Magic Dress – Daisy Pt. 01

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As a boy, or a young man, I should say, I was a loser. At school I didn’t quite manage to get the basic GCSE’s required for most jobs. I didn’t have a driving licence. I had no real hobbies or interests. I was no good at sports. I wasn’t even very good at computer games. Obviously I had never got anywhere with girls. Nevertheless the Job Centre had to try to get me a job in return for my weekly dole money. Desperate to put something on my negligible CV the advisor had got me to put down that I liked cooking (which I did, a bit, with my mother) and I liked animals. (Doesn’t every one?)

Thus I found myself in a rusty old Land Rover being driven to a farm. It was ludicrous to suppose that I could do any farm work – I obviously wasn’t strong enough and knew nothing about agriculture. I also expected that if I found out about agriculture I wouldn’t like it. But you must attend an interview, or your money is stopped for four weeks. Failing interviews was something I now took in my stride.

The driver was Aaron, a big man in his thirties, I guess, who looked every inch a farmer. He was not very talkative, which suited me fine. So long as he signed my form to say I had attended the interview and ticked the “not selected” box.

“It’s good to have a lad,” he remarked. “I told them not to send lasses, but they usually do.”

“They’re not allowed to discriminate,” I piped up. “It’s against the law, sex discrimination.”

My voice sounded silly and high compared with his gruff one.

“Load o’ bollocks,” he remarked philosophically. Nothing more was said.

The farm would have been described as picturesque. Quite a large set of stone buildings in a dip, with a main house and several working buildings around a yard. In a barn I could see some sort of agricultural machine. Red colour was all I could tell you about it. Some chickens ran out of the way as we drove in. I could not imagine working here. Or rather I could, and it seemed horrible. Living here would be worse.

Cleaning our shoes on the mat we went in to what I can only describe as a large farmhouse kitchen, with a big old table. I guess in the past it would have served a large family and perhaps some workers. Inside was another similar looking man, introduced to me as Aaron’s brother Caleb.

I said “Pleased to meet you,” and he grunted.

“Bart’s up with the sheep,” said Aaron, “but be back in a while, so you can start making dinner.”

“I’m here for interview,” I said.

“What’s to interview?” he responded. “You’re here to cook and clean. So show you can do it or bugger off.”

I looked around. It was untidy, but actually well-equipped though obviously not new.

“Mam’s pride and joy,” said Caleb, seeing what I was doing. He proceeded to show me where all the food was with as few words as possible. There was plenty, and more in a room at the back. I asked them what they wanted and made a start. They watched me peeling the vegetables and told me it wasn’t enough. The same with the meat. I cleaned some pans and made the simple meal they asked for.

Bart turned up and grunted “Bartholomew” at me. Obviously their parents had liked old-fashioned Biblical names but conversation was not a family passion. I joined them at the table and was full with half the amounts they put away. Afterwards they watched me wash up and tidy things away.

“You’ll do,” said Aaron. “Bart will pick you up tomorrow at 7. Bring your stuff. You can have Mam’s room. Bed and board. Wages as said. Two days a week off and two weeks holiday, but not in lambing or harvest time.”

As an unemployed young man I normally only experienced 7 o’clock once a day, but this of course was early morning. I didn’t expect to last the week so only brought a small suitcase and games console, suspecting that entertainment was going to be in short supply.

I was right about the entertainment. There was no TV and no internet. However there were several radios around the house, some farming magazines in the living room and some books in what was to be my room. It had a double bed with a floral quilt. The sheets seemed fairly fresh. A large fitted wardrobe and some drawers contained female clothes. It didn’t matter as I would not be staying long. Next to it was a decent bathroom and shower. There was a separate toilet and two downstairs, one inside and one which could be accessed from outside for people working in the yard. Quite a good idea.

But there was no time to explore. I was expected to work, making a start on the kitchen, and preparing lunch. There was what seemed to be a cleaning apron and a cooking apron, kept separately. I could see that their Mam had been properly hygienic, but they had been sloppier since she died. I got some stew going and made a start to clear the decks. Essentially I followed what my own mother had done in the kitchen: sweeping the floor, tidying and cleaning the work surfaces and putting some items to soak in one side of the big double sink.

