I have for a long time now enjoyed your petticoat pages, and thought it
was about time I put pen to paper and recounted my story. I guess
I can trace my love of all things feminine back to my first days at school.
I remember my mother having to drag me to school as the teacher on the
previous day wanted me to play in the Wendy House. This was a very
girly thing to do, but I did enjoy it. However, I think even at that
early age of five years, I felt is was not appropriate for a boy to be doing
that and didn’t want my classmates to think I was odd.
I always enjoyed dressing up, taking part in the school plays, and remember
having to wear a pair of green tights once when I played Robin Hood – the
tights were wonderful. I also played a shepherd and had to wear a scarf
on my head. I loved the silky feel and made sure that I took it home
with me after the production.
Really, though, my femme side started to exhibit itself more regularly
at the age of 12y when I moved to senior school and played a wench in the
school opera. This was an all-boy school so boys always played the
female roles, but as soon as I put on the skirt, blouse, bra and panties not
to mention the head-scarf, I felt so right. I loved the feel of the
skirt swishing around my legs and would have gladly worn it every day.
Instead, I was restricted to a few performances, so started to borrow my mother’s
clothes at home.
One day, whilst I was dressed, the next door neighbour’s daughter came
in and saw me. I was wearing one of my mother’s summer dresses, silk
French knickers and a blue and white headscarf. She started to
giggle – being only 9y at the time – but seemed to accept it. I continued
to dress when she was around and she also brought her friend along so that
we played as three girls together. One day, I must have been naughty
so they decided I should be punished. They took the headscarves that
we had and tied me to the bed. I found this exciting, being bound and
gagged, and from then on I was their maid.
My mother did catch me one day when she returned early from work, but
only told me to stop – if only she had encouraged me. I also remember
my Grandma visiting one day and commenting that due to my long hair, I looked
more like a girl – oh if only she had known the truth as well!
The humiliation started when one day, the girls tied me up, gagged and
blind-folded, and fully dressed. Suddenly I realised that they had
let their brothers in to see their little plaything. From then on I
was their’s to do as they said. However, later on, I remember them telling
me they had mentioned me to their teacher who had said I must be weird.
The dressing games stopped after that, but my femme side was firmly established.
I had already started buying skirts and tops by then (aged 16y) and when
I went to university was able to expand my wardrobe even further. I
remember visiting Soho once and finding a copy of Mrs Silk Vol 2. It
was not until then that I appreciated that I was not that unusual.
Always it was kept a secret, though I suspect my parents had some suspicions
as I left some of my clothes in my wardrobe at home and when they changed
the furniture, they must have found them. Nothing was said though.
I have continued to dress in secret despite a very happy marriage – my
wife still does not know even after twenty years - and over the last few
years with access to the internet, have discovered more and more web sites
covering transvestism. I have been a member of a web site on and off
for many years now and this is a source of immense fulfilment. It was
on one internet search about two years ago that my desire to be a maid really
came to the fore.
I had always been fascinated by the Edwardian aprons that the young girls
wore, but had never been able to get hold of these. I found several
sites showing sissy maids and wearing similar aprons. This re-ignited
my desire and just recently, I have found sites that sell them. I have
now purchased one, as well as an ordinary apron.
I regularly wear stockings, suspenders and undies to work. I now
have a female boss and wish one day she would notice the stockings and suspenders,
force me to reveal my sissy self and then take me as her maid/secretary.
She would then be able to reveal me to my wife and convince her to treat
me as a submissive at home as well.
Sometimes when it is quiet, I change fully at work, keeping my male clothes
over my dress, and then take them off when I get to the car and drive home
as a girl – so thrilling. I recently answered the door to a delivery
man, dressed very tartily and in full make-up. I saw the smirk
on his face but he wasn’t sure enough that I wasn’t a real girl to comment
I now at the age of 50y find myself wanting to serve more and more and
would love to find a mistress to fulfil my place in life. I have corresponded
with several potential mistresses but always found myself unable to commit
before any meeting and cannot afford to go to a professional mistress.
