Dear Susan,
 
After about a year's reading of PDQ, I finally decided to write to you and say thank you.  Thank you for a publication which is tasteful, never nasty, and largely gentle by nature.  It is an absolute pleasure to open your pages each month and read the experiences of your readers and contributors.  What finally got me setting words to the thoughts, was the letter by Danielle about his life.   It moved me deeply that he could speak so openly and that his attitude, despite setbacks, is so great.
 
My personal life does not fall wholly into the category of PDQ but obviously as I read your site, there are similarities.  My wife and I have a good relationship, each pursuing our individual courses in life.  We dabble in my being her sissy at times and it is a gentle form of escape for us both with tenderness, trust and love being the core.  It is never done in such a way as to embarrass others or ourselves and belongs in the privacy of our home.
 
My deepest sympathies to those men who do not have the opportunity to be with a loving and dominant wife or partner; it seems to be such a repressed desire all round and has such a softening effect on us men.  This is beneficial even if it is not a full-time lifestyle, a touch of femininity brings out our gentleness, and lays that male aggression and competitiveness aside for a while.
 
If it is at all possible, please forward my e-mail address along with this letter to Danielle.  I would like him to have the option to communicate with me if it were his wish. 
 
Strength to you and your staff, you do SUCH important work.  It is a beautiful form of education well-presented and much needed.
 My thanks again,
 
Jay

It sounds like you and your wife have a wonderful rapport. You should not overwhelm your partner with your desires for a petticoated relationship – it needs to be gentle and often only on special occasions. Readers note: your wife has her own desires, and love has to be a two-way thing.


Dear Susan:

I thoroughly enjoyed the letter from Julie posted in your June 3 edition regarding the techniques used to keep her petticoated husband in his place. I do have a few thoughts on her ideas.

Without a doubt forced chastity is essential in feminising most males. Their inability to function as a male without the consent of the partner serves to make them docile, feminine, and obedient. My little sissy stays in his CB2000 24 hours a day, and gets only occasional release when it is well-earned. Imagine how the poor dear must feel when around others (especially real males) knowing how truly impotent he is.

I was a little surprised to read Julie’s comments on the ineffectiveness of spanking. Perhaps the problem was that her spanking of her hubbie was treated as play as opposed to discipline. It seems that the application of the back of a hairbrush is very effective when applied vigorously. Of course, corner time following the spanking is an important part of the process.

Finally, I will add that I believe taking a petticoated male out in public is an important step that shouldn’t be forgotten. I realize it is often not practical to have a petticoated husband appear en femme at the mall or the supermarket, particularly if they cannot pass easily as a real woman. However, I have found that a trip to the local alternative lifestyle bar on a regular basis is very useful. Seeing my little petticoated sissy chatting with Sapphic women as well as feminine males and females while on his best feminine behavior does wonders for his attitude.

Kathleen


Dear Susan,

I wrote to you recently regarding the very successful petticoating of my friend Vanessa’s errant son-in-law, Steve, and promised to update you following my next visit.

As I explained, Vanessa had invited me along to her daughter Christine’s house, and when my ringing of the doorbell was answered I was greeted with a sight to gladden the heart of anyone who believes, as we do, in the value of petticoat discipline.

There, looking very sheepish indeed, stood a very smartly-uniformed house maid, except, of course that it was a male house maid. Steve was wearing a neat knee-length black skirt, a crisp white cotton blouse, nicely frilled down the front and at the collar and cuffs, with a neat little white waitress apron secured with a big bow at his waist. His outfit was completed by black stockings, and very functional black court shoes.

He was wearing discreet but clearly noticeable eye make-up and lipstick, and his hair was held in place by a pretty white frilly Alice band. As I looked him up and down slowly, with him looking absolutely traumatised, I caught sight of Vanessa watching from the lounge with a smile playing on her lips.

“My, what a smart house maid you make, Steve” I teased, “I bet Christine must be really proud of you. Vanessa must have trained you well, I’m sure she’ll tell me all about it.”

He looked as if he was about to burst into tears when Vanessa interrupted my teasing, “There, Stevie, I told you that answering the door to callers wouldn’t be a problem, you’ll be fine when Chris’s friends come tonight.”

With that, as a look of desperation crossed his face, she despatched him to the kitchen, having had him first ask whether I wanted tea or coffee and execute a nice little curtsey, on which I complimented him sweetly. I’m afraid I couldn’t resist the temptation to give a pat to his pert little skirted bottom as he departed, much to Vanessa’s amusement.

Vanessa was clearly bursting to tell me all about ‘Stevie’s’ progress. On the day of his inaugural petticoating, described in my previous letter, Vanessa’s daughter had arrived home and, after recovering from her initial amazement, had been delighted with the new housemaid presented to her by her mother, and had really proved to be her mother’s daughter in the firm way she had dismissed her husband’s pleas for clemency.

