Chapter Text
It all started one night after school.
I was cleaning up my room, because according to mum it looked like a pack of pigs had thrown a party. I thought that was a bit of an exaggeration, considering my 'floordrobe' was pretty well organised, but since it gave me a good excuse for when she asked why I hadn't done my homework yet I didn't argue.
First, all the clothes were either shoved in my draws or into the wash basket, and anything left was pushed under the bed. It was as I was attempting to shove a sneaker under I noticed the cardboard box, which I immediately saw as extra space to cram junk inside. However, when I opened it up it was already full, so naturally I poured it all out to inspect the contents.
At first only a few old schoolbooks, a sock, and a sweet wrapper caught my attention, but then I saw it.
The wig.
My female doppelgänger 'Hannah's' hair. I couldn't help smile at the memory. Who would have thought it could be so fun pretending to be someone else? And a girl at that! It had been oddly... exciting, with the whole undercover situation. The girls' uniform at my school wasn't half bad either. I'd had no idea tights were so soft, and skirts so freeing.
I bit my lip and looked towards the door, ensuring no one was there before I put my attention back on the wig. I quickly slipped it on and stood, walking over to my mirror.
Looking at my reflection I could almost laugh. It looked ridiculous, lopsided with hairs sticking up everywhere. I righted it and combed the sides with my fingers, the neglected mop in serious need of a brush. On top of that, it looked absolutely terrible with my clothes. It was as if someone had played a terrible practical joke on a poor butch girl with caterpillars for eyebrows.
I frowned with a sigh, about to pull it off when an idea hit me. Maybe, if I were to put on a skirt, it would look okay? It had last time. It wouldn't be hard to borrow one of Emily's, for old times’ sake... just to relive the experience.
Suddenly excited I removed the long brunette locks and snuck across the hall to the laundry, searching through the recently cleaned washing for my sister's school skirt. It wasn't there, but her casual pleated skirt was. I cringed at the unpleasant, drab green, but without a better option snuck it under my school jacket and crept back to my room, locking the door behind me.
With a sigh of relief, I quickly stripped off my pants and yanked up the skirt. It was way too tight, stuck hanging at my thighs until I managed to find the side zip. I was pretty sure it was supposed to sit on your hips, but since it didn't fit there I zipped it up around my waist instead, making the skirt a fair bit shorter than it was supposed to be. Where on my sister it would almost reach her knees, it was now creeping to my upper thighs. The sort of length that would have called Miss Adolf to war against sexualized clothing.
I shoved the wig back on and grabbed my hairbrush off the bookcase, where I'd put it whilst 'cleaning'. After managing to neaten up the messy old thing I looked into the mirror, and frowned. I still looked stupid. My torso and lower body didn't match, and my face was... Off.
I sighed at my reflection, staring at myself with something like disappointment. I probably should have looked around for a pair of stockings while I was in the laundry too, my legs looked like they had curly brown moss growing on them.
I grimaced at the sight. It was the first time that my body hair ever really struck me as repulsive.
"Hank!! Time for dinner!" With a frightened jolt I sprang into action at my mother's call, hurrying to change and shove all the evidence under my bed. I'd return Emily's skirt later, but for now at least it was out of sight, and out of mind.
At least that's what I'd thought.
s
It became apparent I had a problem the next night, when I found myself staring at the mirror in my underwear.
Little bits of bloody tissue dotted my bare legs, making it look as though I'd caught some terrible disease. It had taken over an hour to shave it all off, and still I could see patches of hair I'd somehow managed to miss.
I'd done my underarms too, while I was there, and I could honestly say I was glad to be rid of the stinking hedgehogs that had been living under there. Damn puberty and my Italian genes. Thank God I hadn't sprouted chest hairs yet. Just the thought made me shiver in disgust. The pubes were bad enough, as if a slug had made a hairy trail up to my belly button. I'd get rid of it next time, along with all the patches I'd managed to miss.
For a moment I'd contemplated shaving off my eyebrows too, having found the two bushy offenders guilty of throwing my entire face out of proportion. I'd have to get my hands on mum’s tweezers, as much as the prospect of yanking out individual hairs made me cringe. Well, no pain, no gain.
