had knocked up a portable balcony which I would be expected to stand on (steadily I hoped) and deliver the (in) famous and short “balcony” lines (then between change of scenes get down from it quietly after the curtain had been briefly drawn and I was out of sight).

In fact at Trisha’s request? (it sounded more like a decree to me) two Saturday morning rehearsals were added so as to perfect that scene along with others and she even invited along actual theatre actor friends to them, who suggested various ideas to try as well as suggesting easier staging ideas to make the production appear even better. As time grew closer to the opening curtain day, Trisha seemed like a whirlwind at every rehearsal. The theatrical group who helped us over the two Saturday mornings, on seeing her efforts at trying to promote Shakespeare in high schools, voluntarily offered to allow their costume wardrobe to be loaned to all of us to wear (after some temporary alterations as was necessary). With that offer the entire cast really would (and did) look more realistic for their roles.

The few sets needed for the play had been completed and looked good as well. So with the scenery completed and with professional outfits to wear instead of the poor and limited school wardrobe to choose from, everyone strove even harder to say their lines perfectly as well as master the cues and prompts. All the actors myself included were confident of remembering and saying their lines, so what could possibly go wrong after all of Trisha’s efforts.

As it turned out, there ended up being only one problem to possibly mar Trisha’s presentation that year and “of course” it had to be “ME” that caused the problem, didn’t it. Why? Because I think Trisha might have been striving just a little too much to make “The Play” be remembered as the best ever to be presented in Farrar Ag’s Drama Week history and become “legendary” to be handed down by word of mouth through succeeding years Drama Weeks, that’s why.

You see, the costume she obtained for me as Juliet, because of my short and skinny build would need considerable altering done to it and after being told how she planned to do to do this, (to make me look as realistic as possible) had me regretfully telling my director words she refused to have spoken at our rehearsals……. "NO, Trisha, I’m sorry but no, that’s just isn’t possible."

As soon as I spoke those ten words, the atmosphere in the hall that afternoon seemed to suddenly freeze over. The entire cast (all of whom I now considered acquaintances, albeit several years older than myself) looked at me in shocked disbelief, hardly believing how “anybody” could possibly say so adamantly, words that included NO to Ms. “Trisha” Carmody. Especially NO about any suggestions she wanted for “The Play”.

I also discovered for the first (and I hoped last) time just how quickly she could change from pleasant to nasty and abrupt with someone, in this instance, ME. She looked sternly at me and told me with a chillingly final tone of voice that I WOULD do what she had so pleasantly asked ME and THAT was the END OF ANY DISCUSSION. Stupidly but resolutely, I again voiced my dissent but asked that I be allowed to explain to her privately after rehearsals why I couldn’t allow what she wanted to do to me for the role. Surprisingly she promptly cancelled the rest of the rehearsal and asked everyone to leave quickly, which saw a lightning fast exodus by everyone, leaving just her and me remaining in the hall.

Once everyone had left, she sarcastically asked me “well I’m waiting for your explanation why you won’t do this Michael Brooks?” I then told her I had a physical deformity that didn’t allow me to be partially naked infront of anyone except my family and doctor and that she should speak to the principal about it, as he had a doctor’s letter stating my condition. She looked at me as if I was an alien from Mars before coldly stating I should leave her presence immediately and that she’d see the principal about having me caned for disobedient insolence!

As soon as my parents got home that evening and before they went and got changed I told them what had happened at rehearsals earlier on. My parents agreed with my actions and told me that only if I agreed to allow a third person at Farrer Agricultural becoming aware of my medical condition, would my gynecomastia be divulged to Ms. Carmody (as I was again now calling her).

Mum was particularly adamant that if Ms. Carmody still wanted me to be in the play (which between ourselves, I was actually still hoping she was even after her ominous threat) then she would first have to sign a deed of confidentiality, before my condition could be allowed to be explained to her. Then mum suggested I ask Ms. Carmody at school tomorrow would she mind visiting her and dad after 7.30pm any evening, so my parents (instead of me) could explain things to her. Sue was told all about what happened at school today (and what might happen) by mum during desert later on.

The following day before I had a chance to speak to Ms. Carmody, saw a note being handed to and read in first period by my geography teacher Mr Maddox. He simply informed me (along with the entire class) that I was to report to the principal’s office at recess. On knocking at the principal’s door later and after announcing my name, I was invited into his office to find Ms. Carmody seated there along with the school nurse who was standing at the far wall of the office. Mr Mobs began by telling me that Ms. Carmody had asked him if he was aware of any existing medical condition that I had that might prevent me form being in her play or possibly cause embarrassment to me if it were made public. He then advised me that she was now aware such a condition did exist (and quickly assured me that he had not informed her what the condition was) and that the school nurse Mrs Carbide was there if necessary as a witness.

I then politely advised Mr Mobs that if Ms. Carmody would agree to sign a confidentiality agreement and would consider visiting my parents any evening after 7.30, everything could be explained to her by my parents (meaning mum). I also said that I really did want to be Juliet in Ms. Carmody’s play, but only if I could do it as professionally as Ms. Carmody’s standards demanded, (which made her smile briefly for a moment) but then unnecessarily reminded Mr Mobs that she would first have to sign the agreement, and provided she still wanted me to be in the play, could hopefully this evening or any other evening, visit my home where my parent’s would explain the difficulty so that she could understand my situation (and problem).

Ms. Carmody silently stood up, walked over to the principal’s desk and promptly signed the three copies of the agreement on it (one was her copy, one the schools, with the third being for my parents) then was again reminded by Mr Mobs about the penalty clauses within the agreement, which included a financial sum considerably greater than her yearly salary. Ms. Carmody to her credit turned and politely (but icily) told me that she expected to see me at rehearsal after school and that I was to tell my parent’s she would call over this evening, before taking her copy of the agreement Mr Mobs handed her and walking out. After she had left, Mr Mobs asked me if I felt that everything had been done to ensure my privacy, which after agreeing it had been saw him dismissing me along with a signed late note to my next class.

Ignoring a few questions from school friends during the day, I went to rehearsals where I tried my best to be word perfect and to Ms. Carmody’s credit, her pleasant cheerful personality saw no one asking or worrying about the previous day’s upset and me again being allowed to address her as “Trisha” if I had any questions about her directions.

That evening just before 7.30pm Ms Carmody’s car arrived at our farm and after being met by my sister and invited inside, I introduced her to my family, (who asked my parents to call her “Trisha”) before mum told Sue she was excused to her room. Mum then sat the four of us in the lounge room where she explained to a quickly becoming incredulous “Trisha”, about my “gynecomastia” condition. After mum asked me to take my shirt and pressure bandage off, “Trisha’s” loud gasp of surprise was quickly followed by an unashamed apology firstly to me and then to my parents along with her assurance that she would never divulge my condition, but that she more than ever wanted me to now play Juliet.

When she finally left just after 9.30 “Trisha” and mum were the best of friends (dad had gone into his study shortly after I had displayed my condition after being nodded to do so by mum). Mum seemed genuinely excited about “Trisha’s idea for my costume along with her other ideas for my appearance. Trisha even more than mum that now knowing my secret, was very enthusiastic and said to my mum that with the right makeup hopefully I’d leave the audiences (both at school and of an evening) in wonderment over Juliet. “Trisha” advised mum who accompanied her (along with myself) to her car that she’d be over in two evening’s time to show both mum and myself the costume she wanted me to wear so that the two of them could do any pinning for a professional seamstress to sew later on.

From that evening on, mum was even more zealous in her efforts to make me walk, talk and act as femininely as possible, which I suffered through stoically. At school (and rehearsals) the following day, Ms Carmody “Trisha” displayed no iota of knowing about my medical condition, although she was now even more exuberant then ever in her directions on how I was saying a certain line or other, necessitating me having to repeat how I spoke my lines until she was satisfied with the inflection in my voice. On Thursday night, dad was given permission for a “night out” so that Mum and “Trisha” (even my sister Sue was allowed to watch) could have me model for Juliet’s costume.

Neither Mum nor Sue showed the slightest amount of embarrassment (unlike myself) to Trisha’s suggestion that I’d need to be dressed entirely like a female if I was to be able to perform the role of a female. She showed mum a plastic bag’s contents which was then handed to me and mum telling me to go to my room and get changed, asking my sister who had enthusiastically stood up to start heading for my room as well, to stay where she was, while mum went and helped me get dressed.

When I timidly walked back into the lounge room ten minutes later, my sister started giggling loudly at my appearance which saw me wearing a white corset (a Merry Widow style was what mum had called it when she helped me into it) and a pair of white cotton panties. Then with “Trisha” directing them, mum and my sister were frequently chuckling as the two of them worked together to tighten the lacing at the back of the corset, that finally saw my stomach being crushed down to where the corset was pinching it and (without me knowing) helping to make my tush balloon out. After mum measured me, she happily informed everyone that her temporary daughter now had a 31-23- almost 30 figure.

Trisha then took command again, asking me to turn around slowly until being told to stop, where upon she and mum exchanged remarks about how my body now looked. Mum’s initial shock at my exposed upper breasts quickly became a thing of the past and to my complete shame was asking both “Trisha” and my sister for their opinions about them. I quickly remarked that I was scared that if I bent forward my breasts would fall out, but Trisha hurriedly assured me (and therefore my mother and sister) that once I put on the dress, my breasts shouldn’t look so risqué. On being asked her opinion, my sister's excited “my breasts are way bigger, but she’s got a butt I’d die for” that had mum and Trisha humorously and enthusiastically saying they were jealous too.

Trisha then went and picked up the black plastic covered dress, which she then carefully took out of the plastic to reveal a very long white satin gown creation, which she asked mum to help her put on me. As they carefully help me into it, I felt the inside lining slide over my skin sending tingles down my spine. Once I was in it and fastened up, the bottom of the dress actually dragged on the floor, which saw mum and “Trisha” helping me to stand on a chair, then taking pins from my sister’s hands one after the other, they pinned the bottom of the dress up so that it no longer dragged on the ground. After being helped back down, I suffered a few sharp pin pricks so that my sleeves were also the right length. The hopes that my breasts would be more discreet were quickly quashed as the neck line of the dress was already cut provocatively low, but at least it covered the tops of my breasts slightly more, thereby offering (in mum’s words) a “slight” modicum of decency.

When the two of them were finished, Trisha placed a long light blonde coloured wig onto my head saying, “now she’s your stereotypically English actress Juliet” to which mum and Sue wholeheartedly agreed although both had white coloured hair themselves. Then “Trisha” told me to sit on a pouf and began (while Sue and mum looked on amused) applying make up to my face. Trisha explained to mum that my makeup would be more severe for the actual performance itself, to allow the stage lighting to be effective. I got fed up repeatedly hearing “he has such lovely skin for a boy” time and time again in tones of amazement by Trisha and agreed with by mum. She then placed/pinned a pointed hat with a veil trailing behind down at the back, on the top of my wig to finish everything off.

Finally I was told I could stand up then gently coaxed by mum into hers and dad’s bedroom, (with Trisha and my sister following behind) where the large mirror reflection revealed the makeup effort’s results. Looking back at me was a quite attractive blonde haired girl in a low cut white satin floor length dress, with a now prominently displayed small rounded pair of breasts that were just covered enough (and only just mum kept reminding me) to be descent in public. For the play I was informed by Trisha I’d be wearing matching coloured ballet flats on my feet, asking my mother if her or my sister might already own a pair I could borrow, which my sister promptly volunteered a pair she owned.

Naturally mum had to take photos because she couldn’t believe her “temporary daughter” could look so lovely, and Trisha was allowed to take several photos on her phone (on the condition they were never to be circulated) so she could look at them later on to see if she thought I might need any changes to my makeup. Regrettably for me, Sue took some phone photos of her own too and uploaded them to the computer in her bedroom………..one ending up "temporarily" as her main screen!

Mum and Trisha then commenced the slow and laborious job of having to remove my facial makeup, which entailed using a countless number of tissues coated with cold cream being wiped on my face to remove the makeup. This was followed by lifting off the dress (without pricking me with any of the thirty or so pins still in it) and finally the merry widow corset, which mum helped me off with back in my bedroom. As soon as that (and the panties) came off, I hurriedly put my shirt and shorts back on then along with mum and my sister, I saw Trisha to her car and watched it drive slowly up the long dirt driveway to the main gate before turning onto the bitumen road back to wherever she lived in Tamworth. Mum had told Trisha she'd hand wash the corset and my bottoms and that I'd return them to Trisha the following Monday. After she'd driven off, I spent twenty minutes under the shower trying to make myself clean, (physically and mentally) before mum watched me apply moisturizer my face to get ready for bed.

At breakfast dad greeted me “and pray doth tell fair maiden, how is thou fair Juliet this morning?” so I knew that mum had obviously shown dad her photos of me last night! Fortunately it was Friday today, so there was no rehearsal after school. I also managed to avoid seeing Ms. Carmody either and came home to face nothing more than a printout of Juliet on my bed from Sue which I saw when I went into do my homework after dinner.

It was almost a relief to have Drama Week finally commence. Our ensemble had managed to get a first and only final dress rehearsal in, but only by staging it on the last Saturday before Drama Week so that none of the student body would see the play beforehand. Everyone had to wear makeup and costumes although "Trisha" organized for me to wear a dodgy old dress from the school wardrobe while I was exempted from makeup too, which amazed everyone there knowing her penchant for perfection. She simply smiled telling everyone there that Juliet would be a revelation when she appeared at Drama Week.

She had also found a way to enable that no one had to raise their voices to say their lines, as her theatre contacts had arranged to loan her (among everything else) ten throat mikes and an amplifier, which a year 11 techno geek (who Trisha asked to come in to do) had a wonderful time tuning to the antiquated school hall speaker system. It worked a treat and our final dress rehearsal allowed everyone to talk normally which allowed them to modulate their voice inflections more easily, especially the women.

In the running order timetable for the student’s two Drama Week days, the plays were presented in school year order, with year 7 commencing the program and finishing up with year 12’s presentation which for the previous five years (and since Ms. Carmody had joined the faculty) had been a Shakespearian adaption. As it turned out Year 12 were to perform straight after lunch on Tuesday, which was ideal in allowing us more time to get ready. This also allowed for year 11’s play which turned out to be a comedy review to be finished at around about normal school lunch commencement.

That meant that several rooms below the stage could be exclusively available to Ms. Carmody to use on top of the normal backstage rooms. It also allowed for the props to be set up and everything sound checked to make sure everything operated correctly. I was placed in a small locked room beneath the stage with Ms. Carmody, initially so she could organize to help me to get dressed. While she’d also do most of my makeup, I was told that one of the year 12 boys would also be helping with that, as he was hoping to go into the theatre on graduating Farrer Ag in two months and was far superior to anyone else at school at putting on stage lighting make up.

When he was lead into the room by Trisha and saw me sitting in the chair he was gob smacked at my appearance. Ms. Carmody told him hat he only needed to apply the makeup necessary for my face to stand out under the hall’s stage lighting and to then go upstairs and make sure the correct lights were set up for each scene, especially for Juliet’s scenes Ms. Carmody instructed him. As he finished and the sheet covering me was taken off, he gasped in amazement at my small pouting breasts which came close to falling out of the top of the dress.

Countless OMG’s from him had Ms. Carmody smirking while explaining to him that my breasts were expensive “falsies” on loan, none of which stopped him from staring. She asked him not to say a word to anybody about me while he checked the lighting, as a shout of “fifteen minutes” from someone outside saw him quickly hurrying out of the room to check the lights. Trisha quickly followed him and left, closing the door behind her so as to make my entry backstage even more dramatic when it happened. I waited in complete trepidation afraid of how the others in the play would react when they saw me.

A tap on the door saw "Trisha" entering and telling me time for you to meet your Romeo fair Juliet, saw me slowly rise off the stool I was sitting on, then after a last slow turnaround and telling me I looked perfect, she led me out the door and carefully up the stairs to the back wings of the stage, where everyone else was waiting. I could hear the muffled drone of murmuring noise as students quietly talked to each other in the hall area infront of the drawn curtain stage. My gradual appearance up the stairs saw excited gasps and exclamations coming from the cast and stage hands as I slowly came into view. “Here’s your Juliet, Romeo, aren’t you the lucky man?” Ms. Carmody proudly announced while everyone started talking at once in louder whispers asking excited questions about my dress, my boobs and how I looked like a real girl.

Trisha chuckled happily as she soaked up the cast and stage hand’s reactions and said that my bust was silicon inserts but it should be priceless to watch and listen to the impact I’d make when the audience saw me. One or two of the braver (and more inquisitive) ensemble couldn’t resist themselves and lightly touched my breasts, which bought stern rebukes for them from Ms. Carmody with the advice “look, but DON’T touch people!”

When the scene came for my first appearance, the sound of 500 gasps of shock followed by a lot of wolf whistles and loudly whispered questions including “who’s the girl” OR “she’s hot” A FEW “I’d screw her silly if she asked me” AND “cheesus, look at her tits” and I’m not so sure that all the voices I could just hear were those of students either because the stage lighting worked both ways in that the audience were mostly unseen in the dark of the hall. The throat mike I wore allowed me and the others playing females to talk gently and quite femininely, so that everyone in the crowd was listening and thinking (in my instance) that I must obviously be a girl that Ms. Carmody had loaned from another school in Tamworth for the play.

In fact, the hall’s acoustics enabled me to hear several students loudly whispering who I could have been since I obviously didn't go this school. I’m not sure if Trisha heard that behind the curtain, but if she did I bet she was grinning like a Cheshire cat. I was trying to give my best impression of a teenage girl too and the audience’s reaction was making everyone else on stage try harder too. You could sense as well as see and hear how the actors were striving for the best performance they’d ever done.

When the curtain came down after the short and final death scene, the volume of applause was louder than anything I’d heard in my previous two years performing on stage behind the now drawn curtains. As we lined up to take our bows Trisha's final training on how to bow was put on display. As the curtain drew back revealing the cast, the male actors bowed while the four women all deep curtseyed, myself having to hold onto Romeo’s arm. My bow was yet another chance for everyone to see my breasts almost came out of my gown even though I was extremely careful and slow when dropping to curtsy and slower still getting up again, while smiling demurely.

After the curtain closed infront of us, everyone involved in the play was excitedly talking about the audiences reactions and particularly to me. The principal came onstage to announce that with the last play ending, students could leave for the day which saw the usual stampede for the school exits. Of course, we had to pose for the school yearbook photo and I was being asked who I actually was and which girl’s school I went to, with two older boys asking me if I’d like to go out after I got changed.

My fellow actors were doubled over in laughter hearing the invitations, as they knew the truth and were just waiting for me to lower the boom (so to speak). It was Ms. Carmody that did that though as she loudly told everyone that we all had to go and take off our costumes and makeup, saying to me as she took my hand and leading me to do mine “I’ll take your makeup off Michael Brooks” which had a number of the year 11 and 12 boys that were still hanging around stunned into total silence or else laughing while pointing at others, I suppose mutely saying to the students they were pointing at “you said she was a girl and you’re dead wrong”.

After the makeup and costume were taken off along with the underwear, I wrapped my moobs down again before finishing dressing then quietly headed back outside where I saw there were still senior boys waiting to look and see who the girl was who’d played Juliet, obviously thinking that Ms. Carmody had been playing a practical joke on everyone. I wonder how long after I left did they wait around till it finally dawned, or perhaps Trisha stayed back to enjoy their astonishment again at being told Juliet was actually a Farrer Ag student and that I’d already gone home. Luckily for me, mum already knew approximately when I’d be leaving so was waiting outside the school gate to drive me home. On the way there I told her all about my “performance” and told her that she’d get to see it for herself tomorrow evening and Friday night as well.

That night at dinner I had to retell the entire story all over again to my sister and dad. I was still hyped up from my performance and listened in surprise as dad told my sister and me that the organizational change he’d all been warning us was in the wings, had been confirmed earlier in the day and that we’d be moving to Uranquinty by the end of the year if not earlier. So next year I’d be attending a new school for my year 10 exams, while Sue would now have the option of attending Charles Sturt University in Wagga Wagga instead of having to go to Melbourne or Sydney if her exams results were good enough.

At school the next day, I didn’t think about our impending move elsewhere, instead having to put up with listening to countless wolf whistles directed at me for my Juliet performance along with a hell of a lot of teasing and even advances from some of Farrer Ag’s more effeminate (and hopeful?) students. I also received a lot of congratulations from teaching staff and (surprisingly enough) students.

That evening’s Drama Night would see one play from years7, 8 and 9 along with Romeo and Juliet to fill the two and a half or so hours. On Friday night it would be the best play from year 10 along with year 11’s revue and Romeo and Juliet that would fill the shorter program. Thursday night was a mix of the best junior plays along with Year 11’s comedy revue. But generally everyone (in R&J) agreed that Wednesday night was more important than Thursday night while Friday night would be “the best of the best drama exhibited by Farrer Ag”.

To say that Romeo and Juliet was a hit on Wednesday evening would have been inaccurate. It was a sensation, or should I say Juliet and cast caused a sensation. But Friday night’s encore where again Ms. Carmody briefly introduced the Shakespearian story, (so that regular attendees each year now knew it by heart) soon surpassed Wednesday night’s audience reaction to the sight of the young boy who played Juliet, although most of the public there still thought it was actually a girl since the program read Juliet..……M. Brooks, (which must have been another part of Trisha's plan) My realistic appearance as a teenage girl (Juliet) left everyone in the audience (not a Farrer Ag student) astounded and was all anyone was talking about outside the school hall congregating around talking after the evening was over.

But in all the excitement backstage after the final performance, wisdom and common sense were somewhat lost in jubilant celebrations of another successful Drama Week finale. Inadvertently, several hopeful and aspiring students from other schools in the area somehow managed to find their way backstage, to have a close up look at the various goings on, and talk with the actors and stage crew (two of them claimed afterwards). Unfortunately my personal dressing room door under the stage was unexpectedly opened by some of them, curious to see what might be in that room and those same mingling students looked in stunned shock as they saw a young boy hurrying to close the door in his underpants (my boys pair thank goodness) with my breasts clearly and prominently on display trying to cover them with arms folded across them

Ms. Carmody had only just moments before left the dressing room to allow me my privacy to get redressed (after taking off my makeup and assisting me to carefully take off the expensive costume) and the room’s door had no lock so there was nothing to prevent what happened. Several of the curious group (who’d snuck backstage) hurriedly took photos of me on their smartphones before they quickly shut the door when they heard Ms. Carmody’s voice (as she rushed back) loudly shouting for them to get away from that door, too late to repair the damage.

She quickly spoke to the interlopers asking them to hand over their phones which she then immediately deleted the photos they had taken of me and her actions would have succeeded in preventing what would eventually result, “IF” she’d gotten all the “correct” mobile phones concerned and that “IF” one of the group hadn’t lied to her about not having a phone.

Somehow, for almost a week after nothing further seemed to happen about the incident backstage and saw the local paper reporting on another Drama Week success including an outstanding photo of Juliet on the balcony. However unknown to myself (or Ms. Carmody) several photos of a boy with breasts were being circulated around among students from another high school in Tamworth which were texted to other phones and so forth and so on until several students at Farrer Ag received phone text messages with attached photos and questions asking them if they knew who the “freak” was?

I soon learnt how vicious teenage boys could be a few days after that when in the playground before school, I discovered I was now the joke of the school as everyone was staring or pointing at me and talking to others standing beside them all of them shouting I was some sort of a freak (or worse). If I could have I would have crawled into a hole somewhere and hid. At lunchtime I went to the sports changing rooms for privacy from the heckling I’d been receiving and to also use the toilets there and had just finished, when six boys barged in and told me I was dead meat. I don't remember anything after the first punch aimed at my face that thankfully had me blacking out, so that way I didn’t feel any of the countless feet and fists that must have followed.

Late the following day (in hospital) I woke up to blurrily see my parents and sister looking down at me with apprehensive looks on their faces, but was to doped to the gills to fully comprehend mum’s explanation for why I was in a strange room and quickly fell unconscious again. The following day and now more lucid, my parents explained what happened. Apparently my disappearance from classes hadn’t been noticed (or discovered) until almost final bell, which after several phone calls to my parents, also triggered a room by room search of the school as well as the school grounds themselves, before I was eventually found unconscious on the tiled floor of the downstairs changing rooms, my shirt torn off and stuffed in the change rooms’ wall waste bin. My face and body were covered in blood along with urine and semen, but I was too tired to stay awake and hear any more. When I was fully awake again later on, dad slowly explained to me again what had eventuated after I was discovered.

Apparently the school contacted my parents to tell them I’d been found and that (as they spoke) an ambulance was transporting my battered body to Tamworth hospital. Dad, normally a reasonable man to deal with was furious about how the school hadn’t only delayed in notifying him and mum about my disappearance, but also that the Principal had also wanted to discuss privately with him and mum about trying to find a way to keep everything out of the press as much as possible, even while an ambulance was taking me to hospital!

Eight days after being admitted to emergency, my parents drove my badly bruised body carefully home. My injuries ranged from three broken ribs, a broken nose three missing teeth and a depressed fracture of my left cheekbone, which the surgeons had been able to correct while also straightening my broken nose. Luckily my eyesight didn’t appear to be effected although I was still having occasional blurry vision and for several days at home had to sleep with a bucket beside me as I was still spasmodically vomiting.

Both my parents wanted to stay home and look after me until I was able to start looking after myself, but mum reminded dad about the move to our new posting and the need to help the person named as his replacement for his job in Tamworth, so instead she stayed at home to nurse me. For several days I feigned sleep to avoid having to talk to her about what had happened and what would happen when we moved away.

Somehow, in my own mind I was torn between what I was physically, which was a castrated boy and how I felt dressed as Juliet, which I hadn’t dared to speak about with anyone, because a part of me really liked how I’d felt and looked as Juliet. Even my own sister said I looked hot that first evening and I kept recalling the expressions on boys faces I saw from on stage and about what I heard them whispering about and how beautiful some of them thought I was.

One morning after my sister had left for school, mum had peeked into my room to see I was OK and told me she was going out to do some shopping. After hearing her drive off I gingerly got out of bed and slowly walked to my sister’s room and went inside. The room smelt slightly like fruit and flowers and looked so bright and tidy. My room was just as neat as hers, yet didn’t “feel” the same and thought I’d actually preferred how her room looked and smelt than my own. I’d never before walked into her room uninvited or ever touched her clothes before, (well perhaps I had when I was three or four and helped mum take in the washing and not being old enough to go to school yet) but that morning I had this need to want to be in her room.

I went over and opened her set of drawers first and saw a myriad of underwear in various colours and carefully picked up one pair after another, sometimes lightly bring them up to and touching my cheek with a pair. Some of them were cotton, some shiny which felt cool and slippery on my cheek when I touched them there. An emerald green colour pair really caught my attention so I replaced the others back in the drawer and taking off my bottoms put Sue’s panties on. My mind silently was telling me “bra next” and I looked through that drawer trying to find a bra colour matching the emerald panties.

I didn’t but quickly remembered my bra size would have smaller than my sisters and saw her bras had tags showing 34C and some 36B or 36C but nothing smaller. I finally however found a quite old ratty looking bra with a label that showed 30B and after some difficulties trying to put it on, somehow worked it out that if I fastened the two clasps at the back of the bra while I held it to the front of my chest, then I could tug it back around so that my breasts could then be held correctly, then while slowly managing to get my bruised arms through the straps carefully eased my two breasts into the cups. I then walked over to the mirror and saw how it looked, before moving over to Sue’s wardrobe to see what clothes I could try on.

On moving the various clothing along the rack I recognised a top and skirt that Sue often wore. Then taking the clothes hangers they were on out of the wardrobe, I placed the hangers on her bed and proceeded to take the clothes off them and put them on me. It still hurt me to lift my arms up in the air, but eventually I managed to put the top on and found the skirt easy to put on by stepping into it and zipping it up. Then I went over and looked in the room’s mirror and was disappointed not to see Juliet in the mirror. All I could see was a badly bruised and swollen face along with purple black bruised arms and legs, wearing a cute apricot top and a snowy white skirt that came down to around half way to my knees. I looked at my reflection for several minutes, occasionally doing half turns to see what I looked like from different angles.

Right at that moment I knew I looked ugly, but remembered how I’d looked being dressed as Juliet started me wondering how I might look in clothes like I had on when the bruising was no longer there. I began asking myself how easy it would be if I tried putting on a little bit of makeup and had longer hair in a style that could suit me and how I’d look in the mirror then?

I “must” have stood infront of the mirror turning from side to side for ages, practicing doing curtseys, before excitedly dashing back over to Sue’s wardrobe and taking out a dress I liked when she wore it, to see how It’d look on me and did exactly what Sue did where she would hold dresses or skirts on hangers up against herself to see how they looked, and in a dazed trance I lost all track of time imagining how I’d look if I was a girl, which was how mum saw me in my sister’s room when she came home from the shops.

I turned around suddenly as I heard a startled gasp behind me and saw mum’s look of shock on her face standing just inside the bedroom doorway. My mind had been (and I think still was) far off somewhere in a happy place daydreaming about how I was a girl instead of a boy and that although I could clearly see mum’s face, my mind was a few seconds slower catching up to tell me how I must appear to look to my mother. Mum’s sudden appearance quickly however had my mind brutally snapped back to the now reality, that was suddenly thinking how ashamed I was at being caught dressed in my sister’s clothes, but surprisingly my subconscious wasn’t ashamed for the what I’d been daydreaming about.

I looked guiltily at mum before bursting into tears, realizing instantly how it must appear to look to her mind’s thinking right then as I asked her in a frightened tone, “what’s wrong with me?” Only moments before mum’s sudden appearance, my mind had been telling me just how good it felt wearing my sister’s clothes while “somewhere else in my brain” another part of my thought process was telling me that I shouldn’t feel guilty or embarrassed and that It DID look (and feel) right wearing my sister things, even though I was her brother.

Mum rushed up and began hugging me, careful of the bruising and telling me what my mind had been saying quietly since I began putting on my sister’s clothes. ”It’s OK honey, no need to feel embarrassed or afraid, mummy always knew you secretly were never happy being a boy.” Then she told me there was nothing wrong with how I felt and that everything would be alright, as she tightened her hug around me comfortingly and protectively and like she always did to me when I was very young, started giving me lots of little kisses all over my face and head, quietly sobbing as well……………I kept asking myself isn’t mum angry with me………Why isn’t she???

Caught In Slips Pt 5
By Christie Myr

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I’d like to thank Emily 63 from Victoria in Australia for providing me with information about various places and institutions mentioned throughout this story.
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With mum gently guiding me, I found my way back to my bedroom. She then hurried out of the room while I began taking off my sister’s clothes. When she came back in she gently placed something in my hands suggesting I wear it to bed, telling me it was one of my sister’s old nighties that she’d grown out of. Sue’s old nightie was cotton, sleeveless and pale green in colour and felt slightly strange on me, but at the same time also seemed to calm and relax me. Getting into bed, mum tucked me in just like she used to when I was much younger, said that she’d wake me for dinner and closed the door to let me sleep. It turned out to be among the most peaceful sleeps I could ever recall. Mum woke me up the next morning and I realised I must have slept the rest of the day and all last night to feel so relaxed and awake.

Mum simply said to get dressed and come out to breakfast. When I finally did appear in the kitchen, everyone there looked at me expectantly. Mum told me that dad and Sue were staying home today, so the four of us could talk about “what I wanted to do now”. Thinking back on it later, mum actually said “what needs to be done.”

The next few hours seemed surreal as we talked about what had taken place over the past six or so weeks and it was to become the commencement of the most important turning point in my life. BUT now I was awake it was time to talk seriously about everything that had happened recently. When mum began asking me a number of probing and embarrassing questions in front of dad and my sister, I hesitantly answered them candidly and truthfully. Dad quietly told mum that he now agreed with her thinking at dinner the previous night and then looking at me said that he and mum would get everything sorted to help me.

He then stood up and smiled before announcing that he’d better ring up head office and see if he could get them to hurry up and ratify their decision so the family could relocate to Wagga Wagga! I wasn’t the only one shocked by his words because I think Sue’s face must have been showing the same expression mine was. Mum then told us that she and dad had agreed that until it was iron clad finalised, they hadn’t wanted to say anything about a new posting, especially with Sue doing her HSC in October. Mum then told Sue that they (her and my sister) needed to have a talk in private and Sue nodded her head as if she knew what it was about.

When dad had come back into the room, mum suggested we move into the lounge room and be comfortable. Once everyone was seated mum began asking even more questions of me. At first I blushed or mumbled yes’s or no’s until in time, I began to realise I wasn’t being ridiculed and that mum was genuinely trying to find out how I felt and what my real feelings were.

Mum and my sister looked relieved when I told the three of them about how I truly felt inside my mind now since the assault. Sue seemed to sound quite excited when she said that now she might have a younger sister to be with, jokingly adding that it would be just like having a life-sized Barbie she could play dress ups with. Dad didn’t say much, but I got the impression he was neither surprised, ashamed or upset with me.

Soon afterwards, mum said I should go and get showered, which allowed my sister to sneak into my bedroom and leave a large pile of her old clothes on my bed that certainly surprised me with when I walked back in there after showering. Still wet and with a towel covering me, I looked in gaping mouth astonishment at all the clothes and as if by magic mum appeared quietly behind me saying she’d help me get dressed.

When I emerged from the bedroom twenty minutes later I was wearing one of my sister’s tops, a pair of shorts, one of her old training bras and the panties I’d tried on the previous day underneath. Mum said I should go into the lounge room where I found dad and my sister sitting there waiting for me to appear. My badly bruised appearance didn’t deter either of them from welcoming me. Dad cheerfully told me that now might be a good time to choose my new name so he and mum could go to solicitors to start getting the loose ends sorted out and tied up?

Dad’s suggestion started a frenzied back and forth dialogue between the four of us, although my sister seemed to shout the loudest……. (and almost every twenty seconds it seemed) as to what I should name myself, before in exasperation that no one seemed to be in consensus about any name already mentioned, I said that if things had been different fifteen years ago, then mum and dad would have already had picked out a name for me when I was born for the hospital to put on my birth certificate. So with my sister’s hopes dashed for me to be called Harmony Christine Brooks (although she’d mentioned a lot of other names too), mum and dad settled on Marie Janet Roberts, as both agreed that I’d have to change my surname so as to help cover up any traces of Michael Brooks (so to speak). Plus it might be easier to cover my name change for my school records if my first initial remained the same as before. Dad also ordained that from this moment on I was to be known and called Janet all the time by everyone in the room.

Dad had suggested using the name Roberts for my surname, because that way when we finally moved to Wagga Wagga, I could pretend to be his brother’s daughter staying temporarily with them because of his brother’s divorce back in England. His brother’s family had visited us from England the previous year and like us, soon loved the place enough to want to emigrate here as soon as everything in the UK was finalised anyway. His ex-wife no longer wanted to come however and had reverted to using her maiden name along with the daughter I would now be pretending to be, if anyone should ever ask.

So with an excuse for my surname quickly sown together (although dad told all of us that lawyers would spot any loopholes and work with us to get them covered) we all agreed it would be a good cover for my new identity. As for my new name, I said I would have personally have preferred to be called Cassandra Marie and dad smiled saying he’d remember to do that next time?

From that moment no one ever called me Michael or Mike ever again, although it did have to happen on the few occasions where I was required to dress as Michael to go somewhere with my parents on behalf of Janet’s future. In the following few weeks it was odd, that having lived as Michael for so many years to be now living as a girl called Janet. Every time I dressed again as a boy, it actually felt quite weird doing so, especially walking around as Michael but never Janet) in public. Crazy as it sounds and as hard as it might be to believe, it just felt more comfortable to be wearing a bra and panties under a top and shorts, a skirt or a dress.

Over those next few weeks dad and mum took it in turns going to solicitors to discuss the necessary paperwork, to my school so as to have my files marked confidential then sealed, so they could be handed over to my parents to pass on to my new school’s principal, or to my doctor who actually seemed relieved by my decision and helped out by recommending a specialist in Wagga Wagga (who specialised in transgendered people) I should visit.

The solicitors handled the various legal documentation required and heaven knows what else very efficiently and discreetly. The only stipulation dad had ever made, aside from never being called Michael again, was that I could no longer leave the farm to go somewhere without one of my parents accompanying me, and never as Janet unless it was to another town, plus I could no longer contact any of the friends I’d made in Tamworth.

Of course I had to go shopping for more clothes and underwear things, but this was done with mum driving me (as Janet) along with Sue to Armidale where no one would hopefully recognise any of us.

My principal Mr Mobs, having already met with dad (who had been accompanied by our solicitor), not only agreed to me not having to return to Farrar Ag (I had a medical certificate for 3 months absence) but willingly helped to ensure my school records were sealed from any potentially embarrassing investigative questions. The boys involved in my bashing ended up being arrested and quietly sentenced in the juvenile courts to be moved to a boarding school/detention centre for the following 12 months until they were 18 and no longer juveniles.

Ms. Carmody wasn’t reprimanded or disciplined (officially) although I’m led to believe from what dad found out the following year, that her excessive enthusiasm for school plays although slightly diminished was still ensuring Farrar Ag’s Drama Week was special. News filtered through to the school that I had been transferred by ambulance to a hospital in Sydney, where regrettably I had passed away from my injuries several months later. The school held a minute’s silence for me after the news of my demise was announced! I would have laughed if dad hadn’t also made mum and my sister behave when they walked around In Tamworth as if my death had been genuine.

By the time Sue had finished her HSC at the end of October, my facial bruising and swelling had virtually faded away and my white hair had grown JUST long enough to enable mum to take me to a hair salon (again in Armidale) where my hair was cut into a shortish Pixie style, which with just the faintest amount of makeup on my face, could really make me look like a “Janet”. Then a few days after my hair salon appointment we (mum, Sue and me) moved short term to a caravan park on the outskirts of Henty, while waiting for dad to be able to join us at the farm he and mum had selected to live on in Uranquinty.

The move to Henty allowed me to begin walking around in public as a teenage girl, although I never did so without either my sister or mum accompanying me. It also allowed me to have my dentistry work done, which required me to wear a partial plate (for the rest of my life) so I could show a beaming smile.

Before we moved away from Tamworth mum and my sister were constantly telling me about the mistakes I was making walking around the house dressed as Janet. It seemed as if I couldn’t please either of them as they constantly corrected how I wore my clothes, how I walked, how I stood as well as my general posture, how I ate, how I sat, the way I spoke, the words and phrases I used. It was one long monotonous critiquing that occasionally sent me racing in tears to my room to get away from hearing any more.

At the time I felt as if I’d never please the two of them, but surprisingly it was mum one evening who told me how femininely I was starting to behave now and I’d have flown to the moon at her praise, except after raising my hopes, she immediately dashed them, reminding me that my nail polish was chipped on my right index finger and that “that” wouldn’t do from now on! Sheesh! But mum had told me I’d be going out in public as Janet as much as possible once we had moved to Henty and she was as good as her word, but until then it was important for me to try and learn how to start behaving like a teenage girl so perhaps hers and my sister’s nagging was for all the right reasons.

At Henty I felt quite awkward at first dressed as Janet walking around the shops there and could have sworn that every teenage girl (and boy) was staring at me whenever I walked past one, always dreading that one of them would shout out I was a boy dressed as a girl. In fact although I did often get glanced at and either mum (but usually Sue) would quietly explain to me why the girl (or sometimes a boy) we had just passed had been looking at me the way they had.

So that was when I began learning about “the feminine mystique” which my sister explained further about to me one evening two or three days afterwards. It really was very hard for me to believe (or understand) that girls thought that way I told my sister, after she had explained certain things to me. But she assured me that “that” was the case and to ask mum if I didn’t believe her, which I did. And mum told me the exact same thing. It seemed that each time Janet went out shopping after I’d been told about the feminie mystique, mum and my sister saw me (as Janet) taking two steps forward (and sometimes one step back) learning to be a girl.

When we joined dad at our new farm in Uranquinty a week before Xmas, he was stunned at how his new daughter now looked and behaved. When mum, Sue and I had been living in Henty, dad had phoned my older brother Greg and explained to my brother about what had happened at Tamworth and about my decision, but even Greg seemed shocked when he first met Janet on Xmas Eve when he came home for a visit and to tell every one about how he was coping at University and living in Sydney.

It was priceless hearing him stuttering gibberish the first time he met Janet and trying to comprehend that the young girl infront of him had been his brother the last time he’d seen me. My heart almost leapt ten feet out of my skin when I secretly overheard him telling my sister how sexy my bum looked in the skirt I was wearing, to have her laughingly agree with him adding that he’d go completely ape when he saw me in a pair of jeans.