They had made their plans for the ‘new girl’ there and then that evening. Christine had decided that, unlike my own regime with dear Penelope, there would be no pretence at femininity. Steve would not wear a wig but at all times when ‘on duty’ would appear as a thoroughly petticoated man, completely turned out as a be-frilled housemaid. He would also not have a female name, the diminutive ‘Stevie’ being felt to be very humiliating for the male Steve.

It was decided that the following weekend they would visit charity shops in a nearby town, where it was unlikely anyone would know them, and kit Stevie out with suitable clothes for his new role. Vanessa gave a hilarious account of how Stevie, to the amused bewilderment of the shop ladies, was compelled to try on various outfits until several items, including the outfit he was wearing today, were purchased. He was then taken to Marks & Spencer where he had to purchase for himself, to his intense embarrassment, bras, knickers and slips, which Vanessa laughingly told me were the prettiest and most feminine they could find.

Over the next few weeks his training had continued and, as had been hoped, his attempts to secure jobs for his business had strangely increased to great levels to avoid ‘house maid days’ when he wasn’t working. He was now a very competent house maid, Vanessa assured me, and also making a far more significant contribution to the family budget, which she said with a smile means they’ve got more money to spend as you’ll see in a minute.

He certainly had no time now to pursue his suspected womanising activities. To this end, she went on to explain that Christine and her had identified a small group of ladies known to them with whom, they felt, Steve had shown rather too much interest in the past. Now, Vanessa said with a satisfied smirk, that would all change as they had been invited round for a cards evening that night, and Steve was to serve them “in all his glory” as Vanessa put it. That was why he was looking so panic-stricken, she explained, there was little chance of him “trying to get his way with any of them after what we’ve got planned for him tonight – though they might want to employ him.” she giggled. He had, of course, begged and pleaded to avoid this ultimate humiliation but, as Vanessa said, there was no chance of letting him off the hook now.

With that Stevie reappeared with the coffee tray and did a very competent job of serving us. When finished he was complimented on his work, and then Vanessa asked him to please fetch the outfit I had loaned him previously. He curtsied smartly and left the room soon returning with Penelope’s famous frilly pink outfit, beautifully pressed, ready for me to take back. Whilst he was out Vanessa smilingly told me how he hated wearing the heavily frilled outfit, and how they loved to tease him as the taffeta petticoats and pinafore rustled sweetly as he worked.

Vanessa looked quizzically at him “Well,” she started, “You know what you’ve got to ask Lesley now that you’re earning all this money, you want to buy yourself a nice present don’t you?” He looked pleadingly at her and started to protest but was soon silenced. Biting his lip, he curtsied forlornly to me and spoke quietly, “My mistress likes the way I look in the uniform you kindly loaned me and wonders whether your friend who made it would make a similar one for me, please. My mistress says that I would pay very well as I’m only allowed to use my pocket money for clothes now.”

I giggled he looked quite crestfallen. “Ros doesn’t do much dressmaking now,” I replied as his look brightened, “but in this case I’m sure she would be happy to make an exception – after all it’s such fun doing this sort of thing. I’ll call Vanessa and make arrangements for Ros and I to come to take your measurements and for your mistress to choose which pretty colour she’d like her maid in.”

“Excellent,” said Vanessa with a smile, “as soon as possible please.” Steve looked completely mortified, the thought of this new torment for the moment even causing him to forget what lay in store for him on his ‘debut’ that evening.

I’ll keep you informed of further developments.
Best regards to all,

Lesley.


Dear Nanny,
 
For years I've dreamt of being properly petticoated, in the way that boys are helped in the 'Petticoat Art' of Christeen, but it has never become reality.
 
As a boy, I just wished and hoped for the chance to be dressed in the prettiest of clothes, with make-up to match and to play with other girls. My parents soon decided that I was wayward in my desires, so put a stop to any dressing-up sessions with my girlfriends from the age of five years old on, so since then I've lived a clandestine life.
 
Even though I'm over 50y now, I still crave being seen and appreciated in frilly pants, pretty petticoats, flouncy dresses and shiny Mary Jane shoes. I long to be amongst others who enjoy the same things as me. Is there any way I can actualise my deepest wishes before I'm too old and decrepit to enjoy what should have been feelings from the best years of my life?
 
Are there any real women out there who could train me in the ways I should be following? I live in Bexhill, East Sussex and am desperate to meet people who can help me blossom. Apart from harming others or myself I will do almost anything to please anyone that can assist me in accomplishing what are amongst my deepest joys.
With deepest regards,

Miche
Xxx

A woman has to like you as a man before any further relationship is possible. I have stressed that again and again. There are support groups if you wish to be amongst others with similar tastes.
 

