The Boy in the Cream Blouse

CHAPTER ONE: Caught

Sammy had always admired his mother’s wardrobe; the way her satin blouses rippled and caressed her body, shimmering in the light; the gentle swish of her pleated satin skirts as she twirled out the door. To him, they weren’t just clothes; they were possibilities.

One quiet Sunday afternoon, whilst his father and sister were out, curiosity tugged too firmly. While his mother was busy downstairs, Sammy entered his parents’ room and opened his mother’s wardrobe. He slipped into a soft blue satin blouse with a wide collar and a pleated satin skirt that whispered when he moved. He didn’t expect to be seen, but his mother walked in, pausing mid-step with her arms full of laundry.

Sammy froze, heart thudding so loudly he thought the mirror would shatter from the noise alone. Waiting for his mother to explode in a fit of rage, she stood in the doorway, quietly eyeing him up and down.

He braced himself, waiting for the scolding; the questions, the demand to explain himself. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her eyes moving from his face to the soft, silky blouse, then down to the hemline of the pleated skirt, where a hint of lace could be seen underneath, one of his mother’s satin half-slips.

“I didn’t know you liked my clothes,” she said softly. Not accusing. Just curious.

Sammy felt heat rush to his cheeks, his throat tight. “I… I was just curious. Sorry.”

His mother stepped into the room, set the laundry on her dresser, and looked into the mirror beside him.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” she said. “Satin has a way of making the light linger.”

Sammy blinked. He didn’t understand. Was she… not angry?

He gave a tiny nod. “They feel nice. They make me feel… calm. Like I’m still me, just a different me.”

She didn’t smile, not quite, but her expression softened, and she reached out to adjust the open neck of the blouse so it sat just right. “Different doesn’t have to be a secret. Not in this house.”

CHAPTER TWO: The Hidden Secret of Monday

Sammy didn’t plan to wear anything special that morning. It was just a regular Monday: school, a drizzle outside, the usual rush for cereal, but something had shifted. Maybe it was the lingering scent of his mother’s perfume clinging softly to the sleeve of the blouse he’d borrowed yesterday. Perhaps it was the way his mother had folded a peach satin camisole, a half slip, and matching panties into his drawer, or the slinky blue satin blouse she had hung in his wardrobe without saying a word, as if they had always been there.

He stared at the satin blouse, shook his head, and said, ‘Not yet.’ Instead, he wore a plain grey shirt and jeans. But underneath, he wore the peach satin camisole and panties, just for himself. To carry that secret shimmer through the day.

At school, everything looked the same, but he felt different: Self-conscious, like everyone knew his secret and were staring at him, laughing behind his back. He glanced at his reflection in the science lab’s glass cupboard; he didn’t look any different from any other day, except that he knew he was wearing a satin camisole under his shirt. However, it was how he stood, slightly slouched, so his shirt wouldn’t pull tight and reveal the outline of the silky garment underneath.

Later, while hanging back after English class, Sammy found himself checking out his reflection once more… “Just because they don’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t real,” he whispered.

It had been almost a week since that moment with his mum. She had just arrived home from a shopping trip and handed him several brand-new, silky, button-up satin blouses.

“Pick whichever one you want. Whatever feels most like you,” she said.

Sammy didn’t dare to wear a satin blouse to school, not yet, but something had changed. He walked differently: more assured, less like he was trying to shrink into a corner.

He didn’t wear his new blouse right away, but hung it carefully in his wardrobe, so as not to crease it.

Meanwhile, school was still school. Locker doors slammed. Friends talked over one another in games and gossip. Sammy mostly watched, absorbing the flow of things. He noticed textures more now; Maisie’s glitter-covered pencil case, the way sunlight caught the metallic thread in Mr. Kendal’s tie. The world felt richer somehow, fuller. It made the ordinary less sharp, the silence less lonely.

Then came his first brush with risk.

In art class, while painting a still life, a girl named Priya leaned over and asked, “Is that nail polish?”

Sammy looked at his hands. A tiny hint of champagne shimmer from the day before had survived his scrubbing. He hesitated.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“I like the colour,” Priya replied. “It suits you.” And just like that, the air didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Chapter Three: Eliza Knows

That weekend, Eliza came home from uni. She spotted the change immediately. “You’re taller,” she said, squinting. “Or just… more upright.”

