When I first put up a notice to see if there was much interest in what I was proposing to do, one of the first letters I received was from Barry C., who lives in Sydney Australia. Barry was fulsome in his compliments regarding the first issue, and promised to make some contributions of old letters from Australian sources. Such letters, would of course, be of great interest, because they would be unknown to the vast majority of readers.

Barry lived in Melbourne for about ten years, between the ages of 10 and 19, and there read and kept a number of petticoating letters from the 'Melbourne Truth', a weekly newspaper. He kept them because they were so close to what he was experiencing as a child and youth. Barry was himself kept under petticoat discipline by his mother, with the assistance and encouragement of his grandmother, and two of his aunts.

In cases of prolonged petticoating of a son, the mother often wanted a girl, and it is likely that this was so in the case of Barry's mother. Barry is entranced by the situation of a man or boy being overwhelmed and controlled by the superior personality and willpower of a female or females around him, a scenario

'...which would be reinforced by almost incidental physical punishment - strapping, smacking, spankings,etc., all within the context of a normal domestic scene.

That is the nexus of the treatment in my early days - coupled with the wearing of girls' underwear, aprons, cissy outfits, and inevitably petticoats ( girl's full slips) and dresses. I experienced numerous incidents and treatment that pre-conditioned me to accept increasing degrees of feminisation. My mother was very domineering, and I think found an outlet to her tensions and stress in taking them out on me. She had a quick temper and would lash out with an instant  slap to my face, then on other occasions she could be quite deliberate in her correction of me. I think she may have wished for a girl as she would point out my lovely eyelashes to any new person I met as a youngster and that I was too 'nice' to be a boy.

My conditioning began from the earliest as Mum said that as a baby I would go off to sleep better when she gave me a satin ribbon to rub between my fingers - how subtle was that? From about age 6/7 she revelled at the opportunity to dress me as a page-boy for a wedding of a relative, and later on, when she 'hired' me out to other women in the country town in which we lived until I was 10 years old, when it became known how well I performed my duties (she told me of that practice much later as I did not realise it at the time). I was aware that I seemed to be outfitted in my white satin lace and ruffle trimmed blouse, neatly tailored satin slacks, white ankle socks and white patent leather shoes quite regularly, the last occasion just prior to us shifting to the city when I had to attend at the crowning of the beauty pageant winner by the local dignitary as part of a town carnival. I recall that as a very public occasion and of being very self-conscious at being in a cissy outfit.

Another single occasion was on visiting a neighbor and the daughter, of about two years younger than me, became upset for some reason or another. She had just had her birthday, and to cheer her up the mother suggested she go and get her birthday presents and show me. When she left the room her mother told me - 'Kerrie got some glamorous panties for her birthday Barry, so be nice to her and tell her how pretty you think they are'.

To this day I remember I felt conquered. My mother said, 'Yes Barry, it won't hurt to be nice to Kerrie. So tell her you like them'.
Kerrie, much happier already came back and held a pair of very frilly pink panties and a matching blue pair.
'What do you think Barry? Are Kerrie's new panties nice?' her mother asked.
I mumbled, 'Y..y..yes...they are very nice....'
Mother chimed in, 'Don't you think Kerrie is a lucky girl to have such pretty new panties Barry?'

I was forced to agree, as Kerrie held them out on display for me to see. That was probably almost fifty years ago and I can recall the smug look on Kerrie's face and the smiling satisfaction of our mothers. It seemed such a set up even after all this time and the only rational explanation I can think of is that my mother had arranged for my grandmother ( a skilled seamstress) in Melbourne to make them and it was an opportunity for her to see the handiwork - or I was being prepared for my later treatments!

At just about the time we relocated I was provided with new underwear (that I assumed my grandmother had made for me), which was white and quite plain, but as in shiny rayon and almost see through. The briefs were in the same pattern as boys', but there was no opening at the front and the stitching on the singlets was very fine. In all they were not at all like regular boys' garments and I was most conscious of wearing them.

All those things occurred before I was first dressed up as a girl by my mother, with great encouragement from my grandmother and my mother's younger sister. My grandmother was a very stern and forceful woman who had considerable influence on my mother. I can recall noticing how my mother behaved differently when we were at grandmother's. My Aunt Norma went along with Nan although she was a very pretty redhead with a steak of mischief and humour.

The first time I was dressed up was on a visit to the city and I had been too boisterous or something. It became as much a scene of amusement for them all, although I think Nan had a purpose. My mother showed a determination to teach me a lesson and my Aunt just enjoyed it. I felt I had to just go along with them, although even on that occasion I was aware of a very pleasant feeling being put into the underwear especially, and of the much kinder feeling towards me from them all.

After that I was invariably dressed up on a whim or any convenient pretext whenever we were at Nan's. When mum and I returned home she started dressing me up more regularly although spasmodically, to punish me or to keep me in line. After we shifted permanently to the city during my tenth year, I became more under the direct influence of my grandmother who we visited several times a week. My mother seemed also to develop her own interests more and started to leave me with Nan and Aunt Norma overnight or at weekends.