I long to commit to this to fulfil my inner desire to be a girl, a submissive
house maid, to serve and be used by a mistress as befits a submissive like
PETTICOATED BY MY SISTER
I so enjoy your monthly newsletters from readers and wonder whether my
earlier experience of being dressed by my older sister might count as being
When I was in my mid-teens during the early ‘sixties I was fascinated
by all female garments and all things feminine and often took to trying on
one or two items from either my sister’s or mother’s wardrobe.
One day during the summer holidays when my mother and father were away
for a few days visiting relatives, I found myself again trying on some of
my sister’s things in her room. She was around nineteen then, and since I
was around four years’ younger most of her clothes fitted me quite easily.
This time I didn’t content myself with just trying on one or two things
but wanted to really dress up properly. I undressed and then slipped into
a silky white pair of her panties before squeezing myself into a seriously
firm control high-waisted girdle she had. I then slid a pair of her stockings
on and, after a bit of a struggle, attached them to the girdle’s suspenders.
I felt such a marvelous sensation since the firmness of the controlling
girdle and the coolness of the stockings against my legs felt wonderful.
Next I pulled on her long-length bra and had to fasten it at the front
before pulling it round to the correct position. I padded it with some spare
panties and underwear and then found one of her slips and pulled it over
my head and smoothed it down. I now felt so excited I just had to continue,
and since she wasn’t due back for some time I chose the rest of my outfit.
She had a very cute typical early ‘sixties three-piece pale blue linen suit
which she often wore to church. I chose this and first slipped on the knee-length
straight skirt before pulling on the sleeveless top which I had to slip into
at the front and then zip it up by the zip at the back. This was really awkward,
but eventually I managed it, and zipped it fully up and even closed the little
hook and eye fastening just above the top of the zip.
Then I slipped on the cute little three-quarter length sleeved jacket
and admired myself in her wardrobe mirror. Lastly, I pulled on a pair of
black high heels and slid her long leather gloves onto my hands to complete
the ensemble. I looked quite the smart and elegant ‘sixties miss. I even
found a little black pill-box hat she had and pinned that on top of my head
using two of her hair grips.
I was so carried away that I hadn’t heard the door close, nor my
sister coming up stairs. The first I knew was when I saw her shocked face
behind me in the dressing table mirror. I could have died with embarrassment
but could only keep repeating “Please don’t tell Mum and Dad,” as I took
the jacket off and started trying to unfasten the back of the top.
My sister didn’t say anything for a short while until she announced, “Stop
undoing that, put the jacket back on and do exactly as you’re told or Mum
and Dad will know about your little hobby! You want to be a girl, ok be a
girl until I tell you different!”
I did as she said and then sat down at the dressing table while she made
me up. She removed the hat and only replaced it once she had fetched a wig
of Mum’s from the bedroom next door. Mum wore this when she couldn’t be bothered
setting her hair. It was quite pretty, fairly short but with the ends curled
upturned. Her finishing touches were to add some jewelry including clips
and gave me a ladies’ plastic mac to carry, and a black handbag to match
With the added make-up and Mum’s wig I now looked very passable as a young
teenage miss. We went downstairs with me carefully following my sister, trying
desperately not to trip while I tried to get used to my new heels. Once
downstairs we went into the lounge and my sister told me what was going to
happen over the next few days until our parents returned.
I would be dressed as a girl for the entire period – even at night
when I would sleep in a night-dress, and answer to the name Jennifer. We
would do the shopping together, and even visit the hairdresser’s on Saturday,
where I would have my nails done while she had her hair set. We had four more
days like this and my sister never relented. At home I had never helped much
and now I had to help clean the house wearing my mother’s housecoat on top
of my sister’s clothes.
Once a friend of my sister’s even called round and spent the whole time
giggling at me while my sister bossed me around. During this time my sister
took some photos to ensure my future good behaviour and I never found out
what she did with these. After my parents returned my sister never mentioned
a thing but would occasionally whisper the name ‘Jennifer’ in my ear to
remind me. It never happened again and now I am much older and cross-dress
whenever I can. I often wish I had some of these photos to remind me of
my time as a teenage girl. Probably this episode doesn’t count as being
truly petticoated since I started the dressing willingly, but maybe the
rest of the time when my sister forced to continue dressing was in fact
being petticoated as a punishment for my behaviour.
Lots of hugs,
WOMEN’S WEEKLY AD
I've just come across the Australian Women's Weekly of 14th Aug 2006.
