A Trip to Granny's

“But... you said...” he stammered as he looked fearfully at the panties. “...you only wanted to check the hem and then I could take it off!”

“Well if I’d said Let's see how your new dress looks you'd have run a mile.” I replied.

He stared at me in disbelief. Of course he'd have run a mile but now the dress is on, he's not running anywhere. His eyes dropped to the panties I held.

“Aren't they pretty?” I grinned. “They match your dress perfectly.”

He insisted they were horrible, before trying and failing the reach the buttons running up the back of his dress. “...and I'm not going to Granny's wearing this.” he spat as he struggled to unfasten the buttons.

“There's really no getting out if it Peter... I designed the buttons specially to stop you from undoing them.” I proudly stated.

“But why do I have to wear a dress!” he spat as he gave up on the buttons.

“Because I like making dresses and I want to show granny what I’ve made... she did give me the pattern after all."

But.... why do I have to wear it?” he pleaded, “You could just take it on a hanger.” he suggested.

“Well it wouldn't look as nice on a hanger.” I replied in a matter of fact tone. “Plus Granny said the pattern was about your size...” I said, “I think she was hoping I’d make it for you.” I smiled. “...and it does look very nice on... much nicer than on a silly hanger.”

His mind was clearly racing. He slumped his head in his shoulders and sighed. “Well...” he peeped. “Can't I change into it there?” he asked.

“Well you've got it on now.... come on, put your panties on too... I made them from the off cuts.”

I could tell he wanted to cry as he shyly slipped off his y-fronts and swapped them for the panties, trimmed with frilly lace elastic around the waist and leg holes. I’d even stitched a little bow onto the front. “Well let me see.” I grinned once he'd pulled them on.

“Oh mu-um...” he moaned. “I don't want to.”

“Oh please Peter... they took me a long time to make and I want to see how they look... do they fit OK?”

He nodded as he slowly lifted his dress, gave me a quick flash of his panties before dropping it again. I insisted he let me have a proper look and eventually, he lifted his dress once more.

I pursed my lips and grinned a broad grin as he finally let me see him in his panties. I could also see why he as so reluctant to show them to me. “Well it looks as if you do like them.” I observed, trying my best not to smirk.

Peter looked as if he wanted to die. He let go of the fabric and blushed a deep crimson.


I couldn't believe it when Mum persisted in telling me to lift the dress so she could see the knickers. Wearing a dress is the most horrible, humiliating thing and the thought of actually visiting my grandmother wearing it sent shivers down my spine. No sooner had I pulled the knickers on I felt myself begin to swell. I felt so ashamed as I lifted my dress... revealing not only my knickers but also my arousal. I knew I should have ran to my room instead... but hindsight always comes too late. When mum knowingly asked if I needed to go to the bathroom, I shook my head. The thought of my mother knowing I'm jacking off whilst wearing this thing was a total, instant turn off.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

I nodded. I sighed. I felt relief that my unwelcome excitement was ebbing. I begged my mother not to make me go to granny's wearing a dress, claiming that somebody would see me getting in to the car, getting out of the car, even in the car. Mum told me I was being silly and that nobody would see me except her and Granny. 


He sighed a deep sigh. One so deep I knew he'd conceded. “Now... what would you like for lunch?”

“I dunno.” he shrugged before slumping himself onto the dining chair.

“Ah ah ah... scoop.” I insisted. He exhaled heavily through his nostrils as he lifted his weight off the chair and smoothed his dress beneath him. “That's better... you don't want it getting all creased do you?” I grinned as he shrugged off my question, so I suggested warming him a tin of soup with floaters.

“I s'pose.” he moaned.

I heated the soup in a pan whilst Peter sat sulking at the table, shuffling this way and that.

"Stop shuffling!" I spat after a couple of minutes. 

He reached his hand behind his back and complained that the knot was digging into his back. 

"Well sit up straight then." I replied. "You don't have to lean back." 