Australia’s summers are hot places to live in and from almost the first day I moved away from Tamworth as Janet, I wished I could have been able to go for a swim since it was December and summer. Unfortunately none of my sister’s old swimsuits could quite manage to make my small little bulge below vanish entirely when I tried either of my sister’s old swimmers, before a quickly aborted visit to the local pool in Henty.

For those of you who don’t live in a country where summer days are usually around 90 degrees hot, the local pool (in Tamworth anyway) was the mecca where young teenagers went during school holidays and congregated in small groups to spend half their time in the water and the other half of it trying to find and then sit in shade somewhere and gossip to each other about such and such a girl (friend) or boy (friend) and about possible romances (or flights of fantasy) while somehow managing to get suntans without burning to a crisp. Knowledgeable people always took small portable shelters along to the pool and set them up on grass areas or used large beach umbrellas to share with friends so they could hide away from under the scorching sun.

Anyway for Janet to be able to go swimming anywhere, it took a trip to Wagga Wagga with mum and my sister for them to find the perfect swim suit for me to wear, that allowed me not to have to worry about something (after some astute tucking) seeming to be out of place. My new swimsuit had a ruffled fringe skirt around the bottom of it, which was just long enough (and loose enough) to allow me to walk around without any unsightly small bulges being apparent, although I had to be careful when I was lying on a towel sunbathing………and never on my back!

At first, when I finally went to the pool (always with mum or my sister) and for a short time afterwards until I began to gain more confidence as Janet, I’d almost leap out of the pool to dash over to where I’d placed beforehand my strategically placed towel (to cover up) that had been left on the pool fence. I can also remember how on my first day in a girl’s swimsuit, suffering a hot shower that evening trying to relieve the sunburn I’d acquired, since I’d forgotten about the first thing I’d learnt back in Tamworth three years before…. the strength of Australia’s sun can easily get you sunburnt.

Anyway by trial and error (and there were a lot of errors, believe me) I gradually started becoming accustomed to being Janet so that by towards the end of January “I” felt/believed as though I could walk around in public without being “detected” and was thinking that my decision to try living as a girl had been the right one. My family thought so too. Having written that, when it came time for me to do an interview with my prospective school’s (Mt Erin College) principal, I’d have hoped for the principal to be deaf and blind if it could have happened, I was so scared.

As it turned out I needn’t have been so worried. My parents had already secretly met and spoken with the school principal and explained about my “circumstances” so that when I first met Mrs Long, she treated me like any other prospective new student and assured me that my condition would be kept completely confidential between myself, her and the school nurse Mrs Craddock, (who I quickly learnt from girls at school had the nickname at Mt Erin of Mrs “Grab Cock”, perhaps because of her elderly looks and disposition).

She had been advised of my condition Mrs Long told me, in case I got injured at school and needed to be treated or rushed to hospital. I also was relieved to find that the subjects I had chosen at Farrer Ag were quite compatible with Mt Erin’s curriculum (thank goodness) which was brilliant, mainly because I now didn’t have to worry about trying to learn about another subject’s content for years eight and nine while trying to learn about that subject’s year 10 content.

I suppose the only REAL bad news for me to have to cope with, was that Mt Erin College although a private catholic school was also a co-educational school. That would have been difficult enough to get use to as Michael (remember Farrer Agricultural had been a BOY'S ONLY school). But as Janet, I had the added burden of trying not only to fit in as a girl with other natural girls, but also having to try and cope with teenage boys as well!

Both Sue and mum decided that it would be wiser (and smarter) for me to play the part of the “shy, quiet” new girl and not rush up to other students introducing myself to them……as if I would’ve! The reason I was never going to be one of the “popular” in crowd there anyway wasn’t because of my initial “shyness” approach though. Nope, I blame it on my subject choices at Farrer Ag back in Tamworth, which had included Music. THAT alone ensured I ended up among the silent majority (of school geeks & dorks) who found themselves socially ostracised by the “popular” students, just like it had been at Farrer Ag.

I therefore quickly found myself among the “geeks and dorks” crowd compounded by my nervousness when being among a group of girls talking about….you guessed it “BOYS and SEX”. Worse still, in trying my best not to commit another girl student faux par (saying or doing something outrageously naïve to other girls who knew better) I inadvertently did and had everyone assuming I must have been a virgin (a school student social death I found out).

It happened during one of my first girl’s only group chat sessions where both my nervousness and naivety showed out. So for the next three years, whether I liked it or not, I was tagged a virgin by both my friends as well as the other girls in my year too. This quickly became public knowledge among the boys of my year as well, when a spiteful minded girl (who obviously didn’t like me), made some catty “Virgin” remark among her “popular” girlfriends, who then spread the word about me.

When I put my name down for “girls” winter athletics and in summer for house cricket (I was stunned to hear they even had such a sport but quickly put my name down for it) and quickly showed I knew how to play, that soon earned me another unwanted label of being a probable “Lemon” (lesbian) as well as a virgin, which permanently cemented my “Geek or Dorkiness” standing on the bottom rung of the school’s social hierarchy ladder.

One thing was for certain, NOT having a huge set of boobs, (at Mt Erin they were initially “A” cup in size but eventually grew out to a perky “B” cup by the end of year12), long legs, good looks and sassiness, or being rich, meant that the next three years were going to be (and were) quiet and uninteresting………oh go on say what you’re all thinking - “dull and boring”

Sue agreed after mum and dad pleaded with her, to remain in Wagga Wagga and do her first year at Charles Sturt University in Wagga Wagga instead of moving to Sydney to attend university there. They did this so my sister could help me (along with mum) try and find my way through “Girl-World”. She was a blessing for all the advice she gave me on how to cope with being a teenage girl, often clashing heatedly with mum about important “social” behaviour often telling mum she was out of touch with today.

Although I didn’t initially appreciate ALL my sister’s “advice”, by the end of June that year and following her suggestions, I still might have been on the lowest rung of the school ladder socially, but at least I now knew a number of girls my own age that I could talk with and much to my astonishment, heard that even one or two boys might have liked to get to know me better (according to those same girlfriends). By the end of that year, I knew in my heart that I’d made the right decision to become Janet, which Sue confirmed with me just before she left for Sydney the following January.

Part of my “training” in becoming a “new” girl was to also help out with the domestic duties at home (as my sister had had to do when she was younger). It’s just that I had a quicker learning curve to master it in. At first I’d hated housework back in Tamworth as a bruised Janet, but as I slowly grew more confident as her, I found a certain pleasure in doing cooking and housework (well not so much the housework!) which after Sue left for Sydney, saw my work (chores) load increasing, but didn’t faze me in the slightest.

Dad’s new position had him overseeing the farming of wheat over an area of almost 700 square miles, as the company in the UK he worked for, had over a number of years purchased small farms ranging in size anywhere from 3,000 to 10,000 hectares starting from just outside Wagga Wagga and going south towards the border with Victoria. It also meant he spent a considerable amount of time driving to and from different townships to inspect work on different farm sites. He quickly (after gaining H.O. approval) rehired mum to be his paid secretary and P.A. (the same as his predecessor had done with his own wife before they had had to return back to England), so my learning how to cook was gratefully appreciated by mum after Sue left for University in Sydney, as more often than not I had to cook evening meals for the three of us.

As for getting around anywhere before my sister was old enough to get her driver’s licence, just like in Tamworth, you mainly had only your pushbike to get around. My old boy’s bike wasn’t out of place here because a lot of girls in the district rode either boys’ or girls’ bikes depending on if they had brothers still living at home or not. In Uranquinty it was much harder to go somewhere because the nearest townships were 13 or 14 kilometres (10 miles) away in any direction. So if Sue or I wanted to bicycle anywhere like a trip to Wagga Wagga, it entailed a bicycle ride of almost 30 kilometres there and back to think about beforehand. That point alone ensured we both had loads of free time to kill around the farm.

Of course, if mum was available there was always Mum’s taxi service or as a desperate last resort, the idiosyncratic bus service or sometimes (after Sue got her driver’s licence) dad or mum would loan Sue their car keys to drive their respective cars. Although I had my own house chores, my studies, my guitar to play, or watch television or read books, it would be fair to say that any trip somewhere, or if guests were visiting were things to be anticipated and appreciated. Of course I always had my mobile phone to talk with friends, but tedium was never far away.

Then one day, dad finally decided, after being hounded constantly by my sister, to allow her to use one of the run down (and spare) farm cars to go to Charles Sturt University. He also decided shortly after that (when the old farm car Sue was using decided to up and die one morning) that I should “offer” to buy my sister her own car, to show my appreciation for her not having gone to Sydney but instead staying in Uranquinty to help me for the past year.

So dad “allowed” me to take a small amount of money out of my trust to help Sue buy her motor car, which in return for, she would then drive me to school on her way to University and pick me up after school (unless she didn’t have afternoon classes, in which case I simply had to get the bus home) as well as to places on the weekends “IF” she was free to do so, and then allow her to take the car with her to Sydney when she left to go to University there!

After several weeks of searching around and by word of mouth, one Saturday just after lunch, dad drove off with Sue, who came back home driving behind dad in a nice (but used) dark blue manual Toyota Corolla. Of course the car required an immediate family test drive demonstration, that in the next half hour saw both mum and dad saying their daughter had aged them ten years (if you saw how my sister drove, you’d understand) although I felt (and said) she drove brilliantly. I say that because for the following few weeks she was happy to ask me if I needed to go somewhere, just so she could drive me there and back and so let all her friends see her “wheels”.

The car was registered in her name as was the insurance and she was responsible for all running costs, but dad helped out by showing her (as he’d done for my brother with his first motor bike and then car) how to service and do minor repairs. Naturally I was made to watch and learn as well and for years later I would bless dad’s insistence in making his children learn about fundamental mechanics, because he was determined that none of his children wasn't going to be able to do minor car repairs to save money or be stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Because I’d had to repeat a school year in England, by the time I finished year 10, I was already eligible for a learner driver’s permit too and eventually after obtaining one, for the few weeks that Ann had before she left for Sydney, I was constantly pestering her to let me drive her car to Wagga to go shopping while she sat in the passenger’s seat. Whenever she showed any reluctance to do so, I wasn’t above reminding her who had bought the car for her! (YES….I know I was being a little bitch)

Like a lot of girls my age, although I wasn’t a person who spent money foolishly, I was now finding that it wasn’t cheap to be a girl. Not by a long shot. Although I didn’t have “some” mandatory women’s costs (although I would have liked to experience it at least once) there were the unexpected costs. Initially mum had to spend a small fortune on me for makeup, so I could experiment on myself while I remained hidden away in Tamworth, (and didn’t I hammer that for quite while) then there were clothes, not to forget going out with other girls (where invariably you ended up buying something you mightn’t use too often) to the point where with my sister’s (and mum’s) prodding, I decided to and successfully applied to join the ranks of General Macca’s Army to earn spending money.

Although I was reasonably confident in my appearance and behaviour, it took General Mac to turn me into a female officer that was ready to command others! Since I’d become Janet, I always preferred wearing skirts and dresses (sometime shorts or skorts) and my sister told me I was a real girly girl for doing that. Besides, mum hated me wearing jeans and slacks unless it was cold.

General Mac’s female attire wasn’t that sexy to wear although you should have seen how some girls wore their “self-adjusted” uniforms. Slacks (and never skirts) were issued uniform so as to prevent accidentally spilt hot fat burns on unprotected legs. It’s a pity they had no rule about arms and you could always tell a General Mac employee most of the time by small scars on arms or hands.

Still that aside, I enjoyed the comradeship of the crews I worked with, and was always willing to take a few minutes more to change over to the next shift or start my shift early and was a quick study of the till’s computer, as well as being able to handle the drive through headpiece to where the franchisee owner (Mr Angepopolus) several times asked me if I wanted to go further along the career chain!

I’d often assist the shift supervisor if any of the girls (mainly the new staff) had till problems, I was able to quickly sort out customer’s order mix up problems (although few customers ever had or took the time to say thank you – the ignorant pigs). Still the pittance I earned for the slave hours I worked helped build up the spending money I had in my bank account.

When my sister had looked for spare money, she didn’t go down the fast food path, instead with dad’s help landing a job as a barmaid at one of the hotel’s in Wagga Wagga when she turned 18, where the pay for a part time casual work was considerably more than General Macs because she got to keep tips which you “never” saw at General Mac's.

I tended to spend my earnings wisely and aside from Xmas presents for the family and the occasional top or skirt (on sale) I only spent my earnings on essentials like make up, stockings, things to do with my sports (when they weren’t expensive) or girlfriend pressure about clothes to buy or going out somewhere with said (girl)friends.

Yes, don’t be shocked, I had friends. In fact far more friends than “Michael” (hawk spit) ever had. You’d be surprised to know how many dorks and geeks there were out there in the school world of teenage school children. In-fact between study groups, Gen Macs, sports both school and on a weekend, I felt I was living how any other girl would. If I had one deficiency (and it didn’t trouble ME personally) the only friends I didn’t have “many” of were boyfriends.

That’s not to say that they weren’t interested in me. My small group of friends at school often told me some boy or other who had been making “inquires” about me through friends of friends. I’d been asked out a few times too, but wasn’t even going to think about “that” elephant just quite yet although I’d tell Sue (and sometimes mum) about boys who seemed to like me. It was a good bet though that I’d never be able to climb the school social ladder pecking order. Not many geeks ever would in my opinion. Mind you I had Sue’s advice to help me broaden my own knowledge of girl world and sometimes I’d appear quite the sophisticated girl in our group as I offered suggestions (Sue’s usually) about some girl’s boy dilemma.

If it hadn’t been for the quickly acquired tag of “likely a lemon” because I played house cricket at school, perhaps more boys might have asked me out. Sue yelled at me the first time I told her about how I’d said no when a boy in my math’s class asked me out to the pictures. Although I felt I’d let my sister down in some way when she told me how stupid I was, I never really felt anything much for boys back then.

Weeellllll If I was truthful about it, I’d have to admit that I “was” kind of flattered if I heard that such and such a boy was asking about me. And I wasn’t backwards in coming forwards for a few weeks afterwards looking at that same boy quite closely to the point where he must have thought “I” was some sort of female predator. But I’d fallen into the trap of believing girlfriends in my “geekish” group who claimed they’d done things to and had things done to them by boys they’d gone out with, which was probably in every case complete fabrication. Still I had to be careful……didn’t I?

But I was quite happy with my life as it was then, so who could want more and consoled myself with thinking that. All I wanted for the moment was for my bust to grow more, and to learn how to kiss a boy without getting pregnant………..just joking. Sue had told me how she stopped that from ever happening to her and besides, my dad “was” 6’3”.

None of this however would change my father’s mind about ME being too young to own a car yet and for most of year 11, I had to either catch the local bus, or hope that mum (or dad at times) would drive me, or else I had to bicycle to school (and back home after 3pm). If I cycled to school and it rained, I’d have to catch the bus home after school, lugging the bike in the bus as well. Even after I passed my driving test (first time too – nyah!) my hopes of having my own car to drive around in were constantly dashed by dad although by the end of year 11, (and I was 18) even he reluctantly agreed to allow me to have my own car.

By then, I’d been living as Janet for just a smidgeon under two years and felt entirely comfortable with myself. I coped with the monthly pathology tests and their follow up consultations along with regular counselling about my eventual gender change surgery, which it had been agreed wouldn’t be done until I had finished high school. I had a small social group of friends from school (mostly girls) that I mixed with and generally got on well with and tended to get on with the rest of the kids in my school year too, provided I didn’t try climbing the school’s social ladder!

Added to everything else, my body was really blossoming as I‘d been taking female hormones since I had moved to Uranquinty with discreet and “unofficial” medical help. The reason I had to do so discreetly was because the law of the land said that my doctor in Wagga Wagga wasn’t legally allowed to prescribe me hormones until I’d turned 18. But knowing how easily they could be obtained from off the internet, he’d instead showed sensible professionalism and vaguely “suggested” names of safe medically acceptable medications to use – IF I HAD to. Mum and my sister (even dad) totally agreed with me that I HAD TO, because after all I was quite happy being (and living as) Janet, but poor Janet’s figure really could use some help and I was simply never going to be able to father a child anyway medically speaking, so the hormones were a must to have and take.

Those medications along with my healthy diet, house chores, sport and exercise saw my body blossoming out to where I became a healthy and petite size 10 girl. I was now 5’5” tall with sun bleached white coloured hair styled short (for the summer heat), bluish coloured eyes with a figure 32-23-35 who had B cup breasts and (what I thought was) an abnormally large derrière, although in fact it wasn’t. I guess it was my hidden vanity at work that made me write I had a big bum!

I’ve jumped ahead in my story a bit so if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back almost a year. Because as it turned out that with year 10 almost finished and although I was just about to turn 17, something took place then that would later affect my life and it had to do with sport. To explain to you how this all came about….……

Children turning 17 (and if they play non-school sport) often have to give up playing organised competitive sports on weekends because (and don’t ask me why) most clubs tend to only go up to Under 16’s in junior sports. From then on the kids are on their own if they wish to continue playing that particular sport unless they were in some sort of development program. So if you weren’t representing your school at sport, and you didn’t like the idea of playing sports with adults, you could quickly find your weekends free to do whatever you wished to at 17.

I haven’t mentioned much about sport in this story so far and the story title does seem to infer that perhaps cricket might be involved in it somehow (and you’d be right). So perhaps I need to tell you a bit more about “my” activities in sports participation since I’d come to Australia .…..

At the high schools I went to here, (Farrer Agricultural in Tamworth and Mt Erin College in Wagga Wagga) I quickly discovered a slight “bias” against new students trying to break into established school teams. For instance in my case I always liked playing cricket back in Essex in England, that had both my dad and my brother (who dad had also encouraged to play sport) went to great lengths over the years to instil into me the fundamentals about the game of cricket, which television also fostered along with countless games of cricket played at local parks, in school grounds, at friend’s places and even out on Essex streets.

As I mentioned somewhere earlier, unfortunately at Farrer Agricultural, I didn’t make the school cricket team when I tried out for it, but fortunately Tamworth had a thriving Saturday junior cricket competition in summer, so Saturday mornings allowed me to get my fix of cricket, although my size and stamina quickly saw me becoming “just another boy to make up the team numbers” as my “pace” bowling suddenly became more pedestrian as I grew older, although I could usually hold my own as a batsman.

However I liked bowling. But to even get a bowl anymore I decided to try spin bowling as no one in our Saturday team bowled spin. My coach watched me bowl and after a few words of encouragement and showing me himself, had me learning how to bowl “leg” spin instead of the “off” spin I’d seen and knew about from living in Essex. I found it particularly difficult to bowl leg spin, as it entailed using my wrists instead of my fingers to spin the ball, but if I wanted to get a bowl (even if it was only for two or three overs a game) it had to be leg spin bowling or no bowling.

This meant I spent as much time as possible in the backyard of our farm bowling at a set of chalk drawn stumps on the barn wall to try and master leg spin bowling………By the time I moved to Uranquinty I was far more concerned with trying to be Janet than in playing cricket, but luckily for me as it turned out, I found at Mt Erin College there was a girl’s cricket “house” sport for me to play in.

But as for playing sport (cricket in my case) on weekends, even though there was also a healthy cricket competition in the Riverina district (both junior and senior), there certainly weren’t any women’s cricket competitions (or very many teams for that matter) playing there. Usually (if you were a girl) this wouldn’t have mattered, since most girls weren’t that interested in playing it anyway. But for the few that were (and I knew of at least fourteen girls at Mt Erin besides myself) you had to look at joining a men’s team once you had turned sixteen if you wanted to play cricket, which was almost a complete waste of time even trying to get a fair go at playing for. That is of course unless you knew someone who knew someone…………

In my instance, it wasn’t a case of who “I” knew but more the case of who my “dad” knew. That “who” turned out to be a man named Bruce Dowling, one of dad’s workers who along with several other employees were playing cricket during the lunch break that dad saw during one of his stops at the various farms he managed. Bruce invited dad to have a bat and a bowl (which dad did), then whenever dad visited their growing section, dad often took a few minutes off to talk about cricket with Bruce and a sort of friendship developed. This even saw dad getting the UK parent company to provide the cricket club Bruce played for Wagga Wagga Cricket Club (WWCC) with a $500 dollar donation/sponsorship, more as a staff public relations exercise for the rest of the staff he controlled to find out about, than in any hope of getting additional income from the sponsorship.

It also saw dad telling Bruce all about his younger daughter and the lack of opportunities for her to play cricket of a weekend. Bruce somehow or other said he’d find out if the team he played in could use me whenever they were short of their playing eleven (which was most of the time). It saw me shortly thereafter attending their practices and with some quiet words among others in the club, had me being “reluctantly” tolerated by the other players there.

Bruce’s team (in all fairness to Bruce’s feelings if he's reading this) would be described as your typical Saturday afternoon sporting warriors…….lacking in talent, but more than making up for it in misguided enthusiasm and good humour. The competition they played in (B grade) was played on artificial grass laid over concrete pitches, although the club also had an A grade team besides two other teams, who played on turf pitches in first and second grade as well as junior teams from under 8’s all the way up to under 16’s who played on Saturday mornings.

My first game for the WWCC B grade side was to say the least, pretty forgettable. I got to bat last at number 11, but didn’t get to hit a ball because my partner got out before I had a chance to face a ball and I didn’t get a bowl either, although I did get to do a lot of fielding and throwing balls back from well past the boundary flags. If it hadn’t been for the constant fielding on the second Saturday of the game, I would have gone home during the afternoon tea break. Actually I wouldn’t have, because we played miles from anywhere and Bruce was my car ride back!

But at least I was always available to play each week and was able to (courtesy of dad) pay the required match fee ($15 for the two Saturdays of each game). So with the constant shortage of players for their lowest team (B Grade), I was almost always certain of being asked to play. Plus there were the two practice afternoons each week, where I was allowed to bowl as much as I wanted (and surprised a lot of the WWCC so called batsman at the nets, who quickly discovered I could actually bowl “passable” leg spin) as well as get a bit of a batting practice too (admittedly when I batted most of the bowlers had already left the practice). Still it was cricket…..of a sort, I was a girl that they were willing to let play with them, so what more could a girl hope for?

As I’ve already stated, the Wagga Wagga Cricket Club’s (WWCC) B grade team weren’t exactly cricketing all-stars, although there actually were a few good players in the side. The first two games I played with them saw them comprehensively beaten, although that wasn’t any of my fault, as I still hadn’t been able to face a ball when I batted or been allowed to bowl a ball either.

But during my third game playing for them, our opponents were hammering every bowler given the chance to bowl, all over (and out of) the park. By 5pm they had scored well over 350 runs for only a few wickets out, but had decided not to declare, instead deciding to play on till stumps at 5.30pm to allow the two batsmen in at the moment, to try and score centuries (100 runs) as well as allow the rest of the players to have a hit if need be.

Our good natured captain (Simon) decided that since I seemed to have had to chase after and field the ball more often than any other player that afternoon, I should be rewarded for all my running around, by being allowed to bowl a few overs too. Our opponents obviously thought it was a good idea as well judging by the humorous remarks being shouted out and encouraging advice being offered to their batting teammates out “in the middle”.

When I ran in to bowl my first delivery I was so nervous that my first ball was an absolute dolly of a full toss that was hit hard and high, almost landing on the nearby road (over 130 metres away) on the full. This not only pleased our opponents but even had my own teammates laughing out loud and saying funny remarks about me losing the ball for them so everyone could go home early! My next two balls however were much better and saw them (surprisingly) being defensively blocked away safely. With my fourth ball, I saw the still overconfident batsmen coming down the pitch to slog me, only for him to see the ball bounce and turn sharply off the pitch and leave him hopelessly swinging at empty air and being stranded well out of his crease to allow our wicket keeper to stump him out…….

As soon as the bails came off the stumps, our opposing team appeared to go suddenly mute, while my teammates raced over to congratulate me. I wish I could tell you (like Ms. OES did several years ago when she posted her cricketing story) that I proceeded to dazzle my opponents, but it wouldn’t have been true. Instead I ended up only bowling three overs, before I was taken off although not before taking three more wickets………and getting totally hammered in return by the batsmen.

Those three overs, ended up with me having the bowling figures of 3/0/4-54 …….which for any non cricket people reading this means I bowled 3 overs, (which is six legitimate balls delivered in each over) no maiden overs (no runs scored in an over) took 4 wickets and had 54 runs scored against my bowling. Since there are always two sides to a story, the good side was that I had bowling figures of 4/54.

The bad (read disastrous) side of the story was that for only bowling 18 balls, I had had 54 runs scored off them, which averaged out at just a smidgeon under 3½ runs for each ball I bowled after my first wicket! Another way to look at it is that almost every ball I bowled was either hit for 4 or 6 because I can’t actually remember many dot balls being recorded.

I prefer to think of the other side of the equation, that my bowling average was 13.50 runs scored for each wicket I took, which even in B grade, Simon told me at the pub afterwards, wasn’t shabby for a first time effort (I just wished at the time, I felt the same way he did about it). The following Saturday saw our side being bowled out twice to lose outright. But at least I finally got to score my first run (not out) in WWCC’s first batting innings, only to see my stumps skittled first ball in the second innings.

Of course I didn’t mention any of this at school to my friends at school the following Monday, mainly because I thought my “lemon” reputation would only be set in concrete by my school enemies if I did. I did find however that from them on at team practices during the week, my bowling efforts were being encouraged and taken more seriously by the batsmen I bowled at. In our Saturday afternoon games, Simon (perhaps in some way to help provide humour for the drinks after each Saturday) bowled me more often, especially in an effort to achieve a break through if two batsmen were batting well, and often (but not always) I managed to get him the wicket he was after.

By the end of that first season, I was accepted by everyone at the WWCC and even played a game for the A grade side when their spinner had to ring early Saturday and say he was working. In that game I took 3 for 11, that actually had a small piece written about it in the local newspaper (along with a photograph of me bowling in the nets) which although nice, also saw me being unmercifully ragged at school the following day after the paper came out ……..“Lemon!”

Bringing the story back up to the present, by the time I finished year11, I was living 100% Janet and loving it, be it at home, work, at school, even at cricket. No one seemed to think I could have been a boy (thank goodness) and I’d managed somehow or other getting by without having my sister being there to advise me for almost an entire year (although we Skyped every week). I was privately looking forward to going into my final year at school (year 12) and secretly hoping of possibly being invited by “someone” to the school formal………if my girlfriends weren’t teasing/lying to me that is.

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I'd like to thank "Joanna" who at the time of uploading hadn't got back to me saying if she'd allow me to credit her (in her BCTS name) with assisting me in editing this story.
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Caught In Slips Pt 6
By Christie Myr

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I’d like to thank Emily 63 from Victoria in Australia for providing me with information about various places and institutions mentioned throughout this story and I’d also like to thank Joanna for proof reading the chapter for boo boos.
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This year was going to be a make or break year scholastically for me. I’d managed to get some assistance in the form of an annual $3,000 scholarship after my year 10 exam results, which partly helped to offset my more expensive education, but depended on me maintaining the excellent school results I’d achieved so far. I’d already applied for a scholarship to go to university if I did well in my finals and had my mother there to remind me about it every step of the way so I'd never forget!

But all jokes aside, mum (and dad) had been fantastic in helping me not only to become Janet, but also for being able to accept me now as a daughter. Perhaps it was because of a recent medical diagnosis they’d be given where they were told my body was now an almost entirely testosterone free environment that had both mum and dad (especially dad) now treating me as 100% female and were actually willing (as well as planning with me) for the “big” operation to come sometime after my final exams, where I’d put Michael to rest once and for all. When my brother Greg had left to go to university, the family had agreed to always come home after exams had finished for Xmas and New Year’s. This year we had Sue and Greg coming back at the end of my first year living alone, to find their “sister” as confident and comfortable being Janet then they could ever have thought possible, perhaps my brother more so then Sue.

What no one could have predicted was that early in January someone came knocking at our front wanting to speak to Janet. My sister came back into the lounge room and loudly told everyone (with a huge grim on her face) that some boy called Greg McNown was at the front door and wanted to speak to me. If he heard any of the comments being made by my brother or sister to me about a boy calling around to talk to me, I’m sure he was having second thoughts and was wishing he’d never knocked on the door in the first place!

I knew Greg (a bit) because we took some of the same classes together, including music where we often spoke to each other. My girlfriends told me that they thought he was kind of nice to look at, although I’d never given him reason to think I had a crush on him in any way (when he turned up to the house). Therefore when I came to the door and he asked me if I wanted to go to the pictures with him the following Saturday, I was too surprised at first to answer.

Unbeknownst to me and luckily for him (or unluckily for me), my sister had somehow or other been able to quietly creep up and stand just out of sight listening to his invitation (the eves dropping cow!) Then somehow during the short time I reacted paralysed and dumb to his question, she magically appeared out of nowhere and stood part way in-front of me facing away from Greg telling me what the name of the movie was for the following week, how good the reviews were, how I wasn’t planning anything yet for Saturday night…….and if I didn’t want to go, would I object if she asked Greg if he'd take her to the movies with him, while looking at me with a wicked smile on her face that Greg couldn’t see.

All during the year before she left for Sydney, Sue had kept reminding me about how (one day) I’d have to get use to boys wanting to ask me out. And here she was now putting me in the embarrassing situation of either saying yes to going out with one, or otherwise facing the problem of how to say no in a nice way, so as not to hurt anyone’s feelings…...A most important skill she’d always keep reminding me about during my first year learning to be Janet.

Looking at my sister but still to stunned to say anything, I saw her silently mouthing “say yes and go out with him” to me, till I somehow or other managed to find my voice and moving aside just enough to look at Greg’s nervous face, said I’d love to go and where should we meet up and what time!

With his invitation accepted, he excitedly told me he’d get back in touch and work out with me when he'd call for me, adding that his dad was waiting for him in the car outside and turned to leave. He didn’t see my sister shove me forward out the door to see him to the car, where I then had to say hello to his dad who now saw the girl his son wanted to take out. When I got back inside and hurried to the lounge room to watch the rest of the movie, I was met with a rowdy barrage of congratulations, what happened questions, (mum and dad) crude teasing, (from my brother and Sue) until I stated that I’d been asked out to the movies on Saturday evening.

Mum and dad took the news in their stride although mum seemed very pleased at my being asked out. She asked me was he good looking or not and before I could answer, my sister told her “I’d cook him breakfast in the morning mum” that had dad stifling a laugh, while mum blushed scarlet and had my brother offering further crude remarks. I was far too embarrassed to say anything else, so instead just said that I wanted to see the rest of the movie and sat down next to mum, while Sue rewound the disk up till when we had all been interrupted. After we’d watched the movie and everyone had gotten up to go elsewhere, mum quizzed me hard for ten minutes about my “boyfriend", as my sister stood silently next to her listening. Mum wanted to know who the boy was, his age, his parents, how did I know him, etc. etc.……..

Till just after lunchtime I could've testified in-front of a judge and jury that my being asked out on Saturday night by a boy seemed to be the only topic of conversation being spoken about around the house by anyone, except me.

Putting my embarrassment to one side, the good thing about what had happened earlier on, was that mum (at my sister’s prodding) decided that a brief afternoon at the shops in nearby Wagga Wagga wouldn’t be a complete waste of time, where once we were there, saw it quickly being used as an excuse to buy me a new outfit to wear for Saturday. It was just like old times when I’d first started being Janet and we went shopping for her, where mum and my sister would pick and choose outfits for me to try on and then argue over what would look good on me. But this time I had my own ideas on what I'd like to wear too, so what was meant to be a simple shopping trip turned into an extended 4 hour shopping crawl trying to find an outfit for me to wear. Over the next few days (at different times), both mum and then my sister gave me their own "personal” talk, warning me what to do and what not to do to encourage unwanted things happening. I’d have to say that my sister’s talk was definitely the more informative (and practical) of the two.

Mum’s talk to me was right out of “the Mother’s Handbook for their Daughter’s First Date” or that’s what my sister thought after I told her what mum had spoken to me about. My sister’s talk was far more sensible (and up to date) in offering advice about what to do and what NOT to do with Greg. Sue suggested (as did mum believe it or not) I wear a panty napkin in my underwear and use the tried and proven for stopping anything before it got started “Aunty Flo’s visiting me excuse” if Greg’s hands started wandering in the wrong direction. I should also find a way of encouraging Greg (if I was interested in any way in him) by not stopping him (for too long) if his hand wanted to find its way onto a boob in the picture theatre, just not between my legs. Sue told me I’d just need to make sure that if we went out again with Greg (or any boy for that matter) not to use the Aunty Flo excuse too often or too soon afterwards. “Boys are dumb Jan, but they aren’t complete idiots and even a boy like Greg, must have “some” idea about women and periods kiddo, so don’t abuse a tried and proven excuse.”

Another thing about teenagers I quickly learned is that you should never trust one to keep a secret. Greg had asked me out on Tuesday. On the Thursday I got a loud and excited call on my mobile from one of my friends Dianne, asking me if it was true about my being asked out by Greg McNown. So after discreetly returning to my room and closing the door, I told her that "YES" I had been invited out by Greg, then asked how she had found out about it. I then explained to Dianne (because BGF's always explained to each other why they hadn't been told about something, someone else had told them about) that I didn't want to tell anyone about going out with Greg and hadn't planned on doing so, (even to my best friends - which I said included her) until after we’d gone out together.

During the phone call, which saw me receiving several text messages too, I found out that my “secret” seemed to actually be quite well known, because Dianne told me she found out from Cathy (another BGF) among several other girls who’d heard about it from one of Greg’s friends who……….and you get the drift of this don't you? Anyway it was obviously Greg telling someone about asking me out that triggered the grapevine phone call, because it certainly wasn’t me. Although Dianne told Stephanie sometime after she spoke to me on the phone, that I’d told her all about Greg asking me out when Stephie rang me on Friday morning to confirm "the rumour"!

Saturday night with Greg didn’t turn out too badly as it so happened. Sue and mum helped me to get ready and on looking at Sue’s phone pic, I actually looked quite pretty. Although mum objected when my sister strenuously insisted (and was a far better judgement in fashion selections) I wear the skirt they’d both chosen for me earlier in the week, which now according to mum was unacceptably short. Sue and I were amazed at mum's comment because the skirt certainly wasn’t “that” short when she had seen me in it at the store before buying it and the skirt "definitely" allowed me a fair degree of modesty. Again against mum’s wishes, Sue allowed me to borrow and wear one of her older bra’s, (which also happened to be of the push up variety) and although better suited to breasts with a “C or C+” cup and not an “almost B” like mine, certainly helped “my” girls see out the top of my blouse better!

Although it was summer, the theatre was air conditioned and Sue had already talked me into wearing stockings attached to one of her garter belts, explaining to me while horrifying mum, I’d only be showing off the fact I was wearing a suspender and stockings when I sat down and even then only the lacy straps and clips. Still at least they found common ground in agreeing on the top I should wear (not the one bought last Saturday along with the skirt) as well as the shoes and they both finally agreed that I could keep the top two buttons undone on my blouse, (my sister was adamant it should have been three and argued it with mum for a long time before conceding defeat ungraciously).

When I walked out into the lounge room where dad and my brother were, I saw the appreciation in their eyes over how “nice” I looked, which mum said was her best reward as a mother. The next surprise came when Greg called for me. Some of my friends had told me that he’d drive round to collect me himself, but as we walked outside with mum following us, I saw him open the back door to allow me in first as the front seat seemed to be occupied on both sides. I quickly discovered this was because it was his parents seated in the front, with his mum awkwardly turning around to introduce herself, obviously needing to see for herself what sort of girl her son was taking out somewhere!

Her (Irene) and mum then had a quick chat and social catch up, before with my mum telling me (both of us) to have a fun time, his dad drove the car back up our long dirt driveway and onto the road back to Wagga Wagga. I was relieved (more than you could ever imagine) to hear Greg’s mum say they were dropping us off on the way to their own night out and that they’d call back to pick Greg and I up and drive me home from outside the local pizza parlour sometime after 11pm.

Even with the advent of home theatres everywhere, the local cinema is STILL a haunt for young people to go to on Saturday nights (or any night during school holidays). Well at least out in Wagga Wagga it is. So it wasn’t all that surprising to see and speak with several other friends from Mt Erin there, although I think that most of them were surprised to see Greg and me together on a date.

I also quickly discovered that my attire for the evening was in most cases, far more conservative than the other girls there! I’d never had a reason before to be jealous, but found myself becoming so as some girls discretely gave quick glimpses of their underwear to girlfriends before we all re-joined our partners to go into the theatre.

Greg decided for both of us (where a lot of the other couples from school already were) to sit towards the side at the back of the cinema and so fill up two secluded seats there. On looking around the room as it filled up, I saw that most of the seats in the theatre were soon occupied with singles, groups of younger kids as well as a few parents and single adults. During the silent photo adverts on the screen, everyone in our row or the one in-front or behind caught up with each over what they were doing during the holidays or making plans for the following day.

A few of the girls were rearranging their seating so as to be able to have a girlfriend on one side of them to talk to while their boyfriend was on the other, although two “it crowd” girls I knew were determined to keep any form of temptation well away from their boyfriends and asked other girls to change where they sat from one side to the other of them and their guy!

Once the lights dimmed down and the movie started, it was pretty obvious who the movers and shakers were, as bodies were repositioned to either become more intimate and/or more comfortable to watch the film. Greg was a total gentleman I might say, even asking me shyly if he could hold my hand which had me quickly putting my hand in his. After about fifteen minutes and a quick look around, it showed about half of us were feverishly snogging or groping and legs were spread subtly (sometimes NOT so subtly). I felt it now was safe to somehow find a way to let Greg know that I wasn’t going to let him “have a grope” between my legs, but that I’d certainly let him have the opportunity to have something to talk about among his friends later on. So I quietly worked my body under his right arm allowing him to find a way to get his hand onto my breast, if he wanted to.

After a slow and cautious approach with his right hand, I decided to help him out and gently took it and placed it lightly between two buttons of my blouse near my left breast while gently whispering to him that that was as far as I was willing to go and to respect my wishes. He looked at me with surprised joy and happily smiled before giving me a quick peck on the lips. O.M.G…. I’d just had two major things happen one after the other, my first kiss by a boy, along with a boy playing with my breasts, OMG, OMG, OMG was this ME behaving like this?

I discovered several things during the next hour and half of the movie. The first was that Greg, although a hormone supercharged teenage boy, was trying to behave like a gentleman to me. It took several minutes before he even tried to move his hand around from where I had placed it, to inside my blouse. From that moment on it was hopeless to even try and pretend to follow the movie’s plot while wondering where he would move his hand next. At first he gently caressed above my right breast before finally finding the courage to try and ease my breast out of my bra cup.

With some subtle body movements by me along with some quiet sighing, he finally managed to free one breast and discover my now hard nipple, which by then were both hard and sensitive. Another thing I discovered or should I say rediscovered, was that although I already knew my nipples were sensitive when I touched them, I found out just how “extremely” sensitive they were when "someone else’s” hand fondled them.

Another thing I learned too was how much having someone else caress my nipples or breasts excited other parts of my body. I had the most incredible tingling feeling down around my groin area but at the same time in my brain as well. It wasn’t possible for my penis to get erect, but I could feel the front of my panty napkin (quite uncomfortable really the way it bunched up between my legs) getting slightly damp against the head of my penis.

I was squirming around in my seat too as well as sighing and perhaps even making quiet mewing noises as well, because Greg’s fingers felt so good fondling my nipple. When the movie credits starting to roll and the theatre lights in the cinema commenced to brighten again, Greg quickly removed his hand from my breast while I tried to sit up straight and make myself more presentable be trying to put my right breast back inside my bra. I think I was actually blushing red thinking that everyone could see what I was doing and had to be staring at me, but then saw that some of the girls near me were in far more deshabille and/or looking around at the floor in-front of them quietly whispering to no one in particular could anyone see where their underwear went!

A few of the girls I could see were actually dab wiping mouths with tissues and hankies or even using the backs of their hands, while I saw a boy three seats to my left still had his stiff penis out of his pants, trying desperately to put it back inside his trousers. His date, another of the “it” girl crowd at school still had her head down looking around her feet for something!

Greg was now beginning to stand up and wanted to get into the aisle to head outside. Unfortunately for him his standing up also positioned his groin quite close to my eyes, so I saw the prominent bulge in his pants as testament to the fact he must have enjoyed the film...….even if he couldn’t remember parts of it when anyone asked him about it later on.

Outside in the theatre lobby, there was the inevitable queueing up for the ladies toilets, while boyfriends started to wander out into the foyer area to talk with one another while they waited for us to freshen up and re-join them there. The lady’s line inched slowly towards the ladies door and once again inside the holiest of holies sanctum, I was amazed to see how selfish and inconsiderate teenage girls could be of other women patrons who fought valiantly for space in-front of the mirrors to fix faces. I almost got caught up in the mindless chatter of girls on dates, but instead said I was scared of leaving my date alone and told my friends I’d meet up with those going for pizza which saw a few “see you with Greg there later Janet” aimed at me as I walked to the door.

