Hello Susan,

I would like to say thank you for PDQ monthly, and all the great news that me and my wife get from it. I am a 35 year old cross-dresser, and it was only in the last year that I came out to my wife about my desire to dress as a female.

I was scared that I might be rejected but no, my wife loved the idea that her hubbie had a softer femme side, and since the day of the confession things have gone from strength to strength with my dressing. My wife feels that she has not lost a husband, but has gained three other people: a girl friend, a sister, and a daughter all at once.

She has helped me purchase many clothes since, and she now knows she is in control of my life, and I love it and of course I adore her.

Some days she knows I have to dress as a fully grown woman, but a couple of months ago she said that to make me feel more accepted and wanted in her life I must at times dress as she wishes, and this means being brought into a girly world from the start. Some days I have to dress as Baby Katie, then as little girl Katie, and even as teenage Katie before I am allowed to be fully-grown Katie.

This is the sort of attention I have wanted from her for years, and I only wish I had told her earlier in our married life about my desire to dress this way and be accepted by her.

We are both lovers of PDQ monthly, and always look forward to reading other people’s contributions. Keep up the good work,
with love,

Katie

You are very, very lucky, Katie. Wives who empathise with petticoating are not common. 


Dear Miss MacDonald,

For many years I have closely followed your excellent work, and I felt that it was time to write to you over a matter that has been concerning me for some time.

I have bought Michelle up to be a very well behaved.  He has learnt over the years to respect his elders, and now behaves himself with only an occasional need for correction.

I put my success down to making him always wear pretty fluffy slippers, which I started many years ago to stop him turning out to be an ill-mannered boy. I insisted he wore traditional full fur collar girl’s slippers with fur lining, which I always used to buy in Marks & Spencer’s, here in the UK. They used to sell them in a variety of pretty pastel colours, and I was able to get his school slippers there too, as they sold a nice royal blue colour, which matched his school uniform well.

For home he wore this same style of girl’s slipper, but for bedtime and for Sunday best I used to put him in pretty pink full fur collar slippers with a perky bow on the slipper collar to make each slipper more attractive.

When visiting friends and family I would make him take his bedroom slippers over to wear in his slipper bag, which he was made to take everywhere. Fortunately even when he was older his feet where quite small, and even at sixteen and he was able to wear this style of slipper with his long white socks, which made his slippers highly visible, and I used to often be asked why he was wearing pretty girl’s slippers by people when we were out shopping.

It certainly kept him quiet, and I never had the problems that other mothers had, as he was kept indoors to do his chores after finishing his homework. The only time other than church on Sunday, and Sunday school, that he was allowed out was to go to dance classes, which I thought were important, and there he mixed with some well behaved young ladies.  I used to make him wear his bedroom slippers for dance classes, and would change him into his slippers before I left and took his old slippers home in my bag so he had to wait in class for me to return to take him home.

Quite often I would try to get a pair of little fur bootee slippers with cartoon characters on the slipper front to make the slipper more attractive and by adding some bells to the pom-poms of his slippers the jingling drew people’s attention to his slippers and embarrassed him further, so he learned to walk elegantly and carefully, so the bells did not jingle and people might not see his childish slippers.

What surprises me is that so many mothers put their little boys in Mary Jane shoes, but I must say that girl’s slippers on a boy make them more obedient, and his friends can see constantly that he is in his slippers. By always having his feet inside a fur lined slipper, it also stops many accidents in the home or when out shopping.
At home he is the slipper monitor and has to warm and fetch my slippers when I come home and gently put them on my feet, before making me a cup of tea. My sister and her two girls get their slippers warmed by Michelle when they are staying here too.

Anyway, I thought I would update you on my personal success in disciplining Michelle with his slippers being worn for all occasions. I do think that all boys should have slippers on indoors, and not wear shoes on the carpet.

I would like to hear if other mothers have had similar success, and whether they insist like I do that a pair of pretty fluffy pink slippers are worn at all times in the home. 
Keep up the good work,

Mrs J. K.
Dorset


Dear Susan,

Thank you for warning everyone about the sharp practices of Petticoat Dreams. I too ordered a white multi-layered chiffon petticoat made by Malco Modes USA, and also placed an order for a longer length petticoat to go under my wedding dress. The total amount came to £120, including post and packing, so I paid by PayPal and waited.

As I was very impatient to receive these quickly, I set about emailing them and got no reply to at least six emails that were sent. I then phoned over and over again, eventually getting through to a very unhelpful person who gave me the excuse that the computer was down, and who said he could not find out anything at all without a computer. This is when the real alarm bells rang, and when I fired many questions at him it was obvious he had no intention of honouring my order, but that the business is just a scam preying on girls like us, girls who may wish to do business discretely and without a fuss, and forced to swallow the outcome.

I contacted PayPal immediately, and they were very helpful, and forced Petticoat Dreams to pay me back in full. The money arrived in my account within days.

To finish the story I looked on Ebay under ‘dance wear’ and found the very same petticoat made by Malco Modes at under half the price. A very helpful lady who I spoke to direct on the phone said that if I paid on PayPal she would pack and send the petticoat to me immediately. She kept to her word, and I was wearing it a few days later.

The name I found on Ebay is Tina's Square Dance Shop.
 
Today is my birthday.  My wife woke me with a cup of coffee and said “Happy birthday; what would you like to do today?”

My reply was I would like to spend the day as a girl. Little did I know until I opened a birthday present from her, as I unwrapped the paper inside, was a cream lace teddy with tiny little crystals on the bra and small polka dots over the body with side panels in matching lace. She told me there was a choice of two in Marks and Spencer's, and the one she wouldn't buy looked tarty, and she wanted me wearing pretty clothes.

I couldn't wait wear it, and so out of bed into the bathroom, off with my nightdress, showered in record time but waited until I had put my make-up and wig on before slipping my new body on. I put my bra-fillers in the cups then called my wife in to look.

“Don't I dress you in pretty clothes that look nice on you? I like you to look like a normal girl, and not like a drag queen or an outrageous tart. I don't want those sort of clothes on the clothes line for people to see - they may think I wear them so that's one reason I buy you white knickers, and of course it’s easier on washdays to have all our knickers the same colour, but white knickers look very pretty.”

I wanted a picture taken with my new lacy body, so I set the camera up on a stand with the camera on time delay and took a picture of me in my body with suspenders and lace-top stockings, with my wife sitting next to me putting my chiffon petticoat on me. I then put on my white blouse with a frill up the front and collar, and chose my brown gypsy skirt.

I like seeing my wife in her brown pinstripe. She looks very chic in it.

“We've changed roles: me in my trousers, and you dressed as a pretty girl.”

“No we haven't. You always wear trousers, and don't like wearing a skirt or dress; and I like to be dressed as a girl. That is why you have given me some of your dresses, your skirts, and all of your petticoats, and besides when I was last wearing this blouse you told me I looked like a pretty girl. So now I have a treasured picture of how we really are, and how I just love to be a very feminine, pretty girl.”

Emma

P.S. I first started being dressed as a girl when I had an accident in a fishpond at my friend’s party when I was about six years old, and have happily continued to dress as a girl all my life.

We love reading the letters on your site. It's a very special experience spending time as a girl.

You have things exactly right. PDQ does not like anything common or tarty; we believe in petticoating in pretty, truly feminine clothes, and white knickers, or pastel shades, are absolutely correct. Petticoat discipline must be, at some level, an expression of love, which is beneficial for both parties by providing security and stress relief.


Dear Miss MacDonald,

I am writing to tell you about my experience with my Aunt Janet, a strong-willed woman who believed in the virtues of petticoat discipline.

I first remember waking up on the Monday morning. I was 13 years old and my Auntie Janet was staying to look after me and my sister whilst my mother was on holiday for the week. Janet was a loving but firm lady, and we knew that she wouldn’t think twice about disciplining us if she felt it necessary.

After getting dressed for school I rushed downstairs. Eager not to get on the wrong side of Auntie Janet I ate my cereal and brushed my teeth quickly in order to be ready, however once ready there was no sign of Auntie Janet. I ran around the house searching until I eventually reached the room Janet was staying in on the top floor.

I slowly eased the door open and poked my head around the corner. Getting dressed in the corner facing the opposite direction was Auntie Janet. She was wearing a pair of white knickers and a matching bra which had a pretty pattern along the top which I could see in the mirror. Laid out on the bed were her clothes for the day; a white Princess collared blouse with short sleeves, a knee length black A-line skirt and a pair of black heeled court shoes.

Janet was a very beautiful woman. She had long legs and a well-rounded bust, dressed in a feminine manner but at the same time authoritatively. She reached over to her bed, took her skirt and started placing her leg in. As I heard the sound of her leg slide down the silky petticoat on the inside of her skirt I realized I had better get out of there before she saw me. I slowly eased the door closed and went and sat in the car.