Peter sat himself up. I asked him if that was better and he nodded. I asked him if he wanted bread or toast with his soup, but he wasn't bothered either way. He was clearly too busy being moody. I put the bowl and side plate in front of him, then tied a tea towel around his neck to catch any splashes. Of course he complained at having to wear 'a bib'. “It's not a bib Peter, it's a tea towel and it's to stop you splashing soup on your dress.” He spat a few more protests and threatened to purposely get soup on it. “If you get one splash on your dress Peter I'll make sure each and every one of your friends finds out about it. As things stand it's our little secret.. but that can soon change young man, mark my words." I told him.

His bottom lip stuck straight out as he exhaled through his nostrils once again. No sooner had he finished his soup and bread, I whipped the plate and bowl into the sink and said it was time to leave. 

He looked down at his dress, and then his bare feet and asked which shoes he should wear. "Well none of your boy shoes would look nice so I bought you these." I grinned, revealing a pair of ballet pumps. 


I couldn't believe that Mum was actually making me visit my grandmother wearing a dress. As I sat in the front seat of the car I prayed we wouldn't pass anyone I knew as, even inside the car, myself and my frock are clearly visible through the windows.

“Are you looking forward to showing Granny your new dress Peter?” Mum asked in a faux jolly tone as we drove through town.

“No!” I spat.

“Well... if that's the attitude you're going to take...” she said as she changed down a gear, slowed and turned into a side street. “We could always go and have a drive past the war memorial first.” she suggested. "It's just down here isn't it?" she asked knowingly.

“Please don't mum.” I begged, knowing that many of my friends regularly loitered on the memorial.

Mum drove the car at a slow crawl towards the memorial, she turned to me with her serious face on. “Are you looking forward to showing Granny your new dress?” she asked. 

"No." I replied mournfully. "You know I'm not."

She pressed the accelerator just a little. "The memorial it is then." she said before giving me one last chance

I gulped before replying. “Yes.”

"Yes what?"

I hung my head in shame before parroting, "Yes... i'm looking forward to showing granny my dress."

“That's better.” she said, pulling into a parking space. “And if she asks you if you like it what are you going to say?”

Again I gulped. “Yes.” I murmured.

She started the engine. “Well I hope you'll be a little more convincing than that.” she replied before turning the car around and finally driving in the opposite direction. “You clearly liked it when you were showing off your knickers before lunch.” she added.

Before long we arrived at my grandmother's house...

“Now you'd better not make a mess of those knickers Peter.” my mother said sternly before asking if I needed to go to the bathroom.

Being rock hard beneath my dress it was the sensible thing to do. As I left my granny hollered, “And don't forget to sit down when you wee!” before bursting in to a chuckle.

By the time I’d got to the bathroom, my arousal had ebbed considerably. I looked at myself from a variety of angles in the mirror and tried once more to undo the buttons which ran all the way from the nape of my neck to the small of my back. I don't know why but I lifted the skirt to reveal my knickers and looked at my reflection. “Why is mum making me wear this?” I thought as I imagined being paraded in front of our neighbours, having to repeatedly lift the skirt and show off my matching knickers. Then I felt myself begin to swell again. “Oh god!” I thought as I unwillingly imagined being sent to school in it. The boys point and laugh. The girls gush and tease. The teachers, like my mother and grandmother act as if it's perfectly normal. The more I tried to chase these thoughts from my head, the harder I got. I grabbed a length of toilet roll before pulling down my knickers, and within minutes I was on my knees, shuddering in ecstasy as my juice oozed out into the waiting clump of tissue. I’d masturbated before but it never felt like this... this was a whole new level! I took every precaution making sure nothing had spilt on the floor... or on my frock, before pulling up my knickers, flushing the toilet, washing my hands and leaving.

Sheepishly I returned to the kitchen. “Better now?” my mother asked with a knowing grin.

I gulped and nodded. I didn't know what was more shameful, wearing a dress or my mother and grandmother knowing I’ve just masturbated.

Good.” mum replied as she looked me up and down. “Now you be a good boy for Granny, I’ll be back tomorrow.” she said as she picked up her coat and bag.

What... I... er...” I gulped. “I said I’d meet my friends later.”

