Dear Susan,

Thank you so much for writing to me in response to my two letters. I am thrilled to know they will be published and read by ladies who will mock me for my pansiness. Perhaps one of them may write to me and tell me how she would like to petticoat me. Can you help?

I adore wearing petticoats but, of all the letters I have read in your wonderful magazine, the one from Caroline means the most to me. How I envy her husband who is paraded in front of all in the same uniform Caroline wore at school.  What a girlie he is!  And how fetching he looks in his pink dress and blazer.  He is obviously wearing a bra under his dress and I agree with you that he must be wearing maroon gym knickers too. What a pathetic pansy!  But how lucky he is!  Caroline has not told us what she calls him/her.

I once saw a young man in a blue and white candy-striped frock which he said was the uniform of Bishop's Stortford School for Girls. Like Caroline's husband, he showed girlish curves under his frock, and he unbuttoned his frock to show his bra and lifted his skirt to show me a pair of little white panties like schoolgirls wear. Knee-high white socks and black button-up shoes completed the girlish outfit.  Kim had never been petticoated by a wife or a lady friend. He wears skirts because he wants to be a girl. Some of your readers would have a nice time humiliating him for his nancy ways. I like the idea of a group of ladies mocking Kim and me, both of us dressed as silly schoolgirls in short frocks that show out white girly knickers.

Everything Caroline writes about petticoating and demeaning her husband appeals to me immensely. Every detail of his uniform must be correct, memorized, and repeated on demand.  He must have gingham frocks for summer, and a navy-blue gymslip and blouse for winter. Under his frocks he must wear white panties, and under his gymslip or a pair of regulation gym knickers. The colour of these will depend on his school. Navy-blue is very traditional, but girls at Caroline's school must have worn maroon knickers, as you say. Girls at other schools wear bottle-green, maroon or brown gymslips, and knickers to match.

Being made to wear girls' knickers is about the most humiliating experience possible for a submissive husband. What a pansy he must feel!  First he finds that his knickers have no opening in front (girls don't need one) so he has to pull them down when he needs to pee. The tight, tight elastic around the legs presses into his thighs...

That is such an exciting feeling, being enclosed and trapped. I think women must really enjoy the sight of a male tightly trapped in girls' undies like this, and subjected to their mockery. Perhaps they most like to see a man wearing very feminine, frilly, lacy knickers, and then they will want to put him in to lacy petticoats too. That is the ultimate degradation - to be seen in layers of frothy petticoats, trimmed with lace and ribbons. In petticoats you are a total girlie.  I admit I am a total, shameful girlie. I need to be shamed by being openly called by a girls' name. A woman who dressed me in her clothes years ago called me Nicola.  And I have been called Margaret. But Rachel is the name I chose for myself.

I love it when women call me Rachel. The owner of a small lingerie shop recognised my femininity the moment I walked through the door, and asked me if I was looking for something for myself. Taken aback, I said yes, I was.  I went there many times and bought lovely feminine things from her.  She put aside a front-fastening bra for me. She always called me 'Rachel'.

One day I saw a very pretty, all-in-one pantie-girdle and bra hanging up, and asked her if it would fit me. She said she was sure it would, but I could try it on after  closing time.  When she saw me wearing it, with the top shaping me nicely, she touched my breasts and said they looked nice. She did tease me and mock me for my fantasies about being female. I wanted her to see me in a nightie but never managed that.

Getting back to Caroline's hubby, I wish we could see a picture of him playing netball in his girlie PE outfit. I love to watch the girls doing this. When I was at school they wore white blouses and short skirts that barely covered their gym knickers, or better still at some schools they wore their blouses tucked into the waistband of their knickers. How very embarrassing it would be for Caroline's pansy husband to be seen in your magazine like this!  How wonderfully demeaning! And what is more, he couldn't help but feel like a bit of a baby, because girls with their blouses tucked into their knicker waistbands always look like they are wearing rompers! I hope Caroline reads this and takes pictures of her husband in his gym knickers. How lucky he is to have such an understanding wife. I hope he is rewarded at the end of the day, and that she allows him to take off his frock and put on a pretty nightie.

When I have risked being seen in a dress I take good care not to show any unsightly bulges in the wrong place. The best solution is to wear a very tight pantie-girdle. I tried this once when I went out after dark years ago in jeans as an experiment to test my female appearance in public. Women wear trousers most of the time these days, and I wondered if I could look like female despite not wearing a skirt. I wore a bra and a smock top over my jeans and the pantie-girdle, added a touch of lipstick, and covered my hair with a headscarf. No one gave me a second look and I safely went into the 'Ladies'. I only did this once. I feel best in a skirt. How I enjoy being humiliated for wearing women's clothes.

