Dear Miss MacDonald,

I just wanted to write and say thank you so very much for keeping this wonderful publication going for we sissies, and of course, to the wonderful women who think that petticoat punishment should be wholeheartedly administered. I just enjoy reading the
letters so much, and even better if there are accompanying photographs. Some are just sublime and makes me wish i had such a wnderful wife who would make me their sweet little sissy girl. Oh dreams!

May I please request that I might be put in touch with Mr Bunty, I realise they may not wish to correspond of course, but I so loved that glorious letter ‘Pansy: humiliated beyond belief’ and would love to read more, and if possible, see any of the pictures too. I find the subject of sweet sisses and their forced dressing and babifications humiliations at the hands of such commanding women quite arousing. Although how I would feel at the hands of such is another matter completely.

Or, if there are any other sissies who may wish to correspond, I would love to hear from them too. Or even any of the wonderful women who may wish to have a sissy penfriend. Maybe you could put my request in your publication, if that is possible. I realise you are not publishing a contact magazine Miss MacDonald, so I know it may not be possible.

I look forward to hearing from you on this matter Miss MacDonald. Also, so very glad that you are giving us
sissies such a publication, and its new format, for our enjoyment. Long may it continue.

Please also pass on my thanks to all those wonderful women who send in pictures of their sweet sissy girlies. Stepanie-Jane’s, sent in by her mistress, Jennifer, and Rosemary‘s darling self-submitted picture. What a cutie she is. Oh, to be so pretty.
Yours respectfully, with a deep curtsey to you,

Cindi 

Sunday September 25 2005

FROM PLAITS TO PETTICOATS
from Beth

Dear Susan,

I found your site a few weeks ago and I thought it was time I wrote in.

I was about 12 when I was first petticoated, and it started with my hair.  It was the 1970s and I had long, brown and wavy hair down to just past my shoulders.  My parents were always trying to get me to have it cut, but I never obeyed.  One day I was just about to go to school when my mother stopped me and said: "Oh no you don't! Its photo day today and your hair is going to be neat!" 

I thought she meant just brushing it but no, far from it.  She tried out several different styles on me.  Alice bands, bunches, ponytails, French plaits, the works but in the end gave me two plaits on either side of my head, tied up with bright pink hair ties, and a braid at the front.  Naturally, I didn't want my friends to see me like that, so I took the plaits out on the way to school, but the braid stayed in because I couldn't get it out.  My mistake was to put the hair ties in my chest pocket. 

When I got to school, some of the girls asked me why I had a braid.  I told them, and said that I had also had plaits but I had taken them out.  Then one of the girls said:

“That would look cute. You with plaits!” 

And then they saw the hair ties through my pocket.  I was overcome by three girls plaiting my hair.  I kept them in after the photo, knowing that if I didn’t, the girls would just do them again.  You can imagine the amount of teasing I got.

When I got home, I was so angry with my mother for making me get teased so much that, when I finally got home after a day that seemed to last a year, I immediately started shouting at her.  Then, when I had finished, she said calmly:

“You know, a boy with plaits does look quite strange.  Come with me.”

I thought she was going to take the plaits and braid out for me, so I followed her up the stairs to the guest room, where all the clothes belonging to my sister (older by two years) where kept.  When I had walked in, my mother suddenly locked the door behind me, which I thought was very strange, and so I said:

“What am I supposed to do?”

To which my mother replied:

“Take off your clothes.”

I did so, for some reason, and with that she dressed me head to toe in girl’s underwear.  She started with a tight corset of some sort, then some knickers, white tights, a petticoat, and pink Mary Jane shoes.  I had given up resisting and crying at this point, possibly because of the tightness of the corset.  Then, to my horror, my mother produced out of a suitcase a frilly pink party dress that had belonged to my sister.  She put it over me, buttoned up the back and said:

“A boy with a girl’s hairstyle might silly, but a girl with a girl’s hairstyle certainly doesn’t!”

With that she took out the plaits and braid, slipped a black Alice band over my now very curly hair and led me to her room to give me make-up.

Of course, when my sister saw she was in hysterics, especially when my mum said:
“You will spend the rest of the week after school wearing these clothes, and your sister will do your hair for school every day.  Also, when you are a girl, you won’t be called ‘Ben’ but ‘Bethany’.” 

