THE YOUNG BOY wandered around the bedroom, then sat quietly on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling above the carpet, his toes gently brushing the soft pile. The late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the half-closed window blinds, casting intermittent, almost golden stripes across the room. The air was thick with the familiar scents of his mother’s perfume and other scented aromas—clean, warm and safe smells.
He was alone.
His mother had gone to the neighbour’s house next door to drop off a package, leaving him to entertain himself for the minutes she was away. He probably should have been reading a book or playing with his toy cars, but something tugged at his attention, pulling him to his mother’s bedroom and his gaze to the wicker chair in the corner of the room. A small, untidy pile of clothes rested there—everyday things his mother had left waiting to be tidied away. Yet to the boy, it might as well have been treasure.
Curiosity got the better of him. He jumped off the bed and walked across the room, and his eyes lingered on a pair of sheer, soft tights, a delicate shimmer of light beige fabric sitting atop the clothing pile. Without fully understanding why, his heart gave a small jump. He crept across the room and looked out of the bedroom window where he could just about see his mother talking and laughing with the neighbour. And then, before his courage could leave him, he crossed the room again and picked up the tights. The fabric felt cool and impossibly smooth in his hands. A strange, comforting sensation washed over him.
He sat back down on the bed and, in a slightly clumsy, unpractised way, began pulling the tights up his small legs. They clung to his skin like a second, silky layer. The sensation sent a ripple of something through him—a tingle, a warmth, a rightness. He couldn’t explain it, but it made him feel calm. Whole.
His eyes caught sight of something else—a plain white bra with shaped, delicately patterned cups, nestling amongst the pile. He hesitated for just a moment. He had watched his mother fasten her bra dozens of times, with quick, confident movements.
He took off his t-shirt and wrapped the band of the bra around his chest, fumbling slightly with the hooks at the back. It took a few tries, but he managed. It felt odd but good, a soft pressure against his chest.
Still curious, still strangely exhilarated, he rummaged through a nearby drawer and found several pairs of tights. He balled two of them up and carefully placed them inside the bra cups, creating small, rounded shapes. His reflection in the wardrobe mirror startled him—but not in a frightening way. It was as though he was looking at a version of himself that he hadn’t known existed.
Towards the bottom of the pile, he found a pair of beige elasticated panties—a girdle, though he didn’t know the word yet—and pulled them up over the tights. They hugged his small frame, smoothing out the shapes, and made him feel even more different, somehow…special.
His gaze turned towards the wardrobe. Slowly, almost reverently, he slid open the door and ran his fingers along the row of dresses hanging inside. Fabrics of every kind—soft cotton, smooth satin, textured knits. He chose a simple dress, light and floral, and carefully pulled it over his head, enjoying the way it floated down and brushed against his legs.
Something inside him stirred. A confusing but wonderful ache.
Finally, he found a pair of his mother’s old low-heeled shoes tucked beneath the wardrobe. They were far too big, of course, but he stepped into them, his small feet almost lost in the soft leather. He stood there for a long moment, looking admiringly at his reflection in the mirror.
He didn’t know what to call this feeling, this secret joy. But it felt right. Safe. True.
It was the first time he would meet this previously unknown part of himself….
A noise from downstairs interrupted his reverie; the kitchen door closing. “I’m back,” called his mother. “What are you doing?”
Momentarily panic stricken, it took while for him to find his voice. “Oh, nothing,” the boy responded. “I’ll be down in a moment,” he added, tearing of the clothes as fast as he could, his heart beating so strongly he thought for a moment or two that he might pass out…
