from Prim

The door at the top of the steps was open. Cecil stood at the bottom and looked round at the path he had come along with flowering shrubs on both sides all the way from the gate. He had never got this near before, except in his dreams. He could hear birds twittering above him, all round him, and somewhere a woman's voice – teaching. He looked up: it was coming from that open window through the trees. A faint breeze lifted his white and pink satin collars onto his face and he slid them back into place with his glove. His eyes returned to the open door, and he started up the steps. The teacher was still teaching but he lost the birds beneath the thumping of his heart as the door came closer and closer. The dark interior looked brighter, he was on the top step, his heels click-clacking into the entrance hall. So here he was – in the girls' school.

Cecil stood on the spot and looked round, as if he had stepped into a magical cavern and he was under a spell. The desk opposite said RECEPTION but it was unoccupied and his pulse eased a couple of notches. Another notice said HEAD MISTRESS, and he stepped that way, into a white corridor with a brown wooden floor. It smelt of soft perfume: he couldn't make out whether it was eau de cologne or skin preparations – a bit like being in cousin Maisie's room at his Auntie Lily's. A large notice board looked down on him, and along the head of it shone the words: SAINT MONICA'S HIGH SCHOOL FOR GIRLS. Cecil's blond curls bristled with suspense beneath his rose pink hair band and he stepped closer to see what gorgeous messages there were on the girls' high school board.

Prefect Rota: yard, dining hall, shop, loos – and names. Lists and lists of girls' names. A yellow notice said: Food space law: Girls will always sit to eat. Girls will always drink water only. Girls will – Ohhh, another sheet had gorgeous photos of high heels: shiny and black. "Heels will be no higher than six inches," it said. A pair of pink sling backs had a red cross over them: so did peep-toe sandals, crossed out, strappy white –

"Hello? Can I help you?"

Cecil jumped in a sizzle of petticoats and spun round to see a tall school girl – three tall girls – right behind him. At first he thought they were angels, but no – "Er, hello. I'm – reading about the – heels – on the notice board." He got a feeling of being looked at very closely all over. He daren't look back, so he looked down their dark legs at their tall, black high heels. There was a definite scent of face make-up around him.

"Mmm," he heard after he had been well examined, "I've never seen a sissy before."

Cecil looked up shyly. The girl had long black hair a pretty face and beautiful glossed lips. He thought he had better hold his dress out for her and the others, so that they could see how sweet a sissy is. He found himself slipping Seraphina up to his elbow so that he could use both hands to pretty the lace edges of his collars, and he managed a smile. This gave him the chance to look back – at a brunette, a red-head and a blonde – and he found his tongue.

"I'm so excited to see real schoolgirls. I've only seen them on the internet before, like on Youtube and Tumblr."

His audience didn't say anything. One put her hand on her hip, another tipped her head and looked at him from the corner of her eye, and the third lifted her big tits with a deep breath.

"I want to be a schoolgirl," he went on. "At Saint Monica's." He gave a hopeful look.

"You have to live in the catchment area," said the girl with auburn hair. "Where do you live?" They were all looking straight into his eyes.

"I live three streets away in Fuchsia Gardens."

One of them gave a nod: "I know it." Then the blonde girl said: "I like your dog."

"She's not a dog, she's a pony."

"Soz. What's her name?"

"Seraphina. Phoebe for short." Cecil hugged her in both arms and kissed her head with his cheek.

The girls seemed to melt a little. "I'm Anthea, by the way," said the brunette. "This is Nicola and Penny. What's your name?"


She lifted her brows as if that was a good name. "I like your dress, it's pretty."

"Thank you."

"Turn round for us," said Penny.

Cecil held Phoebe in one hand and held the edges of his petticoats to do a slow turn, all the way round.

Nicola with the shiny hair said: "Your buttons are very girly, and a pretty bow."

Cecil was feeling better. "Thank you," he said with a smile. Then Anthea said:
"If you're a girl here you have to wear Saint Monica's uniform."

"Oh yes I so want to wear your uniform – I like your blouses." He took a moment to gaze from one of their blouses to another. He didn't tell them that he loved those wide sleeves and the smart pointed collar with a navy blue tie and the long cuffs to the girls' wrists.

