I was born in Sydney New South Wales, in Australia. I remember when I was a young boy, when walking with my mother, ladies in the street would remark, “He has such nice curly hair.  It is a pity he is not a girl.” This happened many times.
 
In my first year at high school there was a science teacher, Mr Potts, who was a hard teacher, while I was and still am a quiet, withdrawn, meek-and-mild person.  One day I was lost in my thoughts.  Mr Potts asked me a question that I did not hear. He was so angry that I was hit with the cane on my hand (which could still be used as a punishment for schoolchildren), and I ran out of the schoolroom in anger and shame. My parents heard about it, and I was sent to bed early.

 Eventually I fell asleep.  It was early when I awoke in the morning, just after sunrise.  My mother was already in the kitchen. Father had left for work and my bowl of Weet Bix was already waiting on the table.  I poured on the milk from the jug, and then ate my breakfast greedily.  I asked for another bowl of food.  Mum filled it again, saying, “Off to the shower.  You’re not going to school today.  I will show you what happens to sissies.” As I showered I thought, “It’s Friday, so I will have three days off from school. Great.”

I finished the shower, and walked back to my bedroom to put on my shorts and T-shirt.  Lying on the bed there was a white frilly girls’ dress.  I stared at the dress for a moment.  My mother came into the room and handed me a pair of girls’ white lacy panties, plus an under petticoat or slip. “Put these on, then the dress my lad.” I said “No Mum, I can’t put on a girls’ dress, I am a boy.” “Don’t argue sissy boy, or you will get the strap.” Reluctantly I obeyed.

My mother came back with a pair of white stockings, plus a pair of black girls’ shoes.

 Mum helped me put on the stockings, and then hesitantly I put on the shoes.  Mum stepped back, looking at how the dress fitted.  “You look nice as a girl - better than as a grubby boy. Your curly hair needs a brush though.”

She produced a hairbrush, and then brushed out my hair until I looked like the girl in the Ginger Megs comic.  She then produced a blue ribbon to tie in a bow in my hair.  I looked in the mirror, to see a pretty girl in the reflection.

“Not quite right yet.” Mum went out of the room, then came back with a tube of light pink lipstick, which she applied to my lips. “That’s better now you are a real sissy boy.  Us girls are going out shopping in town now.”

I was dumbfounded. “You can’t do that - I will be recognised,” I pleaded.

“I think I will call you Catherine now.  You look just like a Catherine.  Come along.” She led me out the door, then up the path to the front gate and into the street.  One of the nearby neighbors was passing.  She stopped to look. “I did not know you had a girl in the family. She is such a pretty little girl! Such lovely hair.  Much nicer than your son’s locks,” She commented in passing.  “What’s her name?”

Mum replied “Catherine. Yes she is a pretty little girl.” My legs were still shaky.  But at least I had not been recognised.  We walked towards the tram stop.  The cool insistent breeze was making the skirt of my dress balloon upwards. “Hold your dress down; put your hands down in front of you Catherine, you don’t want the boys to see your panties do you?  It’s not lady-like.”

I did as I was told.  Walking up the street towards us was two of my schoolmates.  I tried to hide behind my mother.  They walked past and I felt relieved that I was not recognized, until one of the boys looked back and whistled at me as my skirt up again blew up revealing my frilly panties.  “You will have to keep that skirt under control, young lady,” my mother commanded.

We waited at the tram stop for twenty minutes before a city tram came along.  I stood at the tram stop with my eyes down in shame in case I was recognised.  We got onto the tram.  It was a toast-rack tram with a half dozen open doors, and with long rows of wooden seats that seat about eight people on each side. I sat nearest the door with my mother next to me.  At least I was not sitting next to a stranger.  However at the next stop a man got into the tram, seating himself opposite.

My mother whispered in my ear, “Keep your knees together girl.  That man’s looking up your skirt.” I quickly brought my legs together, looking down sheepishly at my feet for the remainder of the journey into the city.  We alighted from the tram at the town hall, and walked down to Market Street to the department store that in those days was called Farmers.  Mum entered the store with me following behind.

We took the lift to the first floor ladies’ wear department.  She headed towards the ladies’ powder room, I followed her meekly.  “She whispered in my ear, “Don’t forget that girls always sit on the toilet.” I went into the first cubicle, lowered my panties, and then sat down to empty my bladder.  I waited until I had finished and pulled my panties up under my dress, fumbling through my full petticoat.  My mother came to the closed toilet door. “Are you finished yet Catherine?  You mustn’t take all day!”