Well I'm sure Granny won't mind you going out for an hour or two.” mum replied in her friendly voice as she glanced at my grandmother.

As long as you're back before dark.” Granny added.

I gulped as they both smiled at me. I looked down at my dress, then back to their approving faces.

Mum leant over to my grandmother and said in a hushed, “I think he wants to show off his new frock.”

No I don't!” I retorted. “I'm not going out in this.”

Well it's entirely up to you Peter.” mum said in a matter of fact tone. “But if you do go out, make sure you're back before dark, and be good!” she said before leaving.

As usual granny put the TV on for me. I ended up paying more attention to my knees emerging from my dress than I did the pictures on the screen. Being a Saturday afternoon, there was nothing much on; sport, more sport, and some old film. After a while I became board, and obviously visibly so. “Why don't you go and play in the garden Peter?” she suggested. I haven't 'played' in the garden for years, and wasn't about to start doing so any time soon. “The neighbours are away this weekend so nobody will see you... if that's what you're worried about.” she added.

Granny lived in a semi detached house with a large garden surrounded by fields. The only people who could see in to the back garden was the neighbours, but since they're not around, I figured the garden would be more fun that watching TV and listening to two women chattering.

The first thing I noticed was the breeze on my legs. I walked slowly to the end of the garden and looked out over the fields. My skirt blew this way and that. I feared the breeze would get under it and lift it, but it didn't. Thankfully it remained modest, not that any body would see if it wasn't. I sat myself on the old swing and wondered how it must feel to be a real girl. My hair would be long, I thought. But other than that, it'd be just the same I guess. Knickers, dress, dainty little shoes, being told you look pretty all the time... what else do girls do? I wondered as I gently swung back and forth.

I’d been outside for ten, maybe fifteen minutes when I first thought I heard something. Was it a cat hiding in the hedge maybe, or a distant lamb. After the third or fourth time I thought I heard a local noise, I went to investigate... then I realised that it wasn't a cat or a lamb, but a girlie giggle with only one possible source... the two girls who live next door; they weren't away after all... they emerged from either side of a neatly pruned rhododendron bush and stood right in front of me giggling. I wanted to run indoors but my feet wouldn't move. The blood rushed to my head as they fired questions at me. Why are you wearing a dress? Are you a girl now? Do you like wearing dresses?

No... my mum made me wear it.” I muttered. “I hate it.” I sulked as I pushed past them and headed back to the house.

Oh don't go Peter... please...” they pleaded, but I wasn't hanging around. I went back indoors and told granny that the neighbours aren't away.

She said, “Oh maybe it's next weekend... well if that's the case, you should go and play with them.”

I told her I didn't want to 'play' with two girls, but she told me she wasn't asking. I reluctantly sauntered outside again where the two girls were waiting. The eldest looked at me from head to toe. “So, why are you wearing a dress Peter?” she asked. 
I told you, my mum made me wear it.”

It's very pretty.” the younger said, “But I don't think I’ve ever seen a boy wearing a dress before.”

Peter tells the girls that he'd never worn a dress before, until today of course. They ask him if he likes it. He tells them that he feels silly in it and it's not fair that he has to wear it just because his mum decided.

Well... there's no point making it if nobody's going to wear it.” the elder girl said. “and it's not as if you have a sister is it?”

Peter shook his head. “She could have made a pair of pants or a shirt instead of this though.”

But they're really hard... it's much easier to make girl's clothes.” the elder girl explained.

And you wouldn't look half as pretty.” the younger girl grinned.

A moment later, granny comes out with a tray of pop and cake for them. “Doesn't Peter look nice in his dress?” Granny asks. Of course the two girls say he looks lovely, and with them both wearing jeans and t-shirts, means he's the only one wearing a dress. “I found a skipping rope in the hedge that might belong to one of you two.” granny says. “It's on the wall there.” she adds before leaving the three alone.

Before long, Peter finds himself being taught how to skip. It doesn't take him too long to get the hang of it. “If my friends could see me now.” he thinks as the two girls spin the rope whilst he jumps in time.