"The uniform blouse is in white silk polyester," explained Anthea.

"It's the special Princess style to allow for size D cups," said Nicola, and she moved her bag out to the side and showed her full blouse, looked down where her tits were pushing it forward attractively and supporting her neat Saint Monica's tie down the middle.

"Crisp but silky," said Penny.

"Mmmmm," said Cecil, "very feminine."

"And your skirt must be the right length," said Anthea. "Miss Patterson – she's the Head Mistress – is very strict on incorrect uniform. It's a taffeta skirt with dicel lining.

Cecil's eyes were wide with wonder. "How does your skirt fasten?" he asked.

Anthea turned her back to him, using her fingers to show her back button and zip, and turned back. "You wear it with a white underskirt."

Nicola explained more. "We must wear dark pantyhose: midnight blue. And white panties. Most girls wear cotton."

"I wear nylon," said Penny. "Look," and she lifted the front of her skirt and slip to show him her brief panties with a dainty trim of lace tracing the tops of her legs against black pantyhose.

"Ohhh, I like looking at your panties," gasped Cecil. "Can I feel?"

"No you can't," and she dropped her skirt. "Not until you're a schoolgirl wearing full uniform."

"Oh I so want to be a schoolgirl," he said, "wearing a school blouse and – what sort of bra must you wear?"

Nicola pulled her blouse from her waist and lifted it to show him, right up above her tits so that he could see the full globe of each bra cup. He couldn't prevent himself – his fingers were drawn to the lace-covered satin. He traced the shape of her cups with the fingertips of both hands, while Nicola's lips pressed together tightly but rippled with emotion. She took a deep breath and her lips parted as she exhaled. Then she swivelled her skirt to undo it at her hip and tucked her blouse in all round before fastening it up and restoring her uniform to its proper neatness.

The other girls had stood closer to her while she was doing this, and Anthea said: "We've got to be grateful Fanny didn't open her door while we were showing you our uniforms and lingerie." She looked round, and as she stood to one side, Cecil's heart skipped a beat as he saw the brown door with a plaque which read: Miss F D Patterson MBE - HEAD MISTRESS, and a large notice beneath saying: "KNOCK AND WAIT".

Oh my goodness. They had been standing in front of the Head Mistress's door, and she could have come out and found him at any moment. What would he have said? Would he have had the courage to ask if he could join Saint Monica's? What if she had said: No, scram!" it was too scary – too awful to think about.

"What up, honey?" asked the girls as they turned back to him.

Celia covered his lips with both gloves to try and contain his emotions. Then he managed to speak. "I want to be a schoolgirl." The words were so true he had to choke back his tears of eagerness. "Wearing the proper uniform of Saint Monica's." his eyes shut tight and his lips pressed together to support his self-control. The girls looked at him and shared glances of sympathy.

"You'll have to ask Miss Patterson," said someone.

He looked up. "Knock on her door and wait," said Nicola, "and she may give you an interview."

Cecil's lips quivered.

"Do you want me to knock for you?" said Anthea, "and speak to Miss Patterson?"

This was a God-send. She was an angel after all. "Yes pleeease." Cecil's heart took off again, hammering beneath his satin collars. He hugged Phoebe to his chest in one hand and took Nicola's hand with the other. They fell into a supportive group to approach the door: Anthea in front to knock, Nicola on one side and Penny standing behind him on the other. They watched Anthea take a deep breath, then she gave a firm knock.


Anthea opened the door, took two steps and stopped. "Good morning, Miss Patterson. There is someone here who would like to be a new girl at Saint Monica's."

Silence. Oh no. He shouldn't have come like this, on the off chance. Maybe Miss Patterson will sen – "

"Well show her in."

Cecil felt faint – about to fall. Then Anthea stepped aside and there was Miss Patterson, 60, her permed hair looking at him from behind her desk, her thin lips closing. She said nothing, just raised her hand to her spectacles in a white blouse sleeve and lifted them on their necklace to the top of her hair. Everything in Saint Monica's froze, especially in this study. Then she parted her lips and Cecil went dizzy.

"Come in."
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