It has a Continental Soup ad showing a woman with a '3.30-ish' feeling, in
which she is (supposedly) clearly lacking concentration and therefore needing
With a far-away look, she is dressing a younger, blonde child in a pink
tutu and pink knickers. Wonderful, because the boy, appears unperturbed,
and the girl is looking on with some amusement! I feel sure however
that the woman knows exactly what she is doing, and is perhaps thinking of
her childhood domination of a brother? If only I had that sort of
loving treatment as a boy.
It would be interesting to know if there are other similar ads?
As a trusty fan of PDQ, I am, proudly
ALL POINTS ALERT: Can any Australian readers obtain a copy of
the Australian Women’s Weekly for that date, and scan the ad? I would love
to present it, and I’m sure Joey would be interested too.
MORE WOOL FROM PATRICK
Dear Nanny Susan!
I was really pleased to see the sweater photos I sent you, on your site.
Maybe now that PDQ is getting more woolly readers, sweaters will be used
more commonly for keeping boys and men in order.
A PROGRESS REPORT
I’m Amy. I sent you a correspondence a little while ago about how and
why I put my husband in bras. After the holidays I put him in a corset,
because he started to gain weight. By the way, his weight situation has
been resolved and I’ve now reduced his time in corsets.
Anyway, I have a friend named Karen who has two boys and a girl. For some
time the older of her two sons has been a problem. About two months ago,
he got in trouble for shoplifting at a local store. Karen told me that she
was at her wit’s end with him, and wasn’t sure what to do.
I told her about your web site, and the practice of petticoating. I also
confided in her about how wearing a bra has improved the behavior of my husband,
Andy. She’s not computer savvy, nor does she have a computer, so I printed
up some of the correspondence from Petticoat Discipline Quarterly that I
thought would be of some interest to her.
She was very impressed. And so about a month ago she began to petticoat
her oldest son. Her husband has just stayed out of it. Needless to say,
her son objected to this, but he had no choice. Not at school, but around
the house, he wears very pretty flower girl dresses that a friend of hers
supplies her with. Last week she started him in prom gowns. Of course underneath
he constantly wears teen bras, pink panties, and slips. And he’s always
in pretty pink heels.
Even his sister has been more than happy to hand over to him some of her
clothes that she doesn’t want anymore, including some very pretty pink nighties
of hers. And he just has to wear them. Some times if he gets out of line
or gives Karen a problem, he finds himself wearing girdles. He hates those
more than the bras he has to wear.
So far this has been working very well. According to Karen, his behavior
has been improving. He’s even getting better grades in school. She has basically
said that his petticoating will continue for a very long time.
Nevertheless, she and I were talking about this the other day and a question
came up. I searched through the correspondence on Petticoat Discipline Quarterly,
but I can’t seem to find anything that addresses this issue. (Unlike me,
Karen has not done any petticoating on her husband. As I mentioned before,
he’s completely staying out of the whole situation).
But, we were wondering, what about her other son? As I mentioned before,
her older son has been the problem, not the younger one. Like her husband,
he’s staying out of it too. Susan, we need your opinion. Should Karen go
ahead and petticoat her other son even though he hasn’t been a problem, or
should she leave everything as is? Or what about her husband, should she petticoat
him too or not? What do you think?
I leave advice to the readers these days.
IN A VAUDEVILLE ‘SWITCH’ ACT
You asked for the reader’s opinion, and I wanted to get on record that
some of us were put into heels as part of the natural growing-up process.
Briefly, I was born post-war, sired by an unknown father and a mother
that took off soon after my birth. I was taken in and raised by two of her
sisters, one of whom had a daughter and neither of whom had husbands.
Both had been vaudevillians and felt that vaudeville would come back,
and it was through my cousin and I that they would participate in the glorious
revival of vaudeville.
My cousin and I were part of a ‘switch’ act where we would sing and dance,
and at the end of the act we would reveal that I was the boy, and my cousin
was the girl. She was about four years older than I, so she was naturally
I would be required to dress like a girl, often for the whole weekend.
We had no car, so were required to take public transportation. Also,
most of the places where we performed had no changing rooms so I would get
dressed at home and would travel while dressed, wearing a wig and carrying
my tap shoes.
