Principal Boy
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by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
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There is only one problem living in a village–it sucks. If you don’t believe me speak to Brad Cummings, a seventeen year old boy who puberty seemed to have passed by the same way that civilisation and progress had by-passed his village. Even the yuppies avoided it, the main road into it was more or less a dead end and if you spoke to Brad you’d believe it led to a dead end as well. The nearest town was five miles away, the pub was struggling to stay open and the village shop only did because it was a cooperative–manned by the inhabitants of the village as volunteers.
The bus came to within a mile of the place on the main road to the town, so you either had to walk, cycle or drive to go anywhere. In lots of ways, it was idyllic for children, as long as they developed an immunity to warble fly and swine vesicular disease, plus resistance to cow pox was an advantage because there was a lot of animal husbandry in the surrounding farms, the land being unsuitable for growing many crops other than maize and curly kale.
The newcomers all had posh 4x4s, the older residents ancient Ford escorts or Vauxhall astras and Brad had his bike, a mountain bike his dad had bought him when he was thirteen. He should have outgrown it by now but he hadn’t probably due to the bad case of mumps he had a few months before he got the bike when it caused him to have an epididymo-orchitis and seemed to destroy his gonads. He was therefore smaller than he should have been, practically hairless of body and limb and with very few muscles–having the softish limbs and body of a prepubescent boy or a girl. It was a constant irritation to him and a source of humiliation at school, so much so his mother who was a teacher before he was born, opted for home-schooling. His younger brother, Jack, was actually bigger and stronger and the proud possessor of zits, facial hair and some follicles sprouting on his chest. Brad kept his body hidden, usually under loose fitting jeans and hoodies feeling very self conscious of his scrawny build and the flabby pectorals which looked more like small breasts than his brother’s hard muscled chest and waist.
To Jack a six pack was his manly abdomen, to Brad it was a collection of chocolate biscuits in cellophane. Despite their differences the two boys got on well, the major difference being that Jack had loads of friends and Brad didn’t, especially girlfriends. Jack was good at sports and Brad was more artistic and certainly more intelligent.
So while Jack went off with the local rugby team and made even more friends, Brad became more introverted and it was only because his mother literally dragged him there, Brad joined the local am-dram group which met in the village hall and did a play in the summer, and a panto after Christmas.
Like most am-dram groups there was a surfeit of women so they grabbed the young man with enthusiasm when his mother presented him to them, and while he later enjoyed the opportunity to meet with such a nice bunch of people, at first he was so shy he practically hid in the loos most of the first meetings he went to.
Lacking in self esteem, he refused to audition for any of the parts and said he preferred to be a backstage helper, so helped paint scenery and fetch props. Later when they realised he could sew a little, they had him helping the costume lady, Maggie Thirkettle, who he liked because she reminded him of his gran.
He learned to assist the makeup lady, too. She’d been a small time actor before she became deaf so he learned a few tricks only known to the pros. Everyone there liked Brad probably because he still looked as if he was ten years old, they sympathised with him, but they loved him because he had a genuineness about him that few teens possessed and not that many adults did either. He’d help anyone and when he decided he’d like to do a degree in theatre studies, his parents–especially his mother–and the am-dram group thought he’d made the right choice.
He was doing A-level drama and double English, and found his efforts with the drama group were useable for his practical work and course work. An itinerant teacher would come and watch him work with the group and award him marks for that and his course work.
This Christmas, the village players of the Goatsby valley, were doing a pantomime of Dick Whittington. For the uninitiated panto is something people either love or hate–oh no they don’t–oh yes they do. It has its roots in theatre way back in the mists of time and perhaps even back to Saturnalia when everything went topsy turvy and men dressed as women, women dressed as men, slaves were treated as freemen and so on. In panto this silliness persists, the dame is always a man who hams it up, so it’s the worst sort of mother in law send up. The principal boy is always a girl playing a boy, the heroine is always a real girl but anything else goes. The plot is nonsense with usually loads of topical jokes thrown in and the rest is slapstick–look behind you–sort of stuff, which people love or loathe.
