I received a letter from an Australian publisher of cross-dressing fiction. I can't find it, and believe I must have accidentally deleted it. Could you please re-send?

Dear Susan,

I found your site by accident, but am I glad that I did; it is fantastic.
 
I will relate how I started wearing panties and petticoats. I am now getting on in age, but cannot live without the thought of wearing some panties at least once per week.

I was quite young and living with another family at about the age of 8 to 9 years. There was a girl (Thelma) who was between 7 and 8 years at the time living with her mother. The mother had lost her husband a few years before. She had taken me in when my mother and father had separated. My mother had moved and was living with another man, so I did no see her at all.

I felt lonely, and wanted to be included in her daughter’s play when at home with her, but she only wanted to play with other girls. She did say, if you want to play with me, you have to be a girl. I said that would be impossible, but her reply startled me. "You can dress in my clothes, and we will pretend you are a girl if you like".

As I wanted company, I readily agreed. This took place over quite a long time: that suggestion did not come in the beginning when I wanted to play with her. So having agreed she eventually invited me in to her bedroom and said “Here are the clothes for you to put on.”

I was quite slim but not as slim as her. On the bed was a pair of pink cotton panties, a white petticoat, and one of her school dresses, plus white socks of course. I was quite embarrassed when I saw the panties: I had no idea I had to go that far. We had actually seen each other naked, as quite often we had to bath together. Lately I was not so sure that I wanted to be naked in front of her.

She said, "Come on, take your clothes of and put these on".

I did want to be able to play, so I stripped off and slowly pulled the pink panties on and they were very tight on me with the elastic in the legs holding me very tightly. I felt quite excited wearing her panties. So next the petticoat, it too was cotton and then the dress (not so easy to get into the dress, as it too was tight), and socks.

After a while I almost forgot I was dressed except for the tightness of her panties. We played with her toys, mainly dolls, which didn’t interest me much. But I did ask for this.

Then I got a shock - her mother suddenly came into the room and looked at me in amazement, "What are you doing?" she asked.

I felt like the world had ended for me at that moment. But her daughter simply said, "He wants to play with me, so he has to be a girl."

Her mother asked me to go into her room with her, and by now I was quite frightened. But of course I followed her into her bedroom. "Now, let’s have a look at you if you want to be a girl," she said. "Lift up that dress."

I did as she instructed, noticing her smile at the sight of me in the pink panties. "They look very tight on you," she said.

"Take those tight panties off and I have something much nicer for you if you want to be my daughter’s girlfriend. Come over her to my drawers, I have just the thing for a boy like you and I am sure they will look pretty on you".

She pulled open her top drawer and there was a soft pile of silk panties in there. She asked, "Do you like the look of those?"

I could only still mumble, "Yes." She was a slim woman, so they were not large panties. She rummaged around and eventually found a pair of white panties with ruffles all around them. "Come on, let me try these on you", she said. By now I was beyond caring, all I wanted was to try those soft silky panties. She asked me to lift my foot and she slipped one leg at a time into this delightfully silky panties. My mind was a blur, what was happening to me, I no longer cared, it was wonderful and I did not even think about this older woman and what she was doing. I just loved the sensation and did not want it to stop. What a way to be initiated into the female world of soft and sexy things. I never would have imagined that it could be so wonderful.

She said, "I think we can make a very nice sissy out of you. You will be able to play with my daughter a lot more once I get you correctly dressed.

"Now let me finish you off for today, I have an old PE skirt that wraps around and can be adjusted to fit, plus a PE blouse my daughter has that will be a bit looser than that dress she gave you. We want you to be comfortable.”

The pleasure was never ending and I was in a dream world, plus encased in the softest, silky panties at the same time. I was so looking forward to being dressed in all silky girls’ clothes. When we had been shopping, she would dress me and show me all that I needed to do to start to be a girl.
 
I will stop there for now, if you would like the rest of my story, please let me know.
Love,
 
Jane


Dear Susan,

As described on your excellent web site, my pitiful husband was recently subjected to being filmed by my girl friend whilst descending the stairs in her white silk wedding gown. The exquisite gown has been kindly donated by her, and has been added to the growing collection of frocks in his wardrobe. He is certainly becoming ever more subservient, and now accepts me as head of the house without question.

In fact, now he has such a beautiful wedding dress, I thought how appropriate it would be to have our wedding photos recreated with Michael as the blushing bride. I mentioned the idea to Sarah who, needless to say, thought it was a wonderful idea and insisted they should be taken at the same local church as we were originally married. Obviously he would be horrified at the idea but that was really of no consequence.

I wanted him to look excruciatingly feminine and so asked Sarah, with her dress-making skills, to design and make a beautiful pink cape which was sufficiently sheer to still see every detail of his stunning dress underneath. I also wanted a pretty chain to be incorporated into the cape around the neck. This would be secured via a small but visible padlock which would be properly symbolic of his new enforced femininity.

She was very excited by the project and finished it amazing quickly.  She also inserted padlock loops at the back of the dress so that there could be no possibility of removal. She then pleaded with me to allow her to bring him to the church and I reluctantly agreed, but warned her that she would have to be extremely firm with him.

I ensured that he was already fully made-up and padlocked into his wedding dress before Sarah arrived. She wasted no time in showing him the new pink cape and was delighted to see him recoil with horror at the very sight of it. She threw the cape around his shoulders and tied the pink ribbons together in a slow and delicate manner.

“You now have an appointment at your local church where you will pose for photographs with your wife,” she announced gleefully.

“You can’t be serious – no way. I’m not going out like this, you can’t make me.”  He untied the cape and threw it on the floor.

 “How dare you! I made this cape especially for you Michael, and you WILL wear it. Angela was crushed when she discovered your cross-dressing, but has now accepted it. She still loves you, and if you love her you will do this to please her. Now pick up the cape and put it on immediately.”

He meekly obeyed and she re-tied the ribbons in a business-like manner. She then hooked up the pretty chain with the small padlock and snapped it shut with a satisfying click.

 “I’m sorry Michael, but Angela has insisted that everything is completely secured.  The cape must stay on till we return home.” She then placed the key on the fireplace so there was no going back.

He was powerless to resist, as she dragged him outside into the bright sunlight and stood nervously by the car. It seemed like an eternity before she finally unlocked the door and assisted him with his huge frock.

 “Are you wearing my bridal lingerie, Michael?” she asked. He nodded meekly.

 “You know, I really shouldn’t tell you this but I actually lost my virginity wearing your dress at the tender age of 19y. I had danced all night at the wedding and was desperate to take it off, but my husband was very insistent that I should wear it to consummate the marriage. Of course, I wasn’t wearing your pretty cape. That would have been much too girly for me.”

His humiliation was unbearable as any remaining vestige of maleness was stripped from away from him.  He tugged pathetically on the gold padlock as they travelled the short journey to the church, and I was ready and waiting as they pulled up the gravel driveway.

 “Darling, just look at you, a true blushing bride. You transformation is complete.” I said excitedly.

