House Rules

Aunt Katinka was always a staunch advocate of petticoating and claimed that it was commonplace in ‘the old country’. It’s not at all common here in Blighty, apart from at Aunt Katinka’s house. My mother used to send me to stay with her a few of times a year as a child and spent every moment having to abide by her unusual house rules.

From the moment I arrived I'd be buttoned into a dress and if I showed even the slightest hint of objection, she'd swap my knickers for a nappy which wouldn't be changed until bed time. She didn't make me wear girls clothes every day. Some days I wore my own clothes but always over my knickers, or if I’d been disobedient, over a nappy. To begin with I suffered terrible nappy rash but I soon learned to shut up and put up as I'd rather spend my days wearing a pair of knickers than a nappy.

My mother knew exactly what went on but insisted that petticoating was harsh yet harmless. At least my mother didn't petticoat me at home, nor did she ever threaten me with it. However if I ever played up or got in trouble, my mother would threaten to send me to stay with Aunt Katinka when school broke up. “She'll happily have you every school holiday and half term if need be!” I recall my mother saying. The visits to Aunt Katinka's stopped when I left school and so did the petticoating... thank god!

Now I’m an adult and I'll be staying with Aunt Katinka again for a few weeks, but only until I sort myself somewhere permanent to live. The last thing I expected was for her to pick up where we left off all those years ago!

“It doesn’t matter if you’re six, sixteen or twenty six William... my house means my rules!” she barked. “And don’t look at me like that young man... if you’d brought some knickers with you, you’d be able to wear those instead of a nappy.” she told me. Reluctantly, I told her that I don’t wear knickers anymore. “You do in my house.” she snapped. “Now put those underpants in the bin and come over here.” she instructed, tapping her foot on the big pink changing mat that lay on the floor. “Once you’ve got your nappy on we’ll go shopping for some new knickers... and please don’t make me spank you first!” she told me.

Having been on the receiving end of Aunt Katinka’s spankings in the past, I swallowed my pride and laid down on the cushioned mat. I shuddered as my bare skin came into contact with its chilly vinyl cover. I focussed on the ceiling and pretended this wasn't happening as she said “Up!” in a chirpy yet discomforting tone. I raised my butt off the mat and she shuffled the nappy beneath me. “Down.” she grinned

This is the first time I've visited Aunt Katinka since I was around fifteen years old, and I recall that visit most vividly. My aunt didn't make me wear girl's clothing all of the time, but she did insist that I wore girlie underwear all of the time. When I first stayed with her, aged around eight or nine, no sooner I'd stepped through the door she'd replaced my underpants with a pair of frilly knickers. I recall threatening to tell my mother what she'd done, but Aunt Katinka pointed out that my mother hadn't packed me any underwear at all because she knew that I wouldn't be wearing boy's undies. The only pair I had were those I'd travelled in, and they were cut up and dropped in the bin, right in front of me! This meant that I was sent back home wearing a pair of knickers... the same pair that I was expected to be wearing the next time I went to stay with my aunt.

Where was I? Ah yes... the last time I stayed with Aunt Katinka, I was aged around fifteen years old. I recall asking my mother for 'my' knickers prior to my departure, as I knew that she'd put me in a nappy if I wasn't wearing them when I arrived. Mum thought they were in my drawer and I thought she had them, but neither of us could find them. I knew what would happen if I wasn't wearing them, so felt I had no option but to ask my mother if she'd buy me a replacement pair. We must have gone around four or five girl's clothes shops before we found a pair that looked similar the knickers that had gone missing; high waist, low leg, lace trim and a floral panel to the front. I was worried that Aunt Katinka would know that they weren't the same knickers, but Mum said it didn't matter. In fact my mother felt that buying me a replacement pair was unnecessary. “But she'll make me wear a nappy if I don't.” I told her.

“Well you wear one for bed anyway.” I recalled my mother reminding me. “I few more hours won't hurt.”

I remember trying to explain to my mother the difference between wearing a nappy in the day as opposed to wearing one for bed, but tried to avoid too much detail. “It's only wee at night.” I told her. I recalled the sense of shame I felt as I begged my mother to buy me that pair of knickers.

This time, it hadn't even crossed my mind that I should have arrived wearing something other than my underpants. I'd almost forgotten what was happening as my mind wondered back in time until I heard my Aunt say, “Have you missed this?” in a soft yet telling tone of voice. I gulped so hard I almost swallowed my jaw when I realised that I was becoming rock hard down there. I felt it flatten against my belly as the front of the nappy was wrapped over and secured in place. There's only one thing more shameful than being put into a nappy, and that's getting aroused whilst being put into a nappy. My only excuse is that it's nigh on impossible not to when a hefty dose of nappy rash cream is gently and lavishly applied all around ones genitals.

I focussed on the ceiling. I felt her take hold of my hands and she sat me up. “Good boy.” she said. “Now put your rubbers on.” she told me in a patronising tone. I pulled a pair of white translucent rubber knickers up over my nappy as my Aunt removed my underpants from my case. Thankfully she allowed me to wear my own clothes. With a wry smile on her face and a pair of big scissors in her hand, my aunt cut my underpants one pair at a time into several pieces before dropping every last scrap of them into the waste paper basket. “Don't look so worried William, we'll get you some nice new ones.” she grinned. The fluffy bulk of the nappy was ever present as I hung my shirts & suit and placed my T shirts, jumpers and jeans in the drawers. I hate to admit it but after a mere ten minutes, I kind of forgot it was there as I bundled my socks into an otherwise empty underwear drawer. “I think I'll have those too.” my aunt said.

“My socks?”

“Yes.” she said, holding out her hand.

“What for?”

“To put with those.” she replied as her eyes dropped to the waste paper basket, half filled with the shreds of my former underpants. “You've got one pair on which will do until you buy some proper hosiery.”

I passed my aunt the bundle of socks and she clearly enjoyed herself as she cut the toes off of every pair and dropped each into the bin. “Boy's socks are so brutal.” she said as the penultimate pair of socks was cut and dropped in to the waste paper basket. I gulped as my eyes dropped to the final pair on my feet. As a child, my aunt would only ever let me wear tights or girl's socks, and I expect I'll soon be reliving those days.

After a light lunch over which my aunt made small talk and I responded with even smaller talk, she drove me into town. “It’s so nice that you’ve come to stay again William, your new job sounds very exciting!” she said, “What is it again?” she asked.

“Marketing Assistant.” I meekly replied.

“Oh an office job. Will you be wearing a suit & tie?” she asked.

“I don't think a tie is compulsory.” I replied. “But definitely a suit.”

“We'll have to get you one.” she suggested.

“I've already got one.” I informed her.

Regardless, after making me spend a small fortune on women's underwear and hosiery... she insisted that I needed to buy a new suit. “I don't know if I can afford a proper tailored suit.” I said as she took me to a proper tailors. Aunt Katinka said that the right impression is priceless, that she's known the tailor here for years and will no doubt get a very good deal, and if necessary, she offers to cover the cost until the end of the month.

I was surprised to find that the tailor is female and like Aunt Katinka, she has a slight eastern European accent. “Something stylish and fitted.” Aunt Katinka states when the tailor asked me what type of suit I'm after. In fact, my opinion was overruled every step of the way as we leafed through the catalogue of designs. They all looked suspiciously feminine in cut and style, but I was assured that they were of European style and very 'now'. According to may Aunt I don't need pockets in my trousers, and according to the tailor a side fastening trouser is very 'in' these days, as is a high waist.

The tailor began to take my measurements in great detail; arms, shoulders, chest, waist, the length from shoulder to waist both front and back, and when she took my hip measurement, she asked if I was wearing padded underwear. “Pelenka.” my Aunt replied.

“Ohhhh.” the tailor said, before asking my Aunt something in their native tongue.

I felt myself blush when my aunt explained (in English) that I only wear a nappy for bed, usually. She told her why I'm wearing one now and informed the tailor that no additional room needed to be added to the cut of my trousers since I'll be wearing knickers. The tailor pulled the tape measure a little tighter around my hips to squish the bulk of my nappy in, then she proceeded to measure my rise, my thighs, my calves and my inside leg... and she wasn't shy about getting the full length either. Once all my measurements had been taken, she confirmed with my aunt the general style and finer details, before revealing the total cost. I couldn't help but gasp, but my Aunt assured me it was a good price for a tailored suit. I reluctantly paid a £36 deposit, and was told it would be ready in two days.

As Aunt Katinka drives me back to her house, I stay silent and stare out of the window. Just like when I was a kid, she's made me sit on the back seat of her car... and just like when I was a kid, she's bullied me back into a nappy and belittled me in front of all and sundry. My aunt makes a loud sniffing noise. And another. I glance over and she says “Have you weed?”

I can feel myself blush as I say “Yes Auntie. Sorry.”

“Well there's no need to be sorry if you're wearing a nappy.” she says in such a way that implies that it's a good job I'm wearing one. When we arrive home, my aunt wastes no time in removing my wet nappy. I expect to be put straight into a clean one, but now I have my new knickers I won't need a clean nappy until bedtime. “They look nice... how do they feel?” Aunt Katinka asks.

“Really tight.” I reply. My aunt tells me that they're supposed to be tight, hence the name 'control knickers'. I pull on a camisole and look down at myself. I've not worn girl's underwear since I was fifteen or sixteen years old, and it's just a bad as I recall. I've grown out of all the dresses I used to wear and thankfully my aunt hasn't conjured a selection in adult sizes. I half expected my aunt to give me one of her dresses to wear but no... I'm allowed to don my own clothes. If I'd known it was going to be like this I guess I'd have tried to secure some accommodation before the move. But I tried that and found nothing. Maybe if I'd known I'd have bought myself some knickers and avoided the humiliation of being put into a nappy instead.

Auntie wanted to know all about me; my new job, my old job, my time at college and university, my friends and girlfriends. I told her that I've got plenty of friends back home but have no current girlfriend. She quizzed me about my former girlfriends so I told her how we met and why we split. The last one cheated on me and I still felt bitter about it. “Oh dear.” she said. “Never mind, some boys simply aren't meant to marry.”

Later, I get berated for not sitting down when I visit the bathroom. "I know it's been a few years but you really should know the rules William! You've stayed with me often enough to know that boys like you mustn't stand up to wee.” she reminded me. I hung my head and apologised. “If you can't do it sitting down then you can do it in a nappy." she informed me.

Not too long after our evening meal, my aunt runs a bath and tells me that it's bath time. I went through exactly the same routine as I had in my youth and frankly I'm flabbergasted that she's doing it again and I'm letting her. I'm twenty-six, it's barely 7.30pm and I've been given a bath and am now being put in another nappy. A nappy I'll stay in until the following morning! "We'll have to do something about this." she says as she runs her perfectly manicured fingers over my crooked knee. "You've let them get ever so bristly." she said. After pulling on a pair of rubber knickers, she had me stand on a towel whilst she took to my legs with a safety razor and plenty of fragrant soap. She must have spent half an hour removing every single hair from the tips of my toes to the tops of my legs. "There... that's much better." she said as she wiped the soapy residue of his legs with a flannel. My legs hadn't been hairless in a decade and I'd forgotten how sensual they felt. A very telling bulge appeared in the front of my nappy. Auntie looked at it and smiled wryly, before suggesting I put my nightclothes on. Thankfully, these are my own pyjamas and not a prissy nightie like I used to wear.

