17. SUGAR AND SPICE, AND ALL THINGS AWFUL

Another girl actually tried to squeeze my false boobies as I leant over to fill up her drink, but I managed to fend off her hand.  Then it was time to remove the empty plates and glasses, by which time I was really starting to hate those high heel shoes I'd now been wearing for almost an hour.  My ankles, especially, were starting to ache from the unnatural angle they were at.  I mean, it might be OK for women to wear high heels all day, but they've had years of practice.   I was just a 13 year-old boy being punished for my naughtiness, after all.    

How long is this damn tea-party going on for, I thought to myself, as I carried the plates into the kitchen and started the washing up at the sink, trying to ease the strain on my ankles from those shoes at the same time.

Mrs. Thomson came back in from the lounge and gave me some even worse news.  The girls wanted to know all about make-up, so she was going to demonstrate – and would I mind being the model for it?  I could have screamed and ran out there and then, but I'd managed to last so far without doing anything to offend my mother's ears.  So what the hell, I thought – what's the worst they can do?  Just put some more silly lipstick on my lips and rouge on my face?   “Yes, Mrs. Thomson, of course I'd be only too pleased to be your model,” I said in my best girly voice. 

18. MY MANNEQUIN AND CURTSEY DEBUT 

She said, “That's a good girl, Petula,” and headed back into the lounge, leaving me to stack the plates and cutlery I'd just washed and dried.    I was dreading going back into the lounge, but Mrs. Thomson called out, “We're ready now for you, Petula,” so I could only take those few steps in my high heels into the lounge to face the next stage of my humiliation.  It would turn out to be even worse than I'd expected, because not only was there a chair waiting for me with a table full of make-up stuff, there were also several wigs of different styles.  

“Oh, no,” I thought – “I'm going to have to change my wig in front of all those horrible little giggling girls!”

I slowly walked out to the table, and sat down next to Mrs Thomson.  “Gather round, girls,” she said to those awful minxes, who needed no encouragement to get as close as possible while I was progressively given coats of lipstick of all different shades,  my face blotted with powder and rouge – and finally, the worst of all – a pair of false eyelashes!  Mrs. Thomson stood back to admire her handiwork, and the throng of little giggling girls actually started to clap.  “Well, Petula,” she said.  Shouldn't you be acknowledging that applause in the correct manner for a well-brought up young lady – with a nice curtsey, perhaps?”  

Oh dear.   If you think doing a curtsey is all that simple, try it some time. Then try it wearing high heels, a frock, girdle and nylons, and see how you get on!  It's really quite difficult, especially because the high heels have you off-balance already.  Here's hoping, I thought to myself, as I held on to the left and right sides of my frock, pushed my left foot as far forward as that awfully tight pantie-girdle would allow me, and slowly  bent at the knees like I'd seen all those princesses doing on TV. Amazingly, I didn't actually fall over, but it must have been a close call. 

“Well done, Petula,” said Mrs Thomson.  “You really are getting into the spirit of this, aren't you?”   

“Yes, Mrs. Thomson” I replied in my best debutante voice.  

19. BIG HAIR – BIGGER HUMILIATION   

“Well, sit down again, because we're going to try you out in some different wigs.   That one you're wearing is a little, well, “young” for you now, in your nice make-up and those high heels.”  So, in full view of the giggling throng, she removed my 'Dorothy' wig with the long plaits, and replaced it with a beehive back-combed one just like Helen Shapiro used to wear on TV.  I could have died while this was going on. At least while I was wearing the silly 'Dorothy” wig, I was sort of playing out a role.  Once it came off and they could see I was actually a 13 year-old boy with short hair, even though wearing a lot of make-up and false eyelashes,  it made me feel that much more silly sitting there in a girly frock, with a padded bra and pantie-girdle holding up my nylons.   However,  even worse was to come … 

“Sit there, Petula," said Mrs. Thomson.    You really look so grown up now in that beehive wig, we need one final touch, don't we, girls?”  That bunch of giggling horrors all cheered, of course, as off went Mrs Thomson in search of something else to humiliate me.  She wasn't away long.  My heart died when I saw what she was carrying – it was a pair of black patent leather high heel shoes, with stiletto heels at least four inches high!    I mean, the three inch ones I'd been wearing for an hour were sheer hell, but she intended me to walk around now in those sky-scrapers, in full view of those girls.  It just wasn't fair. There was no stopping Mrs. Thomson, though, because she knew my feet were the same size as hers, so fitting those really high heeled shoes wouldn't be a problem.  It would just be a matter if I could manage to walk in them, or fall over …

It was only a matter of sliding the three-inched heel court shoes off my nyloned feet, and replacing them with the new really high ones.    “How do those feel, Petula?" she asked.  Well, I had to admit they did look very elegant on my feet, far more elegant, to be honest, than the pair I'd been wearing.  But looks are one thing, and walking in really high heels is another totally different kettle of fish.   