He struggled out of the car and stood there in all his feminine glory. We fussed around the silky frock and arranged the gorgeous pink cape so that his silken ‘breasts’ were visible. Sarah teasingly checked the cape padlock and I reminded him to lift his frock as we walked over to the church entrance. I insisted that he smile as Sarah took photographs. 

As we returned to the car, a group of teenage girls watched from a distance, seemingly unaware that the bride was a man. They eventually wandered over to get a closer look, and he was utterly desperate to remove the pretty cape but knew it was hopeless. The girls giggled mercilessly and Sarah cruelly drew attention to the padlocks ensuring his feminine enslavement.

The pictures now adorn our bedroom and landing.
Yours,

Angela S
Hampshire

Well, what about the pictures? And details of the bridal lingerie; my readers won’t be happy unless they hear all about the pretty undies that Michael was made to wear. 


Dear Susan,

I'm glad to see that my suggestions about wool pom-poms in feminization's process gathered your approbation. The use of baby bonnets such as the models I sent you is indispensable to complete the wardrobe and the appearance of sissy little babies.

But for naughty boys preferring a real feminine and glamour look, if gorgeous angora sweaters are an excellent solution, there is also something else particularly efficient. So, what's cuter than marabou fur? I love to make young males wear clothes with marabou fur. The rich softness has precisely the required effect on their behaviour. I think that Christeen will not say the opposite because she often uses such clothes in her lovely drawings.

I join to my letter some items I love so much to see on any males I have to discipline.
Very best wishes to you and your hard-working staff,

Dominique



Dear Susan,

I love the comic strip of hand-me-down clothes. It reminds me of Rodney Dangerfield’s comments about hand-me-downs once on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson as host. He was the last guest to come out that night.

Don Rickles and Don Adams had the audience eating out of their hands. They were talking about hand-me-down clothes when Mr. Dangerfield came out. 

“You guys know nothing about hand-me-down clothes!”

Rickles laughed, “Oh, and you do?” 

Dangerfield with a laugh comes right back, “Yea! I came from a family of sixteen kids and I was the youngest boy.”

Don Rickles fires back, “Oh, and what is so bad about that?”

Dangerfield was now sitting next to Johnny Carson, and looks over at him and then at Don Rickles and Don Adams. Not smiling, but with rather a downcast look on his face, he replied, “That show just how much you guys know about hand-me-down clothes. I was the youngest and all the others were girls. I was 21y before I wore my first pair of trousers!”  

Johnny was convulsed with laughter, as were Don Rickles and Don Adams.

The comic is very funny. You may remember some of the letters I wrote you about hand-me-downs concerning girls’ clothing.
 Love,

Dennis
(PDQ Human Resources)


Dear Miss Susan,

I am a middle-aged male, ex-athlete with a heavy masculine voice and masculine manners. However, I have another side that I have lately started revealing: the desire to be in a relationship with a woman in a female-led household.

I have talked with some very nice dominant ladies, over the internet and in person, who are interested in being in a serious relationship or marriage with a submissive partner. All of them had something in common. Among their expectations is the ‘softening’ and part-feminization of their male partner. A couple of them have placed it as a condition.
 
I admit that I have thought about it. It may sound weird, but the thought is arousing to me, but at the same time is scary. As time passes by I think of it more and more often. The idea that I will look like a girl in front of a woman seems to me exciting and scary...all these ladies admit that it is a humiliation and humbling of the male machismo...I am intrigued but at the same time I am afraid - I have no idea of what...

At the same time I would really like to develop more soft and submissive side...what do you recommend? I really want to go away from the traditional male role...I want to develop a different connection with
women, more as a submissive male rather than as a ‘typical man’ but this goes against everything we learned as men and women...I am afraid that a woman will lose respect for me...what do you suggest?
Best regards, and thank you in advance,

Terri

You need to get to know somebody in person, and hope that they will like you as a man, and at the same time be understanding of your other needs. Even if you are the submissive partner, it will never work unless you and your partner are warm friends, and respect each other. I have always stressed that.


Dear Susan,

Here is the first in a series of 1960s British Birds: Marianne Faithfull in 1967, photographed by somebody called Mankowitz.
Love,

Joey


It’s beautiful! It brings back a lot of memories.



Dearest Susan,
 
A curious young boy who sneaks around in his mother's or sister's dresser drawers often develops guilt and shame that simply isn't dealt with. As has been widely discussed in the pages of PDQ, many a young over-curious lad has fantasized about being caught, forced into girls’ clothes and ridiculed as punishment. The attached illustration is an example of such a fantasy.
 
It is the mid-1950s and, as punishment, curious Trevor has spent the early part of his Sunday morning doing what customarily are his sisters' kitchen chores. Now it is time for church, so everyone must don their Sunday best. Trevor is the last to prepare, and it is decided that Mum and the girls will walk the eight blocks to church while the boy and his father follow later in the family car. This will give Trevor the time he needs to bathe and dress in his boys’ clothes. On the way to church, his father tells him his behavior must improve.
 
"If there is a next time," his father warns, “Mummy says she’ll make you wear a pretty dress to church. That would be very humiliating, so I suggest you keep it in mind."
 
At every turn throughout the service that morning, Trevor noticed pretty girls in delightful dresses. He imagined what it would be like to be dragged into the church in the prettiest of dresses, for the whole congregation to see.
Luv,

Lana

Dear Susan,

Thank you for the opportunity for me to share with your readers my experiences growing up and the unfortunate demise of vaudeville as a popular medium of entertainment.

My mother’s family were all in vaudeville and when World War II started, they ended up broke and in Chicago.
That’s where I was born a few years later, and soon after my mother took off with a sailor and I was left with my aunts.  They made their living as seamstresses, tailors and re-weavers. They were talented at their craft and could rip a dress or a suit apart and rework it to fit anyone. They worked at their craft to eke out a living while waiting for the war to end so they could go back on the road again. My cousin, Helen, and I were part of their grand scheme to be headliners again.
 
I took my first dance lesson at four years of age, and my first piano lesson a year later.  We were taught by vaudeville people who were in the same straits as my aunts. All these people that had been in vaudeville were now stranded and out of work. Many embraced the same idea that after the war things were going to be back to normal.

My cousin and I were groomed to do a switch act as I mentioned. This act required costumes, rehearsal and bookings. After school, and after dance and piano lessons, would be costume fittings.  How I hated this. I would be required to stand there while my dress was put on, taken off, refitted and hemmed and then the process would be repeated. All my costumes had silver or gold thread sewn throughout the fabric so it would catch the light and, in the beginning, petticoats were worn so the outfit would move when I danced.

When I started acting, the Shirley Temple style was still very much in vogue so my wigs had sausage curls and my patent leather shoes had the buckle right in the middle of my foot, just like hers.

Bookings were hard to come by and were treated as an opportunity to show the world our act.  We were called ‘troupers’, and other vaudeville performers treated us like members of an elite society.