At 9pm, my aunt asked me if I'd like a drink or a snack before bedtime. I declined but she insisted and brought me a glass of milk. I tentatively asked her what time bedtime is. “Nine thirty.” she said in a matter of fact tone. “You're not a child any more.” she smiled. Great, I thought. When was fifteen she always sent me to bed at eight-thirty... now I'm twenty-six it's nine thirty!

I woke up in a wet nappy. This wasn't a surprise as it was wet long before I'd drifted off to sleep. I knew from my childhood that removing my nappy would mean spending the whole day wearing one, so I waited for my aunt to change it for me. Unfortunately I used it again in the meantime. She entered my room and chirpily asked if I'd slept well. I gulped and nodded. She asked if need changing and again I nodded. “Well you get your mat out and I'll get you some knickers.” she said. I pulled the plastic covered foam mat from beneath my bed. My aunt opened my drawer and made a fuss of which knickers I might wear. Apart from some being white and some Ivory, they all look more or less the same to me. High waist, low leg and far too tight around my genitals. At least a nappy offers me some freedom in that respect.

Two days later, we returned to the tailor's shop. I felt positively ashamed as I stripped down to my underwear in a back room with my aunt and the tailor watching me.

I'd been nervously looking forward to starting my new job, but now I'm nervous for a whole different set of reasons. Unlike the suit I'd planned to wear for work, my expensive tailored suit consists of fitted 'boot cut' trousers with an unusual side zip fastening, and a fitted a jacket that's far shorter than I'm used to. The trousers have a single faux pocket on the rear and the front is completely blank. They fit me very snugly from the waist down to the knee, from which point they begin to flare out, but not too much. The jacket does have pockets, albeit very shallow ones which serve little purpose. It fastens with a single button to the front and has four faux buttons on the cuffs. Beneath this I wear a plain white blouse that Aunt Katinka insists is just the same as a shirt... but it's not. Beneath the thin white blouse is an ivory camisole which apparently I need to conceal my nipples as my 'shirt' is quite sheer. Both my aunt and the tailor said I looked very smart and business like, and I hate to admit it but I agreed with them. There's only two downsides... one; it looks suspiciously like a woman's suit, and two; having to pay the remaining 90% of the cost.

It wasn't so long ago that my biggest worry on my first day would be feeling like a rank amateur in amongst a load of professionals, but now my biggest worry is either taking my jacket off or my trouser leg riding up to reveal an ankle clad in thin black nylon. I'd replaced my own socks with numerous pairs of knee high tights rather than proper tights. It was Aunt Katinka's suggestion as she felt I'd probably prefer them, it being late spring/early summer. Knee highs don't seem quite as feminine as tights but in the great scheme of things, and as far as anyone who spies my ankles is concerned, they may as well be a pair of tights... or stockings for that matter.

No one mentioned my attire on the first day of my new job, but it did attract plenty puzzled looks. “Are you not warm with your jacket on?” several people asked. In spite of the fact that I was a bit too warm, I claimed I was 'fine'. It's bad enough wearing a slightly feminine trouser suit over a slightly feminine shirt... I don't really want to remove my jacket to reveal the blouse through which my very feminine camisole can be seen. Apart from my attire, my first day went well. I was nice to spend some time away from my controlling aunt. Although thanks to my outfit, she still has me wrapped around her little finger even when she's not directly watching over me.

When I arrived back at her house that evening, she asked how the day went and I said it was 'really good'. However I did mention that it was a very warm office and that I was reluctant to remove my jacket. “What on earth for?” Aunt Katinka asked.

I looked down at my white blouse and said, “Because I didn't want them to see my camisole.” I gulped. “Can't I wear a normal shirt tomorrow?” I asked. “Without a camisole.” I added.

“That is a normal shirt William, and without your camisole they'd see your nip nips.” she said as if talking to a child. “I suppose you could get a flat bra instead.” she suggested.

“What's a flat-bra?” I knowingly asked.

“It's a special bra for petticoated boys like you.”

“I'm not a boy Auntie... I'm twenty six.” I retorted.

“But you are petticoated.” she reminded me. “And if you take that tone with me again, you'll be going to work tomorrow wearing one of your nappies instead of your knickers.”

I hung my head and apologised. Aunt Katinka told me that at my age, I really should be wearing a bra anyway. “We should have got you a few flat-bras when you bought your knickers but I just didn't think.” she said. “Sometimes I forget how grown up you are these days.” she smiled.

I gulped and smiled back. After supper, Aunt Katinka sent me for my nightly bath and after that she got me ready for bed. Since I returned early last week, I felt deeply ashamed on the first few nights as she put me in a nappy. Of course I shouldn't put up with it now I'm a grown up, but Aunt Katinka really won't take no for an answer and I really can't say no to her.

The rest of my first week in my new job went OK. A few of the women commented on my 'trouser suit' and said it looked very expensive, and by Friday I'd been asked on a number of occasions if I was wearing tights or stockings. “Erm... knee highs.” I reluctantly informed them. This was often followed by me being asked if I shave my legs too, to which I also replied “Er.. Yeah.” What I didn't tell them was that it's actually my Aunt who shaves my legs for me... three times a week, after my bath and after having my nappy fitted. I still haven't plucked up the courage to remove my jacket in the office, but I do have to at least unbutton it for comfort. Hopefully no one's spotted what little of my camisole can be seen with my jacket open, but it is quite obvious in the mirror. No one's mentioned it anyway... yet.

That Saturday, Aunt Katinka took me into town for a bra fitting. BHS refused to do it, as did M&S, so she took me to an independent lingerie store. The lady said she had no problem with fitting a man for a bra, but said that she doesn't stock 'flat-bras'. “In fact I've never heard of a flat bra?” she added.

“A double or triple A cup should do.” Aunt Katinka replied, before explaining the whys and wherefores of the 'flat bra' to the shop's owner.

“How fascinating!” the lady replied. “I'll have to see if I can get some in.” she added as I reluctantly began unbuttoning my shirt. “What a pretty camisole.” the lady smiled as I removed my shirt. “I trust he's wearing knickers too?” she asked, turning to my Aunt.

“Of course.” Aunt Katinka proudly replied. “Knickers by day and a nappy by night... that's a the petticoating rule.” she informed her as I slipped off my camisole.

I just wanted to die right there and then as the lady measured me whilst my aunt told her all about my exciting new job. When she name dropped the company I worked for, the lady said “Oh you'll know my son! He mentioned that a transsexual had joined their team.”

“William is not a transsexual.” my aunt insisted. “He's petticoated.”

“Well I'll have to put him right then.” the lady suggested.

“Please do.” Aunt Katinka retorted.

“Right, he's a 36AAA.” the lady told my aunt. “Did you have any particular style in mind?” she asked. “Although I do only have a limited selection of triple A cups.” she added.

“Something in white or ivory.” my aunt said. “Preferably with a full cup.” she added. A selection of white bras were spread over the counter, and without even asking my opinion my aunt sorted the selection. “He'll be wearing them for work so nothing too frilly or tarty.” she said. The first bra was fastened around me and the lady adjusted the straps. My aunt checked it and said it wasn't quite snug enough. “Maybe the 34” instead?” she suggested.

An identical bra with a 34” chest was fastened around me. I said it felt too tight but my aunt insisted that it wasn't. “It's supposed to be snug William, otherwise it'll ride up.” she told me as the lady adjusted the shoulder straps.

“Would you like to try the 34's for these too?” the lady asked, gesturing to the 'in' pile on the counter. My aunt nodded and the lady promptly found the alternate sized AAA bras, one of which my aunt passed to me.

I just gorped at the bra that hung limply from my hand. “It won't put itself on William.” my aunt snapped. I hesitantly put my hands through the straps and placed them on my shoulders, but I had no idea how I should do the next bit. “Here... like this.” Aunt Katinka said, showing how to hold each side of the hook & eye fastening in order to easily fasten it. “Now make sure you use the widest fitting.” she added as I fiddled with it.

Even at its widest it felt too tight... but I didn't mention it. The lady adjusted the shoulder straps and asked me how they felt. “OK.” I meekly replied.

The bra was removed and the lady began to fit the next one. “Let him do it himself.” Aunt Katinka insisted. Again I fiddled with the fastening but got there eventually. The straps were adjusted, the bra was removed and along came the next, and the next, and the next. All were very similar, with only subtle differences such as a lace or scalloped trim. Some had little bows where the straps met the cups, as well as a little bow where the cups meet each other. One had little cut outs all over the cups, which is apparently called 'broderie anglaise'. After the straps were adjusted, I began to reach for the back fastening. “You may as well keep that one on William.” Aunt Katinka said, passing me my camisole.

The lady rang up the total as I buttoned up my shirt. Seven bras costing between twelve and twenty pounds each added up to one hundred and eleven pounds and ninety four pence. I reluctantly handed my debit card to the lady and paid for the unwanted items. “I'll certainly look in to getting some of those flat-bras in.” the lady said as she handed back my card and a receipt.

“Oh please do.” my aunt replied. “I'm sure William would rather wear a proper flat-bra rather than making do with women's ones.”

Every sentence plunged me into a new level of shame and humiliation, but I just stood there and put up with it. “I'll let Richard know if I do get some in.” the lady said. Neither my aunt nor I knew who she was talking about, until she said, “My son... Rick Mason... you work with him.”

Oh god! I thought. He's my line manager! “Oh... er... yes.” I said as the lady passed me a pale pink bag with Mason's Lingerie emblazoned on it.

I muttered a thank you and the lady said “Please call again!”

“Oh we certainly will.” my aunt said as we headed towards the door. I say 'headed', it was more of a saunter as Aunt Katinka kept stopping and looking at things and saying things like “Those French knickers are pretty.” and “That's a nice chemise.” and most humiliating of all, “Oh you'd look lovely in that nightie William!”

She suggested buying it and I quietly said that I'd spent enough already. “My treat?” she said, before hollering back to the lady “Do you have one of these in William's size?” as she pointed at a very short, very frilly baby doll nightie.

All I wanted to do was leave the shop that I never wanted to enter, but now my aunt is holding a lilac baby doll nightie against me and telling me how she can 'see me in it' at bedtime. Then she holds the matching frilly satin knickers up, stretches them and says, “I'm sure there'll be plenty of room for your nappy in these.” before holding them to my waist and stretching them around my hips.

“We also have those in baby blue.” the lady says to my aunt. “Which I suspect maybe more your colour?” she said directly to me as a smug grin swept her face. “Unfortunately we've sold out of pink.. they were very sweet.” she added in a tone that suggested I'd be disappointed. I recalled as a child when my aunt explained my petticoating regime to random people women, how they'd always exhibit shock or despair and more often than not, utter disgust... for about two minutes. Then they'd get in on the act and start telling how nice it must be to wear pretty things, suggesting all manner of girlie things that I should wear or do, using words like sweet, dainty or cute to describe me or my attire.

“Would you like a blue one William?” Aunt Katinka asked. “Or do you prefer lilac?” I gulped and said 'blue' adding, 'please' when Aunt Katinka gave me one of those looks. “Well I'm quite taken with the lilac one.” she said.

“Well since you've been such a good customer today...” the lady said, “...if you buy one I'll give you the other at half price.”

“Oh well in that case.” my aunt replied, and promptly bought me both. Once we were finally outside the shop, I asked if we could go home now. “You're getting low on nappies, so we need to get some more of those first.”

Why she couldn't say such things under her breath I'll never know. Several heads turned in our direction when she blurted out about me needing more nappies. I began to think that things couldn't get any worse as I hung my head and looked at my shoes. I cast my mind back to those weeks I'd spent with Aunt Katinka when I was a child and realised that things could get much worse than this. At least I'm wearing male clothing over my feminine undergarments... when I was young she often made me wear a skirt or a dress when she took me shopping, but she never once tried to pass me off as a girl.

