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"B" IS FOR GIRL (chapter 9: "B" Is For Belle Of The Ball And Birthday Girl free porn video
"B" IS FOR GIRL
Chapter 9: "B" is for Belle Of The Ball and Birthday Girl
"That," said Mrs Templeton, "was the most unusual start to a term I have ever experienced. Or, for that matter, am ever again likely to experience."
We were sitting in Mrs Templeton's office. All the other boys and girls had gone into assembly, led by Mr Nairn. Mrs Templeton put her hands on the desk, one on top of the other.
"Beverly," she said, "your mother telephoned me earlier, to advise me that she had decided to bring an end your petticoat punishment. Is that correct?"
"Yes, miss."
"She furthermore informed me that you have chosen to continue to dress as a girl for the remainder of the academic year."
"Yes, miss," I said. "Only until the start of the Summer holidays, miss. Then I'll go back to being a boy again."
"I see. Beverly, can you give me your assurance that you are acting of your own volition? That you are not labouring under any compulsion to wear girl's clothing?"
"Miss?"
"Do you promise me that you are now dressing and behaving as a girl because it is what you yourself actually want to do?"
"Oh," I said. "Yes, miss."
"Then I have to ask; why? Why do you want to carry on being a girl? Your punishment is over."
"I know, miss," I said. "But I want to be a girl because I like going to Brownies and dancing classes. I've learned to do lots of things that I like doing, and I've got things to look forward to. Me and Tristram Deveral are performing together in a dance festival at the end of this month, and there's Brownie Revels in June. And there's my dancing exams, too. I can't do any of these things if I'm not a girl any more, miss."
"I see." Mrs Templeton nodded, and stared at me. "It is somewhat fortuitous that you elected to extend your tenure as a female at this particular juncture." She smiled. "What I mean is, it's lucky you still wanted to return to school dressed as a girl. Had you not done so, this morning's exhibition of solidarity from your fellow pupils would have been robbed of much of its impact."
"No, miss," I said, confused. "I mean yes, miss."
Mrs Templeton stood up and looked out of the window. "In all my years of teaching," she said, "I have never witnessed a more inspiring display of loyalty and affection upon a school playground. What transpired today was truly moving. I shall, of course, have to deal with Darren Lichfield. It's hard to believe that, not so long ago, your own behaviour was indistinguishable from his. But you, Beverly Bassenthwaite, have turned yourself around. From being an obnoxious, devious little thug you have developed into a warm, generous, considerate individual who wants to do good for others. It doesn't matter whether you are a boy or a girl. It's people like you that give me hope for the Darren Lichfields of this world."
Mrs Templeton turned and looked at me, and rubbed her eye quickly. "Beverly, I want to offer you a word of advice, and I strongly encourage you to act upon it; keep it to yourself that you have voluntarily decided to continue dressing as a girl. Do you understand?"
"Yes, miss."
"Good. And I want you to remember," she said, "that if ever you need someone to talk to, my door is always open. Now, run along to your English lesson."
"Yes, miss. Thank you, miss."
When I got to the classroom, the lesson had already started. "I'm very sorry I'm late, Miss Winchelsea," I said.
"That's quite all right, Beverly," said Miss Winchelsea. "I know you've been with the headmistress. Take your seat amongst the other girls."
Everyone laughed when she said that, because the girls were really the boys wearing girl's school uniforms and wigs. They all had little name badges fastened to their pinafore dresses. Nicky and Ronnie were now called Nicola and Veronica. Richard, Peter and Jeffrey were Rachel, Petula and Jenny, and Tristram was Trixie.
On the other side of the classroom were the real girls, who were all dressed up as boys. They all had name badges pinned to their shirts. Tracy and Heather were now Trevor and Henry. Denise, Sandra and Lorraine were Dennis, Andy and Lawrence.
At playtime I showed Nicola and Veronica and Trixie how to play hopscotch. Jenny and Jane and Amy and Shauna tried to play a skipping game, but kept tripping over the rope. None of them were used to wearing dresses, so when they jumped their skirts flew up and showed their knickers.
Trevor and Jerome and Alan kicked a tennis ball around to have a game of football. Andy and Stephen and Dennis pretended to be cowboys, and ran after Kimberley and Susan and Julie who were the Indians.
Some of the infants looked at us through the gap in the wall that divided their playground from ours. They looked very confused.
"Trixie," I asked, "who's idea was it to get everybody to dress up?"
"It was mine," he said. "Well, me and Tracy Otley's, really. We had the idea at the same time, sort of. It was our mums who did all the organising, though. There was lots of telephone calls, I can tell you! Our mums arranged all the clothes swaps."