Not having a car, we were required to take public transportation.  We would take street-cars, trains and buses--anything to get us to the booking. As very few of the places we performed had dressing facilities, I was required to get dressed in my dress and my wig in the morning at home and not take the costume off until we got home.   While en route to bookings, people would often be curious about where we would be going.  My costumes were obviously not for street wear, but were more suited for a pageant or a show.

People would engage my aunts and they would happily oblige as they were always selling the act. During those times I would just hope my aunts wouldn’t reveal that I was really a boy. I was not always so lucky.
When we would arrive at a show-place, my cousin and I were required to mingle.  We would tell people that had arrived early for the show what the name of our act was, and if they liked it to tell their friends.  This wasn’t so bad for me because I got to stay in character.

If we were playing a theater and were performing between movies (double features), we would go out to eat with the other acts.  Vaudeville people stuck together and I got to know the dog acts, tumblers, jugglers, and assorted others. Again, they treated me as a performer, not as a boy wearing petticoats.

As I got older, the act evolved.  I started wearing older outfits, less petticoats and then high heels. With heels came a full girdle with a bra for showing a modest teenage bosom and requisite garters to hold my stockings up.

One dance outfit, when I was about fourteen, consisted of a plain dress, black silk, very chic, reconstructed from an old dress from a consignment shop. It was very short and I wore black high heel court shoes like a society lady.  I thought I looked like quite the flapper. My cousin wore a suit and a top hat, and we did a dance that we moved as one, with deep dips and twirls, but not separating at all. We got a lot of applause for that even before I took off my 1920’s style wig.

When we did not have bookings, we would go to the Vaudeville Club.  This club was for present and retired vaudeville performers. My aunts would go there to socialize and to find out who was hiring, and where to go for bookings. Today it would be called networking. Normally, it would be a Sunday.  I would be required to attend church wearing my requisite blouses and pumps and then we would go to the club.

Boys’ pants in those days were like stovepipes and extended down to the ankle, thus making my pumps very obvious.  When we would go into church, I would walk very close behind my aunt.  I naively thought that I would not be noticed.

While at the club my aunt would proudly show us off. Once again she would be selling the act and making sure everyone saw the two cute kids who were the act. My obviously effeminate attire was accepted because of my status as a performer, and the fact that female impersonator acts were prevalent throughout vaudeville history.

When Susan asked me to expand on my life in vaudeville, I called my cousin Helen.  I have been out of touch with her for many years, but called her to hear what she could add to my memories.  It seems her recollections do not match mine.  She had some insights that I did not have. I had no idea. Perhaps this would be of some interest to your readership.
Love,

Rob

Rob, definitely send us more. Vaudeville is so far in the past now that your memories are particularly precious.


Dear Susan,
 
I promised that I would write again about how Jim’s life is going. As you know Jim is older than me and since our marriage has become my six-year-old little girl all the time at home.
 
Well, we moved five months ago to a lovely house in Wales to follow my career. Jim can do most of his work from home, and only has to go to London once a month with me. As you know Jim is kept dressed all the time at home in fussy girls’ clothes e.g.: short baby dresses, matching frilly knickers, white socks, and now pink Mary Janes. Well he has turned out to be a wonderful husband, doing all the housework and acting just like a little six-year-old girl. It has taken sometime to get him to this position, but with patience, spankings, corner time, and early to bed, it has all worked out.
 
The problem was that my new career involves me being away from the home two nights per week. Since we have been married, hardly a night has gone by when we have not been together. The truth was I did not trust him to be the sissy I have made, when I am not there.
 
The only solution I could come up with was to secure Jim so he could not cheat. My answer was to secure Jim to the bed till I returned from work. This resulted in my purchasing from E-bay some adult baby rompers, disposable nappies, rubber knickers, and a wonderful pair of pink lockable reins. I decided to do a dummy run and dressed Jim in all the baby clothes and his new reins. I than secured him to the single bed in the spare room. I already had Jim fix metal eyes to the bed frame. Jim then lay down and a thin chain was threaded through the eyes and the baby reins terminating at his waist. Jim’s hands were than handcuffed in front of him and attached to the two ends of the chain by a padlock. It was about 8 pm I gave Jim a drink of water, secured his dummy, which was a nice big pink one, and shut the door and that was that.
 
I woke the next morning at 7 am and went in to see my baby Jim. Yes he had wet himself, and to my annoyance it had gone through the nappy, rubber knickers, sheet and mattress. I released Jim and told him to get showered and dressed and clean up the mess. It’s a good idea to do dummy runs.
 
After two more dummy runs, I was ready to go to work. I cured the situation by double nappies with a soaker added, and by covering the bed with a rubber sheet. His baby rompers still sometimes got damp but everything else was saved by the sheet, and I do not do the washing, so who cares?

I was worried about something happening while I was away at work. So I came up with the idea of inserting the keys in a sealed little bag attached to the padlock. Now if something happened Jim could rip the bag open and release himself. I also told him that if I came home and the bag was broken open, the house had better be on fire or I may have to get someone to check on him instead. Everything is now working fine. I have been putting Jim to bed before work for some of months now with no real problems. I have to be at work for an 8 pm start, so with travelling and getting ready, I need Jim in bed and secured by 5.30 pm. I am home by 4 am, but have a few hours’ sleep and do not release Jim till around 9 am. The bad news for Jim is next month I am covering for someone and will be doing nights Monday to Friday for four weeks.
 
Sorry this letter is so long. I love my Jim very much, but love my Pretty Baby Jim just a bit more.
 
Anne


Very glad to see that you appear to have recovered and are back in good form, with PDQ providing much entertaining reading.

I had a look through an August 2006 issue of the Australians Women’s Weekly, and found a Continental ad, but no sign of the delightful picture that was mentioned. Hopefully someone will solve the mystery.

Some of the letters in PDQ are somewhat tantalising, in that childhood petticoating experiences are related, with no mention of how they might have affected the person in later life. I was particularly interested in April's letter from 'A.B.’ who was dressed as a girl when a baby or toddler on account of his very attractive hair. Presumably this did not continue for very long. He mentions the photographs of himself as a girl - I don't suppose he could be persuaded to publish them? I am sure I am not the only one who would love to see them!

Likewise, I hope that Rob (of the vaudeville switch acts) will enlarge on his experiences for us.

With best regards,

Marcia
Melbourne, Australia

Marcia! It’s lovely to hear from you again. Rob has written more about vaudeville days, as you can see. A.B. has also written, and the letter will be published in an upcoming issue. That is disappointing news about the Continental Soup ad though. But thank you for your research.



Dear Susan,
 
I would like to tell you about the first time I had to wear girls’ clothes. My first girl friend Pam was considerably taller than me and tended to bully me if she didn’t get her own way.  I was only 11y at the time, and it was in the early 1970s when Donny Osmond and David Cassidy were all the rage with the girls.  I was more into Cream and Led Zeppelin, so had no respect for either Donny or David.