Eventually the girls are called in for supper and Peter soon finds himself with nothing to do. Noticing his boredom, his grandmother asks him if he'd like to do anything 'nice' this evening. He knows what he wants to do, but that doesn't involve staying at his granny's house or wearing a dress. He shrugs his shoulders, so she suggests watching a DVD. That sounds promising, until she assumes that he's happy to go with her to the rental store to choose one. He refuses to go if it means going in his dress, so his grandmother goes on her own. She's confident he wont go anywhere.

Whilst he's alone, he tries and fails one more time to undo the buttons on the back of his dress. Then he realises there'll be nothing for him to change into except his granny's clothes. When she returns he's waiting patiently in the arm chair. When she shows him the two films she's rented he wished he'd gone with her as tonight's entertainment is Tinker Bell and the Great Fairy Rescue, and Disney Princess: Enchanted Tales.

His grandmother began preparing supper and Peter found himself in the back garden once more. After a few minutes just meandering and a few more sat on the swing, he notices the skipping rope on the picnic table. “This day is just going from bad to worse.” he thinks as he begins to skip for no other reason that for something to do. He knows what he must look like but he's beyond caring.

After supper his granny asks him which film he'd like to watch first. Neither were very inspiring for a twelve year old boy, but he decided to get the Princesses out of the way first. By the time Tinker Bell had finished, Peter was shamed by the fact he'd enjoyed them more than he'd expected. It was almost eight o'clock and Granny said it was time for him to wash up and get ready for bed.

On the one hand, getting ready for bed was far too early for him, on the other it did mean finally getting out of his dress. His grandmother took him to the spare room and unbuttoned his dress for him. Once he was out of it she told him to go and wash his hands & face and brush his teeth. Ideally he'd rather do it wearing more than his home made knickers. When he returns to his room, he finds his grandmother waiting with folded arms. On his bed is a big white nappy, a pair of plastic pants, a pair of big cotton knickers with frills around the legs and little white nightie with more frills on every edge. He freezes and stares in disbelief at the items.

Knickers off.” his grandmother ordered.

He gulped and scanned the items. Even just the nightie would be torturous to wear, but a nappy and plastic pants too! “Please don't make me wear those granny.” he pleaded. “I promise I’ll be good.”

I'm sure you will be Peter.” she said in a quiet calm voice. “Now why don't you be the good boy you've just promised to be...” she said, taking hold of the nappy, “...and let me put this on you.”

In a raised voice Peter said, “But I'm too old to wear...” but his grandmother silenced him with a single finger on her lips

Calmly and quietly, she said, “The girls' bedroom is on the other side of this wall, so unless you want them to hear everything, you should keep your voice down.” she explained as he hung his head. “Now... yes, you are too old to wear an nappy, but nether-the-less you will be wearing it.”

But...” he said in a hushed tone, “...why granny? I don't wet the bed.”

Shame and humiliation Peter. It's the best antidote for boys like you.” she replied. “If you're left to your own devices all you do is cause trouble in town with those friends of yours, smoke cigarettes and probably shoplift with them too.” she explained, “So for the next few weekends you'll be staying with me, which means knickers by day and nappies by night.”

But...” he moaned.

But nothing Peter... if you don't like it I'm sure your so-called friends would just love to see you playing on the swing or learning to skip. But I'm sure you wouldn't want that would you?” she smiled as he shook his head ever so slightly. “I thought not... so... shall we get you ready for bed?”

His grandmother laid the nappy flat on the bed and Peter shamefully laid upon it. He couldn't look at his grandmother so instead he concentrated on the hairline cracks in the plaster which criss-cross the ceiling. He clamps his eyes shut as she fastens the nappy around him. “I haven't done this since you was a toddler.” his grandmother said as she slipped his feet through the elasticated leg holes of the plastic pants and shuffled them into position. “There you are.” she smiles, “That wasn't so bad was it?”

Peter sat up and looked down at himself. The rubber knickers were completely transparent so his nappy was completely visible beneath them. To add insult to injury, the nappy had one of the Disney Princesses printed on the front. He wanted to burst into tears with the humiliation, but fought them back as he didn't want to start crying like a girl too.