We pulled up at school and I jumped out eager to get in. As I ran off Janet called me back and sat me down on her lap in the car. She put her arms around me, gave me a kiss on the lips and said “Be a good little boy Philip and don’t misbehave”.

Eager to get into school I fidgeted to get up but she then held me tighter and said, “Remember Auntie Janet has ways of controlling naughty boys”.

“I promise I’ll be a good boy Auntie Janet,” I said. She gave me another kiss and a smile and let me go into school.

Lunchtime seemed to take forever to arrive but once it did me and my friends were eager to get out and play. It was a cold day so we decided to play British Bulldog to warm up. On the third round I was almost through to the other side of the playground when I slipped one a stone, landed on my knee and tore a hole in the front of my trousers. I looked down, there bloody graze on my knee and I started to cry. Mrs Sharpe, another one of the teachers at the school, helped me up and brought me into the classroom.

Mrs Sharpe was a soft and gentle woman, she cleaned up my graze for me and applied a plaster. She took a look at my trousers and told me that we had better get a new pair sorted for me as they were almost ruined. The school uniform shop was nearby so Mrs Sharpe said she would take me there to get a new pair. Before she left she rung my house, spoke to Auntie Janet, and arranged to meet at the school uniform shop so that she could pay for the goods.       
 
When we arrived at the shop Auntie Janet was already there. She was sat down by the changing room and pulled me straight toward her. I remember hearing a familiar clinking noise come from her hand bag as she did so but thought nothing of it.

Being in a school was a very familiar place for Auntie Janet. She had been a head mistress for another local school, one which was known for its fierce rivalry with ours. She had retired two years ago, at only age 40, so that she could spend more time with family, and had done so with a somewhat legendary status for having turned the school into one of the highest achievers in the country.

Consciousness of time, Auntie Janet told me to get undressed in the changing room whilst she checked the situation with Mrs Sharpe, who had been quite a long time. I sat in there for a few minutes and over heard Mrs Sharpe explaining that they were short of stock and could not find my size. I couple more minutes passed whilst I sat wondering what they were doing until their footsteps got louder as they came over. Auntie Janet swiftly pulled the curtain open and stood looking down at me holding various different garments. I was terrified to see that she was not holding a pair of trousers, but a girl’s uniform.

Over her left arm hung a navy blue, just above knee length, pleated skirt with a side zip and button-fastening which was a compulsory item for the girls. Over her right arm was a small white blouse and held in her hand were a packet containing a pair of white knee high socks with a pretty trim and pattern on.  
 
“No, no, no, no, no,” I screamed at her, “where are the trousers?” I shouted.

“I’m sorry little Mr -, or should I say little Miss Tantrums, but they only have girls’ uniform in your size. Besides you only have to wear it for a week until the new stock arrives.”

“A week,” I shouted as the tears of rage rolled down my face, “A bloody week!”

As the words left my mouth I saw Auntie Janet’s eyes gaze at me furiously. I looked past her and made a desperate attempt for the door. I thought I was past her when I felt her firm hand on my wrist pull me back effortlessly into the changing room. I struggled with her desperately with tears flooding down my face. Until she picked me up around the chest, pulled my trousers down, placed me over her knee and gave me the hardest spanking of my life. I kept on struggling until she pulled my hands behind my back and even with only one hand around my wrists I was completely restrained for three more spanks. She had obviously done this before and knew exactly how to handle me.

She held me there for a minute longer until I calmed down and then said, “Sweetie you have been a very naughty boy. Let me remind you that I have ways of controlling naughty boys and that this is your final warning, ok?” I looked up at her and tried once more to pull away but she knew exactly how to hold me. “Ok, now are you going to be a good little boy?”

I realized I really had no other choice. “I’m sorry Auntie Janet, I’m sorry.”

She looked me in the eyes and said “Good boy Philip, I forgive you,” before releasing my hands.

Auntie Janet reached into her handbag for her purse to pay for the uniform.

Now it was time for me to be dressed. Auntie Janet sat me on her lap as she un-buttoned my shirt to replace it with the blouse.

"A skirt would look silly with a boy’s shirt and socks, so we have had to buy a blouse and girl’s socks too".

She buttoned up my blouse and then replaced my socks with white knee-length ones. Mrs Sharpe then found me some pretty, black buckled girl’s shoes which had been left in their changing room. She placed my feet in them and pulled the buckle firmly over my foot. Auntie Janet hauled me up and held the skirt out for me to step into. I felt the pleats rub up my leg and stop dead just above my knee. Auntie Janet pulled the skirt’s waistband tight around my waist, and pulled the zip up and put the button through.

She stepped back and said "Good boy Philip, besides you make a very pretty girl." I was now wearing a full girl’s regulation school uniform and the embarrassment was overwhelming. I felt faint. Again Janet picked up her hand bag, and held my hand as she walked me over to the till.

"Excuse me Mrs Sharpe" said Auntie Janet, "do you know the weather forecast for the rest of the week?"

“Yes," replied Mrs Sharpe, "It’s meant to get very warm as the week goes on."

Auntie Janet stopped for a minute. "Ok then, can I also have a girl’s summer dress in case it’s too hot for Philip?  And a games skirt for P.E."

"Certainly," said Mrs Sharpe. She fetched a blue check summer dress, and a navy pleated games skirt in my size.

Auntie Janet paid for the garments and thanked her for her time. Before leaving she looked down at me and said, "Philip, what do you say to someone who buys you something?" I was absolutely livid, how could she expect me for thanking her for completely humiliating me like this?

"Philip!" she said again.

"Thank you Auntie Janet," I mumbled.

"Good boy, Come on, it’s near the end of school now, lets go and wait for you sister." I took her hand and we walked out of the shop.

All I could think about was getting home and out of these clothes. We walked past the staff room and down the hallway, when I suddenly realised the situation I was about to be in. She was walking toward the main waiting area by the car park, I was about to be on public display in front of every parent and child in the school. I stopped. I felt her hand try and pull me further but I froze.

"Philip, what’s wrong?" she said.

"Can I go and wait in the car please?"

"No, you’re too young, now come along."

"No, I’m not going out there, please Auntie Janet, please!"

"This is your final warning." I twisted and turned furiously, trying to get away from her.

"That does it. If you’re going to act like a baby I will treat you like one."

I had no idea what she meant. She sat me down on her lap and said, "Hold you hands out young man, now". I did exactly as she said. Then from her bag she pulled a set of navy blue nylon clippasafe baby reins, with metal clips and a plastic fastening at the back. I started to cry. She had carried some baby reins around with her in case I was a bad boy, and in her eyes that is exactly what I had been.

She wrapped her elbows around me to hold me whilst she untangled the reins in front of me. She then took each of my hands and placed them through the reins, and then pulled them over my shoulders. I felt the breast plate pull tightly over my chest. She pulled the reins tightly around me, and pulled hard to get them to close. She clicked them closed - they were very tight around me, too tight to move, but not uncomfortable. She took out the rein for her to hold, and clipped the D rings on the sides of the reins. That was it: she had me in some baby reins and a girls school uniform.

Whilst holding the rein auntie Janet placed me back in my feet and stood up as she pulled her skirt down which had ruffled up through the whole ordeal. "Now you will be a good little boy whether you want to or not."

She wrapped the rein around her hand, pulled it sharply and I was pulled toward her. I tried to pull away but she held the reins firmly and, as hard as I tried to walk away, I was held back. I felt the reins and tried to pull them over my head, but they were too tight. “I can get out of these,” I thought, “they’re designed for babies.”

But how wrong I was. I tried to reach for the clip at the back but it was out of reach. I grabbed hold of one of the metal clips attached to the rein but I couldn’t undo them, I just wasn’t strong enough. I couldn't get them off.

"Come on sweetie you cant get out of them, just accept that. They’re designed to keep little boys like you safe. Now be a good boy and keep up with me…Come on now Philip, time to meet your sister."

She gave the reins a pull and I heard the clinking of the clips and I was pulled with her. I tried to pull away frantically, trying my hardest to get the reins off but they were so tight that I couldn’t. With little strength Janet was in control of me, and as she walked I had no choice but to be obedient and stay with her.

We got outside and started walking up toward the playground to meet my sister. It was very windy, and I had to hold my skirt down with my hands so as to not show my knickers. On the way we passed the car. I darted towards it but was stopped by Janet who clutched the reins firmly.

“Please Auntie Janet, Please can I stay in the car while you meet her?”

“No, now come along sweetie.”

I flinched and tried to run toward the car, but Janet pulled on the reins and swung me round in front of her, pulled up my skirt and gave me a hard slap on my knickered bottom. She sat me down again.

“When will you learn young man? You’re such a lovely boy, but you just need to learn who is in control.”

With that she produced some nylon webbing clippasafe wrist restraints and attached them to my wrists. They were exactly the same material as the reins and simply a cuff of webbing which secured around my wrist using the same clips which are on the back of the baby reins. She then clipped the D rings on them to two extra rein clips on the side of the reins very firmly, so my wrists were now totally secure.

