Dear Nanny Susan MacDonald,

My wife and I have been reading your excellent publication for a few years, but just lately have decided to write you concerning my experience under petticoat punishment and what followed.  I am now 31 years of age, with a small physical build, and manager of a successful, upscale barber shop.

I have always been of short stature, and that made me rather arrogant and lacking in manners when talking to others as a child. Consequently, because my mother knew all about petticoat discipline techniques, I found myself wearing a dress at the age of 7.

Finally at age 8 I received my first very own dress for my eighth birthday, an all-girl-gift birthday party. By the time I was twelve years old I had a fair-sized wardrobe of girls' clothes, including underwear.

My behavior did improve but once the punishment was over I was back at it again. As I have said, I think it was my size that made me arrogant and obnoxious, I just wanted to be all boy, so I began to cover my failures as a boy by behaving as if I was 'too big for my boots'. This lead to more wearing dresses, and all the little humiliations that go with that sort of punishment.  Finally I resigned my self to my fate, but Mom kept me in dresses a lot of the time for what she called a maintenance program, just to keep me under control.

Finally I reached eighteen. I went to a hairdressing college, and then found my own place to live. I left all the girls' clothes at home when I left to live on my own. At the first couple of visits back home Mom managed to get me back in a dress, but I finally told her if she didn’t stop making me wear dresses I wouldn’t come home any more.  So she finally stopped. Now I was finally on my own, I made up my mind I would be a man, no more girl clothes for me, that part of my life was over for good.

I began working out at a gym, and after a while I began making some small visible progress. Along with the gym work outs, I started roller blading around lake Mirramar. There I met a very attractive and physically fit girl by the name of Victoria.

I soon found out my new-found freedom, and path to masculinity, was a about to end. It turned out Vickie came from a family where she was the youngest, before her a brother, and before him a sister. Their mom was a very dominant mother, which rubbed off on the girls. The brother Mark had also had behavior problems, and had found himself in dresses.

Marie, the oldest, married a rather weak man and he was also very feminized, and controlled by Marie. Jimmy the brother also fell into the pattern of submission that he was used to, and ended up with a strong- willed wife, who believed that the wife should wear the pants, so of course he found himself with the same fully petticoated life as he had had at home, only much stricter.

Vickie of course wasted no time in getting me back into dresses. My last act of defiance came when she wanted me in diapers, and toddler girl dresses, just to play a little game, she said. That was the last straw for me.  I stormed out of the house and ended up in a local bar. I had a little experience at drinking during my short independent life, but this night I overdid it.  Only by their good graces did the guys from the bar bring me home for my own protection. Vickie was of course furious. She threatened to divorce me, or else I must submit to her punishment. I was beaten, I finally resigned myself to my fate and agreed to obey and submit to what ever Vickie wanted.

Our roller blading excursions stopped for a few days as Vickie prepared my punishment clothes.  On the morning of the event I was diapered in a thick cloth diaper, plastic pants, and little girl panties, which plainly showed under my pink romper suit with a little skirt around it, the rompers buttoning up the back.

A white bonnet trimmed in pink was tied under my chin, and a pacifier ('dummy', to our wonderful English friends) was soon dangling around my neck.   I felt helpless as I was diapered and dressed, and then Vickie made it clear what I was about to do.

I was in tears as we drove to the lake. Vickie parked in a quiet section of the parking lot, but I was spotted by a couple of girls nearby. They were at first shocked, and then started laughing so hard that they had to sit down. We both had to sit in the portable chairs we brought along to put on our blades. I knew what a spectacle I was, sitting in the chair dressed in a pink romper, my little girl panties and diaper showing, and wearing the bonnet, trying to get my blades on.

Vickie too was laughing and enjoying the whole show.  All I wanted to do was make a lap around the lake and get out of there.

Skating felt strange dressed as I was, and the bulk of the diapers gave the skating motions all the more strange a feeling. As a concession I was told that I could just blade for a little while around the quiet area where we were parked, and then get back in the car.  After this, I was looking forward to a good drink of cold water, but I did not expect to fed from a baby bottle by Vickie.

If there were any questions then Vickie said that I had lost a bet, but I needed to be taught a lesson anyway, because I had started to think that I was the head of the household. This reply got plenty of grins and giggles, because Vickie is quite athletic, and taller than me.

Vickie believes that my mother's policy of a maintenance program was an excellent idea, and my diaper discipline is now ongoing.

She did add one more little item to my attire much to my humiliation of course. She purchased a soft pink leather adult baby harness.  Then I found myself dressed in toddler dresses and in diapers playing with my rattles on a blanket on the floor, with the harness attached to a ring on to a baby's play pen, sucking on a bottle or my pacifier.

When Vickie takes me to visit her mother, she always dresses me in sissy toddlers' wear. I was horrified the first time my mother-in-law changed my diaper. I can never get used to wearing toddler dresses and diapers at age 31 years, in front of my mother-in-law, so matter how much she approves of petticoat discipline for males.

Vickie keeps telling my own mother what a wonderful job she did bringing me up, and how well I have turned out. Mom keeps telling Vickie what a good wife she is, and what great job she is doing keeping me in my place.  Mom says I deserve it all, for the way I acted to get her to stop making me wear dresses when I came home to visit.  I have given up on trying to be a man, and living a masculine life style. Of course as a hairdresser that isn't too great a problem. I guess I have accepted the toddler girls' life for me from here on out.  So much for my last act of defiance.
By the way, Vickie's family calls me 'Little Donna'.

Little Donna 

It is refreshing to hear of a whole family committed to petticoat discipline and feminine control. I bet that quite a few of my male readers would love to be married to one of Vickie's sisters!
Susan