Dear Susan,

I hope you are keeping well.  It is wonderful that you keep PDQ going. How worried we were when we though it might come to an end (apart from the wonderful extensive archive) and then how delighted when the magazine continued after all.  Thank you once again for featuring my and Stephanie-Jane's recent birthdays.

I must apologise for not having been in touch for some time.  My job keeps me very busy, so I am thankful to have my husband and sissy maid, Stephanie-Jane, at home full-time to serve me and my three daughters (and also some of their female friends).  He has been a godsend recently when all three of my daughters have been involved in university and school exams.  He is of course kept in feminine attire virtually the whole time, a great privilege for him, and very rarely allowed not to be actually wearing at least one petticoat.  Trousers are not permitted!
 
But let me get to the main point of my letter.  Apart from petticoats I wanted to thank Patrick (PDQ 6 May) for his contributions on woolly clothing.  I believe wool cardigans to be an important part of petticoating and my favourites on Stephanie-Jane are both angora, one in pink and the other in baby blue.  He looks a treat! 

But as well I was delighted to see maribou fur put forward (in PDQ on 20 May) as appropriate for our males.  I have a pink nightie and negligee set with maribou fur which are my favourite bedtime (and sometimes early evening) attire for Stephanie-Jane.  The nightie is similar to that featured on 20 May and to the one in Christeen's latest picture of Chris (10 June).  However, I cannot find anywhere the maribou bolero nor the ankle socks also featured on 20 May. I would just love to purchase these items for dressing Stephanie-Jane. Can any reader please help me with information of where I might be able to purchase them?

Do keep up the work of PDQ and keep spreading the 'philosophy' of petticoat discipline to make our world a better and more loving place.
Lots of love,

Jennifer


Dear Susan,

As I write this, I am wearing my recent purchases that I went through a bit of trouble to get. I ordered a beautiful wig from L. D. Fashions, at http://www.ldfashions.com/wigs.htm. I bought the little girl wig as I loved the brunette curls.

I also ordered a dummy and clip from Pacifiers R Us at http://www.pacifiersrus.com/index_002.htm, which has a pretty pink button on it with flowers. I had a lot of fun sucking on this while I waited for my other purchases to come in from Miss Sutherland at http://cutestoneofall.com/play%20clothes%20page.html, though I do not think that the romper is listed anymore. I'll send in a picture sometime when I can find the digital camera.

I also bought the bonnet and pink satin mittens from her, and they are just darling. I unfortunately was not able to afford a pair of booties, though I hope to get them in the future someday

When the romper, bonnet and mittens came, I was scared to death as it arrived on a Saturday and my father had gotten the mail. Luckily, I was outside with him and took it from him back to my room, sequestered the goods into the bag under my bed and brought out a T-shirt that I got at a convention. As the package was relatively small, it worked out but I had to wait until two days after Father's Day to try my baby clothes on for the first time.

I took everything out of the bag dressed myself, minus the wig which was in another place. I got down on all fours, cooing pleasantly to myself and did little other than crawl around the floor and suck on my dummy. I watched a bit of TV, mainly PBS with Barney and Dora the Explorer, and had some apple sauce and bananas that I had cut into small pieces previously.

Today, I decided to do some research on other items that I could use, and found a few sites that create big baby furniture.  http://www.babyapparels.com/ has some beautiful furniture that I hope to be able to afford, and to one day have some place to put it. I can only dream for now, but I do it dressed in my lovely romper as the lovely baby girl I've always known was begging to be let out. I'll let you know when I have a picture ready.
Baby cuddles,

Sissy Stephanie


Hi Susan,

How are things? I thought I would drop you a line or two about my younger days as a toddler in the early 1960's in Australia.
 
When I was very young I wore dressmaker’s-styled shorts suits, which I actually loved wearing and even a cousin of the fairer sex thought I looked smart in them, and we always stuck together like glue. I used to say to her that her summery frocks looked better than my little suits. No, I did not want to wear her nice frocks but she did look quite beautiful to me even though I was only a three or four year old boy.

I was even used as a dress-pin dummy on quite a few occasions but I usually wore the frocks over my romper suits or shorts sets and it bugged me quite a number of times, but after the dresses were pinned I got out of the clothes and got a big glass of milk and a slice of black forest cake, and you bet I was one happy little chappie.
 
I was also a junior honour boy at an older friend's mother's second marriage to a well-to-do younger man.
I wore a girls’ white silk blouse with longish white shorts made out of satin, with four buttons on the side. I also had a blue and white polka dot bow tie, white Mary-Jane leather shoes with white hosiery pinned under my shorts and a junior sailor hat on my head with blue and white streamers made of silk.
 