You can see that the scene was set for I would be told, 'You're much too cheeky for your age - you need a session in petticoats to quieten you down. In here so I can get you ready', or 'You've been carrying on like a brat. You can have a day in frillies and a frock to teach you a lesson'.

A unique aspect of my treatment was that Nan and my mother thought it was illegal for a male to go in public dressed in female clothes. Whilst that saved me from the embarrassment of a dress and petticoat in public, it was probably worse because some of my 'boys' outfits' were decidedly cissy - shades of my page boy experiences.

One other thing that I well remember from those times was 'Stanley', a leather belt that my father had left  - and was readily used by my mother on my bare legs, or behind. Strangely my grandmother never sought to use 'Stanley', but I was very fearful of her anyway - as I remember her threatening to 'Put the stick around your legs', if I showed any hesitation in doing as I was instructed. My mother later gave 'Stanley' to her Aunt Rube when I was sent to board with her after my mother shifted back to the country. I was twelve and we still visited my grandmother and Aunt Norma just as before, but my feminisation took a new turn then'.

Barry's mother and her family were quite determined in their application of petticoat punishment, and making the ten year old Barry shyly compliment the frilly pink and blue panties of a grinning younger girl was a masterstroke. It must have been terribly embarrassing, but unforgettable. He had by then already been given ample opportunity to learn to love the feel of satin and lace by being dressed as a page boy for weddings in the local area, and what a charming idea, by the way, to 'hire out' your son as a cissy pageboy at weddings round about!

Anyway, Barry did fall under the magic spell of petticoats: their softness, how lovely girls' underwear felt to wear, and the girlish admiration and cosetting he received while in them, all of which reinforced his girlish training. He has also written a short vignette (in fact on the evidence of his letters Barry is a very accomplished writer), which gives an impression of a typical exchange between his mother and him. It gives a wonderful insight, a peep behind the lace curtain, at the domestic life of a young boy under the care of a doting and petticoating mother, a strong-willed woman who probably wanted a girl in the first place. Barry has entitled it 'Kept in Line'…

As Barry writes in a further letter: '…someone who understands so well the feeling when a boy is put into frillies and dresses – the control that his female elders have over him and the reassurance he gets from the affection and warmth he receives from them is just so great, despite the shame he is sometimes made to endure. And that is perhaps the most powerful influence'.

Indeed, as I have been at pains to point out in these pages, petticoat discipline is about love, warmth, and security, not about despising males. You can achieve more toward making your son or husband a perfect and attentive companion by the love expressed in beneficent petticoating than by all the canes and chains in the world. Jeremy, another brilliantly insightful correspondent, put it well in these words:

Of the three broad categories of petticoat discipline (sissy clothing, girls' clothing, and baby wear) Barry was especially subjected to the first two, but only marginally to the shame of nursery discipline, which can be the most inexorably conquering of the lot. Barry writes in a recent letter, 'I am not 'hooked' on infantilism, although I realise it is almost inevitable with 'petticoat punishment'. I was threatened with being put into nappies when I began to experience my fist sexual climaxes when wearing girls' pyjamas to bed and my mother saw the stains on the sheets and my clothes. I was able to avoid that treatment but she did make me put on frilly plastic 'baby's pants' under a nightie on several occasions - a treatment which I did not enjoy'.

Naturally, whenever Barry came across a letter describing petticoat discipline, he was absolutely rapt; fascinated by the evidence that others were also suffering the identical blushing shame that he had to suffer. The first letters that he found were published in the 'Melbourne Truth', since, as I stated earlier, Barry lived in that gracious and beautiful city during the period of his youth and teenage years. The first letter that he chanced upon was published in about 1962, and Barry has kept the fragile and yellowed clipping to this day:

Mrs B. wrote: 'I am a widow with one child, a boy aged 13. I was worried about his bad behaviour and didn't know how to stop it. Then I heard about a mother, who to control him, dressed her son in girl's clothing. I tried this method, and and every night for a week he had to wear one of his cousin's frocks and girl's underwear. This treatment brought excellent results. I now dress him as a girl on most weekends. To make certain that he will be on his best behaviour when I have friends for a visit he has to wear a white pleated skirt, a loose satin blouse, white ankle socks, and black patent leather one bar buckle up shoes, frilly panties and matching petticoat - a delightful outfit, much admired by my friends'.

What a perfectly angelic outfit for a boy to be made to wear – I can just imagine him, and the letter brings back memories of matching petticoat and panty sets for girls (now, alas, vanished), with lots of frills and ruffles, and coming, wrapped in tissue paper, in a pretty beribboned box. One would love to know what happened to the boy in future years, and I would hope he would find complete happiness and fulfilment as the submissive and obedient spouse of some strong and high-spirited girl.