Until he got involved, Brad would have walked a mile to avoid it, but because they enjoyed themselves so much and had loads of fun, he really looked forward to it. He’d helped paint scenery, make props and costumes, style wigs and when they were rehearsing, he became the prompt. The visiting teacher did suggest he could have played Dick Whittington’s cat, but a seven year old girl from Greater Goatsby got that, much to Brad’s relief, beside he was nearly as big as Josephine Brewer, who was the eponymous lead. They knew this because he acted as a tailor’s dummy a couple of times when Maggie had to do alterations to the costume. He was also practically the same size as Sally Thirkettle, Maggie’s niece who was playing the female lead, because he did the same for her costume. No one except Maggie and the other lady, Thelma, who helped with the sewing knew about it so Brad’s reputation was safe.
The problem with safety is that it’s a relative term. Brad was safe as long as no one knew about his helping with the costumes by wearing them–hell, he was even the same shoe size as Josephine–so they really could do alterations. However, it all went wrong the week before the start of the panto’s run when Sally was taken ill and lost her voice and one of the girls had to double for her in the rehearsals. They were all relieved when she recovered two days before the first night.
Then disaster struck, Josephine, who worked in London two days a week, slipped as she got off the train at Goatsby station and dislocated her knee. She was carted off by ambulance instead of by taxi to the village hall.
Director, producer and co-writer, Martin McGuinness called everyone together moments after he got the news of Josephine’s accident. “I’m sorry folks, Josie has had an accident and is lying injured and probably distraught, in Goatsby hospital.”
“What are we going to do? We can hardly do Dick Whittington without a Dick, can we?”
“I dunno,” said another, “Josie is dickless as far as I know.” The groans and laughs were a stress releaser.
“We don’t have an understudy, we’re going to have to cancel.” As Martin said this there were real groans.
“But it’s a sell-out, Mart, for the whole week.”
“I can’t help that, can I?” Martin shrugged, “We’ll have to give them their money back unless we can find a replacement principal boy, and how is she going to rehearse and learn her part when we go live tonight?”
Brad was almost in tears, he liked Josie, even though she was ten years older than him, but she encouraged him whenever he did anything and his confidence was growing a little in dealing with women. He was so enrapt in his slough of despond, he didn’t see Maggie call Martin over to her and speak quietly to him. Martin’s reaction was astonishment and he quickly called everyone back together.
“Right folks, the show might be saved, Maggie has just told me of someone who knows all the parts inside out including the moves, and who could probably fit the costume.”
Gasps were heard around the group, only Thelma knew who was being spoken about and she couldn’t see Brad agreeing to do it–never in a million years–he was a backstage not onstage person. He might know the part but he was scared of his own shadow.
“Who is it?” asked Sally and several others including Brad. Then Martin asked Brad to come into the small office near the front door.
“Who’s going to save the day, Mart?” asked a rather naíve Brad.
“If it was you, would you do it?” asked Martin of his young companion.
“Course I would, ’cept I can’t, can I–it’s a girl’s part.”
“No, it’s an actor’s part. A good actor should be able to play any part.”
“Yeah, but all our good actors have already got parts.”
“What we need is someone with courage and integrity. Who isn’t frightened of being laughed at, although in a pantomime does that actually matter–in fact might be an advantage.”
“Who’ve you got in mind–I can’t think of anyone.” Brad looked confused.
“Who do we know who is small enough to wear Josie’s costume and who also knows the script inside out?”
“I dunno, who is it?”
“You, Bradley, you are going to save the village panto.”
“What?” he shrieked like a strangulated parrot. “I can’t–I’ve never acted in my life.”
“Yes you have, you’ve stood in for various parts over the past two years.”
“That was just reading them, it wasn’t on the stage in front of loads of people.”
“You could save the day or do I have to go and tell everyone that all their hard work and effort has come to naught. Do you want to be the one on the door telling all the children that it’s been cancelled?”
“No of course not.”