When I was about 13y, I started wearing heels. This was consistent
with our ages and dressed up the act. The second picture in Petticoat
Vol 1 No. 7 could be me. My aunt is fussing with my
costume while I stand there in very high heels and with my short haircut just
watching and waiting for her to finish. Heels were worn because I was under
female control. I was the bastard of the family, and therefore should be
happy that someone took me in and fed me and clothed me.
My cousin quit the act and joined the army when I was 14y, and my aunts
tried to continue the act with me as a single, but we couldn't get enough
My aunts saw me dressed as a girl so often than they would buy me clothes
and shoes that were inappropriate for a boy, but they were oblivious to my
discomfort. They thought nothing of having me wear feminine blouses
and girls’ shoes when we would go the church, to visit or for the holidays.
One time my aunts bought themselves and me matching pumps. They were
not very fashionable for the time (plain pumps with a block heel approximately
two inches high) but they bought me patent leather because they thought I
would like that. Today many women wear just that style of shoe for secretary
and office attire, but when I was put into the heels it was 1959-1961 when
spike heels were all the rage.
Thank you for listening. I have given you a very quick look into my life,
and I will expand on the story if asked. I met my wife through the vaudeville
group so all was not so bad.
All the best,
Rob, thank you for a fascinating letter. To perform in a ‘switch’ act
would have been the dream of a lot of the readers here when they were boys
or teenagers. I like block heels – those spike heels of the early 1960s were
horrible. They were like Chinese foot-binding.
It's been awhile since I last wrote you, so I thought I'd drop you a line.
This is another of my true adventures in petticoats that I'd like to submit
to you and your readers.
A few years back and friend of mine and me rode in our local transgender
pride day parade. Decked out in our sparkled gowns, and crowns adoring our
lovely hairstyles we made our way in an open convertible car all the way
through town down to the site of the festival. (by the way, I got on local
television that day.)
We made our way through the crowds getting our pictures taken many times
along the way. As we made our merry way I was approached by a young woman
pushing a stroller with a baby inside. She also had with her a cute little
four year old girl. The girl was wearing a yellow Disney T-shirt, with all
the Disney princesses on it. The darling little girl was looking up
to me with a jaw-dropping look of awe on her angelic face.
The woman introduced herself and her daughter to me. She said her daughter
was just dying to meet (referring to me and my friend) some "real princesses".
I nudged my friends and explained the situation to her. We both bent down
and had a lovely little chat with our littlest of admirers. For about
five minutes my friend and I talked with the little girl, and her mother
took several pictures to capture the moment.
Before leaving us she thanked both of us profusely. As they were leaving
the little girl was still looking back at my friend and I in total awe.
It truly amazed me how that young woman did not feel threatened by a couple
of males dressed as we were.
This still is one of my ever most favorite petticoat adventures. For a
while I was a real life princess for a sweet little girl.
Next, I might write you about my true petticoat adventures in going to
work many times dressed as a woman.
One other comment is in regards to Penelope. Lesley, if I may be
so forward, I think Penelope's hairdos might need a bit upgrading to those
more suitable for a fashionable lady. Penelope would look adorable in some
up-to-date, perhaps longer styles, of beauty parlor wigs.
You already send her out on errands; imagine the fun she'll have going
to the beauty parlor to pick up her styled wigs, and drop off her wigs to
be styled. With the lovely ensembles you make her wear the addition of a
pretty hairdo will make her more conscious of your petticoat regime over
her. In addition, Penelope could always wear a pretty bow in her hair.
You might include make up in her regime. Imagine Penelope having to dig into
her purse to make sure her make-up is constantly refreshed. I think she
would appreciate the extra femininity.
Yours in petticoats,
A BRIGHTER SUNDAY WITH PDQ
It always brightens my Sunday when I can stop by your website and find
something new to read. Thanks for your efforts, and I hope everything continues
to go well for you.
All the best,
LANA’S PICTURE OF MARRIED BLISS
After immensely enjoying the variety of entertaining accounts and images
in the April issue, I would like to give something back by contributing another
story and related picture. I hope you and your dedicated readers will enjoy
Like so many other men who lived their teen years in the 1950s, young
Rodger was afflicted by a clear case of petticoat envy. He loved the flirty,
feminine fashions of the period, and his eyes were drawn to any girl who
embraced these fashions.