She took me to one of those chemists which has a window display full of prosthetic limbs and mobility aids. Inside, a pungent scent of iodine filled my nostrils as my aunt loudly asked where the adult nappies were kept. The chemist directed us to the correct aisle and told us to ask if we needed any help. “Oh these look nice.” she said, picking up a pack of ladies incontinence pants, decorated with little pink hearts. “It's a pity they don't make them like this for boys too.” she said as she put them back.

“I'd rather just have plain ones.” I meekly requested.

“By the looks of things, that's all there is in your size.” she said with a sigh. I glanced towards the door as the chemist saw an elderly customer out. He then approached us and asked if we'd found what we were looking for. “I was hoping to find some 'nice' nappies for my nephew.” Aunt Katinka told him. “These white ones are so clinical.”

The chemist glanced at me before tentatively asking if the nappies were for incontinence or discipline. My aunt replied and the chemist said, “In that case, How about these.” he said, crouching down and grabbing a bundle of far more colourful reusable nappies. “These are hand-wash only.” he said as he unfolded one of them to reveal a horrific unicorn design on the font. “...but it's usually the wearer that washes them so...” he adds as he unfolds some of the others. “There's fairies, teddy bears, princesses, kittens... all sorts.”

“Oh these are lovely!” Aunt Katinka exclaimed. “Don't you think William?” I said nothing because it doesn't matter what I think. If it's horrendous and humiliating, chances are I'll get it whether I like it or not. “And they're just as absorbent as disposable ones?” Aunt Katinka asked as she inspected them. The chemist assured her that they were, before revealing the price. “Oh... I didn't expect them to be quite so expensive.” At forty pounds a pop, Auntie decided that they were far too costly.

The chemist said only three would be needed. “One dry, one drying and one in use.” he said. “After a couple of months they'll have covered the cost of disposables and then you're saving.”

“True.” Aunt Katinka said. “But I think we'll stick to disposables for the time being. You don't want to be washing out your nappy every morning do you William?” I shook my head and felt a great relief as Auntie told me to get myself a pack of normal nappies. “You'd best grab a forty pack William.” she told me as I picked up a twenty pack. “They work out much cheaper.” she said. She sauntered slowly towards the counter, looking at everything else that aisle had to offer. The chemist was refolding and putting the re-usable nappies back where he'd got them from and would be a few minutes yet. “Oh these rubbers are nice.” Aunt Katinka said, showing the pack of three to me. Unlike the plain translucent white rubbers I'd been wearing, these were adorned with girlie patterns. One pack had flowers in pink, purple and blue, another was butterflies in the same colours, and another has pink, purple or blue love hearts printed on them.

“Something caught your eye?” the chemist asked as he caught up with us.

Aunt Katinka said these 'pretty' rubbers would be ideal over my plain white nappies, and that she was just waiting for me to chose which I liked best. I don't know why but I just blurted “Butterflies.” I guess I simply wanted the ordeal to be over as quickly as possible.

“I suppose we should grab another tub of nappy rash cream whilst were here too.” Auntie said.

“Have you tried this depilatory cream?” the chemist said. “For adults it's much more hygienic than the standard cream.” he said, passing Aunt Katinka a tub. She perused the label and decided to give it a go.

At the counter, the chemist rang up the total; £56 for the bumper pack of nappies, £10 for the pack of rubbers and £18 for the biggest tub of nappy rash cream. I was hoping I wouldn't have to pay for these as all this expense is likely to clear my back account. But Aunt Katinka said, “Well.... I bought the last pack.” I got my wallet out and handed the chemist my card. “That's another eighty-odd quid gone!” I thought as I took my card and the receipt. Unfortunately, the bumper pack of nappies was too big for the biggest carrier bag, so I had to walk all the way down the high street with my huge pack of adult nappies in one hand and my pink Mason's Lingerie carrier bag in the other. “What would you like for supper this evening William?” Aunt Katinka asked.

“I don't mind.” I replied. After today's shopping trip, I really don't care. She stopped off at the butchers and greengrocers, and when we did finally arrive back, Aunt Katinka suggested I go and put my new things away. I don't think I've ever felt quite so disheartened as I placed the six bras alongside the numerous pairs of knickers in my underwear drawer. Aunt Katinka appeared and said she wanted to make sure I'd folded them properly. I hadn't so she showed me how a bra should be folded.

“Why do I have to wear a bra Auntie?” I asked. “It's bad enough having to wear knickers again.”

“Because you're not a child any more William. You'rea big boy now and big boys should wear a bra.” she informed me. “And I hope you're not complaining about your knickers.” she added, “Because you know what happens when you complain about your knickers.”

I assured my aunt that I wasn't complaining, but merely asking. “I never used to wear a bra.” I gulped as I folded one as instructed.

“Remember all those little cropped vests you used to wear?” she asked. “They were your training bras.”

“Oh.” I said as I put the last bra away and slid the drawer shut. When I used to stay with my aunt, she'd often make me wear girl's clothes over my girlie undies... not everyday, but often enough. I've now been with Aunt Katinka for almost a fortnight and have spent every day wearing my knickers and every night wearing a nappy... but something was missing. “How come I don't have to wear dresses this time?”

“Would you like to?”

“No!”

“Well there are your new nightdresses remember.” Aunt Katinka smiled.

“Oh yeah.” I replied.

“They'll be much nicer to sleep in than your pyjamas.”

“I suppose.” I glumly replied. I glanced at Aunt Katinka. She wore an expectant smile on her face. “Thanks for buying them.” I said, knowing what she wanted to hear.

“You're welcome.” she replied. “And thank you for paying for your nappies... they cost me a small fortune when you were young.”

I'd forgotten about the cost of them. “I couldn't believe how expensive they were.” I replied. “At that price I wonder why you make me wear them.”

Aunt Katinka didn't reply. Instead she cast me pleasant yet pursed smile.

I'd envisaged spending Saturday night in a pub or club, maybe with some of my new work colleagues, but I'm not. It's only 7.30pm and I'm ready for bed, when normally I'd be ready to go out at this early hour. I've just had my nightly bath and have been put in my nappy for the night. I'm sat watching Saturday night telly dressed in my new baby doll nightie. I'd rather be in bed as at least I wouldn't have to look at myself... clad in a super short satin and lace monstrosity, adorned with ruffles and bows and an equally frilly pair of over knickers covering my nappy... then it's my long hairless legs. My toes are separated by a pair of foam toe spreaders whilst the shiny pink varnish on my toenails dries. Aunt Katinka sits half watching the TV show as she manicures my fingernails, occasionally laughing or commenting on the celebrity chat show that's on. I stare blankly at the TV, occasionally glancing at my aunt or my hand and think about what I could have been doing instead of this.

The next morning I waited patiently for my Aunt to say “Come on, let's get you out of that nappy.” She said these same nine words every morning and since my nappy is wet every morning, it's music to my ears. I perform the ritual of pulling out my changing mat and putting the bumper pack of baby wipes alongside it. I remove my frilly lilac baby doll nightie and place it on my bed, before removing the matching frilly over knickers. I stand on the mat to remove my rubber knickers which ensures that I don't get any drips on the carpet, and with a slight overflow of urine trickling down the inside of my hairless legs, I lay on the mat and wait patiently for my Aunt. It wouldn't be so bad if she'd let me get myself in and out of my nappies, I thought as I stared at the ceiling. After a few minutes my Aunt Katinka appeared and knelt down in front of me. I gulped as she gently tore the seams and lifted the front of my nappy away. I tried to think of anything... anything that would help me avoid the almost inevitable erection I'd get as she swabbed me with the baby wipes. I concentrated on a single spot on the ceiling where two hairline cracks converged and filled my skull with mundane thoughts.

“This new nappy rash cream is very good.” she said in a soft voice. Aunt Katinka has a habit of making small talk whilst she cleans me up, and it's usually about the task at hand, so my attempts to think of something else are always futile.

“Why?” I asked, still focused on the ceiling.

“Well there's no nappy rash for a start.” she replied in a chirpy tone as she thoroughly wiped me. The hardest part is always when she cleans around my dick and balls. My aunt does this in a swift, efficient manner, but no matter how clinical and brief the process is, it always feels sensual. Half the time I'm as stiff as a board by now, but today I manage to stay focussed and keep myself limp. The wet nappy is pulled from under me and as usual my aunt says, “There you are, all clean.”

As usual, I meekly thank her before sitting up and looking down at my naked self... only today I'm a bit too naked. “Wha...? Whe...? My hair's gone!” I stammered, blinking a few times to make sure my eyes weren't deceiving me.

“It has.” my aunt replied as she rolled up my wet nappy into a neat sanitary bundle. “It's much easier to clean you up now... and far more hygienic.” she added.

“But...” I said as I hesitantly touched the hairless area at the base of my limp cock. It was far more sensitive than I expected and my gentle touch caused my penis to stir. I whipped my hand away, afraid of what I felt and looked at my aunt.

“Does it feel nice too?” she asked as my swelling became more and more apparent. Knowingly, she offered to leave me alone to get dressed, but as she exited she said, “Best do it over your mat, and make sure you clean up any mess.”

I watched the door shut before looking down at myself. My penis is now as big as it gets and the area around it is completely hairless and completely smooth. Again I stretch out my fingers and gently touch it. I shudder and gasp as my other hand joins in... it's like nothing I've ever felt before! Kneeling over my changing mat, decorated with a myriad of plump cartoon ballerinas and occasionally glancing at the baby doll nightie that lay on my duvet, I do all I can to bring my arousal to a speedy end. My heart is filled with a mixture of guilt and pleasure as I wipe the mat with a handful of baby wipes. After wiping my hands, I open my drawer and remove a pair of knickers.

I perched on the edge of my bed and pulled them on. Being control knickers, I had to tuck myself into them... and being a very tight elasticated sateen fabric, they sat firmly on my new hairless crotch. I pulled my own jeans on over them, tightened my belt and donned a t shirt. I rolled a pair of knee high tights up my legs (that being the only type of hosiery I have), and slipped my feet into a pair of baseball shoes. Finally, I looked like I should look even if I don't feel like I should feel. When I stayed with Aunt Katinka as a child, I spent most Sunday's wearing a prissy dress or a horrendous skirt & blouse combo. I guess I can be thankful that this time my aunt is restricting her petticoating regime to my underwear and nightwear.

“Which bra have you got on today?” my aunt asked in a friendly, inquisitive tone when I appeared downstairs. “Can I have a look?” she asked with a smile.

Startled, I said I'd forgot and returned to my room. I guess it's an easy mistake to make, I thought as I pulled open my drawer and picked up the neatly folded bra on the top of 'my' collection. I'd had plenty of practise fastening them yesterday, so it wasn't a struggle getting it on. I covered it with my T shirt and reluctantly returned to the lounge. Of course my Aunt wanted to see it, and simply lifting my T shirt wasn't enough. Topless save for my triple A cup white bra, my Aunt had me turn this way and that whilst she told me how pretty it looked. “Your nipples look very cute.” she grinned. I looked down at myself. My nipples are concealed beneath the flat cups of my bra, yet they make their presence known as each is as solid as a peanut as they pout from beneath the thin white fabric. I donned my T shirt once more and sat myself down. “Wouldn't you prefer fitted T shirts to those square ones you always wear?” Aunt Katinka asked.