“Well you’re going to have to unless you’re prepared to play the part of Dick.”
“I would if it was man’s part.”
A dick usually is, went through Martin’s mind but he said nothing. Instead he called Sally forth. He spoke to her quietly while Brad was sitting in the corner trembling. She nodded and went up to him.
“Brad, my whole family is coming here tonight to see me–unless you do this–we’ll have to cancel and some of them are going back to Australia next week. They came over for Christmas partly to see me do the panto.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t play a girl’s part.”
“It’s not really is it, it’s the principal boy part, so you’ll actually be playing the part of a boy–the only daft bit is the thigh slapping every time you make a decision–can’t say I know many boys who do that.”
“I don’t know many boys who wear tights and high heeled boots either.” Brad refused eye contact and talked to a chair.
“You get to kiss me, would that help?”
“I dunno.”
“Have you ever kissed a girl?” Sally asked and watched him blush like a heat lamp.
“Course I have.” He said lying, blushing and refusing to make eye contact.
“Prove it.”
“What? Like tell you who it was?”
“No, come and show me.”
“What like kiss you?”
“Yes,” she smiled at him and he sneaked a look.
“I can’t, it’s too embarrassing.”
“Okay, I’ll come and kiss you.” She rose from her seat and lifted his chin with her finger, looked him in the eye and placed her lips over his. He nearly fell off his seat. She continued the kiss sensually pushing her tongue into his soft mouth and he gave a little whimper. She kissed him again and he did whimper. “Is that nice?” she asked momentarily breaking the kiss.
“Hmm,” he said his eyes closed and a look of ecstasy on his face.
“Are you going to play Dick–I’d be ever so grateful,” she said while thinking, he kisses like a girl, it’s like kissing Josie.
“Hmm,” he said without thinking.
“C’mon then, one more then you’ll have to go and change.” She kissed him again and his stomach sailed over the moon somewhere and his heart rate went off the scale.
She stepped back and pulled him to his feet. “What?”
“You have to get changed, you did promise me you’d play Dick.”
“Did I? I didn’t, did I?”
“Yes you did, and if you remember you get to kiss me on stage–just think about that, Master Whittington.”
“Oh yeah, but you didn’t kiss Josie like that, did you?”
“No, an’ I won’t kiss you like that,” she watched his face fall, “until afterwards.”
“Oh,” he said and blushed.
She led him to the changing room where Maggie had rushed home to get one of her granddaughter’s bra and pants sets–given that he’d be in tights all night, it would have to be a thong or there’d be a VPL. Maggie got back just before Sally led him out to her like a lamb to the slaughter.
“Afterwards,” she winked at him and he walked into the changing room like a love struck spaniel, grinning.
Principal Boy 2
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I thought I had posted this ages ago but realised I'd only half written it. I have finished it and offer it for your entertainment - oh, no you don't, oh yes I do. Probably worth re-reading Principal Boy first, it will make more sense.
https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/33816/principal-boy
Principal Boy 2.
by
Angharad.
Brad had been whisked into one of the changing rooms while still in a daze from Sally’s kisses. Before he knew it, he was naked and Maggie was pulling the thong up his almost hairless legs. “Good job the tights are opaque ones—you’d better shave your legs when you get home laddie.”
“What?” said Brad coming out of his trance—“What are you doing?” Just then Maggie shoved his dangly bits back between his legs and pulled up the thong to hold them in place. He squealed and she sniggered. His bum was quite rounded for a boy albeit narrow hipped, but it wouldn’t show too much with the tunic that Dick was to wear as it flared at the hips.
He surrendered to her as she adjusted the bra straps. “Is your teacher coming to watch the panto?” she asked him.
“Oh God, yes she will—what will she think of me—some sort of weirdo?”
“No, she’ll see the generous and courageous young man who stepped into the breach to save the show. She’ll also be able to give you marks for performing.”
“Oh geez, I’ll be awful—I’ve never done this before—I’m terrified.”
“By the time we’ve finished, even your own family won’t recognise you.”