He willingly pulled the big frilly cotton knickers to hide his nappy and rubbers. These squashed the nappy tightly around him, reducing its bulk considerably and making it far less conspicuous. He pulled on the little nightie which unfortunately wasn't quite long enough to hide his frilly white over knickers.

Perfect.” his grandmother smiled as she looked down at his pale thin legs.

After being given a pair of fluffy white slippers, his granny told him to come for some supper. Peter said he wasn't hungry and wanted to stay in his room. “It's far too early for bed Peter.” she said before insisting that he return downstairs. “Plus you'll need to wash your knickers for tomorrow.”

He cast his mind back to lunchtime, when his mother convinced him to try on the dress. He cursed himself for giving in too easily as he reached new depths of humiliation. He remained silent as he hand-washed his knickers in the kitchen sink wearing only his nightie and nappy. His granny made him a slice of cheese on toast and poured him a large glass of milk. He rinsed the soap out of his knickers, rung them out and placed them on the radiator to dry. Peter's stomach was so full of shame he barely nibbled at his toast. His grandmother made small talk whilst half watching a chat show on TV. When the adverts came on, Peter asked if he could go to bed.

His grandmother glanced at the clock and said, “No Peter, if you go to bed now you'll be awake far too early." his grandmother said as it was barely twenty past eight. "Bed time is nine-thirty.” she informed him. 

Peter sighed. He wondered what his friends would say if they found out about this. He wondered what to tell them when they'd inevitably ask where he was over the weekend. "I could tell them I went to my Gran's." he figured. "But then they're going to ask me why I go to my Gran's every weekend." he thought. He almost jumped out of his skin when his granny's mobile phone loudly alerted her to an incoming text. 

Peter didn't even know his grandmother had a mobile phone. She picked it up and read the message. “Oh it's from your mother.” she said as she typed a reply.

What does she want?” he asked.

She wants to know if you're ready for bed yet and I'm telling her you are.” she smiled.

A moment later he heard another audio alert from his grandmother's phone. She read the message and smiled, before telling Peter to stand up. “Why?” he asked in a childlike tone.

Because your mother wants a picture.” she replied. After a little hesitation from Peter, he eventually stands and she takes a couple of photographs, before sending them to his mother. Barely a moment passes when another message comes through. His granny smiles before saying, “Your mother says you look sweet.”

Great. Now she's got photos.” Peter thought mournfully as he dreaded what they might look like, and what she might do with them! “She wouldn't.” he hoped as he considered her numerous photo albums on FaceBook.

For another hour Peter sat in shame, dreading what tomorrow would bring. Another day in a dress for sure, he figured. But that's preferable to this, he told himself as he looked down at his frilly white nightie, so short it left his pale thin legs entirely exposed. The triple elastic of nappy, rubbers and over knickers bit into him. He promised himself that once he was in bed, he'd take it and the nightie off and sleep naked. He kept glancing at the clock as the minute hand swept ever so slowly towards half past nine. Normally he'd argue to stay up much later, but under the circumstances, he couldn't go soon enough..

At twenty-five past, he asks one last time and his grandmother says yes, insisting he finish his glass of milk first. He does and finally he's climbing the stairs and slipping under his duvet. He is thankful that his humiliating garments are now out of sight, but they're certainly not out of mind. He decided to wait a while before slyly removing his nightie and nappy, to make sure his grandmother had returned downstairs.

As sods law would have it, a couple of minutes later his granny appears. She sits on the edge of his bed and shows him a short video on her phone of him walking down the garden path. Then she shows him another of him swinging on the swing, and third video of him skipping with the girls next door. “You might not agree but you really do look very sweet.” she says before showing him the two photos of him in his nightie.

Peter gulped and sniffed. “Why are you showing me those?” he sulked

So you can see how nice you look.” she replied with a smile. “...and to warn you that if you remove your nightie or nappy without my permission, we'll make sure that everyone you know sees these.” she states. "And I think we all know you don't want that to happen do you?"