I opened the door.  The room was now full of ladies waiting for a cubicle.  “Go and wash your hands my girl.” I moved to the washbasin, and washed my hands. Mum was washing hers at the next basin.  Then she opened her handbag, and put her hand in to get a lipstick tube.  She smoothed the lipstick on, and then handed it to me.

“Your lips need touching up.” Obeying, I stood docilely while my mother touched my lips up. Even though I was still nervous, I thought the quicker I got the lipstick on, the quicker I will be out of ‘The Ladies.’ Once we were out of the loo, I was lead to the handbag section where my mother looked for what seemed an age at the little girls’ bags before she finally purchased one then handed it to me. “Put the strap over your shoulder, darling, like a good girl”

Down in the crowded lift we went to the cosmetics department and looked at the rows of lipstick.  She chose another light pink tube, and paid the sales lady.  She handed me the lipstick. “Put it into your handbag for later darling.” I did so reluctantly.  Mother and I spent the next hour or two looking at dresses for both herself and her frilly little daughter ‘Catherine’ She held what seemed like dozens dresses up against herself but put them back on the clothes rack.

Off to the girls’ department we went.  This time she got me to hold a dozen or so in front of me, ‘her little girl’.  She chose two, and sent me off to the change room to try them on.  Terrified I did as I was told.  I took off my white dress in the change cubicle, put a gauzy pink party dress on, and then went outside for my mother to view the new dress. “No that’s not the right look.  Try the other one on.” I went, changed into the other yellow dress. “No, that’s not you either. Go back and put your dress on, then we will try Curzons down the road.”

Leaving Farmers I followed Mum to the other department store.  This time we went straight to the lingerie dept. Mum took me over to look at nightdresses.  She held several against my body, and selected a blue satin one with lace and ribbons at the top.  Again she paid the shop girl, handing me the bag with my new night dress inside, and we spent another hour looking at underclothes for my mother.  She eventually purchased a new corset for herself.  While looking through the corset department I was at first bored.  However after a while I gradually became fascinated with theses garments and stared at them, eventually I touched them to see how they felt.  This fascination was to grow over the years.  I still have a fascination with corsets forty years later.

 Finally we progressed to the girls’ department, and I began to feel embarrassed and self-conscious at once. The holding of dresses against me began again.  One more I had to try a few dresses on, and then parade myself for my mothers’ approval.  Eventually she chose a blue dress, then another, white with little roses and hearts on it.  I was again given the bag holding the new dresses to carry.  I thought we were leaving until my mother selected two pairs of ruffled and ribboned panties to match the new dresses.

  “Lets go and have a nice cup of tea.”  Seeing you have been a good girl I shall let you have a nice cake at Repins in Market Street. I did indeed have a fairy cake with my tea.

Mother brightly discussed her purchases for us both. “It’s nearly five o’clock.  Your father will be knocking off work soon.  We will go to pick him up.” Again I became terrified at the thought of my dad seeing me in a dress.  I had no choice in the matter.  We waited outside his place of work, Anthony Hordens, another department store where he worked as a chef in the store restaurant.  .  We waited outside the staff exit for a half an hour.  Lots of people started coming out the door at ten past five.  My father approached, and I tried to hide myself behind my mother again. She pushed me forward towards my father.

“Look at our new little girl Catherine; Bill, “isn’t she pretty?  Better than that grubby boy Johnny.  It’s a pity we didn’t have a girl.  Her hair looks lovely.  Catherine is such a nice name don’t you think?”

 Mother was a very dominant woman, always getting her own way. “Yes dear,” was all my father could answer.  After my father bought the evening paper we took the tram home.

  When I arrived home I raced to my bedroom to take off the dreaded dress.  I looked into the wardrobe for my boys’ clothing. It was empty.  Mother came in behind me, and then told me in a brusque manner to hang up my new dresses, and carefully fold my new panties in the drawer.  But I was to leave my nightie on my bed for later.

 It was Friday night so it was fish and chips night. We always went out to a café to have the traditional Friday night fish and chips.  I remembered that the father of my classmate Emanuel owned the shop.  “I can’t go there like this” I protested. But my mother insisted, and her word was law, so we soon left for our meal.  It was a long walk to the café.  But the night air was cooler, so despite my state of attire I enjoyed the stroll.  I protested outside the shop. “If you’re a good girl I might buy you an ice-cream sundae for dessert!” my mother said temptingly. My parents went into the booth in which they normally sat.  I followed hesitantly.  The proprietor came to get our order.  “Fish and chips for the three of us, two teas and a vanilla milkshake for Catherine,” my father ordered.