“I hope not, Jack’s coming tonight with his girlfriend. Oh why did I agree to this?”
“I told you, because you’re a real trouper.”
He stood and shook his head while she padded out the bra with two bits of stocking containing birdseed. Then came the tights and he had to sit down for her to pull them over each foot.
“I hope you’re watching all this, you’ll have to do it tomorrow by yourself.”
“What?”
“Oh c’mon, Brad, you’ve helped enough people to dress to know what it’s all about.” She handed him the blouse which he slipped on and buttoned up. Then came the tunic, which was like a mini-dress showing lots of his quite shapely legs.
Joan, the makeup lady bustled in and pulled an Alice band over his hair and began to do his makeup. He sat quite quietly until she glued false eyelashes to his eyelids. “What are you doing?”
“Making you into a glamorous young woman, why?”
“I feel like a drag queen, don’t these things feel heavy on your eyes?”
“No darling, the drag queen is the Dame, you are definitely the glamour puss.”
“The cat is the puss, Joan.”
“Oh very droll, what are you going to call yourself?”
“I hadn’t thought of that, waddya think I should do, call myself something silly.”
“Certainly not, you are going to look adorable, so how about something adorable in the name stakes.”
“Like what?”
“Um—let’s see, what d’you think, Maggie, is she a Brandy?”
“Brandy—ugh no, how about Brandon Chalmers?”
“Oh yes, sounds good.”
“Chalmers not charmer or even Princess Charming?” Maggie chuckled to herself. They used a spirit gum to hold the blonde wig in place and tied it back in a low ponytail. Maggie helped pull up the high heeled boots which came well up to his thighs.
“I’ll never be able to walk in these,” he grumbled.
“Yes you will, you just need some practice.”
“I feel a complete prat in all this, look at me—I look like a fre—” he never finished the sentence because he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked remarkably like a girl in stage makeup. “Oh, crikey, is that me?”
“Yes, Brandon, it is—still think your brother will recognise you?”
“Brandon? Oh, yeah—forgot. Dunno if he’ll recognise me, not sure I do.”
“Right, pretty as you are, girl, you have to master those heels...” Maggie and Joan had him walking with some confidence and swinging his bum enough to excite any male under the age of ninety. In fact he almost walked like it without any tuition, which he claimed the heels caused him to do. Maggie wasn’t convinced but said nothing. He could even stand on one leg and slap his thigh in best principal boy tradition, yep, if no one twigged in the audience, they could play it straight.
Martin the director knocked and entered the changing room. “Jesus—is that Brad?”
“No it isn’t,” corrected Maggie, “allow me to introduce you to Brandon Chalmers, your new principal boy.”
“Wow, Brandon is it? Okay—I’ll make an announcement before curtain up about our difficulties and how you’ve stepped in to save the day.”
“I am so frightened,” squeaked Brad.
“Goodness, you sound just like a girl—this is gonna work, Brandon—you look stunning—this is gonna work.”
“If Sally has finished dressing, could she just run through one or two scenes with me?”
“My dear girl, of course she can, I’ll ask her to come in.”
Brad was gob-smacked at being addressed as a girl and under all the makeup he blushed which made him seem even more girlish. Martin left and moments later Sally came in.
“Oh my God, where’s Brad? Who is this beautiful woman—I feel rather plain by comparison—perhaps I should have done the principal boy and you should do the principal girl?”
“Very funny, Sally,” Brad blushed at her. All he wanted was another of her kisses but she wasn’t quite sure what she felt, except she couldn’t see any sign of the gauche teenager she’d kissed into submission a hour or so before.
“Sally, might I introduce you to our new principal boy, Brandon Chalmers,” offered Maggie breaking the uneasy silence which had developed.
“Pleased to meet you, kind sir,” she lifted her skirts and performed a perfect curtsey.
Brad reached for her hand and kissed it, “The pleasure is all mine, Miss.” He noticed he’d left a lipstick mark on her hand.