One day I must have pushed it a bit too far with my cutting remarks about “puppy love”, and, the next thing I knew, Pam and Valerie (Pam’s older sister) had grabbed me and were trying to remove my clothes.  Pam being four inches taller than me, and her sister was even bigger, they overpowered me easily and soon I was laid in their bedroom naked, my clothes having been thrown out of the upstairs window into the garden.

I was really starting to panic as this was getting out of hand, and I was worried about the girls’ older brother or father returning with me in my birthday suit.  Pam and Valerie then proceeded to dress me in one of Pam’s school uniforms. Although I tried to resist the girls were a lot bigger and stronger than me, and soon they had me wearing a blouse, green cardigan, gym knickers, white knee socks and pleated grey skirt.  When dressed they let me get to my feet but threatened to burn my clothes if I didn’t do exactly what they said.

The girls then suggested as punishment I would have to dance to Donny and David’s latest LPs. I felt like a total idiot and I was very grateful when they gave me my clothes back after the dancing.

From that time onwards Pam would make me wear her cardigan if she felt I wasn’t being a good boy friend. Luckily for me this was never in public, but Valerie always seemed to be in the background smiling.
Love your website,

Sissy Sophie

Well it serves you right for having a girl friend at the age of 11y. That’s much too young.


Dear Susan,

I am delighted to see PDQ continuing to set such high standards; the weekly updates seem to get better and better. I must particularly make mention again of the brilliant Lana, some of her recent creations have been absolutely superb, epitomising to me the very essence of petticoat discipline. I hope that we will one day see again the work of those other talented petticoat discipline illustrators, Chrissy and Eustace: their contributions are much missed. Similarly it is disappointing not to have heard more from my Letter of the Year ‘Pettie Winner’ of last year, Jaclyn. I’m sure that, like me, many readers would like to hear more from her as to how her petticoating regime has progressed with her husband (or from her mother with more memories of her college petticoating days). 

I particularly refer to Jaclyn as a recent experience of mine paralleled, in many ways, the events of her superb ‘Petticoated by his Mother in Law’ letter.

I have referred in previous letters to my close friend Vanessa, who has been involved on a number of occasions in my ‘petticoating parties’ with Penelope and, as you might expect, has become a close confidant. A few weeks ago she confided in me that she was very concerned about her daughter, or more particularly, about her son-in-law, Steve. Vanessa’s daughter, Christine, was carving out a very successful career in the law but her husband of about three years, Steve, who was a self-employed electrician, did not seem to be overly busy.

Vanessa felt that Steve was perhaps freewheeling somewhat, happy to enjoy a nice lifestyle on the rewards of Christine’s long hours and success. Further, she was becoming convinced that Steve was not always filling his leisure hours innocently. Prior to his marriage he was known to have something of a reputation as a “lady’s man” and Vanessa felt that perhaps he might be slipping back into his old ways. He had even, on a recent occasion, she felt, made a guarded advance to her, disguised, of course in a playful manner, whilst doing some work at their home. I smiled, this did not totally surprise me, Vanessa is a very attractive and well-preserved 50ish lady with a nice sense of fun, that I could well see many younger men being intrigued by her charms.

As our conversation progressed I got to thinking and a plan began to form in my mind. I asked Vanessa to come into the study to my computer and, after logging in to PDQ, located Jaclyn’s letter and asked her to read it. She obviously found it amusing and looked up at me quizzically, “You don’t mean…” she started.

I smiled, “Of course I do. You know how my regime with Penelope works – well, I’m sure Jaclyn has her husband under control in just the same way. I think you have a golden opportunity to tame this young Lothario and give Christine the perfect husband”. Vanessa nodded thoughtfully and we set to hatching our plan.

Steve was due to visit her home a few days later to complete a little plumbing job that, typically, seemed to be taking forever. Vanessa would dress and act most provocatively, and if her impression about Steve was right he would take the bait and make a pass at her. She would then, of course, pretend to be horrified, fly into a tantrum accusing him of being a good-for-nothing seducer, and telling him she would make sure that her daughter threw him out of their house that night. If we judged things rightly he would eventually beg and plead forgiveness and would be grudgingly given a chance to redeem himself by an act of atonement that would involve him in taking on all his hard-pressed wife’s domestic duties…suitably attired of course. 

Two days later an excited Vanessa called – all had gone according to plan. Steve had walked into her carefully baited honey trap hook, line and sinker. When she had turned on him he had attempted to bluster his way out, claiming she had deliberately led him on, but he had caved in to her determined onslaught and eventually agreed to do whatever she wanted, though when she had explained to him what she wanted he had at first refused point blank.

However, confronted again with the weakness of his position, he had, very grudgingly, agreed to submit to his penance. Vanessa then surprised me by asking me if I could meet her at her daughter’s house the following day. She explained that she was going to strike whilst the iron was hot, before Steve thought of a way out of his predicament, and start his petticoat discipline immediately. The reason for the call to me was that, due to the need for haste, she was able to provide the necessary undies for Steve but had no suitably-sized dresses or skirts for his transformation. As she felt that he was a similar size to Penelope she wondered whether I could help. I was, of course, only to pleased to do so, and we agreed that Penelope’s original pink outfit, much admired by PDQ readers, would be just right, leaving him in no doubt about his new status. 

I turned up at Christine’s house the following morning in high anticipation. Vanessa greeted me looking very pleased with herself and the dress, petticoats and pinny were soon out of my hold-all and hanging in plain view in the lounge. She explained quickly to me that she intended to have Steve well into his new role as a petticoated house maid before Christine came home from work, and that she had enjoyed herself preparing the very reluctant Steve as much as possible before my arrival. With that she brusquely called Steve from the kitchen.

In he walked, looking as if he was in a state of shock at what was happening to him. I took in the scene slowly. Vanessa had done well, Steve was wearing an ivory-coloured silk negligee, through which one could see a rather old-fashioned corselette, to the suspenders of which were attached nice dark stockings, a pair of nice lacy French knickers which looked as if they matched the negligee, and a similarly lace-frilled petticoat. I could see some nicely-applied make up round his eyes and it looked as if he was wearing pale pink lipstick. He walked uncertainly in medium-heeled court shoes.

When he saw me his face creased in panic and he started to protest that he had not agreed that anyone else would be involved, but Vanessa harshly silenced him “You don’t agree to anything” she snapped “Lesley is a great friend of mine and has kindly agreed to give up her time to come here to help get you into shape. She is an expert in petticoat discipline and has even agreed to lend you a suitable costume until we can get you something of your own, so you should be grateful!”

With that she nodded her head in the direction of the costume hanging behind the door, A look of horror crossed his face “I can’t wear that,” he spluttered, panic-stricken.

“You can, and you will!” replied Vanessa simply.

Sure enough, he was soon attired in the frilly petticoat, pink skirt, and high-necked pink satin blouse with which PDQ readers will be familiar from my early pictures of Penelope. After his initial resistance he was very compliant, in an almost trance-like state as if he couldn’t really believe what was happening to him. Vanessa allowed me to put him into, and tie in a nice big bow, Penelope’s lovely big frilly pink satin pinny, and then made him kneel in front of her as she placed the matching mob cap on his head.