His mother, noticing how he would stare at pretty young women, instructed
him to restrain himself.
"Carry on like that," she cautioned, "and you risk resembling a gawking
Roger accepted his mother's advice, but his enthusiasm for pretty girls
in '50s fashions was not diminished. In the privacy of his bedroom, he stared
long and hard at secretly-collected pictures of calendar girls and pin-ups.
His favorites were those of famed illustrator Ren Wicks.
Later, in a stroke of extreme good fortune, Roger was to meet and marry
a wonderful young woman who had once posed professionally for his favorite
illustrator. Her name was Annabelle. Roger and Annabelle made a heavenly
match; the epitome of marital bliss.
Roger's boundless devotion to Annabelle was apparent. He seemed happiest
when attending to her.
"You seem to have me on a pedestal," she remarked, and he readily admitted
it was so.
"You are a superior woman," he told her.
Roger was always eager to assist in the kitchen, and unlike most men of
his era, he frequently took up the task of cleaning and tidying their home.
One evening as Annabelle prepared to scour a sink ful of pots and pans,
Roger stepped in and insisted he take over. This pleased Annabelle. She
removed her pretty white organza pinafore, and in a playful moment, she
slipped the filmy garment over his shoulders, swung him 'round, and fashioned
its ties into a bow at the back.
"Now you're properly dressed for the job, Sweetie," she teased, giving
him an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
Rodger's excitement could not be concealed.
"Oh my," Annabelle exclaimed, "What is happening? You're aroused!"
"I like it when you tease me," he revealed, "and when you take charge."
It was a pivotal event in their relationship; the moment in which Annabelle
let Rodger know she was comfortable with his charmingly subservient nature
and adoring demeanor. It was in that instant that Roger became Annabelle's
Of course, he was not permitted to give up his day job, but eventually,
Rodger's domestic job list grew very long. It included practically every
chore in the household.
In the accompanying illustration, Rodger is modestly attired in one of
his housekeeping outfits; a cotton wrap-around apron dress. The rather unremarkable
but practical dress is underpinned by a padded bra, nylon panties, corset
and petticoat. Rodger is nervous because he is about to be exposed for the
first time to Annabelle's older sister and confidant, Gwendolyn. Gwen is
an accountant, and has been wisely chosen by Annabelle to tutor Rodger in
the management of household finances. The training will prepare him for a
new monthly chore; that of paying the bills and keeping proper records.
CHRISTEEN GOES GOTHICK!
This fascinating picture has an interesting history: it is the only
one of Christeen’s masterpieces actually set at the Works in Grimsby. It
was really wonderful to have Christeen as a guest, and Dennis made sure that
the luxury suite at the Oaklands Country House Hotel was booked for her.
Miss Gribble prepared a magnificent repast, and Saffy and Angus both played
the pipes to lead the staff into one of the best celebratory dinners we have
ever had – ever since Prince William and Kate dropped by to answer the royal
toast on St George’s Day. They had broken up by then, but it was a long-standing
engagement and a point of honour for both of them.
I must say that Kate Middleton is a charming lass, and it is such a pity
that she will not be a future queen. We had quite a chat, and she showed
keen interest in the PDQ archives, so I am not sure what her next boy friend
is in for.
The next day it was down to work. Christeen was joined by Aunt Julia and
Chris, who had to make do with ordinary rooms at the hotel. Aunt Julia sniffed
and was a bit put out, but surely the artist takes precedence over the artist’s
creations. Aunt Julia does have a rather snobbish side, just between ourselves.
The stone staircase that you see here is that leading down to Saffy’s
sanctum sanctorum, the PDQ library and study area. Saffy doesn’t like to
be disturbed by other people, especially now that he is working on his new
project of translating
Gormenghast into Latin with extensive foot-notes,
but this time he was happy to push away the cobwebs, and make sure that the
rats and bats were on their best behaviour for Christeen.
Personally I think the result is excellent, and there has already been
Hollywood interest in using the Works as the set for a new filming of
possibly with Miss Gribble essaying the role of a 600 year old vampire