“What have you done to your voice?” gasped Sally, “You sound like—like Josie.”
“Do I?” Brad wasn’t quite sure what he’d done—maybe it was the tight knickers which were making their way up his bum crack making him very aware every time he moved.
They went on stage together and while Martin watched and offered gentle criticism, they did one or two scenes.
“So where’s our stand in hero, then?” asked George Golding, who was the dame. He staggered in on ridiculous shoes and striped stockings with a bust line something akin to the prow of a battleship. His wig and makeup looked ridiculous and left even a blind man in no doubt this was a man in women’s clothing.
“This is Brandon Chalmers, George,” said Martin.
“What happened to Brad?” asked George.
“He’s around somewhere, Brandon’s come over from Goatsby to save the day, haven’t you, girl?”
“I thought Brad was going to do it.” George scratched his huge chest, “This bloody thing itches like hell—I don’t suppose you have that trouble do you, Brandon—wasn’t it?”
“No I don’t, and yes it is.”
“Oh no it isn’t,” said George loudly.
“Oh yes it is,” replied Brad as loudly as he felt it was necessary to speak.
“You really are a girl, aren’t you—no boy I know talks like that?”
“Is that a problem, George?” asked Sally, unsure if carrying the deceit into the cast was a good idea.
“No, not at all—in fact...”
“In fact?” queried Martin.
“In fact, I’m glad. I mean these poofy pop stars playing the principal boy is making a mockery of panto.”
“Quite,” agreed Martin winking at Brad who blushed again.
“So how come you know the script?” asked George.
“Brandon helped me rehearse at home,” said Sally quickly, "So she’s played most of the characters."
“Oh, just as well she can’t play me then, just think of it—a woman playing a panto dame—the public would never get over it—we’d be laughed off the stage.”
“I thought that was the object of panto, George?” said Martin drily.
“Yeah, well there’s being laughed off and being laughed off,” said George defensively.
“I promise I won’t steal your role, George,” said Brad, “besides, I don’t think I could fill your shoes let alone walk in them.”
“Such a sweet girl,” mumbled George walking back to have his cuppa. Once he’d gone the three conspirators laughed.
“We can’t keep this up, they all know it’s me,” said Brad.
“Actually, they don’t. All they know is you spoke with me—I’ve a good mind to tell them I sent you to get you, so to speak.”
“They won’t believe you, and what happens when I don’t turn up tomorrow, or I do and then...”
“You’ll have to stay dressed as a girl for the rest of the week,” said Martin.
“Don’t be silly, Mart, how am I supposed to do that?”
“You can stop at my place,” Sally suggested, "I’ve got some spare clothes in the car."
“So what do I tell my mother?”
“You’re staying with me.”
“She’ll wonder why?”
“I’ll give her a quick call.”
“Can’t you tell her you ran off to join a circus or better still a Trappist monastery.”
“Eh?” asked Brad.
“They take a vow of silence.” Martin smirked at his own joke.
“We’ll have to tell her and ask her to keep...”
“Mum,” supplied Martin, smirking even more.
“Yeah, well,” Brad forgot what he was going to say.
“Will she be able to keep quiet about it?” Sally wasn’t as convinced.
“I ‘spect so, she’s pretty good with secrets,” Brad said quietly.
“Oh, are you a woman of mystery then?” Sally chuckled and Brad blushed.
He was so easy to make blush, she teased him in a friendly way after all he was going to save the panto and all of their blushes. They ran through a few more scenes and Brad was able to recall his lines and most of the motions, Martin decided that he could do it, even if he had to ad lib, it was a pantomime and as long as the other players were aware and could respond without the whole thing becoming a farce, except where they had planned it be so. Besides farce is a different form on theatre and usually requires someone to lose their trousers during it, in a pretend sexual way but being British it never proceeds beyond pretence (I mean how can you kiss someone with a stiff upper lip?).