“Now, if you’re a good little boy then I might let you out of these, but you’ll be in them for the rest of the day at least.”

Now I began to feel an overwhelming sense of being under control and very safe. I was totally secure. Janet went to leave and gave the reins a pull, so I walked up with her by her side.

“Good boy”, she said. She held the reins on a short slack wrapped around her hand so, if I drifted in any way, I was quickly reined in.

My sister couldn’t stop laughing when she saw me, and it was clear that she thoroughly approved of petticoat discipline. I was very glad to get back in the car, and your readers can imagine that I was a very well-behaved boy for the rest of that unforgettable week.
Thank you for your amazing web site,

Philip


Dear Susan,

I thought you and readers of the ever-excellent PDQ might like to see more photographs of my husband Stephanie-Jane under petticoat discipline.  The first shows him practising his curtsey, which he must use to my daughters and me, or any female visitors that we have. He has to reveal his petticoats, but never his knickers. Like you, I expect modesty.

The second is interesting. Last week Stephanie-Jane had to go away for work, and I instructed him to purchase any item to demonstrate that he was subject to petticoat discipline.  He bought this delightful red and black tutu petticoat, which I then made him model for a photograph.


Incidentally if readers wish to correspond with me or Stephanie-Jane they are welcome to do so.  Our addresses are Mistressjennifer@sissify.com and Stephanie-jane@sissify.com.  I should say that I oversee Stephanie-Jane's e-mails, but he is not privy to mine except with my permission. 
Best wishes,
Jennifer and Stephanie-Jane


Dear Nanny Susan,

May I firstly apologise to Pinafored David, whom I managed to upset last month.  I'm sorry David for having misjudged you, you sound wonderfully domesticated, and all I can say David is that you would not be allowed out of an apron if you were keeping house for me.

Secondly, can I say to Milly (who was seeking an alternative to a traditional maid's uniform) how becoming a wrap-around overall is in plain drill cotton.  Slightly old-fashioned, but exceptionally feminine, it provides a lovely shape to the bust where it crosses at the front if tied tightly behind.  Still available at John Lewis (school wear department) in large adult lengths, but would love to hear of other sources of this style if any of your readers can help. 

My maid Pinny wears a white one (as a dress) for all but the most formal occasions, and always topped with a full floral apron which not only provides practical protection but sits so nicely over her bust, emphasising her femininity.

You are kindly mentioning Pinny's birthday next month, Miss MacDonald, and you may care to also mention that we are getting married the same day (January 7th).  After nineteen years, Pinny is to be allowed a full day out of uniform, although I suspect she will be back at work before the day is really over.

My best wishes to all your correspondents, as well as to you Nanny for such a wonderful publication.

With every best wish for your continuing success
Yours sincerely,

Marigold P


Dear Susan,

My husband wrote to you a few months ago about the way I discipline him with sailor dresses and rompers etc. I have now dressed him in party frocks when we have female guests. I think in the future it would be nice if he was put into little girl’s baby doll nighties with matching rhumba panties. So much nicer!

I do agree with Jay’s auntie and mummy about his bed time [see PDQ September 2005]. 6.00pm is ideal, although my husband is put into the nursery at 6.30.

Jay’s aunt should think about baby dolls for him in future. My husband is dressed in a frilly party frock for any corner time. I also insist on keeping him depilated. Which means that every three weeks I send him to the salon for a complete body wax.
All the best for now,

Suzanne


Hello Susan,
 
Caption:
Peter was spending his summer visiting his aunt and uncle in a distant city when he was caught shoplifting panties from a local department store. His aunt was called, he was scolded for being a nuisance and let off with a warning.
 
However, when he brazenly stole a nylon nightie from the same store only days later, he was charged. When he appeared in court, the judge handling the case realized that because the boy was hundreds of miles from home, it would not be too damaging to expose him to public humiliation. Peter was ordered to don the stolen nightie and show it off, while tethered securely in one of the department store's display windows.
 
As compensation to the store, the judge imposed a second requirement, ordering Peter to serve for one week as a junior clerk's assistant in the store's lingerie department. The store supplied a proper uniform consisting of a shop clerk's frock, apron, suitable knickers, vest, suspender belt, hose and shoes. Once in uniform, and under the supervision of the junior clerk (who relished having a subordinate to order about), Peter was renamed "Pet" and was given a long list of menial tasks to perform.
 
Run ragged at the conclusion of his week's work, the boy was given an envelope containing a copy of a letter the judge had already sent to his parents detailing his misbehaviour, and his correction. His eyes widened in horror as he read the last line in the letter:
 
"You will find his service frock and nightie in his things when he arrives, and I suggest you have him model them for you at your convenience. Whether they can be of further use to you is a question only you can answer."
 Yours,

Lana



Dear Nanny Susan,

My name is Baby Jennie, and I am a big baby living in Sydney, Australia. I have my own nursery in Willoughby, with my highchair, playpen and change table, and I am lucky enough to have several loving aunties and strict nannies to look after me sometimes. I will include two pictures as well, so you will know this is a genuine letter.
Hugs from

Baby Jennie



Dear Susan,

Perhaps your terrier could do with a dose of petticoat discipline. Then you need to visit this page:


If you go to the home page, there are links to panties, rompers, and other delights too.

Heather

Words fail me.

Hi Susan,
 
I found your site a little while back, and, like others, am fascinated to hear similar experiences.  I have had many petticoating experiences, and I'd like to share with your readers how it began. 

I grew up with only my mother and my younger sister.  My mother is a psychologist, and she is very bright.  I was a nuisance as a grade school child, and my mother tried many traditional and non-traditional punishments.  My mother, I think because she is a psychologist, learned to give me punishments that hurt mentally more than physically as I got older.  For example, she would never simply ground me, she would ground me and make me write a book report, which she would then check, and make me correct several times. 

My first punishment that had a little to do with petticoating came after I complained about having to fold all my clothes.  My mom then grounded me for the weekend, and gave me a small book and two magazines on girls’ fashion, and told me to write a report on current girls’ fashions, and to "identify some of your favorite outfits".  I think my mother must have noticed the effect this embarrassing task had on me because it showed up in later punishments.
 
One Saturday, when I was a seventh grader, my sister was bothering me the entire morning.  Finally, being really annoyed, I walked over to her where she was sitting in the living room and picked her up and carried her to her bedroom.  She ran crying to my mom who came in a moment later with a nasty look on her face, with my crying sister behind her.  She yelled that I had "crossed the line this time", and sent me to my room while she thought about my punishment. 

About a half hour later she came into my room, now with a smirk on her face I had never remembered seeing before.  She held out her hand with a pair of my sister's hot pink satin panties and said "this is your punishment".  I didn't know what she meant, and then she said for the rest of the weekend that I would have to wear them, and I would do both mine and my sister's chores. 

Turning very red, I then told her that there was no way she could make me wear those.  Fine, she told me, then instead you are grounded for two weeks.  I yelled at her that that was unfair because I had a basketball tournament next weekend and a party at a girl's house the following weekend (a girl whom I really liked).  She said, "Ok, you get to choose between the panties or being grounded." 

As humiliating as the situation was, I really didn't want to miss the girl's party, so, looking down at the floor, I said “Fine, give me the underwear.” 

She said "we call girl's underwear ‘panties’, darling, and I expect you to do the same". 

I then asked for the "panties", and felt very queasy saying that word.  She made me put them on right then.  Sliding up those panties over my legs was certainly the most embarrassing part of my life, up to that point. The soft material and elastic legs made me feel quite queasy.

My mother started using this technique of giving me a "choice" of punishments.  I think this greatly added to the mental part of the punishment, knowing that you "chose" a certain punishment made it even harder to endure.  I started to put my shorts back on, but my mother said "No shorts this weekend, just your shirt neatly tucked into your pretty panties," adding, "Remember, you chose this punishment."
 
As humiliating as the "little pink panties punishment" was (as my sister liked to call it), I still managed to be a difficult boy after that.  A few months later, I was pillow-fighting with my friends in the living room when my mom wasn't home.  As I swung the pillow over my head I hit the chandelier, and literally ripped it from the ceiling, sending it crashing to the floor.  Broken glass was everywhere.  When my mother came home, I told her "it just fell". 

She didn't believe that for a second and my sister (who my friends and I had hit with pillows), came in and told her the truth.  My mother yelled for me to go to my room while she, again, would "think about my punishment".  I prepared myself for the worst, thinking that I could handle two to three months of grounding, and all of the housework and book reports she could give me. 

She came in to my room a little later and simply said we are going shopping at the mall.  I was very puzzled, and went to the car with her.  When we pulled up outside of Sears she said, “We are here to shop for some punishment clothes for you.” 

We went in to Sears and she led me to the women's lingerie department.  She then told me to "pick out the panties that you will be wearing for the next week . . ."  

