I write in response to your request for male readers of 'Petticoat Discipline Monthly' to submit accounts of our experiences under nappy discipline and petticoat punishment at the hands of domineering females, so I hope that what I have to say with amuse your female readers and generate more responses from other males.

I was (still am) the second child of five (three boys and two girls) from a family with strong religious and moral convictions, my father having been a lay preacher until well into his late sixties and my mother organising her entire social life around the ecclesiastical calendar. They held an old fashioned attitude towards children but it was my mother who ruled the roost with, if not an iron fist, certainly a strong right hand and an overbearing, authoritative manner.

From the age of about five upwards I remember both nappies and girlish attire being used to punish and educate my brothers and I, and it was rare not to see at least one of us in a dress, skirt and blouse or a thick terry nappy and plastic pants. On occasions these punishments would be combined so that the unfortunate son would be nappied then made to wear a dress (usually a cast off from a sister) and he could expect to remain dressed like that until my mother decided otherwise. There were several times I had to attend church wearing a dress and nappies, worn with a straw boater, white gloves and socks and t-bar sandals and although at aged five or so, one could still just possibily be mistaken for a little girl, by age eleven, it was clear to everyone that the child in the bulky nappies and a dress was indeed a boy. A most embarrassing experience for any growing boy, as I’m sure your readers will agree.

My sisters were never treated in this fashion and, even if naughty, they usually got away with a severe telling off from my father or, at worst, a light spanking, although we boys were never permitted to witness their chastisement. They, on the other hand, were frequently in evidence when it came to one of we boys being nappied or made to wear a dress, with my older sister, Elizabeth often stepping in to take my mother’s place if she was busy at the time. In fact it was Elizabeth (then 16) who decided that I (then nearly 14) would benefit from another spell under nappy discipline and with my mother’s approval proceeded to nappy me for another three months. As if to add insult to injury Elizabeth also bruised my burgeoning teenage ego by shaving my pubic region regularly and using lotions and creams to keep my skin baby soft.

By 15 I’d grown used to the regular nappying and accepted the occasional week, fortnight, month or more as my punishment for being just another clumsy teenage boy, although I disliked the dresses intensely. As if to take advantage of this, when I was nappied both my mother and Elizabeth took to finding me babyish dresses to wear, and at night I would sleep in a babydoll nightdress with frilly panties, in the same room as James and Justin (my younger brothers, then 11 and 9) who may or may not have been in nappies themselves at the time depending on their recent behaviour.

Of course with frequent episodes of nappying going on at home, it was inevitable that our neighbours knew of our treatment, especially as there were nappies, plastic pants, frillies and dresses on the washing line most days, but my mother made no attempt to cover her sons’ nappied condition in front of her friends. Whilst my father retired to his study to work, leaving the women to chat about babies, cooking, shopping and the like, my mother and my sisters entertained friends. Whichever son was presently under discipline would be there as well, sitting quietly on the sofa, usually in a dress with nappies beneath, and answering politely when addressed by anyone.  To this day I still cannot fathom quite what it is that women find so fascinating about older boys being dressed in nappies for those conversations rarely strayed far from comments and discussions about nappying and when, as often happened, I or one of my brothers needed to be changed, there was never any shortage of female volunteers who were eager to lift the dress up and pull the plastic pants down.

In fact it was a friend of my mother’s, Mrs Bord (then about 30 and quite attractive) who first excited me to so much that I dampened my nappy, whilst Elizabeth looked on and giggled. At the time both James and I had been nappied and during a Sunday afternoon meeting of my mother’s friends, Mrs Bord had volunteered to change me whilst my mother kept an eye on James. I was wearing a short and plain, light blue cotton summer dress with a white cotton petticoat, white socks and sandals since we had only recently returned from church, whilst James had been wearing a smart, blue tartan kilt and white blouse, socks and sandals.

After Elizabeth gained a place at University and moved away, my mother continued my nappying until I was nineteen, although by this point it had been reduced to nights only as I was then working and taking some adult responsibility at last. When I eventually moved out and got my own flat a year later, my nappying had stopped, and my mother's attentions now focused on Justin, my youngest brother and then 13 who, for one summer was totally regressed to babyhood. I remember visiting one day for lunch and seeing that mother had even acquired a cot for Justin and that his bedroom appeared more like a nursery than the room of a teenager. Nappies and plastic pants were stacked neatly on several shelves in his wardrobe, the drawers were full of rompers and popper crotch babygrows, frilly plastic panties and other such dainty items. Even the dresses she had started to buy him were in the style of those being worn by female toddlers and little girls. I suddenly felt jealous!

From then onwards I have consciously sought the company of older, mature women who enjoy dominating, nappying and sissyfying males such as me. I am embarrassed by being sissified and nappied, but at the same time it feels as if that is how I should live. Elizabeth is now married and nappying her new husband, although I haven’t actually met him yet. Justin (now 34) works abroad and I haven’t seen him since my father’s funeral two years ago, but things may be about to change as my mother now wants me to me move back into the old family house as company for her. She says I can have my old room back. I wonder if she’ll want to nappy me again as well? I will write again, and if I choose to move back home then I’m sure I will have something interesting to tell your readers.
Yours sincerely,

Tony W.

Here is certainly a family where the old fashioned Victorian values were preserved, and where the mother and other females in the family were very thorough believers in old fashioned nursery discipline, even for teenaged and adult males. Certainly the discipline for the boys was much more humiliating than that applied to the girls, and the girls were obviously encouraged to treat their brothers with proper female superiority. It is a pity that Tony has not so far found a partner who will keep him in the petticoats and nappies that he has grown to love.
Susan