He stood in front of us looking absolutely crushed but his humiliation was not complete, Vanessa insisted he stood on a low stool and raised his skirt and pinny so that she could “adjust his petticoats”. I’m sure it wasn’t strictly necessary, but she was clearly enjoying her first experience of carrying out a petticoating and was determined to show the hapless Steve that he was totally under her control.

We then sat down and Vanessa very calmly explained to Steve, who was forced to stand before us, hands neatly folded in front of his pinny, the rules for his new lifestyle. 

“Right, what we’re going to propose to Christine when she comes home, and you’re going to agree with me, is that from today, as she is the main earner in this household, you’re going to help out as a sort of house maid. I’m going to offer my services to manage your time, which will mean that whenever you’re not out working and earning money you’ll be put to work on the various jobs around the house that you’ve always considered to be her hers. I will be supervising you and you will, of course, always be suitably attired for your role and once Christine has agreed to this, as I’m sure she will, on your next day off we shall go to town and buy you some suitable clothing, similar to what you’re wearing now, so that you can return these lovely clothes that Lesley has loaned you.

“When you are at your business, in fact at all times, you will wear ladies’ underwear so that any thought of any sexual adventuring will be out of the question. When you’re in the house it will be up to Christine to decide what she’d like you to wear, I suspect that will depend on how pleased she is with your general behaviour. Now, we’re going to spend the rest of the day training you for your new position, I think we’ll start with teaching you to curtsey respectfully to ladies at all times.”

Poor Steve looked completely subjugated as he stood there with, I’m sure, a trace of a tear in his eyes. He had tried a couple of times to interrupt as Vanessa issued her edict but her look and tone had quickly dissuaded him. I had to admire the way her firm, positive action had so quickly got this arrogant young man under control, and completely subject to her will. And what a clever idea to insist that when not working he would always be carrying out his maid servant duties – he would certainly be making more effort to get work in the future. He was soon practising his curtsies, very awkwardly at first but eventually quite passably. Again I felt this was an excellent way to start his training, making this so feminine and so subservient gesture was a sure way to remind him of his new menial status.

The rest of the day passed with him learning some new skills – hoovering and dusting, ironing, preparing and serving us a light meal and washing up, all things that Vanessa was determined would become his normal duties. It was delightful to see him mincing around (Vanessa insisted he walked in a “proper feminine manner”), the taffeta of the petticoats and pinny of Penelope’s original punishment outfit rustling delightfully to his extreme chagrin, and being chided if he did not remember to curtsey prettily on entering or leaving the room.

Eventually, about an hour before Christine was due home, I left as Vanessa quite rightly felt that the introduction to Christine of her “new look husband” should be a private family matter. We had already rehearsed Steve’s introduction to his wife in his new role and ensured that he was word-perfect in what he was to say and do. He was left in no doubt that any departure from his agreed script would be met with immediate exposure of the real reason he was in this predicament, but given the ultra-compliant state into which we had got him I felt that any form of rebellion was extremely unlikely. Vanessa thanked me profusely for my part in the solution to the “Steve problem” but I was quick to assure her that, once she had accepted my original idea I could not have done any better myself in carrying out the petticoating. We parted with her assurance that she would keep me informed of the events of the rest of the day and of subsequent progress, and that if all went to plan she would invite me back soon to see for myself the results of our strategy.

I drove home feeling very uplifted that I had been able to be party to the bringing under petticoat discipline of such an obviously wayward husband. I have now received a call from Vanessa inviting me to visit next week, I’ll write again with an account of that visit.
Very best wishes,

Lesley


Dear Susan,

I usually read all the letters published on your lovely site dedicated to feminisation and I love also all Christeen’s beautiful pictures. Among the materials used for sissy clothes I have a real preference for wool and, above all, angora.

I think that soft wool is the most feminine material, and all my experiences of feminisation turn around this fluffy wool. And, like a cherry on a cake, I believe that some wool pom-poms are indispensable to adorn the clothes, and to give the ridiculous touch that creates the shame of the feminised boy. What’s more shaming than a woolly baby bonnet with a big fluffy pom-pom on the top, and tied under the chin?

What’s your opinion about this?

Thanks for your answer on the site.

Dominique


I agree, and those little pictures that you have sent are very sweet.


Dear Susan,
 
Thank you so much for your website and your magazine - it is really so interesting, and hope you can read my story
 
I am 35 years old and from the Middle East. My story started when I was eight years old when my parents went out, and my brothers were not around, my oldest sister stayed with me at home. One day she asked me if I can wear her dress. I said it is ok, and then she gave me one of her old dresses, and then she put make-up on me. She giggled so much and she said “You are so pretty as a girl,” and then she taught me how to walk and dance like a girl. It was fun, and I enjoyed it.
 
After that every time me and my sister were alone she gave some of her clothes and we played as mom and daughter or as two sisters together. Sometimes we cleaned the house when I was wearing one of her dresses.
 
After few years from that when I became 12 years old she stopped giving me any of her clothes, and she said to me, “You are boy, not a girl,” and said she would be so upset if I ever wore any of her clothes again
 
So I stopped and I never did it again, but I really loved being in a dress or skirts, but I couldn’t do it anymore.
 
One day when I was alone at home I went to my sister’s room and started to wear all of her clothes. I liked that so much, especially wearing her underwear, and from then I started to wear a bra and panties under my boy clothes. I always waited until I was alone of course.
 
From that day to now I have never stopped wearing women’s clothes when I was alone.
 
In my country it is not easy to do that, as people think it is shameful. I am 35 years old now, and I don’t know what to do. I am looking for a woman who can be my wife, and she can share with me her clothes and keep my secret. I hope you can help me
Thank you for reading my e-mail.
Take care,

R.S.

It’s such a common story – an older sister dresses her brother as a girl, and he learns to like it, but when he reaches puberty she suddenly stops. To her it has just been a game anyway; she doesn’t realise what she is doing.

Which country are you from?


Hi Susan,
 
I hope you are recovered and that you can continue with our wonderful magazine for many years to come.

I read Amy's letter carefully, and it seems to me that if her friend’s husband is not objecting to her treatment of her eldest son, then he probably does not disapprove of males being feminised. As we know there are lots of men who like the idea of wearing female clothes but dare not try it.  He is the father, so I think he should be involved and Amy's friend should discuss it with him, and if he expresses no reservations about her feminisation of the boy she should then question him carefully if he would like to try some feminisation albeit in the privacy of their bedroom. 

I think it is quite likely that he will agree if somewhat reluctantly at first. Once she has crossed this first hurdle I would suggest the rest is straightforward. A few weeks wearing nighties and undies in the bedroom, them an apron while he helps with the chores, and eventually full feminisation around the home at least.  If this is achieved, then if she wishes to feminise her youngest son, that should not be difficult.  With two if not three feminised males in the house her involvement in the actual housework, apart from supervision, should be non-existent
I hope this helps.

Maid Angela
Head of the typing pool



My old friend David has sent in this edition of the comic strip ‘F minus’.