At that I freaked out and said no way was I going to walk around the lingerie shop and pick out clothes to buy, and that there was no way she could ever make me.  At that she took me out of the store and back to the car. 

Inside the car, without really saying anything, she took a pink ribbon and tied it to the top of my hair.  I was stunned and speechless.  She than took out a tube of pink lipstick and started applying it to my lips.  I tried to protest but somehow she held me down, and then blotted the lipstick with a napkin. 

She then literally dragged me back inside to the Sears lingerie department.  She then told me once again to pick out my five pairs of panties, and started saying something about the rules for choosing them, but I wasn't really listening. 

In my embarrassed state, thinking someone would see me in the bow and lipstick, I ran and picked out five pairs of panties from the first rack I saw, and brought them back to her.  She laughed and shook her head at me and said "you haven't listened to the rules." 

I was pink and flustered as I stood there holding five pair of panties and wearing bright lipstick and a hair ribbon.  My mother casually took one pair and held them up to me saying "honey these are way too big for you, now calm down and listen to the rules".  "I want you to choose five different pairs of panties.  Only one can be cotton, the rest must be satin, polyester, or silk.  Only one can be white, the rest must be each of a different color, and one must be pink." 

I couldn't understand why she was saying all of this, all I knew was I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.  She continued casually, "Each pair must be a different brand, and they all should have some lace or frills or flowers on them.  I ran off again trying to quickly grab five pairs that fit "the rules". 

It was more difficult than I expected because I couldn't repeat colors, styles, or brands.  After what seemed like forever I ran back to her with my selection.  She took them and looked them over and said "where is the pink?  For not listening I'm going to put all these back, and you try again." 

I started to protest but saw some young girls walking our way, so I ran back into the middle of the lingerie section.  This time, thankfully, I made a selection that fitted my mother's rules.  I handed them to her and she said, "Very good, now go pay for them." 

I said, "With my money? But I didn't look at the prices." 

And she responded, "Well, would you like to choose again?"  I ran to the counter to pay, anything to get out of there.  I certainly got some odd looks from the lady at the counter with my lipstick, ribbon, and my panties.  To add insult to my injury, I had to spend $30 of the $100 I had to my name to pay for the panties.  On the way home, my mother said I would be wearing my new panties until she decided I would be good.  I was told I had to wear a new pair each day, and after five days I had to wash all of them by hand. 

There was just something especially humiliating about having to wear each pair of these panties knowing that I had picked them out myself.  This was the first, but certainly not the last, of my panty shopping experiences.  I spend most of my middle school and high school life in panties.  Complaining or misbehaving would often lead me back to Sears, or Kmart, or Victoria Secret, or even higher end lingerie shops, to pick out new pairs of the prettiest and most feminine panties.
 
I'm sorry that I seem to have carried on a bit long.  I've never really been able to share these experiences with anyone before.  Perhaps I could share more in the future.
 Take care,

'Crystal"


Dear Miss MacDonald,
 
My wife, Judy and I live in Maryland and love your site. We read all the back issues over and over again, and look forward to each new month's letters followed by your comments, which we wholeheartedly commend.  Thank you for all the hard work that you put in to maintain this free site and for the cause of advancing the domestic supremacy of females by petticoating and girdling disobedient males.
 
We have been married for three years and we both worked.  Judy made much more income than I, and had an executive level job, and became quickly dissatisfied when I lost my job in computer networking when my company started outsourcing. 

I stayed at home and it was agreed that I would do the cooking, washing, ironing and cleaning and household chores.  It very quickly became clear that I needed discipline in my approach to housekeeping.  I was going out drinking in the afternoons and spending most of the day playing computer games, to which I almost became addicted. Judy would chide me and make me promise not  go out drinking in the afternoons and spending all my waking hours in internet role-playing games.  I tried to keep my promises, but was too weak. 
 
Judy has discovered your web site, and had taken its methods to heart. She told me that our first task was to rid me of all the hair on my body, and paint my fingernails and toenails in bright red
 
Judy said, "Michael, I need some things and you will go with me on a shopping trip on Saturday to visit my friend Sharon, who works at a lingerie shop at the mall.” 

I whined that I could not go out with red fingernail polish, but she reminded me that she was in complete control and that it was for the best.  She had already gotten her friend, Sharon, who worked there to become an accomplice.  I was totally ignorant of the purpose of our trip, and Judy did not tell me what her intentions were. 
 
Judy brought with her a large satchel.  When Judy and I got to the lingerie shop at the mall I felt uncomfortable and even afraid to be inside with all the prominently displayed ladies’ undies. Judy took me over to Sharon and announced to her that she had a list of items that I would be required to be fitted for, because she had decided on a change of attire for me.  I was shocked.
 
She said that I would need bras, Merry Maid’s all-in-ones with garters, girdles, slips, panties, camisoles, panty hose, stockings, full length gloves, garter belts and corsets. I was pushed into the fitting room, and told to try on the lingerie and then come out and model them for Judy and Sharon.  I was so overwhelmed, I blushed furiously, and whimpered that I couldn't possibly wear women’s lingerie.  Judy reminded me that I was to obey her wishes. 
 
Still blushing, I took my pile of unmentionables into the dressing room and tried on the pantyhose, the long gloves, the panties, the all-in-one girdle and the white stockings snapped to the garter clips.  I came out into the store trying to hide behind my arms.  When I stumbled out of the dressing room, Sharon and Judy started laughing at my distress, and Sharon and her young assistant gave a cheer and a clap. 

Everyone was telling me what a cute girl I was, and how lingerie brought out my pretty figure.  I was mortified, but Judy brought out of the satchel a frothy petticoat and bloomers, which she had bought on online, and put them on me in front of everyone.  She pulled out a pink frock and slid it over my head, but it was so short it showed masses of white frills and ruffles. 

Next she pulled out a pair of black patent leather shoes, and a pink bonnet, which she deftly put on me.  I was so stunned, I couldn't talk.  Judy asked me, Michele:  "How do you like your new look?"  Do you like it?” 

All I could choke out was, "Yes, dear." 

"Good," she said, "because you will be wearing it from now on at home till you have learned how to act like a proper little lady.” 

Judy paid for the items she gathered up and said, "Michele, you can take everything off now.  Be careful not to run the stockings or you will wear your new outfit home.” 

I could barely trip back into the dressing room with my new shoes, and petticoat swishing, and my dress bouncing with each step. I heard Sharon's young co-worker cooing:  "What a pretty girl in her adorable new clothes."
 
All the time at home, I now wear my new clothes with the addition of red finger- and toenail polish and red lipstick to match.  To tell the truth, I have become accustomed to everything but the red lipstick.  I now do all the chores without complaint, additionally dressed in a full-length frilly pinafore which Judy bought for me online, and comply with all Judy's wishes promptly, meticulously, and without question, in appropriate attire. 
 
Every week, Judy finds an excuse for an over-the-knee paddling.  It is so bitter/sweet dressed like a little prissy girl and being spanked or sometimes caned for the slightest misstep.  I have never again been tempted to go out drinking, or return to role-playing games on the internet.
 
Judy and I cannot understand why you have never advocated red lipstick and nail polish as a disciplinary method.  Do you advocate nail polish and lipstick discipline as a way to control males?  Still after all this time I am horrified when told by Judy to freshen my lipstick.  I look in my compact mirror and am frightened by the reflection of myself with red lipstick.  It feels like being magically transformed into a real female. We would like to hear your feeling about lipstick discipline as it is definitely the most threatening to me.  When Judy has her girl friends over I feel most mortified by having to appear with red lipstick on my lips. 

Some of her friends as well have adopted your dress discipline methods with husbands and sons. 
 
After two years now of girdle and petticoat discipline, Judy has assigned me to write this account to you.  I am sorry that it is so long.  I am sure you will edit it to suit your site if you decide to include it.  I fully appreciate what it is like to be a properly attired and humbled submissive husband to a dominant wife.
 
Thank you for your wonderful crusade of elevating the position of females around the world.
 
With great respect for your cause,

Michele & Judy

I am a businesslike and professional person, and do not particularly like highly coloured nail polish, or very red lipstick. And I have never worn high heels which, in my opinion, are both ugly and impractical. It is just a matter of  personal taste.


Dear Susan,

First, thank you for your wonderful site. I first learned of it about a week ago, and have spent most of my spare time reading all the letters posted to it.  Please excuse the length of this letter and feel free to edit it, but I think you and your readers will be interested in my experience.

I had never heard of “petticoat discipline” until ten days ago. I should start by telling you that I am a 22 year old woman who has lived what I guess most would call a rather vanilla life. About eight months ago I started going out with Tracy. He is kind of shy and passive; in fact, it was I who asked him out for our first date.

I found him to be really sweet, always wanting to please me. It was a big change from other guys I have dated, who it seemed wanted only to take advantage of me. Anyway, we got fairly serious, talked about moving in together, and he invited me to spend the long Thanksgiving weekend (which was just last week here in the States) with his family, who live a two hour plane ride away.

