When I lowered my pants they noticed the girl’s underwear I was wearing. They laughed even harder now and Marc ordered me to put on the girls’ dress. “You see, I always thought he really was a girl in disguise. Doesn’t he look pretty? I think I’m falling in love.”
Memories of a happy childhood in the sixties
You will find the preceding chapters of this story in “categories” under “Memories”, with the different chapters in reversed order. To find the first chapter you just have to scroll down to the bottom.
Chapter 1. The early years. When she lost her American husband, my mother decided to take me and my brother back to live in Europe. I’ve very fond memories of those years, especially of the times spend with my two nieces at their land house. The fact that, because of my bedwetting, my aunt diapered me didn’t disturb me at all, on the contrary.
Chapter 2. Losing my friends
Those happy years came to an abrupt end when I was about 10 years old. Once more our whole live was to change due to a tragic accident. My uncle and aunt had gone on a holiday and had asked my mother to take care of their daughters. Since our house wasn’t big enough the 5 of us stayed at my uncle’s place. The day my aunt and uncle were expected back we waited until late at night but they didn’t arrive. My mother was visibly worried, which was very exceptional since she was a light-hearted person who never made problems or worried about anything. She made us go to bed saying they probably had had some car problem. They would surely be there when we woke up the next morning. I’ll never forget that morning, when my mother, overwhelmed with grief, had to tell us that there had been an accident and that both my uncle and aunt had died.
I don’t know how we survived the weeks following the accident. Of course there were a lot of practical questions to be solved. My mother, courageous as ever, decided she would take care of all of us, that the 5 of us would form a new family, and would live in my niece’s house. Very soon it became clear that the financial situation was worse than ever. My uncle had been incredibly careless, not taking any precautions to protect his family for the case anything would happen to him. The only life insurance he had contracted was to cover the mortgage of the house, and there were no savings of any significance. So my mother was facing the charge of an enlarged family, with a large house and garden to maintain, with more or less the same revenues as before. Our former house was put to rent and, at least whenever there were tenants, this, together with a very small orphan’s pension for my nieces, was the only systematic increase in our scarce revenues. My mother’s parents would help out from time to time but my mother was too proud to ask for any systematic help from them or from her American in-laws.
My mother did wonders. In the beginning we noticed hardly any difference. The vacations at the beach were shortened to one week, the presents at Christmas were of less value (but anyway we always got a lot of presents from our American family), and since having moved to my uncle’s house we had to change school anyway it was decided that from now on I would attend a public school. My 15-year-old brother went on a scholarship in boarding to a military academy, something he had wanted to do for a long time.
My mother started to pass on not only the cloths my brother had outgrown, but also those of my nieces. They were only 1 and 2 years older but were at that time a lot taller than I was. At first it were some pair of jeans, or a dark blue sweater, but soon I was wearing girls underwear (those pink and white striped Petit Bateau panties and undershirts with narrow braces), pastel coloured shirts and pants with cute little hearts sewn on the pockets. I didn’t give much importance to the way I looked so I hardly noticed this was no normal boy attire.
At the new school I immediately made new friends. They tended to be less motivated students, the kind of boys always looking for some mischief or fight. Here too I soon had a reputation as a ferocious fighter. My grades were a lot lower than in the previous school but at sports I still was very good thanks to my determination and will power. More than ever my character and my reputation were at odds with my feminine looks. Maybe it was this surprising contrast of my slender feminine build and effeminate cloths with my ferocious character that made me the leader of a bunch of “bad boys”.
One day, after having played some wild game, I once more came home with my cloths all torn and dirty. My mother, as understanding as ever, laughed about her “wild one” and told me to change myself. I didn’t find any pants or shorts in my wardrobe. Upon telling this to my mother she answered that this didn’t surprise her at all since she couldn’t keep up with me. She proposed to go find some other clothes my nieces didn’t wear anymore. We inspected my nieces’ wardrobes but couldn’t find any pants or shorts my nieces had grown out of.