She lied.  I spent the rest of my free time that term and holiday in frilly dresses, girl’s undies, and girl’s hair and make-up.  The girls in my class found out and thought it hilarious, and even I secretly enjoyed it.
 Love from

Beth

A FOLLOW-UP TO ‘FRILLY PINK PYJAMAS’

Dear Miss Macdonald,

Thank you so much for publishing my son Jay’s letter. I think it shows just how foolish and immature he is.
Miss Hardacre and I have punished him for his outburst to you, for which I apologise.

I hope you and your readers are pleased to learn that throughout the holidays his bedtime was strictly observed at four pm. Jay now has a large selection of very soft and cuddly babyish pyjamas to wear, but since Miss Hardacre has unfortunately injured her arm she has had to elicit the help of Miss Lexicon to get him suitably attired for bed, and administer his now daily bedtime spankings.
Thank you for your sterling efforts in advocating a most efficacious method of petticoat discipline.
Yours sincerely,

Gina S Pankhurst. 

A ‘PETTICOAT PRESS’ SHORT STORY

Susan’s New Mackintosh

by Jennifer

David had a mind like a sieve. He was always forgetting things, and he certainly regretted it when he forgot to bring his rain jacket with him on holiday. His mother decided it was time to buy David’s sister Susan a new raincoat, and in her absence, guess who was going to have to wear it?

I reckon it was my sister’s fault for catching chicken pox. If she hadn’t been ill she would have come on holiday with Mum and myself, and I’d have been spared what for me was one of the most embarrassing few weeks of my younger days.

Susan and I were 10 year old twins, very alike both in looks and stature, and apart from the fact that she wore a dress and had shoulder length hair, we were almost identical.

It was during the summer holidays, and Mum had planned to take us both down to the seaside at Worthing to stay with our Aunt Mary and 12 year old cousin Jennifer. At age 21, my older sister Jane chose to stay back home in London, where the kind of activities she preferred were better catered for.

Then disaster struck. A few days before we were due to go, Susan went down with chicken pox, and it was clear that she was in no condition to be going anywhere. Mum thought about cancelling our trip, but Jane said that she’d be able to look after her, and insisted that Mum and I should still go. Concerned though I was for Susan’s health, I was secretly pleased when Mum agreed that since she wasn’t in any real danger, so we could go ahead with our visit to the seaside.

A few days later, Mum and I caught the train down to Worthing, and arriving at Aunt Mary’s, received our usual warm welcome. My cousin Jennifer and I got on pretty well, and she introduced me to some of her friends. Although they were nearly all girls, I enjoyed their fun-loving company, and all was well. For the moment.
   

A few days after we’d been there, we got up to find it was pouring with rain, so it was decided that we’d do some shopping, have lunch in town, and then go to the pictures in the afternoon.

After breakfast we started to get ready to walk into town, and went into the hall to put on our raincoats. And that was when my troubles began. Mum and Aunt Mary both had umbrellas, and Jennifer put on her navy blue school gaberdine raincoat. It was then that I realised I’d forgotten to bring my new army style camouflage rain jacket that made me feel tough.
   

‘Where’s you jacket David?’ said Mum, ‘You’re going to need it.’
   
I looked at her awkwardly and said ‘Sorry Mum, I forgot to bring it.’
   
‘What?’ she said, ‘Forgotten it? Oh really David, you’ve got a memory like a sieve. What am I going to do with you?’
   
‘I dunno’ I mumbled, ‘I just didn’t think of it. It was sunny when we came.’

‘So didn’t you think it just might rain while we were here? Honestly you really are the limit. Question is, what are you going to wear to keep you dry?’

With her quick witted sense of humour, Jennifer giggled and said ‘He can borrow one of mine if you like. I’ve got a really pretty pink Barbie raincoat he can wear. Reckon he’d look really cute in it, and I’ve even got a pair of pink wellies to go with it.’

I glared at her, totally unamused, while Mum and Aunt Mary laughed, and Mum said ‘I’ve a good mind to make you wear it, just to teach you a lesson.’ Then she suddenly looked thoughtful, grinned, and said ‘As a matter of fact that gives me an idea. Yes all right David, you can share my umbrella while we walk into town, and then I’ll buy you a new raincoat.’ Her eyes twinkled with amusement, but I couldn’t guess why. But I would soon find out why, and it wasn’t going to be to my liking.

Aunt Mary opened the front door for us and we stepped outside before she locked it behind us. Jennifer put up the hood of her raincoat, while Mum and Aunt Mary opened their umbrellas. She’d given Mum one of those very large ones, which covered both of us quite easily.

We set off down the street in the rain, and for the twenty minutes it took us to walk to the town centre, I hung onto Mum’s arm and kept as dry as I could.