We arrived on Wednesday evening, catching a flight after work. The door was opened by a cute young girl of about 13 or 14. She said hello to us, and to my shock, turned directly to me and curtsied. Before I could comment, Tracy’s mother came to greet us. She told the young girl to help Tracy with our suitcases, told Tracy to get changed, and invited me to sit with her and have a drink. After making myself comfortable, I went to the den, and there met her daughter, Tracy’s sister Elena.  We talked about innocuous things for awhile, just getting acquainted, since this was the first time I met them, before Tracy’s mom, Louise, as she asked me to call her, changed the subject.

She asked me if I was aware of the term “petticoat discipline”. To make a long story short, it turns out that she was the third generation of her family to practice it. All males in the family for those three generations were subjected to it. The cute girl who opened the door was, in fact, Tracy’s brother Leslie, who is 16. Frankly, I was shocked. The idea that Tracy should dress as a female was not exactly something I was looking forward to seeing at that time.

My first inclination was to leave and never see Tracy again. But I decided to stay and hear what they had to say. As they were explaining to me all the advantages of having males serve them and obey them, not having to put up with all the tiresome male machismo, I began to relax and in my own mind explore the possibilities. At that point, there was a knock on the door, and Leslie, Tracy’s brother came in carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres for us. This time I took the opportunity to look closely at the boy. He was dressed in a black A-line skirt, black tights, a long sleeved pink fluffy sweater, and black skimmers. He wore tiny earrings, and had on light makeup, as befitting a young girl of about 14. He obviously was wearing a slightly padded bra, as there was just the hint of breasts showing. He was very cute.

That started me thinking about Tracy would look dressed in a similar outfit, though perhaps one for a more mature girl, and to be honest, I felt quite excited at the thought.  It was at that point that I decide to stay for the weekend and learn more about this practice of petticoat discipline.

We soon afterward adjourned for dinner. There were seven of us at the table, not a one wearing pants.  Four males: Tracy, his father, George, his brother, and Elena’s fiance, Phillip, and we three women.  Phillip seemed to be the most ill at ease in skirts.  He had been petticoated for the first time only two months earlier, and was still having a hard time adjusting to his feminization. While I won’t say that any of the other males were exactly comfortable, they were more accepting. I guess it is difficult for them when outsiders such as myself see them for the first time. Only Tracy and Leslie could have passed as girls. George was obviously a male in a dress and Phillip was too awkward, though with practice, he too might be able to fool some people.

As for the family history, petticoating was started by Louise’s grandmother, in Scotland in the 1930’s.  Apparently Louise’s uncles were subjected to wearing girl’s knickers and petticoats under their kilts as punishment, and sometimes were put into their sisters’ dresses. Louise’s mother, who I would meet the next day for Thanksgiving dinner, made it a practice to dress her sons as girls on a regular basis, and not just for punishment. She felt it made them softer and more manageable.

She also was the first to petticoat her husband. As Louise tells it, her father was first put into skirts on their wedding night and wore them, when so ordered, for the rest of his life. Louise carried out the tradition. I should point out that none of the males was abused in any way. They were not subjected to public humiliation. They were merely dressed as girls and treated as such. Those that could not pass as girls, like George, were not taken out in public. Both Tracy and Leslie have been out in public, and have been accepted as girls.

The weekend turned out to be most enjoyable. It was quite pleasurable to be waited on by these petticoated males. I found that it was very exciting for me to treat my Tracy as a submissive girl in bed, and have him dressed in frilly lingerie.

To conclude, I am keeping Tracy in skirts this weekend, and will have him serve me as my maid. I am even considering getting him one of those sexy French maid uniforms, with lots of short frilly petticoats and lacy panties showing. If you like, I will write and tell you about any adventures we may have in the future.
Regards,

Samantha.


Dear Susan,

I can't tell you how pleased I am that you are again back. I did so miss your updates to this site. I am so sorry for the problems you encountered, and hope that the future is much sunnier for you. It is because of you that sissies like myself have such a great site to visit.

I adore Christine's drawings: that is precisely the kind of sissy I love being. Please keep up the great work. Enclosed are two pictures - one is a pink dress I bought on Ebay. I have no pictures of me wearing it yet. If you find my pictures worthy, please put them on your site.  
Humbly yours,

Sissy Phyliss

That pink dress is very frilly! Sitting down in it would be quite a challenge. Phyliss is the reader who, according to Dennis’s researches, has a ghost living in her house.



Hello Susan,

How much I love your letters!  I was reading the letters from Dora of Avon, which to me are very enjoyable.  I would love to be baby disciplined, to see how much shame I can endure, but my girlfriend says it would be more embarrassing for her than for me, which I find hard to believe. 

I know Dora actually does impose baby discipline to sort out naughty boys who need to be sorted out, but do you know anywhere who could give me that sort of treatment, or could you maybe suggest something to my girlfriend?  I personally think am too big for nappies - she doesn’t, but she is extremely shy.
Hope you can help, love,

Paul
xxx

Well, you have to be gradual. Perhaps start with a bib when you are eating at home. The secret is to always take things slowly.


Dear Nanny Susan,

Here are some sketches from Dora of Avon. They first appeared in ‘Search’ magazine. Dora knew exactly how to bring naughty boys who were too big for their boots down to earth, and I doubt if there has been a more expert practitioner of dummy discipline.
Love,

Baby Cuddles


Yes, Dora was a master at deflating male egos, that is for sure.


Dear Susan –

It has been some time since I've written, much less contributed, to PDQ.  I am so happy that you've found a format that keeps the magazine going without too much wear and tear on you.  In today's issue, Kristie wrote in to ask about the satin romper shown in the previous issue. 

I don't know where the photo comes from, but Anne Marie -- who is listed in your links -- makes many different styles of rompers, some quite similar to the one shown in PDQ.  There are three galleries of rompers on her site.  She has made both a dress and a romper for me, and her work is excellent. 

Her prices are fair (though not cheap).  It took about two months for her to make and deliver each of my items.  She will alter a design to suit a customer (as she did for me), and she appreciates it when the customer can be clear about just what s/he wants.  I hope this helps.  Thanks so much for continuing PDQ. 
J.

This note is from one of the all-time most prolific contributors to PDQ, mainly in the magazine’s early years. J. it gave me a real lift to hear from you again.

Dear Susan,

Re: Satin Rompers:
I advise Kristie to go to Google, click onto Images rather than Web, and then type in satin rompers and stand well clear!  Lana and I surf using Google for the patterns we find and with a bit of imagination, using words like vintage and past ages, plus dates like 20¹s 30¹s 40¹s etc, one can discover a whole new world of images.   Try fabric names like silk, satin, chiffon, muslin, and finally follow site links (it takes hours, but it is pure pleasure).  

As for the rotten rip-off that Charles K. has experienced, we can only hope that bad karma will dog Petticoat Dreams.   I have only used Woods of Morecambe, and http://www.lingeriebychristine.co.uk, to buy things on the internet and found both of them reliable.
Season¹s greetings to everyone,

Eustace and Flora



Susan,
 
In Vancy's drawing of a boy in a kilt http://www.petticoated.com/boyinkiltW05.JPG, one can see a tiny triangular patch of white between the knees. Is that supposed to be the hem of a slip or petticoat?
 
Paige

Yes, I believe it is!


Dear Susan,

Like Charles I have also been ripped off by Petticoat Dreams. To cut a long story short, I ordered a pair of sissy panties that never arrived, and neither did the requested refund.

They did, however, manage to take the money off my credit card.

Sophie

Dear Susan,
 
Thanks for creating such a lovely site, I have been a reader for many years now. One day when I feel ready I will let you share my beautiful experiences, but for now I would like to add my comments regarding Charles K. experiences with petticoatdreams.co.uk. 

I too tried to purchase a petticoat and other items from them, but have had no delivery, and have had no luck in contacting them. I ordered in August.  I have been in contact with PayPal and they have said that if they do not reply to me or them soon, then they will remove them as clients. That was one month ago, and so far there has been no contact. 

I think that Charles’ engaged call may have been another person ringing at the same time as he was trying to get through.  Let’s hope there is an explanation for all this, but I’m not holding my breath.  I will keep you posted.
 Lots of love
 
Philippa

Petticoat Dreams have now been put on the Warning list on the Links page. Obviously no readers should do business with them.


Please keep Mary Beth Sanford in your thoughts, hopes and prayers, as she is currently in hospital and very sick. Over the years she has given free and unstinting advice and comfort to all who are attracted to petticoating and babying, and her site has been the most beautiful ‘petticoat’ site on the web.

It has taken a lot of work, but I have redone the August 2005 page, so that it can now be viewed with Internet Explorer. Readers may remember that the lines for some letters were running off the page, the font sizes were all over the place, and so on. All this has now been fixed.

Dear Susan,

I would like to tell you the story of my experience in petticoats.