“I don't know.” I replied as I looked down at myself. “I like square T shirts.” I added. Later that afternoon my aunt did the laundry whilst keeping an eye on the simmering Sunday lunch. I made myself a cup of tea and as usual I offered to help. As usual my aunt graciously declined my offer, saying she liked to keep herself busy. I observed her as she emptied the tumble dryer item by item and neatly folded each one. “This is the sort of T shirt I mean.” she said, holding up one of her T shirts. Like most women's T shirts, it has a slight hourglass shape and short capped sleeves... but when she turns it, I'm surprised to see a print of the distinctive solidarity banner in washed out red.

“Cool.” I said, being a bit of a liberal with left wing leanings.

“Try it for size.” she said, scrunching it and tossing it to me.

I snatched the T shirt out of the air and let it hang. “It looks a bit small.” I said as I held it to my chest. It wasn't that small because Aunt Katinka isn't that small. In fact she's about my size... it's just smaller than the square T shirts I'm used to.

“Nonsense... it's just fitted that's all.” My aunt smiled. “Go on.” she said with an encouraging grin.

To refuse would have been rude so I stripped down to my bra and pulled on the white skinny fit T shirt. It could have been worse... Bambi or a kitten maybe... but Solidarnoṡċ in its defiant scrawl was OK. The little capped sleeves do have that raised pin tucked thing going on, and it fits me snugly without stretching. “I never had you down as a socialist.” I said to my Aunt.

“Why ever not?” she replied. “In the old country, Lech Wałęsa was a great hero when I was young.” She told me about the rocky transition from communism to democracy and how she hoped for a government run by the trade unions, or at least one that worked with them. It was a bit of an eye opener to say the least as I'd only seen my aunt as a strong mother type, a determined housekeeper and a formidable foe if you get on the wrong side of her. I'd never considered that my Aunt Katinka had political leanings, especially ones that leant so strongly to the left. With the strict petticoating regime I've always been subjected to, I'd have guessed she'd be right wing if anything... right wing verging on fascist.

A little later, I had a sly look at myself in the hallway mirror. Looking at my back, I could plainly see the shape of my bra's back fastening and the two lumps where the straps could be adjusted... but other than that, I quite liked wearing my Aunt's T shirt. Yes it's feminine in cut, but it's not girlie or prissy, and the political slogan works in its favour. I did wonder however... where does a strict petticoating regime fit in with left wing political ideals?

“You can keep it if you want.” my aunt said, catching me looking at myself.

“Oh no I couldn't.” I insisted. “I know it's a favourite.”

“It is, but I only wear it for bed... I don't wear my ideals on my sleeve like I used to.” she replied. “Plus, it looks better on you.” she added.

The gift was graciously received. Although I can't see myself wearing it casually whilst out and about... the pin-tucked sleeves are a bit of a give away.

At work the following day there was a new phrase going around the office, and that phrase was 'flat-bra'. Although the two words weren't said directly to me, they were often said in the vicinity of me and was often followed glances and sniggers cast in my direction. I guess my line manager has spoken to his mother since I'd visited her lingerie shop, and it's more than likely that he's spoken to at least some members of staff. I didn't really see much of anyone that day as I was stuck at my desk transferring data from one spreadsheet to another. Hardly anyone spoke to me in the lunch room, apart from one of the girls who noticed my fingernails. Unlike my toes, they hadn't been painted in a glossy pink varnish, but had been manicured and polished. “Do you ever wear make-up too?” she quizzed as I bit into my sandwich.

I shook my head and once I'd emptied my mouth, said “No, never.” She said that she'd figured a 'guy like me' would wear make-up and somewhat defensively I retorted “I'm not a tranny.”

“Oh I know that... what is it they call it?” she mused, “Petticoated?” I heard a few sniggers come from elsewhere in the lunch room and hung my head, which I guess could be interpreted as a single nod. “Thought so.” she said, before closing the lid of her lunch box and vacating her chair.

As she left, Rick my line manager entered and asked me if I'd finished that spread sheet yet. “Er.. no.” I replied. There's about four thousand bits of data to copy and paste, so how I'm expected to do it all in one morning I've no idea!

“Well chop chop.” he said, prompting me to cut my lunch break short and go back to work.

It took me until Wednesday afternoon to finish the spread sheet. I don't think they were impressed. I felt a bit miserable when I returned to Aunt Katinka's that evening. I had a bit of a moan as we sat in the lounge watching the early evening news. She seemed to brush aside my whining and replied with a comment about my ankles and how 'elegant' they look. I said I'd prefer it if I could wear proper socks instead of knee highs as my shoes feel like they're hanging off my feet. “Maybe you need new shoes rather than new socks.” she suggested.

“I don't think I can afford 'new' anything until I get paid.” I replied.

Aunt Katinka informed me that quality footwear is quite affordable at Asda or Morrisons, but I said that I was reluctant to spend any more than I need to throughout the next two and a half weeks. “I suppose you have spent quite a lot.” she smiled. “How's about I treat you?” she suggested. I politely declined but Aunt Katinka insisted, and backed up by the excuse that she needed to go to Asda anyway, we set off.

It could have been worse I guess. The shoes she bought me weren't like girlie shoes I used to have to wear, but a more androgynous Loafer style with a pair of leather tassels on each one, and they did come from the men's department so I couldn't really complain. The slip-on style does leave a lot of my stocking clad instep on display though, but they do fit like a glove... or more accurately, like a shoe! “Oh look!” Aunt Katinka said, “These bags are half price if you spend £30 or more.”

“I don't really want a hand bag auntie.” I said as she drew my attention to the offer. “They all think I'm a tranny as it is.” I added.

“Who's 'they'.” she asked.

“The people at work.”

“Well just tell them you're not.” she advised as she picked up one of the handbags on display. “Why you carry that big rucksack with nothing but your keys and phone in it I've no idea.” she said as she unfastened the various pockets.

“I have my lunch too.” I pointed out as she unzipped the main compartment.

“There's plenty of room for your lunch.” she said. “And it's only £15 with the offer.”

“Fifteen pounds is a lot of money for something I don't need.” I said. My aunt reminded me that it was her treat and promptly bought me the shoes and a handbag. Thankfully she didn't buy me one of the really girlie ones. Instead she/we chose one in a tanned leatherette with handles and an optional shoulder strap. It wasn't that bad I suppose, but there's no way it'd me mistaken for a 'man' bag.

When we arrived home, Aunt Katinka had me wear my new shoes for a bit and repeatedly told me how much nicer they look than 'those clumpy things'. She also organised my handbag. My phone could go in one pocket, my keys in another. She put a small umbrella in the main compartment and told me that there's still room for my sandwich and a drink. “There's room for a spare pack of tights too.” she added.

“I don't wear tights.” I said.

“Well you know what I mean... knee highs.” she said. “The pack's about the same size and come winter you'll probably be better off with tights on anyway.”

“Come winter I hope I'm living on my own and not having to wear what my aunt thinks I should wear.” I thought. “Yeah I 'spose.” I said.

The next day at work, I shamefully said 'thanks' numerous times when my colleagues commented on my bag. It's by no means the girliest bag in the world, but it's definitely feminine. In fact the only thing about my appearance that doesn't have a feminine edge is my hair and my head. No one mentioned my new shoes but they did attract more than a few gazes in spite of the fact that they came from the men's department... I guess it's the clearly visible 15 denier black nylon that's really drawing their attention.

Once again I was given a menial task that involved formatting the capitalisation of a thousand and one page titles. Dull doesn't come into it and I spent as much time clock watching as I did focussing on my work. I heard a loud bellowing laugh come from my line manager's office at the far end of the room. I looked up to see four or five staff members in Rick Mason's office, all looking and laughing at something. “It's nice to know they've got time to stand around having their jollies.” I thought as I trudged my way through the simple yet laborious task I'd been given. I glanced towards my line manager's office once more and saw Josephine exit. I returned my attention to my monitor for a moment before looking up again and saw Josephine walking towards me with a broad grin on her face. “How you getting on?” she asked.

“Fine.” I replied.

“How many have you got done?”

“Er.... about four hundred and fifty.” I told her.

“Is that all?” she retorted. I gulped and looked up at her. “Will it be finished today?” she asked.

“I don't think so.” I reluctantly repleid.

She sighed at me and told me that it needs to be finished tomorrow morning, “And I don't mean lunch time.” she added. I gulped and nodded. “Anyway...” she continued, “...Rick said to give you this.” she said, placing an A5 sized magazine on my desk. “He said his mother should have your 'flat' bras in stock by next weekend.” she grinned. I wanted to die as I looked at the booklet in front of me. On its cover is a picture of a man in full make-up wearing stockings, suspenders, control panties and a flat bra. Above this is its title: Love Lace, Male Lingerie Catalogue. “There's some very nice stuff in there.” Josephine said in a friendly voice, “Not the sort of stuff a real man would wear but nice none the less.” she added in a slightly evil tone. I gulped and muttered something along the lines of 'thanks' as she grinned down on me. After an uncomfortable silence, she suggested that I should put the catalogue in my hand bag. “You don't want people thinking you're looking at lingerie when you should be working do you?” she said before leaving.

I'm certain I must have been bright red as I picked up my bag, unzipped it and put the catalogue inside. Yet again I cursed myself for not finding myself somewhere to live before starting my new job.. but no... I stupidly figured it'd be easier to stay with my aunt with a view to finding somewhere eventually. I sighed as I placed my handbag beside my chair and returned to the task at hand. It wasn't hard but my God it was boring... so much so that I couldn't help but yawn throughout the last hour.

When I arrived back at my aunt's house, she asked me if I'd had a nice day. I concealed the truth and optimistically said “Not bad.”

“Mrs Mason called and said she'll have some proper flat bras in next week.” she told me.

“Oh.” I replied. “Gulp.” I gulped.

“She said she'd given her son a catalogue to give to you... did you get it?” she asked me.

I nodded and retrieved it from my handbag. “I think he showed it to half the office before it got to me.” I moaned as I handed the Love Lace Male Lingerie Catalogue to my aunt.

“It's not for me William.” Aunt Katinka stated, refusing to take it. “Have you had a look yet?”

“No not yet.” I replied as I looked at its off putting cover photo.

“Well I'll make you a nice cup of tea whilst you have a flick through.” she said with a smile.

I knew the difference between a suggestion and an instruction, so I took my usual seat in the lounge and hesitantly opened the male lingerie catalogue. I flicked through page after page of bras, girdles, corsets, all kinds of knickers from huge control briefs to skimpy thongs and everything in between. I'd have preferred it if the models weren't all middle aged men! Then there's underskirts, slips and nightwear, suspender belts and stockings, tights, knee and ankle highs and normal socks... well, I say normal... they're all either girlie or feminine with their pelerine knits, floral patterns and pink spots or stripes. I turned the page to find a host of girlie white ankle socks, each with a frilly lace trim around the cuff. “Those are pretty.” Aunt Katinka said as she delivered my cup of tea.

“I think they're a bit too pretty.” I replied.

“Nothing's too pretty for a petticoated boy.” she grinned as she took her seat.

“And how are your new shoes?” she asked as she looked at my feet. “Comfy?”

“Yes, very.” I replied as I put the catalogue down. Truth be told, they aren't that comfy, but at least my feet don't rattle inside them.

“Seen anything you like?” My aunt asked, nodding towards the catalogue that rested besides me on the coffee table.

“Er... I've not finished looking through it yet.” I replied.

Aunt Katinka suggested that I should put a circle around anything I do like the look of. “It's easy to get overwhelmed with all the different things.” she added as she picked up her crossword pen and passed it to me.

