“Don't look so worried Peter.” my mother said. “I'm sure he's done this hundreds of times before.”
“Well maybe not hundreds....” the doctor said. “...but you've nothing to worry about.” he assured.
'Nothing to worry about'... that's easy for them to say. All I recall from last night's dream was looking at myself in the mirror, clad in feminine underwear and being told that the bra I wore was a 'special' training bra for boys. 'Special' because it's designed in such a way that it cannot be removed by the wearer. It's not the sort of dream that I want to recall, either consciously or subconsciously. I seldom seem to have 'normal' dreams, just weird ones where I'm somehow forced or encouraged to wear girl's clothes and more often than not, I wake in a cold sweat and struggle to get back to sleep.
“Pay attention Peter... the doctor's speaking to you.” my mother said as my mind visibly wondered.
“Sorry.” I gulped. “You were saying?”
“I was saying that after a little dream analysis... we'll hopefully get to the bottom of why you're not sleeping too well.” the doctor reiterated.
“Hopefully.” I gulped.
“Now, if you'll just concentrate on the watch, and try to clear your mind of all other thoughts....”
The watch swung like a pendulum. I followed it as best I could and tried to clear my mind whilst the doctor calmly recited a repetitive string of hypno-clichés; relax, clear your mind, concentrate on the watch, your eyelids are heavy, you're feeling drowsy, empty your mind, follow the watch, blah blah, blah.
“Right well thank you... we won't keep you any longer Doctor.” my mother said. “Come on Peter... let's get you home.”
“Good bye Peter... and don't forget about that diary.” the doctor said, smiling and nodding as if to say 'leave'. I've witnessed hypnosis on TV numerous times and since I’m unsure whether or not he actually hypnotised me... I’m presuming he did. But asking one way or the other seemed silly. Surely I'd know. I don't recall having a conversation about a diary, yet I knew exactly what he was talking about. I'm to keep a diary next to my bed so I can write my dreams down the moment I awake. Maybe that proves that he really did hypnotise me.
It felt strange as we left the surgery, like I’d just woken up and hadn't quite come round. I climbed in the passenger door of my mother's car. “Am I going straight to school or home first?” I asked.
“Home first... you can go in this afternoon.” she replied as she fastened her seatbelt. She turned the key and as the engine chugged to life, said “Well that was certainly an eye opener.”
“Listening to your dreams.”
I gulped and feared the worst. “What did I say?” I nervously asked.
“Why don't you have a listen.” she said, pulling a cassette from her pocket and handing it to me.
“What's this?” I knowingly asked.
“It's the recording of your hypnosis.” she replied. “Pop it in.” she suggested, nodding towards the in-car cassette player.
“I'd rather listen to it at home.” I replied. “Was I out for long?”
“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes or so... don't you remember?”
“Well, no... one minute he was dangling that watch in front of me and the next you said 'lets go'.”
“It must feel very strange.” she said. “I've never been hypnotised before.” she added. I didn't reply, but did try to recall if I felt anything at all. Very little was said as we drove home. I stared out of the window and watched the urban sprawl morph into suburbia and eventually into open countryside. The cassette felt warm in my hand. I know my dreams are weird but I tend to forget them soon enough... I’m not sure if I want to hear them in detail.
Mum slowed down as she approached the hamlet. As usual she smiled and waved at the locals on the way through. Our house is on the far side and as sod's law would have it, we have to wait for a humongous cattle herd to cross from one field to another before we can continue on the final fifty yards of the journey. “It's times like this I wish we lived in town again.” Mum said as we waited. Unlike traffic lights, the herd can take five or ten minutes to cross and they do it twice a day. “We could have listened to all of that at this rate.” Mum said, noticing the cassette that sits uncomfortably in my hand. Eventually, the cows crossed and the road was re-opened. The farmer gave Mum a cheery wave and she smiled and waved back, before chuntering under her breath about building an 'effing' tunnel.
“Why don't we give that tape a listen?” she suggested as she pushed the 'eject' button on the kitchen cassette player.
“I'd rather listen to it on my own... in my room.” I replied.
“And I’d rather you listen to it with me, in here.” she told me as she held an expectant hand out. “Thank you.” she chirped as I placed the cassette in her palm.
