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Having found your website, I have finally decided to tell my story. It all began many years ago in 1963, when I was fourteen. I had moved to a council housing estate in a mining valley in South Wales with my parents and three younger sisters. I was never any good at sport, was sometimes bullied by other boys and tended to be something of a loner, but I would often sit on the wall outside our house talking to Susan, the girl next door. On occasions, we would be joined by two or three other girls who lived nearby, but I never felt out of place in any way. Sometimes, neighbours would walk past with amused looks, or remark teasingly, "Hello girls," at which the girls would giggle delightedly; I would just blush and let it pass. Sometimes one of the girls brought a rope and we would skip over it in turns, or play hopscotch on the pavement, until one of them would be sent on an errand by her mother, and then we would all tag along, chatting. No-one seemed to mind - except my mother. One day, she called me inside and said bluntly, "This has got to stop - whatever next?" I kept a low profile for a while, usually joining the girls in the village, or chatting when mother was out shopping, but one day, she came home earlier than I expected and there we were, sitting on the wall of Susan's house. My mother was livid. She fixed me with her eyes, and said slowly and menacingly, "What have I told you? I'm warning you now - if I catch you with these girls again, I'll dress you like a girl!" I made to protest, but she silenced me and repeated, raising her voice, "Just let me catch you with them again - I'll undress you, and put a frock on you." At this, the girls gave a gasp of delighted horror. After a tense pause, one of them said cautiously, "Do . . . you mean that Mrs. Williams?" My mother ignored her and repeated, pointing her finger in my face and emphasizing every word, "If I catch you with them again, I'll put a frock on you, and I'll make you wear knickers and petticoats. I'm warning you now - I'll put the sissiest underclothes on you that I can find." With that, I was motioned inside, while the girls walked off, squealing in delight. Everything simmered down - the Beatles continued to climb the charts, and nothing happened until the Easter holidays. I had been for a solitary walk one morning, and I bumped into Susan and Sheila on the way back. Christine joined us, but as we walked up the hill together, my mother suddenly appeared over the brow, on her way to the shops. She walked up to us, gave me a shove, and snapped out one word - "Home!" As I quickened my pace, the girls lagged behind awkwardly, but she turned at the door of the house and said, "Don't go far, he'll be back out in a minute - I just need to get him dressed." I was shaking with fear as she rushed me up the stairs, and pushed me into her own bedroom. "Take everything off" she snapped, "I warned you." I shall never forget standing naked and shivering on the rug, as she rummaged furiously in the drawers and wardrobe. Then she turned suddenly and slapped me hard, holding out a pair of my sister's white nylon knickers with pale pink frills. Terrified, I put them on, then held out my arms as she snapped, "Now this" - and fastened a lacy bra behind my back, adjusting the straps. Silently, and with amazing speed she fastened a suspender belt around my waist, and handed me a pair of tan coloured stockings (tights were not around then). I can still remember the diamond mesh as I pulled them up, the trembling of my fingers and the stinging slap on my bottom as she fastened them with the suspenders. Then with renewed fury she shook me by the shoulders and shouted, "I'll teach you, you little sissy!" With that, she reached into her own drawer, and pulled out a full-length petticoat. "Isn't it pretty?" she gushed, mockingly, "now you can show the girls your lovely pretty petticoat, but make sure the boys don't see you!" She held it out, and I lifted up my arms trembling with helpless embarrassment, as my hands went through the ribbon shoulder straps. It was from M & S, pale turquoise with lots of white lace trim, beneath which flowed a six inch deep pleated frill forming the hem. It fell down over my hips, and I felt it forming a perfect fit around my bra and midriff, as my knickers and stockinged thighs disappeared from sight beneath the frilly skirt. My mother eyed me for a moment, then dived into an old chest, and brought out a dress from the 1950's which she had once made for my aunt, who was just five years older than I was. I trembled violently as she held the dress open and motioned me to put my arms through the sleeves. My heart was thumping with fear and shame as I felt the heavy silky material slide over my arms and glide easily down over my newly-fitted petticoat. She fastened the buttons at the back, then spun me around mercilessly to face the mirror. "Now then, " she said, as she tied a bow behind me, "does that suit you?" I was speechless, and drained of all resistance. I'd seen the dress before. It was pale pink satin, with a delicate self pattern. It had short puff sleeves, a fitting waist and a flared skirt to the knee. Around the yoke was a large frill, beneath which were several rows of pretty smocking. She pushed me backwards to sit on the bed, and gave me a pair of white ankle socks to wear over my stockings, as the girls used to dress then. There followed a pair of my sister's white slip-on shoes with a low heel. Throwing a heavy white cardigan at me, she said briskly, "Put that on - it's cool in the shade." "B-b-but .." I spluttered, only to be spun on to a