"Clothes swaps?" I said.
"Yes," replied Trixie. "I'm wearing Heather Flint's dress and Melanie Scalby's blouse and shoes. Fiona Rawtenstall is wearing my trousers, and Shirley Retford has my shirt. and shoes. I just hope we all manage to get our own clothes back for next week!"
"But whose pinafore dress was Darren going to wear?" I asked.
"Mrs Templeton got that from the spares box," he said. "She didn't want him wearing anyone else's clothes."
At dinnertime, me and Trixie and Nicola and Veronica all went to the hall to get our dinners together, and afterwards we all played "Queenie, Queenie" in the playground. When Mr Nairn rang the bell we all went skipping into school for afternoon lessons.
"Come along, girls!" Mr Nairn called out. "Chop chop!"
"Mr Nairn," said Trixie, "are you going to come into school dressed up as a lady tomorrow?"
Mr Nairn looked surprised, and then screwed up his face. "I don't think so," he said. "I haven't got the legs for it. And Mrs Thatcher might not be best pleased if she found out, either."
"Mrs Thatcher?" I asked him. "Who's she?"
Mr Nairn looked at me and winked. "Ask your mum," he said.
The first lesson of the afternoon was science. Mr Nairn was our science teacher, and he told us were were going to do weather.
After about ten minutes, the classroom door opened. It was Mrs Templeton, so we all stood up. We always stood up when Mrs Templeton came in.
"Thank you, children," she said. "You may be seated." We all sat down again. "I'm sorry to disturb your lesson, Mr Nairn, but I'm going round all the classes to introduce a new pupil. She's just starting this afternoon."
"By all means, Mrs Templeton," said Mr Nairn. "Bring her in."
Mrs Templeton turned to the door. "Come in, please!" she called out.
A girl came into the room, except it wasn't a girl. It was Darren Lichfield, in a girl's school uniform. His messy black hair had been brushed and curled, and there was a blue Alice band in it. His eyes looked red, as though he had been crying.
"Please introduce yourself," Mrs Templeton told him.
"Hello," said Darren. "My name is Doreen Lichfield."
"Hello, Doreen Lichfield!" we all said, together.
"Now," said Mrs Templeton, "Doreen has something she would like to say to Beverly Bassenthwaite. Would you please stand up, Beverly?"
I stood up, and Doreen looked at me.
"Beverly," he said, with tears rolling down his cheeks, "I'm very sorry for bullying you last term. I promise not to do it again, and I'm going to try very hard to be good from now on."
"Thank you, Doreen," said Mrs Templeton. "Beverly, you may sit down again."
"Please, miss!" said Trevor Otley. "Will Darren be coming to school dressed up as a girl right up until the Summer holidays, like Beverly?"
"No," replied Mrs Templeton. "Darren's mother has considered that option, but has declined it. However, she has agreed to send Darren to school as a girl for the rest of this week. Thank you, Mr Nairn. Come along, Doreen."
Mrs Templeton took Doreen out of the classroom.
"Right," said Mr Nairn. He picked up a piece of white chalk and began to write on the blackboard. "There are ten different types of cloud..."
At hometime, mummy was waiting for me at the school gates. She said that the swimming baths was closed, so we just went home instead.
"Mrs Templeton phoned me earlier," she said. "She told me what happened at school today. Beverly, why didn't you tell me you were being bullied by this boy, Darren Lichfield?"
"I didn't like to, mummy. Have I been a naughty girl for not telling you the truth?"
"Never mind that. What do you mean, "didn't like to"? Why not?"
"Well, I used to be a bully, so it didn't seem right to complain about being bullied myself."
"I see." Mummy sighed. "You know, Beverly, a lot of people would say that I've bullied you by forcing you to dress up as a girl and embarrassing you in front of other people."
"But that was because I was such a very naughty little boy, mummy," I said. "And you'd reached the end of your tether with me."
"That's true," mummy replied. "I had. All the same... I'm sorry."
I went and sat on mummy's knee, and we cuddled. Mummy straightened out my dress on my leg, and rubbed my arm.
"Mummy, you don't need to be sorry," I said. "When I first started having to be a little girl I hated it. I hated putting on the frilly knickers and the lacy dresses. I felt sad and cross because you threw out all my toys. I hated going to Brownies and ballet and ballroom dancing classes. I hated having to go to school in a girl's pinafore dress.
"But then I began to like doing all those girly things. I started having so much fun being a good little girl that I forgot all about being a naughty little boy. And then I learned that being good made you feel happy, mummy, and that made me feel happy, too. It doesn't matter whether you're a boy or a girl. What matters is that you learn to be good. If you can learn to be good, then you'll be happy."