As mentioned, I've come to know the difference between a suggestion and an instruction, so I took the pen and picked up the catalogue. Instead of quickly flicking through it as I'd already done, I felt obliged to peruse every page as my aunt half watched the TV and half watched me. I didn't feel at all comfortable as I circled the odd item, but knew that I probably wouldn't get away with circling nothing.

After my nightly bath, Aunt Katinka put me into my nappy and I put myself into my baby doll nightie. My own pyjamas have been put in the wash but haven't come out, so I have no option but to wear a nightie. I've been tempted to enquire as to the whereabouts of my pyjamas, but I can guess what the answer would be (the bin, along with my socks and male undies). Back in the lounge we sat and watched TV. Aunt Katinka asked me to pass her 'my' catalogue. She sat and flicked through it, obviously looking to see which items I'd circled. “You're a bit of a plain Jane aren't you.” she said with a smile as she turned the pages. “There is something very 'pure' about plain white underwear.” she added. “Oh those French knickers are nice!” she said, holding up the catalogue so I could see... and yes, I'd circled them.

“They're like boxer shorts.” I said.

“Yes I suppose they are a bit.” my Aunt replied, bearing a wry smile as she turned the catalogue toward herself. “I like these fru-fru knickers too.” she smiled as she pointed out the image on the adjacent page.

“They're far too girlie Auntie.” I said with a gulp.

“Well they would be if you were a real girl William.” she replied as she placed the catalogue on her lap. “But as you know, nothing's too girlie for a...” My aunt paused and glared at me expectantly.

I gulped, knowing what she expected of me. “Petticoated boy.” I meekly replied. I hung my head and looked at the frilly lace trim on the hem of my nightie. Just below this my matching frilly over knickers can be seen, so I straighten the hem to conceal them. In the corner of my eye I can see my aunt watching me and smiling. “What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” she bashfully replied. “I just think it's sweet when you do that.” she said, “Making sure your nightie's nice and straight.” she added.

“I was covering my knickers.” I gulped.

“And making sure you're nightie's nice and straight.” she smiled.

I wasn't going to argue with her. In fact I daren't argue with her. I tried to challenge her and her petticoating ways when I was a teenager, supposedly man enough to stand up for myself and deliver a resounding no when she insisted I wear knickers instead of my own undies. But that was quickly met with a relentless spanking, after which I begged for my knickers. I recall the shame as I realised that that wasn't what she wanted to hear as her paddle came crashing down on my raw backside, again and again until eventually I begged for a nappy instead. No fourteen year old should be put in nappies both day and night.... but what I since realised is that there's no point in defying my Aunt Katinka as she will always have the upper hand. Like Keyser Söze... she has the will to do what other people won't... especially me.

At work on Friday, a number of my colleagues taunted me about the catalogue. A couple of the women stood up in my defence... sort of. They were most likely teasing when they said that men can wear nice underwear if they want, or that it's OK if 'some' men want to wear women's clothing. But those same so-called supporters also said that they wouldn't let their husbands or partners wear such feminine attire. Too much attention was on me on this relaxed Friday afternoon as the office wound down for the weekend, and having been asked directly, I had no option but to admit to wearing a flat-bra. A handful of the women pestered me into removing my jacket as a handful of the men looked on. Everyone snorted and sniggered at the bra shaped object that is clearly visible beneath my thin white blouse. Comments ranged from cute and pretty to freak and faggot, but even the positive comments sounded like insults to me. All the attention drew me away from my work and to end an awful afternoon, my line manager was not happy that I'd failed to complete my latest mundane task by the end of the day.

With a heavy heart, I made my way back to my Aunt Katinka's house. When asked how my day had been, I confessed to it being less than pleasant. I told my Aunt that they made me remove my jacket so they could all have a laugh at my bra, but she belittled my take on it and said, “They're probably just not used to seeing a boy wearing one.” Why she insisted on calling me a 'boy' when I'm twenty six years old I don't know. But what I do know is that I daren't challenge her about it. She also quizzed why it had taken me until now to remove my jacket at work. I explained that I was embarrassed about my underwear and felt it was best to keep it concealed. “Well give them time.” she advised. “They'll get used to it, just as you have.”

“I've hardly got used to it!” I silently screamed. But looking down at my blouse, or more through my blouse, the outline of my bra is already a familiar sight. Its taught grip around my chest and over my shoulders is ever present and although not uncomfortable, it's nice to take it off when I get ready for bed. I asked if I could go and change out of my work clothes.

“Of course.” my aunt replied. I went to my room and swapped my feminine work trousers for a pair my own cargo pants. I unbuttoned my blouse and pulled on the T shirt my aunt had given me and changed my sweaty knee highs for a clean pair, then slipped my feet in to my trusty baseball shoes. I was glad the week was at its end as I trundled downstairs.

“Up the workers!” my aunt said, grinning and raising her fist as I entered the lounge.

I smiled and looked down at my T shirt with its vibrant socialist slogan. “Maybe I should wear this at work.” I suggested. “I could do with a bit of solidarity.” I told my aunt about the dull menial tasks they'd been giving me at work and the unreasonable time scales they expect me to meet. I know I'm just the assistant but the monkey work I'm given puts none of my skills, experience or training to good use.

“They must have seen something in you to give you the job in the first place.” my aunt told me. “And there's always something menial that needs to be done.” she added. She advised me to just stick with it and explained that as the office newbie, the mundane tasks will naturally fall on my lap. “Give it a few months and it'll be you delegating the boring jobs to the next newbie.”

“Yeah I guess.” I replied, forcing a smile through my frown. “I suppose I should have offered to bring some work home with me.”

My aunt suggested that a better idea would be to bring work home and don't mention it to them. “They don't need to know how long it's taken, just that it's been done... and you can always imply the work was completed in the office.” she advised.

“But if I let them know that I'm willing to put in the additional hours... that'll work in my favour.”

“Or it could suggest that you can't meet deadlines within a reasonable time.” she countered before informing me that plenty of homework is the secret to a successful career. “That and making yourself look much more efficient than you are.” she added. “In my line of work I see it all the time.”

“What do you do for a living Auntie?” I asked.

“I'm a consultant.” she replied. “You know that.”

“I know but a consultant in what?” I retorted. “It's a very ambiguous term.”

“Management and human resources.” she replied. “I help business managers to maintain and manage their workforce... usually in industries where a high staff turn over is a problem.” she explained. “I do a lot of consulting for factories, care home managers, retailers, the service industry, hospitality...” she went on, using vague terms to describe specific things and left me pretty much none the wiser as to what her job actually entailed.

My third week in my new job was more or less the same as my second week. I was given menial yet time consuming tasks that any Muppet could do, but not in the short time scale they expected. I took my aunt's advice and took my work home with me to ensure it would be completed. Each day I covertly copied my work folder to or from my USB drive and implied that all my work had been completed in the office.

My colleagues continued to talk about me behind my back, but somehow didn't seem too bothered if I overheard them. In fact sometimes it's like they make sure I'm within earshot, especially when one of the guys had the following exchange with one of the women. Under his breath, yet only a few metres behind me he said, “I can understand trannies wearing bras... but you'd think he'd stuff it with something.”

“Maybe it's a training bra.” the woman replied. “Maybe he's hoping he'll grow a pair.” she added.

“He needs to grow a pair of something.” the guy retorted.

“You're right there!” I thought. When I was a little kid I can understand why I abided by my Aunt Katinka's house rules. When I was a teenager I made it clear that I hated being petticoated and hated her for petticoating me, but soon realised that simply putting up and shutting up was better than refusing to follow her rules. When I turned sixteen I simply refused to be sent to my aunt's house as I was old enough to stay home alone. Since my mother had no interest in petticoating me, it soon became a distant memory, so much so that it didn't even cross my mind when I arranged to spend a few weeks with Aunt Katinka until I sorted my own accommodation out. I recalled the humiliation I felt when I arrived at her house as an adult and was immediately berated for not wearing knickers before being pout into an adult sized nappy. If I had a pair of balls I'd have put my foot down there and then. But no... I think I must have been in shock when I put my naked butt down on my big pink changing mat. For all the sneering I get from my colleagues, it's nothing compared to what I'd get if they knew everything, I figured as they continued to talk about me in hushed tones.

“It's the hair and lack of slap I don't get.” the woman said, “You'd think he'd make an effort.”

I punched my keyboard and continued to eavesdrop on their spiteful conversation. I envisaged what I should say to justify myself... but there's nothing I can say really. Yes I wear feminine clothing but I'm not trying to pass myself of as a woman! Is one imaginary statement. If my aunt told me to wear make-up I would wear make-up, is another. I guess even as a kid when my aunt made me wear prissy dresses for a day out, she never once tried to pass me off as a girl. Even if I was mistaken for a girl she'd put them right. I recalled her voice on numerous occasions saying something along the lines of “Oh no! This is my nephew William!! He's always as good as gold when he wears a pretty dress... aren't you William?” Every time I'd nod because she was absolutely right. Anything less and the next time it wouldn't be knickers I'd be wearing beneath it. Throughout that week I found myself unwillingly overhearing conversations about me and my attire. It wasn't good but it could be a lot worse.

On the upside, my line manager seemed a little less pissed off with me as I managed to get my work in more or less on time, although he stressed that he'd prefer me to hand it in at the end of the day rather than first thing the next morning. My excuse it that I wanted to give it the once-over with a 'fresh' pair of eyes to ensure it's all correct before handing it in, which he seemed to accept.

On Saturday morning we returned to Mason's Lingerie and unbeknown to me, my aunt had ordered everything I'd circled in the Love Lace catalogue. It seemed like an awful lot and was certain that I'd only circled a couple of items. My aunt had the catalogue with her and showed me exactly what I'd chosen. I recall circling the plainest flat-bra in the catalogue, but was somewhat surprised that I'd also circled two girdles. Then there's the French knickers, a matching camisole and a slip. “I took the liberty of ordering a thong.” my aunt told me. Apparently I need one to wear beneath the French knickers. Given the choice I'd have got a white one, but my aunt ordered a beige or 'natural' one. “And I couldn't resist the fru-fru knickers.” Aunt Katinka added with a broad grin. Thankfully I didn't have to try any of the items for size, but they did set me back a total of £142.96p. My aunt offered to pay for the frilly fru-fru knickers as they were her idea, but I declined and paid for the lot. I half expected my debit card to be declined because I know that my bank balance is now getting very low... in fact I was slightly disappointed that the payment had gone through.

“The new range has certainly sparked a lot of interest.” Mrs Mason told us, drawing our attention to her new display. There's plenty of female mannequins clad in a variety of bras and panties in her shop, so the two male mannequins look more than a little out of place. “Some of my customers thought I'd simply run out of lady mannequins.” Mrs Mason says with a smile. “They're not all taken by the idea of men's lingerie but some are.” she added. “I've sold quite a few already.”

“Petticoating is more popular than one might think.” my aunt said as she moved closer to the new display. “This is beautiful isn't it William.” she said to me as she ran her fingers over the frilly lace 'cups' of a very prissy bra.

I gulped as my eyes dropped to the matching knickers. Compared to my massive control knickers, they looked so skimpy. Mrs. Mason told us that the other style is one that's sold the most. “A lady bought three sets each for her two sons.” she said, “And another brought her husband in for a fitting.” she said as a wry smile crossed her face. “He didn't look too happy but she did.” Mrs Mason grinned before informing us that the white cotton set also available in pink and mint, and the blue frilly set that my aunt is drawn to also comes in pink and black.

“I think black's a bit tarty for boys.” My aunt replied. “But the blue is gorgeous.” she said. “So nice its a shame it's underwear.” she said as she thumbed the satin bow on its strap.