Most of the other cast members didn't know it was Brad who was saving their panto because they didn't think the small, shy youth would have the bottle to do it, to step up to the breach. They didn't see through his disguise, and he had suddenly produced this very feminine voice when Martin asked him to project, or their project would fail. Brad couldn't believe he'd agreed to do this for more kisses from Sally, but he had, he felt, an empathy with Marc Antony, who had paid for his relationship with Cleopatra.
The hall started filling and Brad was distracted by Sally who kept him talking and becoming comfortable in the thigh high, high heeled boots. He found he could easily balance on one leg and slap his thigh when the script had called for it. Before he knew it they were standing behind the curtain before it was opened and they were into their performance. For a few minutes he was surprised and then his mind focused on his lines and necessary movements. He hadn't really learned his marks but he was able improvise and wasn't too far from the originals, if necessary, they could work on that tomorrow before the show, but it began to look as if Brad had things covered and he fitted in with the cast better than he thought.
The performance was a success and the audience loved it, Both Brad and Sally were presented with bouquets and Brad received extra curtain calls when it was explained that he had stepped into the vacancy to play principal boy at very short notice. Everyone seemed happy, Jack, Brad's little brother didn't recognize him and he left shortly afterwards with his girl friend. Martin had decided to keep Brad away from the rest of the cast and audience to protect his identity, so he was holed up with Sally in the 'stars' dressing room. He wanted more kisses but she wanted him to change into her spare clothes, then they could leave to go to her flat and may be Brad could collect on his 'earnings'.
They had a very happy evening, except if she had desired it, Brad couldn't have risen to the occasion, but they were happy to kiss and cuddle. Brad spent the rest of the week dressed as a girl and his performances on stage and real life became much stronger. Martin scrapped doing a review of the blocks they had on the stage marked in tapes of different colours, as Brad's acting and moves were fine and Martin didn't want to push Brad too hard, he was after all doing her best.
There were demands from the public to extend the run and at a cast meeting Brad wasn't sure whether to support the extension or not. He was worried that his staying with Sally was an issue, and while he liked it, he didn't want her to discover his erectile dysfunction caused by his earlier mumps and his sensitivity to all his less than macho body. He needed to see his doctor but felt so embarrassed by it, he just kept procrastinating. He also felt Sally would get bored with him after a while, and while Martin had given him a grant to buy some extra women's clothes, so he didn't always have to wear Sally's, he was becoming a little bored with them.
On the final Saturday, they had a matinee and evening show, he'd got to polish his pretence so well in interacting with the cast and Martin that he was shocked when James asked him if he could please think about taking part in the play they were considering, which had several prominent female parts, and James was sure Brad would be very good in without realising he was actually talking to Brad about, Sally who agreed to read the play thought that would be a super idea and Martin thought it was also a good idea.
Brad took Martin to the little back room and said to him, "Are you trying to keep me in skirts?"
"What do mean?"
"This new play they are discussing, have you forgotten I'm a boy?"
"No, I haven't forgotten and I'm very grateful that you saved the day, but I've also noticed that Brad was a shy little mouse of a person and now you seem to have developed much more confidence, your teacher is thrilled by your performance and is coming back tonight because I told her you just get better and better."
"No pressure then?"
Absolutely not, just be yourself or this actress you have created and you'll be fine and impress her plenty. This new you is so much more a complete person than you used to be, hence the play offer. I think you'd make a good job of it."
"And when the others find out that I'm not a girl?"
"I don't think it's that important, remember the theatre is quite broad minded when it comes to these things and if we change your new name to Brandy or even Brenda no one will care."
"But I don't think I can bea girl for the next umpteen months."
"Why not? You done fine for the last two weeks?" They never got to discuss it because they were called to the stage for the final performance of Dick Whittington the pantomime when Brad excelled herself? once again. He knew that the cast would pressure him to act in the new play and he began to wonder if he could do it and the living as woman for several months. If the last two weeks were any indication, he'd quite enjoyed it and so had Sally and he was under no pressure to be masculine, something which made life easier. He'd talk with Sally later and perhaps his mum too. Perhaps it was something he could do, she could do, or should do.
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