At lunch time (which they called Bostancı Ukraynalı Escort dinner) I learned a little more about them. Aaron was the oldest. Bart (Bartholomew) and Caleb were twins but not identical. When they were born, the farmer was their grandfather who was the bible-thumper that their names suggested. He had no surviving sons so when he died, the farm went to his daughter, their mother. Both their mum and dad had been much more liberal once free of grandad’s rule. Their dad had died ten years ago, their mother three. They could manage the farm, but needed someone to help with the house. The Job Centre had usually sent girls and a couple had tried, but had given up. Caleb said they were very glad to see me and was sure I would be staying. I was sure I would not.

Before they all left I asked if there were any coveralls as I needed to do quite a lot of cleaning. Bart brought me one of his boiler suits which was far too large. Aaron said he had an idea and returned with three of his mother’s dresses! Plain grey: the sort of thing you could well imagine on a woman in a farm kitchen

“These are Mam’s working clothes,” he said. “I think they might do. Put one on over your clothes. It’s just a smock and there’s no-one around. They can go in the wash at the end of the week.”

Well, why not? I put one on and it was OK. I was instructed that what they called supper had to be on the table just before 7 p.m. so they could listen to a BBC programme called “The Archers” on the radio. This was a sort of soap opera about people in a farming community which had them discussing current issues and alternative agricultural techniques, and was not to be missed.

I continued cleaning up. The cloth of the dress was quite thick and after a while I got a bit sweaty. The dress was also a bit tight round the belt on my jeans, so I took them off and my top. It was now completely comfortable.

I don’t suppose I had ever done a proper day’s work like this before, but it was surprisingly satisfying. At about 3 o’clock I made myself a cup of tea and had a look through some cookbooks. I switched on the radio and was going to try to find some pop music, but found someone talking about something quite interesting, so left it on the station. By six o’clock I was feeling quite pleased with myself. I took off the dress and the apron which were now quite grubby. On impulse I put on a clean dress and the clean cooking apron, washed myself carefully and got on with the preparations for supper.

They started coming in from about 6.30 and went and got cleaned up. At ten to seven they were sat down and they complimented me on what I had achieved. I served the dinner, removed my apron and joined them.

They said very little, and nothing from after the news at 7. I listened mystified to what the announcer described as “an everyday story of country folk”. After the closing tune there was a pause, followed by a surprisingly vigorous discussion about equally split between the agricultural practices and the lives of the characters, neither of which I understood.

As I cleared the table I realised I was still wearing a dress! I decided to say nothing, but put on an apron, and did the washing up. Bart and Caleb went out to do something to do with the animals and Aaron remarked casually “You can change out of that dress if you want to, but it doesn’t matter to us.”

I went and put on my jeans and T-shirt.

The radio was on and Aaron was looking at some forms and documents. They offered me a beer, but I made myself a cup of tea. Eventually Bart asked me about myself and I told him what little I had to say. My lack of success at school seemed to win Caleb’s approval. “Never saw the point of most of it. I was out helping Dad and Grandad or trying to pot a rabbit most days. I know what I need to know and that’s about farming.”

Nothing much was said, so I went to my room to play some games.

“Breakfast at 6!” called out Aaron. Not a good thing to hear. I decided to get an early night.

In the morning there was a knock on the door.

“We got us own brekkies. See you for dinner.”

Shit! I felt guilty about letting them down. Still, they would probably not want to keep me and I could go back to the dole and the internet.

There was no point in putting on anything but the dress. I cleared away the breakfast things, made my own and carried on with cleaning and tidying. At 10 o’clock I sat down and had a cup of tea and a biscuit while listening to part of a programme called “Woman’s Hour”.

Lunch (which I must learn to call dinner) was fine. In the afternoon I ran the vacuum cleaner around the downstairs, the stairs and the landing. I was quite sweaty so decided to have a shower. Afterwards I realised that I had not brought enough clothes and had no clean underpants. I looked in Mam’s drawers and found Mam’s drawers. Just plain cotton with very little lace, not sexy or anything. They would do and no-one would know. I wore them for the Bostancı Üniversiteli Escort rest of the day.