Commenting on the pictures of Caroline's hubby in his pink school dress, you said, 'No doubt he wears cotton interlock dark maroon knickers underneath'. I get the feeling it gave you pleasure to write about men wearing knickers. How demeaning this is!  You enjoy our embarrassment, don't you Susan? Such effeminacy!  Such pansiness!  You believe men must be made to wear women's knickers as a symbol of their sexual weakness, holding their manhood in check. Women must keep their men in subjection.

I agree with this. I desperately want to be subject to a woman's will. I love women and want to pay tribute to them as the stronger sex. Women are so superior to men - much nicer than men in every way.  More gentle, more loving, more compassionate, more generous. Men cannot match them, they can only copy them. I copy them by wearing skirts. I would be female if this were possible. Years ago perhaps I could have contemplated a sex change. It is too late now. I greatly envy and admire Jan Morris who had the courage to become a woman after years as a man. And I admire all other males who reject their birth sex and ask to be made into females.  Wonderful females for ever!

To the wives among your readers, I say put your husbands in petticoats and they will not resist you.  Buy them bras and frilly knickers.  When they have to wear them, they will do your every whim. Give them a frock and an apron and they will willingly do the housework.

If you are a petticoat-bewitched male, then buying lingerie can be blush-making - handling feminine frillies, and wondering if the saleslady guesses that you wear them.  Buying a nightie or even a slip is not too difficult because men buy them as presents for wives, but bras and knickers are another thing. As for girdles and corsets, well, I once longed to buy myself a lace-up corset. The lady in the shop asked whether it should be back-lacing or front-lacing. I said front-lacing (easier for me to tie up on my own). When she produced a gorgeously feminine garment with lace trimmings something came over me and I couldn't help asking if I could try it on!  That was the ultimate in humiliation - letting her know I wear corsets!  But she said yes!  And I tried it on behind a curtain. The first one was too small. So I tried another. It felt so good that I walked out of the shop wearing it!

I was once wonderfully feminised by a lady in London who was advertising for a housemaid. I became her maid just for one day, but it was a never-to-be-forgotten experience. She gave me a grey frock with a scoop neckline and three-quarter frilly sleeves. I had to wear a little white apron trimmed with lace. Tied round my waist with a large bow behind my back I felt like Polly in 'Fawlty Towers'. I had always wanted to wear a frock and apron like hers. Under my dress I wore a bra, suspender-belt, black stockings, a waist slip and black French knickers. Barbara mocked me as she expertly did my make-up, saying what a pathetic pansy I am to want to dress as a woman, and that she knew a man who would teach me what it is like to be female!  That sent shivers right through me. I am not gay, but when I wear women's clothes I do feel like a woman must when a real man fancies her.  Barbara fitted me into a pretty ash-blonde wig and brushed it into a chignon tied at the neck with a velvet bow. In the mirror I could hardly recognise myself.

She asked me to make some tea for her and a girl-friend who had just arrived. It was early evening. I walked out into the garden in my dress so that I could be seen from neighbouring flats, where the lights were just coming on. No one would have known what was under my skirt. I tingled with excitement.  Barbara and her friend teased me mercilessly for my effeminacy.

Wearing skirts in the company of women, and being called by a female name, and asked what I am wearing underneath, and being teased about what men might want to do to me is as humiliating and demeaning as it can get. I am a mature pansy, I want to be shamed in petticoats and cami-knickers and directoire knickers. I am a disgrace to my sex and need to be punished for such shameful behaviour.

If I could see this letter in print with some comments from you and Nanny, it would be the ultimate thrill. You can tell me exactly what you think of me, and what punishment I deserve.  Thanks a million from your sissified and pathetically pansy and would-be petticoated reader,

Rachel

Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I do not denigrate my male readers - ever. I like men, and admire the accomplishments of the great men of the past, and the present, although we don't seem to have so many these days. PDQ is basically about the domestic sphere of life, where men are often not seen at their best, but where they can be improved by the firm discipline of a loving partner.

You enjoyed seeing the woman in the lingerie shop BECAUSE she liked you, not in spite of her liking you. Believe me, and I speak as a female, you would not want to be married to a woman who really despised men.
Susan