The Whiskerly Sisters (26 page)

Now, at sixteen, this had happened several times before, but always very unsatisfactorily. He had had the usual wet dreams but, although he felt he needed to, he could never properly masturbate and so often ended up feeling restless and cross with everyone. He had solved his own problem by taking up running and would get up early, before school, to run through the town, returning home for breakfast in a much better mood. This time things were happening of their own accord; really actually happening all by themselves and, this time, it turned out to be highly satisfying. In fact, it felt so downright delicious that he ended up doing it again twice more during the night and, although he often still went running, he found he no longer had the same desperate urge to escape from the rampant teenage hormones coursing through his blood.

That night proved to be a watershed for Sly. As a teenager, he was already testing his boundaries and trying to break down the barriers of his family life, but he was pinned in place by the overwhelming love he felt for his brother. An attractive boy, with regular features and auburn hair to die for, girls had been batting their eyelashes at him for years but, somehow, they didn’t seem to be able to give him whatever it was that he was looking for. Consequently, to the utter dismay of most of the female half of the school, he was still a virgin.

For several weeks after the revelation of the tights, Sly felt content enough to leave things as they were – just stroking the nice fabric in the privacy of his bedroom felt enough. However, as his newly unleashed sexuality began to grown, often leaps and bounds ahead of his imagination, he began to experiment. His first idea embarrassed the hell out of him and yet he still knew he had to give it a go. Putting the chair up against the door in case anyone came in, he removed all his clothing and put on the pair of tights. They felt incredible against the rough skin of his adolescent legs. Hesitantly, he approached the full length mirror in his room and took a peek at himself.

He had always known he was different, but this was altogether something else. Never before in his life had he felt like this. Staring at the reflection of the awkward, almost naked boy in the mirror, he felt as if he had just stumbled across himself. Another idea rocked him. He dressed quickly, removed the chair and tiptoed across the hall to his parents’ bedroom, returning with a couple of his mother’s satin petticoats. He desperately wanted to take a pair of her knickers too, but felt that would be too disrespectful and so restrained himself. Back in the safety of his room, he tried on one of the garments, smoothing the gorgeous fabric against his thighs. He crept once more to the mirror and looked at himself. A tall, slender boy, with overly long auburn hair wearing a petal pink petticoat and a pair of fawn tights, gazed solemnly back at him. He felt an overwhelming sense of peace, quickly followed by a wave of emotion so strong that he felt the need to sit down on the edge of the bed. He began to sob, quietly at first, but growing louder until he thought he would choke. He smothered his face in his pillow in an effort to reduce the noise. Afterwards, he masturbated and fell asleep on top of the covers still wearing the stolen garments. When he awoke the following morning, he felt refreshed.

Sly had discovered sex.

Thus began a mercifully short, criminal phase in Sly’s life. Having finally found a way in which to express his sexuality, he became obsessed with it. He yearned for new and different fabrics to place against his skin to turn him on. The thrill of his mother’s satin petticoats and soft wool dresses soon began to fade and he increasingly found himself rifling through her underwear drawer. He could never bring himself to take anything, but he strongly felt the need to do something.

He began by stealing washing. He was careful not to do any pilfering in the local streets, choosing instead to cycle the long way home on the look-out for the bright, tell-tale signs of lingerie, fluttering on the breeze. He discovered that he adored lace and he would whoop with joy when he snagged such a prize, pedalling home furiously to squirrel it away in the locked suitcase he had bought at a boot sale and which he had hidden under his artwork at the back of his wardrobe. His mother had questioned his need to buy such an ugly, old thing so he told her it was an antique and might have value in a few years. She might have fainted if he had told her the truth.

By the time Sly was seventeen, he had a wide collection of underwear – stockings and tights, French knickers and tango briefs, even the odd push up bra or two and these he savoured late at night in the sanctity of his bedroom, alone in front of the mirror. By this time, he had begun to borrow the lipsticks and mascaras he found in his mother’s vanity case. He was always careful to replace them the following morning when he went upstairs on the pretext of brushing his teeth. He would have died if he thought his mother had discovered his secret. He justified his acts by reasoning that he could hardly walk into Woolworth’s and buy some of his own.