It was the summer of 1961, I was just 14 years old, and my mother was ill in hospital. I was an only child, and my father had died the year before. It was decided that I should spend the summer with my mother’s sister, Aunty Anne, who was older than my mother and lived some one hundred miles away. She had also lost her husband recently, and had newly-married twin daughters, both of whom had emigrated shortly after their marriages, and so she now lived alone. I had always been an independent boy and welcomed the chance to stay with her, my only aunt, whom I found so very easy to be with and to talk to.

The first few days were great, and I met several of my aunt’s friends. I had particularly long hair, which was unusual then, but I thought of it as showing some individuality. I think it was this, together with my very long eye-lashes inherited from my mother, which prompted the same comment from most of my aunt’s friends. It was always very similar to, “Oh isn’t he gorgeous, just look at those eyes; he really should have been a girl!” 

I should have been used to this as it had heard it said to my mother for as long as I could remember, but each time I heard it now I really hurt inside, to the pit of my stomach. You see, I always thought I should have been born a girl, and in my mind I was a girl. No-one knew how I felt, and in the early 1960’s that was how it had to be, but despite this I made a decision.  I decided that should just one more person utter those words, I would try to tell my aunt my feelings, however difficult it might prove.

It was the following Monday afternoon and yet another of her friends came to tea. I braced myself when I was introduced to her, but nothing was said. The afternoon and tea passed uneventfully and finally at about 9.00pm it was time for her to leave. I had even stopped expecting her to say anything when, as she was saying goodbye she turned to my aunt and said “You know, Roger is so good looking, I think it is his eyes and his hair, he should have been a girl”. The time had definitely come for me to speak up.

I had rehearsed what I would say for several days, but I could never have anticipated the reply I would receive. When we had returned to the sitting room I said “Aunty, why does everyone say I should have been a girl? I find it so very painful”.

I remember her reply to this day. She crossed the room, put her arm around me, and said, “And that is because, deep down, you wish you were a girl, don’t you?”

How she knew I will never know but, unable to speak, I burst into floods of tears - Aunty knew and she understood. We sat there for a long time not saying anything, just cuddling together. My aunt seemed as deep in thought as I was, but finally she broke the silence. “It is time for bed now,” she said, “we must be up early in the morning because I have a surprise for you”. Of course I asked what it was, but got the expected reply “It won’t be a surprise if I tell you,” so I kissed my aunt goodnight and went to bed.

I slept very fitfully with so much on my mind, to be woken by my aunt telling me she had run a bath for me. I told her that I never bathed in the morning, but she replied that I must today as it was part of my surprise. I was already in the bath when my aunt came into the bathroom, carrying a white silky dressing gown. She hung it on the door and said “Put this on when you are dry.”

She then picked up my pajamas continuing, “Come into the twins’ room when you are ready - I need to wash your hair,” and with that she left, with my pajamas under her arm and before I could ask any questions.

I didn’t understand why I had to have a bath, why my aunt wanted to wash my hair which I usually did myself, or why I had to wear a dressing gown. I needed to find out, so I dried myself, put on the gown and went to the twins’ room. It was larger than I expected, with twin beds (what else!), a dressing table, two chests of drawers, and a large wardrobe. In the corner was an open door, leading to a bathroom, the first “en-suite” I had ever seen, but I did not know to call it that then. I said “Aunty, what is going on, what shall we be doing today?”

She replied “We are going to Sainsbury’s this afternoon for the groceries.” I must have looked crest-fallen at the thought of a trip to the grocers, which we always did on a Tuesday anyway. I said “What is so special about that?” Then Aunty told me. She said “It will be very special my dear, because today when you go, you will be a girl”.

My heart almost stopped and my head felt very light. Had I heard her right, did she really say what I thought she said? In a blur I was led into the bathroom and I was asked to lean my head back over the sink, and Aunty began washing my hair. Aunty was a hairdresser, and all her lotions and hair-dressing tools had been laid out in the bathroom. As she worked she told me that during the morning I would be transformed into a beautiful young lady, then I would be taught how to walk, to sit, and to behave as a young lady should. In the afternoon we would take the bus to town, buy the groceries and come home by taxi. My head spun with excitement.

My hair took much longer than I expected, but some two hours later it was washed, cut, and at long last dry. It felt so very soft, and I sneaked a look at it in the mirror, only to see that I was now a blonde! My hair cascaded out over my shoulders and down my back, and I was sure it must have grown longer overnight. Anyway, Aunty quickly and deftly took my hair and formed it into a pony tail. I just could not believe it but had little time to admire myself, because I was led to the large wardrobe where I was told I should choose the dress I was to wear.

The wardrobe contained all the twins’ clothes from when they were teen-agers; it was a huge selection, pure heaven! I could not make up my mind to start with, but then I saw it! A pink sleeveless gingham dress with a lace panel decorating the front, and a thin velvet bow with long tails attached to the waist. It had a long full skirt which was lined with several layers of net and lace. “This one I think, Aunty,” I heard myself saying, and Aunty smiled whilst taking it from the wardrobe.

Going to one of the chest of drawers Aunty chose the underwear that I was to wear. She sat me on the low stool by the dressing table, and asked me to slip my arms from my robe, which I did. She then slipped a bra over my arms and fitted it for me, forming breasts from crunched up tissue paper, which she said would seem and feel most natural. I was then asked to put on a pretty pair of lace trimmed panties, and to take off my robe, which I did. I was given a small white camisole top to put on while Aunty went again to the wardrobe to produce the most gorgeous waist petticoat I had ever seen, made from several layers of satin, lace and net. I stepped into it, and pulled it up around my waist; it felt like heaven as I stood there. It was now time for my dress which Aunty carefully put over my head guiding the skirt skillfully over my petticoats and, after final adjustments, zipping me up.

I was led to the mirror and I gasped, I just could not believe what I saw. I looked at my aunt who I could see was so happy for me. I said “Oh, Aunty,” then burst into tears of happiness, and I realise now, of relief. Aunty hugged me till I was calm then took a pink ribbon which she tied in a bow to secure my pony tail, the long tails of the bow mingling with my long, blonde hair. As she worked she said, “You know darling, now you are a girl, I can’t call you Roger any more can I? I would love to call you Wendy, if I may, and you should call me Anne. We can be girls together.” And so Wendy was born. I said this was how I felt, and Anne suggested this could be my special birthday!

I suddenly realized I was hungry, and feeling particularly brave I said “Anne, I’m hungry now, I think I need my breakfast. She replied, “Oh I am sorry dear, I forgot, let’s go get you some,” and led the way down the stairs to the kitchen. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs and was stopped dead in my tracks. I think it was at that moment that I knew for the first time that I was the girl I always wanted to be.

 Anne chuckled at my efforts to sit on the kitchen stool and showed me how to sit down in such a full skirt, first smoothing the back against my legs, then arranging my skirts. She also explained that I should never cross my legs as men do, only my ankles keeping my knees together at all times. I realised then that I had a lot to learn. Anne disappeared into the larder, and then called out “Wendy, would you like orange or grapefruit juice?” My heart missed a beat - I was being called Wendy for the first time! I called back “Grapefruit please, Anne”. My voice sounded higher in tone, very feminine, I was so pleased, so very happy.

The morning passed very quickly, Anne explaining and showing me many things that I needed to know, including how to deal with boys! I learned so much, and we had some fun moments, particularly when Anne told me I would now need to use the Ladies, not the Gents. She told me that unlike the Gents, everyone seemed to talk to everyone else in the Ladies and I should be ready for this. I was inquisitive, so I asked Anne how she knew what men got up to in the Gents, but she just said “Wendy!”

We both laughed and giggled for minutes afterwards. While she talked she manicured my finger and toe nails, finally varnishing them. She showed me how to check my hem-line in the mirror, and explained that this was also the time to check the seams on my stockings.

The talk of stockings made us both realize I had no shoes to wear, and that I was wearing a pair of Anne’s slippers. They were fine for indoors of course, but a pair of bobble slippers were not really suitable for a trip to town. Anne passed me a pair of ankle socks to put on, and went to find me a pair of shoes from my cousins’ wardrobe. I struggled with the socks, not only because my skirt and petticoats got in the way, but also because the socks seemed very tight. Anne then re-appeared, a little concerned, since all the shoes were far too small, I was a size six and a half, and they were only size four. The twins’ clothes had fitted me so well neither of us had thought about the shoes. Anne then remembered a pair of shoes which she had bought herself, but had not worn because they were a little big. She was a size six, so she thought they would fit.

A little while later she returned with the shoes. They were lovely, a black court shoe with a small bow on each toe, and with one inch heels. I tried them on and managed to get my foot into them, but they were just too tight and I had to say so. Anne suggested that I try them without socks and they were perfect! She produced a suspender belt and a new pair of stockings, and after a bit of undressing, a lot of giggling, and a lesson in suspenders, I was wearing seamed stockings and my new black shoes. I felt just wonderful, and the lesson in “walking in heels” only made me more confident.

