The Hairdresser's Mackintosh

by Crinckly-Mack

My mother's hairdresser had given up working in a salon when she had had children; when she returned to working after her daughters were both at secondary school, she came to visit her clients' houses.

I will call her "Mrs N". She was very kind and pleasant, but sometimes a little absent-minded.

One day, which had begun cloudy and looking like rain, she arrived wearing her mackintosh - a royal blue single-texture mackintosh with a pattern of criss-cross black lines on the outside (this seemed to be a common feature of many mackintoshes - Diana's had it, as did the yellow mackintosh worn by Susan whom I would meet the following summer).

For some reason, when the time came for her to leave, both she and my mother forgot about the mackintosh. Then, a little later, my mother happened to open the kitchen coat-cupboard door and saw it.

Hearing her exclamation I went into the kitchen, to find my mother holding the mac up. I instantly thought of offering to take it round to her house, so I might get a chance to try it on, but I had to be careful not to appear too eager!

I asked if my mother knew where Mrs N's next calls were; she didn't, although she knew she had a "full book" of later calls, and would not be home for several hours. So I asked if there would be someone at Mrs N's house to be given a message? No, because she had said her daughters were in town.

Now came my chance. I told my mother that now the weather looked better, I was thinking of going for a ride on my bike. "I could take the raincoat with me and drop it off when returning home for tea - I'm sure someone would be in by then". My mother agreed and we carefully folded the mackintosh and put it for protection in a large paper bag, and then into my saddlebag. I set off, hardly able to conceal my excited anticipation.

Near where we lived was a river - only a stream really unless after very heavy rain - which ran through a cutting below a large area of allotments, and which had a well-shrouded footpath along its bank, out into the country. At the riverbank's edge was a large two-sided bicycle rack, covered by a corrugated iron roof. I wheeled my bike round to the back of this and was pleased to note no other bikes that side. I chained my bike into the rack, and, trembling with excitment, took the mackintosh out of the bag.

My only misgiving about wearing it was a fur collar, which for me detracted from its true nature as a mackintosh, but when I looked closely I saw this was attached to the collar by 3 buttons. Suiper! I could remove it.   I quickly did so, and put it back in the bag.

Then I donned the mackintosh.

Obviously, it was very long on me, and I had to take the belt out of the loops to do it up round my waist.

As I blissfully smoothed it down around me, I put my hands in the pockets. One had something in it - a folded hood.   I immediately saw it was equipped to button onto the collar where the fur affair had been attached.

I took off the mackintosh, buttoned on the hood and then lost all caution. I removed my shirt, and put the mackintosh back on, revelling in the feel of the smooth rubber lining on my bare skin. Then I removed my shorts and pants, put all my clothes away in saddlebag and stood entranced, naked in the gorgeous mackintosh!

I scrambled down the bank onto the footpath beside the stream and began to walk along it. After several minutes I came upon an open area, dry and dusty in the summer weather. There I saw, too late to avoid them, 3 boys about my own age, throwing stones in the water.

They surrounded me, and I'm sure they took me for a girl, suitable to be harassed.

One grabbed my hood and pulled it back, to reveal the truth. "What have we here - a cissy-boy in a girl's mac?" said one. Still intoxicated by my mackintosh, and emboldened, I declaimed "I'm not a cissy! I'm a MACKINTOSHBOY!!"

Of course, they proceded to attack me and I quickly went down with them on top of me, and suffered something of a beating, as I thrashed about with much rustling of mackintosh. I ended up face down with 2 of them on my outstretched arms and the third on my shoulders pressing my hooded head into the dirt. As had happened with Sally on top of me in the cape, my excitement at my humiliation had the inevitable consequence. After a few minutes they got up and left me lying there.

I returned to my bike, where, fortunately, a packet of tissues kept for emergencies in my saddle-bag enabled me to dry the lining of the mackintosh.

I cycled back to Mrs N's house and left the mackintosh with her eldest daughter. As I never heard anything further, I assume my adventure had passed undetected.

Crinckly-Mack

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