Once outside I hooked up with Greg again as he now more confidently took my arm and guided me towards the local pizza parlour where several other friends of his or mine had invited us to sit with them to eat.

When Greg told me an hour later it was time to leave, I could have screamed in frustration at having to leave everyone else at the table. When we walked out onto the street though, Greg’s dad’s car was already parked across the road waiting for us. Again Greg held the car door open for me before sliding in beside me, then shyly placing my hand in his began happily telling his parents about how much we’d enjoyed the evening, asking me if I had too and I assuredly told him I had. The drive back to my farm didn’t seem to take as long either and once there I allowed Greg to give me a peck on the cheek in the backseat. I got out and watched them drive away before heading for the front door which my mother opened before I could even take my key out of my shoulder purse!

Everyone inside was still awake and in the lounge room watching TV, but as if they had already decided beforehand no one asked me anything other than mum asking if I’d had a good time. I demurely told them very quickly about the film and eating pizza afterwards, before saying I’d better get out of my good clothes and take a shower and I’d see them in the morning. After I stripped, showered and done my evening facial I headed back to my bedroom where surprise, surprise, (not really) there was my sister sitting on my bed waiting for me with a look of mischievous anticipation to find out what had happened on my date.

We proceeded to have a good heart to heart about the evening with Sue critiquing my efforts for the night. We both laughed when I described some of the sights I'd seen when the lights came back on. As to my own behaviour, Sue said she’d give me a B+ pass mark on my behaviour for the evening before asking if I thought that Greg would ask me out again. We then discussed that possibility with my sister telling me that she thought I should expect a phone call tomorrow, or else a visit in the next few days from him if he liked me and wanted to go out again.

She asked me if I’d mentioned about my relative visiting and my reply had her smiling and saying that Greg must not only be a gentleman, but one I could use the same excuse on next time we went out. With that she gave me a hug saying she was glad that Janet had had such a good first date and after Greg called me again for another date, we’d talk about more serious problems I may have to look at countering before wishing me pleasant dreams and heading off to her own bedroom.

The next morning at breakfast, everyone gave me a bit of teasing over my “first” date last night and when my brother came into the kitchen, he placed a very large black plastic capsule next to my plate saying …….“You’d better take this now Sis just to make sure I don’t become an Uncle too soon”. After everyone had had a good laugh, I pretended to act like I was about to swallow it, when he quickly told me that it was supposed to be taken at the other end, which saw mum get up and lightly punch him on the shoulder and ask did they have a male version for him to use on himself.

Later on after breakfast, dad had a call to say there was a problem in one of the fields just past Culcairn so he left us to see about the problem. Sue had arranged to go out with friends and Greg disappeared somewhere or other so this left mum and me alone. So she took this private time to ask me "mother to daughter" if anything had happened last night that I wanted to talk about with her. I assured her that nothing untoward happened (that she needed to know about anyway) and just after we’d finished our little chat, Greg phoned me asking if I wanted to go out next Thursday night to the club with him and some friends that we both knew from school. After telling him that I’d like to, I also told him that I’d like to pay my own way for the evening.

We jokingly agreed he’d let me so he could spend his money on someone else. He also told me that his dad had agreed to give him the car keys for next Thursday and assured me he was a safe and sensible driver. I told mum about Greg’s invite and she seemed happy enough about it as did my sister when she came home and mum told her about Greg’s call before I had a chance to. At my request I got mum to agree to tell dad quietly about Greg inviting me out again, so as to prevent my brother from teasing me if/and when he found out.

That night Sue sat me down in my bedroom as we discussed what could happen from then on with Greg. I told her that although I sort of liked him a bit, I didn’t think I was foolishly and hopelessly in love with him or anyone else for that matter, but said that I didn’t know what I was going to do if he tried to “do something” later on if we kept going out more often. My sister grinned while saying she could understand my worries that I didn’t want to surprise Greg (too much), while I loudly laughed at her remark. So she worked out a plan for what I had to do and tell him on Thursday in private, before things got or might get out of hand............

Basically I had to tell Greg I was a virgin and that I didn’t want to have sex yet, until I thought I might have met the right man or I was engaged to someone. I was to tell him that I’d try not to get upset if he didn’t want to see me again because of that, but hoped that if that were the case, that neither one of us would speak badly about the other when speaking to friends. I was also to tell him that I actually enjoyed it when he played with my breasts but I’d understand if he wanted more than just that with a girl.

But for me, that was as far as I wanted to go with him touching me for the moment. I was to then add that I could understand how horny a teenage guy could get and if he wanted, I’d give him hand jobs, so long as he understood that that was as far as it was ever going to go until I knew him better. My sister also thought I should tell him that I’d promise to never say anything to anyone else about what we do and leave it to his discretion as to what he told "his" friends. I was to also tell him that if it even included him saying that he’d got lucky with me, I’d simply confirm or deny everything, even to my own girlfriends.

My sister said that if Greg wanted to keep going out with me and he knew the rules, he’d be smart enough (she hoped) as to what to tell his friends and hope that none of them exaggerated it to others, but to remind him that if he told others to much detail about non-existent goings on between him and me, he ran the risk in such a small country town as Wagga Wagga of both him and I earning reputations our parents may find out about and not particularly like.

Sue then asked me if I knew how to kiss a guy properly and after admitting I didn’t, proceeded to demonstrate on me how to do this until she felt I was getting the knack of it, before she told me that if I wanted to she’d even show me how to give a guy oral sex using her vibrator to demonstrate with and laughed when I asked if it was difficult to do. She jokingly told me it was only difficult if I had particular tastes I didn’t like or couldn't breath through my nose!

I spent the next few days phoning and being phoned by friends talking about my night with Greg and how I was going out with him again, which was a cause for either surprise or happiness depending on who I was talking to. On Thursday evening when Greg did pick me up, I spent the drive into Wagga Wagga talking to him about what my sister had suggested I say.

Greg seemed both surprised and relieved in turn, firstly about my wanting to remain a virgin till I was older, but then that I could appreciated that he might have “needs” and I’d tried to help him out there as long as he didn’t get too demanding. He told me that he was quite OK with my convictions and he promised never to spread any malicious gossip about me, unless I did something to hurt him. By the time he parked the car in the Wagga Wagga RSL car park, we were both joking about other things as he happily led me hand in hand into the club’s foyer to sign in.

His friends, all of whom I knew at school were gobsmacked to see both of us walk up to their table with me holding his hand and he took a few well-meaning but not hurtful jibes about finally finding a girl who could put up with him. We had a fun evening and a fun car drive home where I asked him to turn the car onto a small ease way just before our front gate. Once stopped there, I put into practice some of the more obscure suggestions that Sue had spoken to me about, before allowing Greg to restart the car and drive me home, where I kissed him goodnight before getting out and watched him drive off.

By the time my sister and brother left to return to Sydney for the new university year, Greg and I were an item among friends (and enemies) which helped boost my standing in the school social pecking order more so than his, although whether he realised it or not I have no idea. One thing was certain however, I was now looked upon more favourably by the other boys going into year 12 and this helped some of my shyer girlfriends to get dates, because I'd invite them along on outings with Greg and me.......IF I’d already found out if any of his friends was stag and would be there.

Caught In Slips Pt 7
By Christie Myr

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I’d like to thank Emily 63 from Victoria in Australia for providing me with information about various places and institutions mentioned throughout this story. Thanks also to Joanna (Grim City Girl) who proof read the chapter. I’m also advised by several Australian readers that Wagga Wagga is simply known as Wagga.
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Being Janet, year 12 at school started out especially well for me. I now had a boyfriend called Greg, so I wasn’t any longer your typical school outcast along with the other nerds and geeks, woohoo! It also helped boost my confidence more, which quickly became apparent to others at school who knew me. At home mum and dad also seemed to treat me differently now too, particularly dad who even worked up the courage to speak to me “father to daughter” about being careful with Greg and to remind me about not doing anything foolish, that could destroy Janet as well as ruining my family’s ability to live here.

Alas love can be short and sweet and my first crush ended amicably around June that left me not only happy for the experience but wiser as well. But between you and me, Greg was always more happy, whenever I’d agree to relieve his pent up lust with my hand. When I told Sue about the two of us breaking up, she simply told me to keep the good memories of Greg and be thankful he never wanted anything more than friendship and the occasional hand job! A few months later I was asked out by another boy, except this time it was after I’d taken his wicket when our team played his……

At the Wagga Cricket Club (WWCC) during trials for the forthcoming season, my relationship with Greg and its ending saw me receiving both jibes and advice for my welfare. When after the 2nd to last training before the start of the new season, I was promoted out of B grade not into A grade, but into the club's 2nd grade’s turf side as their spin bowler, because the bowler who’d been in that team last season had left during the winter to take up another job elsewhere. The A grade spin bowler who would have normally been promoted, preferred to play with his friends in A grade, leaving the way open for me and admittedly I was now starting to fulfil the promise from all the advice, help and net sessions I’d partaken in

My new captain, Geoff Wright was both encouraging and denigrating at the same time. He went to great pains to really begin to train me in how to bowl leg spin on turf wickets, which turned out to be good for everyone involved. He had a lot of help doing it, including getting the 1st grade spin bowler John Snow to show me different grips to bowl different balls. He even called on a few retired players to come down and watch me at practice and help me improve.

I quickly learnt that bowling on turf was completely different to bowling on synthetic grass pitches and found that the turf wickets were actually far more encouraging to bowl spin on. I also found out just how much quicker the pace of the fast bowling was when I fielded or batted as well. More often than not, batting at number 11 in 2nd grade saw me only last two or three balls before getting out. It made Geoff instruct me that I was to spend at least 15 minutes each training session practicing my batting against the fast bowlers in the nets. It didn’t help me much and I hated it at first, but got to enjoy it more when I began lasting more than just a couple of balls and scoring a few runs batting.

It also came as a surprise that the opposition team’s player’s behaviour seem to change whenever they played our 2nd grade side, basically because no one wanted to be accused of using foul language in front of me. This was pointed out to me by an umpire one afternoon after the end of play, when he told me that it was a pleasure to umpire games I played in, because the only bad language used came after some did something terrible and it was always from the miscreant’s own teammates!

By the start of December, my leg spin bowling had improved immeasurably. It might have been part of the reason for me meeting my new beau, Mark Edwards. That happened at the end of play in my second match with 2nd grade, when Mark, who played for our opposition that game, asked me to go out with him. It surprised me he actually asked me, because I’d bowled him out during the match, just after he had scored a half century. Mark was in the same year at Mt Erin High and had heard from friends about Greg’s and my mutual breakup and decided to then and there ask me out.

Actually thee was just a little bit of a story to Mark asking me out. You see, Mark was considered quite a good batsman and he cam into bat when I was bowling. After a few watchful overs, he took the long handle to me and my captain took me off so as not to ruin my (still fragile) confidence as well as my line and length. Mark had just scored his 50 when Graeme (captain) brought me back on to bowl, hoping that Mark might try to hit me out of the attack and get himself out.

I'm not sure if it was overconfidence by Mark or just my good line and length, but with me fifth ball of my first over back, I managed to fool him into misreading the flight of the ball and got him bowled, just hitting the top of the stumps while he was swinging at air hoping to smash me out of the park. He actually congratulated me after the game for bowling him out, before asking me if I was free to go out with him!

When I came home afterwards and told my parents over dinner, neither seemed that surprised I’d been asked out by another boy. Mum told me later on that anyone could see I was pretty to look at, and that this Mark “what’s his name” had just been quicker off the start than anyone else. After going out with Mark a few times, I found that our mutual interest in cricket made for a much more cordial relationship than I’d ever had with Greg. Not that Greg hadn’t been fun to be with you understand, it’s just that I found it easier to talk to and be around Mark than I had with Greg.

It also helped out at school (socially) for me too. Because as word got around that Mark had asked me out, it seemed to me as if I was noticing a number of the other boys in our year looking at me differently now too. Although the school year was almost over, neither of us really associated with the other’s friends there, so although we might spend an occasional lunchtime together, Mark had his own circle of friend’s that he’d mix with, as I had my circle of friends. That way both of us could happily relate to each other stories about something that had happened in our different classes, which was always handy for something to say (if it wasn't about cricket) to someone you see every day at school when you’re going out with them on a weekend.

On the home front several months before Mark asked me out, I’d play up if mum or dad didn’t drop me off and pick me up from school each day. This was because although Uranquinty mightn’t have been as cold as Tamworth in winter, the unreliable school bus service often saw a number of us getting onto the bus each morning with faces almost turning blue waiting for the bus to arrive. I’d passed my driving test long ago and wanted a car of my own so as to at least be able to make sure I got to school on time and hopefully warm.

I’d been forever asking dad (and especially mum) to allow me to dip into my trust fund so I could buy a car, using buying my sister her car as justification to both of them. Each time I asked, the answer was usually the same from either of them and it took one of the “in crowd” girls in my year accidently being run over almost outside her house, for dad to finally relent and agree I could have a car.

By then however winter was turning to spring and with spring and the coming of summer the trouble of freezing to death waiting for the bus was replaced by being cooked slowly to death waiting for the bus. Also my parents had the problem of knowing that by early the following year I’d have had my gender changing operation sorted, and although I was reasonable confident of getting a scholarship to University, exactly where that would be (or should I say which one) was still to be decided by my results after I did my finals in October.

What have these two things got to do with one another you might be asking yourselves?

Well, if I moved to Sydney to do my computer science course AND the car that I purchased turned out to be unreliable, I could have no end of trouble getting around safely. So for that reason (although I had a lot of other reasons) I wanted to buy a new car or at worst a new car demonstrator instead of a used car. Mum thought it was a good idea too, but her idea of a new car and mine was almost as bad as buying a possible lemon used car. In the end it was dad who decided (finally) that I should buy a new car when (if) I moved to Sydney, but until that had been decided on, he’d find a neat and tidy used car for me to buy to use now and I could use it as a trade in on a new car later on.

Much to my horror, after telling me what would happen, dad smiled as he told me about a used “motor” that he’d seen and it would be perfectly ideal for driving around locally. I thought “hello Mr Toyota or Hyundai used car special” when what I really wanted was “hello Mr new bright red soft top Mazda MX5 sports car!” So it turned out that early one Saturday morning, I sat silent for most of a trip out to one of the farms almost at Albury, so dad could show me this “motor”. it turned out to be a cross between god knows what cars stuck seemingly together at random. He mustn’t have seen the look of disappointment on my face as he showed me a Mini Moke that he thought was a good small car for me to buy.

At first I thought he was joking, but apparently he wasn’t!

He’d told me on the drive down, that the vehicle he wanted to show me was a convertible soft top, (true) and was painted red (also true, although it appeared badly faded and almost rust brown in colour). It had a manual four on the floor gear box and it even had a separate hard top I could use if I needed. He quickly told me as he saw the look of dismay in my eyes looking at the car(?) that the car was also a small 4 wheel drive and I could easily take out the seats for transporting things around too! Dad honestly seemed to believe it was a good first car for me to have and enthusiastically took the keys from off the nearby hook on a barn wall suggesting we hop in and take it for a test drive.

I was speechless just simply looking at the seats! SEATS…..They were nothing more than canvas over a metal frame and had no visible padding or comfort support, and as for the dashboard? What dashboard I was silently wondering. It only had one main gauge and that was the speedometer and it didn’t even have a glovebox, only a tray shelf underneath the windscreen and didn’t have a radio for Fricke sake! The soft top was folded down behind the back seat and there were no pillars or doors anywhere. All you had in front of you was a large windscreen with only a lap sash seat belt to prevent you from going through it if you had to brake hard suddenly.

What the car (?) did have though was exhaust noise. Lots of it too I found out as dad turned on the engine and gently revved the motor to warm it up. After about a minute, he engaged 1st gear and the car almost leapt in the air as we skidded up the long dirt road and turned onto the bitumen road. Once on the road I could begin to understand why there are people out there who prefer driving with closed windows, as aside from the windscreen there was nothing to prevent the wind from whistling and buffeting me around as dad drove.

I found that after a few minutes though, I was actually beginning to like the open air sensation and although dreading each bump or small hole that sent a jarring through the seat into my body, I listened to dad shouting almost at the top of his voice, about needing to find a radio to put into it……among everything else it was missing, I thought.

Dad slowed the car to turn off the sealed road and headed up a barely defined dirt track, where he stopped for a moment then proceeded to show me the additional advantages of the car’s (?) 4 wheel drive, none of which I’d ever use and if I did and dad caught me doing it, he’d have skinned me alive! When he’d finished and driven back to near the sealed road again, he stopped the car and struggling to climb out, suggested I should try driving it and see how it handled. After getting out and discovering just how low to the ground I actually was sitting inside it, I found it easy getting into the door less driver’s side seat.

Jacking the seat forward to the stops, I buckled up, adjusted the mirrors and tentatively eased the car forward, surprised at how sudden the throttle response was. Five minutes and countless gear changes later, I was sold on the little beast. True it wasn’t an MX5, and it didn’t have a radio, air-conditioning, a tacho, a boot, windows, doors and just about anything else a sensible car would have. But when dad told me that it would only cost me $2,000 because it was an old farm vehicle his company still had on its books and that no one used anymore I was hooked, netted and ready to fry up.

When I finally drove back down the farm dirt road into the barn where it was kept, I was as a high as a kite because of the rush of adrenalin driving the car had given me. Dad saw my face and told me if I offered him $1,200 this instant, it was mine and he assured me I’d get that back when I traded it in for a new car later on. $800 off for saying nothing, where do I sign!

He also said that he’d get some of his workers to wash and polish the car to make it nice for me when I picked it up the following weekend, while he’d also arrange to have the car fully serviced at no charge so that I got a clean and ready to drive vehicle, that only need someone to give it a good home. On Monday dad withdrew the money from my trust and that evening told me that the car would be ready by Friday, so that mum could drive me down to pick it up on Saturday. I think that having a dad like mine whose company’s H O was almost 20,000 kilometres away turned out to be a good thing (again).

Because the following Saturday saw me confronted not by the car I’d seen and driven the previous Saturday, but by one that actually now had a new eye catching bright yellow duco. It also had two clean white canvas seats in front and a white canvas lounge seat in back along with the now clean white soft top roof folded down and the matching coloured hard top firmly secured in back. The tyres had been blacked, the chrome wire wheels (which I admit I never even noticed when I test drove it) were cleaned and polished, along with all the chrome work around the car. It actually looked better than a Mazda soft top sports car (for the cost), as far as I was concerned. Mum just gave an exaggerated loud groan as she watched me dash from out of her car and race over to see my OWN car up close……..After a five minute test drive though, mum’s smile was as broad as mine as she pulled up and told me it needed a locked glove box and a radio, but she’d borrow it to go grocery shopping whenever I didn’t need it!

I found the long drive home the perfect remedy for any over enthusiasm I might have had when mum had been driving me down to pick the car up. A quick test drive is one thing with the wind buffeting you. It’s another thing entirely when you’re needing to drive almost 100 kilometres with the wind howling straight through you. Since I foolishly didn’t try raising the white soft top up over me, (mainly because I didn’t know how to yet) I was unaware of how exhausted I’d feel by the time I drove home with mum following behind me. I also had to affix my red P1 plates and was limited to 90kmh.

The only conditions dad had made me agree to about the car the night before, had been that I wasn’t to drive the car anywhere for the rest of the weekend once I drove it home. From then on until I had a green P2 unrestricted licence, I wasn’t to drive with any more than two passengers in the car during daytime and one passenger until 11pm. I was prohibited by law to have any passengers under 21 between 11pm and 5am and with only one passenger when it was dark. But by the time I’d driven back home with my little beastie, I was too fatigued to even want to drive anywhere anyway!

On Monday at school, the bright yellow beast was the centre of attention in the student’s carpark among my girlfriends and some of the other girls and guys in my year. Even our principal, jokingly, told everyone at morning assembly about a blinding “yellow something” addition to the student’s car park area and warned every student not to try doing anything foolish to it.

But by the end of the day somebody had, and I came out to find my cutie had somehow or other been picked up and carried over onto the bricked in grass area out the front of the school. It was with a lot of laughter from amused students, that I stood opened mouth wondering how to find a way to somehow or other get the car back onto the bitumen again. But it didn’t take long before six of our first grade football team players miraculously appeared, almost out of nowhere, offering to pick the car up and carry it back out onto the road......hhmmmm!

Which they did…..in return for a kiss for each one of them as payment……I was happy to pay it……. believe me it’s cheaper to have to kiss six guys than it is to pay $800 for a heavy lift tow truck to move a car! After that, I never had anyone at school do anything to my little beastie aside from some of them tossing the odd empty lunch bag or empty soft drink can inside it every so often!!!

I almost forgot to tell you about something else that happened earlier on to me, what with my car and Mark Edwards. This next part of the chapter is even more important...........

When the end of May rolled around, a recently new annual phenomenon that had invaded Australia and most of the rest of the free world called the “school formal” was to take place. Somehow or other (even back in Essex), this event had migrated over from America and was now an important happening for school students in their final years at high school. My brother Greg had attended his while we lived in Tamworth as did Sue, so my parents already knew what to expect for my year 12 formal. My boyfriend (it’s still strange to type that word) Greg and I were still together back then, so of course he invited me to be his partner to escort to the Formal.

My sister had laughed uproariously when I skyped her about the invitation to escort him, but I was glad that she offered without me having to ask her, the loan of her own formal dress for me to wear. She even drove back home specially to deliver it, justifying the trip to my parents by bringing my brother Greg back with her as well for the weekend. Sue had already told mum that she’d be bringing the matching shoes for the dress too, so the two most expensive items were covered for free, which mum and dad must have been thankful for.

My sister, mum and I then spent most of a Sunday at the Wagga shopping centre allowing me to try on gowns, so I could experience the thrill for myself, knowing I already had my dress. My sister’s dress only needed to be “slightly!” taken in around the bust area because of Sue’s extra blessings there, for the dress to fit perfectly. The shoes already fitted me I knew, even though Sue was slightly taller than me. Because of our shopping excursion my sister and brother jigged university classes on Monday as they drove back to Sydney, because mum refused to let her daughter drive all the way back to Sydney in the dark on the Sunday night.

Mum also booked with her hair salon to do my hair (which I’d been deliberately letting grow longer for quite some while ) so that two Saturdays later, I found the new longer style that her hairdresser had given me suited me far better than my old shorter pixie style. Dad supposedly,(according to mum) had agreed to pay for my make up being done professionally by a mobile beautician, who called in at home to do it along with doing the faces of two of my girlfriends who wanted professional make up assistance. They’d agreed to share the cost both for the beautician as well as for a stretched limousine. Our escorts also shared for the cost of the limo because they’d be picked up at their own homes by the limousine before calling around to each girl’s home.

Although I’d been going out with Greg for a while now, the school “Formal” was entirely different and I’d have to admit to having some nerves preparing for it. Because my makeup was being done professionally at my home, I was left till last to sit in “the chair”. So my friends never saw my end result, whereas I saw their faces made up, although admittedly not with them dressed in their gowns.

My own getting dressed regimen was a long drawn out affair, comprising of 1st showering making sure my hair didn’t get wet or damp, followed by the 2nd step of drying myself completely, then the 3rd step of putting on my underwear and dress, followed by the 4th step which was the lady putting my make up on, followed by the all-important 5th step of looking at the finished product to see if it could be improved on (or shock of horrors) finding something wrong that needed to be fixed.

MY horror moment was discovering (before my face was made up) that somehow or other my underwear was clearly VPL (visible panty line). When I’d tried on the dress a fortnight ago, there hadn’t been any VPL problem. Mum’s suggested reason as to why that was, doesn’t even deserve to be mentioned!

To fix the problem I tried on several other pairs of panties including an old thong of Sue’s I had in the bottom of my undies drawer, but nothing seemed to work, as the VPL was clearly obvious wearing any of them (With the thong , it was the top of it standing out under the dress). Mum finally suggested I “ditch em” and not to say anything about it to dad, then smiled as I self-consciously did just what she suggested and Voilà …. no VPL! anymore.

When everything was done mum did her best in trying to calm me. 1st breathe slowly, 2nd don’t imagine anything other than happy thoughts, and 3rd …… don’t touch my face. If I felt I was starting to perspire, I was too lightly dab a tissue softly over my brow. After that, it was a simply a matter of remaining calm and relaxed and trying not to sweat. So instead I ended up almost freezing because mum turned the air-conditioning down to 18 degrees to help the sweating problem when it was early winter!

When the limousine finally pulled up outside our door, Greg left the limousine to come to our door to collect me, carrying a small corsage for me to wear, which luckily could also be worn around my wrist or attached to my purse. His mum and dad drove up behind the limo because they wanted to see the two of us together and take their own photographic memories as well.

Greg’s hired white tuxedo luckily didn’t clash with my dress and when we all saw the first photos, both sets of parents agreed we looked lovely as a couple. After some more hurried snaps, some alone, the two of us together, then with our dads and then our mums, then each of us with our own parents, then all of us together, it was a hurried good night and we somehow or other managed to crowd into the stretched limo without me (or Greg) ruining our outfits.

When we finally got to the auditorium booked for the dance, we had to endure the line up on the red (more like muddy brown) carpet wait, before proceeding onto the obligatory photo pose beside a sentimental prop, for both of us to remember the night by. The school magazine had promoted a deal of $5 for two prints paid for now, and $10 for every additional copy. THEN we were allowed to enter into the hall, which had been decorated quite extravagantly with several mirror balls, rotating coloured spotlights and hundreds of fairy lights and looked spectacularly wonderful.

Mum and I had talked several days previously about how to behave at the formal. Thankfully my sister and I had also skyped on Friday night, where she told me all the do’s and don’ts that mum wouldn’t have dared mention to me. Sue’s advice for me to survive the Formal was not to act smug, or bitchy, not to show off, or make any rude remark about some other girl’s dress (or their choice of escort either). And I was to make sure I offered lots of smiles and complimented every other girl there about their dress or them and their partner for the night. She told me this was the hardest thing to try and maintain, ending up in hysterics as she then told me what NOT to say to anyone at the formal, which to maintain decorum I won’t repeat to you.

Of course, neither Greg nor myself was in the running for any of the prizes to be presented (that a few airheads on the social committee must have thought up for the evening), but I did enjoy myself as my sister told me I would. We both got invited to several “After Formal” parties, which my sister had warned me were nothing more than excuses for the boys to shag the girls silly they’d escorted to the formal and had probably already been agreed to several weeks before.

Sue assured me that at “her” Formal, it allowed some of the girls who it was already assumed were sexually “experienced”, to lose their cherries for “real”. She also suggested I try and remember how a lot of the girls looked at the formal, especially those that accepted invitations to the after parties. She told me to look at them in a month’s time and then again another month later, because 2 or 3 of them would get unintentionally knocked up and would be desperately trying not to show it, she told me with a laugh!

My sister also told me to listen out for where the “passion pit” was for the evening and to see who visited it, if I wanted to start any rumours later. Yes, as it turned out there was one too. It was located in a nearby smaller side hall, thirty of forty feet away outside one of the side entrances, which we saw very clearly in the hall’s outside lights when Greg and I looked outside. It was obvious what was happening at the smaller hall, because one of the larger football forwards was acting as the doorman outside it, allowing some couples to enter it while others were being forcefully turned away.

It was fun watching some of my less friendly (to me) school friends walking back from over there and hurriedly dashing off to repair facial makeup damage, or with the boys re-entering the hall, to watch them hurriedly remember to wipe their faces to remove any smudged makeup evidence. My sister promised me I’d have a fun night if I was carefully discreet and she was right.

Remembering that I was “sans” panties myself, I did my best to quietly point out to Greg (unheard by the crowd around me) my opinion about certain girl’s dresses, some of which obviously showed that the girl had nothing on underneath. This had my date choking back tears of laughter trying to keep a straight face as I pointed them out to him. At one point I felt his hand slowly glide over my own derrière and he made the remark that I didn’t seem to be wearing underwear either. So I smiled as I told him I wasn’t because the dress didn’t allow me to, but that he wasn’t going to find out if I dyed my pussy either!

The formal was scheduled to finish at midnight and our limousine had been booked to return for us at 11.40pm, so at 11.30 we went round and told our two other couples it was time to leave, only to discover ten minutes later that one of the girls wasn’t my friend Denise who’d been driven here but one of the “it” girls in our year called Beverly Raff (no spelling error). Her “new” escort Frank, quickly spoke to the driver and saw our limo stopping at a house where loud music emanated from inside and had couples standing around out the front, that I recognised from earlier on being at the Formal, which provided the fuel for conversation among the four of us left in the limo, as each of us was driven to our homes, the girl’s home first.

When the limo drove slowly down our dirt driveway, my house seemed to be in total darkness. This allowed Greg to get out with me to say goodnight, as well as receive his expected “Thank You Greg for Taking Me to The School Formal Snog” ,which I unashamedly gave him to show my appreciation for inviting me. My sister had told me the previous night, about how it would be when I got home and the house being in complete darkness and she was right again. She also assured me that she knew mum and dad would be sitting in their bedroom with the lights off, waiting for me to come home then they’d be straining to listen for any shenanigans, in-case I bought someone inside with me.

So I made sure I was just noisy enough closing my bedroom door to let them know I was home safely but decided not doing what my sister suggested, which was speaking in loud whispers as if I was talking to someone else with me, and quietly giggled to myself as I got undressed, wondering what would have happened if I’d played the prank on mum and dad?

When I woke up on the following morning and looked at my phone, I saw my message bank had almost thirty unread texts to look at. I spent the next hour or so reading them while occasionally answering one before mum’s voice called out asking if I was coming out for breakfast. A quick glance at my mirror showed I was almost respectable and donning a housecoat made my way out to the kitchen where mum and dad were waiting for me.

Mum had a look of anticipation and must have been bursting to ask questions while dad smiled, probably just glad I wasn’t a real girl (not yet anyway) that might have been partaking in hanky-panky the previous night. After the usual questions and answers, I was left to clean the kitchen away, while dad did his usual routine of sitting in the lounge room to read the delivered Sunday papers and mum went to their private bathroom for a leisurely bath.

I spent the day catching up with school friends about last night, as well as answering some of mum’s more personal questions about how everything went that she’d never ask me in front of dad. I also made sure to drive round to visit Greg at home later on, to thank both him and his parents for a wonderful night and to give him a another private thank you snog out of sight of his family!

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Red P1 and Green P2 licenses: P1 held for 12 months then after a computer test upgraded to P2 for 2 years. 17 Is the minimum age for a license which means you are 21 when you are eligible for an unrestricted license after another computer test.......(Courtesy of Grim City Girl)

I've had some problems with the computer at my garage and the next chapter may or may not be able to be proof read while I await clearance to email again. C.M.
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Caught In Slips Pt 8
By Christie Myr

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My thanks as always to Emily63 for providing me with information about places mentioned in this chapter and to Grim City Girl for proofreading the chapter. I ask that any Australian readers look at the foot note at the end of this story.
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On the following Monday at school, the teachers must have previously agreed beforehand to allow the year12 lesson content before recess to be just writing answers to question in our text books and also allow a fair amount of leniency about whispering/talking in class. I had mathematics 1st period where none of us were asked to hand in our answers to the questions set, then double music for 2nd and 3rd periods, where our music teacher simply told us to read chapter 12 from our text book before leaving the room. He’d then return every so often to ensure our noise level didn’t get out of control, as everyone told each other about their experiences during the Formal. Straight after recess, our English teacher bluntly told the class that we’d all had more than enough time to talk about Saturday night, so it was time for heads down, listen to what he was telling us, with no more talking and to start thinking about our finals in four months time!

It took a few more days for most of us to get over Saturday night. Then again for some students, one of whom amazed me when I found out about her, our school Formal left a much more lasting impression. This included someone I knew who found out several weeks later she was pregnant. But society seems more blasé to teenage indiscretions than in it had in my parent’s era and with a short absence from school, my friend had her early motherhood deferred, hopefully for several years to come.

As the start of my final exams crept closer, I redoubled my studying efforts in an extra effort to get a scholarship to University, while wanting to ensure I got my preferred choice of universities as well. That didn’t stop me from playing cricket of a Saturday afternoon or going to practices after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Especially now I had my own transport and the thrill of playing on turf wickets to look forward to.

I found the advice our club’s 1st grade spinner (along with others) gave me very helpful, even if my sardonic captain Simon kept reminding me constantly that I was landing the ball all over the shop each time I bowled in the nets. It only made me more determined to want to do better when I bowled in each game. Everyone in the team knew how hard I was trying and every wicket I took saw me being congratulated, even by our captain and I really felt like part of the team. At the pub early Saturday evening after each day’s play, my common sense in appearing not to notice or blush when someone yelled out an obscenity, was silently applauded. I knew that every player who was there tried their best not to say crude words around me and I liked the fact they now me treated as one of the “boys”....if you can understand that.

I must have appeared to my 2nd grade teammates to be slightly touchy or distant on the 2nd day of our game last Saturday though. Between thinking about the results of those final exam subjects I'd already done and worrying about possible questions for exams I still had to sit, isn’t a recipe for playing cricket very well and I played an awful match. Simon quietly took me aside at net practice the following Tuesday and told me privately not to worry about how I played the previous Saturday, because the guys had already guessed I must’ve been having my period and everyone understood it happens from time to time that women can be a bit more moody and sensitive then!

Oh great I thought, everyone in the cricket club thinks just because I’m a girl and I behaved slightly different than I normally did, that it has to be because I’m on my monthlies and not because I’m worried about my final exams. I didn’t know whether to scream at him and tell him tell I wasn’t having a period, but I also saw his look of “male compassion” for understanding about “those things” as he looked at me. So I decided to shut up, recalling my sister telling me that men were hopeless (most times) about knowing when women were menstruating and invariably blamed Mother Nature every time they thought women were being difficult. It allowed dad to start his day with a chuckle, when the following morning at breakfast I told him and mum about what my teammates had assumed.

Then, when I had done my final exam (Music) it was as if I “must” have suddenly gotten another severe case of “cramps,” although this time it was because of post exam nerves. I’d be happy one minute thinking I’d done well in my exams and be miserable the next, thinking about an answer I’d written to a question and getting depressed that I’d got it entirely wrong. Then I’d get annoyed because I couldn’t remember exactly what or how I’d actually written the answer.

Some of the students at school had used carbon paper to have a copy of their exam answers so they could refer back to the text books to see if they’d answered the questions correctly afterwards. That might’ve been a good idea to try, but as I found out in phone calls with friends who’d done that, it had its draw backs. The girl or guy (once back at home) would realise they’d answered an exam question incorrectly, and “those” commiserating phone calls sharing their upset were always harder to cope with.

When my results finally arrived, they were almost better than I could have hoped for and would see me accepted to every University I applied to, along with a scholarship to cover my tuition. With all my ducks in a row now, there was only the final hurdle left for me to clear.

On the 2nd of January mum, my brother, sister and I took the train to Sydney where the following day I was to be admitted to hospital for my gender reassignment procedure. Dad arranged to be there a few days later, if his work allowed him to. The night before my admittance had me sharing with mum, Sue and my brother the 2 bedroom place I’d bought three years previously. On seeing the state of the unit, mum firmly told my brother and sister “that they’d better get the place cleaned and tidied up before their father arrived”. Fortunately for me I only had to spend the night (on the lounge)!

The next morning just after 8am saw the four us (along with a small valise) being dropped off by taxi outside the entrance of the hospital. Then an hour later I was lying on my private room bed wearing a humiliating small surgical gown that offered only the slightest modicum of decency, talking with the three of them while waiting for my pre-op medications before the procedure. By some cruel twist of fate, the surgeon doing my operation decided (at the last minute) he wanted additional X-Rays taken of me to look over. Almost two hours later he informed mum and I that he wanted to consult with another specialist before he’d change my life forever, and said the operation was deferred for 24 hours. So with “that” news, I was allowed to change into a nightie and then talked some more to my family before they left me, promising they’d “all see me off” in the morning.

The next morning, drugged almost senseless and saying goodbye to everyone, my bed was wheeled away through a maze of corridors and into an operating theatre. After several minutes of listening to medical jargon and watching the operating team move about the room, I was calmly told I’d feel a slight pinprick and then to begin counting backwards from “100”. I reached “98”, became drowsy then can’t tell you another thing about what took place.

I do remember reawakening groggy and disorientated in my room and slightly in pain and I can vaguely recall hearing mum’s voice for a moment as well as someone (mum I guessed) gently squeezing my right hand. Then nothing again until waking up again with the lights on and medical people hovering around me and talking to one another and feeling someone put something or other in my ear (a thermometer I found out later).

What I clearly remember was eventually waking up crying at the pain somewhere around my lower stomach, which was quickly remedied by a nurse, that suddenly had me realising that the pain meant I must be a woman now, because with that same realisation, I also concluded that the pain I was feeling wasn’t in my stomach, but between my legs or more accurately what “wasn’t” between my legs and smiled at the thought.

For the next few hours I laid horizontal listening to the various noises from elsewhere outside my room, until I heard my mother’s loud “whispering” voice outside my room telling someone (?) that they couldn’t stay long and not to get me excited. Then as if by magic my family swept into the room all asking at once how I felt. With a weak “good considering everything” from me, a nurse came in and raised the back of my bed just enough to make want to kiss her in gratitude, as my horizontal position was terribly disorientating and awful if you had to speak to anybody.

The visit had to be a short one as were the others over the next few days to allow my body (and mind) time to acclimatise. Those first few days will forever be etched in my memory, both for my nurse assisted first toilet trip and when I had recovered enough for my family’s first visit with me for as long as they wanted. During it I learnt from a laughing Sue and Greg about how mum had nagged them into cleaning up the unit so that when dad arrived, he didn’t freak out at the mess and how mum had suddenly decided that she and dad would stay in a nearby hotel instead!

I spent almost three weeks in hospital, although twelve days were in a hospice room on the hospital grounds, where I could be close by to visit the hospital physio’s and do more X-Rays and such until I was discharged. It had already been decided that I’d stay until the end of January in Sydney with mum and my brother and sister in the place at Fairfield, then mum would drive me home to Uranquinty until my next check-up in Sydney at the end of April (provided no complications arose). Sue was staying back in Sydney along with Greg and looking around for a job now she was qualified, which was fine by me.

My last week in Sydney saw me doing a lot of shopping for clothes, especially a new bikini, which was the first thing I wanted to buy. Mum and my sister made sure I now got to enjoy being able to undress around women without having to worry anymore and experience talking to someone about a bra or dress, while either I or they were half naked. It was an amazing experience the first time I did and will forever be etched in my memory. From the very first day outside on “day leave” I wanted to enjoy every minute and thrill of something that I’d been waiting the last three years to have happen. My whole character seemed to change radically as I embraced my new femininity excitedly and with complete abandon.

On returning to Uranquinty, I had just a few days to get ready for my first year at Charles Sturt University. Luckily for me, my wonderful sister had driven back to look after my enrolment details while I’d been hospitalised, so I got the most agreeable timetable for my studies that allowed me to only have to attend lectures three days a week.

With the severe physical restrictions placed on me by the medical staff, I wasn’t allowed to exert myself in any way or do anything strenuous for at least another month. That didn’t mean I couldn’t go out with Mark anywhere. And after I was medically cleared, it allowed me to enjoy his company much more than before. NO, that didn’t mean we had sex. That WAS one of restriction placed on me by my doctors till at least the end of June, besides I was frightened about the prospect of having sex with a boy anyway.

But if I’d been questioned by police, I’d have had to plead guilty to any accusation about Mark being allowed to have free roaming hands, and in truthfulness, I now wanted to enjoy the ministrations of his gentle finger(s) almost anywhere. I had to play the “period” card for a couple of weeks, but Mark didn’t mind the evening I didn’t swat his hand aside.

Mum never failed to remind me to dilate each day. Let’s (for decorum) not go into that subject too far (OMG another unintentional pun), but I discovered I now had an entirely new level of relationship with my mum discussing it so openly. I’d had to endure the embarrassment while I was still in hospital, of mum being allowed (several times) by my doctor/nurse to “observe” as I dilated there. Now I was home, mum must have felt I still needed reassurance, especially when she told me how she’d lost her own virginity, while she watchfully observed me dilate (a new level and slightly thicker sized dildo that particular morning). She always made sure she knew what level I was using and seemed pleased whenever I graduated to the next size up! I’m pretty damn certain she wouldn’t have been so friendly watching my sister have sex with a boy! (to make sure Sue was OK) So……......let’s have no more about the subject, shall we?