Peter shook his head and sniffed. 

"Good boy." his grandmother smiled. "You may not realise it but it's for your own good." she told him. 

Naturally he quizzed her. "How is it good?" 

"Well for a start this door will be locked." she replied, briefly glancing at the bedroom door. "So if you do need the toilet in the night, you've got your nappy."

He gulps and hopes to heaven that he doesn't need the bathroom before morning. His grandmother bids him a goodnight once more, before leaving him alone and locking the door.

Part of him wants to defy her and remove the dreadful garments anyway, but a bigger part of him fears exposure. He stares at the ceiling for an age, unable to sleep. He turns onto his side, then the other side, then back on to his back. His mind is racing. He can't help but imagine scenarios where he's being paraded in public wearing a dress... or worse still, his nightclothes. He felt a swelling deep in his nappy and visualised the Disney Princess picture on the front. His minds-eye zoomed out to reveal the transparent plastic pants and he considered the prospect of wearing the ensemble beneath his school uniform. He imagined everyone laughing as he changed for PE. He shuddered and stiffened all the more as thoughts and ideas cascaded in to his mind. He's playing netball instead of cricket, wearing a short pleated PE skirt that bounces as he runs and throws the ball... each time his nappy and see-through plastic pants are revealed to all and sundry. Each thrilling visualisation is accompanied by a deep sense of shame and guilt. He touches himself as best he can through all the layers until he finally attains the relief he needs. Soon enough he falls deeply and soundly to sleep.


The next morning I woke up early, but without a clock in the room, I had no idea how early. I hid from reality beneath the duvet, trying and failing to pretend that none of this was happening. After what I guessed was an hour, maybe two, I heard my grandmother's footsteps, followed by the sound of the key turning in the lock. She opened the door and asked, “And how are you this morning?”

Ashamed, belittled, humiliated.” I thought as I looked up at her, but didn't reply. I just stared at her with pleading eyes. Slung over her shoulder was a curious pink bag.

She must have noticed me looking at it as she said “It's nice isn't it.” as she slid her arm out of the two straps and placed it on the end of the bed. I said nothing. She grabbed hold of the duvet and said “Come on lazy bones... lets get you out of bed.” she said in an altogether too chirpy tone as she pulled the duvet off me. She asked me if I’d managed to stay dry. I nodded and stuck my lip out that little bit more. “Good boy.” she smiled, before telling me to take my over-knickers and nightie off, “...then I’ll do your nappy.” she said with a smile, clearly enjoying every second of my humiliation. I was keen to get out of it, so did exactly as I was told. As I stood up and removed my nightie and over knickers, I realised that the pink bag wasn't a bag at all. She unfolded it and laid it over the mattress... it was a changing mat... 'my' changing mat!

I looked at it fearfully. The plastic lining had pictures of princesses all over it. Granny patted it and said “Don't be shy.... it won't bite you.”

I approached it fearfully and slowly, but eventually found myself laying on it's cold plasticised surface. Again I focused on the ceiling or closed my eyes as tight as I could as my grandmother first slipped my legs out of the plastic pants, then unfastened my nappy. “Someone's been having nice dreams.” she said as she pulled it from under me. “Now what do you say?”

Thanks Granny.” I gulped as I sat myself up. Having a nappy removed seemed more shameful than having it fitted. Thank heaven it was dry... ish. Naked and humbled, I glanced at my dress that hung from the picture rail. My grandmother glanced at it too, and told me that I needed to have a shower before getting dressed. She looked down at my nappy that lay on the changing mat, “...and you need to wash your nappy too.” she said.

Don't they just get thrown away?” I gulped.

No.” she replied. “It's a reusable one, so when you use it, you wash it.”


If hand washing his knickers the night before wasn't humiliating enough, hand washing a nappy was. At least I’d only ejaculated in it, but that was a consolation on a quantum scale.

