Dear Nanny Susan,

I wholeheartedly concur with you and your readers on the subject of petticoat discipline. The wearing of frocks and frilly underpinnings is without doubt the best way to control the male gender. This is especially so if the attire chosen for the errant male is much younger than his real age, such as little girls' party frocks or, even worse, baby girls' clothes.

My first experience of petticoat discipline was when, as a young girl of 14, we had to move to a small town. Since our father had left us to fend for ourselves several years earlier, Mother had no choice but to leave our home town, and had secured work here as a nurse. We quickly made friends with our next-door neighbours, especially another single mother Karen, a dressmaker who had also been left by her husband to raise her two daughters and her son.

We were introduced to Janet, who was the same age as myself (we were to be in the same class at school), and Caroline who was two years younger at 12. Peter was the oldest we were told, he was 16. Janet requested that Caroline bring Peter through to greet his new neighbours and she left the room with a huge smirk on her face. When she returned, the reason for her mirth was obvious.

Following meekly behind her came Peter, his head bowed, his eyes lowered, and his face crimson red. This was not surprising for Peter was dressed in a pretty pink party frock designed for a little girl of about 5 or 6. His dress was made of taffeta, and it rustled loudly at each of his nervous movements. It had a white satin collar trimmed with lace, big puff sleeves, a wide white silk sash around a high waistline, and this was tied in the back in a huge bow. His dress was held out at almost right angles by yards of lace trimmed petticoats, making it look almost like a tutu, and showing the very pretty and frilly knickers he was wearing underneath. His bare legs seemed so long and slim poking beneath all those frills, and on his feet he wore a pair of frilly anklets and shiny black patent leather Mary Janes. It was impossible to tell that this simpering caricature of little girlhood was actually a grown boy of 16!

Karen ordered Peter to stand in front of her so that we could view his pretty clothes, and while she fussed about straightening his puff sleeves she explained why Peter was so attired. She told Mother and I that since his father had left, Peter had become an unruly child, and that he seemed to believe that he was now the man of the house, and that he expected the females to treat him with the respect that his male gender demanded. Karen's respect for the male gender was next to nothing since her husband had left her with almost nothing, and she did not want Peter growing up to be the typically selfish male chauvinistic pig that his father turned out to be, so she introduced him to girls' clothes - an old fashioned remedy for unruly boys that she had learned from her mother.

Peter's arrogance, she explained, quickly disappeared once dressed as a girl, and to ensure that Peter maintained the standards she expected of him, she relegated his status to that of the youngest child in the house, and both Janet and little Caroline were given complete authority over him. The girls, of course, revelled in their new positions, and it was they who suggested that Peter be dressed as a little girl, and that he should be treated accordingly. They sketched and designed his outfits, as girls love doing, and, as their mother was an expert dressmaker, he soon had a wardrobe that any five year old little girl would die for. Karen went on to explain that Peter was kept in little girls' clothes all the time at home. This was to be his last year of school, Karen said, after that he was to take up employment as her apprentice seamstress, and as his little girl frocks had been so effective in controlling him in the past, she intended to keep Peter in them permanently when he was at work.

Peter had a look of abject shame on his face the whole time his mother spoke. He was close to tears at being freely spoken about as if he were a small child, in front of complete strangers. I was thrilled to see him so humiliated, and I determined then to be a regular visitor to their house. Both Janet and Caroline were ecstatic at my enthusiasm for humiliating their brother.

I first insisted he carry a dolly whenever he was at home, of course he had to play with it, and talk to it as any little girl of his age would. Karen and we girls decided that he should be charged with the responsibility of naming his dolly, and he was told that if the name were not girlie enough then he would be made to take her for a stroll down the street in a doll's pram.  He eventually named her Baby Susan, which we thought was adequate, much to his relief.

I also thought he should talk with a lisp, and a paper clip attached to his tongue for several weeks (an old trick of the theatre) soon reduced his speech to that of a child - apparently he once even lisped at school, which caused great amusement, for all of his classmates had heard of his petticoated condition at home. Peter was also instructed in the art of curtseying, in fact he was made to curtsey so often that it became an automatic reaction at home, before or after he spoke. Peter was a nervous, trembling sissy whenever I came round to see him, something that caused a great thrill inside me, because I knew then that I never wanted to marry one of the arrogant boys that I had to mix with at school. I wanted someone like Peter, who would lower his eyes in my presence, curtsey sweetly, and nurse Baby Susan whenever he was told.