Listening to ones own voice is always slightly odd. “That doesn't sound like me!” was my initial thought. It began with the doctor asking me to confirm some simple details such as my name, home town, if I knew what day it was and strangely, the colour of the sea. I couldn't help but snigger when I heard my reply; a greeny-bluey-grey.
Did you have any dreams last night Peter?
Can you describe it for us?
I was in my room and my mum... well, I think it was my mum... it could have been an aunt or someone... anyway... she was telling me how nice my underwear was and I looked down to see I was wearing girl's underwear.
As in... knickers?
Yes... and bra.
I glanced nervously at my mother and insisted that I don't recall any of this. Mum advised me to just sit and listen.
What colour were they?
They were really tight. I tried to get the bra off but I couldn't. Mum... or, the woman said it was a special bra that I can't remove by myself. She challenged me to try again.
And? Could you get it off Peter?
I don't know. I don't think so... I think I woke up.
“I remember the very last bit.” I confessed to my mother, “...about the bra.” I gulped.
“Shush.” Mum hushed. “It's important that we listen.”
Ah... and the night before last... did you have any dreams?
Can you describe it for us?
I'd wet the bed and Mum... or whoever... was really angry with me. She said she'd take me to the chemists to buy some big boy's nappies and said I’d have to wear them for bed. Then we were in the chemists... the one on the high street with all the mobility aids in the window ...but they didn't have any big boy's napp...
“Peter!” my mother exclaimed when I turned the tape off.
“I don't want to listen any more... this is freaky... I don't even remember that one!” I retorted.
“I think it's important that you do listen Peter.” my mother said. I told her that I didn't want her listening to this 'shi*t'. “Language Peter!” she snapped. “I've already heard it.” she reminded me. “Which is why I know that you should hear it too.”
“OK... but please... can't I listen on my own in my room?” I asked. “With headphones on.” I added.
“I think it's best that we listen together, then talk about it... then you can listen to it on your own if you want.” she replied. She smiled and held her hand out. I gave her the cassette and gulped as she put it in and pressed the 'play' button.
...aying musical statues and my party dress is sort of... floating around me. It's really hard to stand sti...
“Ooops... wrong side.” my mother said as she pushed the auto reverse button.
...street with all the mobility aids in the window ...but they didn't have any big boy's nappies, only girls ones.
I glanced at my mother who raised an eyebrow. Now I hear it... I do vaguely recall a dream involving girl's nappies. I gulped and hung my head as the cassette rolled on, revealing details of my dreams that even I can't recall... well not whilst fully conscious anyway.
...and bought a huge pack, too big for a carrier bag. I had to carry them through town and everyone knew. When we got home I put them in my drawer. Each one had a different picture on the front; a princess, a kitten, a teddy bear, a butterfly. Loads of different designs... Mum told me to choose my favourite to put under my pillow, ready for bedtime.
And did you have to wear one Peter?
[pause] I don't know. I think so. I remember choosing one and Mum telling me it was 'nice', then she gave me a pair of see-through rubber knickers with frilly trim and I complained that they were too girlie... I think it ended there.
Possibly. Any other dreams you'd like to tell us about?
There's lots of school ones.
Dreams about going to school dressed as a girl... there's one where I go to school in Scotland and have to wear a kilt because that's the uniform.
Do you have this particular dream often Peter?
Sort of... it's always a bit different. Sometimes it's a normal skirt or one of those school dresses they wear on Neighbours. [long pause]
Are your dreams often about going to school and wearing a er... girl's uniform?
Not always. Sometimes It's a swimming lesson but I'm wearing a costume because I forgot my trunks. One week the Scout master was sick so we had to go to Guides instead.
And you dressed like the other Guides?
We had to.
So it wasn't just you... it was all the other boys too?
Yes. I think so. I can't remember.
“Are you going to make me listen to all of this?” I glumly asked. My mother nodded. “Have you any idea how shameful it is for me?!”
“I can imagine that it's not pleasant... but it's important that you hear it.”
“I'd rather destroy it and forget about it.”
“Oh I'm sure you would Peter... but forgetting about it will be easier said than done.” she retorted. “The only way we're going to get to the bottom of this is to tackle it head on.”
I hung my head. I guess she's right. I tuned back into the uncomfortable revelations emanating from the cassette player.
