This letter is a follow-on from 'A Treasure Around the House' in the November issue. It is written by Christine's husband.

Susan,
 
We've read the letter published in the November issue and both agree with nearly all your comments. I'm not in favour of a pinafore;
we have too many visitors over the weekend and that would be too humiliating. Chris agreed with me but she did hold up a white frilly one the other day whilst we were out shopping. I told her straight that I thought that was going too far. After putting it back, she did
remind me about the previous weekend where I spilt some gravy on a clean white shirt just as we were serving to our guests. I feel a
stalemate has now been reached.
 
Anyway back to the reason for this letter, Chris has insisted that since her letter has been printed, I should submit my side of events.
 
A varicose vein operation is not my idea of fun. Anyway after the operation I was fitted with hold-up surgical stockings to wear, the
only problem was they didn't hold up. When I started more serious walking they came down, and it was no fun trying to pull them up as I had to drop my trousers, which is very difficult in public. I contacted the nurse at the hospital, and she suggested two alternatives: keep pulling them up or, a suspender belt. I told her the problems I had with pulling them up and she went quiet, I think she was suppressing a giggle, and then added that a suspender belt won't be seen under loose trousers. I felt a little shocked, and after telling Chris, who was not happy, she contacted the nurse and after some discussion seemed to accept the situation.
 
Next day, Chris returned home with a package, which she handed to me with a sly smile. I opened it up to find the cheapest belt I've ever seen. I stood there nonplussed for a few minutes, before Chris insisted I put it on. I took off my trousers and underpants and pulled the belt on to my hips. I started to get excited, but the problems of attaching the clips calmed me down. Chris was meanwhile very amused at my attempts to attach the clips, and after a while she took over and secured me properly. After dressing, Chris gave me a big kiss of re-assurance and rubbed her hands over the suspender clips. I again got excited but calmed down when she reminded me that sex in my current state was out of the question.
 
The suspender belt did the trick and I was able to walk further and with more confidence. However, it wasn't perfect, but I could live
with the problems. As Chris worked, she asked me to do a little housework, I didn't mind as I needed something to fill in my time.
Vacuuming and dusting, although normally a chore, proved to be enjoyable, the slight pull of the suspender straps and the
movement  of the hold-up seam on the stockings against my legs provided a very pleasurable stimulant. Obviously the more
housework I did the more I enjoyed it, and Chris liked the reduction of her workload.
 
After a few weeks, I had to go for a check-up to my doctor. Unfortunately, my usual doctor was on holiday and I had to see one of
the more mature female doctors. She examined me, making no comment about my unusual attire, and declared that I was
recovering well, although there was a bit of swelling at the top of my legs. I was just about to leave when Chris brought up the problem of keeping the stockings up and my problems with the suspender belt. I was really annoyed with her and gave her the
'death stare', however, she just carried on. The doctor reassured Chris that my current solution was the only one, but she said that
a more substantial belt would be better.  Chris and the doctor then went into a ladies' discussion of men, support stockings and corsetry, occasionally giggling. I left, at this stage unaware of what was in store for me.
 
A week later  a package arrived for Chris, which I left for her on the kitchen table. After her dinner, which I prepared, she called me
into the kitchen. On the table were a few pairs of white ladies' long-legged pants, and a white broad suspender belt. I thought Chris had gone too far, and we had a very animated argument. Eventually she got the better of me and I agreed to wear the suspender belt. The next morning as I was putting on the belt Chris explained why she had ordered the pants for me, citing the advice from the doctor. I reluctantly agreed. The new suspender belt was much better than the original and the pants, being less constricting, were helping the swelling on my thighs to go down. The next week I returned to work, hoping that the belt would not be visible, but the pants, being long-legged, hid the clip bumps well.
 
After the six weeks I returned to see the specialist. She was very good and didn't comment on the suspender belt. I discussed with
her the prevention of varicose veins in the future, as this was my second operation. She advised support hosiery, but added that men didn't take that advice. After wearing suspenders and stockings for six weeks I could live with support tights, so I agreed to give it a try. Chris bought me two pairs and I wore them. I found tights to be sweaty, and a pain when I went to the toilet, but otherwise less embarrassing than stockings.
 
As I was now working, I went back to my normal routine, i.e. very little housework. Chris was not happy with this situation. The
stress of returning to work and Chris's increased workload led to some awful rows. I think we were both heading towards a
breakdown when, after one awful row, Chris asked me why I seemed to like housework when I was ill, but now had no enthusiasm for it. I explained my feelings and she just looked dumbfounded, she thought I hated the stockings. The next day she returned home with two pairs of support stockings and insisted that I wore them. I went and put one pair on and did a little vacuuming. That night
we made love for the first time since the operation.
 
In the morning, Saturday morning, I woke up to find that Chris had laid out my attire for the day, and she insisted I dress in front of her. For the first time she took an active interest in my dressing, commenting how I looked in the stockings. We both shared the
housework that day and went out for a meal at night. This established our routine. Tights for work, and stockings at the weekend. I
now do most of the housework and feel more relaxed for it. However, one weekend I came home in a foul mood due to some problems at work, the stress gets almost impossible at times, and we had a good row and didn't speak all weekend.

The stress continued for the following week, and when I arrived home on Friday night there  on the bed was the most dainty and lacy suspender belt and knickers. Chris stood in the doorway and sternly insisted I put them on. I refused, so she slapped me across the face, something she hadn't done before, and ordered me to put them on. I stood there bemused but started to undress. As I stood up to put my trousers back on I saw myself in the bedroom mirror and realised how foolish I looked. After I finished dressing, she ordered me to vacuum the bedrooms and clean the toilet.  After I finished these chores, I felt much better and significantly less stressed. That night in bed Chris commented on the change in my mood in a 'told you so' type of way. Consequently, my weekend underwear depends on my moods, her words, or stress levels, my words.
 
I believe this explains my current situation from my point of view, I would not describe it as 'petticoating', but Chris is inclined to that
view. Personally, I feel that being more involved in the home, and the consequential reduced workload on Chris, has significantly
reduced mine, and Chris's, stress levels, resulting in a better relationship. The attire probably is only a means to an end but neither
me nor, more importantly Chris, want to change the current situation. My personality has improved and I enjoy better personal
relationships and better success, although not financial, at work.
 
I hope you, and your readers, like reading the other side of the events leading to my current situation.
 
Andy

Of course it is petticoating, you silly little man! Why do you think that Christine bought you such frilly knickers and such a feminine suspender belt, and why do you think that you felt 'much better and significantly less stressed', as you say yourself?

I recall a letter in 'Forum' magazine written by a wife who had been very worn out by her husband's anxiety, stress, and consequent short temper, which were related to his work. The letter related how she had told him - I don't know how she made the discovery - that he would have to wear a high-waisted little girl dress, bloomers, and long white socks whenever he came home in a difficult and impatient mood. It had worked wonders, and soon her hubbie was changing straight away into his frock and bloomer set whenever he came home stressed. His wife noted that this routine settled him down at once, and that he would just relax completely and melt in her arms.
Susan