“That's the beauty of beautiful lingerie.” Mrs Mason said.

“Quite.” my aunt replied. She smiled and looked at me. “I'm sorry William but I just can't resist them.” she told me. The shopkeeper asked if I wanted the 34” or 36”. “I think the 36 on this occasion.” my aunt said to Mrs Mason. “That'll be more comfortable won't it?” she asked me. Since I'm currently wearing a 34” bra, it's firm grip around me is all to apparent. I gulped and nodded. She asked me if I'd prefer the blue one, “...or one in pink?”

“I honestly don't think I can afford any more underwear.” I meekly replied. “Not until the end of the month anyway.” I added.

“This is Auntie's treat William.” my aunt said with a smile. “I think you'd prefer the blue one wouldn't you?”

I gulped and nodded. As Mrs Mason took my aunt's credit card, the shop door opened and a woman & man entered. I assume he's her husband. I turn my attention back to the counter and hear the woman say “Here they are.” In hushed tones, her husband says he neither wants nor needs one. “Whilst I'm the breadwinner you have no say in the matter.” his bossy wife informed him. “And since you're the housekeeper, you'll dress appropriately.”

Mrs Mason passed me the cellophane wrapped pack containing the frilly blue bra and skimpy matching knickers. I thanked her as I placed them in my carrier bag along with the rest of my new lingerie. My Aunt took her card and the receipt and slipped them in her purse. She glanced at the other customers, then looked. “George is it?” she said, “George Baxter? From Hogworth & Co?”

The petrified man turned. “Ms Becker.” he said with a look of terror on his face.

“How are things?” my aunt asked him. “Are you still at H&C?”

“Sadly not.” he frowned. “They needed to make some cuts and I was one of them.”

“Oh that's awful.... you really turned that place around.” my aunt told him.

“And you are?” the man's wife sternly asked.

“Katinka Becker... I was a consultant for Hogworth & Company a couple of years ago.” My aunt replied, holding out her hand. 

The two women shook hands and exchanged greetings. “You wouldn't be the consultant that brought in those new uniforms would you?” the woman asked. My aunt said she was, adding that none of it would have been possible without George's hard work. It transpired that George was the HR manager for a large cleaning agency, and with Aunt Katinka's help, he introduced compulsory domestic frocks for all employees. This controversial change wasn't popular, but it did improve productivity... that being the power or petticoating, Surprisingly, only a handful of their male workforce resigned, the conversation revealed.

“When it comes to the crunch, men tend to do what they're told... they're obedient by nature.” my aunt said. “Especially when their options are limited.” she added, glancing at me.

“Well at his age, George hasn't many options left.” the woman said, glaring at her husband. She adopted an altogether friendlier expression and looked at my aunt and I. She explained that since George lost his job, she's decided that it's too late for him to rekindle his career elsewhere (they're both in their early 50s I guess), and will be better put to use around the house. “George isn't happy about it.” the woman said, sneering at the balding man beside her. “But what's good for the goose is good for the gander.” she added.

“Quite.” my aunt agreed. “You'll soon get used to it.” she said to George, before telling him (and his wife) all about my petticoating regime. After five or ten minutes, my aunt apologised to Mrs Mason for holding her up, told Mrs Baxter that it was very nice to meet her, wished George luck in his new role and bid them goodbye. We headed for the door, but then my aunt stopped and turned, opening her purse. “Actually Mrs Baxter... this is my card... give me a call if you need any advice.”

The buxom woman took the card and read it. “Thank you... I might just do that.” she said, sneering at her husband again. “He's not being as co-operative as I'd like.” she added.

“Well it's early days I suppose.” my aunt told her. Turning to the man she said, “Now you make sure you do as you're told George... obedience is a virtue.”

I felt sorry for George as we finally left the shop. At least I'm accustomed to being petticoated, even if I have had a ten year break from the routine. He's middle aged and he's just starting out. Still, if he was responsible for making all his male cleaners wear women's clothing, I suppose he's getting his just desserts. “Are you really running out of money?” my aunt asked as we strolled along the high street. “Or was you just trying to get out of buying that knicker & bra set?”

“I've got less than £20 left.” I replied. “Which means I'll be walking to work next week.”

“Oh dear.” My aunt said. “Still, I suppose the exercise will do you good.” she added. “I was going to suggest you buy yourself a nice skirt or a frock.”

“I'm not sure if I want a skirt Auntie... or a frock.” I replied.

“I'm sure you're just saying that William... you did buy yourself a slip after all, and you can hardly wear your new French knickers with trousers can you?”

I wasn't planning on buying any of the stuff I'd circled in the catalogue... but there's no point in arguing that fact. If I'd known then what I know now, I'd have made my choices with a little more care. “I suppose.” I gulped.

“Why don't we have a look in the charity shops?” she suggested.

Knowing when a suggestion is really an instruction, I followed my Aunt's lead and browsed the charity shops with her. I subtly informed her that I didn't want anything prissy or girlie, so she focussed on the plainer styles. Unlike the high class Lingerie shop which has hardly any customers, the charity shops were bustling. My aunt made no secret that it was me we were buying for, and adding to my discomfort, she had me try on anything that I said looked OK. I ended up buying a black pinstriped shift dress, about which my Aunt loudly announced, “It only needs the bust flattening William and it'll be a perfect fit.” This caused all the other customers to stop in their tracks and stare at me. I must have been bright red as we excited that shop as all eyes were on me.

A few charity shops later, my aunt suggested I try a smart grey skirt suit that she'd spotted on a mannequin in the window display. I tried the jacket for size in the shop and was sent to the changing room to try the skirt. It wasn't too short and style wise it was conservative enough, but with my knee high tights it looked awful. It did fit and being a bargain at only £10, my aunt sent me to the counter with it and the matching jacket. I joined the short queue and the person in front glanced, then turned. “Hi Will.” I froze at the sight of one of the younger women from my office. “Doing a bit of shopping I see?” she said, glancing at the outfit I held.

“Er... yeah.” I gulped. “You?”

“Just browsing for bargains.” she replied. “You never know what you'll find in a chazza.” she grinned, staring at me and my purchase.

“Someone you know?” my aunt asked as she approached us.

“Er..yes... this is Sarah from work.” I replied.

“Susan!” my colleague corrected.

“Sorry.” I said before introducing Susan to my aunt.

“So?” Susan said as her eyes dropped to the item I held, “Is that for work?” she asked.

I felt myself begin to blush. “This, oh no.” I said.

“You could wear it for work William.” my aunt interjected. “It's certainly smart enough.”

“I think I should stick to trousers at work.” I replied.

“You could wear a skirt if you wanted.” Sarah said. “Everyone knows you're a transvestite so...”

“William is not a transvestite.” Aunt Katinka sternly informed my colleague. “He's petticoated.”

Susan said she'd heard the phrase at work, but wasn't sure what it was, or how it differed from a transvestite. “A transvestite choses to be feminine because they enjoy it, where as a petticoatee such as William is instructed to be feminine because it's the best thing for him.”

“Oh!” Sarah replied. “I thought you did it because you liked it.”

“He does like it.” my aunt informed her, “But only after years of training.”

“Oh OK.” Sarah said, looking slightly perplexed. “I think its quite cute that he wears a bra.” she said, staring at my chest and most likely wondering if I currently wore one or not.

“Yes.” my aunt smiled. “There's something very sweet about a boy in a bra.” she added. “Show her your new lacy one William.”

Being in a queue, a good handful of people were privy to the conversation. I reluctantly dug my hand onto the pink Mason's Lingerie bag and removed the cellophane wrapped underwear set. “Is this one of those flat-bras?” Sarah asked me. I gulped and nodded. “It's very pretty.” she said in a teasing tone. “And it comes with little knickers too!” she exclaimed. “I bet you can't wait to try those on.”

“He's got lots of nice new things today haven't you.” my aunt said.

I gulped and nodded as we all shuffled forward. By this point, Sarah was at the front of the queue so her attention went to the lady behind the counter. Once she'd paid for her items (a vintage flight bag and a 70s Jackie annual), she turned and smiled as us. “See you on Monday Will.” she said to me, “Nice to meet you.” she said to my aunt, before leaving.

I placed the grey skirt suit on the counter and handed over a ten pound note. “She seems nice.” my aunt said as she watched Sarah exit the shop.

The lady behind the counter put my purchase in a carrier bag and popped the receipt in too, before passing it to me. I said thanks and we headed for the door. “She's always teasing me at work.” I said, referring to Sarah.

“In what way?” my aunt asked. I explained and my aunt claimed that they sounded more like compliments than anything else. “And it is cute that you wear a bra.” my aunt added as she held the door open for a customer.

When we got back to my Aunt's house, we unpacked all my new things; The skirt suit and shift dress were placed on coat hangers and hung in full view from my wardrobe door and my new underwear was placed on my bed. “Which do you want to try first?” my aunt asked, “The dress or the skirt?”

Recalling how horrendous the skirt looked with my knee highs, I opted for the dress. “Right, well you'll need your slip.” my aunt said, “And do you want to try one of your new girdles?” she asked as she picked one up and ripped open the cellophane. “Oh look, it comes with suspender attachments too.” she said, holding up a little self seal baggy that contained four lengths of elastic, each with a hook on one end and a suspender clip on the other.

I commented on how tight he girdle felt as I squeezed my body inside it. My aunt said it's supposed to be snug. “This will be lovely and warm in winter.” she said as she adjusted the shoulder straps for me. “I don't think I've got any stockings, will tights be OK?” she asked as I pulled the white slip over my head.

“Er, yeah I think so.” I replied.

My aunt left and returned a moment later with a pair of tights. “I thought these would make a nice change from black.” she said, “Unless you'd prefer black ones?”

“No they're OK.” I gulped as she passed me the pair of thin tan tights. This will be the first pair of proper tights I've worn this time around. When I was younger I often wore tights, but they were always white or woolly... not proper grown up tights like these. I carefully rolled them up my legs as my aunt removed the dress from its hanger and unfastened the zip.

It felt strange stepping into a dress again after so many years. My aunt fastened the zip for me and I looked down at myself. It's not dissimilar to the sort of dress some of the women at work wear. I slipped my feet into my flat loafers as my Aunt opened my wardrobe door, on the inside of which is a long mirror. “Very smart.” she smiled.

To me, it felt like I was wearing a sack. The shapeless frock hung limply from my shoulders and landed a few inches above my knees. It's a world away from the prissy frocks I used to wear, but in its own shapeless way, this is far more preferable. It doesn't work with these shoes though... I realised as I looked at my feet.

“Maybe you should get some heels.” my aunt suggested, “Or those flat ballet style pumps would look nice with it.” she added.

“I don't think I'd be able to walk in heels any more.” I said.

“Oh they're just like riding a bike.” my aunt smiled as she closed the wardrobe door. She told me to put the rest of my things away, neatly, whilst she made us both a cup of tea.

I could barely believe that I was wearing a dress again, but I suppose it was only a matter of time. In a way I'm surprised it's taken this long as Aunt Katinka wasted no time putting me back in knickers when I arrived almost a month ago. “Is that all it's been?” I asked myself as I folded the plain white flat-bra and put it with my others. A drawer full of male underwear is now a distant memory, I realised as I made some space for my new items. “Oh god I'd forgotten about her.” I thought as I picked up the frilly knicker and flat-bra set that I'd shown to Sarah. “That's going to be all over the office on Monday.” I said to myself as I opened the packaging and placed the two items on my lap. I wasn't looking forward to wearing them as I'm certain my aunt will have me wearing nothing more for as long as possible, and the knickers are tiny! Finally I unpacked and unfolded the equally unwanted fru-fru knickers. I'd assumed they were white, but it's only the numerous rows of lace covering the bum and encircling the waist and leg holes that's white, the actual garment is baby pink. At least they're not the really tight control knickers I've become accustomed to wearing, I figured, so at least these and the tiny blue knickers might be a bit more forgiving. I shut the drawer and gathered up the cellophane packaging before heading downstairs.