The new me saw Janet taking to “girldom” like a duck takes to water. Slacks, jeans and shorts were now a complete no-no, while dresses and skirts were the uniform of the day (which mum fully approved of). It was as if I was walking on a cloud every day, smiling and laughing with others, deliberately flaunting my new body without a care in the world.

My cricket teammates had never seen me in dresses or skirts before. So my first appearance at a Saturday match (sadly as a spectator), in a sundress that I deliberately hadn’t worn a slip under, had seen both them as well as the opposition eagerly wanting to talk to me during the afternoon lunch break. The flattering comments I was receiving from my still amazed teammates, had me only wishing I’d been born a girl in the first place.

I also discovered a new relationship with the other wives and girlfriends there, as they welcomed me into the social world of the WAGS** and quickly learnt of secrets, that while as much as I would have liked to have mentioned them afterwards back at the hotel closest to the game, also told me that I’d been accepted as a woman and not just as a girl playing cricket with their men.

In our team (and the others for that matter) it was the WAGS who usually organised the lunch break BBQ cooking, as well as supplying drinks breaks each hour. That way the players didn’t have to rush around frantically when it was the lunch break searching for something to eat. Instead they could line up with paper plates and plastic cutlery in hand, or with two slices of bread, onto which meat (and usually salad or coleslaw or both) was ladled out for their enjoyment. A ten litre metal jug with boiling water was always available to make scalding hot strong tea, that only required milk and sugar to wash down the BBQ, or else you bought your own cold soft drinks in your personal esky.* In the WWCC’s instance, our team sold cold drinks to anyone and everyone at games for fund raising. The money raised always went towards the end of season trophy night, with anything then leftover being used for the “kitty” end of season weekend trip away for supping (drinking) money.

Our weekend cricket games in the Wagga district (as they were back in Tamworth) in any grade were always played hard and fair. But country comradery always made sure that regardless of how heated the game might get (on the pitch), the lunch break was there to feed as well as socialise. It’d be true to say that Australians like to compete with each other when they’re on the sporting field and sometimes the game can become somewhat “heated”. But it wasn’t as though we were playing for The Ashes and besides, you often ran into opposition players off the field. In that respect, country cricket (at any grade or level) was (and I understand still is) particularly civilised, unlike playing in the city I discovered later on.

Anyway my cricket season was finished the moment I set foot in the train for the trip to Sydney for my reassignment surgery. I simply got to spend the 2nd half of the season as an enthusiastic WAG and loved every moment of it. I wasn’t above going over to watch Mark play if his game was nearby to ours and liked the thought of having a boyfriend I knew liked me just as much as I liked him. His club never succeeded in persuading me to swap over to play for them and the same could be said of Mark with my team, although it might have "now" been nice to have been able to shower and get changed with him in a dressing room afterwards!

On my part time job front, Mr Angepopolus my MacGeneral boss reluctantly (sic) had to let me leave so as to allow one more space to be filled by a younger (and cheaper) new employee. So I again used “dad’s” connections to obtain a casual barmaid’s job at the same hotel Sue had worked at to earn extra spending money. My new employer Garry Rowles (Gaz to the staff and drinking patrons) was as nice a boss as Ange had been at the General Macs. As long as you worked willingly and pleasantly and the patrons liked you, he was fantastic. Luckily for me, he liked how I interacted with the patrons and although he would have liked me to dress more like some of the other barmaids did, he never said anything to me to make me change how I dressed.

Working as a barmaid is a country mile away from slinging burgers at General Macs. Every time I got home now, the pervading smell of spilt alcohol wafted around me. After all, it’s impossible not to spill tiny amounts sometimes when you filled a glass of beer from the serving tap, although I quickly learned the tricks how not to. But when you had to collect the empty glasses you couldn’t help but have the sides of the glasses leave your hands smelling of stale beer and brushing your clothes accidently against tables ensured your clothing was permeated with the smell too. The trick was to never end up carrying a tray full of empties glasses (or full) holding them close to your chest, because that was a disaster just waiting to happen.

I learned two things very quickly as a barmaid. The 1st, was that you tried to wear the same outfits as often as possible and the 2nd was the bigger your boobs or the shorter your skirt, the more you’d get in the tips jar and “that” was important to most of the staff. Two months after I started, my regular clothes were a washing machine ruined mess and stretched completely out of shape. But ideal for working behind the bar!

I also quickly copied my fellow barmaids in wearing as sheer a white top as I could, although I’d never undo any more than the 2nd button. The same thing with skirts, my hemline although short never had my undies on display when leaning over slightly. Likewise I decided against pantyhose or suspenders and stockings, but did occasionally wear stay ups if I was wearing a knee length skirt.

I was easy to work with, because I was always keen to ensure Gazza never saw me not serving and was always doing all the minor chores the other barmaids detested. I was also rostered with either one of three other casuals who dressed more conservatively (along with myself). It took some time (and a girl to girl chat one evening with Denise who stayed behind after her shift for a drink with some friends) to discover that the four of us were paired the way we were, because the “tip” jar was always changed for each staff handover. That way, (I or the other three) never got to benefit from the older full time girls working shifts with us, who dressed shall I say more “alluringly” for the patrons. I was staggered when she told me that the tips total on shifts I shared was often as much as $20 to $30 per less than other shifts.

I did a private experiment after finding that out during my next shift and worked with my blouse opened to the forth button (my blouses had a lot of buttons) that clearly showing my bra lace. This earned me an “extra” $22 in tips (my 50%) more for the shift than usual. I mentioned it to my regular workmate and we both decided that from then on we’d take it in turns (showing off our girls) each shift. I never told dad or mum about it and never walked back into the house after work not buttoned up.

At university I wore whatever I liked and enjoyed no longer having to wear a shapeless school uniform. I also discovered that if I wanted to get noticed and/or be invited to join a study group, I needed to dress to be noticed (invited) and stay that way until I was established in a study group. Then I could dress more demurely although in my case I did it extremely reluctantly, preferring to revel in my new found womanhood. The three girls in our mixed group cold shouldered me to begin with, but soon realised I was just being myself(?) and wasn’t trolling for any of the guys there.

Speaking of university, it certainly was a far cry from learning at Mt Erin College. Back there the teachers wrote notes for you to copy that (supposedly) pertained to potential examination questions. But at university, the lecturers (teachers - a rose by any other name) almost never did that and instead expected each student to take their own notes of each lecture pertaining to important details. That was why being in a study group was the key to passing or failing and even then, the difference in lecture notes between individuals in the group quickly determined who were the smarties opposed to the clutzes. I wasn’t sure how the others in the group saw me, maybe “a clarty” or “a smutz” perhaps.

You also had the opportunity to make lots of new friends at university and unless you were a total nerd or geek, always heard of (or were invited to) social events around and outside campus. In fact it's an old joke that going to university allowed you to learn about the 3B’s (booze, birds(boys) and billiards) as opposed to the school 3R’s (reading riting and rithmatic). I got invited to my fair share of parties and had lots of fun. But I also studied hard too and found I needed to just to keep pace with everyone else. One thing I always did was to never drive “sunflower” when I felt tipsy. I quickly learned how to sleep of a night in the uncomfortable canvas back seat with the hood up to prevent waking up with dew damp clothes too!

On the family front, Sue had gotten a job as a computer programmer/technician for a business at Ashfield (somewhere near to the city) and commuted there each day by train. Apparently she liked working there and was soon being given merit margin increases in pay as her bosses discovered her abilities. My big brother Greg was the one who provided the shock to my parents. Greg had taken up a cadetship as a trainee station manager near Katherine in the Northern Territory of Australia and after two years of it, simply decided he’d had enough and joined the Navy as a seaman!

Dad was practically speechless when Greg came home unexpectedly to drop the bomb on mum and him, which neither condemned him for. He told the three of us at dinner his first night back that he felt that it would give him a chance to travel the world, (for free) and told our parents that he was going to specialise in maritime mechanics and 2nd specialise in engineering. Besides that, he only signed on for an eight year agreement. (Initially as it turned out)

Whenever he was scheduled for sea duty the family always knew they’d soon be receiving countless and bizarre trinkets from other parts of the world, as well as some really incredible photos of sights. I might add that my big brother filed out his seaman’s uniform very well as did a lot of my female university friends and even some of Sue’s old friends thought so too. He wasn’t his ship’s leading male, but he boasted to having plenty of “girls in every port”.

**WAGS - Acronym used to describe Wives and Girlfriends

*Esky- a cooler box filled with ice to keep food and drinks cold.

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I'm thinking ahead about a possible future subplot. I'd like to ask any readers living in Australian if they might send me an email about songs played at hotels (ideally in Sydney), but anywhere in Australia will do fine. Could you please give me the area your talking about, the name of the song and if possible the artist. (That will give me the chance to google them and listen) I may need a few, particularly any that are slow or more of a ballad athough if it's like it is over here, its mainly loud rock, punk and new wave and of course "bloody" Pretenders songs. That was why I included Music in our heroine's school subjects for just such an eventuality

Simply sign in,(if you aren't already) and go to your messages and send an email from off of it to me. I promise I'll reply to each sender and of course credit them (in the foot notes) in the chapter concerned........when I write it.
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Caught In Slips Pt 9
By Christie Myr

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I’d like to thank Emily 63 from Victoria in Australia for providing me with information about various places and institutions mentioned throughout this story. I’d also like to thank Grim City Girl for proof reading this chapter.
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Most of my first year at university kept me busy. I had lectures 3 days a week, then there was work around the house to be done to help mum out. There was my two casual 4 hour shifts at the hotel (for spending money) that very quickly turned into a 3rd then a 4th shift, because of my willingness and dependability to always turn up for work on time. The hours for each shift also changed from 4 to 6 and sometimes as many as 8 hours (although very rarely) as Garry quickly grew confident of my abilities to work behind the bar. I’d sometimes work in the main public bar or the ladies lounge and even in the beer garden (on Sundays) and my pleasant disposition was often commented on by inebriated patrons. Then I had my “love life” and my social life to contend with and coming towards summer, I was excitedly waiting for the new cricket season to commence. I felt I was living life to the max.

Mark and I were still very much an item and as soon as my doctors allowed me too, I was letting him explore places denied to him previously. But we never did “the dirty deed” and let me assure you it wasn’t because he didn’t want to! No, I was the one who still wasn’t ready (confident) to have intercourse yet. I'd often phone Sue to talk about things in my university course she had already done and we also used to find time to talk about our love lives. She was adamant that I needed to decide if Mark would take my cherry or not, while always reminding me that there were other ways besides “hands” to keep him in satisfied.

It wasn’t long before I tried “one of those other ways” and recalling my first time, discovered the taste seemed the same. I didn’t like it or detest it, but I knew that Mark liked it and he wasn’t above returning the favour, although I kept a hand close by in case of slippery fingers as his tongue drove me frantically crazy. Finally I allowed him to have “Stinky” fingers privileges and found I rather enjoyed it, although I was alert to (and denied) any of his digits moving too far back around. I also didn’t mind his other favourite thing(s) and found that allowing him to suckle on my nipples often made me incredibly horny (and particularly damp and icky in my panties) to the point where several times I almost surrendered and if he’d asked, could have stolen my fruit.

I even bought a sexy negligee to wear for when I was finally going to allow Mark his reward. Mum saw it in the bottom of my 2nd drawer as she was putting my washing away (instead of me) and told me when she saw me I had good taste. She asked if I’d “used” the negligee yet! My reply had her smiling as she told me that I was now big enough physically (if not emotionally) to handle sex when the time came, before giving me a motherly peck and saying she was proud of me for being able to stay pure and innocent so long. She laughed saying “I wasn't like my sister was at my age”. My tanned coloured face “must” have turned crimson when she said that, because I remembered Sue excitedly telling me about it, sister to new sister the night she lost her virginity while she was still in year 11 at Mt Erin.

Now love life aside, university life aside, working life aside, I like to mention a bit about my playing cricket if you wouldn't mind. The approaching Spring then Summer was going to see me playing in the 1st grade Wagga Wagga Cricket Club side which I was quite excited about. My captain, Richard Cruise already knew I was only going to be playing until I moved to Sydney sometime in late January, several months away and although he would have preferred I either stay for the entire season, or else have someone in the team who was going to, tried his best to help the team by giving me all his knowledge about bowling leg spin.

He told me he thought I had a “bit” of talent in me and encouraged me to work on my bowling variation grips, as well as telling me countless times that flight variation and change ups in speed were just as good (if not better) than someone who could turn a ball sharply. At every practice he’d watch my bowling closely and when he batted he made it part of my training, that he'd tell me what the next ball was he wanted me to bowl to him. He was merciless in hammering my bowling way back out of the net behind me, if I missed the spot in the pitch I should have be aiming for, when I bowled the type of ball he told me to bowl incorrectly.

Each time one of my balls sailed out of the net high over my head, my fellow bowlers weren’t above giving me a lot of sarcastic comments (or at anyone out the back of the nets practicing their catching of skied balls, who dropped one off my bowling for that matter) but Cruiser’s tough love approach worked as the season drew closer and the balls I was bowling were no longer (or very rarely) being smashed out of the nets. The rest of my teammates already found it hard to even hit me back over my head at all when they practiced their batting, especially when Cruiser began making our keeper stand behind the stumps, to stump any foolish batsmen who missed the ball if they stepped down the wicket to hit me. – Cruiser’s decreed fine for being stumped off my bowling, was a “team’s round” at the bar afterwards (this meant the guilty batsman had to pay for a round of drinks for his teammates).

Our wicket keeper Brian (whose nickname was “howler”) even devised a hand code for me, so as I knew what he wanted me to try and bowl to a batsman. I continued to master my bowling grips so that during the final practice before the first game, it saw the pair of us making everyone’s batting (in the 1st grade side) a misery (particularly Cruiser’s). But our fast bowlers made my turn batting in the nets later just as bad, by bowling short pitched bumpers at me.

Our first game in late September saw all of Cruiser’s nagging pay immediate dividends for me (and the team) as I managed to pick up four wickets including their best two batsmen for very low scores. We won that first game (only by 1st innings) and along with our A grade (turf) side winning as well, had everyone cock o hoop in the clubhouse afterwards. Our next two games saw similar results (both 1st innings victories) and in me getting wickets, although only 3 in each innings. I got to bat as well and scored my usual single before I or my partner got out each time.

Opposition sides already knew all about me because I’d been playing with the WWCC for several years now and although sledging seems to be a dyed in the wool Australian institution, no one ever said anything seriously offensive to or at me. Of course I was accustomed to “F” bombs or “B” bombs and most other types too, but the umpires appointed to our games ensured nothing got too far out of hand. I was quite content to simply shut up and play knowing that if I started saying some sort of heckling, it’d probably blow up in my face. That’s why opposing teams willingly shook hands with me afterwards, as well as the odd player asking if I might be free to go out with them sometime!

WWCC’s success in 1st grade found an article appearing about it (and me) on the back pages of the local paper. The slant of the story was a light hearted piece about how a “girl” was showing the men how to play the “manly” sport of cricket. The following practice saw a far greater number of bumpers aimed in my direction than usual when I batted, along with a lot of laughter from the guys bowling them at me. In late November playing against Leeton, the “Howling Janet” combination (as my teammates was calling us) absolutely annihilated their batting line up in a comprehensive outright win, that saw me claiming 6 wickets a piece in both innings they batted. The club celebrations were huge on the 2nd Saturday night because all four senior teams had won their games that round. Better yet was having the local paper give a good write up about the club's performance. The story included photos of the 2nd Saturday’s Leeton match, one of which (taken by the paper’s photographer) showed from behind the wicketkeeper’s end, the stumps being broken and at the umpire’s end along with the umpire and other batsmen was me half way up in the air jumping for joy at the wicket I’d just taken (Mum cut out the article and photo and it’s in a framed picture on the wall of my parent’s place)

Of course apart from in the WWCC, at Charles Sturt I copped some teasing from friends over the article’s photo and it was similar at the hotel too (although there it was in a friendly form of congratulations by drinking patrons). But even better news came when I found out I aced my first year exams.

Just before Xmas and with a two week hiatus from any more cricket, saw my sister Sue coming home to join in the family’s Xmas celebrations. Greg wasn’t able to get leave but the family skyped him on Xmas night to all wish each other a Merry Xmas. Sue had already brought everyone up to date with how she was going (very well I might add) and to talk to me about what I’d need to bring up with me for my 2nd year at university, whose campus was only a short drive from the unit.

Sue also chose to tell me (aside in private) that I wouldn’t just be sharing the unit with her, before she finally told mum and dad that her boyfriend had moved into the unit with her, early on in March of the year just about finished. Sue assured me (while trying to calm our father down) that while he and she slept together and he paid his share of the rent, if he and I couldn’t get on she’d ask him to leave. Sue then told me how much of the rent “he” was paying (which was considerably more than Sue was, the sneaky cow). So it made good financial sense to try seeing how it would all work out and I just prayed he wasn’t a rowdy sort of guy who had loud friends around constantly.

While dad was still annoyed (at Sue’s live in boyfriend) he and mum grudgingly agreed that we were both old enough to leave home legally. That was as long as I was sure that Sue’s boyfriend living in the unit was alright. Later on mum, Sue and I had a long talk about the “new” situation, which after some verbal agreeing by Sue, saw mum talking to dad and restoring harmony in the home once again. Mum spoke to me too (in private) shortly afterwards, voicing her own concerns and offering suggestions that I suppose all mothers would under the circumstances.

We stayed together for New Year’s Eve, before Sue left to go back to Fairfield to get ready for work. I spent my last two weeks at home calling round to see friends, “almost” losing my virginity to Mark (who quickly found a new girlfriend shortly after I left for Sydney, I later learnt). I finished up my barmaid’s job as well as squeezing in one last game of cricket, which afterwards (since rain interrupted and saw the match abandoned 2nd week) saw me getting a rousing going away party at the clubhouse. In a wonderful gesture, most of the club’s players had contributed towards a farewell gift for me, which when I opened it in front of huge beaning grins revealed a very expensive (and sexy) women’s satin fabric corset in ruby red and black lace, that tied up at the back along with a matching pair of red and black satin briefs.

My face must have been redder than the corset as both players and their girlfriends or wives made numerous ribald suggestions about what I’d do with it or how I’d look in it. Because it was my last game for the club (till further notice) I managed to find two of the wives who weren’t already showing signs of inebriation and with their help, I went casually unnoticed outside to the ladies. Half an hour later, and with their giggling help, I managed to put the garment and bottoms on and laced it up before I casually walked back into the club house.

The huge main room quickly went deathly silent as people became aware of me and what I was wearing. “F**k me Janet you look hot” came loudly out of Richard Cruiser’s mouth, which started a cacophony of shouted compliments along with a number of requests for dates and a few other suggestions as well. I had to almost shout to tell everyone that they were allowed to look but not touch, which also saw me along with a number of the women there, discussing how the corset felt and so forth. This led to several times during the night (later on) with the corset being worn by other women, to much the same approval by the players.

To this day I’m still amazed that photos of me that night have never appeared on the internet, because I know that although everyone agreed there’d be no photos taken, I know that some of the other women who wore the corset were happy to pose for pictures (with their husbands or boyfriends). I showed mum and dad the present the following morning although not wearing it (I’m not THAT dumb in front of my father). Mum laughed loudly when I suggested she might like to try it on for size, that (surprisingly or perhaps not) had dad eagerly suggesting to mum to try it on and see how it looked! ………….I wasn’t too sure when I’d actually end up wearing the corset myself, but I made sure it was carefully packed in the bottom of one of my valises for the trip to Sydney.

In the early morning on Saturday the 20th of January, dad helped me make sure that my little bright sunshine yellow Mini Moke “Sunny” was sensible packed, because I had attached the hardtop to the car for Sydney driving (although that would never have been able to stop it from being stolen). I had the soft-top, which I much preferred, folded carefully down behind the back seat along with my valises now tied down along with my guitar case on top of it. Several boxes occupied the back seat and were lap sashed and double secured by stiff stretchy straps clipped on the inside body of the chassis. I had also boxed up my small stereo, which was lap sash restrained in the passenger’s front seat while also making sure the gear lever was clear of the stereo box so I could easily change gears.

Then with a final teary farewell hug and kiss with both mum and dad, I turned on the ignition key and with a farewell shout of good bye along with a wave, turned the car towards the front gate and slowly drove off, making sure I was comfortable with being able to see out of the passenger’s side opening.

I had now driven so many times and hours in “Sunny” I was used to the feeling of the wind blowing through me when I drove. Experience had also taught me that by driving slowly (where possible) driver fatigue was considerably less. If I’d had my way I would have driven at 40 mph at (70kilometers per hour) for the entire trip, but the listed speed signs and the consistent number of cars (and trucks) driving at the much higher signed limit forced me to drive at the same speed as well. I quickly revised my planned driving schedule and instead stopped about every two hours at any handy road side café for a drink and a stretch, so I didn’t end up reaching Liverpool until shortly after 6pm that evening. I’d phoned Sue at every stop to keep her updated of where I was and she’d phone dad to tell him.

When I finally pulled into the street in Fairfield where the unit was, there was no doubt both my body and mind were spent. Pulling into the driveway and a light tap on the horn saw my sister look down from the balcony then come racing downstairs to greet me along with her boyfriend Craig, who then both helped me quickly unload “Sunny” and take everything upstairs before I came back down and unlocked the garage so I could put her away. I noticed that Sue’s car was temporarily parked in one of the visitor’s spots, while poor old Craig’s car (which was by far the nicest and best of the three when I finally saw it) had apparently been relegated to the street. Sue said we’d work the car thing out tomorrow and I walked upstairs to start unpacking. Very little got touched that evening as instead and totally exhausted, I sat in one of the ragged lounge chairs and ate microwave reheated KFC while listening to Sue and Craig tell me about living in the inner western part of Sydney.

Sue had made up my bed for me and I remember dropping down onto it sometime around 9ish and sleeping through till morning, when a loud car exhaust woke me. I was still wearing the clothes I’d arrived in as I shuffled bleary eyed into the bathroom to do what Mother Nature deemed necessary. Finally starting to wake up, I looked around the bathroom and my recollections of last night had me wondering, how much of mum’s story about how she first saw the condition of the unit when I had come down for my surgery, had actually been exaggerated?

The bathtub had a wide dirt ring, the window sills had a layer of dust, and I’m sure the bathroom floor tiles had been a different colour. When I walked outside heading for the kitchen, the overall condition of the unit was actually very messy and grubby. The kitchen itself wasn’t as bad as I was dreading it might have been. The fridge had milk in it so a cup of tea could probably be made, which was what I was doing when Sue came into the kitchen saying good morning, sleep well and apologising for the state of the place all in the one sentence. We hugged each other and I stood around as she made toast for her and me and coffee for herself before walking back into the living room and sitting down, making me have to follow her.

Now I was more aware of everything around me then the previous evening, we started to catch up about things and I barely noticed out of the side of my eye, a naked Craig scampering into the bathroom to relieve himself before dashing back into the bedroom again. He came out dressed shortly afterwards and said his own good mornings while pinching a bit of Sue’s toast and a sip of her coffee. Sue then spoke as to who was to use the bathroom first today (which was me) and just as with the car situation, said we’d work everything out for the future, once I was unpacked.

The shower helped enormously. While Sue then Craig took their turns in the bathroom I started unpacking. My bedroom (the smaller one, which also only had a single bed) was probably the least shabby of the rooms (I still had really seen Sue’s bedroom yet). It also had a small vanity top and drawers in it was just big enough for me to put away my underwear, tops, Tees, shorts, jumpers and private whatnots including my dilators (which I stashed under everything in the bottom drawer). The built in wardrobe was able to take all my hanging up clothes and an upright wooden chair filled out the contents of the room. I took my time working out how I’d fit my stereo in the room along with my guitar case, because there was only the one double power point on each side of the room. I’d also have to see about getting thick curtains for the windows because the sun shone through it of a morning.

By 1pm I was completely unpacked and starving. A quick check of the kitchen cupboards showed the cockroaches must dine elsewhere as well, so I suggested to my sister that we’d needed to go shopping and if I remembered correctly the shopping centre wasn’t far away. Sue thought the idea had merit, but quickly took me to the kitchen and between us we first divvied out the cupboard space between us before Craig volunteered to drive both us to the shops. We had a choice of three shopping centres, all close to one another.

The short drive to the shops was a quick lesson in learning of the makeup of Fairfield. Most of the people walking around were of Asian heritage, as it was inside the shopping centre. There were a number of other nationalities there and even on a Sunday the centre had a buzz about it. We stopped to have a cappuccino before we started shopping for groceries, where it was agreed that where possible and to avoid waste, the first one home of a night would cook for the three of us. This made the food selection much easier the first time we went shopping after I knew when my classes took place.

That night Craig discovered just how good a cook his girlfriend and her sister were, which also created a friendly bond between the three of us, since he also realised that I didn’t fancy him or was jealous of my sister. Later on that night I learned something new myself (that I would never have imagined) when I discovered that my sister was quite the moaner in bed during sex! I often had to listen to my sister and Craig having sex in the next room from then on, only too pleased to find that the two of them seemed happy and didn’t feel embarrassed at me knowing about it.

The next day saw me left alone to fend for myself and I took the opportunity to drive around the area to get my bearings (so to speak). I also took the time to do some price shopping. The talk around the lounge room as we sat eating our evening meal (off laps), was that I’d already phoned dad and told him that the unit needed a lot of repairs, which mum, dad and I had discussed several days before I left. Dad hadn't seen the unit when he’d come down for my operation, and mum only confirmed to him that the unit had looked very messy when we offered the low purchase price we had, expecting to have to renovate it eventually.

So telling that to my sister and Craig, I found them enthusiastically agreeing to help as I outlined some of the things I wanted to do to make the place more habitable. My suggestions (I admitted to them) were because I was spoilt living at home where mum was a fanatical one for everything being spotless and nice. Craig who I now found out was a fulltime building carpenter and a part time amateur handyman, offered to do the electrical work (for the air con installation I wanted). He also offered to do any wiring needing to be done elsewhere in the unit along with offering to help out (along with my sister) in repainting the walls. He even had a friend who was a carpet layer that for a case of beer and a feed would lay it for free.

The next day I had to go and register for next term’s course and find out about my timetable for the coming year. Because I was there early (at the campus) I was among the crowd who got the more convenient class subject times, that saw me again only having to attend university three days a week starting in early February. I spent the rest of the day picking up paint colour charts and brochures as well as prices. So after cooking again for all of us, we talked about colours and what else the unit “really” needed. (Wednesdays after I went back to university would turn out to be Sue’s cooking night as well as taking turns on weekends)

Dad had told me earlier in the day when I rang him, that he agreed to release $8,000 from my trust so I could get everything I felt was needed. Both Sue and I were excited about renovating the unit (as was Craig) and had some friendly sisterly arguing over colour choices which in the end saw us finally agreeing to another paint scheme that neither of us had thought about. Then there were the curtains, the carpets and even the air conditioning unit (which in the end saw us buying three to cover the main lounge room/dining area (yet to have a dining table) and both bedrooms (which we agreed was compulsory). Poor old Craig flipped as he listened to the idea of 3 air con units needing to be to be installed on the balcony. Sue was at her persuasive (and noisy) best convincing him to agree to install them all, in the bedroom afterwards!

By the time everything was “finally” finished a month or so later, the renovated unit was now a pleasure to live in. We didn’t appreciate that fact until we came back after going out for a pizza dinner having declared we were finished. We walked into a bright and clean unit that was cool and comfortable. Suddenly everyone was happy that finally we lived in a nice place that we’d be proud to show friends. I liked it because it felt like it was MY place now, while Sue liked it because she no longer lived in a 2nd hand dump. Craig found out he enjoyed it later on that night (as did the neighbours I think)

We took photos and emailed them to mum and dad showing them the final result. They seemed pleased with the results too, but reminded both of us about keeping the unit looking like that for the next ten years. Sheesh!

We had also worked out how to safely keep the cars from being broken into, after on my second day at university saw poor Sunny being violated and my CD player and speakers in it being stolen. I reported it to the police, who told me I should've expected it, owning such an easy car to break into. That incident determined that the following day I booked Sunny in to have an immobiliser installed in her and told Craig to park his car in the garage.

Craig did more than just that, which ended up with him putting up a thick rubber pad against the back wall of the garage that when he gently eased the back of his car into it (not damaging his car's paintwork) allowed enough room for Sue’s old Toyota to be reversed back (very slowly and carefully) in infront of his, so that both cars were under cover even though the garage door couldn’t be lowered properly. The front of Sue’s car jutted out by just over a foot but both cars were now off street parked which had less chances of theft or vandalism.

A lot of the residents complained about our open garage door (of a night) and I had to front the body corporate after a hastily written note was slipped under our door asking for the owner of the unit to contact the unit management. My appearance announcing who I was, quickly had me being asked to give reasons why the breaching of a particular rule shouldn’t be punished by a fine.

I took great pains to explain why a car was "just" sticking out of my garage and how it had been done (showing it to the five unit owners who'd complained). In the end the matter died a silent death, perhaps because less than a week later, several other unit owners were doing the exact same thing themselves. Sunny had to stay out on the street, but surprisingly never got broken into. If I swapped the hard cover for soft cover and didn’t zip up the sides, Sunny did get a lot of rubbish tossed in her, but nothing worse than what used to happen at Mt Erin College.

Even with the rent (from the units – including Craig’s rent gouge) which in time would again have enough money put aside to continue paying off the unit at Liverpool, as well as covering the outgoings of both places, the cost of living away from home were quickly eating my own personal reserve. My “scholarship funding” covered about half of my total expenses, but if I didn’t want to end up stony broke before the end of the year, I'd need to find another casual job that would fit in with my university lecture times.

Sue and I talked about it and we both agreed that casual bar tendering was the best money for the hours worked, as well as being relatively easy to get (if you knew people). I didn’t have dad this time and I asked Sue if at her old job (which she never spoke about) she had contacts who could offer me a job. Sue quickly assured me that I “didn’t” want to work there “EVER”, before suggesting I ask around the local hotels.

It was Sue’s adamant statement about not wanting to work where she had (and after having no luck asking the local hotels for casual work) that saw me pestering her to ask her old employers again, and saw her swearing me to secrecy before telling me that the hotel where she had done casual barmaid work at had been a “topless” hotel. I was stunned at finding that out and soon after began rolling around the unit floor laughing hysterically telling her that if she didn’t help me out, I’d tell mum and dad.

Sue then told me that the job she used to work was at a hotel, which back in Essex would have been called a slaughter house, because of all the fights that often occurred. She also reminded me that my boobs were nowhere as big as hers (preening herself) and my small stature (5’5” 95lbs – 45kilos) could easily see me being accidently hurt if a fight broke out (a regular occurrence apparently) and I got caught up in it.

My sister admitted that the money, because of the tips – (yes you read THAT correctly, no spelling error) had been especially good and had allowed her to create a bank of savings. But she assured me that the worst of the worst drank there (including an infamous motorcycle chapter) and she never walked outside after finishing work without someone escorting her to the car. With a quick grab and squeeze of one of my boobs she told me I’d fail the interview anyway!

I thought about it during lectures the following day and with my own money beginning to slowly dwindle away, on getting home first, quickly got cooking tea under way before deciding to try for a preliminary pre interview test with my sister????

Caught In Slips - Pt 10
By Christie Myr

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I’d like to thank Emily 63 from Victoria in Australia for providing me with information about various places and institutions mentioned. I didn’t have anyone to proof read this chapter, so I apologise for any grammatical mistakes in it.
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Craig phoned my sister explaining he’d be late getting home for tea, so Sue and I ate ours leaving Craig’s in the microwave for him to eat later. During the meal I reminded her about my need to start replenishing my dwindling financial reserves, and again asked her why she wouldn’t ask her old boss about if they needed a casual barmaid. She told me I wouldn’t ever be able to pass the interview, while again playfully squeezing one of my breasts to emphasise her point.

She saw the look on my face and sighing loudly, told me that “IF” and strongly emphasised the word. If I proved to her old boss I could draw a beer or mix a drink to his demanding requirements, all of the women serving behind the bars there either did so completely topless, or wearing a see through top made of a gossamer type material like the old curtains in my bedroom.

She went into her bedroom and came back holding an almost non-existent see through top to her chest, telling me “this” was one of her old tops she wore for the job, before causally taking off her top and bra and putting the gossamer top on. If the top was a uniform and was meant to partly disguise her breasts, it was a complete waste of time. They were graphically displayed.

She laughed seeing my look of incredulity about what she wore for her old barmaid’s job and I had to admit, I didn’t feel so confident about my idea for getting the job I’d been thinking of either. Still money was money and Sue telling me what she used to earn there when she working part time, was just too good to pass up without a try. So, nothing ventured………

I said I’d be back in a few minutes and went to my room closing the door behind me. When I opened it again and walked back out, I was wearing the red and black corset and matching panty that my cricket team had presented to me. I’d only lightly tied it up the back of the corset and on walking over to her and slowly pirouetting to display myself, asked her if I wore something like this instead of being topless, did she think the owner (and patrons) might have a change of mind. I also reminded her I had my old licensee boss's glowing written reference (which had said how well I worked).

Grinning at my appearance, my sister asked me where and when I’d bought “that” (pointing to the corset) and had I bought it for my old boyfriend and did mum know about it. I told her chuckling, about how I came to be wearing it, before asking her if she’d pull the lacing at the back tight so she could see the full effect. Moments later, with both of us giggling as I held firmly onto the lounge, Sue pulled the corset lacing at the back as tightly as possible.

When she had tied it off and I was standing up straight, the top half of my two girls only an inch or so above my nipples, were now very prominently displayed. I told my sister that I’d wear the corset (if she could arrange an interview) to try and convince the owner about the idea of not needing to see boobs drooping about everywhere. I told her that it might help me get a job there, by showing him a woman wearing something sexy might very well appeal to his patrons, especially if I could perhaps do some butt wiggling when collecting the empties. Sue wasn't convinced and it showed.

I then explained to her that the hotel’s licence should have been required the licensee to abide by stringent rules about semi naked (topless) staff. I knew about those rules, because I’d sat around one day at the hotel back in Wagga, with the licensee and some of the other staff discussing the possibilities of that hotel turning one of its bars into a “gentlemen’s only private bar". To be part of that club, which anyone would be allowed to join, the patrons would have to pay a yearly membership fee upfront first, then only they would be able to be served in a walled off area (with no access visible or available to non-members) by barmaids dressed in sexy lingerie outfits.

I told her how my old boss had even thought of allowing women to join as members (provided they paid the same membership fee). He was confident that enough women would want to pay to become members to make it a financially viable private club, especially so if “some of the bar staff were buff young men who worked shirtless, or possibly only wearing speedos! The main problem facing my former boss was that outfits like I had on would have certainly meant a change to the licencing requirements for the entire hotel. He felt that the additional expense, mightn’t make the hotel viable financially, operating an alcohol licenced “Private Club” bar inside the hotel proper.

Sue immediately understood what I was telling her about the rules possibly being relaxed (and a less expensive licence) at her old hotel, if the female staff no longer needed to be semi naked - topless. She told me she could remember it was always a sore point with the owner of the hotel I wanted the job at. He was always frustrated that the government already set the retail price levels he could charge the public for selling them alcohol. The brewery who supplied the hotel was also adamant that he had to operate the hotel as a topless hotel, or they wouldn’t renew his lease when it was time for renewal (every 2 years for the hotel).

My sister laughed at the audaciousness of my plan, before dashing back into her room to return a few minutes later wearing a sexy orange coloured black trimmed Basque, with matching knickers under a short skirt. She told me that “these” clothes were much less expensive and provided easier movement for working in then my corset. Sue had several others that she changed into to show me, and was how Craig saw the two of us when he came home, a quickly broadening smile at seeing both of us in sexy lingerie. My sister casually explained why we were wearing what we were, as his facial expression turned incredulous finding out something new about his girlfriend he’d never previously known about.

My suggestion at least made Sue think about the idea. I thought that if “someone” who already knew the licensee and possibly had worked there was to present my idea from that point of view, then it just could be he might be persuaded into hiring me. Sue seemed to reluctantly agree, but reminded me that the present owner had an ever growing list of potential applicants he could choose from already.

So I reminded her that if I was correct in thinking what I’d read up on and from what I could remember back in Wagga, then perhaps this licensee owner could be talked into thinking of hiring me if “someone/Sue” were to suggest I may have some other ideas he might be able to use, before telling Sue I had no idea about anything else yet………..but wasn’t it at least worth a try?

It took several days of hearing nothing from my sister until after dinner on Thursday evening, Sue told me (along with Craig) that she’d spoken to her old boss and told him she had a sister, very experienced as a barmaid who was looking for casual work…..and so on and so forth. She grinned while telling me I now had an interview on Sunday afternoon at 3pm about a possible job there!

I was both nervous and excited about the news, while for the rest of the evening Sue continued to remind me constantly about the upper body measurements of the female staff working there. She told me I’d have to do something absolutely incredible, for him (the licensee) at the interview to even consider being hired as a barmaid. Especially someone like me who wasn’t willing to take their kit off and show her boobs to the patrons.

On Saturday afternoon Sue and I went to somewhere she called Paddy’s Markets, where they had hundreds of stalls that sold everything from fresh fruit to toys, along with a lot of stalls selling clothing and several in particular that sold sexy apparel (both male and female). She told me she’d bought her outfits from one of the stalls and at much cheaper prices than sex shops and specialty lingerie stores sold them. Sue also “told” Craig he couldn’t come with us, telling him this was “private family business” . She did imply to him though, that he might get a pleasant surprise tonight if he was a good boy and behaved himself by tidying up around the unit.

The markets turned out to be just those back in Essex (or anywhere else). Between Sue and I, we (she) selected a couple of Basque tops (both with matching briefs) in my size, with her telling me that if I got a job there, I may need a few more if the licensee liked my idea, but that we could always come back in a few weeks’ time.

On the drive back from the markets, Sue detoured to show me where the hotel was, the sight of which had me beginning to believe that my sister may have been right about me not wanting to work there. The outside of the hotel didn’t look that frightening, but the locals walking along the streets and main road surrounding it, certainly wouldn’t have made the cover of a magazine.

When we finally got home, Sue made a great production of showing the bags we were carrying to her boyfriend, but not the contents inside them. I went to my room to put both outfits in the drawer until tomorrow. I then spent the rest of the afternoon doing a quick “Nair” of my legs (I never used a razor for fear of nicks and cuts) and carefully making sure that no hairs showed under my arms or someplace else a lot further south of my armpits!

Anyway, early Sunday afternoon, Sue helped me get changed into the royal blue and black satin coloured Basque set she felt looked best on me. The panty bottom of which also had had attached suspenders dangling from them (an accidental bonus because the price label on the bag had been incorrectly priced as Basques sets without suspenders). Sue had offered me yesterday (at the markets) the loan of a pair of her quality black stockings to wear. I had my own pair of ballet flats to wear on my feet. My sister also provided a heavy long trench coat I could wear until I revealed underneath for the interview. Then with Craig driving us, we headed for the hotel shortly after 2.15pm.

Once there, Sue knowing the layout of the hotel, organised to get me quickly inside and to probably where the interview was going to take place. I sat very self-conscious in the long trench coat, that any person walking past us, would have thought I was someone acting out a part in a cheap B grade detective movie fantasy. A short time later saw a heavily built guy in his forties, along with a quite tall woman in her mid-thirties (I thought) introduce themselves to me. Both of them remembered my sister fondly judging from their cordial greetings with Sue.

The room we then walked into and sat down in was some sort of large meeting room/hall. The owner, whose name I now knew as Dominic/Dom, (the lady’s name was Trudy) bluntly asked me why I wanted to work there. Sue took over from that point on, first damning me for not having a big bust, but then talking up the fact I had a lot of experience as a barmaid back in Wagga and that my old boss would confirm it if Dom wanted to ring him. I handed over my folder with my old boss’s written reference in it for them to read, as my own contribution to the interview.

Dominic wasted little time in ringing up the hotel and asking for my old boss. After he was connected, it saw a lot of questions (unable to be understood by Sue or me were the muffled replies) and some exclamations from Dominic, as he listened to things my old boss was saying about me. When Dom hung up, he quickly asked me how to make a "tequila sunrise" and after I answered him, just as rapidly asked about a “screaming orgasm” (another popular drink) and did so several more times, before Trudy remarked that I seemed to know how to make a cocktail.

Dominic still seemed to appear as if he wasn’t that interested. So I decided to take on my own defence and cheekily asked him about some of the limitations in his licence. This seemed to set him off, asking me what I’d know about that. I quickly told him about how my old boss had thought about a set up similar to this one at his hotel. Then needlessly reminding him I didn’t have big boobs, told him I thought that the patrons mightn’t be too upset about me not being topless, if I worked in an outfit like this…… standing up casually and revealing the outfit I wore under the trench coat.