Eventually we reached the shops, and Mum said ‘Is there a raincoat shop somewhere?’

‘Sure’ said Aunt Mary, ‘There’s a branch of Kendalls in the arcade. It’s just down here.’ She led the way into a covered shopping arcade, and we walked through it until we stopped outside Kendalls, a shop selling raincoats, umbrellas and wellingtons. Aunt Mary opened the door, and we went in.

It was an Aladdin’s cave of rainwear of every description, and my nostrils picked up the smell of poplin, gaberdine, plastic and rubber. Racks of raincoats of every description surrounded us, with neat rows of Wellington boots lined up underneath. A large display of colourful umbrellas ran across the end wall.

‘Good afternoon madam’ said a young shop assistant, coming out from behind the counter, ‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes please’ said Mum, ‘I want to buy a new mackintosh for my daughter, but she couldn’t come with us. Her brother here was silly enough to forget his rain jacket, so he can try it on and use it while we’re staying here. She’s only slightly bigger than him so there shouldn’t be any problem.’
   

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Me? Wear a girl’s raincoat? Was she serious? Mum gave me a meaningful stare that told me she meant it, and I immediately tried to voice my protest. I said pleadingly ‘Oh Mum no! Please, I don’t want to look like a girl!’

‘Sorry David’ she said, ‘But you shouldn’t have left your own one behind. I’m certainly not going to buy you another new raincoat, and I still haven’t bought Susan’s for her yet, so this will kill two birds with one stone. Now let’s have no silly arguments please.’ When Mum used that tone of voice I knew that she was going to get her own way, and I shrugged my shoulders in submission. Jennifer looked at me and giggled, while Aunt Mary had an amused smile on her face. Even the shop assistant couldn’t help grinning slightly, and I blushed with embarrassment.
  
There was a slight pause and then the shop girl said ‘Well let me show you what we have.  Now let me see, these are very popular at the moment.’

She went across to one rack, and working her way along, she suddenly stopped and said ‘Yes, here we are, how about this one?’ She pulled out a brightly coloured blue PVC raincoat with a floral pattern of red and yellow flowers, and held it up in one hand while holding up a matching rain hat with the other. It was certainly colourful, and guaranteed to drive away those rainy day blues. I could well understand why any young girl would enjoy wearing it, but Mum said ‘It’s very pretty, but she’s going to have to wear it to school. They stipulate that it has to be a more traditional mackintosh. I expect you know the style, a proper waterproof mackintosh made of rubberised cotton with a satinette finish. They’re double breasted with a belt, and have an attached hood with a button fastening under the chin.’

‘Oh yes’ said the assistant, ‘I know the ones you mean. They used to be very popular, and nearly every little girl wore one. We don’t have quite so much demand for that style these days, but we do still keep them in stock.’ She went over to a large rack of raincoats, looked at me, and said ‘Here we are, how about this one?’ She pulled a red mackintosh from the rack and held it up. It was almost exactly what Aunt Mary had described, who nodded as she said ‘Yes, that’s just what I’m looking for, but I’d like it to be about one size too big so that it will cover her properly, and she can grow into it.’
   

‘Certainly’ said the assistant, putting the mackintosh aside and taking another one from the rack. She came over to me, grinned with obvious amusement and said ‘Here you are then, try this one for size.’ She held it up for me to put on, and I reluctantly put my arms into the sleeves and she pulled the mac on over my shoulders. She fastened the buttons up to my neck, and then threaded the belt through the buckle before feeding it through the keeper to keep it tidy. The sleeves came down as far as my fingers, and the hem hung down several inches below my knees.

‘Very good’ said Mum approvingly, ‘Now let’s just see how it looks with the hood up, shall we?’ She stepped up to me and pulled up the hood, buttoned it securely under my chin, and pulled the hood well forward. It was of a style that used to be the standard pattern with girl’s mackintosh hoods, with a square cut about 4 inches long running across the top at the back of the head. She stepped back, looked at me and said ‘Oh yes, that’ll do nicely I think.’ I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, and with my face peeping out demurely from under the mackintosh hood thought I looked like a little girl of about eight, and blushed furiously with humiliation.

Jennifer didn’t help. She burst out laughing and said ‘Don’t you look sweet? Just like a little girl.’ Aunt Mary grinned and said ‘He does rather doesn’t he? Oh well David, never mind, at least you’ll only have to wear it when it rains. And it will certainly keep you dry,’ she added. Some consolation, I thought miserably, and cursed myself for forgetting my rain jacket.