When he spotted a red and black boned corset adorned with tiny red ribbons in the lingerie section of his mother’s spring catalogue, Sly nearly wet himself on the spot. He felt a rush of blood to his groin and, catalogue in hand, rushed to the toilet where he spent the next few minutes fantasising about how it might feel to wear something so beautiful. After he came, he cleaned himself up and returned downstairs to watch The Two Ronnies with his parents. He felt exquisitely languid, thoroughly guilty and very aware that he would have to find a way of buying something similar.

For a teenage boy, that was to prove incredibly difficult and it was to be over two years before he found a way to do it. In the meantime, he continued to satisfy himself with stealing knickers from other peoples’ lines.

After upsetting his mother by turning down Art School and choosing to go to Medical College instead, Sly never looked back. He thoroughly enjoyed his nursing training. The majority of the others on the course were women, but Sly had always enjoyed female company in an asexual way and he had long ago worked out how to avert their subtle advances. He never left anyone feeling rejected; he somehow instinctively knew how to let a girl down romantically and yet leave her feeling delighted to have found herself a new friend with whom she never felt the need to suck in her stomach. As a result, Sly thrived during his college years, easily understanding the theory and demonstrating real skill with the practical. When he finally found himself on the wards, the only thing he hated was the nasty material they made him wear under the guise of a uniform, but he solved that problem by wearing a pair of tights underneath his starched, white trousers and a silk chemise under his stiff, high collared tunic. Since he always made sure to change in the privacy of a cubicle, he felt his secret was safe.

In his final year, Sly moved into student accommodation. It was a requirement of the course that, at this stage, he live on hospital grounds. Whilst he was ready to leave, it was still a wrench to move away from his brother, albeit only a short bus ride away. Throughout his nursing career, he returned home as often as duty and lifestyle allowed. His mother was still to be found humming away at her electric sewing machine. Having developed her skill over the years, she had begun making wedding outfits. From miles around, young girls came to her to get something original and hand-made to make them feel even more special on their big day. His father was nearly always at the allotment, still digging away. Although, in his own way, he loved both his sons, he could never quite forgive himself for not being able to sire something more ordinary. He avoided his feelings by strenuously working the soil, ultimately producing more vegetables than his family could use.

By the time Sly graduated, Ali had begun attending a special school a few miles away where he could mix with his peers. He was thrilled with the bright yellow coach that collected him from the end of the street and returned him there every school day. Ali adored his new life. There were lots of activities for him to do at the centre as well as giving him a decent education. His favourite hobby was clay modelling. In pride of place on his brother’s desk was a brightly painted, slightly tipsy pencil holder given to him by his little monster as a twentieth birthday present. In the kitchen, he had a selection of cheerfully coloured, hand painted mugs from which he always drank his coffee. He never allowed any of his fellow student nurses to use them; he gave them their coffee in more ordinary cups.

With Ali more settled than he had been in his earlier years Sly, at last, felt free to spend more of his time doing as he pleased. The other nurses were a lively crowd, who regularly invited him out with them. They had got to know him and he had somehow become one of them; one of the girls. He felt very comfortable in the role. They begged him to go with them when they went dancing. From their perspective, there was a man around to protect them if they needed it and to accompany them home, arguing happily amongst themselves as to whose turn it was for a piggyback from the only man in the group. Sly enjoyed these nights out too, but it was the shopping expeditions that thrilled him to the core. Safe at last in the company of women, he was offered the golden opportunity of following them into every boutique, every lingerie shop, and every accessory store the town had to offer. Furthermore, he often went with them into the city where he was able to discreetly indulge in his passion for lady’s clothing. Even better, he found he had a new group of people from whom he could steal.