The girls wore junior bridesmaids wedding dresses with blue and white beads around their necks, and blue eye-shadow and beautifully done girlish hairstyles.

My hair was a college cut which I actually liked, and I never acted up because Aunty would box my ears or she said she would put me and the other two Honour boys in to the same clothes as the beautiful bridesmaids.
 
1967 was a strange year for me as I was a wee honour boy in a kilt at a big Scottish wedding and I got to wear my very first lederhosen at 'Children of the World Day', and we had a little lottery to see what child would be the child from a particular country. It was a funny thing getting chosen to be a foreign boy or girl, and I originally got chosen to be a Greek boy, but I did not fancy wearing that national dress costume, and thankfully I was rescued by a Greek boy named Costa, and I became an Austrian boy instead.
 
I have worn a kilt about six times in my boyhood and I only disliked it once. The other five times I was very happy in my kilt and I wore one at ages 6, 10, 12 and 14y and I know I never wore frilly knickers under the kilts but I did wear a pair of Prince of Wales check shorts which I hated.
 
In Grade Three I repeated the year because I got my left leg severely broken by a sixteen year boy flying in to me at break-neck speed on a push-bike and I spend three months in hospital wearing diapers and plastic pants, and pin-striped pyjamas too, which did really bug me. I had to wear a nightdress overnights for the first months, and my mum really felt sorry for me. A motherly hug usually fixed me up but my Nana and a posh aunty used to pinch my dimples and give me too many sloppy kisses, which I found daunting.
 
I had to play a lady in a school play called 'The Boy Cried Wolf' and I stood there like a shop dummy in a window display, but I had my school uniform on underneath the very elaborate 1900's dress. I also did ballet to strengthen my legs, and I was quite good at it.

I finally got out of Year 7 and primary school after turning 14 years with four weeks of the school year left. I started to develop a ‘shorts phobia’, and would wear jeans etc even in summer. But I had to wear shorts at the start of Year 8 because Mum liked me in shorts as I was tall, and had long legs. My two sisters even said I had a "cute bottom,” which made my face turn crimson.

Mum eventually had had enough of my complaints about shorts, and had me sent of to a summer camp for 12 year old Anglican boys who were lazy-minded at school, but the silly thing about it was that I was a Catholic and moreover they were posh boys, and I was dirt poor and newly 14y but still a treble soprano in the school choir.

Mum had had enough and had me sent of to a summer camp for 12 year old Anglican boys who were lazy-minded at school, but the silly thing about it was that I was a Catholic and moreover they were posh boys, and I was dirt poor and newly 14y but still a treble soprano in the school choir.
 
I had very long hair and got plenty of teasing because in the 1960s the style for children was short back and sides. The uniform included a very British blazer and grey short trousers. Well I hit the roof, but I was forced to wear shorts all that summer and they also shaved my leg hair to make me look more like a 12 year old.
 
It was suggested that I learn ballet, but I didn’t want to. I refused to sign the ballet form so they dressed me in white knickers, white girls’ socks and a white petticoat, and then a lemon frock with puffed sleeves and added a pair of red dancing slippers.
 
I stood in this girls’ gear for nearly two hours and then the office phone rang and Aunty was angry that I had refused to sign the ballet school forms.
Eventually I signed the forms and was led away to change into black tights, black satin shorts, a ballet white blouse top and my white slippers. I got a clip on the ear and warned that I would be petticoated if I acted up, which I never did.
 
I did rowing, Scottish dancing and Irish dancing too, as well as singing in their excellent choir where I excelled, and after prep camp I was offered a two year scholarship at a private grammar school in music or dance, but I never took up their kind offer.
 
I came away a much quieter boy who could read well and shone like a brand new penny, and I grew to like my uniform, and the petticoating turned me around although I respected woman anyway because my mum bought me up after Dad left us when I was 13y. Most of all I missed my late Nana because I used to sing for her, and it was she who signed me up in the school and church choir, but I left ballet at age 14y because of a fight with another boy. I was refined, but I am grateful for my upbringing.

Patrick


Dear Susan,

I loved The Romance of Rail Travel & the Twentieth Century Limited. When I was a boy of 10 or 11 years old my Uncle Benjamin worked as an engineer for the New York Central Railroad - he worked there for some thirty years. He gave my brother and me a ride in an engine. Then, when I joined the US Navy in 1964, the navy sent me to boot camp by train in a Pullman car.

When they let the railroads die in this country they hurt America in more ways than one could name. Yes, air travel is great, yet for enjoyment train travel is better by far. For the comfort and scenery, not forgetting the fine dining, rail travel is unsurpassed. True, air travel is faster, but the train is more relaxing.