The following morning, I got up early enough (with a dress and a fresh pair of Mam’s knickers) to make the breakfast. After listening to the story on Woman’s Hour, I vacuumed the upstairs.

In my bedroom I looked at the dresses just to see how many there were, and noticed some bras. I had never handled a bra before, so looked at it with fascination. Someday it might be useful if I was able to take a bra off, so it was worth a look. I took off the dress and tried to put the bra on. Eventually I realised I could put it on with the fastening on the front, then rotate it round, not having anything to get in the way. With some fiddling of straps I got it on, and stuffed the cups with a pair of my socks. I put the dress back on and looked at myself in the mirror. The dress was of course made to include a bust, and I thought about carrying on like this before good sense returned and I realised it was time to make dinner. (Got it right this time!) I put the bra back and went to the kitchen.

However, next morning I was wearing a bra under the dress as I listened to Woman’s Hour. It just seemed the right thing to do. I wasn’t really thinking when I answered the door and accepted a packet from the postman. Realising afterwards I was mortified.

On Friday I did some of the washing. After listening to The Archers, Aaron drove me to the station and I took the local train home. He said he was willing to come to my flat if I wanted to get more stuff, but I said I wasn’t sure.

Saturday and Sunday I of course had the internet but was strangely unmoved by the social media posts I had missed and the computer game happenings and the multiple emails. The most satisfying thing I did was deleting a lot of mails unread. I packed a lot more things (including plenty of underpants) into my large suitcase for Monday.

Travelling by train I of course missed serving breakfast, but Aaron was waiting at the station with the Land Rover and picked up the case I had been dragging as if it was nothing.

I got him to sign the form saying that I had been given the job, and filled in the form for ending my unemployment benefit.

In my room there was a surprise. There was a combined TV and DVD player plus a box of DVDs, second hand, of course, which they had bought over the weekend.

“I expect you’ll know how to use these things,” said Aaron. “We got the lot together quite cheap, in the village. Sorry there’s no TV signal around here.”

There was still no internet, but I could connect my games console for a bigger screen. The DVDs were about half porn and half action films. I was quite touched.

The next weekend I made the decision. For the first time in my life I felt useful. Only cooking and cleaning, but useful to allow these nice men to get on with the hard work of running the farm.

Mum had been a single mother and we lived in a small rented flat in an old terraced house. I was on my own there since she married a man I did not like and gone with him to Ireland. I had no real friends or relatives and not much emotional attachment to the place. I might as well stop paying a full week’s rent for this weekend use. I would still get time off, and if I got a lift to the station I could go anywhere.

Two visits cleared out my possessions, half of them not worth having anyway. I paid my rent to the end of the month, got my deposit back and handed over the key. My new home was at the farm.


As I got to know them I found out that Aaron had done well at school and would have gone to agricultural college but had to stay and work in the farm while his brothers were at school. Bart was not as smart or educated but could fix almost anything, and it was only due to him that some of the ancient equipment was still working. Caleb was almost illiterate, as he had probably spent more time out with an old poacher than at school, but he had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the local nature and wildlife plus a real understanding of animals. He talked a bit more like an old character on “The Archers” than the young man he actually was, only a few years older than me.

With the aid of the cookbooks (and the occasional disaster) my cookery developed. I was also taught to pluck a chicken and skin a rabbit. They told me that their Grandma would kill and butcher a pig or lamb, but that wasn’t allowed today, for which I was thankful.

For farmers sex and death are a matter of course. Animals were mated and ultimately killed. They had the same attitude to human sex. They masturbated freely, and invited me to do the same.

“Easier if there ain’t no lasses around,” remarked Bart once, standing by the kitchen door, wanking into the sunset. “Mam didn’t mind. Said it was good for young men to get it out often.”

I could never do this, but had plenty of opportunity to “get it out” in my room or when they were at work. I worked my Bostancı Vip Escort way through the porn DVDs of course, including a couple where men were dressed up in women’s underwear and fucked by their wives with a dildo. I wasn’t sure if I was attracted or repelled.