Another letter retyped by Barry, from the same paper, can be found in this month's 'Advice' section. A third is reproduced here. It was published in 1966, and does give an idea of the further life of a boy petticoated and strongly disciplined by a maiden aunt:

'I was reared by a maiden aunt who owned a ladies' wear shop in a country town. Before I went to school she dressed me as a girl and I wore panties. When I came home from school she made me wear a dress and pinafore and help the housekeeper.  I was 15 when my aunt made me wear female servant's clothes, silk panties, slip and brassiere. She told me I was to be her personal servant.

 Wearing these clothes I had my first sexual impulses. My aunt sensed this, tied me to bed and thrashed me with a whip she called Timothy. Her housekeeper also whipped me. I had to lay out my aunt's clothes, make her bed and spend hours brushing her hair. After I left school I worked in a bank where I wore male clothes. But at night I had to change into the maid's clothing.

 I came to Melbourne when I was 21 and married. I lived with my wife and mother-in-law. I came home from the football one Saturday to find my aunt with my wife and mother-in-law. She had told them all about my past. To show them it was true, she ordered me to put on panties, slip, brassiere and skirt. She has so much power over me that I did as she said.

 Now my wife and mother-in-law make me dress as a woman and do household chores. I am dressed up regularly every week. I like taking orders from them and doing housework. My aunt gave my wife Timothy, but she uses it rarely.  My mother-in-law given the opportunity would use Timothy more often. I like this situation and want to know if it is against the law to wear female clothing in one's home. I am not kamp and if I stop my wife will lose a maid'.

Barry has preserved the spelling of the original letter. It sounds like the writer is really very happy with his housemaid role, and that he is a fairly typical example of a male who has had proper petticoat training as a boy. He is now quite contented with being his wife's and mother-in-law's housemaid. The most recent letter which Barry has sent in – this one is from the 1970s – describes a less happy relationship:

'It was once my fantasy to be forced into girl's clothing by a dominating woman. My wife went along with this and everything in the garden was nice and rosy. Then one day, unknown to me, she told her sister and mother about it. She even showed them photos of me that she had taken. One evening soon after, I was confronted by them, and the photos produced.

I went red with embarrassment. I went even redder when I was told what they had planned for me to make matters worse. It was my wife who told me while the two others sat grinning at me. She informed me that from now on, I would be dressed in girl's clothes all the time and not only when I felt like it. For me the fantasy had ended and the harsh world of realty had begun. I could, of course not wear girl's clothes for work but I was going to have to wear, under my male clothing, feminine underwear.

On returning home at nights, I would have to put on a petticoat and a blouse, skirt and shoes. I would have to spend the whole weekend in feminine clothes and I would have to obey every order they gave me, no matter how humiliating. If I didn't agree to this the photos of me would be sent to all my friends. With that I was given ten minutes to go to my bedroom and change completely into girl's clothes. As I went out the door my mother-in-law told me not to forget my knickers; this brought a roar of laughter from her daughters.

I cannot put in writing how I felt as I came downstairs dressed in my feminine things. In my fantasy this would have been thrilling but in real life it was far from it. I felt ashamed and degraded and to have my wife's younger sister see me was the most humiliating part. I walked into the room with my eyes down as I did not want to see their faces. There were peals of laughter from the sister and her mother; my wife of course had seen it all before.

I felt very conscious all of a sudden about the panties I was wearing. It may sound silly to worry about the panties when I had all the rest of the clothes on, but to me the panties are the one garment that gives me the greatest shame to wear. I hoped that I would not have to show them but my hopes were soon dashed when my wife started to lift my skirt up. I looked for a bit of sympathy from her but there was none, only a mocking grin. I closed my eyes as my slip and skirt went up over my hips. I knew by the sound of ridicule that my much-hated panties were now on show. My wife told me to get used to wearing them, because I would have to do so for a very long time.

Time has proved her right. All this happened six months ago. Since then I have not been allowed out of girl's clothes at home. I have worn girls' underwear all the time and live in dread at work in case it is spotted under my male things. For this reason I must keep a jacket on all of the time.

At home I am treated like a servant. My wife has told all of her friends of my dressing up and they have joined in on the fun. They greatly enjoy my predicament and until I can get my hands on the photos I can't do a thing about it. I hope this is a warning to some. Never let fantasy mix with reality'.

James V.  Melb.

This letter comes very close to the kind of treatment which Barry received from his Aunt Rube when he was sent to live with her while he attended a private school in Melbourne, about which Barry has promised to write more.

'Petticoating in Australia' will continue in the April issue, and I hope to publish more 'Specials' like this, from correspondents who have something reflective and thoughtful to offer regarding petticoat punishments, and their long term effects. It is a large and wide-ranging subject, and hopefully all of you at 'Petticoat Discipline Monthly' can make a positive contribution to our understanding and appreciation of it.

Susan MacDonald