Although not ideal, Peter was thankful as his grandmother buttoned him in to his dress. At least it left only half his legs exposed, unlike his nightie. “Well lets have a look at you.” his granny said as she turned him around. “Perfect.” she said. “There's nothing nicer than a nice dress.” she smiled. Her grandson responded with a disparaging frown. “Don't look so sad.” she told him. “You'll get used to it, and if you're a good boy it'll only be for the weekends and not all week too.” she smiled.

Peter did little between breakfast and lunch. It was drizzly so he stayed indoors. His mother arrived soon after one o'clock and wasted no time showing him the two photos granny had sent her the night before. “Don't you look sweet?” she gushed.

You're not going to show them to anyone are you mum.” Peter asked nervously.

Not unless I have to.” she replied as she put her phone away. “How did you get on with your nappy?” his mother asked in the same sort of tone she'd ask about his day at school or a visit to the cinema.

Peter felt deeply ashamed that she'd even asked. “It was horrible.”

It wasn't that bad Peter.” his grandmother interjected before telling his mother that he'd clearly had a 'nice' dream in it.

On the way home, his mother proudly announced that she had a surprise for him.

It's not another dress is it?” he dryly replied.

Oh.” she frowned. “You're too good at this game.”

Did you make it?”

Of course... but I need to fix the hem.” she replied.

Peter looked down at his knees and the dress that covered them. It was about this time yesterday his mother needed to 'fix the hem' on it. “Why do I have to wear dresses?” he asked.

Because Mrs Hesketh said that petticoating is the best thing for you.” his mother replied.

Mrs Hesketh the headmistress?”


Peter thought for a moment... one minute he's wearing a dress so his mother can fix the hem... the next minute he's wearing it to visit his grandmother... and now the headmistress of his school is involved! "What's petticoating?" he gulped.

His mother giggled slightly. "I think you know that answer to that Peter."

Peter groaned a little. Of course he knows, in spite of the fact he's never heard the phrase before. "But why?" he asked.

"To stop you from getting up to no good." his mother replied. "It's not just that bunch of reprobates you hang around with, your last school report left a lot to be desired too.”

It wasn't that bad?!” Peter exclaimed.

It wasn't good either.” his mother retorted. "And if it doesn't improve, I'm more than willing to send you to school dressed as a girl too."

"You can't do that!" Peter retorted.

"According to Mrs Hesketh I can." she replied. "But I'll leave it up to you as to whether you do or not."

"But..." Peter began, but stopped himself. He imagined what it would be like wearing the girl's short pleated skirt... he visualised everyone pointing and laughing at him, calling him names and taunting him. He envisaged none of the boys wanting to be his friend any more, and coyly having to try and make friends with the girls instead.

After his extended silence, his mother asked. "You were saying?"

"Nothing." Peter gulped. "Please don't send me to school dressed as a girl." he asked. "I'll dress like one at home if you want, but not at school where everyone will see me."

"Like I say, it's up to you... as long as your grades improve and you steer clear of those reprobates you hang around with... and providing that you do as you're told the rest of the time, you wont have to." she replied. "But one foot out of line and it'll be girl time all the time." she added. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." he moaned.


  1. post nextpart soooon pleassse

    1. ...the next part has been added to the end of the story rather than as a new post.

  2. ..a pleasing end to the first part of the story ?!...or is it.

    1. Nah i think that's all there is to this one... with the threat of being petticoated at school, Peter reluctantly agrees to spending every weekend at his granny's, wearing his mother's home made dresses by day and enduring a nappy every night ...his school reports improve over time and like any normal boy, he soon learns to accept his dresses, so much so that he even helps choose the fabric and pattern for the dresses his mother will make next :)

  3. A Fantastic and sweet story,I love it,can imagine it happening to me,thank you for writing such a wonderful tale

  4. I know that it has been a long time since you posted this.

    Enjoyable, BUT, I noted one thing you might work on. The story kept changing voices. First it would be from the first person POV (using I), and then from the third person (using he, and Peter). You'll want to keep stories in one voice or the other.

    1. Switching from Peter's perspective to his mothers and back was something I wanted to do in this story... each section is clearly separated so it's easy enough to follow... I might want to write this way again :)