Like so many of your readers, I enjoy the stories, letters and articles---not to mention the pictures---of knickers. My preferences are for full directoire style (bloomers) or navy blue school knickers, and I hope that you will continue to feature these items in your excellent magazines.

My interest has been with me now for some 30 years, beginning in my early youth. The nature of the beginning is set out in the following notes, and I must confess to not having seen this particular reason printed in any publications before.

A common reason for knicker fetishism is the enforced wearing of the knickers as a punishment for early misdeeds. In my case it was the threat of having to wear them that developed my interest. My mother believed in, and practised fairly severe physical punishment. On average, I was caned about twice a week, sometimes mildly and at other times quite severely. But for one particular offence---being seen to touch my penis through my trouser legs, front or pockets, as well as a very strong caning, I was threatened with being made to wear school knickers. These I was told, would be far more comfortable, and obviate the necessity for me to adjust my penis. However, it was implied that this would be a punishment, and at that age I was unable to understand the punishing effect of having to wear an apparently more comfortable garment.

I tried to reason this out I recall, without success. All I could think of was that the elastic round the legs must be so tight as to be painful. I even went so far as to ask a cousin (a girl about my own age and size) if her knicker leg elastic hurt her. She said that it did not, in fact that after a second or so of putting her knickers on, she was not conscious of them being on at all, unless she specifically thought of them for some reason.

Then the subject developed further, as it was made clear to me that if I misbehaved, I would have to wear knickers all the time, as distinct from a short punishment period. This would involve my wearing them for school, where, of course, they would be seen, in the gym and sports periods. Realising that none of the other boys wore knickers, this would show me as a different person from the rest of the boys, a cissy, with consequent disadvantages.

Then came evacuation through the war, and as it happened I was sent to a house having two children my own age, a boy and a girl. After a few days, whilst having a bath, I noticed in the airing cupboard, several pairs of the girl's knickers. There was an assortment of colours, white, pink and blue. I dried myself from the bath, and cautiously tried a pair on. I pulled them slowly up my legs, half frightened that something terrible would happen to me, but the sensation proved quite pleasant.

The following few days, after bathing, I tried on various pairs, until about the fourth day. Then I had just finished pulling up a pair of blue knickers, when the bathroom door opened, and in came the lady of the house with her daughter. She explained that she had realised I was touching the knickers, as their position had changed in the cupboard, but she did not realise that I had been putting them on. As a special privilege (she said) she would let me keep them on, and as a special treat, if I enjoyed wearing them so much, she would buy me some pairs of my own at the local shops. There was no hint of necessity to wear knickers all the time, and in fact I did not have to, and nothing more was said. I sometimes wore my own new knickers in the evenings or at weekends---they were (and still are) more comfortable than men's underpants---but was free to choose myself as the mood took me.

However, about a month later, my mother arrived for a visit, and as part of the bargain she was obliged to pay any expenses that the lady had incurred on my behalf. Imagine her reaction, when halfway down the list she saw the item 'three pairs of girl's knickers'. The lady did her best to explain, in fact believing, or so she said, that it was my common practice back at home. My mother soon put that thought out of the lady's mind, but explained that she had often threatened to do it to me. It was not part of her plan that it should be a pleasurable experience for me however. She asked if there was a cane in the house, and when being told that there was not, she said for me to stay in the knickers as I was, while she went out to get one. I recall at the time feeling a bit sheepish, at having the cane in front of the lady and her two children, but thought that it would not hurt any more than many I had had in the past.

When my mother returned she had indeed bought a cane,  but instead of bending me over there and then, she started to unpack another parcel she had purchased. To my horror I noticed that this other parcel contained a full set of girls' clothes, all my size. I was told to strip, which I did, and was then dressed in girls' vest, suspender belt, stockings, knickers (a clean new navy blue pair), petticoat, blouse and skirt. The clothes themselves again felt very comfortable, except that the pull of the stockings on the suspenders was a strange sensation to me, but one which I began to like. I also liked the feel of my stocking-clad legs rubbing together, or touching each other.

But what I did not like, and which I now believe was my mother's original punishment intention, was then being made to act and behave like a real girl, especially in front of comparative strangers. And the real possibility of my having to stay dressed as a girl did not have too good an effect on my morale.

So I learnt there and then to curtsey, dust the furniture, make the beds, wash up, and various other girlish duties. And as I did each one, a fault was found with my efforts, and I was caned. Caned, not as I had been as a boy, by simply bending over and getting it across my bottom---usually protected by trousers and/or pants, but now with a ritual that I found simultaneously exciting and terrifying. I was made to confess that I had been a naughty 'girl', and that I deserved a caning. Then I had to bend over the table top, and reach back so that I could pull first my skirt, and then my petticoat up over my bottom. Of course this revealed my knickers, and on each occasion I was told that for showing my knickers in public I would receive further canings. Then I got between 6 and 12 real stingers across the seat of my knickers. Just as I was about to rise, a hand pushed me back down. Not yet she said, I have not finished with you. Then I felt her hands in the waist elastic of my knickers, and they were gently pulled down to a point where the waist elastic and the leg elastic were together about the same place as my stocking tops. Then I got 6 further cuts across my now naked bottom. These really hurt.

Since then I have found increasing delight in wearing knickers of all sorts and colours, and sometimes but not always, wish somebody would cane me across the seat of my knickers. Alas this does not happen, and I have not had the cane now for so many years that I cannot remember what it felt like. I dress up in knickers, and stockings and suspenders sometimes, but my wife laughs, and says I look silly. She tolerates this habit on isolated occasions, and will let me make love to her dressed in my favourite clothes, but she will not cane or spank me.

I have to remain strictly anonymous, like so many other of your correspondents, and will simply sign myself,

B.M., St. Albans.

Learning to do housework thoroughly and efficiently is a very necessary part of petticoat training, and B.M.'s mother was spot on there. However, I do disagree with the severity of her physical punishment - she would have found that petticoating worked much better, and would be much, much more pleasant for her son, who certainly realised how soft, comfortable, and comforting girls' clothes could be.

The nicest part of this letter is the woman in the country to where B.M. was evacuated. How warm and tolerant she sounds, and how nice of her to buy the writer some pairs of knickers for him to wear when he wanted! Learning to curtsey and do other girlish things would have had its delights, but I doubt that B.M. would have enjoyed his mother's ridiculously overdone canings. B.M.'s wife sounds very nice too.
Susan