That is our trouble today - we have got to be there by yesterday. The world has become too fast. Thank you 'James J. Hill' for your great article.
 Love,

Dennis


Dear Susan,

No British Birds of the 1960s this week, but I think your readers will enjoy this poster for the Tom and Jerry cartoon ‘Baby Puss’.
Love,

Joey



Compliments Susan,

My name is Mr. Michael Diop from Dakar, Senegal. I am the personal account officer to the late Mr. John Schelpert who is a citizen of USA but living here in Dakar with his family before his sudden death.
 
This mail is written to solicit your assistance to be presented as next of kin to my late client Mr. John Schelpert of Chestertown, U.S.A. He made a fixed deposit valued at $13.7 million (thirteen million seven hundred thousand United States American dollars only) with a finance institution here in Dakar.

Unfortunately he lost his life aboard Egypt Air Flight 990, which crashed into the Atlantic Ocean on October 31, 1999. To see the details of this plane crash, please click on the link (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/502503.stm). He left no clear beneficiary as next of kin but all documents relating to the claim of this fund will be processed in your name as soon as we agreed together.
 
The governing body of the bank here in Dakar has contacted me on this matter and I am yet to provide the next of kin to lay a claim to the fund. Under a clear and legitimate agreement with you, I shall seek your consent to be presented as the next of kin without any risk involved so that my late client's fund will not be confiscated by the government. For the sake of transparency on this matter, you are free to make immediate contact with me through my email address or, on the alternative, via my direct telephone number: 00 221 4611209 for further information related to this matter.
 
Thank you very much for your anticipated acceptance while I expect your prompt response.
 Yours faithfully,

Mr. Michael Diop
Tel: 00 221 4611209

He had $13.7 million and he didn’t leave a will? And if he was living here with his family how come I’m the next of kin? Might not his wife be a better choice for that role?

I’m sorry Mr Diop, but your expectation of a prompt response is sorely misplaced.


Dearest Susan,
 
The September, 2006 edition of PDQ featured an illustration of Adrian in his petticoated weekend role as Adrianna. It was then we learned that his young bride, Janet, and how she kept him in a combination of the most feminine of undergarments and a practical plain house dress and apron in which to do the weekly laundry, house-cleaning, and tidying.
 
PDQ readers will no doubt be pleased to learn Adrian is now learning new skills as Janet attempts to elevate her housemaid's servile responsibilities to those of a maid-of-all-work. As the accompanying illustration demonstrates, all is not going smoothly for her petticoated hubby. He is learning the hard way that a perfectly prepared roast requires an attentive cook!
 
Adrian is obviously distressed. He knows Janet will soon arrive from a busy afternoon of shopping expecting an elegantly-set table and a delicious hot meal. His expensive blunder will not go unnoticed, and with no alternative meal at hand, the maid-in-training will have no recourse other than a sincere, abject apology. He is sickened by the realization that even his best regrets will do little to ease Janet's early evening hunger pangs.
 
Faced with the problem at hand, the ever-resourceful Janet will know precisely what to do to prevent a recurrence. A humbled Adrian will, no doubt, realize that further discipline is in order. In his usual obsequious manner, he will comply with her wishes. He is governed by his adoration of a beautiful and superior woman. So, unmistakably, he will remain servile and she will be well served.
 Love,

Lana

Dear Susan:
 
Well, after much consideration and soul searching, I have decided to take the plunge and write you and your readers about my experiences with this whole petticoat discipline and cross-dressing experience. I hope it isn’t too lengthy.
 
To begin with, I came rather late to cross-dressing, having never even considered such things until my early thirties. This is not to say I was vanilla in my leanings, merely that I didn’t seem to lean into that particular direction. My mindset was into over-the-knee nursery spankings and discipline, and reached back into as early in my life as the age of six.
 
I was raised in a family where my father ran a large company and my mother was what one might call a budding social alcoholic. In a perverse way, this resulted, I suppose, in a matriarchal family structure, although to those on the outside, my father was in total control of the family. I was almost never physically punished for my misbehaviour, but through my maturation years, I was made to feel ashamed of what I had done wrong (real or imagined), and most such punishments never went away; and some still linger… This resulted into my becoming interested in spanking, and as I believed, the punishment of, and then subsequent forgiveness forever, of whatever I had done wrong. Being male, I of course always expected myself to be the spanker, but even early on, my fantasies put me over the lap, instead of the other way around. I mentioned the previous because of its ultimate effect in my adult life.