 “Don’t forget to use your knife and fork,” My mother said “Its unlady like for a girl to use her fingers.” The food and drinks were soon on the table.  I ate the fish and chips slowly, using the cutlery.  When we were finished I was told I had been a good little girl so I could have my treat.  Dad also asked for the teapot to be topped up with hot water.  The chocolate sundae arrived.  I started to eat the dessert.  Suddenly my classmate appeared at the table with the refilled teapot.  I closed my eyes in fear. “Thank you son,” my father said.  I hesitantly looked up.  Emanuel had gone without even a glance in my direction.

We finished, my father paid for the meal.  We walked out of the café then down the hill towards home.  We arrived home, and my mother told me to undress, and hang my dress neatly up in the wardrobe, I then had to put my panties and stockings in the laundry basket, and then to have a shower, and dry myself properly. “Don’t forget to use the Johnson’s baby powder before you put your nightie on,” Mother reminded me.  In my bedroom I Put my new nightdress on, then climbed into bed.  I was tired.  I felt relaxed in my blue silky-smooth rayon nightdress.  Soon I was sound asleep.
 
I awoke in the morning.  I was hungry.  I went straight to the kitchen still in my long nightie.  It felt cool against my legs.  The Weet Bix was waiting on the table.  Dad had already gone to work, and I quickly ate my breakfast, and drank the glass of orange juice my mother had squeezed.  I started to leave the table.  When my mother said out loud, “Not so fast my dainty little girl. There is the washing up to be done first,” I obeyed, wandering over to the kitchen sink slowly to begin washing, drying the dishes, cups, and cutlery.  I put them into their appropriate places in the kitchen dresser.

“Alright Catherine go, have another shower, dry yourself properly, don’t forget to talcum under your arms.  I want you to put your new blue panties and dress on.  You will find your clean stockings hanging up in the bathroom.  Use my hairdryer to dry your hair, and put on your lipstick as well!”

I did as I was told.  I knew well it would be futile to argue. I showered then donned the underwear and the blue dress.  My mother came into the room to brush my hair.  This time she tied two blue ribbons in my hair one on each side.  “Go, sit at the kitchen table, I will be back soon.” I sat at the table.  Mum came out from her bedroom holding a small bottle.  Put your right hand on the table” I then noticed what she was holding.  It was pink nail polish.  I did not protest as she painted each of my fingernails pink.

“Wait here until they are properly dry.  I am going to get dressed myself. We are going to visit Mrs. Menzies, so be on your very best behaviour.”  Mother and I both dressed walked to Mrs. Menzies’ house.  I knew where it was, but had never visited the house before. Dr Menzies was one of the directors of Anthony Hardens where my father worked.  It was a grand house with many rooms, and a huge garden fronting Sydney Harbour.  My mother had known the family for many years, and had been invited for morning tea.

Mrs Menzies herself answers the door. “Come in my dear, I did not know you had such a lovely daughter.  I love her curly hair.  It’s so nice. What’s your name, young lady?”  I answered meekly in a high-pitched voice, “Catherine…“ That’s a pretty name too my dear. Tea is just about ready, and Cook’s baked us some of her famous scones.”

We enter the lounge room of the house.  It is grandly furnished with antique furniture.  A table is set up with four cups and saucers, a sugar bowl, and four small plates and teaspoons.  We sit down and Mother starts to talk to Mrs. Menzies. A girl in a white frock similar to the one I wore yesterday appears.

“This is my daughter Anne. Indicating my mother, she introduces Anne to her. “This is Mrs. Maguire, Anne.” Looking towards me, she introduces me to Anne as Catherine.  I think, surely Anne will recognise me as a boy in girls’ clothing.  A woman in black wearing a white apron enters bearing a silver tray holding a silver tea pot, a silver milk jug and sugar bowl.  Another woman enters with another silver tray holding a dozen scones on a white plate.  There are also two bowls holding strawberry jam and cream.  The maids put the two trays on the table.

Mrs. Menzies thanks the maids, and they leave the room. She then asks, “Everyone for tea?” Without waiting for an answer she pours tea into the four cups on the table. “Milk everyone?”  We all nod as she pours milk into each cup.  Sugar?  We each say one teaspoon please, very politely.