To give me time off, they made their own breakfasts on Saturday and Sunday. I learned that the word ‘lunch’ meant sandwiches to be taken and eaten out on the job. I went on trips with one of them to get supplies or to animal markets. I discovered that The Archers was also on at 2 p.m. and began to follow the story and join in their discussions. Above all I discovered what a hard life they led and had new respect for their technical skills in dealing with machinery, animals and even soil chemistry.

Eventually Aaron let me in on their special secret.

“You’ll have to know sometime, and if you don’t like it you can leave with a good reference.”

I couldn’t imagine what it could be.

“It’s what we do for female company around here. It’s Caleb’s turn this week, so you can see after The Archers.”

Following our ritual worship of the BBC radio, Caleb did not stay to join the discussion, which was all right because I had some opinions about what had been going on at the pub in the story. I supposed he had gone to do something with the animals but could not have been more wrong.

He came back in a dress, wearing lipstick, his long hair washed and combed instead of its usual haystack appearance.

“Daniel, this is Clara,” announced Aaron.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Caleb/Clara softly.

I took me a while to understand. I realised that Aaron and Bart were rather better cleaned up than usual and had washed and changed before supper. What followed was a rather more chatty evening. Despite the ludicrous nature of the situation, I found myself participating like one of three boys trying to impress a girl. They talked about The Archers, of course, but only the characters, not their usual topics of farming. International news and interesting things they had heard on the radio featured. Clara was nothing like the terse male Caleb, and could obviously speak well when she wanted.

“It was Mam’s idea,” Aaron explained. “After Dad died she realised we had been in more or less male company but wanted to get us married off. She tried acting the part of a girl, but of course she was just Mam, so she got one of us to dress up. It also gave us some idea what it was like to be on the receiving end. It got us to moderate our language and not talk about farming all the time. After she died, we sort of carried on.”

“I’m Annabel,” he added.

“I’m Blossom,” said Bart. “Do you want to know why we chose the names?”

Of course I did.

“When we were small we were each given a calf to look after and bring up. We gave them names with the same letter of the alphabet as our names. It means a lot to us, our first cow.”

I couldn’t help smiling, but said it was quite touching.

The dresses were old-fashioned but fitted well as they had either been made or altered by the woman I now also referred to as Mam. They each had a padded bra of course. Despite the fact that they were big women, they acted the part well.

It was really quite amusing and maybe a bit exciting over the next few weeks. Now I knew what was happening, the girl of the week would sometimes join us for supper, and I would have to remember not to wear a dress but be a smart boy. It was two or three evenings a week, and the farm always took priority of course. The girl was treated with the utmost courtesy and respect, and responded in a pleasant appreciative manner. Nothing sexy, just proper male-female behaviour. I felt I could have used this practice before making my failed attempts to get a girlfriend.

Finally I just had to say it. “Could I be the girl of the week?”

They looked at each other.

“That would be wonderful,” said Bart. “A new girl would be really nice.”

“But you could stop any time you want,” said Caleb. “It’s just a game. Don’t be uncomfortable.”

“Help yourself to any of Mam’s clothes if you want, or we could buy something,” said Aaron.

He went with me to look through the clothes in the wardrobe, and we selected a couple of possibles.

“You won’t have to wear the same dress each time,” he remarked. Hurriedly adding “If you decide to do it again, of course.”

Right at one end was a green dress which still had the shop tag on it.

“Not that one,” he said, and I asked why.

“She bought that just before she got ill and never wore it.”

“Isn’t that better?” I asked. “It’s not really your Mam.”

“I suppose so. Of course it might not be what you want.”

I looked at the shop tag.

“Daisy Chain Fashions. I guess that makes me Daisy.”

“Perfect!” said Aaron with a smile.

He left me to it. Somehow I wanted that dress, or didn’t want it or something. It was confusing.

I looked at a photograph of Mam. She was a strong looking woman. I had noticed my own muscles building up with the cleaning. With decades of working on a farm her arms looked even stronger.

We were obviously about the same size, as her clothes roughly fitted, so both the possible dresses seemed fine. Hesitantly I adjusted my bra and tried on the green dress.

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