Mummy's face went all funny and sad at the same time, and she blinked and sniffed. "How old are you, Beverly?" she asked me.
"I'm seven years old, mummy."
"Going on seventeen," mummy replied. I didn't know what she meant. "We need to talk about your birthday. It's only just over five weeks away, and it'll be on a Saturday. Would you like to have a party?"
"Oh! Yes, please!" I said. "And I can invite all my friends!"
"Well," said mummy, "maybe not quite all of them, since you have so many friends now. Perhaps we can make a list of the ones you'd most like to come. And, one more thing..."
"Yes, mummy?"
"On your birthday, do you want to be a girl or a boy?"
"A girl," I said. "I want to be a girl and have a new party dress to wear. Then you can take a picture of me and my friends for my album. Besides, it wouldn't be right for me to be a boy for just the one day."
"All right. And what about presents?" mummy asked.
I had to think about that. "It would be a bit silly for people to give me girly presents for my birthday, wouldn't it? Because in another two months I'll go back to being a boy again. And I've already got lots of dollies, anyway. What do you think I should do?"
"I think," she said, "that we should ask people to give you money instead of presents. Then you can save it and spend it on what you want when you're a boy."
"Yes," I said. "That's a good idea. Mummy, who's Mrs Thatcher?"
"Mrs Thatcher? Why do you want to know?"
"We asked Mr Nairn if he was going to come to school dressed as a lady teacher, and he said no because Mrs Thatcher wouldn't be pleased. He said I had to ask you who she was."
"Ah!" said mummy. "Mrs Thatcher is a politician, in charge of the Education Department. She stopped free school milk last year. She won't go far."
After tea, I put on my Latin dance dress and mummy took me to the class, but Mrs Wilsthorpe got me and Tristram to practice our waltz instead.
"It's the Dance Festival this Friday," she said to us. "You are both doing extremely well, but some extra rehearsals never come in wrong. Tonight I want you to go though the routine over and over. Tristram, concentrate on your topline; your left shoulder sometimes drops in the outside spin. And Beverly, keep your head back and your neck stretched. And try to keep your bodies pressed together at all times."
Tris and me went through the dance again and again. I asked Tris if his mummy and daddy were going to come and watch us at the festival.
"Oh, yes," he said. "They're looking forward to it. My sister's coming up, too."
"Your sister?" I said. "I didn't know you had a sister."
"Yes," Tris replied. "Her name's Constance. She still lives in Cornwall with her boyfriend, but she's coming up specially to see us."
At the end of the lesson we were both very tired from dancing the waltz. "That was hard work," said Tris.
"It's all right for you," I told him. "I have to do it all backwards!"
The next night, at Brownies, Brown Owl presented me with my Dancer's interest badge. "I think you deserve this for all the effort you've put in, Beverly," she said. "Good luck for the Dance Festival on Friday."
"Will you be coming to watch it?" I asked.
"Yes, I will," she said. "I'll be coming with Miss Poole. We're both really looking forward to seeing you and Tristram dancing together."
"Thank you," I said.
At ballroom dance class the next night, Mrs Wilsthorpe made Tris and me practice our waltz routine all over again lots of times. Our feet were hurting, but we knew the dance perfectly.
On Thursday night, at ballet class, Miss Poole said that she hoped I would do well in the festival. "You really are a beautiful dancer, Beverly," she told me. "It would be lovely if you were to keep on dancing when you go back to being a boy."
"I might," I said. "I don't know if it'll be the same having to dance like a boy. I won't be able to wear my lovely dresses, will I?"
"No," said Miss Poole. "I'm very much afraid you won't. But you will still be able to dance, and that's something you'll have all your life."
The next night it was the dance festival. Mrs Wilsthorpe had arranged for mummy to get a special ballroom dance dress for me. It was a minty green colour, with long sleeves and bits of floaty material fastened to the cuffs. There was a bit of thin elastic on each cuff which hooked over my middle fingers to keep the sleeve down on my arm. The bodice of the dress was covered in lots and lots of sparkly things, and the skirt was all big and ruffly. Mummy put makeup on my face, to make me look pretty. She put green on my eyelids, and red on my lips and cheeks, and brushed some glitter on my face. Then she glued pretendy eyelashes on over my own, and brushed black stuff onto them to make them look thicker.
"You look beautiful," she said.
When we got to the festival, Tris was there with his mummy and daddy and his sister, Constance. Tris was wearing a bow tie and a waistcoat the same minty green colour as my dress.
"Hello, Beverly," said Constance. "I've heard such a lot about you. You look very lovely."