Scones are handed about We all cut them in half and put Jam and cream on the halves.  Mrs. Menzies and my mother talk to each other gossiping.  Anne and I each sip our tea and eat our scones.  After a while Mrs. Menzies look at us saying, “Anne, Catherine you must be bored with us old ladies.  Why don’t you two go and enjoy the garden?”

Anne shows the way out to the garden.  Once outside Anne says, “You’re a boy, aren’t you? “ I say yes, in a low voice. “My you look pretty in your blue dress! I am glad you are a boy.  Mother never lets me play with boys.”  We become instant friends, walking around the rose garden talking as boy and girl. Anne has never heard of petticoat punishment and is very interested in why I am dressed as a girl. I remember this day so well.  In my mother’s old photo album I still see, years later, a black and white picture of we ‘girls‘ each holding dolls dressed in little dresses of swiss cotton, dolls that belonged to Anne.

“We have to go and pick up your father from work now,” says Mother.  We say good-bye to Anne and Mrs. Menzies, and then walk towards the tram stop.  The city tram arrives almost instantly.  We board the tram, which heads towards the city.  My father is equally under my mother’s domination.  Almost every day she collects him from work.  He can’t go to the pub for a beer like most of the other employees.  I think she also did not want him meeting other women.

After picking up my father we catch another tram home.  Arriving home I was about to head towards my bedroom, but Mother stopped me. “You don’t get away that easily, little lady.  You have to do the ironing.  I will teach you to how to sew after you finish - all girls must learn how to sew and mend.”  I spend the remainder of the day ironing and trying to sew a tear in one of my mother’s dresses.

Dinnertime arrived at last.  This time I am told to set the table before Mother brings the plates of roast lamb, and roast vegetables and gravy, she had cooked while I was attempting to sew.  We listen to the radio serials until half past eight.  Then I’m sent to shower and toilet, and I put my nightie on once again and go to bed.  Again my nightie’s soft silky feeling makes me feel good.  I relax soon, falling into a deep sleep.
 
 
It’s Sunday morning, and my parents usually sleep in.  But today they are up early. I find mum and dad at the breakfast table.  “ We are going to Manly for the day.  Eat up your brekky .Then go and put on the dress with the hearts and flowers pattern.  Don’t worry about your stockings - I have borrowed a pair of strappy sandals for you to wear.  You will need lipstick though. I will help you with your hair.  But next time you will brush your hair and tie the hair ribbon yourself,” Mum ordered.

 We catch the tram to Circular Quay, to board the Manly Ferry. I always like the adventure of traveling on the ferry, especially when the ferry turned and crossed the Sydney Heads.  The ferry tossed and rolled in the sea.  Sometimes when the sea was rough it washed onto the outside lower deck.  It takes an hour to get to Manly on the ferry.

On arrival we took the traditional stroll down the tree-lined esplanade that fronts onto the sea.  “The sea looks wonderful today,” Mum commented.  “Would you like to go for a swim, Catherine?”  I borrowed a girls’ swimsuit for you from Mrs. Carson next door.  It’s her daughter’s.”

Mum and I headed towards the ladies’ change room.  In a closed cubicle I took off my dress and sandals, then put on the girls’ floral bathing suit.  As was the fashion in the early 50s it had a little skirt at the bottom.  Mum gave me a rubber bathing cap to keep my hair dry.  For a half an hour or so we waded in the cool surf, letting the waves break over us.  It felt wonderful!  We then stretched out on our towels for a sun bake until lunchtime.  Dad went for a paper parcel of fish and chips, and  Mum said I had to go and get two bottles of ginger beer and a Coca Cola for myself.

With a towel over her shoulders little Catherine, rather confident now, went all by herself for the very first time to buy something from a shop.  When I arrived back with the drinks, Dad was already there with the fish and chips, which we ate sitting on the park benches.  I returned to the beach by myself for a final paddle in the water before Mum and I went back to have a cold shower to wash the sand off our swimming cozies, dried ourselves and got dressed.

I was feeling great.  We went to have a look in the tourist shops.  One sold all sorts of knick knacks.  My mother bought me a nice little gold necklace with a heart as an ornament.  She put it about my neck, and it went with the hearts and roses on my dress.  I was really feeling confident now.  I asked Mum if she would also buy me one of those golden bangles all the girls seem to be wearing.  Without a word one was purchased to be put about my wrist.