The Run for the Roses was yesterday, with Queen Elizabeth II in attendance. And a worthy race it was for one of Britain's greatest lovers of the turf.

Street Sense was victorious, and was the first two year old champion to win the Kentucky Derby the following year since Spectacular Bid in 1979.

Street Sense came from last in a field of twenty, and won with an electrifying burst in the home straight.

Anne and Timmy, PDQ's horse racing correspondents, selected Street Sense as the winner several weeks ago.

Dear Susan,

I have for a long time now enjoyed your petticoat pages, and thought it was about time I put pen to paper and recounted my story.  I guess I can trace my love of all things feminine back to my first days at school.

I remember my mother having to drag me to school as the teacher on the previous day wanted me to play in the Wendy House.  This was a very girly thing to do, but I did enjoy it.  However, I think even at that early age of five years, I felt is was not appropriate for a boy to be doing that and didn’t want my classmates to think I was odd. 

I always enjoyed dressing up, taking part in the school plays, and remember having to wear a pair of green tights once when I played Robin Hood – the tights were wonderful.  I also played a shepherd and had to wear a scarf on my head.  I loved the silky feel and made sure that I took it home with me after the production.

Really, though, my femme side started to exhibit itself more regularly at the age of 12y when I moved to senior school and played a wench in the school opera.  This was an all-boy school so boys always played the female roles, but as soon as I put on the skirt, blouse, bra and panties not to mention the head-scarf, I felt so right.  I loved the feel of the skirt swishing around my legs and would have gladly worn it every day.  Instead, I was restricted to a few performances, so started to borrow my mother’s clothes at home. 

One day, whilst I was dressed, the next door neighbour’s daughter came in and saw me.  I was wearing one of my mother’s summer dresses, silk French knickers and a blue and white headscarf.   She started to giggle – being only 9y at the time – but seemed to accept it.  I continued to dress when she was around and she also brought her friend along so that we played as three girls together.  One day, I must have been naughty so they decided I should be punished.  They took the headscarves that we had and tied me to the bed.  I found this exciting, being bound and gagged, and from then on I was their maid. 

My mother did catch me one day when she returned early from work, but only told me to stop – if only she had encouraged me.  I also remember my Grandma visiting one day and commenting that due to my long hair, I looked more like a girl – oh if only she had known the truth as well!

The humiliation started when one day, the girls tied me up, gagged and blind-folded, and fully dressed.  Suddenly I realised that they had let their brothers in to see their little plaything.  From then on I was their’s to do as they said.  However, later on, I remember them telling me they had mentioned me to their teacher who had said I must be weird.  The dressing games stopped after that, but my femme side was firmly established. 

I had already started buying skirts and tops by then (aged 16y) and when I went to university was able to expand my wardrobe even further.  I remember visiting Soho once and finding a copy of Mrs Silk Vol 2.  It was not until then that I appreciated that I was not that unusual. 

Always it was kept a secret, though I suspect my parents had some suspicions as I left some of my clothes in my wardrobe at home and when they changed the furniture, they must have found them.  Nothing was said though.    

I have continued to dress in secret despite a very happy marriage – my wife still does not know even after twenty years - and over the last few years with access to the internet, have discovered more and more web sites covering transvestism.  I have been a member of a web site on and off for many years now and this is a source of immense fulfilment.  It was on one internet search about two years ago that my desire to be a maid really came to the fore. 

I had always been fascinated by the Edwardian aprons that the young girls wore, but had never been able to get hold of these.  I found several sites showing sissy maids and wearing similar aprons.  This re-ignited my desire and just recently, I have found sites that sell them.  I have now purchased one, as well as an ordinary apron. 

I regularly wear stockings, suspenders and undies to work.  I now have a female boss and wish one day she would notice the stockings and suspenders, force me to reveal my sissy self and then take me as her maid/secretary.  She would then be able to reveal me to my wife and convince her to treat me as a submissive at home as well. 

Sometimes when it is quiet, I change fully at work, keeping my male clothes over my dress, and then take them off when I get to the car and drive home as a girl – so thrilling.  I recently answered the door to a delivery man, dressed very tartily and in full make-up.   I saw the smirk on his face but he wasn’t sure enough that I wasn’t a real girl to comment

I now at the age of 50y find myself wanting to serve more and more and would love to find a mistress to fulfil my place in life.  I have corresponded with several potential mistresses but always found myself unable to commit before any meeting and cannot afford to go to a professional mistress.  I long to commit to this to fulfil my inner desire to be a girl, a submissive house maid, to serve and be used by a mistress as befits a submissive like me. 
Yours,

Tina


Dear Susan,

I so enjoy your monthly newsletters from readers and wonder whether my earlier experience of being dressed by my older sister might count as being petticoated.

When I was in my mid-teens during the early ‘sixties I was  fascinated by all female garments and all things feminine and often took to trying on one or two items from either my sister’s or mother’s wardrobe.

One day during the summer holidays when my mother and father were away for a few days visiting relatives, I found myself again trying on some of my sister’s things in her room. She was around nineteen then, and since I was around four years’ younger most of her clothes fitted me quite easily.

This time I didn’t content myself with just trying on one or two things but wanted to really dress up properly. I undressed and then slipped into a silky white pair of her panties before squeezing myself into a seriously firm control high-waisted girdle she had. I then slid a pair of her stockings on and, after a bit of a struggle, attached them to the girdle’s suspenders. I felt such a marvelous sensation since the firmness of the controlling girdle and the coolness of the stockings against my legs felt wonderful.

Next I pulled on her long-length bra and had to fasten it at the front before pulling it round to the correct position. I padded it with some spare panties and underwear and then found one of her slips and pulled it over my head and smoothed it down. I now felt so excited I just had to continue, and since she wasn’t due back for some time I chose the rest of my outfit. She had a very cute typical early ‘sixties three-piece pale blue linen suit which she often wore to church. I chose this and first slipped on the knee-length straight skirt before pulling on the sleeveless top which I had to slip into at the front and then zip it up by the zip at the back. This was really awkward, but eventually I managed it, and zipped it fully up and even closed the little hook and eye fastening just above the top of the zip.

Then I slipped on the cute little three-quarter length sleeved jacket and admired myself in her wardrobe mirror. Lastly, I pulled on a pair of black high heels and slid her long leather gloves onto my hands to complete the ensemble. I looked quite the smart and elegant ‘sixties miss. I even found a little black pill-box hat she had and pinned that on top of my head using two of her hair grips.

 I was so carried away that I hadn’t heard the door close, nor my sister coming up stairs. The first I knew was when I saw her shocked face behind me in the dressing table mirror. I could have died with embarrassment but could only keep repeating “Please don’t tell Mum and Dad,” as I took the jacket off and started trying to unfasten the back of the top. 

My sister didn’t say anything for a short while until she announced, “Stop undoing that, put the jacket back on and do exactly as you’re told or Mum and Dad will know about your little hobby! You want to be a girl, ok be a girl until I tell you different!”