chair, while my mother seized a brush and comb. My sixties-style hair was as long as my sister's, and she was now busy back-combing it into a Helen Shapiro style, finally putting a pink alice band over the top, and spraying it with lacquer. "Right," she said in a businesslike voice, "get down those stairs." As I walked through the bedroom door, I caught a glimpse in the mirror of the girl that had been me. I stopped, trembling in the hallway in front of the door, then heard my mother's voice prodding me like an invisible sword, "The other girls are waiting for you - now you can sit and gossip with them all day if you like - and don't forget your skipping rope. You can talk about all the nice things girls like to do, and about all the pretty frocks and underclothes they like to have. Now - OUT YOU GO!" I felt myself going to pieces. "Mam," I stammered, I can't - I can't - not like this." She looked at me gravely for a moment, then spoke with an air of finality - "No - no you can't." But my relief was short lived. Suddenly, lifting up my dress from behind, she gave my petticoat a yank, "you can't go out with a nice pretty petticoat on if it isn't showing . Now - OUT." I sidled towards the door and stopped, seeing two inches of turquoise frill beneath the hem of my dress reflected in the hall mirror. Again I hesitated, with my hand on the door handle, looking at her beseechingly. She then became really angry, and snarled, "Go, or I'll drag you out by your hair, and then I'll change your petticoat in the street in front of everyone!" I knew she meant it. I shall never forget that moment as I opened the door and stepped outside into the pale March sunshine feeling all my defences collapse in a wave of vulnerability. By now, the news of my punishment had spread, and a number of women were nonchalantly chatting on their doorsteps. My teeth chattered, and I can still feel my burning face as I walked down the path; the unfamiliar draught around my thighs, and my frantic movement as I passed the corner of the house, and the breeze lifted my skirt without warning. I can still hear the chorus which erupted as I appeared - some hoots of derisory laughter, but mainly gasps of amazement - "O-o-o-o-H!" One particularly tough woman called out in a sing-song voice, "I can see her petticoat, I can see her petticoat!" I felt completely mortified and ruined in every respect. Then, to my surprise, my friends, the three girls turned on her, shouting, "You leave our friend alone." They ushered me to the familiar wall of Susan's house, and Sheila put her arm around my shoulder, while Christine squeezed my hand and said, "Nobody can stop you being our friend now - come and tell us all about it." So we sat down on the wall, while my mother stood silently at a distance, then disappeared indoors. As we sat down, a few small boys passed, but they just looked at me quizzically and said nothing. As they walked on, one of them suddenly turned and called out tauntingly, "Your petticoat's showing!" Susan immediately jumped to her feet, hands on hips, and retorted - "So what? It's clean and paid for!" I felt a surge of gratitude to her. The boys moved off, and the furore which had heralded my appearance subsided. The girls exchanged glances, then Sheila spoke. "We . . we've . . . been hoping your mother would do this to you, ever since she warned you," she confided with a delicate smile; "you see, we all feel you are really like one of us, not like one of the boys." The other girls nodded, and Christine added, "My big sister Ann always tells me that you should be wearing knickers, but I told her that it wouldn't bother me if you did." As she spoke, I became aware of an overwhelming feeling of relief and satisfaction. I had always felt more at home in the girl's company, but now, as I looked down and saw the row of skirts and stockinged legs - black, tan, and my own among them, a sense of relief and fulfillment swept over me in a wave of joy. "Do you like being a girl?" whispered Sheila, and my thoughts spun in my head. After what seemed like a long time, I blurted out, "Yes - yes - I do!" The embarrassment and shame was fading fast, being replaced by a deep feeling of content, and I regarded my new clothes lovingly, feeling that I could never take them off again. The girls seemed to sense it too, and began to speak to me openly and excitedly, as to another girl. "Did your mother do as she said she would? Have you got knickers on?" I nodded shyly and we all giggled together. Susan asked me show them my petticoat. I glanced around, then lifted my dress quickly revealing a panorama of white lace and turquoise frills, at which they gasped with delight - "O-o-o-h - it's gorgeous!" said Christine, lifting her dress, "do you like mine?" It was pale pink, with a lovely scalloped lace hem, which took my breath away. There followed the most enjoyable conversation any of us had ever had. We talked freely about stockings, pretty knickers, dresses and petticoats - the shops that sold them, and how nice it would be if we could go to town together on the bus, just to see them in the shops. As we chatted, the tough woman passed by, and stopped. There was a tense silence, as she looked me up and down. I waited for her spiteful words, but none came. Instead, she said, "Well, I've got to say it - you look lovely! Those clothes suit you - your mother should keep you in them for good." She looked behind me with a sly wink. I turned, to see my mother standing on the path a few feet behind us. (To be continued). Daphne Thank you for your letter Daphne. Your mother did the right thing since you are obviously a sissy at heart. Auntie Helga |