“You do look smart.” my aunt told me when I appeared in the kitchen. “If I remember I'll flatten that bust for you later.” she added. I looked down at the empty chest area on my frock. It's clearly been cut for a female body and not my masculine one. “It could maybe do with the hips taking in too.” Aunt Katinka added as she passed me my cup of tea. “But all in all, not bad for a fiver.” she smiled.

I looked down and noticed the cut of its hip, that too looked empty on my male body. My aunt asked me if I liked it, and I said. “It's OK” adding “It's weird not having something covering my arms.”

“You could wear a blouse under it if you want.” she suggested, “But that might be a bit too warm this time of year.”

“Yeah I guess.” I replied as I ran my left hand up my right arm.

“That sort of dress looks nice with or without a blouse.” my aunt informed me, “But your arms would look nicer if we removed all that hair.”

“I didn't think you could shave arms.” I gulped. She's been shaving my legs and armpits since I arrived and thanks to the depilatory nappy rash cream, the only body hair I have left is on my arms and hands.

“Well normally you'd wax them. That way they only need doing every month or two instead of every few days.” she told me. “Or we could try your nappy rash cream... that's effective at removing hair.” she added. “I guess it depends how long it takes to work.”

“It'll probably take all night.” I replied.

“Well if that is the case we'll have to think of an alternative.” my aunt smiled. “But you can always wear a long sleeved blouse in the meantime.”

I wore the shift dress until mid afternoon, at which point my aunt suggested I should try the skirt suit. She accompanied me to my room and unzipped my dress for me. I stepped out of it and hung it on its hanger. My aunt opened my drawer and removed the white French knickers and the beige thong, as well as the frilly blue knicker and bra set. I removed my slip and hastily pulled off the tan tights. “Be careful with those or you'll ladder them.” my aunt snapped.

“Sorry.” I said as I instantly began to handle them more carefully. I placed them gently on the bed and looked at the two sets of underwear my aunt had removed from my drawer. “Which of those am I wearing?” I asked.

“Your French knickers of course.” my aunt replied, “But I'd like to see how these look first.” she said as she placed the little blue knickers in front of me.

I peeled my girdle off to reveal my naked and hairless body. For an adult I don't half look like a boy down there. I pulled the little blue panties up my legs and tucked myself into them. They barely covered my bits and were far skimpier than my old briefs (I've always worn 'big' knickers). The little blue knickers offered no control nor did they flatten my bulge, but for that they feel very comfortable. The bra also felt very comfy thanks to it not being a size smaller than I need, but with its layers of lace covering the flat cups and the dainty bows on its straps, it's ten times more feminine than my others. Not surprisingly, my aunt was delighted with how nice they looked on me. “You could wear those as a bikini.” she suggested.

“I can't wear them as a bikini Auntie!” I gulped.

“Of course you could.” she replied. “You'd be fine in the garden. No one would see.”

An image entered my mind of me laying on a sun lounger in the back garden, wearing nothing but these scant panties and the matching frilly bra. She's right that they could be worn as a bikini, but that doesn't mean they should be worn as a bikini.

Once my aunt had had her fill of me shyly modelling my new frilly undies, I swapped the little knickers for the beige (or 'nude') thong. This felt very strange as I'd only ever worn briefs before. Unlike my skimpy knickers, the tight fitting thong did flatten me. There's something very off putting about the pale beige lace that decorates its waistband and the front part of the leg holes. I was glad to cover it with the big silky French knickers which hung more like a skirt than a pair of boxer shorts. I donned one of my bras and the new camisole, followed by one of my blouses. “Don't I need tights?” I asked as my aunt passed me the skirt.

“Not with French knickers.” she said as I took the skirt from her. I stepped into it and pulled it to my waist. “Ideally you want stockings or hold-ups.” my aunt said as I fastened and straightened it. “Or a tan... your legs would look quite nice if they weren't so pale.” she added.

I pushed my arms into the jacket's sleeves and fastened the buttons. On looking at my reflection, I knew that I looked like a librarian... and its not a good look for a guy in his twenties. My aunt, predictably said I looked nice and smart, and very business like. “You should wear that for work.” she said. “It'll make a nice change from your trouser suit.”

I bit my lip. “I'm not sure if this'd go down too well at work.” I said. “As it stands I don't think they're too impressed with my appearance... I think a skirt would be a step too far.”

“There are equality laws William.” my aunt informed me, “They can't discriminate against you.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening wearing my new skirt, but did remove the jacket as it felt surplus indoors. I kind of liked the way it swished against my hairless legs, and with the absence of my knee high tights, looked a lot better than it did in the charity shop. But that doesn't mean it's the sort of thing I'd want to step out of the house wearing, let alone enter the office.

On Sunday at my aunts request, I wore my new skirt all day long. My aunt loaned me one of her blouses which has a high collar and a lace yoke. I wore one of my camisoles between the blouse and bra. She also insisted I wear my new frilly fru-fru knickers which, whilst horrendous to look at, are far more comfortable than the control garments I usually wear.

It was a calm sunny day so we spent much of it in the back garden where I'd get some sun on my legs. No one overlooked her walled garden so I didn't feel too self conscious out there. I'd spent many a summer day as a child playing in her garden whilst wearing my girlie clothes, so it was a bit of a blast from the past being out there again clad in feminine clothing. My aunt kept reminding me to pull my skirt high up my lap to maximise my exposure to the late spring sun. The occasional gentle breeze felt nice as it caressed my hairless legs on an otherwise windless day. After a few hours, my aunt made her way indoors as she needed to get on with making our Sunday dinner. As usual I offered to help but she graciously declined. “You make the most of this sunshine dear.” she smiled, glancing up to the clear blue sky, then down on to my milky white legs. I watched my aunt head indoors and once she'd gone, I smoothed my skirt over my lap. It looked better and I felt a lot more comfortable with it how it should be. I looked at my blouse and its lace panels which revealed the straps on my bra and camisole. Unlike my work blouses, this has its buttons down the back and a high lace collar instead of a normal winged collar. It felt very special and very feminine, but it's not something I'd want anyone to see me wearing. “If I do wear this for work...” I said to myself as I hitched my skirt up just a little, “...it'll be with one of my own blouses.” I looked at my legs long and hard, trying to work out if the sun had made any difference to their milky whiteness. I couldn't see any notable difference, but maybe I'm being impatient... I am after all a newcomer to this sun tan malarkey. “At least she's not got me wearing those frilly blue undies as a bikini.” I said to no one in particular as I sipped my lemonade. Later that evening as my nappy was being fitted, my aunt said that the sun had 'taken the edge' off my pale legs, but added that they're still a long way from being tanned.

On Monday and as predicted, the news of my second hand skirt suit and my frilly flat-bra & matching knickers was all over the office, as was the fact I'd had 'years of petticoat training'. There was no sign of Sarah who'd no doubt spread the news to my colleagues. Maybe she was keeping her head down or maybe she wasn't in... I didn't enquire. As usual, I was given a long tedious task and a short completion time, and as usual, I took my work home on my USB stick. The house was empty when I arrived, which was unusual. I kicked off my shoes and massaged my stockinged feet after the forty minute walk, then made a snack and a cup of tea and got on with my work. Aunt Katinka returned about an hour later. She apologised for being late and told me that Mrs Baxter had called. “I've been over there all afternoon sorting George out.” she said. “He'd refused wear his knickers so we've put him in a nappy until he learns some obedience.” she proudly added.

“Poor bloke.” I thought as I recalled enduring the very same punishment when I was younger. It's not so much the nappy but the fact that it doesn't get changed until you comply. I recall it taking days for the soreness to ebb once I had begged for my knickers, and convinced my aunt that I 'really' wanted them.

On Tuesday I walked to work and emailed my completed spreadsheet to my line manager the moment I arrived. “I thought you'd be wearing your new skirt this week” Sarah said when she saw me in the corridor. “Please tell me you're at least wearing your pretty new bra and panties.” she teased. I told her 'no' to both points and politely expressed my annoyance that she'd told all and sundry about our chance meeting on Saturday. “Well I got the feeling that your aunt wants the truth out in the open.” Sarah retorted. “If you want confidentiality, you'd better talk to her, not me.” she told me before brushing past me and walking off.

“Bitch!” I thought as I shifted my handbag's strap further up my shoulder and continued to my desk. My line manager had emailed me back with a list of errors he'd spotted on my spreadsheet, which meant I ended up working through my lunch break to catch up. Again I took my work home with me and glumly looked forward to spending half the evening finishing it off.

My aunt had the sewing machine out on the kitchen table. I asked her what she was doing. “I'm taking the bust out of your dress.” she replied. I made us both a cup of tea and watched as she unpicked then pinned the garment. “I need you to wear this inside out so I can make sure it's right.” she said. I stripped down to my underwear and carefully donned the dress, avoiding the pins that held its chest together. After few adjustments, it was carefully removed from me. I began to put my clothes back on. “Ah ah! We're not finished yet.” Aunt Katinka said as she returned the garment to the machine. “I need to do the hips next.”

“I really need to get on with my work.” I replied. “I'm really behind.”

“Well you can do it in your undies William, it's not cold.” she said. “And I won't be long.” she assured.

Clad in one of my brutal bras, constricting control knickers and barely black knee high tights, I fetched my laptop, booted it up and plugged in my USB stick. No sooner had I opened my worksheet, my aunt was ready for me to don my frock once more. Although inside out, my aunt said it looked much better now the chest fits my shape, or lack of it. She began to pin the hips in order to remove the other feminine curves that I don't have. Again the inside-out dress is removed and I got back to my work whilst Aunt Katinka resumed her sewing. A few minutes later, she said she was done and turned the frock the right way out. I stood up and stepped into it. Aunt Katinka fastened the zip before stepping in front of me to see how it looked. “Oh yes that's much better.” she said as she looked me up and down. The baggy bit on the chest and the flappy bits on the sides had gone, and although still sack like, it did fit my shape much better. “How does it feel when you sit?” she asked. I sat and said it felt OK. “Not too tight on the hips?” she asked.

“No.” I replied. I continued with my work for a bit before my aunt suggested I change into something else. I glanced at the clock and said there's no point as it's less than an hour from bath time. However my aunt wanted the dress back so she could double up on the hip stitching. “You'll be alright in your undies for a bit.” she said as she unfastened the zip

“I'll put my trousers and blouse back on.”

“If you must.” Aunt Katinka shrugged as I stepped out of the dress.

Bath time interrupted my work, and Aunt Katinka insisted that my legs needed shaving after my nappy had been fitted. Clad in my lilac baby doll nightie, I finally returned to my overdue work. “If only they could see me now.” I thought as I copied and pasted inane chunks of data from one page to another. It was hard to concentrate and having forgotten to force out a wee in the bath, I was hanging on for dear life. If I'm wet, I'm wet 'til morning so it's best to hang on for as long as possible. The pressure got too much and I inevitably flooded my nappy with warm wet urine, making it even harder to stay focussed on my work. I gave up and saved what I'd done before turning my lap top off. I went to the lounge and Knowing I was full, I placed a folded thick towel on the chair before sitting down.