Staring at the chrome surface I couldn't help feel... ugly. I'd never considered myself unattractive before, or overly attractive. I was probably a six on average, eight on a good day, but right now... An awkward half naked teenager with too much body hair, I gave myself a flat out zero.
I frowned and walked over to my bed, yanking the hidden wig and my sister's skirt out from underneath. I shoved the two on, straightening them both out in the mirror before turning around. Looking over my shoulder I managed to work my way up to a two and discover another patch of hair on my calf.
As pathetic as it sounded, the skirt really didn't go with my skin tone. It looked like a mouldy roman column, and it wasn't the right length. It was either too short or too long, and I wasn't sure which. Despite this, for some reason I still didn't want to give it up. Emily would probably notice it was missing soon too, and mum didn't own any skirts that would fit me.
I turned back around to face myself. There weren't any nice shirts laying around the house I could try on either, and the wig was just too short to cover over my nipples. I covered them over with my arms instinctually, feeling a little cold.
With a sigh, I unzipped the skirt and shimmied out of it, lazily pulling off the wig and letting it fall to the floor.
It was no use. Whatever I wanted to see in that mirror, it wasn't what I was.
s
I could hardly believe it as I stared into the mirror again the next night.
I looked... nice. A solid eight. But that wasn't the most shocking development. A short jean skirt sat around my hips. I had bought it, myself, from the little second-hand store on the way home from school. I could barely believe I'd had the balls to do it.
The whole experience had been terrifying. First I'd had to rush there, making sure I was alone before entering the lonely little shop. Then, I'd snuck into the women's section, attempting to avoid looking suspicious. Thankfully the old woman running the place had fishbowls for glasses, so she probably couldn't see a thing, and business was slow in that shop.
I had to awkwardly stretch the skirts that caught my attention around my front to see if they'd fit while no one was watching. This short jean pencil skirt had been the closest fit, a little tight but otherwise perfect. And it made my butt look amazing! Like, cover girl bubble butt amazing. I probably shouldn't have felt as elated as I did about the fact, but I finally felt... attractive.
The skirt went okay with one of my plain white t-shirts, and now my legs had healed and been properly shaved I wasn't in need of stockings. They were clean and hairless. I'd had no idea my legs even had the capability of being so soft. It felt amazing went I slept, like resting petals together.
I'd dared to pluck my eyebrows too, amazed at how painful it actually was. My eyes had kept watering and I couldn't help sneezing whenever I pulled out ones that must have been near nerves. Despite the turmoil, in the end it was worth every tear. It no longer looked as though I had two fire-caterpillars sleeping on my face. My eyes didn't seem too small anymore, or too close now I was no longer in possession of what would have been very nearly classified as a monobrow.
I smiled and put on the wig, the last piece.
My grin faltered. It looked... fake. With a sigh, I pulled it back off and messed my hair back up with my hands. That was better. I could probably do to let it grow out a little, and add a bit of wax to give it that messy 'just woke up' quality.
Feeling oddly proud I took out my phone and opened the camera app, grinning and tilting my head as I took the first photo of many.
Even then I had known, it was just the beginning.
s
I smiled as the camera flashed, wearing my latest treasure. A thin, black crop top with long sleeves I'd found in the old second-hand store. It was soft and went perfectly with my jean skirt, the sleeves tight but reaching past my wrists to my palms. They covered over my hairy arms so it didn't bother me, a detail I'd noticed that day in the shower and taken a great deal of time thinking over whether or not to shave off. By the time I'd decided Emily had come knocking and demanded I stop hogging the bathroom, so that venture had to wait till the next day.
My snail trail was freshly shaven, not a hair on my flat blemish free stomach. Finally, a detail I could feel happy for.
I looked myself up and down in the mirror, every once over seeming less perfect than the last. Something was missing, but what?
My gaze trailed down, landing on my feet. My overly large, out of place feet. I frowned down at them, deciding a pair of shoes was in order.
I gathered my footwear from where they were strewn around the room, trying them on one after the other, but no matter what none of them looked right. The Knats came close, but they were too small now, and too sporty looking for a crop top and jean skirt. I wasn't even sure what type of shoe would go with these.