By my teenage years my mother was a full blown alcoholic, and the emotional punishments I received had increased. Her drinking was in large part stated to be my fault, and if any of my brothers or sister messed up too much, somehow that was my fault, too. This led to my being a very late bloomer into two-person sexual relations or even dating, and my searching for someway out of the guilt nearly killed me.
 
Through my twenties and up until my first marriage, I did my best to be ‘normal’, but deep in my heart I always believed what I had been told were my shortcomings, and I knew for absolute certain of course that my sexual leanings were just plain wrong. And then I met my first wife, who seemed to share my over-the-knee proclivities. This was true all the way up to our first child being conceived, and then things changed. Sex almost disappeared entirely during the pregnancy, and much to my unhappiness, never really seemed to return thereafter. Because it was the early ‘eighties, and that she earned significantly more money than I could, I became the stay-at-home dad, and basically therefore also took on all the traditional female roles of homemaking and child rearing.

This eventually took the ultimate right turn when after buying her all the lingerie she desired during one attempt to re-spark our love life, she then refused to wear any of it and I, for reasons still unknown to me, soon did. Maybe I had always been so inclined, maybe not, but at the time I was willing to do anything to try to fix our marriage, and of course that definitely was not the right choice. She grew even more estranged, and as for me, I became even more interested in such attire (and guiltier). Somebody’s Secret had just opened up around then, and some of the stories I made up and told the phone order people to make purchases must have really given some of them a good laugh. Out of shame I would divorce myself from all such activities and thoughts in hopes of improving our home life, but after a few months of nothing improving, I would always return to my old ways out of desperation.
 
Eventually the marriage broke up after another child and my brother’s suicide, and after floundering for a few years I hit upon a wonderful woman in Texas. She was a lesbian and a submissive, but despite all that she eventually agreed to dominate me, and at least accepted my cross-dressing needs. I later learned that she was convinced I had to be a closet homosexual because of the cross-dressing but, at the time, she seemed to meet my needs very well, and I her need for, I guess, some sort of father figure in pink panties. She did give me my first spanking in probably thirty years, and I was cross-dressed at the time, and for both reasons, I have always been grateful to her.
 
About two years later, I returned to my wife in an attempt at a reconciliation, but about a year after that we finally knew for sure things were over (mostly according to her because of my odd tastes), and we divorced. I couldn’t go back to Texas, I had blown that one by leaving, and so once more out on my own, I foundered until one day I came across a personal ad from California for a literate and erudite pen-pal, and life would never be the same after that. 
 
‘Maggie’ and I corresponded for about two weeks and then we began marathon phone conversations. We talked about anything and everything, hinted around about our sexual proclivities, and then after one particularly long phone call which ended up in the wee hours, I found myself leaving my job and flying out to the opposite coast to meet her. Now please understand here, I fully expected to end up dead before the visit was over, (there are some strange people out there, and Californians were certainly amongst the strangest…), but at that point in my life I was so miserable I just didn’t really care any more. If I got just one day of actual enjoyment out of the trip, then that would have made me happy.
 
It turned out - and please understand none of this was even hinted at in our correspondence or conversations -  that Maggie had professional experience with submissive males and not only accepted, but fully understood, my needs. That very night she had me over her lap in a borrowed and particularly frilly and fancy nightgown, and things only improved from there. I moved out to California about a month later, and the oh-so-desired forced feminisation began in earnest.

If I chose to dispute the need, then the appropriate incentives would be used on my upturned posterior, and then the feminisation would by her requirements, continue. Within a year I had been outfitted for two corsets and had quite a few outfits, and by the end of two years I even had become comfortable around some of her friends so attired. I had even by that time learned that no, Californians don’t eat their young, and that in fact, I had landed in one of the most accepting of places I could have for my needs and desires. Eventually, after about four years, we got married in Reno, and the only downer in the whole show was that we both would have preferred me to be in a wedding dress at the time. However, that night she did formally introduce me to the rest of my feminisation in the wedding bed.
 
In general, I lived my life in the outside world as a man (even if I was wearing various unmanly things underneath my outer clothing), and at home, I was my wife’s, well- disciplined wife. Unfortunately, things have a way of changing, as for us as well, and, after several more years of our life-style, she became disabled. Out of necessity we have had to put more and more of our life-style aside, but even now, I am happier than I have ever been in my life, thanks to my loving wife Maggie.

We occasionally do go on the hunt for someone to help her in my training, but as yet we have been unsuccessful. Hope springs eternal however and someday, we might just luck into the right woman. I still, per her requirements (and my wishes), conduct my life in feminine undergarments, and we both still hope she can someday once more take back full control of our, and more particularly my, life and so it goes. But you know what? I had nearly six full years of my dreams, my needs, and my fantasies fulfilled, and frankly that is a lot more than most people get. I am content.
 Very truly yours,
 
Danielle


Dearest Miss Susan,

I have been an avid reader of your wonderful site for some time now, and wondered whether you and your readers would be interested in my own story.