I did as she said and then sat down at the dressing table while she made me up. She removed the hat and only replaced it once she had fetched a wig of Mum’s from the bedroom next door. Mum wore this when she couldn’t be bothered setting her hair. It was quite pretty, fairly short but with the ends curled upturned. Her finishing touches were to add some jewelry including clips and gave me a ladies’ plastic mac to carry, and a black handbag to match the shoes.

With the added make-up and Mum’s wig I now looked very passable as a young teenage miss. We went downstairs with me carefully following my sister, trying desperately not to trip while I tried to get used to my new heels. Once downstairs we went into the lounge and my sister told me what was going to happen over the next few days until our parents returned.

 I would be dressed as a girl for the entire period – even at night when I would sleep in a night-dress, and answer to the name Jennifer. We would do the shopping together, and even visit the hairdresser’s on Saturday, where I would have my nails done while she had her hair set. We had four more days like this and my sister never relented. At home I had never helped much and now I had to help clean the house wearing my mother’s housecoat on top of my sister’s clothes.

Once a friend of my sister’s even called round and spent the whole time giggling at me while my sister bossed me around. During this time my sister took some photos to ensure my future good behaviour and I never found out what she did with these. After my parents returned my sister never mentioned a thing but would occasionally whisper the name ‘Jennifer’ in my ear to remind me. It never happened again and now I am much older and cross-dress whenever I can. I often wish I had some of these photos to remind me of my time as a teenage girl. Probably this episode doesn’t count as being truly petticoated since I started the dressing willingly, but maybe the rest of the time when my sister forced to continue dressing was in fact being petticoated as a punishment for my behaviour.
Lots of hugs,

Jennifer


Hello Susan,

I've just come across the Australian Women's Weekly of 14th Aug 2006.  It has a Continental Soup ad showing a woman with a '3.30-ish' feeling, in which she is (supposedly) clearly lacking concentration and therefore needing appropriate sustenance. 
 
With a far-away look, she is dressing a younger, blonde child in a pink tutu and pink knickers.  Wonderful, because the boy, appears unperturbed, and the girl is looking on with some amusement!  I feel sure however that the woman knows exactly what she is doing, and is perhaps thinking of her childhood domination of a brother?  If only I had that sort of loving treatment as a boy.
 
It would be interesting to know if there are other similar ads?
As a trusty fan of PDQ, I am, proudly

Alana

ALL POINTS ALERT: Can any Australian readers obtain a copy of the Australian Women’s Weekly for that date, and scan the ad? I would love to present it, and I’m sure Joey would be interested too.


Dear Nanny Susan!

I was really pleased to see the sweater photos I sent you, on your site. Maybe now that PDQ is getting more woolly readers, sweaters will be used more commonly for keeping boys and men in order.

Patrick

Dear Susan,
 
I’m Amy. I sent you a correspondence a little while ago about how and why I put my husband in bras. After the holidays I put him in a corset, because he started to gain weight. By the way, his weight situation has been resolved and I’ve now reduced his time in corsets.

Anyway, I have a friend named Karen who has two boys and a girl. For some time the older of her two sons has been a problem. About two months ago, he got in trouble for shoplifting at a local store. Karen told me that she was at her wit’s end with him, and wasn’t sure what to do.

I told her about your web site, and the practice of petticoating. I also confided in her about how wearing a bra has improved the behavior of my husband, Andy. She’s not computer savvy, nor does she have a computer, so I printed up some of the correspondence from Petticoat Discipline Quarterly that I thought would be of some interest to her.

She was very impressed. And so about a month ago she began to petticoat her oldest son. Her husband has just stayed out of it. Needless to say, her son objected to this, but he had no choice. Not at school, but around the house, he wears very pretty flower girl dresses that a friend of hers supplies her with. Last week she started him in prom gowns. Of course underneath he constantly wears teen bras, pink panties, and slips. And he’s always in pretty pink heels.

Even his sister has been more than happy to hand over to him some of her clothes that she doesn’t want anymore, including some very pretty pink nighties of hers. And he just has to wear them. Some times if he gets out of line or gives Karen a problem, he finds himself wearing girdles. He hates those more than the bras he has to wear.

So far this has been working very well. According to Karen, his behavior has been improving. He’s even getting better grades in school. She has basically said that his petticoating will continue for a very long time.
Nevertheless, she and I were talking about this the other day and a question came up. I searched through the correspondence on Petticoat Discipline Quarterly, but I can’t seem to find anything that addresses this issue. (Unlike me, Karen has not done any petticoating on her husband. As I mentioned before, he’s completely staying out of the whole situation).
 
But, we were wondering, what about her other son? As I mentioned before, her older son has been the problem, not the younger one. Like her husband, he’s staying out of it too. Susan, we need your opinion. Should Karen go ahead and petticoat her other son even though he hasn’t been a problem, or should she leave everything as is? Or what about her husband, should she petticoat him too or not? What do you think?

Amy

I leave advice to the readers these days.


Dear Susan,

You asked for the reader’s opinion, and I wanted to get on record that some of us were put into heels as part of the natural growing-up process.

Briefly, I was born post-war, sired by an unknown father and a mother that took off soon after my birth. I was taken in and raised by two of her sisters, one of whom had a daughter and neither of whom had husbands.

Both had been vaudevillians and felt that vaudeville would come back, and it was through my cousin and I that they would participate in the glorious revival of vaudeville.

My cousin and I were part of a ‘switch’ act where we would sing and dance, and at the end of the act we would reveal that I was the boy, and my cousin was the girl. She was about four years older than I, so she was naturally taller.

I would be required to dress like a girl, often for the whole weekend. We had no car, so were required to take public transportation.  Also, most of the places where we performed had no changing rooms so I would get dressed at home and would travel while dressed, wearing a wig and carrying my tap shoes.
When I was about 13y, I started wearing heels.  This was consistent with our ages and dressed up the act. The second picture in Petticoat Discipline Monthly Vol 1 No. 7 could be me. My aunt is fussing with my costume while I stand there in very high heels and with my short haircut just watching and waiting for her to finish. Heels were worn because I was under female control. I was the bastard of the family, and therefore should be happy that someone took me in and fed me and clothed me.

My cousin quit the act and joined the army when I was 14y, and my aunts tried to continue the act with me as a single, but we couldn't get enough bookings.

My aunts saw me dressed as a girl so often than they would buy me clothes and shoes that were inappropriate for a boy, but they were oblivious to my discomfort.  They thought nothing of having me wear feminine blouses and girls’ shoes when we would go the church, to visit or for the holidays.  One time my aunts bought themselves and me matching pumps.  They were not very fashionable for the time (plain pumps with a block heel approximately two inches high) but they bought me patent leather because they thought I would like that. Today many women wear just that style of shoe for secretary and office attire, but when I was put into the heels it was 1959-1961 when spike heels were all the rage.