She produced a black shoulder bag for me, and showed me how to wear it, then gave me a compact, lip-stick to carry in it, a purse, and a lace hanky. She gave me a lesson on applying my lip-stick. She said I should always refresh my lips when in the Ladies and I said, “No wonder we keep the men waiting so long.” Off we went into a fit of the giggles again. I looked at myself in the mirror. I still could not really believe it; I was a beautiful young lady, ready to go to town. I said to Anne, “I think I am ready now”.

She replied, “you most certainly are, Wendy,” and she went to get ready herself.

She returned some thirty minutes later looking really beautiful. Her make-up was perfect, and her hair immaculate which she had pinned up, rather than wearing it around her shoulders as she usually did. She, like me, was wearing a full-skirted dress with petticoats, but hers was light grey, with an over-dress of fine lace and it was both sophisticated and beautiful. She was also wearing nylons - and high heeled shoes. I told her how lovely she looked, but said I thought she might be over-dressed for Sainsbury’s. She laughed, and said “Wendy dear, I was teasing, I couldn’t take you to Sainsbury’s on your birthday, could I? This is your special birthday, and we are going for a meal at our favourite restaurant, and then the theatre. But I did tell you the truth in part, because we are going by bus and are returning home by taxi.

 I had not realised how thrilled I would feel, going through the front door into the outside world. As we walked to the bus stop, hand in hand with our skirts pressing against each other, my feelings of elation were immense, feelings that stayed with me all that lovely day. Everything was special, the bus ride, the restaurant, the theatre, the taxi home, and even my trips to the Ladies gave me so much pleasure.  I had had a wonderful “birthday”.

When we got home I realised how tired I was, but I really did not want my special day to end. However, Anne said, “you must be really tired, Wendy. Why don’t you go up, get ready for bed, and then come down for a little while?” I went up and reluctantly took off my lovely clothes. I reached into the bedclothes for my pajamas, but instead found the most beautiful nightdress ever. Eagerly I put it on, let down my hair, and returned downstairs. Anne had one final surprise for me that night. As we sat together in front of the fire, she asked me about my day, and then said “Wendy, would you like to be a girl for the rest of the summer? I just said “Yes please.” What more could I have said?

Aunty made some other changes. She took me to the twins’ room and opened the door, showing me in as if I had never been there before. We went in and I heard the door close behind us. The room had changed. The wardrobe, one chest and the dressing table was still there, but the room had been re-decorated in a very subtle shade of pink, and a four-poster bed complete with a Nottingham Lace bed cover had now replaced the two single bedsteads. On one pillow lay my nightdress, the one I had worn that special night which now seemed so long ago.

Whenever I had the chance to stay with Aunt Anne I was always her happy and well-behaved girl. They were the happiest days of my life.

Wendy



Dear Susan,

I can’t help my feminine feelings.  As a boy I always felt soft and girlish but I was ashamed to admit it, and never told anyone. How could I tell my mother I wished she would let me grow my hair and wear dresses like the girls at school? So I said nothing, while longing to be like the girls, wearing a blue candy-striped frock with short sleeves, a white Peter Pan collar and cuffs, and a belt that tied behind my back in a bow. I wondered how it would feel to play netball with my skirt swinging and showing my tight-legged gym knickers.  I longed to wear a pair of knickers with elastic round the legs instead of my underpants.  Girls wore little white panties in the summer and regulation navy-blue knickers with their winter uniform of gymslips and white blouses. A blouse is so different from a shirt, with buttons fastening from right to left instead of the boys’ way, and a gathered yoke to shape it so it would fit nicely over the small breasts that girls were developing at my age.  I envied the girls their soft budding breasts.  It must be so good to feel them growing and swelling into a womanly bosom.

I was a nancy-boy who wanted to be a girl. A sissy. I am still a sissy after all these years, and always will be. It is good to know I am not alone as hundreds of letters in your wonderful magazine attest. We are what we are.  The best thing we can hope for is to meet an understanding woman who will love us for what we are, and keep us in subjection to their superior nature and will, making us into obedient, loving servants to their every female whim, and rewarding us appropriately. 

I think it is too late for me, and I hugely envy those of your readers who have found happiness in such a relationship. Two come to mind:

1) Penelope, of course, unashamed to be photographed in her frilly pink dresses and aprons.

2) And Caroline’s “dear little convent girl” in her neat school dress, figure-hugging jumper and blazer, and probably (as you remarked) with a pair of regulation dark maroon knickers under her skirt. What a girlie she is in her straw hat!  How shy she looks, embarrassed to be seen in a dress, but no doubt feeling soft and lovable like the girl she ought to be.  Caroline said she wore a PE uniform for playing netball in the garden but she has never shown us a picture of her like this.  I just longed to play netball with the girls wearing just a bra, blouse and gym knickers like they did, with my blouse tucked tightly into the waistband of my knickers so it clung to my bra and with my maleness held back between my legs so I looked like girl.

Well, Susan, that was a long time ago. I grew up from being a girlie in a gingham frock to being a young lady in a pinafore dress or shirt-waister, or simple blouse and pleated skirt, and then to a mature lady in clothes like
my aunties wore when I was a boy, with petticoats and silky directoire knickers under my skirts.  And that is how I am today - as much of a sissy as ever and glad of it, always in suspenders and stockings, never in tights.

Always in knickers. Often in a bra as well, and a full slip, depending what I have to wear on top. It is good to know that, even though it doesn’t show, I am dressed like a lady underneath. I am a woman at heart, but Nature cheated me. 

With love and thanks for everything you do for sissies like me,

Brenda


 
Dear Miss Susan,

May I respond to the letter from Nancy in this week’s PDQ?
 
The letter struck an immediate chord with me as I read it before going to church, and I was wearing a pantie girdle with my Sunday best kilt outfit. I find a girdle is ideal for a kiltie boy as it makes us walk in a more dignified fashion in our kilts, and keeps our posture straight.
 
Like Nancy I enjoy buying girdles, and I used to use Jenners in Edinburgh, who had a corset department, and I am sure the assistants knew the girdles were for me, as I always wore my kilts whilst purchasing. I found the same thing when I purchased school knickers in Aitken & Nivens, and I am sure that the assistants thought that they would love to see Kiltie in his girdle. Things have changed, and I now use Marks & Spencer.
 
I have always bought white pantie girdles, yes with little bows, and they contrast with my school knickers in bottle green or navy blue. I only wear them on Sundays and special occasions, and now that it is winter I wear a long-legged white pantie girdle, and therefore must bend and sit very carefully and demurely, and that was what I was wearing today for church.
 
Yes, girdles are ideal for Kilties, and we girdle boys should get together for coffee to discuss our needs, since we live so close.
 
My thanks to Nancy,
 
Pansy Clare


Dear Susan,
 
I am delighted that you thought my attempt good enough for your lovely site. I have no problems with you using my work: it's there to be enjoyed after all. 
 
If you liked that one you may enjoy this almost complete effort, it’s the scene where Gerald first joins his class and is re-named Miss Alice.

 
I am so looking forward to hearing from Nancy, I hope there were lots of encouraging letters, and I loved the new pictures from Eustace and Lana - where did they find those lovely dresses?
 Best wishes,

Margaret

I believe that Eustace and Lana are expert collectors of dress patterns – certainly the dresses that they depict are just gorgeous.

FROM EUSTACE – A HERO IS BORN

Here is a new picture from Eustace – an amazing image, reminiscent of the pulp story magazines of the 1930s, and writers such as Henry Rider Haggard, Edgar Rice Burroughs, and Sax Rohmer:



Aunt Julia is making quite sure that dear Chris, whom she dotes on so much, won’t be catching a cold this winter.




I was now ten and had to move to a new school. Mum found just the place for me; it was a prep school that specialised in art, music and drama. She felt that I would be much happier there, for I was good at drawing, and had enjoyed taking part in the little plays put on at my kindergarten. I was also making good progress with my piano lessons. I was useless at most ball sports, being hopeless at catching and much too light for games like football. Sport at the new school was optional, so she felt I would fit in.

The uniform was very similar to my last school, all grey but a slightly different coloured cap. Mum thought that it would be wiser for me not to wear navy blue knickers under my shorts. She would get me several more pairs of white silk knickers and remove the elastic in the legs and increase the depth of the hem so the legs finished just out for sight. This worked quite well but I did miss the warmth and feeling of security the gathered legs gave.
   
I found the school very enjoyable and got on well with the other boys and staff. The toilets were a surprise, I didn’t know that boys stood up to wee against the wall. The reason for the gap in the front of their underpants was explained! I never tried to wee that way myself, always being taught to seek the security of a proper toilet with a door. I fitted in well in spite of my girlish figure, I could sing well, and my music was encouraged.