I sighed at my reflection, resigned to fate. It looked like I'd be dropping by the shops again tomorrow.
s
I looked at the mirror in wonder the next night, taking great care not to fall on my face. I'd done it. I'd found the perfect shoes. Sure, I could hardly stand in them without fearing I'd fall to my doom, but they were still perfect.
A pair of black, wedged high-heels adorned my feet, the only ones in the store that would fit. I'd had to hide in the clothes rack whilst trying them on, but it was worth it.
They were hot, and not only that, they somehow managed to make my feet look smaller, and my back dip in more. Sure, the straps meant my manky toenails were on display, but those were easily fixed.
Feeling a little more confident I did a little spin, losing my balance and crying out as I fell to the floor.
Evidently, I needed a little more practice.
"Hank? You okay?" Dad's voice called from the hall, my heart thumping in panic a second before I recalled the door was locked.
"Yep, just tripped." I grimaced as I sat myself up, glad to find I managed to avoid hurting my ankle.
"Papa Pete's here now, and your mum says dinner will be ready in five." He called from the other side of the door.
"Okay." I replied, undoing the straps around my ankles. I'd try them on again with my skirt and crop-top later. The thought made me smile as I hid them under the bed, in the cardboard box with all my other little secrets.
Once everything was safely hidden and I'd given myself a once over, nodding to my completely hetero-normative plain jeans and long sleeve T, I unlocked the door and stepped out.
Papa Pete stood in the lounge, talking to Emily about salami by the sound of it. He laughed jubilantly and open his arms as I entered the room, giving me a tight hug. Emily took the moment to escape as I was squeezed within an inch of my life.
"Hank! How was-?" He suddenly silenced, letting me free. "Eh, what happened to your eyebrows?" My eyes widened. Did they look bad or just different?
"Um-" My heart beat a little faster as I thought up an excuse. "My-friend, neatened them up for me." I said with what I hoped was a convincing smile. Papa Pete's eyes glimmered.
"A lady friend no?" He asked, winking and bumping me with his elbow.
"Y-yeah." I nodded, probably a little too enthusiastically.
"Dinner's ready!" Mum called from the kitchen as she brought the last two bowls of spaghetti out. We joined the family and sat, digging into the delicious Bolognese like a pack of hungry wolves.
I felt like things couldn't have been better. I had my favourite meal, my family, and a new hobby that made me happy. Things were perfect, until Papa Pete spoke.
"The strangest thing happened today!" He began, drawing all our attention. "I could not believe my eyes!" He said dramatically. "A man came into my store, dressed as a woman!"
My heart stopped.
"A man?" Dad asked, sounding shocked as spaghetti hung from his mouth. Mum gave him a disapproving look and he quickly slurped the pasta up.
"Yes! He had the makeup, and a dress! Lady's shoes, everything!" Papa Pete sounded scandalized. "What do they call it... Ur, drug queen?"
"Drag Queen, Papa Pete." Mum quickly corrected.
"Drag, why is it drag?" He asked, my mother shrugging in reply.
"Actually, the polite term is transvestite." Emily commented.
"Transwatite?" He asked. "It sounds like a disease!" Papa Pete laughed merrily and my heart broke, suddenly feeling sick in the stomach.
Mum whacked his arm gently, the older man looking at her confused.
"What?"
"Be polite. This isn't a topic for the dinner table." Papa Pete looked to my dad, as if for him to explain what he'd done wrong.
"You know Pete, to each their own." Dad said, taking in another fork full of spaghetti. Papa Pete's eyes widened.
"But you said, 'fags should be strung up by their bits'!"
"Dad!" Emily cried out.
"Stan!" Mum echoed.
"I was very drunk when I said that!" Dad defended. "And it was ages ago." Mum glared at him as he focused guiltily on his spaghetti.
"It's their lives, and it's their choice." Mum announced firmly, my sister nodding in agreement.
"I know but, it can't be right, can it?" Dad asked quietly, mildly terrified of mum's expression.
"We've no right to judge." She said with finality.
I stared down at my food in silence as the conversation continued, quickly shifting topic. I wasn't hungry anymore.
I didn't try dress up again that night.