...cousin's back garden there's a fish pond. I don't know how but I fell in. We only went for the day so I didn't have a change of clothes and had wear one of my cousin's dresses whilst my clothes dried on the washing line.
He did fall in that pond once... but I can assure you he didn't..
Ssshh. Try not to interrupt his chain of thought. Peter?
Could you tell us about any other dreams where you've ended up wearing girl's clothes?
Yes. I'm trying to convince a teacher that I'm in the wrong class because this one's full of girls. Then I try to convince her that I'm in the wrong school, because this one's full of girls. I tell her I’m a boy and shouldn't be here, and she tells me that lot's of boys go to girl's school. Then I realise I'm wearing the same uniform as the girls and I take my seat. But I'm still angry because the teacher keeps calling us girls and she kno...
“It's an interesting theme isn't it?” my mother smugly stated as the tape ended. I couldn't rely. The blood was rushing to my head and I'm certain I must have been purple with embarrassment.
“This is why I didn't want to tell him about them in the first place.” I told her. “I can remember tiny bits... enough to know just how weird they are... but hearing the finer details is horrendous!” I hoped she'd see sense and not let the cassette turn itself over. “I don't even think about this stuff when I'm awake... so why I dream about it I've no idea.” I truthfully claimed before suggesting that we don't listen to the other side.
“Burying your head in the sand isn't going to help. I've no idea why you dream about these things either... but we're not going to find out by ignoring the evidence.” she replied. “Isn't this thing supposed to turn itself over?” she asked and she stood up and began fiddling with the cassette player.
“Only if it's set to.” I informed her. After fiddling with the various auto-reverse settings and getting nowhere, Mum eventually worked out that the easiest way to turn the tape over is to physically do it. She pressed play and and sat herself down at the table.
…ipping or hopscotch at break and lunch time. Those games are really hard for a boy and the girls kept teasing me.
“Is this still the girl's school?” Mum asked as the end of the tape missed a few moments.
“I don't know... you're the one who heard it live.”
Mum thought for a few seconds before informing me that it's possibly a different dream and a different school.
Do all the boys dress as girls in this school?
No. Just some of us. It's an exchange programme. I swapped with a girl called Gemma so she wears my uniform and goes to my school whilst I wear her uniform and go to her school. Her father came and gave me her uniform and Mum gave him mine...
A grin swept my mother's face. “You've certainly got a vivid imagination.”
“Thanks.” I groaned.
...me wear knickers and a training bra...
...and a lacy vest because Gemma wore them so I had to. I had to go to her ballet class on a Saturday morning and she went to my Scout group on a Thursday...
“You don't even go to scouts.” my mother said.
I huffed. “It's just a dream mum... it's not real... thank god!”
...wearing a leotard and a tutu and trying to touch my toes and trying to do a pirouette...
“You did fall in auntie's pond and you dreamt about that.” Mum said. “Although you didn't have to wear a dress...”
“I know Mum...” I replied. “I remember.” I said as I recalled the reality of wearing a (plain) pair of her knickers and a pair of her pants and one of her t-shirts.
A wry smile swept Mum's face. I presume she's having the same recollection... or maybe she's just listening to the cassette.
Are there any others you can remember Peter? Any that didn't involve school?
I'm excited about going to my cousin's birthday party, but because she's a girl I have to wear a dress. I don't want to but I have to. I'm the only boy there but it's OK because I'm wearing a dress and every one says it's really pretty. We play pass the parcel and I won a tiara, then we're playing musical statues and my party dress is sort of... floating around me. It's really hard to stand still when the music stops because my shoes have heels... so I didn't win anything.
Did you enjoy the party?
I think so. Everyone was being really nice to me for a change.
Is this 'for a change' in real life or in your dreams?
In my dreams.
So in most of your dreams, the other people aren't very nice to you?
Most of the time they tell me that I have to dress like a girl or tease me for dressing like a girl... sometimes they're nice to me.
Do you like dressing as a girl? ...er... in your dreams.
Have you ever dressed like a girl in real life?
Are you certain?
“I must admit I was relieved when you said that.” Mum interjected. I gulped and glanced at her.
...I only dream about it.