After removing the coat I walked over to the far wall wiggling my butt hopefully, before stopping to reach over a table there and pick up a “heaven placed” metal tray on it. I then mimicked picking up empty glasses. After deliberately bending over slightly and pausing (to show off my satin clad derrière), I began doing an imaginary wipe of the table top, before turning round and walking back to sit down at my seat, placing the tray on the floor beside me.

As I sat down, Trudy loudly remarked to Dom (and in a rather pleased tone I thought) how I’d just showed him exactly what she had talked about to him several times……“Men might like looking at titties, but give them some one pretty, wearing sexy underwear and they’ll stare till their blind and drink another gallon of booze” she told him confidently. Dom still didn’t appear to be impressed with my theatrics, so I stood up and asked Trudy where the nearest serving lounge was and would she lead me there. Cheekily telling Sue to bring her old boss along as well, I asked Trudy to lead the way. She did so while smiling perhaps at my audacity, but apparently willing to humour me to see what I intended to do now.

The bar Trudy led me to, luckily wasn’t the main public bar. Then without asking permission, I quickly walked to the side entrance of the bar and behind it, moving over to where the beer taps were and a barmaid was serving. I asked one of two people waiting there what they wanted to drink. My sexy attire hadn’t gone unnoticed by the patrons that had seen me walk into the bar and the duty barmaid seemed more than happy to stand back and let a cheeky stranger do her job for her.

I ended up serving drinks for the next ten minutes. Beer as well as a few cocktail requests and several simple spirits orders, all very efficiently I might add. Each time I’d hand the patron’s money to the now grinning barmaid, who did the till work for me, while she thanked such and such whenever they tipped all or part of the change she handed them.

With a casual remark that I’d go and collect the empties to the serving barmaid, I walked out from behind the bar picking up a metal tray at the entrance and proceeded to walk/sashay across the room to several tables (again shamelessly wiggling my butt). I began talking to patrons there as I cleared the tables of empties, casually showing off the tops of my girls and walking away, showing my satin clad bottom. I just hoped that every pair of eyes at the tables I just cleared was staring at it. When I eventually came back behind the bar after collecting a second tray of empty glasses, I knowledgably started filling up the dishwasher with the empties. Then nonchalantly going back to a now suddenly more crowded serving area, helped serve animated patrons all wanting me to serve them and not the actual on duty barmaid (broadly grinning at my outlandish performance).

Dominic, my sister and Trudy had been standing together watching, before Trudy called out asking the patrons if they liked the look of the new costumes the hotel was thinking of getting for the staff. The loud shouts of approval had her turning towards Dominic and smiling broadly. I think she might have mouthed “see what I mean”. Dominic came over and told Gail (the barmaid I’d barged in on) to “carry on serving”, before asking me to join him and Trudy back in the interview room.

When we all sat down in there again, Dominic still wasn’t ready to admit he’d been silently wrong about not wanting to hire me. So instead he asked what days and hours I could work, before Trudy told him to stop being a galah and just hire me. Then turning to me and my sister, Trudy gave us a huge smile before telling me to wait around. She said she needed to get some paperwork for me to fill out. Dom and her then got up and left the two of us alone. Both my sister and I were grinning at each other like Cheshire cats before reaching over to hug me. She then told me I was on my own working here after today and that neither of us should ever tell mum or dad about the place.

When Trudy came back in about ten minutes later, she was accompanied by two other women, obviously both barmaids worked there by their “sans tops”. They introduced themselves (one must have known Sue already) and asked me to give them a quick fashion show. So I stood up and strutted my stuff to obvious approval of my lingerie outfit along with the usual where did you buy it and how much. Sue took back over again, talking about the outfits I wore and so forth, while I filled out an A4 piece of paper with my various personal details Trudy had given me. Trudy then rang on her mobile ordering drinks from one of the bars, with Sue naming my poison for me.

The four of them then sat around and played the “do you remember so and so game” while I sat and listened on silently. Another barmaid came in and handed us our drinks, staring at me and the outfit I was wearing, before going back outside and closing the door. Trudy told the four of us that she’d already begun spreading the word about a possible change of uniform if she had her way with the big Lug (Dominic). She then asked the two barmaids if they thought that 2 outfits per girl would be enough and was told yes.

She then stated that Dom might also have to look into stocking them for patrons to consider buying for wives or girlfriends as well (that was one of my ideas I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to mention). Trudy wondered aloud if Dom was already on the phone trying to find out if the topless policy could be abandoned and whether some of the other regulations might be able to be relaxed as well. This got her, my sister and the two barmaids talking about things I still had no idea of yet.

A short time later Trudy broke the gathering up saying that “old tight arse” wasn’t paying the three of them to sit on their backsides and drink his profits. Shortly after the other two left, Sue and I gave Trudy our own thanks and stood up to leave. Trudy told me she’d phone me tomorrow around 5 to tell me what day and time she wanted me to start and she’d give me the rest of my work roster for the month as well (OMG!). She needlessly reminded me she wanted me to wear the same outfit when I started, so Dominic could gauge other patron’s reactions and so that some of the other staff could see what they might be wearing.

She then added that Jill (so “that” was the name of the barmaid who’d served us our drinks) was already talking about wearing a short skirt with her corset, to which my sister reminded Trudy that I was actually wearing a “Basque”, not a corset which had Trudy replying “whatever” before adding she hoped that Dom could find out who made them so he could buy them cheaply, as if everything was already a forgone conclusion.

After putting on my trench coat to walk outside, Trudy escorted the two of us out to the car, that Craig was now asleep in. The car door opening quickly woke him as both of us then got in without saying a word. Craig started the car and slowly drove out of the hotel’s car park before asking what had happened. The rest of the car trip saw Sue giving a dramatic retelling of all that had happened, while I found out what had been said while I’d been working in the bar.

When we got home I retreated to my room and got changed into something more respectable, while Craig’s request to see what I had on was ruthlessly quashed by Sue. We all settled on toasted sandies for tea, a bit of TV then and an early night, which shortly after I had turned off my light and was beginning to fall off to sleep, was interrupted by about half an hour of noisy Sue, “ahem…I meant to type sex” from the bedroom next to mine.

Lectures the following day seemed to last forever and I got home, anxiously waiting for Trudy to phone me, which didn’t happen when she said she’d phone me. By 7pm and with no phone call, my sister was telling me not to be too upset as it seemed as if Dom and Trudy must have decided against hiring me.

Just before 8pm Trudy “did” ring and apologised for the delay (I wasn’t going to tell her what I’d been thinking) and gave me my start date (the following Sunday 10am till 4pm) and my other two shifts, all of which were the least popular for people tending bar I already knew from experience. The Tuesday and Thursday 10am till 4pm shifts, meant that I’d probably have to do any clean-up missed from the previous night’s closing staff, as well as missing out on the lucrative tips from patrons coming in after finishing work at 3.30 to 5pm.

Still my hourly pay rate was considerably higher than back at my old hotel in Wagga and I’d just have to wait and see about the “tips” (the spellcheckers correct). When I related my hours to Sue, she thought the same way I did, but said that in time and if I proved myself, I’d very likely see my hours changing to include “better tipping” hours. The only good thing about my start date was that patrons generally left change behind when paying for meals and drinks. Besides which (my sister informed me) in areas like the beer “garden”, usually the patrons were better behaved.

I spent the rest of the week going to my lectures or on Tuesday and Thursday or doing whatever I felt like, since I didn’t feel like studying. I’d also decided not to tell any of my fellow students about my part time work…..for obvious reasons!

One thing I had done a few days after arriving was to inquire into cricket clubs in the local area, where I might possibly be able to find a game even though it was in the latter half of the season. There were lots of playing fields in the area along with a number of cricket clubs, but I quickly found out that the NSWWCA (New South Wales Women’s Cricket Association) was considerably larger than the almost non-existent set up for women playing cricket back in Wagga. I also discovered that although they had thriving competitions over several grades (and mostly on turf), that on attending several practices that I’d been invited to attend over the phone, the standard was far lower than men’s grade cricket back in Wagga.

There were some good women players at the four practices I attended and both clubs were eager to have me play for them. But it became obvious after I bowled around a dozen balls to different batters (NOT batsmen or batswomen thank you very much) and being able to comfortably bat against their fast bowlers, I decided instead to keep looking for a men’s competition I could play in.

Sue told me about a well-known cricket club over near where she worked, called the Western Suburbs District Cricket Club based at Pratten Park Ashfield (they were known as the Magpies or Maggies because their colours were predominantly black with a dash of white). I spoke with the club contact when I rang them, who told me I should stick to playing women’s cricket. He didn’t even invite me to turn up and at least be looked at. It was the same with a club at Parramatta and I even looked at subdistricts (shires) on the website.

In the end I phoned a cricket club, actually close by to where I lived who played in the premier competition in Sydney. The club Fairfield Liverpool Cricket Club (FLCC) would normally have been my first choice because of convenience, but a quick look on their website tended to show they were a young and struggling club. (They actually had had a test fast bowler play at the club – Doug Bollinger back in 2002 till he retired in 2016). A phone call to the secretary there didn’t receive the “thanks but no thanks” I’d received elsewhere so far either. He did suggest if I wanted to, I could turn up at one of their practices, although now very late in the season and they’d look at me (he seemed sceptical of my claims). He also hastily added that he wasn’t making any promises to me about actually getting a game in 5th grade (their lowest side).

In the end I did turn up at one of their practices and immediately ran into the “credibility problem” faced by any woman wanting to try and play in a men’s competition. I was first of all told about the costs of playing. It was obviously assumed by someone that once I heard about how much it cost, I’d quickly skulk away with my tail between my legs.

I simply smiled and muttered some sort of acknowledgement (although I wanted to choke at the cost) and after several uncomfortable minutes of indecision by the club representative I’d been foisted upon, was led over and introduced to the 5th grade captain. He (Trevor) simply asked me what I did and upon answering him, was directed to a small bucket of cricket balls with the advice to find one and mark out my run up, adding not to get in the road of anybody already bowling.

I quickly chose the best ball I could find from the bucket, the contents of which any self-respecting mongrel dog would have ignored entirely, before heading over to the bowling area to begin pacing out my run up. Several guys were looking on in silent contempt, but at least one of them had the manners to introduce himself to me (Colin) and wasn’t surprised to observe (and comment on) that I marked out a spin bowler’s length run up distance from the stumps. He even informed me when it was my turn to bowl in the rotation.

My first (practice) ball for what would become my home club wasn’t that surprising to me although everyone else was. The batsman who I bowled it to seemed stunned. The trajectory of that first ball was faultless, as was my length and it bounced while sharply spinning away to my left “just” catching the faintest of edges off the batsman’s bat, that could /(should) have possibly seen him caught in slips, if not by the wicketkeeper himself.

The fact that I ripped the ball so hard that it gave off a slight buzzing sound through the air wasn’t lost on my sceptical bowlers audience either, judging from the comments they made. The usual loud shout of “how’s that” by several of them, along with laughter saw me being congratulated by Colin. A few more hopeless prods forward by the same batsman against my next few deliveries soon had me being accepted by the club’s 5th grade bowling fraternity.

A half hour and two batsman later, my bowling along with the loud encouragement being voiced by the other bowlers in the 5th grade net, now saw quite a crowd gathered behind the nets at the back of the batsman, as well as several older players watching from behind me. I loved cricket, especially bowling, so it was like being in nirvana and my happy grin showed how pleased I was to be there.

A tap on my shoulder found someone asking me could I follow him, which saw me being directed to another net to bowl. I quickly discovered that the batsman at this other net was far more capable than those I’d been bowling to and it helped me lift my efforts bowling to him. When that batsman misread my handgrip and edged a “wrong on” up in the air, high enough and long enough for a possible catch by someone fielding at bat-pad, the bowlers at this net quietly congratulated me. When I deliberately bowled “a shooter” with my next delivery that saw it go quickly under the bat and hit the stumps, my bowling compatriots were loud in their praise as were several other people looking on.

I ended up spending the rest of the practice bowling in that net (which was their 2nd grades). Often they’d ask me to bowl a certain type of ball, wrong un, leggie, topspinner, flipper, slider, arm ball. Generally I was able to do so, usually landing it on the correct spot on the pitch, to cause the batsman playing it some difficulties. I only had one ball smashed out of the nets and even that was a skewed miss hit.

At the end of the practice I was welcomed to go to the clubhouse for a drink, where upon I was asked to relate where I had played and in which grade. I was also told (sadly for me) the club’s last game of the season was starting that weekend, but they’d like me to play if someone dropped out of one of the teams at the last minute (alas that didn’t occur). But the secretary who I’d spoken to on the phone, was now “demanding” I write down my contact details for him to notify me when practices started up for next season, which he told me would be sometime around the middle of June or at the latest the beginning of July.

With the news of a new season starting sometime in June or July flying around in my head, lectures the next day didn’t seem so bad. My sister (when I’d told her about what had happened) the previous night after I came home, just sighed loudly and said I should be thinking about other types of balls………and not cricket ones either.

Caught In Slips Pt 11
By Christie Myr

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To celebrate reaching double figures, I've changed the photo on the summary page. I just hope there's no problems with it, or else it's back to the old clipart picture. I’d also like to thank Emily 63 from Victoria in Australia for her advice about names and places mentioned in this chapter.
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When the following Sunday morning rolled around I was quickly out of bed and showered, legs smoothly exfoliated (necessary everything considered) and generally primped. Then wearing a billowy caftan over my Basque and panties set, (that I’d shed once I got to work) I got into Sunny and drove towards the hotel near Liverpool, about 20 minutes away from home. My first Sunday shift was from 10am till 4pm and Trudy (the supervisor) had told me over the phone that I’d be working in the beer garden bar.

On arriving I was quickly directed to Trudy, who asked if I’d worn my outfit. I quickly showed her by lifting the caftan off over my head and shoulders that I’d come dressed for work. She chuckled saying she’d introduce me around the staff, telling me that she’d already reminded everyone there, I’d only ever worked at country hotels (pubs), and they’d probably need to show me “the ropes” (?) and warn me about any of the usual Sunday regular patrons!

I was quickly introduced to each person working (until noon) at the five bars in the hotel and who I’d hopefully be working with during the day if things turned out alright. Four of the five rostered on were women, but even the sole guy working that morning remarked on how different my attire looked compared to the women’s uniforms and thought it was a good idea, that he hoped the customers would approved of. The women all seemed pleased both with my outfit, along with my youthful fresh faced appearance. Trudy explained to each employee she introduced me to, that she wanted feedback from them after their shift as to how the patrons reacted to what I was wearing.

During the shift and provided my outfit seemed to be accepted by the majority of hotel patrons, they’d all get given some time to go try on some of the eight sample outfits that had been purchased to choose from. Trudy told them they’d only be allowed two at no cost if the change was implemented, “provided” of course the licensee (Dominic) agreed to everything.

I suddenly remembered to tell Trudy that I’d bought along some of my sister’s outfits, if anyone wanted to try them on for size. She chivvied me to go back to my “car” and bring them back inside, where they were immediately seized upon by the other women and passed around and held up infront of them, to see how they looked. It was already very obvious that I was the junior barmaid “up top” compared to each of these women, although they were all keen to wear something sexy if it meant no longer having to wear tissue paper for clothing (referring to their see through thin gauze tops) and their breasts could be given support.

I’d also brought along a thin wrap around skirt that ended just above my knees, explaining to Trudy that I was worried about working in the beer garden, wearing only lingerie might upset some of the families who had children with them. My remark was greeted with boisterous laughter from everyone and was told that would be the least of my worries. With Trudy telling me that the till float was $500, I was ushered by the girl nominated to look after me over to the beer garden / sports lounge bar counter, where I’d mainly be working today, telling me I could call her Samantha, Sammie or preferably just Sam if I had any problems.

My next surprise was finding out that the mess I’d expected to have to clean up even before I started work, wasn’t there and remarked on it to Sam. She told me that Trudy was adamant about every bar having to be spotless before staff could leave of a night after closing up and “staffies”*

I soon watched both the sport's lounge as well as the beer garden begin to quickly fill with patrons, even though it wasn’t yet five minutes past opening. Almost immediately I was serving thirsty demanding patrons, every one of them acknowledging my sexy attire sometimes, quite bawdily but almost always accompanied by the silver in the change handed back (sometimes the gold too) being left on the counter (for the tip jar). In next to no time, I bit the bullet and nervously headed out into the beer garden to start collecting empty glasses.

As soon as I stepped out from behind the bar the wolf whistles and cat calls grew suddenly louder and I saw Trudy looking on from nearby watching me work outside in the garden. There had to be about 50 tables out there, (66 Trudy told me later) each with a giant shade umbrella over them and at 10.20am (on a SUNDAY) about a quarter of them were occupied by at least 3 people, (mainly 5 or 6) per table. I quickly scurried from table to table picking up empty glasses and placing them on the tray I was holding while receiving lots of remarks, compliments or bawdy invitations. But NO ONE made a move to touch me.

In return I’d give varying answers to some of the patron’s suggestions including several cheeky ones, along with a beaming smile, especially to the male patrons I thought were old enough to be in a museum. Any of the women patrons were spoken to courteously, answering the obvious questions about my attire. Without exception the women all seemed to agree they preferred to see a barmaid walk around in a sexy outfit any day instead of wearing one of the usual see through tops.

When I came back in carrying another full tray of empties, Trudy was serving behind the bar and told me that Samantha had gone to get changed into one of the samples her and Dominic had gotten, whispering to me that Samantha had seen how much the patrons liked what I had on and how easily they were tipping me! Knowing already what my sister looked like upstairs in a Basque compared to me, was nothing to how Samantha’s girls looked when she reappeared wearing my sister’s red outfit. The patrons must have agreed, as the noisy appreciation she received when she returned in the outfit, even had patrons from out in the beer garden coming in to find out what all the commotion was about.

Samantha simply offered a cheeky grin that I would come to know so well and slid in next to me beside Trudy, before informing Trudy in a loud voice if you want to work in this bar, you’d better get with the program and wear the new uniform, or piss off. Her “deliberately obvious” loud remark to Trudy was greeted by another loud outburst of catcalling and bawdy suggestions, before Trudy left the bar, definitely pleased with the results of the lingerie outfits on the patrons so far.

After about an hour of constantly serving drinks with Sam, Trudy came back into the bar and asked me to go with her. She then led me to another bar further inside the hotel about 20 metres away and separated by a solid wall and door, where she told me to go through and serve there while Kirri went and got changed as well. The door opened to a narrow hall where after several paces, I found Kirri serving drinks. Walking up to her and saying I was her relief, saw the same reactions from the patrons that I’d already received out in the beer garden and sports lounge. Almost immediately there was a sudden rush for orders of new drinks from the patrons, which I frantically tried to fulfil while Kirri told me (with a huge smile) she’d be back as soon as possible.

I cheerfully did my best to serve patrons now suddenly eager to drink and talk to a girl wearing lingerie. They’d accompany it with tips both in silver as well as gold coins for the tip jar. By the time Kirri came back to take back over serving, I was wishing I’d been born with four arms and hands and three mouths, before her startling reappearance saw a new surge towards her instead of me by patrons clamouring for drinks.

It wasn’t that I had done anything wrong that caused the sudden change. I put it down to the dangerously straining Basque she was wearing. It only just managed to hide “her nipples”, while the briefs were definitely in danger of tearing under the strain placed on them. If it hadn’t been for the fact the panties she had on were dark purple in colour, Kirri could have been arrested for being indecently dressed in public and this was at a topless hotel!!

And just as before Trudy was nearby watching everything with an eagle eye, a smile as wide as a lorry on her face. She simply signalled by her hands to me to tell me I could go back to my beer garden sports lounge bar. When I got there, I now found Dominic standing behind the bar besides Samantha serving, but only those customers who didn’t mind who served them drinks. Excusing myself to him, I seamlessly slid in and took over from him, with Samantha asking Dom if he wouldn’t mind picking up the glasses from outside before he left, which he soundlessly obeyed.

Around 12.30 the pace of serving turned even more hectic in both the beer garden as well as in the sports lounge as customers started coming in for lunch. After that it didn’t really see a lull serving drinks until almost 3pm. Sam(antha) and I were now working like a finely tuned machine, taking turns clearing tables, or helping the other serving drinks. Sam quickly discovered how fast I was at making cocktails and quickly handed over those orders to me while she’d do any overflows or serve beer.

I never meant to on my first day (and normally wouldn’t have back at the hotel in Wagga) but Sam’s constantly remarking about how high the tip level jar was getting, was now a distraction made worse by Sam offering to hear my guess as to how much was in it. Just after the lunch time rush had eased, she remarked in a quiet moment about how many gold coins there were in it (which means either $1 or $2 currency, while silver coins range from 5 cents up to 50 cents per coin).

The tip jar certainly did seem to have a lot of gold coins in it, much more than I’d see back in my old hotel. Simply telling her I had no idea, left her to give her own estimate, which she’d be constantly updating every 15 minutes or so. She was forever thanking me for letting her borrow one of my sister’s outfits she had on, saying she just hoped that Dominic would approve the new outfits she and some of the girls now wanted to wear. She also hoped that Dominic would buy the better quality merchandise she’d seen inside (which was far too small in size for Sam to wear) and not afterwards buy cheap rubbish he thought looked the same and he could save money on.

Before I seemed to realise it and with a quick glance to the clock on the wall, I saw it was almost four o’clock and time to finish my shift. I’d worked constantly all day taking only enough time to look after Mother Nature. I asked Sam if today was a usual Sunday trade, to be told that it seemed to be much busier than usual. She thought that was because she saw and heard a few of the regulars phoning others and telling them about the sexy outfits we were wearing, as well as about the new young piece serving the garden. Sam reckoned that new staff always caused a short spike in business, before everyone grew use to them as an attraction, which really didn’t surprise me to hear.

Just before 4pm our two replacement bar staff along with most of the other staff turned up for work. Sam’s enthusiastic recommendation about wearing the lingerie as a new uniform, while gushingly pointing out the almost overflowing tip jar, had several of the incoming staff somewhat annoyed. One of the new shift staff, Barb, eyes lit up at the full tip jar Samantha showed her. She started to complain about not being told in advance to wear lingerie as a uniform today, (adding cattily that “we two” must have “obviously” been told about it) and asked if there were any spare samples she could wear for her shift. Samantha told her to go and check with Trudy.

She then selfishly asked Rick (the other bartender rostered on for the shift Sam and I were finishing) would he’d mind if she asked Trudy to move him to another bar and swap with a barmaid to move over to this one, if she could find some lingerie to wear. She then asked Samantha in a desperate tone of voice, if there were no spare outfits to wear that fitted her, could she borrow hers! (yeech)

Rick was a genuine piece of eye candy if ever there was one to my way of thinking. He was miffed about Barb’s request and it might have turned extremely unpleasant, if Trudy hadn’t appeared almost practically out of thin air and asked me if I could possibly work an extra part shift till 6pm. She said it was so that the evening staff could judge for themselves if they wanted to wear the lingerie or stick to their normal apparel. I was happy to agree (I mean it WAS my 1st day there and I didn’t want to lose the job by not trying to appear to want to help out), not to mention the extra money would always be useful!

Trudy turning up when she did also allowed her to hear Barb’s comments. So she calmly took Rick aside to talk to and then I saw him follow her somewhere else. Barb didn’t seem to think twice about Rick leaving and again asked if there was any spare lingerie for her to try on to see if it fitted. Sam exasperatedly said she’d go and find out, while also taking the tip jar with her (no flies on her) and placed a new empty tip jar on the bar counter for the next shift. I didn’t see her again before I left.

I was genuinely surprised 15 minutes into the shift, to actually find myself beginning to like Barb’s sense of humour, having been worried by her treatment of Rick was her normal disposition. She had quickly gone and gotten changed into the top she usually wore for work, reappearing in a see through gauze tissue uniform top and immediately began serving patrons, although far more patrons wanted me to serve them instead of her. Just before 5pm Trudy reappeared now dressed in an incredibly saucy black corset with matching coloured suspenders and stockings and low heels telling Barbara to go and look at the left overs in the conference room and see if she could find anything that fitted her.

While she was gone, Trudy thanked me for staying back to help out on my 1st day, as well as telling me that Sue and I should give her a bill for the cost of the garments I’d bought along with me, adding that should include the ones I had on now. She told me I’d be reimbursed in cash for them on Tuesday, plus I’d get to keep the outfit I had on already, as well as getting two free lingerie outfits for my new uniform, once everyone was in agreement over the preferred styles.

I spent the next hour visiting the three other bars in the hotel, where I showed off my lingerie outfit to the patrons while the girls working those bars looked on as I served the patrons. In each bar, the barmaid(s) noticed and commented on the sudden increase in tips, as well as how the patrons reacted to what I was wearing. They were all in favour of the new outfit idea. This was even though their breasts and nipples (always bigger than mine) were openly on display, while you could only see the top half of my bust. I suppose that walking round showing off my derrière in satin panties (as a distraction) may have encouraged a few more tips, but I think that the regular female staff just wanted to have their breasts supported more firmly than wearing no bra at all.

Sam had said something like that earlier on. In the bar I’d just come from, Christina (the poor Yorkie thing) had a set of girls that needed a size E bra to allow her breast to be restrained sensibly. She definitely liked the idea of support for “her” bosoms and to hell with people seeing her in underwear (she claimed that provided they were clean, she was more than happy to show off her knickers).

Trudy caught up with me just before 6.15pm and after putting my caftan back on, escorted me to my car and I drove off home. When I got home and explained to my sister about how she’d just lost her sexy lingerie, Sue simply said she’d have never believed me if she didn’t know Trudy as well as she did, promptly telling me the bill for her lingerie would be $450 and $100 for my two outfits. When I handed Trudy the invoice two days later, she didn’t bat an eyelid and simply handed me over the money (along with my tip share from Sunday) when I signed off for the day, saying if I had any more good ideas I shouldn’t hesitate to tell her about them. Oh, in case you were wondering, my ½ share of the tip jar for my 1st day there was $77.30 which was far higher than anything I’d ever gotten from the hotel back in Wagga.

The sexy lingerie outfits were happily accepted by the female staff along with enthusiastic patrons alike. Soon variations came into play, with some staff wearing shorts, some wearing skirts (with or without suspenders and stockings), while sometimes it was simply neither. The outfits voted on as the preferred choice as the staff uniform saw the majority choosing a full lace up corset (with or without briefs) which although very arousing, also limited body movements (at times). But almost to a person, they all agreed they were no longer suffering from shoulder pain any longer, because their breasts were now supported. A few of the women (myself included) chose Basques and matching briefs, which in my case allowed me to wear a shorty shorts or a skirt when I preferred to.

My silent idea (Trudy’s suggestion) of displaying and selling uniforms for the public to buy, saw it becoming a “small” additional income stream for the hotel, while increased patronage and sales of alcohol actually stayed higher after the introduction of the new uniform. The licencing permit was reviewed, that would allow Dominic to save quite a deal of money at the following renewal of the licence. The various male bar staff working at “The Sheaf” came to accept wearing tops similar to the see through gauze tops the women used to wear. It seems as if the female patron’s liked men’s muscular chests (which had to be a job requirement from then on) too.

After several months of working at The Sheaf” my bank account was now “far more” healthier then when I had first moved to Sydney. I was also now ensconced in a very good study group for most of my university subjects, so everything seemed quite rosy. Of course I never let on to any of my university friends about my part time job and because I didn’t do Saturday night shifts (greatly in demand by staff, due to “tips” factor) the chances of any of them finding out was almost too remote to imagine.

Sue and I managed to drive home to Wagga to be with mum and dad for Easter and it was a fantastic (if too short) break to be with family. My brother Greg was now serving operational “sea duty” and the number of curios and knickknacks waiting for Sue and I at home would have enabled us to set up a gift stall at any outdoor markets.

When we got back to Fairfield again, Sue told me something in private that if our parents had found out about, might not have caused the wonderful short stay we had back home in Wagga. My sister was almost two months expecting and decided over Easter that her and motherhood weren’t quite yet ready to meet. She asked me (and I did) to accompany her to the clinic that did her birth termination and the atmosphere in and around the unit for several weeks after was decidedly different. But slowly and eventually Sue found her happy place again and saw both me and her boyfriend being more relaxed around her.

My barmaid’s job was going well and I seemed to get on with all the other staff and even the licensee Dominic. I now found myself rostered onto more shifts where the tipping (which had quickly slowed down from my first day’s shift) was much better, although I couldn’t complain either way, because I was making far more money at “The Sheaf” than I could ever have dreamed of working at the hotel back in Wagga. Between my “Sheaf” money and my scholarship monies, my bank balance was gently rising. Not dramatically you understand, but inching well above what it had been when I’d first arrived at Fairfield thank you very much.

My love life wasn’t much to boast about, although I’d often go to parties being thrown by university colleagues if the party wasn’t too far away. I also had Craig (and a reluctant sister) invite me along in the company of one of his “mates” every so often, but Sue and I had already agreed that unless the guy was a Leonardo DiCaprio look alike, I shouldn’t ”shit in my own nest” so to speak, so my mattress remained still not broken in yet.

Around the middle of June I received a phone call from the Fairfield Liverpool cricket club (FLCC) advising me that try outs for the lower grade teams was commencing at the end of June. The secretary who phoned said that although the club was happy to encourage anyone to play cricket, he’d also give me the names and numbers of several women’s teams that I could contact to arrange to trial at. But in the next breath, he told me that the club was actively attempting to recruit enough women for a ladies team and he was hoping that I’d want to be part of that. I hung up thanking him for the information and tossed the paper scrawl I’d been taking everything down on into the kitchen tidy bin.

Thank goodness when Sunday June 21st came round and I drove over to the FLCC’s home ground to trial. Quite a few guys remembered my last visit, although a number of others were quite bemused to see a small woman in shorts and tee wanting to trial with a men’s team. The try outs were being organised for players hoping to play from 2nd to 5th grade (as the 1st grade side squad had already been determined) although a few players trialling were asked to attend the 1st grade’s practices on their days.

The trials that morning had over 80 players turning up (many in club t-shirts) to try out for a place in one of the FLCC teams. I quickly found myself being moved over to the large squad practicing warm ups followed by fielding drills, waiting a turn to either bowl or bat in front of the club’s selectors. As each team normally allowed for only 11 players, the mathematics alone showed that of the 80 plus guys (and 1 girl) there’d be a few people disappointed by the end of the day (4 teams meant 44 players, so over 36 hopeful aspirants might end up having to go elsewhere to play cricket, although first day’s trials never saw anyone - except the completely hopeless……being told they weren’t good enough to be selected, I’d already been advised.

As for myself, I bowled reasonably well in the nets, troubling every batsman I bowled to, although I was completely at sea when “I” batted, which didn’t help raise the value of my stock in the selector’s eyes. The club secretary also reminded me that the women’s team trials would be taking place in a month’s time! Having seen the number of male spin bowlers trialling and judging their skill level against my own, I was confident that provided there wasn’t any discrimination, my ability to bowl leg spin could even see me in 4th grade or at worst the 5th grade team.

To make sure, I paid my full season’s fees during the first day’s trial to the club’s treasurer, which made him have to ring around and find out if they had a clothing size small enough for me to wear the club’s training shirt to future training sessions.

Premier competition clubs in Sydney included a training outfit (sponsors logo) as well as a club cap in their yearly season fee, which (partly) accounted for the outrageously high costs to play for a team in it. FLCC’s policy rules stated that any person having paid their full season fees was automatically to be selected in one of their teams for each match, so my season’s payment up front, was my own way of bending the selectors arms to choose me to play……….sneaky I admit, but rules are rules.

But by the time the trials were over for the day, the very same treasurer (accompanied by the secretary) came over and told me that they didn’t yet have my clothing size available in stock, but would have them in a few week’s time. He also took the opportunity to tell me that if I wasn’t selected for the men’s teams, the women’s team’s annual fees would be $130 less, which I’d be refunded if I played with them.

After two more Saturday trials, it wasn’t a case of where I’d play (the male or female teams) but more a case of how high up in the grades of the men’s teams I’d be selected to play. It wasn’t just my spin bowling that seemed to impress team selectors. It also helped that I was always willing to help out with the packing up after practice (when everyone else suddenly vanished) as well as in the club house, serving food and cans of alcohol and soft drinks behind the counter (obviously easy with MY experience). I’d even help with the vacuuming afterwards before I left, which was making me appreciated among the non-playing volunteers, as well as becoming better known by the club’s behind the scenes workers which included the selectors.

By the end of July, I was more or less training with the 3rd grade squad who now considered me to be one of the team. I was also being allowed to bowl at the 1st and 2nd grade batsmen if a slow bowler wanted to take a breather, or was next to bat in the rotation. Both they and I enjoyed the experience. My line and length offered the 1st and 2nd grade batters as much difficulty playing my bowling as they’d expect from opposition players. So I’d have to privately admit I felt just a touch cheated when my name was read out for the first game in the 5th grade side! The 5th grade (along with all the club’s teams) was to play a 2 day trial game the following week against North Sydney to prepare for the forthcoming season.

The 5th grade captain Trevor didn’t seem to mind that a girl had been selected in his side to play. He warmly welcomed me to the fold, although quietly asking me to tell him if during the game I suffered any “ladies” problems. Then if need be I could quietly talk to him and let him know so he could accommodate me! It was just like my first few games back with the WWCC and realising this, I didn’t take any offence at Trevor’s well intended advice.

Our trial match was listed to be played at a ground called Tunks Park somewhere near Northbridge. A few questions as to where that was, saw Trevor telling me he’d better drive me there (along with another new player to the side). So that was how I ended up playing on one of the more pleasant grounds around Sydney (as it was so close to Sydney harbour)

The night before my trial game against a team called North Sydney, saw me making sure my playing gear was cleaned and my boots polished. Dad’s words when I was younger “even if you can’t play cricket well, you can at least look like someone who can” was too ingrained into my psyche.

When Trevor’s “truck” (old sedan) pulled up next to where I was waiting outside my unit the next morning, my excited haste to get in the back (as Jerry, the other player, was in the front passenger’s seat) might give you an indicator as to how I felt to be playing cricket again (even if it was only a trial match). The trip to Northbridge was an adventure in itself considering the condition of Trevor’s car. I quickly grew use to hearing the clutch failing to properly engage the car’s gearbox, causing crunching and grinding sounds as well as short sharp exhaust explosions. Anyway the car finally got us there.

Of course Trevor’s car ensured that we arrived at the ground with only minutes to prepare. (Competition rules stated somewhere that umpires and players were supposed to arrive at a game, 1 hour prior to the commencement of said game) I also saw several other cars from either team arriving at about the same time, or even later than we turned up. Both teams chose to warm up as far from each other as possible. Being so far away and since I was wearing my hair tucked up under my club cap and wearing whites, no one from the opposition had any idea as to who I was until I took my cap off to retie my white cascading locks. That started the usual comments from our opponents about girls trying to play a men’s sport, (along with the same old jokes).

Trevor won the toss and decided to bat first.

I quickly found out our team even had its own “groupie” called Darren, who was a long serving club stalwart and good friend of Trevor’s. He was our scorer, which the other team also had to provide or else accept one of the opposition scoring for them, which was an unpopular past time for most players. I didn’t think so and accepted the score book from their still surprised captain before going over to the nearby shade to sit with Darren and score the innings.

It seemed as though Darren and I clicked from the start at how we wrote in the scorebooks as well as with the nitty gritty statistics. We both recorded the times each batsman went in or was out and used a dot in the scoring area of the book each time the batsman didn’t score a run. We also discovered we shared the same likes and dislikes about cricket and just about everything else in general. Our genial conversations often saw us being interrupted by players wanting to look over our shoulders to check on the score.

When the afternoon half way break came around for “tea”, it was already apparent from the lack of drinks available for the hourly “drinks break”, that anyone who hadn’t bought lunch with them had to either drive like a madman to the nearest shops, race across the field and queue with the several other game’s players already lined up at a kiosk 500 metres away, or simply starve. I mentioned to Darren about how we use to do “tea” back in Wagga and we agreed to talk about it over the phone later the following week. When our number 8 batsman walked toward the wicket to bat, I hurriedly said I had to get ready and called out for someone to replace me scoring, leaving Darren to look after scoring.

With very little in the way of building facilities for getting ready in, I was forced to stand behind a parked car to put on my thigh guard as well as a padded chest protector, which meant having to duck down very low behind the car to put the latter on. Then with my batting pads firmly strapped on I lumbered back over to sit down next to Darren. Two appeals within minutes of each other saw me getting up and putting on a helmet to walk out to take my turn to bat. The North Sydney players were expectantly watching me head out to the middle, where I marked my guard “two legs” before the umpire informed me of the state of play remaining in the over, then allowed the bowler to commence his run up to bowl.

At first the bowler (one of their opening bowlers coming back after a long spell) didn’t know what to bowl at me. Perhaps he was frightened of hitting me with the ball and hurting me. I quickly took advantage of it and scored my first run for Fairfield Liverpool, to the accompaniment of loud cheers from my own team. The timid courtesy shown to me initially by said bowler was soon thrown out and I got to “enjoy?” what all tail end batsmen get to face. That was short pitched fast bowling erratically aimed somewhere in the general direction of the stumps I was protecting.

I ended up scoring 7 runs but more importantly allowed my batting partner to score several more boundaries before he was caught out slogging towards cow corner (not caught in slips!). Our team ended up scoring just over 200 which was (in this grade) quite acceptable I found out, if perhaps not quite a pass mark that our opposition couldn’t chase down.

The final hour of play saw our fast bowlers taking a pair of wickets between the four of them, while being hammered by North Sydney’s number four batsman, who looked well above 5th grade standard. Trevor threw me the ball with about ten minutes to go, saying he wanted me to try and break up the partnership. He stood next to me, as we repositioned the field for my bowling, before heading off to his own position. I think the opposition batsman (their very good number four) decided to see what I bowled like before thinking about smashing me around, so my first delivery gave him an unexpected nasty surprise as the ball spun sharply off the pitch, snicking the edge of his bat before being dropped in slips.

The loud groan of disappointment from my teammates showed how much they wanted his wicket. My next ball a “wrong un” (a ball spinning from right to left instead of from left to right) saw the batsman picking my grip, but in trying to pull it (hit it) away behind square leg, saw it instead catching the shoulder of his bat and go skying into the air towards our square leg fieldsman, where an absolute dolly of catch was hopelessly fumbled to the ground. Further load groans, were followed by shouts of encouragement for me from my teammates, which my next ball saw the batsman nervously prod forward at the ball and miss it entirely.

The following ball saw him attempt to slog sweep me over square leg, only to again see him lobbing up a catch to the same square leg fieldsman, with the same result. “David you couldn’t catch a cold if you were living with Santa at the bloody North Pole” our captain Trevor bluntly informed him, having just witnessed the best batsmen in the opposing team being dropped three times in the same over (all relatively easy chances). My last ball saw another hopeless prod forward just managing to hit the ball along the ground back towards me.

Our 2nd change fast bowler Dennis bowled out the final over for the day, which the North Sydney batsmen delayed for as long as possible, perhaps so as not to face another over of my leg spin before the umpires pulled the stumps for close of play. Our opponents had managed to reach 2 for 69(!) and if our team had only taken just one of the catches off my bowling, our side would’ve been in a much better position for the following Saturday.

We had the usual packing up of the kit along with the normal noisy “post mortem discussion” about the day’s play, with everyone saying how unlucky we’d been for not getting the third wicket. I knew that David was feeling particularly bad about everything, although John (at slip) was noticeably silent as well. Since Trevor was responsible for the team kit, our car was the last to leave.

Turning the key on his car had the three of us inside it, hearing nothing but a loud click instead of the motor starting up. Several more attempts (and only clicks) heard a flurry of descriptively colourful obscenities being said about car batteries by Trevor, although it didn’t sound to me like the battery was to blame.

Getting out of the car without saying anything other than for Trevor to lift the car hood, with a few spot checks of the more important places to look for trouble, I found the true cause for the motor not starting. A few shouted questions from me under the hood to Trevor, then with a bit of adroit fiddling with the wiring, saw my shouting out to start it up again. This time the motor caught and slowly turning over just enough, started. I called out for him to rev it gently while I dropped the hood and wiped my now grease covered fingers on the grass nearby. Silently remembering not to put my hands anywhere near my cricket whites, I calmly got back into the rear seat and we headed for home……..Dad’s car repair classes had worked once again for a family member!