My mother was, as far back as I can remember, a strong advocate of petticoat discipline.  In fact, relatives now tell me that she really wanted a daughter when she had me, and when she did have a daughter two years after I was born, she still wished I had been a girl.

The photos I have of when I was very young confirm that she kept Sophie and me dressed exactly the same most of the time.  That meant that she had me in nappies and baby dresses until a year or so before I went to school.  In fact, I think she made sure I stayed in nappies, even during the day, for about six months after Sophie no longer needed them.  It was several years before she stopped putting me into them at night.

My first recollections of being dressed like Sophie come from when she would have been two or three, so I was four or five.  Mum dressed us identically in pretty dresses, frilly panties and lacy tights.  I recall I had a nappy on, but I don’t remember whether or not Sophie did.  Mum also let my hair grow long, and cut it in quite a girlish style.  Often she brushed it into bunches or a pony tail, sometime plaited.

The occasion was the birthday party of a pair of twins we were friendly with.  I think they were four.  There must have been about twenty children there, playing all the party games children usually play, and stuffing ourselves with jelly and ice cream.  What I remember most though, is that although I was older than many of the children there, I seemed to be dressed more like the younger ones.  It was the first time I really became conscious of what being dressed like Sophie all the time really meant.  I don’t recall being concerned about being in a dress.

I think I really started to wonder about the way mum dressed me when I started going to school.  Of course I wore shorts like the other boys, but when I came home it was straight back into a skirt or dress.  Most of my underwear was frilly, and it was only on PE days that I wore boys’ underpants.

One thing I am sure about is that being put into girls’ clothes in the evening stopped me going out and getting into trouble with other boys in our neighbourhood.  When I did go out to play it was with Sophie and her friends, and they seemed to accept me as one of them, and let me join in their games.

When she was six or seven, Sophie decided, like most little girls, that she wanted to take up ballet.  Of course mum enrolled us both, as girls, and for four years I had to put on my leotard or tutu for the Monday evening lessons.

When we went out, Sophie and I wore matching outfits, although over time I came to notice that Mum always made me wear something which made me look the younger.  Sometimes my skirt would be a couple of inches shorter, sometimes I’d be wearing little frilled ankle socks as well as matching tights, or sometimes I’d have bows in my hair.

By the time I went to secondary school I knew full well that it was unusual to be dressed as a girl in the evenings, weekend and school holidays, but by then I was quite used to it.  I don’t say I didn’t mind – I often wondered what it would be like to go out and play football or climb trees with other boys – but I’d come to accept it in the loving way it was meant.

The big downside at the time was that if Mum did feel the need to impose additional discipline or punishment, then the option of simply dressing me as a girl was ineffective.  So in these cases I would find myself either back in nappies and baby knickers, or sometimes in school uniform.  Having never had to wear a girl’s school uniform, and with the hatred all children have of wearing uniform when not in school, this was particularly effective.

When I finished school I stayed living with my mum, helping around the house.  Not needing to go out other than to do the shopping or such-like my wardrobe became almost exclusively female.  I found myself doing all the vacuuming, cooking, washing and ironing, even for Sophie.  By then I was quite used to my attire, even the frilly aprons.

Things changed a bit when Sophie left school and went through university.  She got herself an excellent job in the City and found herself with a big house.  There was plenty of room in it, and she invited Mum to come and live with her.  And with such a big house, she needed a housekeeper to look after it and tend the gardens.  Who do you think she would ask to do that?

If you and your readers are interested I’ll write back with the answer.

Emma


Dear Susan:

I am sure that many of your readers are somewhat skeptical that petticoating actually does take place, at least in recent years. Take my word for it, it does.

My mother and I were visiting her cousin Emma who had a young daughter Patty who was about eleven years old…two years older than me. It all started when were at the table having lunch. I had been warned repeatedly to stop fidgeting and settle down. Of course I ignored my elders and as a consequence spilled a whole pitcher of iced tea all over myself. Needless to say the response was quick.

I was summarily marched to the bathroom by my mom, accompanied by her cousin, where I was stripped out of my clothes and ordered into the tub. Once cleaned and dried I was hauled from the tub and then received an over-the-knee spanking.  This was quickly followed by being placed in a corner and ordered to stay there with my face to the wall.

In about a half hour my mother came back to the room and ordered me to turn around. In her hands she held all manner of girls’ clothes.  She said, “Your clothes will take some time to dry and we can’t have you running around the house naked. Put these on. Maybe you’ll learn a lesson in better behaviour”. I didn’t know what to do. Running naked out of the room was out of the question…I know my mom’s cousin and her daughter were nearby. Refusing wasn’t an option judging by the look in my mom’s eyes. I could feel tears in my eyes.