Interesting. [pause] I'm going to bring you out shortly Peter. [quietly] is there anything you'd like to ask him? [louder] Peter... your mother's going to ask you a question.
Er... hello Peter... it's me..
Just ask him. He knows your voice.
Sorry, yes, of course. Peter... if you had some of the clothes you've been dreaming about... would you like to wear them?
I don't know. Maybe... would I have to wear them?
Not necessarily [pause]
[quietly] Anything else?
[quietly] No. [cough]
[louder] OK Peter, I'm going to leave you under for a few minutes whilst you mother and I have a quick chat. You shall not listen to this conversation. Think about last night's dream instead.
Talk about an uncomfortable silence! I thought my heart was going to pound out of my chest. I fumbled my fingers nervously and gulped audibly. “I suppose this is when we have that chat.”
My mother smiled through pursed lips and nodded.
I sighed a short sharp sigh before saying, “Well... I don't know what you expect me to say... since I can only remember tiny bits of any of those dreams.” I told her. “It's not like I can choose what I dream about.” I added.
“I know love.” Mum said in an empathetic tone. “But there is a common theme to them.” she added. I hung my head. How on earth does a fourteen year old school boy even begin to explain that? “How long have you been having them?” she asked.
I shrugged and said I didn't know. “A year or two maybe.” I muttered. Mum asked if I’ve always had them as often as I do these days. “I dunno...” I replied. I tried to explain how I wake up, remembering barely nothing apart from maybe one tiny detail and half the time I forget what that was by the next day... but I got the feeling that my mother thought I was just being evasive. “Some of them I can remember for ages... like the one when I had to play hopscotch with the girls at playtime instead of soccer or tag with my mates.” I told her.
“And were you dressed as a girl too?” she asked. I nodded and described the grey pinafore dress with it's hateful heart shaped zip pull. “So you were back at junior school?”
“Er... maybe... I don't know.” I replied as honestly as I could. “Last night's dream still seems really vivid.” I added.
“Which one?” Mum asked. “The nappies or...”
“The bra that I couldn't remove.” I quickly yet meekly interrupted. “I can still picture it quite clearly.” I confessed as I recalled its numerous broad blue straps criss-crossing my back.
“The bra?” Mum asked. I nodded. She suggested I draw it. “Before you forget.” she said.
“It's something I'd rather forget.” I told her.
“I know but, the doctor did say it's important of note every detail down... in your dream diary.” she reminded me. “That's what I should have got when we were in town.” she sighed. “I'll pick you one up when I run you to school.”
“I don't feel like going to school today.” I mumbled.
“Well there's nothing new there.” Mum smiled.
She got up and put the kettle on, asked me if I'd like tea or coffee. I asked for a coffee. She put a piece of paper and a pencil in front of me and suggested again that I sketch the bra I'd dreamt about wearing. “Can't I just forget about it?” I asked.
Mum smiled an empathetic smile. “I don't know Peter... can you?” she asked.
I found myself describing the bra as I sketched it. How its straps criss cross at the back and the additional straps that come from around the armpit and around the back of the shoulder and around the neck. “I don't think it's supposed to be.” I replied when Mum said it sounded uncomfortable. She looked at my rough sketch and asked what it looked like from the front. “Just like a normal bra...” I said, taking the paper. “But with a kind of collar.” I added as drew an even rougher sketch.
Mum picked it up and said it looked a bit... kinky. “What's it made from?” she asked.
“Some sort of satin I guess...” I replied. “...with a little bow just...” I placed my had in the centre of my chest.
Mum smiled at me and told me that most bras have a bow there. “Did you dream about actually getting into this thing?” she asked as she looked at my rough sketch. “I'm can't work out how you'd put it on... or what stops it from being removed.” she said as she put my sketch down in front of me.
“I dunno, I was just wearing it.” I replied. I cocked my head and studied my sketch, trying to work out how it would work.
“And knickers too... I recall.” Mum asked. I frowned and nodded. She asked me to describe them. “They sound like control knickers.” she said. “Blue too?” she asked. I nodded. “Nice.” she smiled.
“They really weren't” I replied. "I know it was just a dream but... I was wearing them and they were really really tight."
"Control knickers are supposed to be tight." she casually informed me.
"Control knickers are supposed to be tight." she casually informed me.