Trevor’s boisterous gratitude for my repair work quickly tempered after I informed him that his alternator was gone, as was the wiring to the distributor cap. I suggested he’d do best not to turn the engine off until he parked it outside his mechanics workshop, otherwise he’d probably need to get it towed there. The trip home was even longer than the trip there (the motor running roughly in part due to the alternator no longer charging) and in typical cricket player’s fashion, the trip was spent talking about missed opportunities and wondering about next week’s performance. After taking my kit out of the car and thanking Trevor for the lift, I went upstairs to wash the grease off my hands before trying to take my whites off. After that was done I quickly decided on BOT for dinner (Beans On toast) and watched the usual rubbish you always see on Saturday night TV, before going to bed early for my shift at The Sheaf the following morning.

At practice the following Tuesday, Trevor was declaring to all and sundry that he wanted me playing in 5th grade for the rest of the season. He was telling everyone how I seemed to know not only how to bowl leg spin, but also knew how to repair his car if it broke down at games! Hmmm, not what I really wanted to hear, but I’d much prefer to hear someone say something like that instead of saying I was “bloody hopeless”.

Lectures for the rest of the week as well as my two shifts at The Sheaf dragged a bit, so I was quite eager when Saturday came round again, this time with me driving Trevor along with the team kit to Northbridge (Jerry had organised his own lift). He told everyone the following Tuesday about how extremely unique the trip there and back was sitting low down in a car with no sides and being able to look “up” to see other car’s door handles above him……..

The second week saw us losing the trial match although I personally took three wickets for not many runs. Trevor’s friend and club stalwart Darren had agreed down at practice on Thursday afternoon, that he’d bring along his BBQ and an esky filled with ice. I’d agreed to supply about 4 kilos of steak, having the butcher I always used slice the steak thinly, along with several loaves of buttered bread. Our combined efforts allowed Darren to cook an afternoon BBQ for both teams, along with managing to sell an esky full of soon chilled soft drinks, which I’d purchased and placed in the back of Sunny along with the meat and loaves of bread.

Everyone from both teams agreed it was great not having to run around trying to find food somewhere and Darren played not only chef, but corner shop owner taking the money of everyone wanting food or drinks. Luckily for me I was able to recoup not only what I’d spent, but also make a small profit ($14), which I told Trevor I’d hand over along with any monies from future tea breaks to the club treasurer at the end of the season.

Darren eagerly volunteered to bring his small BBQ to every game from then on, as long as I could organise the food (which in return for, neither of us had to pay for our lunch or drinks) and after a few more games either away or at our 5th grade home ground, it saw the club’s reputation being given a “nice” improvement in 5th grade.

The FLCC 5th grade side often had trouble selecting teams, due to last minute player withdrawals in the higher grades and the necessary promotions they caused, so it wasn’t unusual to have a retired ex first grader (or two) reluctantly agreeing to come and play the odd game for out team. Without exception once these same retired players witnessed and tasted a Fairfield 5th’s BBQ lunch, the team soon never had to worry about asking retirees to play a game to help us out. They applauded the fact that 5th grade was making cricket enjoyable again and having them play for us actually improved our batting line enormously, because even a 1st grade player who hadn’t played for several years, was usually always far too skilful for most of the bowlers playing 5th grade (except those old dogs in other teams who’d been 1st grade bowlers themselves and were now playing retiree’s cricket in 5th grade).

I soon discovered that Trevor always knew who those players were well in advance of our playing those teams, because he was an ex 1st grader himself. He was playing in the lower grades both for enjoyment (and fun), while also helping to mentor players who could potentially play higher grades with plenty of encouraging advice. He must have seen something in me, (or else he had a crush on me) as I got to do far more bowling than I ever had at the WWCC. He’d often prepare me at the net practices for possible weaknesses in a batsman I’d face in the next game, with both of us getting a thrill if his ideas worked out that way in the actual game.

When the game against Gordon came around (in all grades) I learnt that it was historically a sort of grudge match between both clubs, because apparently they didn’t like us (for whatever reasons – although I was told of several, mainly upper class rubbish reasons for not liking the club). Our 5th grade side found itself having “four” ex 1st graders selected to play the match (definitely not normal), which matched Gordon’s usual number of retired senior players who played for them on a regular basis. Grudge game or not, retired 1st grade players all know one another and so were jokingly familiar with one another throughout the game.

It actually provided for quite a good, hard, interesting game, which along with the BBQ lunch was a novelty for the Gordon players (having played us on our 5th grade home wicket many times before where food was never available). It also made for a sociable friendly “tea” break where the old stagers from both clubs sat and reminisced over past tales and incidents. It also saw both captains publicly criticising younger players if they stepped out of line during the game saying or doing something wrong (another bizarre thing to have happen).

I turned even more bizarre when I was asked to come on and bowl. The two batsmen already in, (both ex 1st graders) had obviously been told a bit about me by someone or other (I could think of four culprits right away). Our wicketkeeper for the game Jason, (one of the four culprits I could have named) was soon talking to me before the beginning of my second over, giving my tips on what to bowl and where to land the balls, which I endeavoured to do as best I could.

It soon turned into a long dour (but deliciously enticing) struggle. I'd attempt to make every ball I bowled perfect. In return, if I made a mistake, the ball quickly found its way to or over the boundary fence, but I’d also get an acknowledgment from the batsman if I bowled an exceptional ball that beat him. I ended up bowling 22 overs unchanged (unheard of both for me and the club in our grade) and managed to take three of the four 1st graders wickets along with two other batsmen. I ended up with figures of 5 for 82 or (22-4-82-5) and was still trying to get the last ex 1st graders wicket when the umpires pulled stumps and saw the game being drawn. Gordon still needed to score 17 runs to pass our total and FLCC needing only to take the 10th and final wicket to win on first innings.

By the end of November, I was a well-known and popularly accepted person at the club, not only for playing cricket, but also because I'd helped (in a small way) to slowly change the culture of the FLCC. Our other teams soon found people who’d volunteer to come to games in 3rd and 4th grade to help out managing off field things such as food, hourly drink breaks and even the scoring. The word slowly got around the other clubs that FLCC could now provide tasty food, which cold be bought at all of our lower grades fixtures, depending on whether the other team had kiosk facilities or not at its home ground. Usually they didn't and generally appreciated our offer to buy food and drink.

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*Staffies: Free drinks that staff are “usually” allowed to have, once the public have been cleared from the premises.

I have intentionally used a BCTS member’s name (with their written approval obviously) in this chapter. Any similarity by name to any other BCTS member is entirely accidental or coincidental……provided of course you aren’t claiming to be some type of fictitious 3rd world country occupant.

I've also had to think about "another" change in the story still yet to come. My idea about music played in hotels down there, hasn't turned out to well after listening to a number of songs, none of which you could reasonably expect a 5'5" "young woman" to be able to sing alone by herself. So I now ask if anyone out there can give me a few Australian singers who are more "middle of the road quiet" and not so rough, loud and head banging. Same deal applies as before. You'll get credited or mentioned. C.M.
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Caught In Slips Pt 12
By Christie Myr

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You will read in this chapter how Janet changes her name to Cassandra (Cassie). This wasn’t part of the storyline originally, but after listening to song by an Australian singer John Farnham, an idea struck me for a “one off” nickname for her. You’ll understand better when the cause is made known for the nickname in a later chapter..... I apologise for any confusion the name change causes anyone.
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When the Xmas break came around, everyone in the club was thinking optimistically about the rest of the season. True our top 3 sides weren't doing so well (although usually only losing by the narrowest of margins) but our 4th and 5th grade teams were doing “passably” well. In fact the 5th grade side I was in were running third, and was quietly confident about the rest of the season. Usually the post Xmas draw was where the club always regularly lost players for various reasons, but it was now hoped to offset the player loss problems caused by last minute promotions to higher grades, by using old stagers who were now eager to play a game or two with our new club ethos and the afternoon meals at the tea break.

On the private side of my life, my exam results were good, my bank account was healthy, I enjoyed my part time work and was finding cricket both fun and challenging, so what more could a girl ask for. I went home to Wagga with Sue for the family’s Xmas get together hoping to give our parents the most fantastic Xmas present they could ever have imagined.

This year my sister had also asked her boyfriend Craig to join us after Xmas day which my parents were even willing to allow them to sleep together. Extra good news was hearing that my brother Greg would be home for Xmas too, so it was going to be a real family get together, the first one in three years.

There was also to be a belated 21st birthday party for me too. My unique 21st birthday present given to me by my parents was one I would never have thought of in a million years………….changing my Christian name. Dad always said he remembered the day he and mum had given me my name Maree Janet Brooks and remembering how I said I would have liked another name if I’d had the choice. Perhaps because almost straight away Sue and Greg started addressing me as Janet instead of Maree.

So he’d secretly (with mum’s help) gone and lodged all the paperwork allowing for my name to be changed (for the second and last time) to Cassandra Maree Brooks, which had always been my personal favourite. What an amazing birthday/Xmas gift!!!

Mum jokingly told all of us how her and dad had thought about changing my name to Cassiopeia (shades of Shakespeare if you recall) instead of Cassandra, although from then on mum wasn’t above calling me Cassiopeia (with a smile on her face) to friends when I was home, leaving her friends completely unaware of mum’s hidden wicked sense of humour.

Both Sue and I had wanted to ensure that the Xmas presents we bought this year for everyone were something very special and had taken a considerable amount of time discussing it since about June! In the end we decided to join forces and purchased our parents an all-expenses paid 15 day cruise, which we intentionally left open dated but had to be taken before May the following year. We each purchased separate gifts for our brother Greg.

I’m not sure what Sue and I enjoyed the most on Xmas day. Seeing mum burst into tears looking at the cruise tickets, or dad smiling like a Cheshire cat. He happily told us how wonderful we were to think of and pay for a cruise for both of them, saying it was better than any present him or mum could ever have given us. They both agreed they were going to make the present a 2nd honeymoon, because they’d been talking about it themselves so much just recently.

My gift for Greg was three full car detailing cleanings able to be redeemed at any time, because he’d written and told everyone about buying a slinky looking 10 year old 2nd hand Porche sports car on the never ever finance plan. Sue bought him lamb’s wool car seat covers in-case he didn’t already have them fitted in the car (which he didn’t). You should have seen the car. It was absolutely incredible! When he took Sue and I for a test drive, early on Xmas Eve morning, my sister breathlessly claimed afterwards that if sex was something on four wheels, it had to be this!

When Craig turned up late on Boxing Day, he quickly won over both my parents and big brother. The following day we all went out to the RSL in Wagga for tea (with dad driving). Once there Greg managed to get Craig paralytic drunk while they enjoyed swapping yarns about my sister between the two of them. Sue took it all in good humour and gloated most of the following day as Craig suffered a horrendous hangover. Greg surfaced pretty late as well but surprisingly with little effect, boasting how he’d been taught by experienced seaman how to tie one on and recover by the morning!

Greg soon showed everyone how much his body had developed since joining the navy. He’d always been as big as dad and now 6’3” was probably as heavy too, but his chest and abdomen were rippling rock hard as he showed at the pool to clear away the drinking session after effects. I swear when he walked out of the change rooms at the pool, in a matter of seconds, you could have sworn every pair of female eyes there, young and old were looking at him walk.

In almost no time at all he had several women swarming around him trying to get him to remember them from school or wherever. His arm strength allowed him to casually demonstrate his strength when he picked up two girls clinging onto an arm each as he lifted them off the ground. He did it as if they practically weighed nothing more than a feather. I only saw my brother coming home to breakfast from then on, till I had to leave to come back to work.

Sue caught up with old girlfriends at the pool while introducing Craig around to them. I discovered how much different I must’ve looked as a twenty one year old. Playing my own game of catch up with old girlfriends, I was suddenly finding myself far more interesting to guys I’d gone to school with and had totally ignored me back then. I also enjoyed the novelty of having a different guy phone to ask me out every day until I had to leave to come back to work at The Sheaf. Mum and dad still had no idea where I worked thank goodness and were just happy to see the family happily reunited once more.

I had to catch the train back down to Sydney and eventually found my way home, where I had the luxury of having a further four days free of Sue and Craig to relax by myself. When I rang Trudy to ask if there were any extra shifts going, she told me she wanted me the following morning and could I do the following ten days straight including both Saturday nights………..Helloooo Mr Money!

Back at work, patrons greeted me like a long lost relative (and not just a few were confused at my new name tag - Cassandra). I also now wanted to wear either a dark purple coloured Basque with matching bottoms or an emerald green satin body corset for my work uniform. I’d usually only worn orange, yellow or red Basques and bottoms, and never a corset. But now I wanted to find out if men might find me more desirable wearing sexy colours and outfits. Besides, I was selfishly hoping that my tips would go up accordingly! As a concession to modesty (while wearing the corset), I also planned to wear my black wrap around skirt with it, because the corset had a “string thong” bottom and no matching panties for it.

And I wasn't above occasionally bending over slightly more wearing the corset, so the patrons could see more of my derriere than normal and hopefully tip better. It DID show in the tip jar, but ONLY after Sam loudly remarked to patrons (I was gathering up glasses from tables at the time) that you could see my freckle if I bent over any further in that green get up. What some girls will do for money you might well ask!

My first game back after the Xmas break was another surprise (and shock). During my day shift on Friday I was rung up by the 3rd grade captain (I’d deliberately missed the two practices that week due to work) and advised I was temporarily being promoted out of 5th’s till further notice. I didn’t know David (the 3rd grade team captain) all that well, so having been told who we were playing and where, I just hung up and got back to serving drinks.

I over slept the next day and had to drive like the wind to get to where the 3rd grade game was being played arriving only minutes before the start. Fortunately for me, David’s “skill” as a captain saw him winning the toss and electing to bat. So I got to spend the afternoon sleeping under a nearby tree for shade before being rudely woken up and told it was time to leave by David and that we’d scored 5 for 270.

The following Saturday saw David declare our innings finished before the start of play and our team fielding for most of the afternoon in beating Mosman on 1st innings. I justified my promotion, by taking 3 for 52 and dealing with the middle order of Mosman’s strong batting line up in the process. My new captain took the time to speak to me quietly at the nets the following Tuesday. Saying he was impressed with how well I’d bowled against Mosman, but that I’d need to work closely both with him and the team’s wicketkeeper Patrick (Pat) and try to devise a simple code for the types of balls he wanted me to bowl during an over sometimes, (shades of Howling Janet back in Wagga).

I’d quickly found out that playing in 3rd grade was akin to 2nd grade cricket (skill level wise) in Wagga and also discovered that the comradery we enjoyed in 5th grade was lost playing 3rd grade. I also had to put up with a lot of whispered snide remarks (clearly heard) behind my back from opposing players and even some of my own teammates during the Mosman game. When I quietly spoke to Trevor about it, he thought it wasn’t so much prejudice by opposing players or even my own teammates for that matter, but more likely the feeling of jealousy and inadequacy they must feel playing alongside me. My questioning look had him candidly tell me I should’ve been and “would be” playing in a higher grade soon, adding if I kept bowling the way I was, he wouldn’t be surprised to see me in “ones” before too long………I was too surprised to say anything.

When Dom had decided several months previously to provide a musician to play out in the beer garden from 12 till 3 of a Sunday (if the weather permitted) none of The Sheaf staff liked the idea. Mainly because usually the musician was nothing more than an “ordinary” busker, playing chord guitar and singing slightly off key. How the patrons could put up with it and eat their lunches was something that none of the bar staff could understand. In fact, depending on how the performer played (generally terribly) I was amazed that patrons weren’t throwing their food at them in protest.

If the musician (invariably a different one, pair or even trio each week) had set up early, before the pub opened, he/they often had the amplifier set up too loud. Each time, whenever Dominic turned up (not that often of a Sunday now) he’d inevitably would walk over and turn the volume down uninvited, till it was almost inaudible! …….. Still Dom liked his idea about quiet music in the background as patrons ate Sunday lunch and swilled drinks. We only all wished he’d stay around and listen for the entire 3 hours, to hear what was being inflicting on patrons and bar staff alike.

What I never expected was to have to substitute one Sunday afternoon for a musician who had needed to be rushed to the nearest hospital by ambulance, with quite nasty glass cuts over his back, arms and hands after an inebriated patron had clumsily fallen onto him and caused the injuries. I also lost the coin toss with Sam to decide who’d clean up the mess and hose away the offending blood.

When around 1 o’clock Dominic turned up and wondered where the usual Sunday musician was, he wasn’t pleased on hearing about the accident, but seemed thankful that it wasn’t fight related. He went over and looked at the musician’s equipment and came back furiously saying that the equipment didn’t have the ability (or he couldn’t see it) to be able to play recorded music to entertain people during breaks.

It didn’t help matters having a couple of regular patrons wind him up about not having lunchtime music for patrons to listen to while he looked over the equipment, not understanding they were only having a shot at him. In fact Dominic was downright rude to Sam and me when he came back inside. He didn’t seem to care one iota at his angry outburst to either of us, so stupidly I told him "I know how to play guitar and if you want I’ll go out and bloody play for an hour or so", quickly adding as an afterthought as long as it only entailed playing and not singing……..just to shut the bugger up.

Offer made, offer accepted!

Dom furiously muttered he’d get someone to relieve me and to get my fanny out in the beer garden and start playing “immediately”! - Typical Dom, shoot first and ask who or why later on. So I went and got my skirt from behind the bar counter, putting it on as I walked outside to where the musician had been setting up and proceeded to check the amplifier and speaker connections.

I picked up the acoustic guitar (ignoring the electric one) and strummed it to see if it was in tune. Thankfully it was (no mucking around with trying to tune up). On turning around to hoist myself up onto the stool the musician had placed there to sit on, I inadvertently showed off the bottom of my green (thong) corset. That resulted in several comments being made, including a sarcastic one “it must be time for the lunchtime stripper now,” which had me blushing profusely while trying not to get flustered.

On finally getting comfortably perched on an uncomfortably high stool, I lifted the guitar and cradling it, strummed a few chords to get a feel (and sound) for the instrument. The guitar was actually quite a good one and after a few chord attempts to feel its neck pressure action (which was fantastically light, so obviously a more expensive instrument than most musicians played) I decided to play one of the better known “mouldy oldies”. I checked the amplifier to make sure the volume was as low as possible (the staff’s pet hate) before getting starting to play Johnny River’s classic “Poor side of town”.

I didn’t play too badly as it turned out and I played for almost an hour nonstop before my mind suddenly went completely blank and besides which I also needed to visit the ladies by then. So I slid down off the stool to hear a few patrons give me a quiet round of applause. I smiled and said I’d be back in ten minutes and walked off to the ladies, noting that a tip jar that had been placed in front of me by Dominic, (of all people) was now filled with just enough coins to cover the glass at the bottom. I could see several gold coins in there as well although most of the coins were silver!

I stopped off to talk to Sam after I came out from freshening up, to have her tell me I was doing brill out there, but could I turn it up a bit so they could hear it inside. I had to remind her about Dom’s usual behaviour about the music’s volume but did however take the glass of iced lemonade she handed me, as I hated the plain water of Sydney. Another Dom rule was that staff could never be seen to be drinking during shifts even if they paid for it, excepting of course water – that’s why I only ever drank lemonade instead of the god awful Sydney water when I worked.

Walking outside to start my next stint, I noticed Dom sitting with a few of the more regular patrons over against the fence on one side of the beer garden, watching me as I walked back outside to begin playing again. I’d taken the time while sitting down in the ladies toilet, to work out what I wanted to play for the next hour or so, which I felt could include possibly playing a few pieces on the electric guitar. Actually it was only to find out if its owner had the same taste in electric guitars that he had in acoustic ones.

I dragged a vacant chair from a nearby table to sit back “in” instead of falling off of, before I seated myself and started to play a mixture of music from country and western (Olivia Newton John) “Banks of the old Ohio”, to some classical music, (Moonlight Sonata) along with a few old style sing along tunes. During it Dom came over towards me, but this time to turn the volume UP, before walking away wordlessly inside and serve patrons drinks, allowing Sam to take her coffee break. I was now receiving a smattering of applause as I finished playing each song and if someone called out a song that I knew how to play, I’d start playing it right after I’d finished the one I was playing.

The time seemed to fly and before I knew it, it was 3.15pm and I hadn’t bothered to go to the toilet or had the chance to play the guy’s electric guitar yet, I’d been enjoying myself so much. So I took the opportunity to stand up and place the acoustic guitar back on its stand, before picking up the electric guitar and finding that my injured musician at least had the good sense to tune his instruments beforehand.

I’d always liked Chuck Mangioni’s “Feel so good” and started playing it, enjoying the feel of the guitar neck’s action and silently applauding the taste of its owner. I decided after that, that I’d call it quits and to end the afternoon by playing a slow romantic ballad. I’d gotten so into playing during the afternoon, that occasionally I’d subconsciously quietly sing a few of the words to some of the songs, and playing the chestnut “When I Fall in Love” I subconsciously sang the last few lines as it came towards the end of it, although mainly concentrating on playing the strings in a romantic rhythm (ala Johnny Mathis) when I played the last arpeggio chord, I managed to make it last as long as possible with the reverb handle.

The applause that greeted me as I stood up and put the guitar carefully to one side, made me start in fright as I turned back to see a number of patrons standing and quietly applauding me. So I gave them a curtsey and walked back inside where Sam, now with Joanna working with her applauded me too. I told Joanna to let me take a toilet break and I’d come back and relieve her till 4pm and the end of my shift.

When I came back behind the bar, almost my first customer was Dom, who told me in no uncertain fashion that I wasn’t too bad out there and until he said otherwise was to be the Sunday musician in the beer garden. I had to remind him that I didn’t have any instruments other than my own acoustic guitar at home and certainly didn’t have any sound equipment. He grizzled for a moment then answered a call on his mobile, before saying he’d get it sorted in time for next Sunday. And in the future he’d like me to play for most of the afternoon and extend my hours on Sunday up till 6pm.

He then handed me my tip jar which I’d completely forgotten about and told me I’d only be being paid normal rates for the additional hours, because the tip jar made overtime unnecessary! The jar had just over $40 dollars in it he told me, then walked out of the hotel and went home. I found out at my next shift (the following Friday) that the old bastard (Dominic) had actually been caught blubbering during my final song, and rumour had it, that when he got home he shagged his girlfriend silly before taking her out for a romantic dinner!

Playing in 3rd grade, the cricket was much more satisfying than 5th grade, if only because each week would be a challenge. Before our game against Northern Districts, Pat (our keeper) and David took me to one side at training and worked out a simple but hopefully unnoticeable set off signals, that either one (but usually David) would use to tell me what he wanted me to bowl. The signals comprised of, pointing to square leg (flipper), flexing from side to side (quicker ball), touching the brim of a cap (wrong un), patting hips (top spinner), and folding his arms in front of him (top spinner) otherwise I should just bowl a normal leg spinner.

Pat and David tried it out in the nets with me for about an hour, using 3rd grade teammates facing me. After a lot of hilarious trial and error attempts at trying to get all three of us on the same page, remembering what sign related to which ball, it finally saw me bowling the type of ball they were signalling me they wanted me to bowl.

Although I always preferred to bowl what came into my head before each ball in a game, even if I had a thought out plan of attack told to me at training about a particular batsman, I was also used to being told what type of ball to bowl, back in Wagga curtesy of my old wicket keeper “Howler” or with my 1st grade skipper Cruiser. Generally it had worked out well overall back then, although no bowler could ever be pin point accurate each time they were instructed to bowl a certain type of delivery.

I was now aware of what type of ball to bowl for David or Pat that they signalled for. With each game and with a lot of net bowling practice (to refine the signalling to make it appear even more casual and even less obvious) it soon started paying excellent dividends as unsuspecting batsmen not understanding what was taking place, would very often get out to a well thought out attack on a batting weakness that had been spotted either of them.

Sometimes though, my hand grip might slip when I was releasing the ball out of my hand that would see a looping full toss being promptly clubbed over a picket fence on the fly. One particular ball had a teammate fielding at silly mid-on, having to duck as David hastily yelled out “Duck Spook (Gary)”, that saw the errant ball I waywardly delivered almost hit poor Spook on the head!

As a matter of fact, if you excluded the odd full banger (full toss), I’d usually only once an innings accidentally bowl a ball so wayward, that teammates fielding anywhere from point to square leg would have to stop it instead of our wicketkeeper Pat! It was “always” cause for general laughter from everyone (including the umpires), who’d simply signal “wide” and almost always I’d have a teammate call out I should stop trying to bowl a Doozra!

But booboos aside, I also usually got at least three and quite often four wickets an innings (even a fivefa wasn’t unusual either). If I had to bowl in a second innings, having quickly discovered batting weaknesses of opponents “that” was when I usually bagged the fivefa.

Winning can be a good way to win over sceptics and after a few victories, I was being more accepted by my FLCC 3rd grade teammates. And when a team starts winning more often so does the confidence in itself grow. Batsmen started to find form batting, fast bowlers rediscovered fast outswingers and fielding improved everywhere. Opposition batsman began not to think of me as a novelty anymore either, as the Sunday papers showed match results that saw 3rd grade FLCC consistently winning, while C Brooks bowling figures revealed my successes. When the season came to an end the team was unlucky not to make the semi-finals, missing out by a measly 2 points from achieving it. One thing was for certain, a certain Miss Cassie Brooks was going to be remembered for next season by a lot of opposition batsmen!

When the cricket season came to an end, and with sunsets getting earlier, I thought that Dom would also want to reduce back my hours on Sunday. Nope. As word gradually filtered out, the Sunday beer garden lunch crowd ended up becoming people who came for lunch and stayed around, then as they left, another group of patrons would start coming in for an early evening meal around 4ish. Either way I still ended up playing until near 6pm playing music. Trudy told me she and Dom didn’t mind one way or another, as long as everyone ordered drinks regularly. Even when it meant patrons having to sit on the brick surrounds in the garden, such was the popularity now of the quiet middle of the road music I was playing, along with a few singalongs each Sunday.

Dom had been as good as his word and organised for a small amplifier and both an electric as well as an acoustic guitar to be hired each week, at no more cost then he used to normally paid for a musician. Because of Sunday noise restrictions in suburban areas, the music I played was never loud, although louder than Dominic had allowed others to play of a Sunday.

I’d practice at home whenever I could find the time and had quickly worked out several “sets” I could play while allowing for “requests” every so often. I also learnt that Dom himself was a “hopeful and frustrated singer” and after meeting his girlfriend one afternoon, discovered he actually didn’t mind a 1970's/80’s singer Kenny Rogers. He particularly like a duet titled “We’ve got tonight” she informed me. So with the conniving help of his girlfriend, I managed to get him to sing it with me one Sunday afternoon where his girlfriend had planned for him to be there to do so.

Then whenever he turned up on a Sunday (when he did now, it was usually late) I’d get the patrons to bully him into singing it with me, occasionally changing the lyrics around so that I’d be asking “where is my pay” and holding out my hand, instead of the final words “why don’t you stay” as we finished the song.

I also discovered that even tough bikies could like quiet middle of the road music (if only in very small doses) as The Sheaf was a well-known hotel for one particular motorcycle chapter to have social drinks at on a Sunday. Generally the bikies were well behaved and as polite and civil as you could wish, but get on their bad side and look out, because no one in heaven could help you then.

My bank account had been slowly increasing curtesy of The Sheaf and I had a boyfriend of sorts although nothing serious. I was still a virgin and wasn’t looking for a one night stand to get me “off my duck” although I enjoyed my time together with Brad and didn’t feel pressured to go to bed with him. He was a friend of Craig’s although several years younger and just out of his cabinetmaker’s apprenticeship.

Since I never said “no” to a shift at The Sheaf I was offered (unless it clashed with a lecture) I had a considerable amount of leeway given to me about when I worked. I seemed to get on with everyone and vice versa, the till usually never appeared to be short, (it was always tallied off at the end of each shift) and when it was never by more than the occasional dollar, which then had to have tips reduced to make up the difference.

But I enjoyed my Sunday “entertainment” shift the most, so much so that when Sue and Craig came along one day to watch, Sue discussed with me later on at home about the possibilities of getting a highly discounted accompaniment tape for me to use as backing music from one of her home business clients. Then all I’d have to do was learn the timing of each song and hey presto, I could play with a musical accompaniment supporting me each week.

It took $750 dollars of my own money and about a month of practicing until I felt confident enough, to launch it on an unsuspecting Sheaf patronage one Sunday, who seemed to like what I played. Although I didn’t kid myself about how good I could play, the fact that Dom wasn’t being told by patrons to do something about me, had me able to actually enjoy playing the beer garden and where possible getting patrons to join in singing a particular song. Some weeks the till takings would be higher and some weeks lower, but overall the cash turnover was slightly up than before the Sunday lunch music idea had been introduced by Dom, which was all Dom and Trudy cared about.

Early one Sunday around 1 o’clock, I was in the middle of my first set that included a lot of well-liked instrumentals, when I suddenly recognised one of the FLCC 1st grade players Haden along with his girlfriend sitting towards the back of the garden drinking and watching me play. I’d seemed to dodge that bullet so far and none of my friends at university drank here either, so I felt reasonably safe about my secret job. He saw me suddenly recognise who he was and simply signalled for me to join him afterwards.

At the next break I wondered over and nervously asked him if he could keep my job here a secret between ourselves. Haden just laughed and told me it was too late for that, telling me that he’d been texting everyone to come on down and see me in my sexy attire. I “was” wearing a skirt over the bottom half of my corset thank you very much. By the end of my next set six players were seated together with girlfriends and loudly applauding and encouraging me. JUST GREAT!!!

The dogs were well and truly out now and couldn’t be put back in, so I decided to accept the situation for what it was…..a bad break. But the odds of keeping my part time work a secret forever had always been diminishing anyway. Besides these club mates didn’t pay my bills so I’d just shut up and accept it. So instead I decided to force them into participating, by telling everyone that I played cricket for the FLCC and that a few of my club mates were here today to see for themselves how I looked in lingerie. I also got them to name a few songs they liked and luckily found I knew several of them quite well as they were on my backing tape.

The rest of the afternoon went well and the guys even came over to put something in my tip jar. I was also invited to several homes for tea some time from three of them. Two of them even bought some hotel lingerie for their girlfriends that I’d gone and showed them all (including their girlfriends) during my final break, which had me teasing them afterwards worse than they did me during my final set.

Two Sunday afternoons later I should have asked Dom for a finder’s fee, because one entire side of the beer garden was filled with Fairfield Liverpool Cricket Club players, officials, WAGS and the odd small child or six all waiting to see and hear me. A fair number had already seen me in my “uniform” when they came in to order drinks, none being shy in saying I looked hot in my getup (with my girls out in view). I also noticed the looks a few of the club’s executive gave me. I wouldn’t have been too sure they would have looked at me that way if their wives were standing beside them, instead of sitting in the beer garden waiting for their orders.

I had my usual satin green body corset on along with a wraparound skirt so I didn’t feel embarrassed when I went to collect empties. I started getting lots of sarcastic taunts being hurled at me from club mates and I tried to give as good as I got. Haden who’d started this all off in the first place was there as was his girlfriend, plus two of the girls with her were wearing only Basque’s up top, their boyfriends had bought for them, along with a pair of jeans that saw me giving them high fives and complimentary congratulations for wearing them.

I joked with a lot of the players and girlfriends there, giving my standard line that I failed the brothel workers exam and this as the only place that would give me a job! I reminded everyone about the tip jar on the counter along with the one in front of my chair, also recommending what to order from Soo for lunch, which a lot of them took on board. I was also running a constant empty glass pick up and occasionally bent over just enough to show off my derrière to loud raucous remarks, while reminding them they could look, but not touch and should tip heavily.

By the time noon rolled around, the beer garden was bursting at the seams courtesy of my club mates, with a fair few regular patrons having to perch themselves on the brick retaining around the trees to get a seat. There were now “three” barmaids (excluding me) on hand to cater for the increased patrons, which because of my cricketing "mates" was quite larger than normal.

Sam my usual workmate, already knew about the situation and told me I should just tell everyone to go to hell and since my secret was out now, damn the consequences, lose the skirt when I played and not be afraid to wonder about the tables, which the rented amplifier allowed me to do, although I rarely did. She looked me straight in the eye and said “go for it Cassie and to hell with what they think.”

Good advice, although I’d rung up my sister earlier on to ask her what she thought I should do. Perhaps Sue was channelling herself through Sally, because Sue had said the exact same thing. My final ten minutes before I had to perform were spent sitting in the ladies, planning my sets. I decided that I still felt confident (brave) enough to start off with a popular quiet song, before I’d launch into a fast song and liked the saucy Dolly Parton’s “Why did you come here looking like that” even though I'd never played it before to the patrons.

I could have a bit of fun at the same time that way and then be able to slip back into my usual 1st set quiet calming music to enjoy with lunch. I was actually rowdily applauded by club mates when I walked over to my set up, in only my green satin body corset, before picking up my guitar and starting to play a slow ballad “I’m counting on you”. Sam came out during the middle of it, carrying somebody’s black cowboy hat and left it on the table beside me. Clever girl I silently thought to myself, having told her I needed her to try and find me a cowboy hat somewhere, quickly.

When I finished my first song I let everyone know I had a lot of my cricket teammates here today and they’d all come to see me make an ass of myself. This brought a loud round of laughter, so telling everyone here goes nothing, placed the cowboy hat on my head which luckily didn’t fall down blocking my eyes. I’d already set up the backing machine and with a quiet voice in my earpiece counting back from 3 telling me when to start, I hit my start exactly right.

I’m certainly not Dolly Parton, but the song’s so quick, catchy and upbeat, I didn’t need to be. I deliberately was looking at my club mates as I screeched out the first line……..and in moments knew that I’d gambled successfully. By the conclusion of it, a lot of people there were tapping their shoes on the ground in accompaniment to the bouncy song………

I told everyone I was just a simple country girl at heart so I might just play a few more slow ones from now on then took the time to do my usual spiel about how and where to order lunch as well as telling them that we had a limited table service if they wanted, but the girls at the bar were quick and good at serving, which I said with a broad grin.

I then started playing my usual first set, which was a lot slower and calmer. By the time I had finished it, my club mates and their girlfriends or wives were eating, talking to each other and occasionally listening…..perfect. Usually I used each break to powder my nose, then drink a cold glass of lemonade while talking to my workmates, but today I decided to spend it among my teammates and gauge their reactions to seeing me dressed the way I was.

I took a lot of jibes along with a quite a few back handed compliments, while even the vice president’s wife about 60 year old, (perhaps 70 in the midday sun) told me how much she liked my corset, telling me how she used to wear one too to look sexy for Harry (the club’s VP) who blushed accordingly at being mentioned. Several tables were starting to receive food so I decided to leave and start my next set.

By the time I was almost finished and I’d deliberately over run the sets, it was almost dark at 5pm. I thanked everyone for coming, particularly mentioning my cricket club. I then played the last slow number on my electric guitar, which I now felt confident I played as well as Johnny Mathis’s musicians did “When I fall I love”, before thanking everyone and turning off the power. My usual tip jar was half full of mostly gold coins with even a few $5- notes in it as well……bloody fantastic!

I actually had to carry it in both hands behind the bar where a grinning Barb’s said it had been a “brill” afternoon for trading and tips. Even though Dom turned up later than usual, it didn’t stop me from getting him to accompany me on our regular duet, which even though he always grumbled at, never refused to sing in……the big ham!

Pre season trials started two weeks after that Sunday and I copped a lot of friendly teasing at the first of them. I also got quite a few hopeful invites from club mates asking me out too, which I had to decline (explaining I had either study to do or was working). But from that Saturday’s 1st trial onwards, I felt so much a part of the club that I would have played in any grade although I was mainly bowling to the senior graders at the trials, along with several other candidates, so perhaps Trevor might have been right after all.

On the afternoon of the final Saturday trials, when the names would be read out for each grade squad, starting from the lowest squad, I was just a tad disappointed I admit to hear my name read out for 5th grade. I’d at least hoped to be playing 3rd grade and although happy to play anywhere, was silently regretting what was perhaps some form of disciplinary action because of where I worked. Before I had enough time to start feeling sorry for myself, the broadly smiling club president reading out the team grading’s, said that someone had obviously made an error as Cassie Brooks hadn’t even been proposed for 5th grade. The @#%! Bastard!

As each team’s squad was then read out, I didn’t hear my name mentioned and started to get worried half way through the 2nd grade side being read out alphabetical. When after the 1st grade side squad had been read out, along with several players they wanted to have stay for further evaluation, I was shattered beyond belief to find that my name hadn’t even been called out for any of the sides and like quite a few others, I turned dejectedly away to go pack up my things and go home.

Our “bloody” club president then loudly announced that he’d accidently omitted a name from one of the team squads and blamed it on his poor eyesight. Calling out my name with a huge smile, he said “firsts!” which had the 1st grade squad, who were lined up over to one side breaking up in laughter. Obviously they had to have been in on the “prank”, as they loudly welcomed me over. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry over the joke, so I loudly said “Oh YOU guys” and walked over to join them, a beaming smile showing on my face at being played for the patsy but excited about my selection.

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I’d like to express my thanks to some of the BCTS members who suggested ideas about music for this and perhaps later chapters. Several of them didn’t want me to state their member’s names, but did agree to their wished for names, thanks Maureen and Kelly. Also thanks to “Joannebarbarella” and “Grim City Girl” for their suggestions, which on searching for some of their performers music to listen to, also allowed me to discover a lot of “new” oldies that I’d never heard of over here, although still sounding way better than today’s UK rubbish artists or “artistes”.

This chapter was originally proof read for me by Grim City Girl. However on trying to upload it and having my usual problems, it read much better in an abbreviated and slightly reworded chapter (3 pages shorter too)
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Caught In Slips Pt 13
By Christie Myr

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The weather over here has been quite shocking recently. But I’d never lost power in the workshop for almost 24 hours before (Is chapter 13 linked to my luck). It’s forced me to close the garage because the car hoists aren’t able to be lowered to repair the cars left up on them last night until the powers restored.

So with the nothing to do, I’ve come home and been able to type a short chapter 13 to upload on BCTS, earlier than I usually would. There’s plenty of cricket in this chapter. In fact, you could say it’s an entire season’s worth………There might be romance in the air too! (that's if the weather starts to thaw and warm up)
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By the time I got home after a few celebratory soft drinks at the Canley Heights RSL afterwards, I was almost jumping out of my skin. On telling Sue and Craig about my selection, Sue didn’t seem to care one iota, but Craig seemed excited at my news. I phoned mum and dad to relate the good news and dad promised to let my old club know when he caught up with someone from there. The following day at The Sheaf, I so desperately wanted to say something about my selection, but knowing my workmates as well as I did by now, knew they’d react the same way my sister had. But even some of the patrons could see I seemed to be more hyper than usual during my entertainment in the beer garden, saying so as I served them drinks afterwards.

I walked around for most of the following few days as thrilled as a dog with two tails, but also found that my lecture days now clashed with the additional training afternoon (Monday) that 1st and 2nd grade were required to attend. I simply left my last lecture early to beat the traffic to get there.

At my first “official” training session I quickly discovered how much more serious the senior grades took their cricket. First there were the mandatory warm ups and stretching exercises, followed by sprint training as well as rudimentary strengthening exercises on one of two exercise/weight lifting pieces of gym equipment that had been carried out onto the oval. Then after all that you were picked either for net practice (bowling or batting) or one of the other three groups who did slips catching, outfield catching, or fielding balls and throwing in at the stumps.

Being as slight and short as I was, one of the team’s assistants had to help me during my weights stint and it provided a lot of laughs over my feeble attempts at using different parts of the exercise machine. When they finally allowed me in the nets, I was almost too exhausted to even roll my arm over, let alone bowl. I’d spend most of my next few practices mainly doing conditioning and strengthening exercises in an effort to try and catch up to my new teammates.

Every night after eating tea, I’d hop into Sunny and drive to a nearby park that had floodlights turned on and do laps of the oval there, timing my initial lap and using it as a base mark to improve upon. Three weeks of this saw me doing ten 400 metre laps without a rest averaging just under 2 minutes a lap without stopping! By then at net practices I wasn’t the tail end Charlie any longer, but among the leaders when running “400” laps, although completely hopeless doing arm curls!

Fielding drills (for me) caused some headaches for the 1st grade coach. As skinny as I was I could throw in from the boundary to the wicket keeper on the full (if only just, at about 70 metres), and I knew how to field a ball properly. But where to place me in the field when I wasn’t bowling was quite a conundrum for him. I’d always fielded at mid-off, mid-on or square leg back at the WWCC and even in 5th and 3rd grades. A twenty minute session at the slips cradle proved I wasn’t really a slipper (a person who mainly fielded at slips), but although I could catch close in, my being “vertically challenged” at 5’5 almost 6” found most top edge snicked balls went over the top of my outstretched arms, whereas if I was 5’10” or so I’d have been able to catch them.