Thank you for listening. I have given you a very quick look into my life, and I will expand on the story if asked. I met my wife through the vaudeville group so all was not so bad.
All the best,

Rob

Rob, thank you for a fascinating letter. To perform in a ‘switch’ act would have been the dream of a lot of the readers here when they were boys or teenagers. I like block heels – those spike heels of the early 1960s were horrible. They were like Chinese foot-binding.


Dearest Susan,

It's been awhile since I last wrote you, so I thought I'd drop you a line. This is another of my true adventures in petticoats that I'd like to submit to you and your readers.

A few years back and friend of mine and me rode in our local transgender pride day parade. Decked out in our sparkled gowns, and crowns adoring our lovely hairstyles we made our way in an open convertible car all the way through town down to the site of the festival. (by the way, I got on local television that day.)

We made our way through the crowds getting our pictures taken many times along the way. As we made our merry way I was approached by a young woman pushing a stroller with a baby inside. She also had with her a cute little four year old girl. The girl was wearing a yellow Disney T-shirt, with all the Disney princesses on it.  The darling little girl was looking up to me with a jaw-dropping look of awe on her angelic face.

The woman introduced herself and her daughter to me. She said her daughter was just dying to meet (referring to me and my friend) some "real princesses". I nudged my friends and explained the situation to her. We both bent down and had a lovely little chat with our littlest of admirers.  For about five minutes my friend and I talked with the little girl, and her mother took several pictures to capture the moment.

Before leaving us she thanked both of us profusely. As they were leaving the little girl was still looking back at my friend and I in total awe.  It truly amazed me how that young woman did not feel threatened by a couple of males dressed as we were.

This still is one of my ever most favorite petticoat adventures. For a while I was a real life princess for a sweet little girl.

Next, I might write you about my true petticoat adventures in going to work many times dressed as a woman.

One other comment is in regards to Penelope.  Lesley, if I may be so forward, I think Penelope's hairdos might need a bit upgrading to those more suitable for a fashionable lady. Penelope would look adorable in some up-to-date, perhaps longer styles, of beauty parlor wigs.

You already send her out on errands; imagine the fun she'll have going to the beauty parlor to pick up her styled wigs, and drop off her wigs to be styled. With the lovely ensembles you make her wear the addition of a pretty hairdo will make her more conscious of your petticoat regime over her.  In addition, Penelope could always wear a pretty bow in her hair. You might include make up in her regime. Imagine Penelope having to dig into her purse to make sure her make-up is constantly refreshed. I think she would appreciate the extra femininity.
Yours in petticoats,

Nancy Jo


Dear Susan,

It always brightens my Sunday when I can stop by your website and find something new to read. Thanks for your efforts, and I hope everything continues to go well for you.
All the best,

P.M.


Dearest Susan,
 
After immensely enjoying the variety of entertaining accounts and images in the April issue, I would like to give something back by contributing another story and related picture. I hope you and your dedicated readers will enjoy it.
 
Circa 1961
 
Like so many other men who lived their teen years in the 1950s, young Rodger was afflicted by a clear case of petticoat envy. He loved the flirty, feminine fashions of the period, and his eyes were drawn to any girl who embraced these fashions.
 
His mother, noticing how he would stare at pretty young women, instructed him to restrain himself.
 
"Carry on like that," she cautioned, "and you risk resembling a gawking oaf."
 
Roger accepted his mother's advice, but his enthusiasm for pretty girls in '50s fashions was not diminished. In the privacy of his bedroom, he stared long and hard at secretly-collected pictures of calendar girls and pin-ups. His favorites were those of famed illustrator Ren Wicks.
 
Later, in a stroke of extreme good fortune, Roger was to meet and marry a wonderful young woman who had once posed professionally for his favorite illustrator. Her name was Annabelle. Roger and Annabelle made a heavenly match; the epitome of marital bliss.
 
Roger's boundless devotion to Annabelle was apparent. He seemed happiest when attending to her.
 
"You seem to have me on a pedestal," she remarked, and he readily admitted it was so.
 
"You are a superior woman," he told her.
 
Roger was always eager to assist in the kitchen, and unlike most men of his era, he frequently took up the task of cleaning and tidying their home.
 
One evening as Annabelle prepared to scour a sink ful of pots and pans, Roger stepped in and insisted he take over. This pleased Annabelle. She removed her pretty white organza pinafore, and in a playful moment, she slipped the filmy garment over his shoulders, swung him 'round, and fashioned its ties into a bow at the back.
 
"Now you're properly dressed for the job, Sweetie," she teased, giving him an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
 
Rodger's excitement could not be concealed.
 
"Oh my," Annabelle exclaimed, "What is happening? You're aroused!"
 
"I like it when you tease me," he revealed, "and when you take charge."
 
It was a pivotal event in their relationship; the moment in which Annabelle let Rodger know she was comfortable with his charmingly subservient nature and adoring demeanor. It was in that instant that Roger became Annabelle's 'housewife.'
 
Of course, he was not permitted to give up his day job, but eventually, Rodger's domestic job list grew very long. It included practically every chore in the household.
 
In the accompanying illustration, Rodger is modestly attired in one of his housekeeping outfits; a cotton wrap-around apron dress. The rather unremarkable but practical dress is underpinned by a padded bra, nylon panties, corset and petticoat. Rodger is nervous because he is about to be exposed for the first time to Annabelle's older sister and confidant, Gwendolyn. Gwen is an accountant, and has been wisely chosen by Annabelle to tutor Rodger in the management of household finances. The training will prepare him for a new monthly chore; that of paying the bills and keeping proper records.
 Love,

Lana

This fascinating picture has an interesting history: it is the only one of Christeen’s masterpieces actually set at the Works in Grimsby. It was really wonderful to have Christeen as a guest, and Dennis made sure that the luxury suite at the Oaklands Country House Hotel was booked for her.

Miss Gribble prepared a magnificent repast, and Saffy and Angus both played the pipes to lead the staff into one of the best celebratory dinners we have ever had – ever since Prince William and Kate dropped by to answer the royal toast on St George’s Day. They had broken up by then, but it was a long-standing engagement and a point of honour for both of them.

I must say that Kate Middleton is a charming lass, and it is such a pity that she will not be a future queen. We had quite a chat, and she showed keen interest in the PDQ archives, so I am not sure what her next boy friend is in for.

The next day it was down to work. Christeen was joined by Aunt Julia and Chris, who had to make do with ordinary rooms at the hotel. Aunt Julia sniffed and was a bit put out, but surely the artist takes precedence over the artist’s creations. Aunt Julia does have a rather snobbish side, just between ourselves.

The stone staircase that you see here is that leading down to Saffy’s sanctum sanctorum, the PDQ library and study area. Saffy doesn’t like to be disturbed by other people, especially now that he is working on his new project of translating Gormenghast into Latin with extensive foot-notes, but this time he was happy to push away the cobwebs, and make sure that the rats and bats were on their best behaviour for Christeen.

Personally I think the result is excellent, and there has already been Hollywood interest in using the Works as the set for a new filming of Dracula, possibly with Miss Gribble essaying the role of a 600 year old vampire