The kettle boiled and mum spent a moment making two cups of instant coffee whilst I reflected on the morning's events. “Are you absolutely sure that you don't think about wearing... when you're awake?”
“No.” I insisted. “I mean, only after a dream when I think... what the f... was all that about?” I told her. “I don't sit around day dreaming about being a girl.”
Whether Mum believes me of not I don't know. Under the circumstances, I wouldn't blame her if she didn't. “Hmm.” she said. “...but you do fall asleep and dream about being a girl... or at least dressing like one.”
I gulped. “I know and I wish I didn't.”
“I know what you're going to say Peter... but maybe if you did have some of the...”
“I haven't even finished yet.”
“I know but you're going to say 'if I had some girls clothes and wore them, then I might stop dreaming about them.'...” I bluntly replied. “...and the answer's a definite 'no'.”
“Hmm... because when I asked you under hypnosis, it was a definite 'I don't know'.” she reminded me.
“Which is a long way from 'yes'.” I quickly retorted. “It's not even a maybe.” I added for good measure.
“A maybe is precisely what it was.” my mother claimed.
I didn't like that way this was going. “Given the choice, I think I'd rather dream about it than actually do it.”
“Yes I suppose.” my mother conceded. She cast her eyes over my sketch for a moment. “This isn't a bad sketch you know... I like the little bow detail.” she smiled. “Very nice.”
“I only drew that because it had one.” I said. I peered at the design and all the strapping. “I think all these are to stop the shoulder straps being dropped. It'd be too tight to pull off like a vest and you wouldn't be able to pull it down over the waist and step out of it.”
“Possibly.” Mum said. “Was it one of those really vivid dreams that you thought was real even after you woke up?” she asked.
“It was vivid but as soon as I woke up I knew it was just a dream... a very. weird. dream.”
“You can say that again.” Mum replied. “So how did it feel... in the dream?” she asked. “And was it me that made you wear it?”
“I think so.” I replied. “All I remember is how tight it felt... and that I shouldn't be wearing it.”
“Even though I'd told you that you had to wear it?” she asked.
I nodded. “Weird huh?”
“It is very strange.” my mother agreed.
Thankfully, my mother left the topic alone for a while. But that didn't stop me from spending every moment thinking about it and cursing myself for not refusing the hypnosis. An hour or so later she told me that she'd called the school and told them that I wouldn't be in today. “Why?” I asked. Apart from feeling a bit glum, I’m fine.
“Because you're down in the dumps.” she replied. “And instead, I thought it might be nice to go and buy you the girl's uniform... then you can wear it tomorrow.”
“You are joking... right?”
“Of course I am.” she grinned.
“But if your dreams are anything to go by... that could be exactly what you want.” she added.
Adopting my most serious tone, I assured my mother that that's the last thing I want. “They're more like nightmares than dreams.” I gulped.
“Yes I suppose they could be.” she replied.
Mum left me at home when she popped back into town. She didn't want me being seen since I'm supposedly 'under the weather' and off school. I didn't want to go anyway. But when she returned I wished I had gone because the diary she'd bought me is more suited to the person in my dreams than it is me.
“I'm sorry but I couldn't resist it.” my mother said when I expressed my disapproval. “It's entirely appropriate when you think about it.” she grinned.
“I don't want to think about that.” I moaned. “Did you take the cassette with you?” I asked.
“Yes. I listened to it again in the car.” she told me, before asking I'd wanted to listen to it whilst she was gone.
“No... I wanted to destroy it.” I told her.
“Well it's a good job I took it with me than isn't it?” she said, before informing me that it's just a copy and she could get another one from the doctor if need be. I asked why she wanted to listen to it again and she said she was looking for clues as to 'why' I keep having my very strange dreams.
The next day I didn't have anything to write in my diary. But I did go back to school. By the end of the week I’d put two entries in it... another school girl dream and one about going on holiday and loosing my case. “Can you remember what you wore on holiday?” Mum asked. I vaguely could and she suggested I write down what I could recall. I didn't really want to but I did:
Thursday – Dreamt about going on holiday. Not sure where but somewhere sunny with a beach. Somehow I lost my case and had to borrow my sister's clothes. At first it was just a pair of shorts and a T shirt. Then it was shorts and a strappy top. We went to the beach and I wore a swimming costume beneath my shorts and top. I was embarrassed to go in the water but eventually did. We sunbathed by the pool and I wore a bikini. I just wanted to wear the bottoms but was told I had to wear the top too. Last thing I recall was looking at my tan lines before waking up.