Both my mother and Karen were so happy when, at 18, I announced that Peter and I were to be married. Peter did not know of course, why bother to tell him? Karen was pleased that Peter was going to be kept under petticoat discipline even after he was married, and when I told her of my plans for my future husband, she fell into a fit of hysterics. She set about sewing a new wardrobe for Peter, and as he was to live with us, Mother and I set about making a suitable home for my dear hubby.

After a very short registry marriage, where Peter pledged to honour and obey me, and where he also took my name, I took my new spouse home. I was quite a tall and strong young woman, so there was no problem picking him up to carry the poor darling through the front door. While Mother entertained Karen, Janet, and Caroline, I took Peter up to get him changed. Unfortunately he couldn't be married in any of the new outfits that had been made for him, but he did wear a very sweet Little Lord Fauntleroy suit of blue velvet shorts, blue velvet Eton jacket, and frilly white blouse, finished of with white ankle socks and black T-bar shoes. The registrar had heard about him, but she still could hardly say her lines; she was so amused at his sissy little boy outfit. Little did she know what he would be wearing after the ceremony.

Even after years of petticoat punishment, Peter still had the temerity to complain when I showed him one of the new frocks I had his mother make for him. Even Peter could tell that this prettily smocked, puff sleeved creation was even younger in style than the little girl party frocks he normally wore. He recognised his new dress for what it was, a baby frock, made especially to fit him. And his face was a picture when he saw me take a nappy from a drawer. All the time I was pinning him into his nappy Peter complained, so I quickly silenced him by putting a huge babies' dummy between his trembling lips, telling him that I expected him to suck his dummy properly, and that he would use one permanently from now on. A pair of voluminous plastic-lined frilly bloomers was then settled over his nappy. He whimpered when he was informed that he would be expected to wet his nappy too, and that his baby frillies would prevent his pretty clothes from getting wet.

Petticoats he was used to, but the ones I put on him now were even shorter and frillier than before, and once he was buttoned into his white baby dress of satin, he looked a picture of abject misery. Frilly anklets and baby shoes were put on his feet, and a very frilly matching baby bonnet, tying under his chin in a big bow, completed his baby outfit.

His mother and sisters howled when he crawled in after me, he was now banned from walking, unless he was in his reins, which were being made for him that very day. Mother helped her new baby son-in-law into his highchair, where he was spoon-fed his first baby meal by his laughing sisters. After I had bottle-fed him I settled him down in his cot in his new nursery, then I went down to continue with my wedding celebrations. For the next few weeks I kept Peter to a strict nursery routine, even to the point of banning normal speech, making him goo and ga like a baby should. He was put in the garden in his playpen so that his sisters could watch him playing with his baby bricks, and gurgling just like a real baby. When it was time for me to go back to work, Peter was kept under the watchful eye of either my mother, his own mother or his sisters, who all continued to treat him as if he were actually a one year old infant.

That was ten years ago, Peter has been allowed to grow up a little since then, he is now an adorable toddler of two. His speech is that of a two year old, as are all his actions. He has become accustomed to his life as my toddler little girl, although he still has a tantrum now and then, especially when I tell him we are having visitors, and that he will be introduced to them in his prettiest outfit. I excuse his tantrum as that of a child in its 'terrible twos', all my friends agree, and no matter how much he cries and whimpers, he knows he will never get any older.

I still get a thrill when I see my babified husband crawling about in his nappies and baby frocks in front of my friends, and I would have my marriage no other way. While other women worry about their menfolk, out late at night getting up to who knows what, I am secure in the knowledge that Peter is sound asleep in his cot, sucking his dummy, and safely pinned up in his nappies. In my opinion petticoat discipline has worked well in my marriage, and I would recommend that all your readers reduce the ages of their menfolk, and dress them as a little girl, or a baby. I don't know if Peter would agree, or what his opinion would be, but Peter is a two year old little girl and two year olds don't have an opinion, do they?

Mrs Judy L. (Witney)

He sounds like a perfect darling, Judy, and I must say I do like the name that Peter chose for his dolly. You certainly have a marriage that will endure, and be very happy for Peter, as well as for yourself. I bet that Peter would be quite lost without his petticoats and nappies now, and I am sure he worships you, as any husband should his wife. He certainly won't be running off and leaving you in the lurch!
Susan