I lay in bed after the long day and reflected on the day's outing with Martin with some considerable satisfaction. The drink began to work its restorative powers. The petticoating had seemed very effective; I had gained much more control over him than I expected. Not only had he quietened down but he had acquiesced so easily when given instructions and orders to do tasks, and his behaviour was markedly improved. Simply dressing him as a girl seemed to suck the strength and bad attitude qualities out from him. Quite a success even though one's husband was away.
I felt mildly triumphant as I stretched out under the covers and began to relax myself. My tummy cramped in anticipation at creating potential further sanctions should any new transgressions arise. My hand rolled over my stomach and smoothed the growing anticipation away. My mind began to wander. I smiled inwardly as I remembered the look of horror on his face as I announced his punishments; the resigned helplessness as he dressed, those sheer, clingy violet knickers seemed a little tight and yet, checking the label revealed them to be the correct size - even apparently erring on the larger size - after removing them from him. Then, remembering him closing his eyes in embarrassment as I deftly peeled them off, I began to drift off to sleep.
Many weeks later, my heart began to sink as soon as I answered the telephone and I heard Martin's form master speak. I expected the usual reeling off of complaints, but this was somehow different. 'Had I known that he had caught Martin wearing a pair of girl's panties under his uniform trousers?' I reeled for a moment as the reality of the situation sank in. I asked for more details. Apparently Martin was tucking his shirt into his trousers when a flash of pink material showed above his trousers. Caught off guard, I attempted to explain that Martin was being petticoated and gave the rationale behind it. He became quite understanding given the record of behaviour. I recovered my demeanor and offered that in fact, he should have been wearing girl's regulation school knickers under the circumstances and that he could, if he wished, consider a suitable punishment for wearing unsuitable underwear. He seemed quite enthusiastic at the idea and we finished the call on good terms.
'Where do you think you are going mister?' was my opening line as soon as Martin arrived home and attempted to rush upstairs to his bedroom. I grabbed him and with some some struggle - which seemed on reflection, half-hearted - I managed to undo his belt and trouser fly to reveal pink panties with a cartoon flower on the front. Blushing furiously, He turned his head away away.
I interrogated him with some considerable relish, to which he could not give a satisfactory answer. 'Running out of normal pants' was feeble when the airing cupboard stored several pairs. I confronted him directly:
'Do you LIKE wearing girl's knickers?'
He whined 'No!' but it sounded unconvincing. I told him to keep them on, but go and get dressed in a blouse and the skirt with a petticoat from the cupboard where I kept them in the spare room. I let him go and soon enough, he trudged down the stairs minutes later, dressed as requested. I nodded with approval and suggested with some malice in my voice that I send him to school dressed like that.
His eyes widened in horror as he seemed to think over what might happen if he did. He began to beg, clasping his hands together and knelt before me, only his knees visible below the green pleated skirt. He looked up with tears in his eyes. I looked down with contempt, my eyes narrowed and I admit, that inside, a little thrill ran through me, indeed, my tummy cramped again at the total and absolute control I had over him, finally. He begged me again, saying he would do anything. I interrogated him again, and again. Did he like wearing girl's clothes? Finally, he turned away and admitted it. Yes he did. I ordered him to look me in the eyes and tell me. He looked up at my sneering face standing over him and said 'Yes.'
Yes, what? I replied. After a struggle within himself, he answered.
'Yes, I like wearing girl's clothes'
I replied that it was so easy just to tell the truth after all, wasn't it?
'Better out than in - And perhaps I shouldn't send you to school....'
He visibly relaxed and I continued:
'...for the time being'.
The panic came back to his face momentarily as he processed what I had said. Blackmail is such an ugly word but it does have the desired effects. I was triumphant. I told him to go and do his homework. Thankfully the backlog had been completed by now and was up to date. Perhaps that was partially due to his clandestine knicker wearing?
It seemed to me to be an agreeable situation. Perhaps being petticoated much more often may even stave off further trouble in future? I looked in at him doing his homework. He was laying on his stomach on the carpet gently rocking against the carpet again with his legs in the air and writing studiously. I spoke with a level, calmer voice this time, explaining that he can wear girl's clothes whenever he wants to 'calm himself down' in addition to any petticoat punishment that I think he deserves. He nodded. I wanted to make sure I heard it from him, so I made him look round and repeat back to me his options and obligations.
The evening passed, his homework having been completed. We had a more lively tea than of late with a great deal of civility. It seems that petticoating has the added bonus of socialising sons as well as quashing bad attitude. With the clouds lifted, and everyone in a rare good mood, I decided we have an early night to make the most of it. He nodded in agreement and we made our way upstairs.
Once in my bedroom and undressed, I realised that I forgot to get something out of the airing cupboard for tomorrow. Rooting around in the hallway cupboard in my underwear, I became aware of a noise. I twisted round to see Martin leaving the bathroom in his girl's underwear when he saw me likewise. He froze and stared. Rather than flap or make excuses, I stopped my search immediately and closed the cupboard door. I walked along the hallway towards him and I gestured for him to go into his bedroom. I followed him in, pulling the door to, to settle him down for the night.
Somewhat later than expected, I climbed into bed at last, knowing that I'd conditioned my son to behave properly and not just to accept his new situation, but actually to want to be conditioned and accept my control of him.
I slept soundly.
Thank you for your letter Deborah. I am so happy for you to have discovered how well petticoating actually works though I am sorry that blackmail was required, sadly this happens sometimes when stricter measures are needed, fortunately it seems to be a single occasion. All in all you seem to be having great success and I hope that your positive experience with petticoating will help provide an alternative behavioral modifier for other mothers with troublesome sons.