Sammy shrugged, “I guess.”

They sat together in the living room while their mum finished dinner, and Eliza’s gaze drifted to his hands; how neatly he held his mug, his pinky finger ever so slightly lifted, like hers.

“So how come you’re not wearing your new blouse?” she asked suddenly, not unkindly.

Sammy went still.

“What?… You know?” asked Sammy.

“Yeah, mum told me on the phone at the beginning of the week. Said she caught you in her room wearing her clothes,” she continued, setting her mug down. “Just don’t go in my room trying on my stuff, at least, not without asking first.”

He laughed, the tension cracking into relief.

“Now you mention it, can I borrow the midnight blue one, with the ruffles down the front?” he asked, voice barely above the sound of the rain on the windows.

Eliza smiled. “That’s my favourite, you’ve got good taste. Come on, let’s go take a look at it.”

Chapter Four: A Shimmer in the Afternoon

Saturday brought with it an unusual stillness… One of those days when the clouds float like thoughts and the air smells faintly of possibility. Sammy stood in front of his wardrobe, heart fluttering like the hem of his mother’s skirts.

The blouse waited.

It was the new pale lilac one his mother had bought him, light as air, with tiny satin-covered buttons, and a sheen that shifted from lavender to pearl depending on the light. He reached for it slowly, fingertips brushing the smooth satin. Today, it wasn’t for hiding under jumpers or waiting for another day. Today was the day.

He paired it with his charcoal pleated trousers, which were both smart enough to blend in and fluid enough to move. His hands trembled slightly as he buttoned up the silky, soft satin blouse. Each one fastened felt like a breath held, then released. When he checked the mirror, something looked back at him, not uncertain, not bold, just… right.

Downstairs, his mother caught sight of him walking into the kitchen, satin blouse catching the morning light like a whisper.

“You’re going out?” she asked, her voice light.

“I thought I’d go into town,” Sammy said carefully, “Just to the bookshop. Maybe a coffee.”

Her eyes crinkled. “Wear a jacket. That wind will make your satin flutter like a flag.”

He blushed. “That’s the idea.”

On the High Street…

The bus ride was quiet. Sammy sat near the middle, fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve as if to steady himself. No one stared—no whispers or stares. A few people looked, but the kind of glance given to anything pretty was not strange.

At the bookshop, he lingered between the poetry shelves, letting the scent of pages and paperbacks cradle his nerves. A girl with buzzed hair and bright eyes stood nearby, flipping through a volume of Plath.

“I like your shirt,” she said, casual and kind.

Sammy blinked. “Thanks… It’s a blouse.”

“I know… I have the same blouse in red, but you wear it like it’s not,” she added, returning her gaze to the book.

They didn’t speak again. But her comment lingered as Sammy wandered deeper into the shop, the silk gliding at his wrists as if affirming every step.

Later, at Home…

He dropped his bag by the stairs, let out a long breath, and walked into the living room where his mum was curled up with a crossword.

“You went through with it,” she said without looking up, “Good?”

Sammy paused. Smiled.

“Good.”

Chapter Five: A Name in the Margin

He didn’t expect to see her again.

The following Saturday, Sammy wandered into the bookshop just after lunch, and there she was, same buzzed hair, same calm presence, leaning against the poetry wall with a coffee balanced on the edge of a shelf. Today, she wore a denim jacket littered with pins, tiny enamel badges of planets and quotes, worn over a bright red satin blouse.

She glanced up. “Lilac blouse again?”

Sammy smiled, “It’s my favourite… I see you are wearing yours today as well.”

She tilted her head, approving and smiled. “I’m Tessa.”

“Sammy.”

She nodded like that made sense. Then, almost conspiratorially, “There’s a bench in the park that catches the afternoon sun like a spotlight. It’s where I go to read the weird poems I can’t admit I like.”

He surprised himself. “Can I come?”

Later, in the Park…

They sat with books balanced on their laps, a crinkly paper bag of cinnamon biscuits between them. Tessa had taken off her jacket. The wind teased the open necks of their satin blouses, setting them adrift just slightly.

“You don’t dress like the other boys,” she said after a while, not accusing, just noticing.

“Is that bad?…”

“No,” she said, cracking a biscuit in half.