“Stop your snivelling” she said. “You got yourself into this pickle and now you will learn a lesson you will never forget. Hold up your arms”. The pink flowery sun dress was lowered over my head. “Here are your girlie panties. Put them on”. My brief hesitancy resulted in a smack on my still bare bottom. “NOW, unless you want me to drag you out to the living room and paddle you again in front of Emma and Patty”.

That threat was enough to get me to comply, and I was soon pulling the little cotton panties up to my waist. “Now, put on these knee-socks and step into these cute Mary Janes”. By this point I just did what I was told. “Very nice, now let’s go back to lunch”. With that she grabbed my arm and brought me back to the dining room.

Sissy Michelle


Dear Susan,

Since I have never written to your e-zine before, I am not sure of how to address and answer to a question another writer posed.  Prince(ss) requested information on appropriate Mary Jane shoes for her masked ball appearance.  For size 45 feet, the most comfortable and youthful shoe I have found is made by Capezio. The C3800A is a tap shoe, but can be modified to make a cute shoe that is rounded enough to make it look small.  It comes in several colors and with detachable bows and in a size 12US.  When I went out on Halloween in my Alice in Wonderland costume, many people asked me where I got the cute shoes.

Although CapezioDanceEU.com does not show this product, it can be found at many outlets here on the other side of the pond.  I have included pictures for you to use as you see fit.

My Alice dress took me a month to make; and wearing it to parties, church, and dancing was one of the highlights of my life.  At the dance club, I even won first place prize for Halloween costume.  I wish Prince(ss) the time of her life too.

Ruffles


Dear Susan,

There is an adult men’s and women’s shoe size conversion table on the international shoe size conversion charts web page (http://www.i18nguy.com/l10n/shoes.html) that can help one find shoes in one's own size internationally.

With that in mind, Zappos has a wide variety of large size shoes, and have seven web pages of Mary Janes for women's size 11.5 US (size 45 EU - http://tinyurl.com/3328ku).  Most are athletic or dress shoes, but "A Prince(ss)" would probably find that the flat SoftWalk Jupiter in a dark navy (http://tinyurl.com/53vm9) has an acceptably plain, child-like look to the shoe.  Plus, it's designed for orthopaedic comfort.

Nordstrom carries the Jupiter in 11.5m in black, dark navy, and camel (http://tinyurl.com/2n2xpe)

Shopping.com lists several other on-line stores where the Jupiter may be bought (http://tinyurl.com/2u8amq)

Aravon makes Mary Janes [the Dane (http://tinyurl.com/2kg7d8)] in larger sizes, but these only come whole US sizes after size 10 -- no half size of 11.5 US would be available.

I hope this helps.
Warm regards,

Summer

Dear Susan,
 
In reply to A Prince(ss) (June 07 issue) I recommend a visit to the Academy web site http://www.tawse.com as they have black Mary Janes in appropriately large sizes. I have a pair of these and can recommend them.  The delivery time was rather long, but worth waiting for.
 
Search for ‘Mary’ and then at the results page search again for ‘Mary’.  I don’t know why it takes two tries to find the shoes but there we are.
 
Thank you, Miss MacDonald, for continuing to produce a fine site that I and my wife (Miss) enjoy hugely.  Miss has obtained many ideas for keeping me in my place and has enjoyed trying them out.
 Respectfully yours,

Pansy

Good evening,

My suggestion for the young man looking for Mary Janes is to look at this website:
 
http://www.shoesforcrews.com
 
I hope he finds what he's looking for.
 Sincerely yours,

Mrs Lorri P.


Dear Susan,

~Did you know that June 24th is Fairy Day?~ Details can be found at http://www.fairyday.com

Your readers should check out Cicely Mary Barker's flower fairies!
Best wishes,

Sissy Toby

Sissy Toby, thank you for telling us that. Here is an example of Cicely Mary Barker’s flower fairies:


Dear Susan,

This issue: Cilla Black, 1966. Note the op art styles of the day. London fashion designer Mary Quant created the look.
Love,

Joey



Dear Susan,

Sissy JJ has today done a photo shoot with nice daffodils, and here are two for you!
All the best from the Welsh hills,

SissyJJ

ANOTHER WELL-TRAINED HUBBIE

Perhaps he didn’t need much bribing...

LOOKING FOR MARY JANES

MORE MEMORIES OF VAUDEVILLE

HORSE RACING AT THE CURRAGH

BRITISH BIRDS OF THE 1960s

A LOVELY LETTER FROM LANA

CHRISTEEN

 

Robert's new dress