What did work in my favour was my ability to stop, pick up and throw back to the stumps quicker than anyone else in either squad. In fact the accuracy of my throwing usually didn’t require the wicket keeper to do more than just stand over the stumps and wait, as almost invariably my throws came in just over the top of the stumps, requiring him to simply remove the bails. I wasn’t afraid to dive along the ground either to stop firmly hit balls, so eventually it was agreed on I was a covers or mid-on, mid-off fielder and if needs required it (and no one else was available), a “silly specialist fieldsman" (PC says fielder or even field’s person)……a close in fielder who was generally no more than 10 feet or so away from and in front of the batsman (O.K. batter! - but batsman sounds better!).

Training to play in 1st grade was demanding. Usually I was a sweat soaked mess by the time I was released to the nets to bowl and my nipples were invariably on “high beam” and prominently showing. I always wore a sport bra under my “club” training shirt but even with those two items of clothing on, my dimmer switch never seemed to work properly. I grew use to teammates often looking at my boobs instead of my face when they talked to me, but no one ever said anything about it, except perhaps humorously. Since I always wore my hair up the way Carrie Fisher did in Star Wars for every practice, I quickly won the nickname “Princess Leia” from my 1st grade teammates, which soon had everyone else in the club calling me “Leia” instead of Cassie.

As for my bowling, almost everyone agreed I bowled a good leggie, but just like back at Wagga, the club’s bowling coach was forever at me offering advice on ways to improve it. At least I didn’t have to tell the batsman beforehand what type of ball I was going to bowl next to him, but to be constantly critiqued by the bowling coach after each ball often tested my patience. My teammates told me to simply ignore him and only ask him for help if I was having “yips” with my run up or delivery. He finally took the hint and let me be, but would always help me out with any bowling action problems I thought I might be having, if I asked him.

One thing I quickly discovered in 1st grade was the difference between a “fast” bowler and a “bloody quick” fast bowler. Our opening 1st grade bowlers were all “bloody quick”, even when using old practice cherries to bowl with. So my first “net” batting attempt was no better an effort than back in Wagga. I could handle the pitched up deliveries just fine, but anything pitched short had me ducking behind my bat as soon as I thought the ball would rise sharply up from the deck. I also found that “bloody quick” bowlers could be very accurate when they wanted to be, and that no amount of padded protection helped if you were being hit almost every second ball in or around the same place on your arm guards or chest guard.

Of course being “vertically challenged”, meant that our bowlers didn’t have to pitch it “that” short to be able to put cherries up around my “chest”. My first few batting practices were accompanied by a lot of me crying out “ouch” after being hit, or bowlers saying “fuck that must’ve hurt”, along with their apologies (sometimes even sincere ones) to me as I tossed back the ball to them. But by the time the new season was close to commencing, I was at least able to avoid being hit most of the time and even finding ways to play scoring shots. But as our coach often told me, I wasn’t in any danger of being promoted up to number 10 in the order too soon!

Our senior grades home ground Rosedale Oval at Warwick Farm was actually a fairly good place to play cricket on. Admittedly the outfield could have been better having to share the ground with football, so therefore the ground wasn’t billiard table top smooth but it wasn’t bad. I’d been assured that our deck also favoured spin bowling later on in the day and although the block was still “persona non grata” to play on yet, the block seemed to show promise according to the curator, who had kindly taken me to the middle and talked to me about it for an hour!

He seemed as excited about my bowling on his deck as I was, since I’d occasionally helped him during the off season whenever I saw him out there when I drove past. I’d most times stop to get out and help if I saw him working there, so he went and got a set of indoor stumps to let me bowl at them while he kept wicket………………“You seem to have gotten the feel of my deck young lady” he proudly told me when I’d told him 30 minutes later I’d had enough.

The club’s executive had numerous volunteer positions on it, usually unfilled each year, one of which was the publicity officer’s position. The executive always had lofty aims it wanted the club to achieve, but had very few volunteers who were willing to be part of it. One thing in particular was helping to publicise the club, where often the club had to rely on the local paper publishing some out of date story about the club, or else rehash a well-used one if they had space to spare in the sporting section of the paper.

So it must have been a slow news day that caused someone there to write an article that appeared in the local paper, about how Fairfield Liverpool CC was seen to be crashing through the glass ceiling of a predominantly male sport by selecting a woman to play in their 1st grade team. The story was accompanied by an unattributed photo taken of me at the last presentation night. Luckily the photo showed me in a “photogenic light” so I thought that no one would ever recognise me at the local supermarket, unless I walked in there face made up and dressed for going out somewhere.

When I went shopping the following week, I learnt I’d need to re-evaluate my thinking about the power of the press, as local shopkeepers stopped me to talk about seeing my picture in the paper and/or about the forthcoming cricket season!

Most clubs usually had friendly trials against other clubs before the start of each season which the governing body sanctioned. It also gave the umpires association a chance to blood new umpires in the lower grades, as well as bring current members together for their own version of grading trials. FLCC’s trial game was traditionally against North Sydney, where I’d played in 5th grade the previous year. Apparently our local paper didn’t get distributed around the North Sydney area, as the first grade trial (at Rosedale this time) saw a stunned North Sydney team watch me warm up close by to them.

And just like Trevor did last year, my new captain (Josh) lost the toss, but this time saw us bowling. Now trial (or warm up) games are exactly that, especially in the higher grades. So after our pace men had all had a bowl and taken a couple of wickets, Josh signalled for me and Geoff to come and roll our arms over from each end. After eight overs between Geoff and me, it saw Josh deciding I’d bowled enough for a while, as it proved I had radar guidance with my line and length, having taken 3 for 5 from my four overs.

I’d unknowingly also committed the cardinal sin at a trial match in not allowing the opposing batsmen to get some time out in the centre. When Josh told me I’d bowled enough for today, I said I hadn’t yet but he was the captain, so that was it. He spoke to me at the next drinks break and told me about my sin, then telling me I’d also set the cat among the pigeons and by the end of the week, news would’ve leaked out about me to other clubs.

The two day trial was a friendly one that saw me mixing with the North Sydney players at the lunch and tea breaks. (In 1st and 2nd grade they play 1st class match hours 10.30 am to 5.30pm…..being 2 hours per session with a lunch break - 40 minutes and a tea break - 20 minutes in between the morning, post lunch and post tea sessions). Lower grades started about 2 hours later and only had an afternoon tea break, usually 30 minutes.

The novelty of having a woman play 1st grade men’s cricket was something quite new to their 1st grade team, even though most of them admitted to hearing about me after last year’s 5th grade trial game, which had in itself been a talking point of sorts back then. I found the North Sydney 1sts players to be extremely pleasant to talk to and had a small crowd of them surrounding me (along with my own teammates) at every break.

As the trial panned out, we passed North Sydney’s score by about 2pm the following Saturday and after our own batsmen had gotten some good batting time out in the centre. Josh and the North’s captain then agreed to “bend the rules slightly” by allowing each team to then have a serious 90 minute batting session against the main bowlers from the other side. I didn’t get to bat either week, but did spend a lot of time bowling in the nets when our side batted. I bowled against my own teammates as well as several North’s players who rotated off the ground (to allow sub fielders a run) and had wanted to bat against me in the nets to see if I was as good as some of their teammates were rumouring I might be……….Josh reminded me later on that it had only been a “trial” match for both teams, but I’d certainly ruined North’s plans for their top team with my three quick wickets.

Our first official game of the season was against one of the establishment’s more powerful clubs St George at their home ground and was also one of four limited overs games for the season (50 overs a side). They’d already heard about me (what a grapevine club’s had!) and although I was a novelty for this grade, treated me the same as they would any other player. That meant an overabundance of sledging and bad language. Josh won the coin toss and batted. Since it was still early in the season, both the pitch and the batsmen were slightly underdone. FLCC could only manage 9 for 171 before I walked out to the middle to have my first bat in Sydney’s 1st grade competition.

The first ball I faced had me being quietly told by the slips cordon that I was a slut, a skank, a rag and just about every other type of unpleasant obscenity imaginable. Fed up with their insults, I moved away from the stumps half way during the bowlers run up. Pointing at the entire slips cordon, I complained to the umpire that their chatter was disturbing my concentration during the bowler’s approach (which is against the rules and spirit of the game).

Through sheer “tenacity” I managed to last just long enough to see our team score move to “173” before my off stump went cartwheeling out of the ground with the 3rd ball I faced, having scored 2 from the previous ball. As foul and personal as the insults directed at me had been, the St George captain spoke to me as we walked off, saying it wasn’t personal what had been said to me, just gamesmanship to unsettle me! I already knew that and told him that I wasn’t bothered about the language, only the fact they were saying it while the bowler was running in to bowl to me.

At the end of the day’s play, their captain (and the two umpires) came over and talked to Josh and then the four of them approached me. The St George captain then “officially” apologised for any foul language spoken to me while I’d been batting. He then told me to expect a lot more during the rest of the season and to just try and accept it. I thanked him for the apology and told him I’d already known what to expect, but as long as it didn’t happen when the bowlers were in their delivery run, I could put up with it. Josh suggested he buy all of us a drink at the clubhouse so any ill will was officially over.

Perhaps what I should have said to the St George captain in reply to his apology was “And I’d like to apologise to your too…….for taking 4 wickets in the game, you pompous clown!” (4 for 42 if you're interested)

FLCC managed to get 6 points for winning the game and was off to a flying start for the season. We certainly ruined St George’s plans of a good start to “their” season and shown that we’d be more than competitive, as soon as our top order started scoring more runs. It had been just like back in Wagga, where the early part of the season invariably always saw the bowlers on top, while it took a few matches before most batsmen found their form. The rest of the club’s results were mixed. 2nd and 3rd grade lost, while 4th and 5th grade won.

Our next two matches were two day games and saw firsts winning both, one outright, the other on first innings. Both were played at Rosedale which was quickly becoming my favourite place to bowl. We annihilated University of NSW outright and beat Mosman on 1st innings and had their tail end batsmen shakily defending against losing outright.

In the University of NSW match (who admittedly weren’t strong that season) my leg spin played havoc among their batting line up. I took 6 for 37 as they crumpled to only be able to reach 97. Our batsmen had improved somewhat from the St George match and knocked up 6 for 218 before Josh declared the innings to allow our bowlers another go. This time it was more pace than spin that skittled them, I took 3 for 34, while our main fast bowler (Des) took 5 for 57.

Our third game, against Mosman had Josh bringing me on much sooner than against University of NSW and it paid off. I only got 3 wickets in their first innings but that included numbers 3, 4 and 6 in the batting order. It didn’t help Mosman’s cause to lose two wickets to suicide attempted runs, while FLCC’s batting went well into the 2nd day before Josh again declared (just before I was to go out and bat!). With only two hours to play in the day, and with first innings points secured, Josh got me to “open the bowling” into the breeze.

After almost an hour’s play, Mosman were 6 for 28 and still 30 runs short of making us bat again. If it hadn’t been for storm clouds hindering playing light, enabling the batsmen to reply yes to the umpire’s question about whether the light was too bad to play further, they would’ve lost outright. Instead they walked off at 8 for 51, managing a 1st innings loss and an overall drawn match. My haul for the second innings was 6 for 25 and I’d also had two outfield catches dropped off my bowling.

I had to miss round 4 because of my final’s exams, but was happy to see that 1st grade won on 1st innings against Parramatta. Our 5th round game against Western Suburbs was a washout both weekends so I didn’t have to chance to burn off post exam stress. I didn’t really have to worry about my exam results because I already knew I’d done well answering the questions, as did the rest of the study group I was in when we got together afterwards to discuss the exams.

With university over and done with, I now had more spare time to earn money and Trudy made sure I spent that time working at The Sheaf. My playing 1st grade cricket for Fairfield Liverpool was no longer a secret at The Sheaf, courtesy of someone reading about me in the local paper and pinning it up on the notice board in the sports lounge bar. But now each game’s results were being placed on the notice board, which allowed a number of regular patrons to talk to me about cricket in general and how it use to be “back then” when “they” use to play (or some still did in a local park competition). It was a friendly joke around the clubhouse that FLCC had a “secret” supporters group at The Sheaf.

What I would never have expected was to have an elderly gentleman (Mr Barry Stiles) from the Premiership Grade committee come to visit me while I was working, in an official capacity. His showing up was so as to tell me (discreetly and off the record for now) that the grade executive would really prefer that I didn’t work at a hotel like The Sheaf. But if I was going to continue to do so, I was to try and ensure I didn’t end up getting any negative publicity about it, which might force the executive to intervene.

He then said he was personally looking forward to seeing me bowl against his team Sutherland after the Xmas break, and wished me all the best for the season before leaving. But during the entirety of our friendly off the record conversation, his eyes kept constantly dropping downwards to ogle my breasts. Go figure! - I should have told him to take a photo instead of trying to memorise them.

I mentioned being visited by Barry Stiles to the FLCC president at the following practice and was told to ignore it, being told that my “job” was just another barb being thrown at the club by some of the other clubs. Evidently (and unknown to me) a few players from one particular club had heard about my job and had gone to the hotel to see for themselves. Then with a few Chinese whispers and more 3rd hand descriptions, it was being rumoured I worked at a private club where the naked staff served predominantly male members!

The president said he’d spoken to a few players from other teams who had come up to him when we played them at Rosedale, and most said I looked good in a corset. They didn’t care what I did for a job either which Kevin explained to them that I did for extra money, while I was going to University. I wasn’t going to stop earning good money just because of crazy stories, so I took his advice and didn’t bother worrying about stories I couldn’t prevent from being spread by fools.

Our 6th round game was against Blacktown on their deck. “Deck” I should have written it was a ROAD! I’d heard the term used a few times before and understood it to be a pitch that played flat, slow, and fast bowlers always hated them because of that, and they didn’t offer any turn for spin bowlers or very slow turn. It was the first time I’d played on one though and had a miserable game because of it. I ended up with 0 for 61 and although I was very economical bowling 21 overs, it irked me to play on a pitch that didn’t offer anyone any help, be it to batsmen or bowlers. We won the game (on 1st innings) but not because of me. The simple truth was that they scored 4 for 278 declared and we scored 4 for 300. To top it off both days were scorchers and there was no breeze.

Our 7th round against Penrith at Howell Park Penrith was another limited overs game. I didn’t do too badly although nowhere as good as in previous matches. I took 3 for 62 off my allotted ten overs. The heat out there was even worse than at Blacktown and I had to have a cold shower (in the lockable umpire’s room) afterwards before attempting to drive home.

Our last match before Xmas saw us playing at home again (Yippee) and beating Randwick-Petersham easily in another 50 overs a side game. I liked their club’s nickname “the Randy Pete’s” and would have liked to have played them on their home deck at Coogee, because the ground was close to the beach so I might have been able to take a swim afterwards.

Our deck at Rosedale oval was beginning to gain a reputation for taking spin, although the curator didn’t do anything to make that happen. It probably came about due to with the fact the side was winning and my accurate leg spin bowling was difficult to play against. The curator claimed otherwise, but any cricketer with some pitch knowledge could tell you that a turf wicket square couldn’t change its characteristics overnight. To do that would have entailed considerable work and expense, often relaying the entire block and maintaining it differently to change a deck’s characteristics. Of course the curator could always leave more grass on (aids quick bowlers) or shave it closer (assists batting) for games to suit the home team’s strengths.

When Xmas time rolled round Sue and I drove home to Uranquinty to see mum and dad. Our big brother was still away on sea duty so it didn’t feel the same as last year’s Xmas. Craig drove down on the 27th, now being considered by our parents as being practically Sue’s husband. So their sharing a bedroom together no longer seemed to bother mum or dad. Sue and I couldn’t top last year’s Xmas present for mum and dad, but they liked this year’s presents a lot.

My university results came out the day before we drove to Uranquinty and my parents were keen to know about my plans for the future. I wasn’t too sure what I wanted to do now I had my qualifications, as obtaining a job even with a degree wasn’t that simple. Plus I wanted to enjoy myself for a little while, as my part time job along with Sue and Craig’s rent (and my other tenant’s rent) enabled me to be able to service my trust’s rapidly diminishing bank loan and still live reasonably comfortably. Sue had ideas of her and I forming our own computer business, run from home once I gained some practical experience, and was busy creating goodwill with potential client contacts at her workplace. Craig had ideas about forming his own small independent subcontracting business to offer to builders wanting carpenters, electricians, roofers and plumbers.

Until any of it eventuated, I had a well paid and stable barmaid’s job now that I was working at The Sheaf fulltime and Sue also had ideas that her and Craig might be getting married soon, once he'd determined if he wanted to go out in business for himself or not. She didn’t mention all of this to mum or dad (not about a possible wedding anyway) and I certainly wasn’t going to mention where (or how) I worked to them. When we left to go back to Sydney our parents were just glad that we were thinking about our futures and not just working five days a week work for pay with no ambitions to get ahead.

Back in my unit at Fairfield, I was fully occupied with working 5 shifts a week and playing cricket. Now I wasn’t going to lectures, I was also the unofficial full time chef too. Sue took on that mantle of a weekend, where she got to remind Craig what he might have to look forward to one day.

The weather gods washed out Round 9 (and the final 50 overs game of the season) to bring around Round 10 and our arch enemies “Gordon” which would be played on their home deck at Chatswood. Although our relations with them had thawed slightly, the entire club was looking for good results in every grade and the practices leading up to the game(s) were very demanding. In what turned out to be an incredible result (and a first for FLCC) the club not only clean swept the grades, but did so having our 1st grade record the first outright win over Gordon, along with Gordon having it's first outright loss to any club since over 60 years ago!

I personally took fourteen wickets for the match (8 for 41 in the first innings and 6 for 30 in the second). Our win wasn’t on a rain affected deck either. Perhaps Gordon didn’t take us seriously enough, although FLCC was running 3rd on the competition table. Their disastrous first innings of 98 in just a little under three hours, saw our batsmen managing to pass their score just before 1st day stumps at 5.30 to be 3 for 110. The plan discussed at training the following week was to bat fast for quick runs and see what could result from it. What Gordon wasn’t expecting was another fine team bowling effort from FLCC two weeks in a row, and our batsmen only needed to slog 30 runs off the final two overs play for victory. It would have been great for the win to have been at Rosedale so we could celebrate, but Tuesday’s delayed celebrations after training, more than made up for it.

But anyone who’s ever played cricket could tell you “cricket's a beautiful lover but a bitch of a mistress.” The following game saw us losing unexpectedly on first innings to Sydney CC at their home ground of Drummoyne Oval. We held on to 3rd place for the rest of the season, but disappointingly lost our semi-final match to Sydney University who wound up winning the final. Our 4th grade ended up winning their competition, while to have four of our five teams reach the semi-finals was considered incredible, taking into account the club’s constant need to scramble to fill teams in our bottom grades most games.

My own season’s performance was universally applauded in the club and the cheers I received on being handed the trophy for FLCC’s 1st grade leading wicket taker at the presentation night was particularly heart-warming. It would have been fantastic for our 1st grade to have won the competition, but sometimes not everything turns out wonderfully. But for me personally I was a winner on two scores. Firstly I’d proven my ability to play with the men on a level field and secondly, I met Rhys (pronounced Reece) in our final game before we lost in the semi-final.

Rhys played for Northern Districts and during the after play drinks on week one, Rhys managed to find a way to speak to me alone for a little while (no easy feat usually after a day’s play). The two of us seemed to just “click” somehow and I spent most of the second week of that game, watching him fielding against us instead of watching our batsmen play their bowlers. We’d also exchanged phone numbers and talked on the phone every night afterwards and even though my sister teased me unmercifully, she was happy about my goo goo behaviour.

Rhys had laughed loudly when I told him over the phone one night about my “job” and I was absolutely stunned, when his smiling face asked for a beer a few afternoons later as he stood in front of me at the sports bar. My face “must” have turned beetroot red in embarrassment at his sudden appearance and in my confusion accidently drew him a full alcohol beer instead of the light beer he’d ordered. He stayed around talking to me for over an hour before saying he had to leave. Afterwards my workmate Jane told me she’d never seen me act like that before, telling me I hardly managed to serve a drink to anyone else the entire time that Rhys was there talking to me!

Several months later I finally got to find out for myself why my sister was so noisy with her boyfriend……..

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The weather has allowed me to rework my story notes around a bit and this chapter enables me to speed up the time line for the next few chapters. CM
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Caught In Slips Pt 14
By Christie Myr

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“You’ve been bitten bad kiddo” my sister told me with a chuckle after I hung up in a happy mood, having just spoken with Rhys.

“Whaddaya mean?” I asked her.

“Oh come off it sis, you’ve been acting like a giddy school girl with a crush for days now, and don’t you dare try denying it.” She then mimicked an innocent little girl, “and I’ll make sure I look nicer than any trophy you’ll get at your club presentation Rhys.” Sue then sarcastically added “and I promise I'll shag you silly afterwards too” and laughed uproariously.

“I just wish I’d recorded you on the phone so I could play it back to mum and dad the next time we’re home” she happily teased me. Left with little choice but to accept defeat and smile at being so obviously found out, I finally agreed with her. “But don’t get too excited girl, he mightn’t like you after you’ve been out together a few times” Sue reminded me.

Yes, if truth be told, I’d definitely been bitten by “The Bug” in no uncertain manner. Most of my waking, eating, relaxing, working and even my sleeping time was spent thinking about Rhys. If he didn’t phone me at least once a day, I’d be miserable. And if whenever he phoned me and I wasn’t able to answer, I’d be phoning him back as quickly as possible, excitedly apologising for not being able to take his call and asking him to forgive me for not answering straight away. His just as happy reply left us both giggling and saying silly stupid things as we’d interrupt each other in our eagerness to say what was on our minds…….YEP, I had it reeaalll baaaadddd.

I realised that Rhys must have liked me as much as I did him. That became apparent when he rang me up later on (after making a surprise visit to me at work) and telling me how nice I looked wearing my emerald corset. I would have visited him at his work except I still hadn’t asked him where it was yet. All I knew was that he was a final year apprentice electrician. He’d told me that much when we talked to one another at The Sheaf when he visited me there.

I’d wanted to go out with him on the Monday after our team had beaten his Northern Districts side, when we’d first nervously agreed to go out on a date with each other. But he told me that his boss had him working till all hours of the day finishing off a major project, so he couldn’t yet determine an evening when he’d have the time. He told me he wanted to take me out somewhere nice, if I didn't mind waiting till his boss allowed him to have free weekends again, and "provided" I still wanted to. So when he finally rang to ask me out somewhere, it was to his cricket club’s presentation night and not a movie and dinner some place special. In return I got him to agree to accompany me to my club’s presentation night the Saturday following his, and to also agree to taking me out somewhere nice after that, but it had to be somewhere that nothing to do with cricket, which he was happily delighted to agree to.

Until then, the often numerous daily phone calls to each other, just didn’t seem to allow either of us enough time to tell the other all about what we were thinking about. I told him I’d been born in Essex, had lived in country NSW since my family had moved here and that I lived in a 2 bedroom unit in Fairfield (I didn’t say that I owned it) and was going to be 23 soon. In return, he told me he still lived at home with his family and he’d soon be a fully licenced electrician and had just turned 22.

I also found out how shy and nervous talking to a girl Rhys actually was, but he was also very well spoken, an absolute dream to look at, quite well built (no fat at all) and had the most fantastic eyes to look into. I already “knew” that he was different from either of my two previous boyfriends………..If my sister is reading this bit, you can bet she's laughing hysterically.

When we went to “his” club’s presentation night, the two of us caused quite a scene turning up together holding hands (he wanted me to sit at his team’s table next to him). It turned to be fun night, although both of us could’ve done without the constant teasing from his teammates. When we went to my club’s presentation it wasn’t any better. I had to blush embarrassingly as (to loud cheers from everyone) my name was read out as the leading wicket taker in the club and was presented with my trophy, none of which he got at his club’s affair. I would have liked for him to come up for coffee when he dropped me off home that night, but he said he was working tomorrow (a Sunday?). I nervously called him up the next day to discover if he hadn’t been trying to brush me off, which he hadn't been. Anyway his 5 minute kiss and fondle goodnight last might should have told me he hadn’t, (you're a silly girl Cassie) although it allowed the both of us to talk with each other until he had to get back to work.

When we finally went out on our “first” date, believe it or not, it was to an amusement park called Luna Park, which I'd heard of but never been to before. Afterwards we had an wood fired oven cooked pizza and a carafe of wine together, giggling at each other as both of us snatched for the last piece of pizza at the same time. We had to struggle not to undress one another sitting in that tiny restaurant our thoughts were by then so closely attuned to one another.

It didn’t seem to matter to me that our first “date” ended up with me staying the night sharing his bed with him in a detached granny flat at his parent’s place. They'd gone away for the weekend, which I guess only made it even more inevitable the night would turn out that way. In the kitchen the following morning I cooked breakfast for him (along with two very surprised and excitably talkative younger sisters) before he drove me home.

When I opened the front door and walked into the unit, my sister’s huge grin didn’t need for her to say a word about my returning home this late the following day. After I’d got changed and come back outside (Rhys and I had showered together at his place before I cooked him breakfast), Craig had seemed to have had mysteriously disappeared and Sue was left alone to play the twenty questions game with me.

After a lot of stubborn denials from me, I finally gave in and told my sister all about last night as well as this morning with Rhys. She found out for herself the following Sunday morning what Rhys was like to talk to, when he reciprocated my staying the night at his place the previous Saturday. I thanked god that Dom had agreed earlier in the month to use a relief entertainers for a while, as I was somewhat silly on both days. My barmaid girlfriends had figured it out why I was acting so differently and teased me unmercifully for several shifts afterwards, both times. It was to happen quite a lot from then on.

What I'd never even about (not being an internet troller) was being asked by our club president to join him and several of my teammates to attend the Sydney Premiership Association’s presentation night. Because I never read their website, I was shocked to hear our club president tell me I “had” to attend, to accept an award (?).

I took extra care getting ready to ensure I looked my best for attending the function. In fact although a member of the club committee was duty bound to attend each year (and pay for the ticket to do so) and so represent the club, the association preferred that ALL club's 1st grade players attended the competition's presentation night dinner. However, FLCC players along with most of the other club's 1st grade players usually didn’t attend the presentation function, unless it to receive an award. This year, I had Josh to officially escort me (not Rhys unfortunately) along with several other 1st grade players and officials from the club, which if I'd thought about it, was in itself completely unheard of, as rumour had it, that it had been years since the club had any of it's 1st grade players attend the function. They had come along to cheer when my name was read out after an apparently well-rehearsed speech by the Association’s president. I was declared the season’s leading wicket taker for the 1st grade competition!

After the presentations were over and done with and we were sitting among players from other clubs talking cricket, a gentleman unknown to me, (although everyone else in our group seemed to know him), came over to ask me to join him at his table (pointing it out to me) around 9.30pm, so he could talk to me about a private matter. It turned out he wanted to ask me to attend the state team’s training sessions during the winter, where I’d receive additional training and expert advice in leg spin bowling.

Our club president along with Josh had been asked to sit beside me as I received this amazing news. I found Josh’s hand patting me on the back in congratulations as I was informed. When I phoned mum and dad up first to tell them about the news, (using my phone’s speaker to let everyone in the car hear their reaction) they both seemed delighted, before dad reminded me that playing cricket didn’t help pay the bills and never to forget that.

Dad was right, “yet again”. The expertise the association president had told me about, consisted of hours and hours several days and/or nights each week, bowling at various state batsmen in the indoor nets along with several other hopeful players (bowlers). Unaware of it at the time, it turned out to be brilliant advice I received at each session.

After about two months of doing this, I was informed I’d be offered an “emerging players” contract, which would see me being shared out between both the men’s and women’s state squads for additional leg spin training. This would see me earning $40,000 a year for a guaranteed two years, with an increase to $70,000 if I was selected to play for either team. I was also allowed (albeit reluctantly) to continue working part time, provided cricket had first priority. That small concession would allow me to buy a new car to replace Sunny, which I was now finding totally impractical to cart cricket gear around in, unless I carried it with me wherever I was going.

Although being “part of” the NSW cricket squad meant I was supposed to concentrate only on that, I also had my barmaid work as well as my sister’s recently started up computer solutions service to think about. The computer work had come about after Sue started placing advertisements in newspapers and online. It was surprising to find how many people had trouble with laptops or PC’s that needed “debugging” or cleaning out. I’d more often than not receive a phone call from Sue, giving me an address to go to as well as a price to charge and collect the money for my repair work.

If the computer problem was to complex for me to repair, she’d call there after she finished work and either fix the problem or take the computer with her to repair at home. By July I was averaging about eight repairs a week, while my sister might do as many as twelve after work. She only dealt in cash and was earning over $1,500 a week as a sideline, so her new business venture seemed to be starting to flourish......

Dominic and Trudy were great about allowing me to work less regular shift work. They had to take me off the permanent roster and put me back on casual work, but recognised I had a working contract to uphold and the goodwill I’d earned over the past 18 months working for them, was being rewarded by their patience with my erratic work shifts.

But regardless of how little time I now seemed to have to spare, Rhys and I were growing closer together. Surprisingly Rhys wasn’t upset or jealous at my gaining a cricket contract. He (like me) played cricket for enjoyment and wasn’t looking for a career in it and neither was I to begin with. He came out of his apprenticeship after April and had become good friends with Sue’s Craig. They were even talking about merging together in Craig’s recently formed business, since Craig needed several electricians to ensure he could reliably service potential building firms.

Rhys’ parents, when they met me for the first time, actually seemed to like me. We’d both been apprehensive when he rang and invited me over for a BBQ at his parent's place a few days after our first night together. His two younger sisters Di (19) and Simone (18) hadn’t had any principles what so ever about quietly informing their mum about my staying overnight and cooking breakfast. So his introducing me to his parents had my worrying about if they must already think of me as some sort of “tart” out to trap their son in marriage.

His mum Candice turned out to be the exact opposite of what I'd been expecting. She discreetly took me aside while Rhys helped his dad cook the meat, to tell me she’d been annoyed with Rhys for abusing their trust in him, but then told me I seemed to be just like his sisters had told her about me (which turned out to be all good apparently). By the time I got into my car (another cause for humour) to leave, both his mum and dad were treating me like a long lost daughter.

I was even informed I could stay nights if it was too late to drive home, although I didn’t often do so. It also helped later on, that my mum’s cooking lessons came to my assistance as I introduced his family to my 10 minute pastry nibbles. From “that” moment on I was no longer simply Rhys’ girlfriend, but an angel that Rhys had better never upset, or else he’d be thrown out of the house and be written out of both of his parent's wills!

When we both found the courage to explain to his parents about my “part time” job at The Sheaf, several weeks after the BBQ, his parents and two sisters seemed shocked that someone so nice as me, apparently could walk around in her underwear in public serving alcohol in a hotel. His sisters were actually quite amused to learn that their brother’s girlfriend had a job serving beer in her underwear. Candice didn't seem too happy about it at all, while his dad appeared to have a smirk on his “unamused” face.

A few Sundays afterwards (and I hadn’t been over to his house since telling his parents about my job) I was horrified to see the five of them sit down in The Sheaf’s beer garden, while I was inside serving patrons drinks, before getting ready to do my Sunday lunchtime guitar playing. I quickly told Sam about my unexpected visitors and had her chuckling in amusement at my sudden uncomfortableness at the situation.

If it wasn’t for the belief that I owed Dom and Trudy for hiring me, I would have pled sick and gone home, never to speak to Rhys again. But since it obviously must have been his idea to make his family come along to see where and how I worked, I finally decided against not working and embarrassingly made my way out to where my instruments were already set up. My only concession to modesty was hurriedly putting on my black wrap around skirt behind the bar, before doing so.

As I sat down and picked up the acoustic guitar, I wished everyone a good day and started playing. I did my best not to make it appear obvious I was glancing over at one table in particular, to see if Rhys and his family were already getting up to leave. So after playing my forth song (I hadn’t sung a word yet) I was horrified to see Rhys and his family appear to stand up getting ready to leave. But moments later I saw they were only moving to a closer table from where I was playing, that had a larger umbrella. His two sisters Di and Simone (Sy) were excitedly looking at me while even his parent’s didn’t appear to be to particularly upset. Rhys was simply looking at me the same way I usually looked at him.

A few minutes later having finished the tune I was playing, I changed my usual opening set and played a favourite “The Gambler” which Rhys always sang along to (as did most of the patrons) and sure enough he was singing along in the choruses……. as well as his smiling dad, who was obviously enjoying the sing-along. His dad even came over and placed a $5 note in my tip jar when I’d finished singing it! By the time of my first break, even Rhys’ mum was silently mouthing the words to songs that she knew and often silently applauding a particular song.

During the first break, I sat beside Rhys while his family asked me countless questions about my job, my "uniform" and just about everything else at The Sheaf. Both his parents said they’d been wrong to think anything bad about me working here and Candace apologised for any bad thoughts she'd had about me working there. She even remarked how my “corset's colour” actually suited my complexion. She asked me how my corset looked without the skirt on, so I unashamedly shed the skirt to show her, to the excited remarks from Rhys' sisters. Even his dad remarked humorously that he could understand what his son saw in me, before cheekily asking his wife, if she'd ever think about wearing one around the house sometimes, to a excited remarks of “how about it mum” from the girls.

Rhys’ mum and dad were old enough to know most of the music I played, unlike Rhys or his sisters. But he’d now heard me often enough now to actually like some of the music. Candace actually commented on how much her son appeared to like a particular song, as when I played the introduction she told me he’d quietly told his family to be quiet, but he was quietly singing the chorus under his breath while tapping his toe on the ground. “Goondiwindi Moon” was a really “country” love song and I knew how to play it with the tape machine accompaniment quite well.

During the second break I took them round to see the small glass display of garments for sale, which seemed to enthuse Rhys’ father even more. When I started my 3rd and final set, Rhys and his parents were sitting back at their table, later on being joined by Di(anne) and Sy(mone) now both wearing satin Basques above their jeans instead of the tops they’d worn earlier. The look of horror on their mum’s face was priceless, if only for the shock of having her two daughters suddenly appearing in public wearing revealing tops that clearly showed off their bosoms. As soon as I finished the song, I heard them quietly telling their mum they were supporting Cassie for the afternoon, before Candace could even remark on their attire. I saw and heard Rhys' dad just put his face in his hands and shake his head, telling his wife he was staying out of any discussions about his later on at home.

Dom did his usual late turning up and again being roped into sing our duet together. Every time was always the same. Dom loudly reluctant, the patrons loudly encouraging him to sing, that eventually had him happily singing (slightly off key) “We’ve got tonight”. He even paused to look at Rhys and his family, commenting on how nice the two girls looked dressed up for the occasion!

When I finished for the day and had packed up, Rhys’s dad “Darrell” who I’d always called Mr Moore up until now, invited me to join them for dinner at whatever Chinese place close to where I lived that served a passible “cat or dog”. I stopped off at my place to change into a pair of jeans and a less revealing Basque, (so Di and Sy wouldn't feel uncomfortable or embarrassed), before squeezing into their car’s back seat and giving them directions. We then spent a hilarious couple of hours eating and talking among ourselves in a practically deserted Chinese restaurant.

I was asked even more questions about The Sheaf, some of the memorable anecdotes there, songs I liked, what I wanted to do for a living and goodness knows what else. Candace drank just enough wine to get her tipsy and less formal. That had “Darrell” telling his siblings (and me) raucous stories about when he and Candace were engaged hat had everyone laughing. Whatever Rhys’ parents had thought of me before today was obviously now irrelevant and made me like the entire family now even more.

My cricket contract saw me getting much more cricket than I ever had thought possible. Admittedly I was a “project” leg spinner and although I had a foot in both the men’s and women’s squads, the NSWWCA (women’s cricket association) didn’t really seem to even want to know about me, let alone what to do with me. I was spending almost all of my time bowling to both squads players, going to view short films about learning to bowl leg spin, fielding drills, conditioning work and the very odd after practice drink and chat with other players in the men's squad.

The NSW State team (Sheffield Shield side) was usually among the strongest in regards to talent and player depth. Back in the teens, the National side boasted the entire NSW pace attack as well as the spin bowler. The captain also played for NSW. But by 2025/6 season the Australian side was ranked very low internationally, while the NSW squad that year was exceptional if only for the fact they couldn’t seem to win a game themselves.

The state of the nation (as well as the Australian team) hit an all-time low when they lost every cricket test match in the preceding twelve months. NSW was imitating its big brother, performance wise, and the sports media were constantly pushing for exciting new player selections. When they weren’t, they were demanding non performing veterans who’d passed their use by date be dropped from the squad. Just how bad it had become, was when a game against Queensland saw not one paying spectator attend the match.

But the final collapse of morale in the NSW Sheffield Shield side, saw the embarrassment of having two players declare themselves unavailable, on the evening (at 9pm) before the team was due to play the second last game of the regular season against Victoria at Bankstown Oval. I’d just walked out of the small theatrette under the Sydney Cricket Ground No2 solitary grandstand, having just viewed a new film clip of my bowling action. It proved (showed) that I hadn’t changed my bowling action in almost twelve months, according to the bowling coach who viewed it along with me.

As we headed towards the tunnel that led back into the main ground and the dressing rooms, I was approached by a distraught and worried selector, who asked me if I’d be available to play in a four day game against Victoria, scheduled to start the following morning at 10.30am. “WOULD I BE AVAILABLE”?........... Oh perhaps I might be able to find some time...... what a stupid question!

So instead of heading for the dressing rooms to get my gear, the selector instead led me towards the members pavilion and once there took out several blue state cricket caps, looking for a size that would fit me. Once we’d agreed on the cap, I was given five of the smallest logoed shirts he had in stock and told the more important details I'd need to know, such as where the game was, the time I was to show up beforehand, etc. He also told me countless other insignificant details that I immediately forgot in my excitement and haste to get home and get ready. I disturbed my parents just after 10.30pm to announce my exciting news. Dad was incredulous about the time I’d chosen to phone, but congratulated me all the same. My sister and Craig were already asleep so I knew better than to wake “them” up to tell them.

I must have spent ages packing my coffin with two of everything and four sets of sports bra and panties, each set in a separate plastic bag (one pair for each session if we fielded and still have a spare pair in-case of emergencies). Just before 1am, positive I had everything packed and after setting my phone to wake me, amazingly I fell off to sleep. In the morning I heard Sue behaving like she had her period, so I thought it best to say nothing till we saw each other that evening. I left a message on the fridge in-case she or Craig was home before me. “Playing cricket for NSW today, might be home late. Tell you all about it this evening. Cassie xxx”

You might say my selection for the NSW Sheffield Shield side was definitely a sudden one. So sudden in fact, that apart from the selectors and coach, no one had any idea why I was there at 9am standing outside a still yet to be unlocked dressing room dressed in a NSW logoed shirt and whites, standing next to two teams of pissed off and angry players and officials. When a key was finally obtained to unlock the building and once inside our change rooms, the NSW coach (Stuart) announced to my stunned teammates why I was standing there! I’m not sure if it was being locked out, or the announcement and reasons he gave for my selection that had several of them making snide comments. To say I felt as wanted as a bad fart in a crowded room of spinsters might have been appropriate under the circumstances.

During the shortened team warm ups which saw me being stared at by still amazed Victorian players, Stuart and the NSW captain (Peter Davies) spoke to me about how I was going to be used during the match. When the coin toss took place, we were batting first, so knowing I’d be listed as last in the batting order, allowed me to survey my surroundings as well as my teammates. The hostility I'd felt earlier on hadn’t been entirely directed at me I found out, as players began getting comfortable to watch the game and were including me in their conversations.

Bankstown oval was one of several grounds the state cricket competition was played on, having been improved over several seasons. So NSW Cricket didn’t have to pay the outrageous rent for using the SCG for anything other than important games, test matches, international ODI’s, televised twenty/20 games as well as the Premiership 1st grade final.

Unfortunately the NSWCA allowed the teams who used the grounds usually, to man them during interstate games. I say unfortunately in this instance, because no one from the Bankstown club turned up to do any of the preparation for either team’s comfort. (The independent ground staff had turned up, so at least the pitch was prepared and marked).

But things like food, drinks, clean toilets, even toilet paper hadn’t been supplied. To make it even worse, (if it could have been) the gates of the oval were open to allow the public to come in and watch the game free of charge ……and several diehard cricket supporters did (unlike the game against Queensland). So they had to walk up the road to find a nearby open corner shop to purchase food and drinks…………..Surely the major competition to determine potential players for Australia could do better than this.

Since I knew I’d need to use the toilets before I drove home, I volunteered to Stuart to go and buy some basic necessities such as toilet paper and drinks. I also ended up buying two plastic buckets, several bags of crushed ice, 10 bottles of cordial, 50 paper cups (all for drinks and session breaks) as well as a 24 pack of toilet paper and several bags of sweeties. If I’d known about the three guys up in the media area who worked for the radio station reporting on the game, I would have bought more.