“Er, they do look very nice and glamourous, Mrs. Thomson,” I said.    

“Well, what are you waiting for then, Petula, darling – we're all dying to see how you get on walking in them, now you've got your nice grown-up looking wig on!”

20. EVEN HIGHER HEELED EMBARRASSMENT

It was really show-time now, with all those girls, and, of course, Mrs. Thomson waiting for me to strut my stuff around the lounge.  To be honest, I wasn't feeling so humiliated now I had the Helen Shapiro wig on and looked like a young lady again. The challenge was now to either manage to walk around the room in those towering heels, or fall over and have all those brattish girls laugh at me.  I stood up and slowly began to walk around the room …

21. PASSING MY HIGH-FLYING TEST 

Somewhat surprisingly, it turned out to be easier than I'd expected, although being another inch higher than before took some getting used to.  The high heels fit my feet perfectly, so there was no pinching or cramping of my toes to suffer – all I had to do was manage to stay on my feet, and not fall over in front of everybody.  Well, I managed to reach the other end of the room and turn around, then walk back to my chair.  To be fair to all those awful little girls, they did at least cheer and applaud, which meant I had to get up and do the curtseying thing again. This time, of course, it was more difficult than ever in those really high heel shoes, and I almost lost my balance, as I was coming back up from the low point of the curtsey.   Somehow I managed to stay upright though.   I sat down again with a sigh of relief that I'd passed my final test – or was it?   Did Mrs Thomson have something else in mind to humiliate me with, in front of those girls?

22. FINAL FAREWELLS – AND MORE CURTSEYS 

Well, yes and no, as things turned out. The tea-party was now over and the girls were heading home, but I had to do hostess thing at the front door alongside Mrs. Thomson, curtseying as each one left.  I was still wearing those towering shoes, but, strangely, I was now familiar with them, and I didn't have any trouble with any of the curtseys.    

Finally, Mrs. Thomson turned to me and said “Well, Petula, or should I say, Peter, I hope this has been a lesson for you this afternoon and there'll be no more repeats of your bullying behaviour with my girls, like letting down their tent this morning.  Now you go home in those heels and that wig, and tell your mother and sister that I've been very satisfied with the "New You.”    However, if there are any repeats of the “Old You” …

23. EXIT, STAGE LEFT, HIGH HEELS OR NOT 

I couldn't get out of her house quick enough, even wearing her high heels.  I was soon knocking madly at the door of our house, and there was my mother and sister Wendy – carrying a camera!    She'd taken a couple of pictures of me before I had a chance to do anything about it. 

“Come in and sit down at the kitchen table, Peter,” said my mother.  “My, you do walk quite well in those shoes, I must admit!   Mrs. Thomson has clearly been training you well.  However, here's my warning to you.   I'm going to be keeping the frock, petticoats, bra, girdle, stockings and so on, all ready for you to have to wear again – if you misbehave like this morning. The choice is totally yours, whether you have to become Petula again or stay as you are, as my well-behaved son Peter.  Which is it to be?”

24. MOTHER IS ALWAYS RIGHT 

I quietly said I'd much prefer to be a Peter than a Petula.   

“OK,” said Mum. “Off you go up the stairs then - get out of that girly stuff and have a bath, and then come down and have your supper.   Or are you full of sandwiches and cakes from the tea party?”   Actually, I hadn't eaten a single thing at next door's tea-party, because my mind had been on other things like not falling over in Mrs Thomson's high heels.    So I said “that'd be great,  mum!” and off up the stairs I headed.    It was only when I got to the top I realised I was still wearing those really high heel shoes, which I'd barely noticed as I climbed the stairs.    Some things you just don't forget …