Suddenly she laughed and took out a short pleated skirt that she said had become too tight for my niece. In her light hearted way she told me she didn’t see any other solution than for me to put on this skirt. I don’t think I consciously remembered the day that I wore the pretty white dress a couple of years before, but the proposal to wear a skirt suddenly appealed to me. Without hesitating I put on the skirt and stood before the mirror to admire myself. Both of us thought it was funny. We looked for other skirts and dresses I could wear and had a good time trying on a large number of them. The result was that a number of those cloths were transferred to my wardrobe and from then on I would often wear skirts and dresses at home. Since I never invited my friends to come over to our house, considering they wouldn’t fit into the quiet, female atmosphere, and my brother came home only about once a month, only my mother, my nieces and their friends knew this. In the beginning they made fun of me but since I really liked being dressed as a girl this didn’t deter me and after a while everybody got used to it. Without anybody, including myself, taking really notice of it, my life had been divided into two almost completely separate parts: a sweet girl at home and a querulous violent boy on the street, where I often hung out with my friends, and at school.
I remember one day that I had been playing for some time with a couple of those friends when one of them needed to take a leak. My friends opened their zip, and as boys that age sometimes do organised a contest for whose spout would reach the farthest. Never being one to refuse a challenge I wanted to participate but suddenly realised that I was wearing one of those short girls’ shorts with a zip on the side. Since I was wearing a shirt over it, it didn’t really show. But to take a leak the only way was to pull down the shorts. I hesitated one moment and this was my error. If I had immediately pulled down the shorts nobody would have made a point of it since everybody was used to see me in this kind of attire. But now they all suddenly looked at me.
At that time one of my friends, Marc, had repeatedly tried to challenge my authority unsuccessfully. He now said defiantly:”Of course Chrissie (my name is Christian but everybody called me Chris) can’t participate. This is a contest for boys, for real boys”.
I automatically hauled out at him, as was my standard reaction when being challenged. But this time the 5 of them immediately were on top of me. They grabbed my arms and legs, each of them holding one arm or leg, while the 5th one pulled down my shorts. They forced me to squat down telling me this was the way girls peed. Knowing that they wouldn’t let me go until I had satisfied them I concentrated very hard and was able to raise my penis without touching it. Just a little, but enough to make a small but distinct spout. I only was able to do so for a second or so but it had been enough to make them laugh. The incident was closed but it soon became clear that my authority was declining rapidly.
Some time later the final confrontation occurred. We were sitting on the sidewalk trying to decide what we would do when two girls came biking down the sidewalk. One of my friends jumped up suggesting to “scare the shit out of those nannies”. I protested since it had never been in my character to harm people needlessly, telling my friends to leave the girls alone. This was the opportunity Marc had been waiting for. As the girls were already next to us he too jumped up. They all started yelling and pushing at them. I now noticed it were 2 friends of my nieces with whom I often played at home. I yelled at my friends to leave them alone and tried to intervene.
All of us were running along the girls who tried to speed up. In the confusion one of them fell off her bike. Luckily she fell on the grass without hurting herself. The other girl got away, looking frightened over her shoulder, but without waiting to know what was happening to her friend. The poor girl was sitting on the grass, tears pouring down her face, looking up at the 6 of us standing around her.
I was the first to react, reaching out to help her stand up and telling her we were sorry. But Marc was not planning to leave it at that.
“Ahah Chrissie, is this one of your friends?”
I shrugged: “Let her go Marc, it’s just a girl”.
“Exactly, I thought you liked to play with girls.”
I looked him in the eyes without answering.
I still didn’t answer. The other were looking at us, smiling meekly, wondering what was going to happen. Trying to regain the initiative I lied: “Girls are no fun. They cry all the time. You can’t do anything with them.”
“You know everything about girls, don’t you? But I bet you never saw one naked.”