My mother smiled as she read my entry. “I think I prefer this to the school girl one.” she said. "It's nice that you invented a sister to borrow from."
"I'd have preferred a brother." I dryly stated.
By the end of the following week, there were four further entries in my diary. I hated writing them down but my mother seemed to enjoy reading them. I was tempted to write nothing and claim that my strange dreams had stopped, but on the one hand I knew that my mother wouldn't believe me and on the other, I hoped that by writing them down, then maybe they would eventually stop.
“I still find it interesting that in none of your dreams you actually want to dress like a girl, yet you don't seem to protest too much.” she said.
I replied with a blunt and possibly dishonest “I do!”
Mum smiled at me before re-reading the most recent entry in my dream diary. It was just a run of the mill school based dream in which I'd slipped down a grassy bank and my trousers got all muddy... and such is the nature of my dreams, all they had in the lost property box was skirts and PE kits. I recalled protesting after putting it on; my bare hairy legs looked ridiculous, especially with my boy's shoes and socks. The compromise was a pair of tights, which did feel better since the skirt was quite short. “You protested but not much.” Mum told me before asking if I came home wearing my skirt and tights.
“They weren't mine!” I insisted, before recalling the closing moments of that particular dream. “I didn't even get as far as going back to class before waking up.” I replied.
“I wonder what I'd have said if you did come home dressed as a school girl.” my mother mused.
“What on earth are you wearing?” I dryly suggested.
My mother smiled and said that the reason was 'feasible'. “I can imagine there being a limited supply of lost property... and you couldn't spend all day in damp muddy pants.” she said. “I doubt I'd have been annoyed or angry if it happened in real life.”
“Well thankfully it didn't.” I retorted.
My mother and I had this sort of chat every few days. It was uncomfortable for me, recounting my dreams and trying to describe the clothes, underwear or nightwear I inevitably wore. After a month or so my diary had numerous entries and my mother seemed to relish reading them. She wanted to know if my school skirts were pleated or A line, plaid or plain, if I wore tights or knee socks. She'd try to encourage me to recall the colour, style and fabric of the dresses I wore, what my footwear was like, if I had girlie or boyish hair.
“Mum it's bad enough having the dreams and having to write them down... I'd rather not talk about them all the time too.”
“I'm just trying to spot a pattern.” she replied in a defensive tone. “You want these dreams to stop don't you?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I replied.
“Well the only way we can do that is by recording and analysing your dreams.” she replied. “...and that means talking about them.”
I sighed and frowned. “I know... it's just embarrassing.” I admitted. “You must think I'm a right...”
“I think nothing of the sort Peter.” she quickly interjected. “If anything I think the way you're tacking them is really quite brave.” she said. “It'd be far easier to pretend you're not having them.”
I appreciated her words but felt somewhat patronised. I cast her a pursed smile before exhaling slowly through my nostrils.
The next morning I woke with no recollection of having a dream that night. In fact I didn't dream the following night either. But the next night, I had a most vivid dream in which I'd got in trouble for snapping the girl's bra straps at school. My mother (or mother figure) was asked to come in to meet with my Head of Year and between them, decided that the best way to both punish me and curb my teasing of the girls would be to make me wear a bra. As my mother read the entry in my dream diary, she asked if it was one that I couldn't remove. I shook my head and said it was a normal one. My mother asked what colour. “White.” I replied.
“And did you have to wear matching knickers too?” she asked. I wasn't sure so replied with a maybe. “And did everyone at school know about your bra?”
I nodded. “They could see it through my shirt and the girls kept snapping the strap.”
Mum smiled. “So you learnt your lesson then?”
I shrugged. “I guess.” I replied, before saying it was only a dream.
“Was it a wet dream?” she asked.
I felt myself blush and guiltily I nodded. Mum reminded me that I need to state that fact in my diary. “The doctor's going to think I'm a right freak when he reads this lot.” I said as I wrote the word 'wet' alongside the entry.
