Dear Susan,

I am writing to tell you of my long experience of petticoat and potty discipline. I have been brought up in a single-parent household by my mummy, who introduced me to this discipline when I was 15.

Before that I had been a more or less normal boy, except that I had a bed-wetting problem until I was 13. My mummy was understanding about it, although she did make me wear nappies, plastic panties and a nightie to bed making the sensible point that the sheets had to be protected and a nightie was more practical. I, of course, disliked this, but as soon as I was dry again they were discarded.

Maybe my mummy was both too lenient and too overworked at the one time, so that she didn't initially see that at age 14 I started to head for trouble. I began to hang out in bad company and was well on my way to becoming a juvenile delinquent without Mummy doing anything about it, or even noticing it. So one evening she got a shock when I was brought home by the police after being involved in some petty troublemaking and having been caught breaking a window. Fortunately it was my first clash with the police, and being a minor I wasn't charged or anything, but the authorities made it clear to Mummy that I would have to brought under firm control.

This Mummy did. I don't know exactly where she got the idea, but her solution was strict petticoat and nappy discipline. First she gave me a good strapping with her old tawse, which I had not had for some years. My old bedwetting clothes were also brought out to my dismay - I had thought that they had been thrown away - and I was told that I was always to wear them at home, day and night. This layette was soon supplemented with more clothes. For day wear I was put into petticoats and frilly frocks, which babyishly left my nappies and plastic panties in view. As for plastic panties I was supplied with a whole collection of them, mostly in pink and some with frills. My nightie was replaced with very puffy and frilled rompers.

I begun to wet the bed again. I had no choice really, for Mummy made me drink a bottle of milk each night before putting me to my bed - at nine in the evening! - and once zippered into the romper it was impossible for me to get out of it by myself. The bed was also fitted with plastic sheets as a precaution. As a futher babyfication measure I was given a pacifier to suck on during the night.

 I was not punished for bedwetting, but I got the strap if I wet my nappies during the day. I wore them for discipline, but Mummy didn't want me incontinent. I was not allowed to use the toilet though, instead she got a potty for me to use. At first this was an old china chamber-pot, but it was soon replaced by a more child-like potty made of semitransparent plastic, which allowed her to monitor my progress while seated on it. The worst thing was that my name TIMMY had been painted on this potty, and that when not in use it was kept on the shelf of our bathroom where any visitor could see it.

I had to use the potty every morning for an hour and every evening for half a hour before going to bed. If Mummy was not happy, she would make me swallow a spoonful of castor oil. If visitors were present and I needed my potty, I had to ask Mummy for it in front of them.

I was not nappied or petticoated outside our home, but at home there where no exceptions for any visitors. I tried to stay in my room whenever we had guests, but a peek in the bathroom where my potty was on display, often with plastic pants hanging out to dry as well, told them a lot about my predicament. With some visitors, like mummy's sister and her daughter, I was expected to be present and I always had to greet them with a curtsey appropriate to my petticoated state. My cousin Jennifer, a year younger then me, was always particularly eager to tease me about my discipline. She even began to add new items to my wardrobe with the sissiest dresses possible she had made at school with the help of her home education teacher. Later she even brought the teacher with her to see how well the dresses fitted me.

To school I had to wear the school uniform, although it was optional for older boys, which made me about the only upper classer with a school blazer and regulation shirt and tie. At least the pants were long, but if I had to go out outside school hours or on weekends these were replaced with schoolboy shorts. This was clever of Mummy. She didn't have to control my outings or forbid me to go out, for I preferred to stay indoors at home. There was no way I wanted to meet any of my class mates, much less anyone from same gang of boys I had been hanging around with, wearing the silly childish shorts - they didn't even have a fly or pockets! It was bad enough having to go shopping with Mummy, or run errands for her dressed in them.

This discipline was continued for several years, even after I had finished school. I hated it at first, but when I tried to protest or throw a tantrum I was given the strap over Mummy's knees and spent some time in the corner, so gradually I learned to accept my treatment. And later on I came to realise that I actually had to be grateful to Mummy, for had I continued in the gang with my questionable friends I would must likely have ended up a delinquent with a very bleak future ahead of me.

In my case petticoat and potty discipline has certainly worked and prevented me from ruining my life. In fact it has completely changed my life for the better. If you are interested in the continuation I may write more later.
Yours,

Timmy

Petticoating and baby discipline are often employed when boys get into trouble and fall into bad company. They are always successful, because they change the boys whole attitude - once loud and difficult, he becomes quiet and docile, and a real little lamb with any girls to whom he might have been a nuisance in the past. One can see how Timmy's younger cousin Jennifer thoroughly enjoyed his new frilly baby status, and took full advantage of it.

I think this is the first letter we have received about potties and discipline. I think the older porcelain ones were much more babyish than the modern plastic articles.
Susan