The shop assistant looked at me for a moment and said ‘Well that seems to be a good fit. Slightly too large on him, so it should fit his sister with a little bit of growing room to spare.’

‘Yes that will be fine’ said Mum, ‘I’ll take it. How much is that?’
She paid the bill, and a moment later we stepped out into the arcade. As we reached the entrance facing the sea-front I unbuttoned the hood with the intention of taking off the mackintosh, but Mum saw me and was having none of it. She quickly pulled my hands away and said ‘Don’t be silly David, it’s still raining, so keep your mac on. And that includes your hood.’

She refastened it under my chin and pulled it well forward, and I peered out demurely from under it, hating every moment. The mackintosh smelt of rubber, and the idea of having to wear it filled me with dismay. As we came out into the open street opposite the pier it was still pouring quite heavily, and I felt and heard the rain drumming on my mackintosh hood and running down onto my feet.
   
‘Right then’ said Aunt Mary, looking at me approvingly, ‘That’s got that sorted out. I must say David, you do look very much like Jennifer used to in the rain when she was a little girl. Her mac was just like that one. Now let’s go for a walk along the sea front before we have some lunch, shall we?’

We set off with the wind blowing against our faces and the rain lashing down. What possessed Aunt Mary to want to go for a walk along the sea front in the wind and the pouring rain escapes me, but I had to put up with it anyway.

I must admit that Susan’s new mackintosh did a pretty good job of keeping the weather out, but nonetheless I still felt utterly humiliated at wearing what was so obviously an item of girl’s clothing.

We walked along the promenade for about 15 minutes with my mac slapping against my bare legs going schlock schlock before Aunt Mary said ‘All right, I think we’d better turn back. Let’s go and have some lunch.’ We retraced our steps, and were soon back in the centre of town. We walked up the road for a few minutes until we reached Lyons Corner House, an old fashioned-looking cafe opposite the town hall.

We went in, and Mum unfastened my hood, and arranged it hanging down neatly over my shoulders. To me this was even worse. With the hood up, my face had at least been slightly obscured, but now it was clear to every onlooker that I was a boy wearing a girl’s mackintosh, and I groaned inwardly as a couple of people looked at me, grinned, and said something to their table companions. It was obvious that I was the source of amusement.

We stood in the queue with our trays, filling them up as we moved along. Then Mum paid the cashier at the end of the food counter, and we looked for a table. We sat down, and Mum at last removed my wet mackintosh and hung it up on a coat stand. At last I felt normal again.

I wanted lunch to last forever. Anything to delay having to put on the mackintosh again. But the time soon approached for the afternoon matinee showing at the cinema, and we stood up from the table. Then I had a stroke of luck. I looked out of the window and saw that the rain had stopped and the sun was shining. ‘Look Mum’ I said eagerly, ‘It’s stopped raining. I don’t have to wear Susan’s mac now do I?’

    She looked outside, and taking the mackintosh down off its hook, said ‘All right then, you can carry it.’ She handed it to me, and I put it over my arm. I still felt self-conscious carrying a girl’s raincoat, as it was obviously me that was wearing it, but that was a million times better than having to put it on. Jennifer looked at me, giggled, and said ‘What’s the matter David? Don’t you want to wear Susan’s nice new mackintosh?’

Ha, ha, very funny,’ I retorted sarcastically.
   
It was only a five minute walk to the cinema, and here I at least had three hours’ respite from this new humiliation that would have embarrassed any full-blooded boy. We all went in, and I had the pleasure of temporarily retreating into the world of Star Wars.
   
Absorbed by the film, my respite hardly seemed to last any time at all, and when the lights came up at the end of the film we stood up and walked out into the cinema foyer. My heart sank when I saw that outside it was once more pouring with rain.
   
‘All right David’ said Mum firmly, ‘Let’s put your mac on again.’

She took it from me, and while she held it up for me to put on, I put my arms once more into the sleeves. She quickly buttoned me into it and fastened the belt before pulling up the hood and buttoning it on securely under my chin. This time there were several other children close by to see me, and several little girls giggled as they saw me being buttoned by my mother into a mackintosh similar to the ones they were wearing. I blushed crimson as I peered out from under my hood, trying to ignore their amused stares.
   
We set off through the wet streets, and I was conscious of the occasional grin from several passers by as they recognised me as a boy wearing a girl’s mackintosh.
   
But eventually we reached home, and as soon as we were indoors, Mum mercifully removed my wet mackintosh and hung it up to dry in the kitchen.
   