"Thank you," I said. "You look very nice, too."
The festival was in the new City Exhibition Centre. It was a very big place, with three floors. The dance floor was on the ground floor, and there were people looking down from the upstairs floors over little walls which went all the way round. Mummy had brought her camera and got me and Tris to pose for some photographs together and on our own.
There were a few dancers on before us. They were all old people. Me and Tris were the only children taking part. The names of all the dancers were said by a man on a microphone so that everyone knew who they were.
Soon it was our turn to dance. "And now," said the man with the microphone, "we have a special treat, ladies and gentlemen. Dancing the waltz, from the Miriam Wilsthorpe School Of Dance, would you please welcome to the floor Master Tristram Deveral and his partner, Miss Beverly Bassenthwaite."
Tris and me held hands and walked out to the middle of the floor in a spotlight. There was lots of clapping from all the people who had come to watch, and I felt very nervous. Tris bowed to the people and I curtseyed at the same time, and then we got into hold and waited for the music to start.
Tris and me had always practiced to a cassette tape of the music. It was a song called "The Last Waltz", sung by a man with a very funny name. But at the festival there were some people playing the music on proper musical instruments, like we'd had for the pantomime, and there was a man singing the song on a microphone.
As soon as the music started, me and Tris danced, and I stopped feeling nervous. We remembered everything we had practiced, and we didn't make a single mistake. At the end everyone stood up and cheered and clapped and whistled. Tris and me held hands in the middle of the floor, and he bowed and I curtseyed, and then we went to sit down at the side.
Afterwards, a man came with a camera and took our photograph. "This'll be in the paper on Monday," he said. "You'll be famous. Well done!"
Mrs Wilsthorpe was very happy with us. "That was absolutely amazing!" she said. "If this had been a competition, you two would have won, no question about it. Congratulations!"
Mr and Mrs Deveral and Constance came up and said how much they had enjoyed it, too. Constance was smiling a lot. "I have to say," she said, "It's hard to believe you're really a little boy, Beverly, because you're such a gorgeous little girl. You and Tristram make a lovely couple!"
I wasn't really sure what to say about that, so I didn't say anything. Tristram's face went all red. "It's very hot in here," he said.
On Monday night, the picture of me and Tris was in the paper, just like the man with the camera had promised. Beside the picture it said: "Tristram Deveral and his pretty partner, Beverly Bassenthwaite (both aged 7), captivated the audience at the fifth annual "Sequins" Dance Festival, held for the first time in the new City Exhibition Centre."
I was worried about what all my friends at school would say the next day. Now everyone would know that Tris and me were dancing partners because of the picture in the paper. Tris and me had never told anyone at school that we danced together, because I hadn't wanted Tris to be teased about it. But that was when I had no friends. Now I had lots of friends, and friends aren't nasty to each other.
May the 22nd was my 8th birthday. Mummy arranged a party for me at the Mount Hermon Community Centre, and invited everyone from the first years at school, and all the Brownies, and all the girls from ballet and all the boys and girls from ballroom and Latin Dancing. There was over a hundred children altogether, and we had a great time. We played Pass The Parcel and Pin The Tail On The Donkey and Musical Chairs. Mummy got Mrs Duffield and Auntie Maureen to help with making things to eat, and she got a clown to come and do funny things. I got a nice surprise when I found out that the clown was my friend from the pantomime, Dicky Dornoch. He was very funny. He got everyone to sing "Happy Birthday, Dear Beverly", and then bounced me up and down on his lap eight times.
"That's a very pretty dress, Beverly," he said. "You are a lovely little girl. A very lovely little girl indeed. Are you still wearing the necklace I gave you?" he asked.
"Yes, Dicky," I said. "I wear it nearly every day."
"That's a good girl," he said. He sounded a little out of breath again from giving me the bumps.
There was a lovely cake covered with pink icing and eight candles on it. I made a wish when I blew the candles out. I can't say what I wished for, because it won't come true if I tell.
Mummy had asked everyone to give me money instead of presents, but I still got given some girly things as well for a bit of fun. I got some Barbie clothes, and some makeup, and some hair ribbons, and a dolly dress-up book.
Tristram gave me an envelope. "It's not really a present, exactly," he said. "It's from my sister, Connie."
I opened the envelope. Inside was an invitation to a party.
"Connie's getting married in July," said Tristram. "It's on Saturday the 31st, a week after we break up from school. She's marrying her boyfriend down in Cornwall, see, and I'm going to be her pageboy. And the thing is, she was wondering if you would like to come and be one of her bridesmaids. Would you? Please?"
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