When I got back after about 11.30, we had already lost two wickets for next to nothing in runs. I quickly distributed the toilet rolls around both changing rooms and found myself a plastic chair to sit on and joined my teammates in the shaded portico watching the game. My excitement at being chosen to play in my debut 1st class game had quickly soured, made worse by having to listen to the constant complaining over everything imaginable. The NSW team manager, who wasn’t to blame for any of it, was being constantly and nastily insulted by the NSW players and at the lunch break. He was also told an official complaint would be lodged by the umpires association over the situation!

During the lunch break, the players of both sides met over paper cups of iced chilled cordial, where I got to chat and know the Victorian team players better. Apparently I found out that the Victorians knew about me, but said they never thought I’d ever be selected to play in a men’s shield game, but they spoke to me the way most men do when encountering a 24 year old single blonde! By two o’clock and overdosing on sweets, I decided to think of today as being just like it had been at FLCC when I played their at first.

I went and found the groundsman and after talking to him about things, arranged for him or one of his staff to ensure they were available the following day to cook food if it was provided. I’d already given my shopping receipt for this morning’s purchases to our manager and told him about my plan for the rest of the match. A quick confab between him and his opposite number from the Victorian side saw that no one would be out of pocket while being fed for the duration of the match.

By the end of the day, the score read 8 for 227 and two pissed off teams made their way back to a team motel (in the Victorian’s case) or our own homes. I’d made a few disappearances throughout the day to ring up FLCC teammates to tell them all about my selection and they said they’d pass the word on to others. Several assured me they’d turn up tomorrow for moral support. I also phoned my butcher and explained what I needed and with that settled I sat back to watch the Victorian bowlers more closely.

By the time I collected my meat, bought the bread, almost 100 cans of soft drink, two hundred more paper cups, two dozen bottles of cordial and countless other things, I didn’t open the front door of the unit before 9pm, hot, tired and still aware of at least another hour’s worth of preparing things for tomorrow. Sue, Craig and I talked about today as I marinated the meat for tomorrow. Needing to answer my phone almost constantly from teammates asking after me, finally saw my sister taking it off me and switching it to voicemail.

Craig was particularly interested to see my players cap and was ticked off to find it didn’t fit him when he tried to put it on. Sue, knowing of my pedantic nature in making sure everything was done properly, helped me till we both decided we had finished preparing things for tomorrow. The next morning she even helped me pack everything in Sunny so I could get away earlier to beat the traffic.

When I drove through the gates at Bankstown oval and pulled up next to the dressing rooms, the ground curator quickly came over to help me unload everything, amazed there was so much to carry. Another of his staff was seconded to fill the now operating fridge full of soft drinks as well as two buckets full of block ice and water sweetened with cordial. Then the three of us buttered 5 loaves of bread and repacked them before stuffing them into a now filled fridge to remain fresh. The curator then went back out onto the ground to resume marking the creases before handing over the pitch to the umpires for play.

By the time our batsmen walked out to restart play, I was padded up waiting nervously. But I wasn’t alone as I’d had over twenty FLCC club mates come over to wish me luck beforehand. When the wicket fell that forced me to get up and walk out to the wicket, there were loud cheers and applause for me from my FLCC cheer squad, which the Victorian players thought was exceptional funny. I lasted almost three overs and scored 7 runs including a sweet square cut that fairly sizzled across the grass to the fence. My off stump being uprooted saw me calling out to the bowler “good nut” before I walked off to even louder applause from my enthusiastic club-mates.

By the time lunch rolled round at 12.30, it was my club-mates who were cooking the food for lunch, having taken it over after discovering that there was no food service for the public. Somehow or other they managed to find a way to make the meat stretch out enough (with the addition of 10 kilos of store bought sausages and an optional number of onions) to be able to feed everyone including themselves, along with several spectators not put off by yesterday’s debacle.

When about an hour after the resumption from the lunch interval the captain signalled for me to start warming up, my loyal FLCC club-mates and some of their partners, who now numbered well over 40 gave an ironic cheer. As I walked over to the umpire and handed him my cap, he quietly wished me good luck then went to his position and waited for me to mark out my run up. Oddly enough my introduction to bowl had seen the mood of the game change, as my NSW teammates although already well aware of ability to bowl, seemed keen to see how I’d perform in an actual shield game. They didn’t have to wait long to find out!

I’ve always thought and believed that you can always tell how well you’d do (as a bowler) by how the ball felt leaving your hand with the first ball you bowled. Today, it just felt right and the fast sharp turn off the pitch from that ball had me genuinely believing I might be able to do this. By the end of my first over and with two wickets in the bank so were my teammates, who were now enthusiastically encouraging me after each ball, calling out I had the batsmen worried about not being able to read me, or saying the batsmen were worried about my turn. Nothing negative and meant to lift the tempo (and me) at the same time, I could "feel" their new enthusiasm as I bowled.

And each ball I bowled did exactly what I had intended as Victorian batsmen came and left in an almost scripted Hollywood parade. My club-mates added to the dramatic turnaround calling out funny suggestions that were both derogatory to the Victorian batsmen and obviously not allowed under the rules of cricket (including bowl her from both ends Peter). Just before the afternoon tea break the Victorians were all out for only 109 runs and I had “8 for 29” and smiling like a Cheshire cat, as my teammates allowed me the honour of leading them from the field, applauding my performance.

It was as if someone somewhere had the ability to flick a switch, as the mood of our dressing room was now one of laughter and humorous remarks, which a winning team’s rooms should always be. After we had changed into our sponsors non playing shirts (to show that someone else was paying for our jobs), I spent the rest of the day’s play talking with teammates as well as the half a dozen or so members of the public who had turned up along with my FLCC club mates. The all wanted to express their congratulations over my performance and my FLCC club-mates wanted to in a more raucous way. Our coach and team manager kept a watchful eye over the scene, probably grateful that I hadn’t humiliated anyone, or thinking perhaps that this NSW team might actually now win a match this season.

By the time I got home, my bowling performance was even being spoken about over the car radio. I’d already phoned through my order for food for the following day back at the ground and when I walked into the butchers to collect it, I was almost knocked to the ground with congratulatory pats on the back by Saul and his staff. It was much the same doing my grocery shopping, since I was required to wear the sponsor’s shirt (for wearing out in public during a shield match) and even had total strangers calling out to me in the streets congratulating me.

When I got home, Craig was ecstatic and even my sister seemed to understand about my performance, excitedly telling me about how the news reader had read out my name along with my bowling figures and showed a film clip of me taking a wicket. Craig made me tell him (in great detail) about every wicket I took and even helped Sue and I prepare the food for tomorrow.

The following morning saw another horrendous drive to Bankstown, which normally shouldn’t have taken so long, but peak hour traffic made it so. I'd no sooner pulled up in Sunny then the entire ground staff (under the supervision of the curator) help me unload Sunny and carry everything into the small kitchen area, then butter loaves of bread or stack the almost empty fridge with more cans of soft drink for me. This left me free to talk to teammates along with the Victorian players, who spoke to me humorously about yesterday’s batting collapse against my bowling, while asking me what I was going to give them for lunch today.

Someone in NSW Cricket must have rung someone up somewhere, as several old people turned up to announce they were there to operate the canteen, to be brusquely told they weren’t needed by several players. But they stayed anyway, if only to sell the occasional can of soft drink to people who strayed into the ground to see what was going on.

I spent most of the morning looking through the flimsy fly screen door at the match, with my hands covered in flour baking scones and patty cakes. The wonderful smell of baking was causing a constant number of NSW teammates to inquire as to what I was cooking, or else grabbing the end results off the cooling down plates and dashing back outside to hungrily devour still warm patty cakes.

I had the curator fire up the BBQ for lunch then had him proceed to act as head chef, as he started cooking steak and sausages marinated in a different sauce from yesterday’s lunch. The two elderly couples, who now took turns manning the canteen, were simply amazed not only by the fact that a woman was playing in a men’s Sheffield Shield game, but was also dashing about cooking cakes and scones, while instructing the curator on how to cook the steak and serve the salad I’d also prepared. I soon had the two ladies helping me bake and learnt a new way to make a scone mix stretch further than even the manufacturer could have ever imagined.

Being as busy as I was, I had no way of knowing how many people had by then turned up to watch the match. So it wasn’t until the players were coming off for lunch that carrying a large tray of still oven hot scones, accompanied by one of the old ladies carrying a try with several small bowls filled with jam or cream, I came outside to see under the nearby trees, every space filled by fold up chairs with people sitting in them.

The casual atmosphere of a BBQ lunch for the players saw an agreeably friendly mood at lunch between two traditionally “rival” teams. There was also about ten NSW cricket officials (they all wore polo shirts stating the fact on their chest pockets) paying for lunch and observing the goings on.

All the NSW players were in happy spirits, perhaps because our side was now in an unlosable position and could definitely win if it didn’t rain. Everyone was thanking me for preparing such a wonderful lunch and agreeably quickly devouring the steak sandwiches, followed by the warm scones in next to no time at all, asking between mouthfuls what I might be preparing for lunch tomorrow! Peter Davies then reminded everyone that I’d be too busy helping to bowl out the Bushrangers (Victorian cricket team) tomorrow to cook lunch, so to enjoy today’s lunch as it was going to be the last one!

By late in the day's play and with a lead of over 400 runs, Peter declared our second innings and made the Victorians bat the last hour, which allowed our fast bowlers to bowl flat out in short spells. I hoped to get an over, but our quicks and Peter decided otherwise and when we walked off at day’s end the Victorians were 3 for 62 and probably losing tomorrow if the weather held fine.

The next day saw a fitting end to the match as our team bowled out the Victorians just after the tea interval. They ended up scoring 268 and in a decidedly cavalier fashion. I took 3 for 51, as their batsmen were now too cautious of my bowling to make mistakes, (although three batsmen obviously did). With the game over, the alcohol magically appeared out of nowhere to drink and relax everyone, while I underwent my first radio interview. The sole radio station sports commentator interviewed me for ten minutes in front of both teams drinking beer and listening in. I provided a lot of laughs with some of my answers, scared of saying something that might offend anybody, so I instead praised my NSW teammates, along with the Victorian players for their efforts. I saw from the smiles on the NSW coach and team manager’s faces that I must have said the right things.

Getting home in time to catch the 7pm news, I saw a brief coverage of the match and the end result. Tomorrow was Saturday (and I had already been instructed by the NSW coach not to play for FLCC in their match), so I instead used it to go watch my teammates play in it instead! Since it was at Rosedale and not far away, I spent it sitting beside the two scorers talking about the match against Victoria I’d just played in. Boring I suppose, but I’m no worse than any other cricket tragic out there.

At least I wasn’t tired on Saturday evening when Rhys took me to a small new restaurant that had opened up near where he lived in Cherrybrook. He didn’t complain when I told him it was too late for me to drive back home or when I told him with a smile "I’ll do all the hard work honey", as I eased my body down on top of his later on!

Caught In Slips Pt 15
As told to me by Chris Myr
for uploading to BCTS.

*************************************************************************************************************************************
First off I’d like to thank all the BCTS members who made inquiries into the welfare of Chris after his sudden absence of stories being posted to BCTS.

Sometimes old age catches up to people and my friend Chris suffered a serious stroke which has affected not only his speech but in particularly his body, which means he is no longer able to things he did before he was struck down or very much else for that matter. He can now only communicate using pen and paper and even then with great difficulty.

I'd told several BCTS members the other day that I was looking at a timeline of April or later before the first chapter would be uploaded. My friend's eyes when I told him that has made me change my mind (at least for this chapter) and I'm actually excited about being able to show him the site with the story uploaded and look at his face and eyes.

It’s been so long since Chris posted chapter 14, (March 2018) that it mightn’t be a bad idea to reread it (for this chapter to make much sense). *************************************************************************************************************************************
The following morning had me driving back home from Rhys’s place so I could get dressed for my afternoon shift at The Sheaf.

I was still on a high from Friday’s Sheffield Shield match result, but working among barmaids who were unsurpassed experts at the quick “put down” comment, made sure I remained level headed and not get carried away with myself.

My workmates while especially happy for my success did their utmost to make sure I downplayed it when dealing with the hotel patrons. Perhaps that’s why after their first (c)rude humorous put downs to any patrons who complimented me had been heard around the sports bar, it seemed as if by silent consent among the patrons, that no one was going to get too carried away with many congratulatory words to me or they’d face humorous ridicule from my workmates.

But a much fuller tip jar than normal by the end of my musical afternoon, along with the sustained round of loud applause I received when I appeared in the beer garden to begin my after afternoon performance, had me feeling very pleased. After I finished playing that afternoon, I worked my final hour doing the exact same thing that was now second nature to me. Namely quick and efficient pouring of beers or mixing cocktails, taking money and handing back change and making harmless small talk with patrons.

*****************

Part of my player’s contract with the NSWCA (New South Wales Cricket Association) stipulated that I had the following three days off after playing a four day match, in lieu of games that took place over weekends. That wasn’t going to deter me from driving out to where the squad was based (the SCG No2 field) on the Monday however.

But what I wasn’t expecting to see when I did was so many players there. I knew that the coaching staff would be there regardless and I was hoping that this would allow me to get some personalised assistance (from the batting coaches) in learning how to improve my skills with the bat. So it came as quite a shock to find the carpark as crowded as it normally was when I braked Sunny to a shuddering halt.

After getting changed (a small lockable room had been cleaned out and declared my changing area, the week after I signed my contract and was training full time – The women’s squad used the men’s area when they trained – usually only of a morning), I trotted out onto the oval to receive loud cat calls and remarks about always turning up late (which I never did) then being instructed to do laps by the squad’s coach (this was standard procedure before any training session).

W.T.F was going on here……..A full turn out at training before anyone needed to? Usually (unless the draw had another game scheduled soon after the previous match) the first few days after a match allowed those of us who never seemed to get selected to play (such as myself normally) to get some serious “personalised training” from the coaching staff. It didn’t seem to be turning out that way today.

Everyone in the squad, especially those players who’d just played against Victoria was training hard, listening to coaching advice and generally being positive and upbeat. The enthusiasm seemed contagious, and the ancillary squad staff in particular enjoyed assisting anyone requiring help. This “new” vibe in the atmosphere surrounding the training workout, now made it seem like fun instead of a tedious dreary chore. Throughout the session I found myself being the “target” for a lot of jokes and humorous comments. Rest assured I gave as good as I copped.

The afternoon saw the usual video watching of the game just finished, but this time I paid even closer attention to observations Stuart made about everyone’s performances, since several of them related to my own performance. In another surprise move Stuart also announced the team for the final Shield game against Tasmania (down in Hobart), with my name being announced in the starting twelve, that with no additional spin bowler being named had me excited to know I’d almost be definitely playing in the match.

What I certainly didn’t expect was to be asked to remain behind (or the reason why) when Stuart declared training finished around 3.30pm. He asked that I wait until one of the changing rooms was empty, so I could have a shower and get dressed for a meeting with several NSWCA officials to discuss my future. This left me wondering what was going to happen, having already heard about (or seen) how several other players had been spoken to about “their futures”, which usually meant them being demoted or else dropped from the squad entirely. I have to admit the day seemed to suddenly turn sour thinking about how/what they were going to speak to me about even though I’d done reasonably well in my playing debut.

Stuart waited for me to shower and change, but didn’t appear to be nervous or worried as he escorted me back inside the SCG environs and up into the members lounge area. Sitting there waiting for me, along with a platter of small cut sandwiches, pieces of fruit, a jug of iced cold fruit juice and glasses, were several men I’d never met before. They were introduced to me as journalists from certain publications, along with the chairman of the NSWCA and a publicity manager as well, who both proceeded to sit either side of Stuart, as it was explained to me what the meeting was about.

It seemed that my “amazing” (one journalist’s choice of words, not mine) state team debut was something that the NSWCA hierarchy wanted to try and capitalise on, to help (partly) offset such a disappointing year for the organisation overall. More than once during the interview, one of my answers had to be expanded upon by Stuart (or the two NSWCA gentlemen) for the benefit of the journalists.

Some of my initial answers to questions asked had everyone laughing, which seemed to set the tone for the rest of the interview. I even had to ask the photographer to allow me to put my face on (to more laughter) before I’d allow him to take several photographs of me, either by myself or with one or both of the NSWCA officials or Stuart. At the time I had no idea that when the eventual magazine articles appeared on the newsstands (several months later), it would create so much interest or speculation about me.

After the interview was over and the journalists gone, I was informed that from since the Saturday just gone, I was now on a higher level of pay as I had now played a game for my State, NSW. The extra $30,000 a year had me trolling the internet later that night looking seriously at cars to buy.

*************

About four weeks later, and two weeks after a very successful game against Tasmania (where I got another swag of wickets), I answered my mobile to have Stuart ask me if I would be available to attend a five day training camp in Darwin (?) of all places. After telling him I needed to get time off from The Sheaf to be able to do so, he needlessly reminded me about my updated contract’s obligations and that I’d only been allowed the exemption about my employment there as a gesture of amicable conciliation by the NSWCA.

Since I’d never been to Darwin before and to do so at no expense was already a “gimme”, Stuart was simply wasting oxygen and I told him so. After he rang off, he sent me a text of the flight details and possible clothes to wear, stating that I was to only wear my state training gear while there (?)

When I arrived at the airport for my flight the following week, I was initially worried when I couldn’t see any of my teammates waiting for me in the usual (new for me) coffee lounge up on the main airport concourse that the team always rendezvoused at. When the public address system called my flight for boarding, I simply assumed that everyone was waiting there and even after I took my seat on board and didn’t see anyone, finally decided they must have taken an earlier flight that didn’t have enough seats on it.

By the time the plane landed and I’d managed to find my way to the taxi rank to join a fairly long queue, my thoughts had switched to how stifling the heat and humidity was in Darwin. Even trying not to move about left my underarms soaked inside my blouse’s short sleeves and I had to mop my brow every other minute to absorb the sweat from off of my face. When I finally got to sit in the air-conditioned taxi, I could have sworn I’d already lost a kilo in body weight from perspiration!

The address I gave the driver (a large private school - which must have allowed the NSWCA to hire the facility during the school term break) saw him telling me he’d already had to drop off some players there the previous day. He also told me he was going to take the day off to come and watch the trial game starting on Friday (it was Sunday then). When the taxi finally pulled up at the school, I had to go and lift my own coffin and large valise out of the boot while the driver sat in the cool of the taxi.

As I looked around and started to pick up my luggage, a reasonably tall teenager in school uniform (wearing a blazer incredibly enough) came slowly trotting towards me while shouting a welcome to his college, then on pulling up infront of me took over carrying my luggage. With a simple instruction to follow him, he led me along a concrete pathway and into an old three storey building. As I stepped through the entrance it seemed possibly even hotter than it was out in the direct sunlight.

Once inside another person who I assumed must have been employed there quietly thanked the student then took over carrying my things. He led me up a large polished timber staircase and along a corridor showing doors with roman numerals on them as we passed each one. He finally stopped infront of one marked “XIV”, then telling me where the toilets were handed me a key before placing my luggage on the floor beside me and walked back the way we’d just came.

I unlocked and opened the door to discover a small but clean and tidy room, whose wall posters obviously showed some Northern Territory football team the room’s usual occupant supported. A quick exploration of the room found it only had a bed, empty cupboards and drawers (whose contents had obviously been removed for visitors to use) along with a small bathroom annex. The annex contained a toilet, a washbasin and a sort of micro shower that had a curtain around it to save the surrounding floor from becoming a miniature lake. I had to laugh to myself about what the room’s usual occupant would think when he returned from holidays to find his bathroom smelling sweetly feminine instead of the masculine teenage boy funk it smelt like now.

So proceeding to unpack my luggage, I made sure to only use my own coat hangers to hang up everything in the cupboard. On opening the set of drawers inside it and seeing clean white contact on the bottom of each drawer and looking passably clean, had me feeling safe enough to put my smalls away in them along with some shorty shorts and tops, but chucking evilly to myself as I deliberately spritzed perfume into each drawer before allowing it to dry enough before putting my clothes in them!

I also got changed into a pair of shorts and a sleeveless gym top as well as giving myself another heavy spray of antiperspirant to keep the sweat under my arms at bay. I proceeded to tie my hair up in a high ponytail, in the hopes it would leave the back of my neck free to catch any breeze that might be around. With everything unpacked (my coffin wasn’t but it was now under the bed and out of sight) the now opened window provided a panoramic view showing a large expanse of manicured lawns dotted with large densely foliaged trees.

On sitting back on the bed, I then looked closely at a stapled sheet of instructions that had been placed there, obviously put there for me to read. It contained a timetable of training activities along with a map showing the names of each building (for when and if) I needed to walk around the school. The map presently showed I was sitting in a student’s dormitory, (room number 14 – XIV as a matter of fact) and I was surprised to see that there was a shower block facility at the end of the 1st floor corridor. Later on at dinner, I learned that I’d been allocated the “senior” boy’s room, because it was the only one (on that floor of the building) that had a private bathroom in it. Everyone else had to use the facilities at the end of the corridor…..lucky me!

A knock at the door saw me opening it to recognise a face that was almost as well known as the president of the USA. Stuttering at the suddenness of his appearing infront of me, I invited the Australian Cricket team coach into the room, while quickly moving to drag (one handed) the only chair in the room towards me while I sat on the bed. He didn’t waste any time with trivialities, asking me almost immediately he was seated if I was unpacked yet and was I ready to do some hard work. Blushing crimson with embarrassment I told him “sure, but may I ask you what a busy guy like yourself, the Australian Cricket Team coach, is doing attending a NSW cricket training camp?”

He looked at me quizzically, apparently unable to comprehend what I was talking about (and it turned out I didn’t either). “NSW” he asked? “Now why in hell would I be at a NSW team’s training camp, when the Australian team is preparing to fly out to India in ten day’s Cassie” he asked me and began laughing. “Is that what you were told young lady” he asked in an incredulous tone of voice? My timid nodding in affirmation had him shaking his head and chuckling, saying he wouldn’t have believed it if he wasn’t there right now listening to me. He then asked me just exactly what I’d been told by my NSW coach Stuart.

After I explained what little I actually knew about the invitation to come to Darwin, he explained why I was here and the reasons for it. It turned out I was here because my NSW coach had sent a film clip of my two games for NSW for him to look at while also suggesting I might be able to be of some use for the Australian team’s Indian tour preparation.

I was then informed how my bowling action apparently appeared to be quite similar to that of India’s main spin bowler’s action, so it had been decided by someone somewhere, to use my bowling to give the Australian batsmen as much practice facing him (me) as possible before the first test there….. I was stunned into shocked open mouthed silence, which only made the Australian team coach laughing louder at seeing my face’s appearance.

Finally I recovered enough to ask him (beg actually) not to say anything to anyone else here about the misunderstanding, which he grinningly agreed to. He then asked me to accompany him and together we went back downstairs where he showed me around the school grounds, pointing out the main areas I’d need to know about, before finally leaving me and walking off, saying he’d see me at dinner tonight while again reminding me to be ready to start work at 8am tomorrow sharp, pointing towards the set up cricket nets which had a few players (none of whom I could recognise at that distance) using already.

Having already committed the meal times to my brain earlier on, but not wanting to walk over and look at the guys practicing in the nets, I did a quick walk around by myself before returning to my room a sweat drenched mess. The last part of my walk saw me beginning to feel a soft breeze blowing over me, which was something to be grateful for because my antiperspirant was obviously hopeless here.

Once back in my room again I took a shower and fell asleep on the bed with nothing more than a towel wrapped around me to try and remain cool, when a few hours later I was startled awake from my snooze by the sounds of players noisily ascending the timber staircase along with loud jocular remarks reverberating along the corridor.

Dinner was at 6pm so I spent the next hour or so slowly (to avoid sweating) getting dressed and putting on a very light face. When I closed my room’s door and headed for the dining hall in the next building across, I was wearing bra and briefs under a cotton sleeveless top and skirt and walking in low heeled open toed sandals, trying to look a smartly chic casual woman and somebody definitely not scared or nervous.

The dining instructions (on my information sheets) had simply stated that seating arrangements were random for meals, so I took that to mean I could sit anywhere. When on seeing how people in the room (hall) were dotted around anywhere, I took the first small empty table available and sat down to curious looks from several of the other table’s occupants. Trying not to appear awestruck, I did my best not to stare when other players entered the large hall and was hoping not to end up sitting alone, but also not next to any of what seemed to be numerous team assistants entering the hall. Luck was with me, as two young guys (that simply had to be players) clumsily slumped into seats at my table, announcing their names (Aaron and Brian) and asking what I did here, but not if they could share my table with me.

Before I had a chance to reply, Aaron asked his “mate” what wine they wanted and before I knew it, I was facing the prospect of having been invited to share a bottle (several in-fact) of Cabernet Sauvignon (which I detested) with them eating “lamb” cutlets, while I myself would have preferred a light white wine if I’d been asked for my suggestion! Fortunately the dinner was table staffed and a waiter asked me for my own wine preference, which allowed me not to have to drink their swill.

Having neatly avoided having to answer Aaron’s initial question to me earlier on about what I did there, it wasn’t long before his “mate” Brian asked me the same question, inquiring whether I was a physio or a sports psychologist.

Thinking fast about why I was there and not wanting to appear to boast, I quietly told them I was “a quality control person”. The Australian coach sitting at the table next to us (whom I hadn’t noticed before) started quietly laughing as he turned around to tell my two companions I was there to see how they coped with spin bowling (!) He suggested they try not to give me any false impressions before turning back to his own dining companions, chuckling at his remarks. A moment later and not being able to hear what he was saying to the people dining with him, his own table broke out in loud laughter.

After that interruption, I managed to steer the conversation away from cricket and between the three of us, we all managed to find common ground discussing films that we’d seen recently. The meal and my eating companions didn’t turn out to badly after that and since I could only manage to drink about half of the small bottle of white wine, I saw my two new dining companions drain my half full bottle of white wine into their own glasses after they’d finished their own bottles of red.

Once the meal was over and the tables cleared of plates, the Australian coach stood up and bellowed that practice was 8am sharp and not to hit the “turps” heavily tonight. He then moved to join another table’s group while a number of players got up and left the hall. Thanking my two dining companions, I excused myself and followed behind the other people leaving the hall to go back to my room and try relaxing by reading a book. I found it difficult to sleep that night as even with the ceiling fan running at maximum, the warm night air made it extremely uncomfortable to be able to sleep properly.

The following morning arrived still warm and slightly humid but not yet hot, so I showered in cold water to wake up and refresh myself. An hour after leaving the dining hall the previous night, a knock on my door had seen someone handing me several plastic bagged shirts while also instructing me that it was compulsory to wear them for training and while I was staying here. Whoever had chosen them must have had a terrible eye for size, as all six tops looked like tents on me. At least they’d had the sense to give me several different sizes, so I chose the smallest to wear for the morning and sat on my bed cutting and resewing some of the tops using the small sewing kit I always packed for travelling emergencies, while I’d alter the rest later on after training the following day.

I joined everyone for breakfast at 6.30am, to find my same two dining companions from last night motioning me over to a table they were sitting at. On sitting down together (no gentlemanly courtesy here thank you), they quickly informed me that they now knew who I was and proceeded to shake my hand one after the other as they congratulated me on my “private” joke? They also informed me that the players who had stayed around after dinner had been told who I was and also why I was there. Everyone was apparently looking forward to facing my bowling Aaron assured me while Brian informed me that several players were quietly boasting about seeing how far they could hit me out of the nets!

After breakfast I timidly excused myself and left the hall to go and get my coffin and walk over to the nets. On the way back downstairs lugging my oversized gear bag, I said countless good mornings to various players (that I secretly admired for their cricketing talent) heading upstairs to do the same thing.

On walking outside I noticed a large shady tree close to the net area and headed over towards it where I dumped my gear on the ground near the trunk then got changed out of my joggers into my sprigged boots. Soon afterwards a number of players who had placed their coffins close to the nets and in the direct sun now followed my lead and carried their coffins over to get ready and rest in the shade.

I and three other guys were quietly taken aside during the coach’s psych up talk to the others. The four of us said almost nothing to each other, instead watching the fast bowlers stretching out before the four of us were asked to start getting warmed up as well. What I hadn’t known about, having arrived on a later flight, was that the net session work would be done on a rotation basis, to acclimatise to the Darwin heat which was supposed to be similar to the sub-continent of India and Bangladesh. No player (we were informed) was to do more than two hours in the sun at a time and with regular hydration pauses as well as half hour breaks between sessions. Because I was there simply to bowl I was spared from any of the fielding drills.

The nets were to be divided up into slow/spin bowling and pace bowling. I saw there were four nets set up, with one being used for close in fielding drills, the rest for batting (either pace or spin). Although it was school holidays, there were about forty students who must have been staying at the school and who were now “camped” behind the nets watching the players train.

Having watched the fielding drills and then carefully observing which bowlers went to which nets, I carefully joined the slow net and tried to stay unnoticed while marking out my own run up. Nobody said anything other than to anonymously grunt to my friendly greeting of “Hi, I’m Cassie, pleased to meet you”. Obviously the fact that not everyone was too enthusiastic about my being here couldn’t have been made more subtly to me.

After the first two balls bowled, I’d found my line and length and the hidden scepticism about why I was here was quickly put to rest. When a side’s captain and vice-captain (both well known around the world and acknowledged for their excellent batting techniques were having difficulty reading my bowling variations and often edging balls towards slips or up in the air off to leg side unintentionally, it was as if open war had been declared.

It might have helped if our “audience” behind the nets hadn’t been so vocal to each snick off or miss hit off the bat. The spinner’s net, quickly become trench warfare as first the captain and then the vice-captain refused to come out of the nets until I’d been tamed and to hell with any thought about drink breaks. After the first two hours of nets, I had only bowled against three batsmen instead of at least the expected batting squad of eight batsmen.

The Australian coach had seen what was going on and did an impromptu assessment before moving two of the squad’s fast bowlers to bowl in tandem with myself and one of the two others hoping to be selected as spin bowlers for the tour, to further make the net batting session as realistic as what might be encounter in India. When the halt signal was finally given, none of us in the nets were anything other than sweat drenched messes, staggering towards the tree shade while thirstily gulping down bottles of water or Staminade trying to rehydrate.

My training shirt was now that drenched in sweat it was far too heavy on me and my bra was now clearly outlined underneath it. So without asking, I took out one of my NSW training tops and went behind a tree and got changed into it. When I reappeared carrying my sweat drenched shirt in one hand, I saw a sudden exodus towards the main building by the other bowlers to change into dry shirts and quickly return. Meanwhile I’d been informed by an irate team manager, that I wasn’t supposed to wear anything other than the sponsors training clothing, After explaining the situation to the manager and how I was going to do some sewing alterations later on today, I finally had him angrily agreeing “this one time only young lady I’ll allow you to do this” (in a very cross tone of voice) to allow me an exemption.

Fifteen minutes afterwards and with the bowlers now wearing fresh shirts, I along with the other bowlers had to endure another two hours of net bowling (with only short spells in between for desperately needed fluid intakes) before a halt was called for lunch. My club cricket cap was now not only a sweat soaked mess but also had a thick sweat band through it due to my perspiration and it looked ruined. I’d had to wear it to save my face from being burnt more than it probably already was, but was going to swap it for a white floppy for the after lunchtime session and to hell with any threats.

After the squad was told to get cleaned up and get some lunch, I somehow managed to find enough energy to climb the stairs of our building and take a quick cold shower. Then getting changed into dry clothes again I found my way down to the food hall to gulp (literally) down a sandwich, some fruit and several more bottles of water, before I made my way back to the nets for the last two hours for the day, now armed with a white cricket hat and sun glasses.

By then (and probably in mutually shared sympathy about how hot the temperature was out there) the other bowlers were now saying nothing but encouraging things about my bowling as they continued to watch me confuse and surprise some of the best batsmen in the country and dare I say it – the world. It was now also more of a friendly bowling competition against one another versus our arch foe (batsmen).

Possible catch edges, LBW’s (certain or otherwise) and especially stumps being hit brought loud raucous appeals from all of us along with suggestions about where the batsman should go to next. Admittedly the last session saw all of us (the bowlers) wilting quickly, while the batsman rotated out every twenty or so minutes to be replaced by a fresh batsman. By the time the coach finally called it quits, everyone was in agreement we’d all done well, while the bowlers seemed to be in agreement about who was buying first drinks as we trooped off to shower……the coach!

That evening at dinner, swift moving of several tables together (against the requests of the catering people) saw me sitting among players, many of who I’d only ever seen on television during summer. I actually liked being around the centre of attention (and I’d dressed accordingly, chic, feminine and in casually loose clothing because of the heat) while I had everyone in hysterics telling them about my barmaid job and about all the funny things that happened working at The Sheaf. Everyone decided on an early night, because there was more net practice work the following day.

By the end of Tuesday it seemed as if “my” room was now “the place” for a lot of the Australian cricket team to hang out in after tea and social drinkies in the dining hall. I think it was mainly because I stupidly (and like most women) like to wash out my smalls and hang them up in a bathroom or airing cupboard (if you had one) to dry that was the cause of my popularity although batting weaknesses “were” dissected from Tuesday night onwards. You see, several of the bowlers initially (but a few of the batsmen I troubled that day inquired as well) asked after social drinkies on Monday evening if they could come up and discuss some of the weaknesses I seemed to be highlighting among the batsman. I’d completely forgotten about my washing hanging up and low and behold, loud raucous voices and wolf whistles soon had my small dwelling bursting at the seams as my various items of underwear were proudly held up for all to see (and damned well out of my limited short reach in height)

By the end of Thursday and with “some” degree of acclimatising (socialising some might call it) having happened between myself and the other players in camp, around 9.30pm on Thursday I was getting ready to pack my gear up and catch the 9am flight back to Sydney the following day. Instead and quite agreeably, I was asked to remain in camp and play in the four day trial game, on the “Opponents team” against a “Likely” Australian 11 side.

The game (trial) was meant to be a final hit out for the squad before leaving for India, and although most of the “Opponents team”, weren’t touring India, several were and although perhaps not among the “top line” players, they could definitely make the “likeliest team players” fight hard if the breaks went evenly. It had also been decided upon that the winning side would receive a $15,000 bonus shared among its 12 players, which while not a fortune in itself, was a bit of a motivator (well for me at least anyway).

To offset part of the costs of staging the camp in the Darwin, the trial match was to be played at Darwin’s main cricket ground and the public were being encouraged to come along and watch (at $5 a day, which was incredibly cheap). It was also meant for the match to help raise the profile of cricket in the state as well. There’d also be coverage of the game on cable TV and the print media had been doing a number of short story pieces about some of the players since the squad had arrived in Darwin.

Since the selected Australian touring squad players were used to all of this, the game was just another “day at the office” for them, as it should have been (and was) for most of the Opponent’s players. But for someone like me, being new to any of this (and two other players who were being touted as future test players) the trial game was a “big deal” and to be taken very seriously. My “Captain” for the game (Adam) did his best to keep me excited (not that difficult really) by making our wicket keeper practice behind the stumps in the nets on Thursday evening under lights around 10pm, because he’d had the chance to bat against me and already knew how difficult it was to pick each type of ball I’d bowl after Adam had been told about my “sudden” inclusion in his team!

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The following morning, Friday (and at the normal scheduled time) the game started, which saw the Australian “likely” team fielding first, having lost the toss. The oval we played on allowed the public to be situated quite close to the action and to hear everything said on the field. I found the remarks being made to each batsman an education in itself, listening to the constant sledging from the Australian team squad as it did it’s best to get inside the minds of their opponents.

There was no quarter given or asked for, as players on both sides fought with bat and ball (and a lot of descriptive words and gestures) against each other. Our team (the Opponents) batted well, and when I was finally made to come out to bat, early the following day, the Opponents had scored a very gritty 310. In a self-admitted mistake afterwards, the fast bowlers allowed me to get my eye in (by bowling far less aggressively against me than the other batsman) and with some fast running between stumps and an acknowledged power hitting cowboy for a partner, the score ended up being 351 before I was left to bemoan “another 50 nipped in the bud” as my cowboy partner holed out at deep mid-off. But at least I’d scored 9 not out!

By the time our side was dismissed, the day 2 pitch we were playing on had all the characteristics of a well-made freeway. That is to say, flat, even, no dips, no cracks or crevices, and an absolute dream to bat on. One of our two “hopefully” aspiring future test players and opening bowler for our side, was treated mercilessly as his bowling was attacked from the get go, as was the rest of our quick bowlers as well. In what seemed like only a short time (not quite a full two hour session) the scoreboard read 0 for 135 and neither batsmen looked like getting out, before I was called on to bowl shortly before the tea break interval.

By that time, I’d gotten so fed up with having to try stopping balls whizzing past me (almost always just out of my reach) as they raced to the boundary. My playing whites were stained both front and sides highlighting my efforts, so I was simply grateful to know I wouldn’t be chasing balls to the fence while I was bowling. But I wasn’t angry enough not to care about line and length and although throwing caution to the wind, bowled each ball with a viscous tweak to try and get enough spin to cause miss hitting and possible catches. It worked.

By the end of my first over the scoreboard now read 2 for 139 and as “luck” would have it, I was now going to bowl to the two best batsmen in the country when I bowled my next over! Suddenly the game seemed to switch to slow motion as neither batsman was going to do something foolish before the tea interval, while I was being allowed to bowl ripping leg breaks and wrong-uns with little fear of retaliation on a pitch deck that everyone said was “a road” not that long ago.

With the help of a lot spectacular catching, both behind the wicket as well as in front of it, I figuratively tore through the Australian batting line up. Anything I bowled short, got hammered mercilessly, but I didn’t bowl too many and didn’t allow many “gimmes” either. Admittedly I did have a catch taken in the crowd (several rows back) from off of the Australian vice-captain’s bat, but I also had him trapped LBW not too long afterwards with a well disguised “flipper” that snuck under his bat and rapped his front pad.

When “our” side’s batsmen walked off at the end of the day’s play we were 0 for 8 in our second innings and the ”Likely” test team had scored just 227 all out. I had 6 for 51 and it included clean bowling the Australian captain…..….Do you think I wasn’t pleased with myself (?) Sure I’d just ruined a trial game’s major reason for being played (shades of my first 1st grade trial game against North Sydney), but we’d all been told to treat the match as a serious game, so I’d only done what I’d been told to do.

At dinner each night back at the boarding school, rivalries were quickly forgotten about as was any sledging. After Day 2, I had several Australian batsmen I’d taken the wicket of, asking me to find some time (if it was possible) to come bowl at them in the nets after we’d had our meals! I also no longer had to worry about paying for any of my after meals drinks or drinks at any time, as by mutual consent among the management and coaching staff, all my drinks were now “gratis”.

The following day, day 3 of the match, it was felt that with the possibilities of a storm sometime on the following day, our team would declare once we were 301 runs infront of the “Likely” test team. It was also decided on among team management, that the quick bowlers would only bowl quick short spells and then support the slow bowlers for the bulk of the innings. The slow bowlers were me and a part time off spinner from South Australia with our captain Adam throwing in his left hand Chinamen for good measure. The baking heat in Darwin had “the road” starting to need repairs and it was beginning to help the spin bowlers immeasurably.

By the time an “Ark” was needed the following day just before the tea interval, when play was abandoned once the extent of the downpour was realised, an embarrassing humiliation had only just been avoided before the Australian cricket test team was about to head off for India. The score was 8 for 113 and although the test captain was still out there defending grimly against the makeshift three prong spin attack, it was accepted by just about everyone there that the “Opponents” would have won if mother nature hadn’t intervened. I’d gotten another “fivefa” (5 for 39) and won the unofficial man (?) of the match trophy (a bottle of scotch). Along with my teammates, I was informed that by popular consensus (?) our team deserved to win the $15,000 prizemoney (which otherwise would have been donated to local charities)..….woohoo!

The next morning saw everyone packing up their belongings and gear before it was loaded onto a coach and driven (along with us) to the airport, which would see the players disappear on various flights home to their respective states. I was flying home along with two India bound squad players as well as several team officials and support staff. It was a particularly boisterous flight back considering the circumstances and the complimentary free drinks, courtesy of the airline. I also now had some unexpected spending money to look forward to receiving along with a personal individually signed team photo of all the players in the touring squad for India along with a lot of newly converted players I could call “mate” to.

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I would have used Chris' account to upload this story, but it seems to be missing the block showing his messages, loading a story, my blog, etc. which seems to be on my account. So if anyone knows how to restore this I'd be grateful. Then I can move this chapter over to his account where it should be. M.R.