14MY SON, THE BRIDESMAID

Trish's a size 8, and she's worn them before. Just try it on, I'll be in the den watching TV." With that she left Robin to his decision.

When he didn't appear in the den within 5 minutes, Mrs. Wilkes began to think that her plan had failed. But then, there he was. He came through the door somewhat sheepishly. The blue silk of his harem pants swished sensuously with each step. He had tucked his hair into the now routine hairnet. She stood up to admire him.

"Oh, that looks marvellous! Turn around and let me see you," she instructed as he timidly did her bidding. "Take off your robe for a minute, I want to see how the top looks."

He again followed her instructions and removed the robe, showing off the lacy camisole and his own narrow and delicate shoulders. "Hmmm, good thing Robin is not hairy," Mrs. Wilkes thought to herself.

"Now, is that all that bad? Sure, it's girlish-looking, but it's only the two of us. Won't you be my 'little girl' for the night?" she good-naturedly teased her son. He sensed the relaxed attitude his mother was taking, and he decided to 'play along'.

"Of course, mummy," he replied in a silly, lispy, littlegirl voice. His voice hadn't really changed yet. "You know, I like pretty things." He continued and made a dainty little pirouette to swirl out the robe.

"Oh, you're too much! Sit down, before you trip and hurt yourself," his mother laughed as she patted the couch for him to sit on in front of the TV.

They watched TV for a while, then Mrs. Wilkes got up and left the room for a few minutes. She returned shortly with several small bottles and other paraphernalia. Without a word, she began to redo her nails. She sat near Robin and worked on the coffee table where he could see what she was doing.

Robin watched out of the corner of his eye as she did a complete manicure on her long and well-kept nails. After a half hour or so, she was done having blown on her nails to speed the drying. She surprised him when she simply took one of his hands, and without an explanation,

TV FICTION CLASSICS-15 began to gently work at his longish nails with an emery board.

"What are you doing, mom?"

"Just a manicure. Your nails need some attention, don't they?" she joked as she held his hand out for inspection. He didn't say anything, but just smiled nervously.

"Oh, don't worry, it's nothing permanent. Let's just play make-believe tonight. You can be my little girl for one evening."

As he sat there, his heart pounded with some kind of strange anticipation. Shouldn't he be stopping her?! Wasn't she filing his nails in an oval shape?! Now the cuticles are being trimmed and pushed back! Gee, that makes the nails look so much longer! All this was not so bad. But when that little brush with the pale pink nail polish was stroked on his first nail. ... he... he... was going to swoon.

"Oh, mom!" he pleaded. "C'mon, that's going too far, isn't it?" he softly moaned.

"It's the lightest color I have so don't be silly, you'll look real cute," she replied without even looking up from her delicate work. "You have such nice, soft hands, you know."

Now finished, she instructed him, "Don't touch your nails to anything for at least five minutes. I've put two coats of polish on them and that makes them slow to dry. Why don't you blow gently on them for awhile."

Copying his mother, he held his hands in a typically feminine fashion as he did as he was told. The 'wet'-looking pinkish tint made his fingers look long and delicate. In fact, perfectly feminine. Little did he know that his mother was thinking the same thing at that very moment.

As he did his final wash-up, he couldn't help but stare at his image in the mirror: girl's hands, his long hair held up in a hair-net, and a dainty silk women's pyjamas on his body. It struck him. If he had been born a girl, this is how he would be dressed every night. A strange shiver of guilty excitement went through him as he lay down to sleep at the end of a most confusing day. He was experiencing a gamut of perplexing emotions.