“I doubt he'd think anything of the sort.” she claimed. “He's a professional.”
“If you say so.” I replied, unconvinced.
“I do say so.” my mother insisted. “Anyway... the doctor's not going to read your dream diary.”
“Why am I writing it then?” I asked.
“So we can analyse your dreams.” she replied.
“Oh.” I replied as if suddenly enlightened. “That's OK then... I was dreading the day I'd have to sit in his surgery whilst he read them all... you must admit, some of them are pretty weird.”
“They are unusual yes... but many dreams are... I don't think these are the stuff of nightmares.”
The days and nights passed and my weird dreams continued. Not every night but I'd have three or four out of seven. Writing the details down in my dream diary became a habit and my descriptions gradually became more and more eloquent. My mother particularly enjoyed reading one in which I'd been chosen as one of the six 'attendees' to the May Queen, and the fact I was a boy didn't seem to matter. I wore a cream dress with a lilac floral print. It had short puffed sleeves trimmed with white lace and I wore a garland of daisies in my hair. “I can just imagine you and the other girls laying floral tributes at the May Queen's feet.” my mother said as I blushed.
“It's anything but charming Mum!” I retorted when she described it as just that.
“It's a lot more charming than some of your other dreams.” she replied, reminding me of the common 'forced' or 'punished' dreams. “This one seems like you're having a relatively nice time.”
“Yeah... 'til I woke up and felt like a freak.”
“You're not a freak Peter.” my mother insisted. “You're clearly very imaginative and creative.”
I felt patronised. There's nothing normal about dreaming about dressing as girl and Mum knows it. The whole point of this 'dream diary' exercise is to bring and end to my weird dreams, but my mother seems to be enjoying my dream diary a little bit too much. I began being deliberately vague when writing my dreams down, which did seem to curb my mother's enthusiasm... for a while anyway.
Then, one Friday afternoon, Mum tells me she's got a surprise for me. “What?” I asked.
An audible gulp was my only reply.
“Well...” she said. “...I got you one made.”
My jaw dropped as she showed me an almost perfect representation of the bra I'd dreamt about, even the pale blue colour was right! She was clearly proud of the fact that she'd found a proper corsettier to make it. “But... why?” I asked.
“I was intrigued by it.” she replied. “I can't wait to see if you can get it off or not.” she grinned. With my jaw still on the floor, I simply couldn't speak. “I got you some big knickers too.”
She showed me a pair of control knickers in the same pale blue as the bra. In spite of the fact I hadn't sketched them, they're very similar to those I wore in that particular dream. “I don't have to wear them do I?” I asked, fearful of her reply.
“I didn't buy them to look at...” she smiled. “...well... not for you to look at anyway.”
“But...” I gulped. “...I can't wear that.”
“Of course you can.” she replied. “No one will know but me and you.” she assured.
“But... that's not the point Mum.”
My mother shrugged and asked me what 'the point' was. I didn't know. All I knew was that I really didn't want to wear that bra, or any bra for that matter. “Bringing your dreams into reality won't do any harm Peter... and you never know, it might do some good.” she explained. “You do want these dreams to stop don't you?” she asked, tapping the cover of my pink girlie dream diary.
“Yes but... if it means dressing like a girl in real life, I think I'd rather just dream about it.” I replied. My mother said she understood, but that didn't stop her from talking me into giving the bra a try. Right there in the kitchen, I removed my school shirt and tie. It wasn't at all easy to get on since it consisted of a collar and multiple cross-over straps. The simplest way was collar first, then squeezing my arms through the network of straps. Mum fastened it for me, then adjusted all the straps to ensure it was snug, yet comfortable. “Horrible.” I replied when asked how it felt.
She checked the collar for tautness and loosened it a little. “Is that better?” she asked.
I gulped and nodded. “It's still really uncomfortable though.” I stated. Its taught chest band gripped my body so tightly I could barely get my fingers beneath it. The numerous straps that criss-crossed my upper back held my shoulders in a such a way that it was uncomfortable to slouch, and the band that wraps around my neck keeps my head upright
“Bras weren't really designed for comfort.” my mother informed me, although I didn't believe her.
“Can I take it off now?” I asked after a few minutes.
A wry smile swept her face. “I'd like to see you try.” she grinned.