And then, suddenly having an inspiration he added to the others:
“Let’s show him one, let’s take off her cloths”.
The poor girl shrieked and tried to escape but failed. While 2 of them held me, turning my arm behind my back the 3 others took charge of the girl. They led us behind a fence and took off her summer-dress. When she was standing in front of us in her underwear they tried to take off her panties. The girl started screaming and kicking, hitting Marc in his lower parts.
“Well, well getting bitchy aren’t we?” he answered after recovering from the direct hit. He took out a large pocket-knife and cut her panties loose on both sides. She was now standing stark naked in front of us and they all had a great time. Seeing her distress I redoubled my efforts to break loose but in vain.
“Getting bitchy too? Let’s see if he is all that different from the girls. Let’s take off his cloths too”.
All laughing very hard now, they tried to execute the order but due to my resistance didn’t succeed.
“Chris, look over here.”
Holding his knife next to the girl’s cheek, Marc quietly told me to take off my cloths otherwise he would damage her pretty face forever.
I didn’t really belief he would do it, but didn’t dare to call his bluff either. So I took off my cloths. When I lowered my pants they noticed the girl’s underwear I was wearing. They laughed even harder now and Marc ordered me to put on the girls’ dress.
“You see, I always thought he really was a girl in disguise. Doesn’t he look pretty? I think I’m falling in love.”
When they were finished laughing it was clear that they were at a loss what to do next. Marc decided to stop his little games, and kicking me hard under the belly, (“Just to see if I was finally a boy or a girl”), they ran off.
The hit had been so hard I almost fainted. The girl seeing me in such pain didn’t understand what was the matter and really worried. She rapidly dressed in my jeans and shirt and helped me up. We started walking off, me being supported by her, limping heavy at first. Both of us were kind of dazed. Me because of the pain but also feeling humiliated and sad realising I had lost all my friends. The girl because she was worried thinking I had been hurt. Little by little I recovered and we started talking, both of us weeping, tears flowing down our faces. I tried to excuse myself for what had happened and she was thanking me for trying to intervene. Gradually we calmed down and walked on in silence. At that moment we passed a lady of my neighbourhood with her little girl who were waiting for the bus. When the child saw me she came running towards us. “Hi Chris. Why are you wearing a dress? “
It was only then that I realised that we were still wearing each other’s cloths. I didn’t know how to react when the kid’s mother walked up to us too:” It’s a pretty dress and you sure look good in it, but Chris, you shouldn’t wear this on the street.”
The way she said this made me laugh. I smiled broadly.” Why wouldn’t boys be allowed to wear pretty dresses?”
Before the lady could recover from her surprise I started running, laughing freely, towards my home.
That evening I told my mother what had happened. On the one hand she was upset by what had happened, but at the same time was relieved that I had broken up with those “bad” friends. Both of us realised however that it was impossible for me to stay in the same school since I was bound to be mocked constantly by my former friends. Since summer break was near and this was my last year of primary school my mother said I would have to survive the next couple of weeks and then we could look for a solution.
The next weeks were indeed horrible. My “friends” told the whole school that I wore girl’s underwear. This news soon was complemented by information that at home I wore dresses, – I suppose some brother of one of my cousins’ friends must have found out – and that at my former school I was called “diaper-boy”. Everybody started calling me sissy or diaper-girl. One day a bunch of them came after me after school and tried to get me diapered.
Of course I defended myself which resulted in daily fights. Defiant as always I would provoke them even more by wearing the most girlish cloths I could find, short of dresses and skirts.
Every day I came home bruised and with my cloths dirty and torn. After a couple of days my mother intervened. She ordered me to cease wearing girl cloths to school, talked to the headmaster and picked me up after school every day.
I spend the remaining schooldays without further problems but very solitary. It was a big relieve when the summer break began
Next chapter: https://clairodon.wordpress.com/2011/08/26/memories-3/