Jennifer didn’t waste any time in teasing me about the day’s events, and the teasing didn’t just stop there. Unfortunately, Mum had meant what she said, and for the next three weeks, she made me wear Susan’s new mackintosh every time I went out in the rain. Needless to say, Jennifer’s friends found the situation highly amusing, and insisted on taking me out for the day on several occasions, always making sure that it was on a rainy day of course.
   
And even when our visit came to an end, Mum made me wear the mac all the way home. By the time we arrived, Susan had fully recovered not only her health but her mischievous sense of humour, and when she saw me she roared with laughter at the sight of me. ‘Oh boy’ she giggled, ‘What a lovely little sister you would have made David, I must see if I can find you a pretty little dress to wear with it!’

‘What a lovely idea’ chuckled Jane, ‘I’m sure he’d make a delightful little Davina!’

But at least that was nearly the last time I had to wear her mackintosh. I say nearly, because a few months later I lost a game of forfeits, and Susan and Jane carried out their threat. I had to go for a walk around town with them wearing a cute little party frock, with white ankle socks and a pair of leather T bar Mary Jane strap shoes.

In the rain.

Wearing Susan’s new mackintosh.

Sisters have a really wicked sense of humour sometimes.

THE END

NOTES FROM READERS

WHERE IS FIFI?
From Richard

Dear Susan,
 
I was sad to hear you had stopped writing the petticoat monthly, but over the moon to find the new shorter edition. Can I just say a few words about some of the letters in the last two issues?

It was nice to see Penelope's new pink uniform: very nice, she does look so sweet in it (I am glad it is her and not me in it) and so feminine. As for ways Lesley can humiliate her, she can dress her in unisex type of clothing but of a more feminine colour, such as a silky blouse and ladies’ slacks, with stockings and low heeled shoes - no one would take any notice, but Penelope would think everyone is looking at her.

She should be taken to a town where she is not known and sent off to by feminine things, and she could even buy ladies’ magazines to carry across her chest for all to see. Lesley could walk behind her checking on her progress. A good idea is her get herself fitted for a bra, this would mean the lady would have to measure her for size.
 
Please, please, please when are we going to see Fifi's photographs? The description of her uniform sounds fab; I would love to see the long knickers her wife describes. I look forward to next month. I am so glad my wife will not dominate me: who knows what would have happened!
 Bye for now,

Richard

As a matter of fact I do have a letter from Pamela:

A MYSTERIOUS RESTAURANT
from Pamela

Dear Susan,

Thank you so much for responding - the only reason I have not been in contact is that I have been out of the country for two and a half months visiting family.

Thank you so much for bringing Petticoat Discipline back to a more regular status: I can assure you it is much appreciated amongst your readership.

I enclose a little present for Lesley, perhaps her housemaid has another line of business?

I look forward to hearing from you.

Pamela

This is news indeed! I understand that Penelope is an excellent cook, so anything is possible. I hope I am not getting her into trouble by publishing this photograph – Lesley will be furious if Penelope has opened a fashionable pavement restaurant without her permission.

A MAGAZINE COVER FROM EUSTACE

Dear Susan,

Did you ever see this image?  Unfortunately I cannot remember where I found it, but it is a classic n¹est-ce pas?
Yours,
 
Eustace

Yes, it is lovely.

GHOSTS IN PDQ!
From Dennis

Dear Susan,

In the February 2000 issue, ‘THE JOYS OF RUFFLED RHUMBA PANTIES’ from Phyliss, the picture she sent of herself has a ghost in it! I do some ghost investigation and photograph them, and Phyliss definitely has a ghost living in her home with her. That is not a defect in the picture: the human eye can't see it, but the eye of the camera can, because of the flash has a wider range of light spectrum than the human eye has. Phyliss will flip to find out there is a ghost watching her, and living with her.
 
Susan, may I send this picture in to the International Ghost Society for them to take a look at, and to get their comments on it?
 Love,

 Dennis

Phyliss will be quite delighted by this discovery I am sure. In Britain at least, to have a ghost in one’s house is regarded as VERY bon-ton. In Scotland, if a house is not haunted by several aristocratic headless ghosts, then no family of good breeding will even consider living there.

Here is the link to the page:

http://www.petticoated.com/general26.htm

At the time I did offer a different, more magickal,  interpretation of the phenomenon that Dennis is referring to.

REQUESTS

Dear Susan,

Hello. Could you please let me have the email address of the person who wrote "More Petticoat Humiliation from My Sisters"?
Thank you so much,

Terri

If the writer of that letter wishes to contact Terri then they should write to me.

Until next week...
Susan