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 someone of your tender years 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 anything.
This is apart from maybe one tiny detail and half the time I forget what that was by the next day…
However, 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 its 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 crisscrossing 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 crisscross 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 hand in the center 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.
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,” I told her.
“I don’t sit around daydreaming 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.
“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…”
“No.”
“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.”