Best Friend's Birthday Party

By: Rosie



"Come on, time to get ready," Alice says and it's like I already know what she's on about. I follow her to the bedroom and the fact that she has already laid out the clothes she wants me to wear doesn't really surprise me. "Are you sure?" I ask weakly, but I know in advance it won't do me any good. Her mind is set, and that's all that it matters. I can tell without looking she's going to dress me in her clothes, again. "It's your best friend's birthday party," she says. "Don't you think you should put on something nice?" Personally, I think that the pants and shirt I have on are nice enough, but my opinion doesn't really hold much weight, so I take them off and hang them back in my closet. Then I take off my undershirt and vest. Buck naked and under her watchful eye, I turn to the heap of clothes she has laid out on the bed. I put on a pair of black lacy panties and a matching black bra, which I fill up with silicone breast forms. Next is a pair of black pantyhose and black satin and lace teddies, over which I put on a black silk blouse with short, puffy sleeves. Alice helps me into my dress - it's a red satin creation with an opera top and full, knee length skirt. The ensemble is completed by a pair of black pumps with a four inch heel. By the time Alice gets my makeup done, and my below-the-shoulder length black hair styled to her taste, I have to admit that I do look rather nice. Still, I can't fight the urge to speak. "Don't you think it's a little over the top?" I ask her. "It's not even five o'clock." "It's Terry's birthday," she says, "you should look your best." This makes sense, I guess, but why isn't she all dressed up herself? Not that she isn't looking nice in her long wide legged pants and white sleeveless blouse, but that's how she usually dresses. I can't shake the feeling as if she's just taking me to the party, rather going to the party with me. When we get to Terry's place, the rest of the gang is already there. All the apprehensions I had about entering the house dressed as I am disappeared when Andrew greeted us at the door. He was wearing a blouse similar to mine, except that it was white, and a red silk knee length A- line skirt that I remembered seeing his girlfriend wear last week. His hair has been apparently lightened yet again and now he's a platinum blonde. John was already in the living room, listlessly flipping though a stack of magazines under Terry's coffee table. Like myself, he too was wearing his dress over a blouse, except in his case the blouse is off-white, with long, billowing open-cuffed sleeves, and the dress is a simple knee length, spaghetti strap thing, made of cocoa colored silk with lots of white lace just below the hem, and around the waist. Andrew and I walk over to the living room, while Alice joins Claire and Stephanie, Andrew's and John's girlfriend around the kitchen table. Like Alice, Claire is in her ordinary day wear, black trousers and a dark purple turtleneck. Only Stephanie is wearing a black sleeveless silk blouse with a black and white printed A-line skirt, but then again, Stephanie has always been prone to dressing nicely, for any occasion. I'm sitting down in the living room, my knees kept nicely together and the skirt of my dress is spread around me on Terry's couch. John is on the other end of the couch, still browsing though the magazines and Andrew is on the sofa, nervously fidgeting and trying to cover his knees with the hem of his skirt. None of us speaks, though not from embarrassment. It's not as if this is the first time we've seen each other in women's clothes. But this time, this is no costume party. We haven't lost any bets to our girlfriends, nor are we taking up any of their dares. It's not Mardi-gras nor Halloween. What this should have been is four guys sitting around a case of cold beer and boxes of hot pizza. Instead, Terry, dressed in a silver pleated halter top dress, and a pair of black, high heeled strappy sandals, brings in a tray of little sandwiches and a pot of tea. Still, we take them hastily of the platter as it gives us something to do. Something to occupy ourselves with, rather than pondering why our girlfriends have made us wear dresses and skirts this time. Before the sandwiches are gone, Ellen comes into the living room. Ellen is Terry's girlfriend and for some reason, I'm glad to see that at least she has dressed up to the occasion, although she does looked a little intimidating in her severe gray silk blouse and tight, knee length blue skirt. "Girls," she says, addressing her circle of friends. "Boys." She turns to us, drawing a stiffened giggle from the girls. "It's time for Terry's birthday present," she says. An awkward look passes among us. After repeatedly trying to get our girlfriends lo let us have some money to buy our friend a present, and failing each time, we resigned to our fate and explained to Terry that we wouldn't be getting him anything this year as our girlfriends have a too tight grip over our finances. But we didn't expect them to upstage us like that. "Us girls bought on the behalf of Terry's friends," she continued, "I hope that you boys don't mind, but we were worried you wouldn't be able to keep a secret." A new wave of giggles from around the kitchen table. I should have known - they may have chosen the present, but it's us that are paying for it, even if we don't get to see our own money anymore. "Terry, darling," she turned to him, "Your present is waiting for you in the bedroom." Without a word, Terry scurries upstairs, Ellen joins the girls around the kitchen table and we're again left to ourselves. None of us speaks until the sandwiches are gone. "You think they'll let us go out later?" John asks, breaking the silence with a rather soft, almost girlish voice. "I doubt it," I reply, noticing that I hardly sound any more masculine than him. Andrew puts down his teacup, then picks up his handbag, takes out his compact and repairs his lipstick. "Even if they do," he says, dabbing his lips with a tissue, "Do you think they'll let us change back?" As if on a cue, both John and me reach for our own handbags and repair our lipstick. I also touch up my mascara. Andrew's words are resounding in my head. Not so much the words themselves, but the unusually high pitched voice he said them in. He must have been practicing. After a while, though, I find myself occupied with the idea of us four, dressed as we are, sitting in our usual bar. I have to stiffen a giggle. "We have no money, anyway," I say. Andrew shrugs and arranges his red coral necklace. "What do you thing we're getting him, anyway?" John asks. "I don't know, but it's sure taking him a long time to find it," Andrew replies. Just at that time, Ellen comes from the kitchen. "Boys?" she says, "Why don't you come over to the lobby and take a look at Terry's present?" We see Terry at the top of the stairs, now wearing an exquisite evening gown. It's made of peach-colored silk and he's wearing a matching stole around his shoulders, bared by the strapless top of his dress. The skirt of his dress very full and it flares out even as he makes his way down the staircase - he must be wearing a petticoat underneath. His blonde hair, which he wore swept back before, now tumbles around his face in a mass of tiny curls. His makeup is much heavier than before, too, and I can't help but notice that although Ellen was downstairs the whole time, it is immaculate. The girls clap excitedly and we have no choice but to join in the applause. One by one we stop wondering what Terry's present is when we realize that he is in fact wearing it. Have we really bought Terry an evening gown? The obvious question is how much did this set us back? Somehow, I get the feeling that we didn't buy just the gown, but his shoes and lingerie too. It must have been hellishly expensive and even divided between the three of us, it still must be a lot. But then the more striking implication creeps into my brain. Terry now actually owns a dress. Unlike the rest of us, who are dressed in the clothes of our girlfriends, Terry's evening gown is his own. The squeals we emit when he thanks us for his present sound like squeals of excitement, but they are more likely squeals of fright. Two months after we have first worn our girlfriends' dresses for a costume party, we are completely at their mercies. We have no money of our own. Other than our jobs, we have no time to spend away from them. They dress us in their clothes on a whim, and looking at Terry, we know that each of us will, sooner or later, join him in the ownership of women's clothes. Looking at Terry, it is clear to us that our days as men are numbered. Is this why are squeals are so loud and so heartfelt? Then again, it is an exceptionally pretty dress.