Sly never thought of it as stealing; he termed it borrowing because he always intended to put the items back. Sometimes he did; other times he could not bring himself to part with the material object of his desire. He never took anything brand new, figuring it would be easily missed and because he felt instinctively that it would be wrong. However, he liberally allowed himself to borrow whatever he wanted from the nurses with whom he lived and worked – belts and handbags, jewellery and scarves; sometimes even their perfume and make-up, but mostly it was their lingerie. He borrowed lots of their amazing, silky, lacy lingerie. He felt no guilt whatsoever wearing his colleagues’ bras or panties, their lace top stockings and their flimsy nightdresses, enjoying the exquisite feel of these pretties against his skin and fantasising how it might feel to rightfully be able to wear such gorgeous things.

When one of the nurses decided to throw a hen party the week before her wedding, Sly finally got to buy for himself the kind of garments he could only previously have dreamt about. As one of the girls, he was naturally invited to the party, but was sternly informed by the bride-to-be that he could only come if he was prepared to dress like the rest of the gang in the chosen theme for the evening – as a tart! Sly could barely believe his luck and spent his next day off shopping with one of the nurses for his outfit. He nearly blew it with his enthusiasm for an enormous feather boa but, fortunately, his companion decided he was going over the top to make them all laugh and to impress the bride. No one quite knew what to do about Sly’s footwear but, finally, someone remembered the outsize outlet in the new shopping centre where he eventually found something sparkly with a three inch heel that would just about fit. He found them immensely uncomfortable and it seemed to take him forever to learn how to walk in the damn things but, to Sly, it was worth all the potential future bunions in the world. As he gazed at his reflection in the mirror, he felt his Dorothy shoes made his legs, already clad in black, fishnet stockings, look amazing. He felt like a goddess.

By the time Sly reached his fortieth birthday, he had been a fully-fledged cross dresser for over twenty years, but always in secret. He had yet to come out fully but, so far, had never felt the need to, having always been slightly reserved in nature. He knew that there were clubs to which he could go and others with whom he could mix if he wanted to develop his lifestyle further, but he refrained. His love for his family and, most of all, his brother, held him back from openly going out in public dressed as a woman. He felt it would shame them. Only on those occasions when he had a justified reason to dress up – a hen night, a fancy dress party, the Rocky Horror Show – did he give full reign to his obsession, secure in the knowledge that his friends believed he was sending himself up to make them laugh.

If anyone wondered why Sly had never settled down, no one commented. His father had always though it was because he was a pansy; his mother never questioned his decision and it probably never crossed his brother’s mind. His friends sometimes teased him about being the last man standing and women still came onto him, but he had learned long ago how to divert attention away from himself. The bottom line was that Sly didn’t really need anyone to have an affair with. He had himself and, by this time, a secret lock up of all things feminine with which to give full reign to his sexuality, his fantasies and his desires. With the coming of the internet, he was able to fully indulge his passion and spent vast amounts of time and money, browsing and shopping on line for whatever he wanted and a place to store them that he could access whenever he felt the urge.

People with an awareness of Down’s syndrome will tell you what incredibly loving people those touched with this disability can be and Ali was no exception. He was always extraordinarily happy, generous and thoughtful. Despite suffering the occasional fevers and chest infections to which he was prone, he never let them get him down. He always noticed when people seemed depressed and was always the first to offer comfort to anyone he thought might be lonely or sad. He also had a temper and was not afraid to let it show, but his outstanding quality was an overarching serenity with the world and everyone in it and this never left him.

At the age of thirty, Ali chose to leave home of his own volition and move into a hostel where he felt he could lead a more independent life out of sight of his still over-protective mother. The hostel was only a few miles away from Sly, newly promoted to Head of Nursing and thus the two were able to meet more frequently. The close bond between them was still strong and, in fact, Sly probably loved the adult Ali more than he had loved the child. Their parents had both retired and old age was biting at their heels. His father suffered chronic lumbago, probably from all the digging and his mother’s hands were stiff and swollen with arthritis, probably from all the sewing. Sly and Ali still saw both of them at least once or twice a week.