We had tea and scones in a café. It was late. We headed towards the ferryboat to return us home.  It was cooler on the ferry ride home, and I stood up front on the bows of the ferry, watching the dolphins leap in and out of the water in front of the moving boat.  As the wind blew my skirt up and down I felt I was now really a girl.

We took the tram home, and I was starting to feel the sunburn on my shoulders.  A cold meat salad that Mum had prepared before leaving home was soon on the plate.  I was tired - I undressed, and had my shower.  I noticed in the mirror that my upper chest was red with sunburn, and its edges were in the scooped shaped on my borrowed bathing suit…

On Monday I woke in my nightdress, ate my breakfast, and went back to my room.  I found my boys’ school uniform waiting on the bed.  I dressed hurriedly so I could catch the school bus.  I was John again.  I was about to leave when Mum yelled at me, “Don’t forget to take your nail polish off.  There is a bottle of remover in the bathroom cabinet.  Make sure it’s all rubbed off you don’t want the boys to see you have pink fingernails.”

At school no one commented about last week, but a number of boys including myself were kept in class at lunch time.  We could eat our packed lunches but not go out into the playground.  After school at home my nightdress was again waiting on my bed.  The dresses in the wardrobe had however disappeared.  “You will continue to wear your nightdress instead of pyjamas,” my mother ordered.

The next day at school nothing was said until just before lunch time when my class teacher ordered that I stay in the class room to study, instead of going into the playground.  I could eat my lunch while I read my notebooks.  The school week passed normally.  The headmaster at assembly told the school that for minor misbehavior pupils would now suffer lunchtime detention.  However for any serious misbehavior pupils would still be punished with the cane.  Friday of that week was the end of term, so there would be a three-week break from school.

  On arrival at home at 4pm Mum told me to take a shower.  Returning to my bedroom with a towel around my waist, I found to my horror a white frilly dress laid out on the bed.  I complained to my mother, but I did not resist for long.  After I donned my dress, panties, heart necklace, and put on a touch of lipstick my mum came into the room. “We are going to collect your father from his work now Catherine. You are going to have a lovely time over the school holidays, dear.”
 
 I was to spend the whole of the school holidays as Catherine.  For the first few days I felt scared and humiliated. Gradually however I began to enjoy the trips to town looking at dresses in shops with my mother. I could do my own hair in a girlish style, tie the ribbon, and paint my own fingernails.  Being a girl was not so bad after all.  It was becoming rather a fun experience.
 
 When the holidays ended I thought it’s a pity I could not attend a girls’ school instead of a boys’ school where I was treated as an outsider who was not one of the crowd.

  Until I was 14 my mother continued to bring Catherine alive on some weekends and during all the holidays.  I loved my dresses and petticoats, and my panties, which felt quite different from boys’ underpants. I wished I could wear my nylon stockings all year round, but they were too warm for me in summer.

In later years schoolwork became more demanding and I reached male puberty, my voice became deeper, and my manhood started to develop.  But my experiences as Catherine were not forgotten for I had enjoyed being a girl for a while. I left school at 16.  My parents could not afford to keep me there any longer.

 I soon found a job. It was on my second payday, that I went back to Curzons to buy my first girdle.  A Berli Sarong high-waisted girdle, and a pair of seamed stockings.  I began to wear the corset and stockings under my work clothes.  I was now on the path to eventually becoming a cross dresser.
 
John eventually married though, so he abandoned all his feminine attire.  John’s wife produced three children, but John’s passion for the feminine did not die.  Several times he built up a collection of dresses, lingerie etc only to abandon them on second thought.  But the hidden desire remained.  One day of course his wife found out.  At first she was not accommodating in his passion.  Eventually the hidden virtues of love prevailed, she accepted in part as long as he kept Catherine hidden from the children.  Eventually the children grew up and left home.  John began dressing about the house and sleeping in a nightdress.

  It has often been said that a man always marries a replacement woman for his mother. John as Catherine soon found in his case this was true.  John’s wife Joan, as a condition of his being able to dress as Catherine, made him do the housework, cooking, washing, sewing, ironing, and best of all do the supermarket shopping. Joan, his wife, has now become the woman in charge of all his actions and decisions, and John is a housemaid, who is called “Joanna” rather than Catherine. He feels most humiliated when he has to wear a “French Maid” uniform with a frilly white tutu-style petticoat that reveals Joanna’s frilly knickers. But he would not change places with any man in the world.

I like Joanna's story very much because it has a strong nostalgic flavour. Joanna evokes the world of the 1950s very well.