Because the school specialised in drama, a play was put on every term in their little theatre. The parents were invited to attend the last night. As it was an all boys’ school, the female parts had to be taken by boys. Because of my slight build, fair complexion, and longer than usual hair, I was one of the regular choices for these parts. My continuing friendship with my three girl friends helped me to bring realism to my part, for we spent a lot of my out of school time together, chattering about girlish things and trying on each others dresses, comparing underwear and accessories.

It was such fun being a girl in pretty clothes and nice silky undies, people were so much nicer to me, smiling and saying how lovely I looked, showing me things and telling me about them. As a boy, people expected me to be quiet, keep out of the way, and to be invisible.
   
In my first term, the play required four schoolgirls, of which I was to be one. The drama mistress was very keen on detail: all the costumes had to be correct for the period of the play. I was told that I would have to be correctly dressed, and that she would ask my mother to find the necessary clothes, and as it was to be modern dress, the clothes I would need would be readily available from home. Had I any sisters from whom I could borrow the necessary clothes? I had to say that I was the only one, but I was sure mother would be able find what was necessary from my ‘cousin’.

A meeting was arrange with Mother and me, we were told that I would need a navy blue gym slip and knickers, white school blouse, black stockings and shoes, and could she borrow these things? She gave me a knowing look and said she thought she could - as I had a cousin in the town who was my size. The mistress said that it was the custom on rehearsal days, for the performers in modern dress plays, to come to school dressed in their costumes as far as possible, to save time. So would it be possible for mother to also provide me with a pair of long trousers, to conceal my knicker legs and stockings? My mother was sure that is could be arranged.
     
I couldn’t wait for the dress rehearsals to start. I’d never had stockings befor -, only socks and ankle socks. Mum said I would need a liberty bodice too, which she explained was a sort of long vest, which had suspenders attached, to keep my stockings up. I said I had seen pictures of them in her magazines. So off we went to Mrs. Savage. Mum explained that as I was growing up she thought it was about time I had some support, and also with winter coming I should start wearing long stockings.
   
“You are growing up, dear, it won’t belong before you are into your first brassiere, a real young miss!” beamed Mrs. Savage.
   
“Would you like some pretty lisle stockings for best, as well as the black ones, Jackie?” asked Mother.
   
“Yes please, Mummy, light brown ones, they will look very nice with my brown skirt.” Once back home, I begged Mother to help me try on my liberty bodice and stockings.  
   
“I thought is was about time you had something warmer on your legs, now the day are getting colder, it’s funny that your part in the school play made up my mind. We must also go into town and buy a pair of long trousers for your ‘cousin’ - to-morrow, after school would be best, I will need a little time, as the trousers are bound to be a poor fit just like your shorts, and will require altering in the same way.”
   
Finding a pair of trousers that were long enough in the leg with out being enormously big at the waist was difficult, I seemed to have much longer legs that most boys of my size.
   
It was exciting putting on the bodice for the first time: it was quite a tight fit and held me firmly, from above my chest to over my hips, giving me very nice shape. Mum showed me how to put on the lisle stockings and get my seams straight, how to attach and adjust the suspenders. I loved the silky feel they gave my legs and the way the suspenders pulled as I walked about as I admired my self in the big mirror. I couldn’t wait to finish dressing again, putting my knickers on over the stockings gave me a lovely sensation: they made a nice tickle as they rubbed against my thighs.

I wished that I was into long trousers already, then I could go to school wearing my new stockings and my knickers with elastic in the legs. I tried on my brown skirt, it looked very nice against the stockings, Mother was pleased with my appearance and said how pretty I looked. I was in heaven!
   
The days for the dress rehearsal came at last and I was able to go to school in my white blouse, gym knickers and black stockings held up with the aid of the liberty bodice, my shoes and gym slip in a bag. My waist, which was small, was improved by my liberty bodice just enough for my trousers to stay up without bracers. The rehearsals were great fun, it was lovely to be able to really be myself, with my hair brushed out and my skirts twirling as I walked about.
   
The play went very well, the drama mistress congratulated me on being such a good sport and playing my girl part so convincingly and my mother for finding just the right clothes that fitted so well, ‘just as if they had been made for me’!
   
Mum managed to get a relaxation of the school dress code after my success in my first school play. I was now able to wear long trousers all the time. With the weather getting warmer towards the end of the spring term, I began to find my liberty bodice too thick and warm, so Mother said that I could do without it till the autumn, but that I would need something to keep my stockings up. She suggested that we should go to Mrs. Savage’s to see if she had a suspender belt to fit me. Mrs. Savage managed to find one almost my size, which she was sure Mother could take in until I got a bit bigger. I felt very grown-up wearing my new suspender belt, just like Mum’s.



Dear Miss Susan,

I have just discovered your excellent site.  I am a docile and obedient male, I am glad to say, because it is for that reason that my partner lives with me. I know I am occasionally careless with my housework, or even a little impertinent or disobedient and, though I am of course punished, yet my mistress realises that a little encouragement is also helpful. 

For this reason I am kept in chastity, and my monthly release is dependent upon my good behaviour. Although I am not myself a cissy, my proper attitude is also maintained by my wearing female underwear, and always an apron – this, as you so often point out, does a great deal to cut a male down to size, and indeed is essential for that purpose.

The problem with a chastity device such as I wear is that there is still a protuberance, but I am sure my mistress  will be pleased to cure this by including corset discipline as an additional way of maintaining me in my proper attitude.

Thank you so much, and i shall watch your site with great interest.

E.S.


Dear Susan,

I always look forward to your P.D.Q. issues. The newest issue has a different look to it, and I just love it. You and your staff do a great job.

One thing did catch my eye: the graphics, and one graphic in particular - the pink satin romper in the ‘Nappy Memories’ letter. I absolutely adore it. I've seen it somewhere before and would love to get some rompers like that. .Do you know where you came upon that picture, or if the rompers are available to we big babies?
 
Keep up the outstanding work. I can't wait for the next issue. Love the staff at P.D.Q.
 
Kristie

The picture came with the letter. Can any readers help?


Dear Susan,

About boys sewing, I quote Exodus 36:8:

And every wise-hearted man among them that wrought the work of the tabernacle made ten curtains of fine twined lien, and blue, and purple, and scarlet: with cher'-u-bims of cunning work made he them. The men did the sewing and the needle work; the women spun the cloth.

Where people get the idea that sewing is sissy's work is beyond me. The men of God did all the sewing and fine needle work.
 
There is no reason why boys and men can’t learn to sew and embroidery and tailor. It is nonsense to say that it is effeminate.
Love,
Dennis

I entirely agree. Sewing has long been one of the essential military skills.


Dear Susan,

Having been a reader of your great website for a few years now I though I ought to warn you of my experience of trying to purchase a petticoat through http://www.petticoatdreams.co.uk to which you have a link on your website.

At the beginning of the year in February I ordered a lovely looking French maid’s petticoat via their website, and they said to allow 6 to 8 weeks for delivery, but 10 weeks later I still hadn’t had my order delivered. So I sent them an email asking about my orders whereabouts, to which they replied that the company had changed management and that I would be refunded my money, and that if I still wanted the petticoat that I’d have to re-order.

Well my refund came through two days later and I duly reordered the item. Again after 10 weeks I still hadn’t received my order, so I emailed them again and was told that due to problems with the supplier, to wait another 2 to 3 weeks. Well suffice to say that three weeks went by and I still hadn’t seen my order.

This continued for several months with excuses of supply problems until September, when I asked for a refund. Well I got a reply back apologising for the wasted time etc and a promise of a refund. After a few days when I still hadn’t received my refund I emailed them again, but have never had a reply back since. I’ve emailed them several times from different email addresses and through the feedback box on their website and they have never replied to me since that last email promising me a refund. Nor have I been able to get them through the phone number on their website, which they let just ring and ring, a few times its been engaged so I know that they must use it.

Unfortunately Pay Pal couldn’t resolve the problem because it had gone on longer than their cut off period which I think is only about 5 to 6 weeks and because I paid by debit and not credit card, and so I was out of luck there too.

Basically these people have ripped me off to the tune of £66.35, which I know now that I’ll never get back. Whether any of your readers have had any better luck than me I’m not sure, but I’d advise any prospective purchasers to steer well clear of them. I have now made an order with this American site instead: http://www.laceys.ca/ ; I’ll let you know how it goes with them.

Anyway sorry if that’s all been a bit gloom and doom, I do love your site by the way, and I will have to contribute something to it myself when I get the time - maybe I could send you a photo of me in my new petticoat when it turns up, hopefully.
 Regards,
 
Charles K.

Thank you for the warning Charles. In spite of what some readers think, my links are NOT advertising, and I receive no money from any of them. They are simply a guide to reputable suppliers, plus a few more sites of general interest. Hence, if any readers have any problems with any of these suppliers, I am quite happy to publish your letters, because there is no business arrangement at all between me and the supplier.

In this case, readers should obviously be wary of dealing with Petticoat Dreams.

Charles, a letter about your experiences is preferred to a photo. PDQ is primarily a correspondence magazine