“Are you wet already?” my aunt asked. I nodded. “That's early. Didn't you have a wee in the bath?” she quizzed. I shook my head. “Oh dear.” she said.

After moment's silence, I meekly asked for a dry one, but I wasn't hopeful as she's always refused in the past. “Yes I suppose so.” she said, much to my surprise. Although she did sound more than a little annoyed. “I suppose it's only fair now you're buying your own.” she added. Instead of going to my room to change me though, see had me bring my mat and a fresh nappy down to the sitting room so she didn't have to move more than she had to.

I did as I was told and had my wet nappy removed in front of the TV. “It's so much easier cleaning you up now all your hair's gone.” she said as she caressed me with baby wipes. I felt a sudden swelling. “I think you prefer it too.” she said as I felt myself get harder and harder. “Lets get that covered up shall we.” she said as a dry nappy was shuffled beneath me and wrapped over my rock hard member. “That's better.” she said once it was in place. “Rubbers on!”

I pulled my rubber knickers up my legs and over my nappy. Aunt Katinka picked up my lilac over knickers and noticed that they were slightly damp. “You've leaked a bit... these'll have to go in the wash.” she said. “It's a shame to cover those rubbers up anyway.” she smiled, looking at my girlie rubber knickers covered in little blue butterflies.

I looked down and saw the telling bulge beneath my rubbers and nappy. I've never been so quick to don my baby doll nightie, which although very short, is just long enough to cover my embarrassment. As is her rule, I'm sent to bed at 9.30pm sharp, but struggled to sleep as I'd failed to complete my work. I guess I'll just have to get up early and do as much as I can, and hopefully hand it in before lunch, I figured.

The next morning I got up, had breakfast, had my nappy removed and got ready for work... sort of. With my knickers, bra and blouse on, I trotted down to the kitchen to find my trousers. “I put them in the wash.” Aunt Katinka told me. She apologised because she'd intended to put them in the dryer last night so they'd be ready for me, “But I got waylaid changing your nappy.” she added, suggesting it's my fault.

“I'll have to wear my own suit.” I said. “WHAT?!” I exclaimed when my aunt said she'd taken it to a charity shop weeks ago. “What else am I supposed to wear?”

“Well there's your shift dress... or your skirt suit?” she suggested.

“I can't wear those for work!” I retorted.

“Well what else are you going to wear?” she smugly asked.

Knowing that no jeans or cargo pants are allowed in the office, I'm left with two options... one; pull a sickie, or two; wear something suitable. I knew that my aunt would flat refuse to let me pretend to be sick and take the day off, which really gave me only one option. I figured that the shift dress was a little more conservative and a little less girlie than my short grey A line skirt. I wore it with a blouse and although she said I looked OK, Aunt Katinka wasn't keen on the pointy collar. She loaned me one of her blouses which has a round collar, trimmed with a narrow band of lace. Once I had that on, Aunt Katinka was satisfied. I wasn't so sure but with the clock ticking, I didn't have time to try yet another blouse. I pulled the same tan tights I'd worn on Saturday up my legs, and slipped my feet in to my loafers. I checked my reflection and couldn't believe that I had to go to work like this. “What are people going to think!?” I feared. Then after a moment's thought and staring at myself, I realised that they're not going to think anything they don't already think about me. At least with the shift dress on, they can't see my bra through my blouse... and the one my aunt has loaned me is far more see-through than any of my others, even the outline of my arms can be plainly seen through its long sheer sleeves. As inappropriate as my attire is, it's the best I've got under the circumstances. I pushed my arms through my jacket sleeves and hunched it on to my shoulders. I picked up my handbag and had a long hard stare at myself. “You'd better hurry if you don't want to be late.” my aunt advised. “Have you got a spare pair of tights?” she asked, glancing at my legs. I hadn't, but didn't have the time to worry about such trivial matters. “You need spare tights William!” my aunt told me, before going to fetch me a pack.

I opened my handbag and rummaged around, panicking that I'd lost the USB stick which held the small amount of work I'd done last night. I found it just as my aunt returned. “Thanks.” I gulped as she gave me a brand new pack of tights. I put them in my handbag along side my sandwich and zipped it shut.

Before I left, my aunt put her hands on my shoulders and looked me square in the eye. “Be confident William... you belong in that office.”

“I will.” I replied, gulping and forcing a smile.

I turned and took a deep breath before opening the front door and stepping into the outside world. It's by no means the first time I've stepped out of my aunt's front door wearing a dress, but it's the first time I've done it as an adult and the first time I've done it alone.

I certainly turned some heads as I walked to work that morning, much more than usual. I don't think it was so much the dress itself, but the combination of that and my loafers... they really didn't go! I made the mistake of glancing at my reflection as I passed a large shop window and realised just what is turning all those heads... it's not my ill-matched footwear or my corporate frock, nor is it my feminine black jacket or leatherette handbag, as perched on top of everything is my unmistakeably male head. I'd have felt better if I'd gone the whole hog and worn make-up and maybe a wig too... but I know nothing about make-up and so far as I know, Aunt Katinka doesn't have any wigs.

In a way my clothing is the least of my worries on this overcast Wednesday. I'm behind at work and got little done at home, meaning I've got my work cut out for me if I'm going to get yesterday's task completed by lunchtime. No matter which way I look at it, today isn't going to be a good day. I tried to be confident as I stepped into the office. The women coed, some clapped and some laughed. The men snorted and sneered, some threw me looks that might kill whilst others made a point of not looking at all.

“Be brave.” I told myself as I walked towards my desk, past the stares and sneers with my head held high. I plonked my handbag on my desk, removed my jacket and slung it over the back of my chair before smoothing my frock and sitting down. I decided that the best course of action would be to act as if all is normal, as if I always wear a frock for work, almost as if I'm one of the girls. I certainly feel like one... kind of. I suppose it's easy for me to imagine I'm a woman as from my point of view, I can't see my head. “OK, maybe I'm not one of the girls.” I said to myself as my computer booted up. “But maybe they will accept me in time.” I mused as I sat my handbag on my lap. I focused on my manicured and polished finger nails as I pulled the zip open. I glanced at my knees, clad in 10 denier tan tights and wondered if I could ever get used to this as I rummaged for my USB stick. I plugged it in and waited for the operating system to scan its contents before I could get on with playing catch up. “What?!” I said, before hitting the Escape key a few times, then Control, Alt & Delete. The screen went dark and in the centre is an alert window with the words “Access Suspended” I hammered Escape, tried and failed to open the task manager, hit Control, Alt and Delete a few more times... all to no avail. My initial fear was that I'd transferred a virus from my USB stick, but I'm more savvy than that. I removed the USB stick and began to panic. I glanced up and noticed Josephine marching towards me.

“Mr Mason's office please William.” she said in a stern voice. “And bring that with you.” she added, staring directly at the USB stick in my hand

“I was just about to get someone... my PCs locked me out.” I said as I pushed my chair back and stood up.

She looked me up and down as if looking at something on her shoe. “Mr Mason's office... now!” she spat. I gulped and began to move. “And bring your handbag.” she instructed, somehow making 'handbag' sound like a dirty word.

I stepped back and grabbed my bag before following her to the end of the large open plan office. It felt like all eyes were on me as we headed to Rick's glass fronted office at the far end.

I had a strong feeling I was in trouble as my line manager has never been referred to as Mr Mason before, it's always been Rick or Richard. It's either a problem with my USB stick or the fact that my assignment is late... or both... I figured. Maybe I'm not allowed to wear a dress, I wondered as I stepped into his office.

“Sit.” Rick sternly instructed. I sat with my handbag on my lap, keeping my knees together. “Well I'm sure you know what all this is about.” he said to me.

“I don't.” I claimed. “My PC locked me out and Josephine told me come and see you.” I told him. I was about to ask if my attire is unacceptable, but Rick began to tell me exactly what the issue is. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The last thing I expected was to be accused of stealing confidential company information and he wasn't at all impressed with my explanation. He asked if he could see the personal storage device I'd used to 'steal' the data, so I passed it to him as I reiterated that I'd 'stolen' nothing.

Josephine suggested they searched my handbag too, and that was emptied on to his desk. It contains a sandwich wrapped in cling film, a spare pair of tights and the pink umbrella my aunt insisted I need but have never had to use. From the various side pockets they removed my mobile phone, my house keys and my wallet, along with a bundle of till receipts, mostly from Mason's Lingerie. He looked disgusted as he perused the receipts from his own mother's lingerie shop, and then went on to accuse me of using the office to indulge in my bizarre fantasies. “I mean... what are you?” he asked in a completely perplexed tone of voice. “You dress in women's clothing yet you don't wear make-up. You wear a bra but don't have a bust.” he added, staring at my flat chest. “You're not exactly a transsexual or a transvestite are you?”

I hung my head and shook it.

He told me to put my things back in my handbag, “...but this we'll keep hold of this for the time being...” he said, taking hold of my USB drive, “...pending an investigation.”

“What?” I peeped.

Rick reiterated that they have good reason to believe that I've stolen company information on a number of occasions, and that my USB stick is evidence. “But it's not the only evidence we have.” he added. “Normally you'd be suspended until this is all sorted out.” he told me. “But since you've only been with us a month and...” he sneered at me in my entirety, “...looking at you...” he snarled, “...I think the best course of action is to terminate your employment, effective immediately.”

“But...” I gulped.

“But nothing.” he said in no uncertain terms. He picked up my empty handbag and slammed it down on my side of his desk. “Pack your things and leave.”

I've never felt so humiliated as I bundled my girlie umbrella, sandwich and spare tights back in to my bag. I fiddled and faffed with the pockets I kept my phone and keys in, before impatiently bunging them in the main compartment. I couldn't speak. I just looked at the faces around me, each one of them casting me a disapproving gaze as I picked up my hand bag and turned to the door.

“I'll escort him out.” Josephine said, before following me into the main office. Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched as I walked shamefully to my desk to collect my jacket. They all stared in silence as I was escorted to the elevator and eventually all the way to the pavement. I said nothing to Josephine as I stepped outside. I just walked, determined not to look back.

I wanted to burst in to tears but managed not to. The sky was as gloomy as my mood, and noticing a few drops of rain begin to fall on the paving slabs, I paused, dug my hand into my handbag and removed the as yet unused umbrella. With its pale pink cover and being compact enough to fit in a handbag, it's clearly a woman's umbrella. My heart sank as it popped open. A pale pink canopy, peppered with white butterflies emerged in front of me. I looked up at the sky, raised the brolly above my head and sighed at the frilly lace trim the encircled it.

“You want to zip that up love, or you'll get robbed.” an elderly female voice said. I tore my gaze from the pinkness above me and looked at an old woman stood right by me. “Your handbag.” she added.

I looked down at my open bag and saw my wallet and the pack of tights sticking out of it. “Oh, er... thanks.” I mumbled as I struggled to zip up my handbag and hold my umbrella. I looked at the old lady and smiled, but she recoiled and made a sort of 'eugh' noise, before quickly scurrying off. I guess she thought I was a woman until I opened my mouth. I managed to zip up my bag and headed back to my Aunt Katinka's house with the heaviest heart. I'm dreading what she'll say. I anticipate a chirpy “You're home early!” or an inquisitive, “What have you forgotten?” I expect she'll be just as shocked as I am when I tell her that I've been sacked on the spot for stealing company data.

I weighed up my options as I sauntered through the drizzle. Somehow I can't see me being given a reference after being sacked, which will make finding my next job a little trickier. I suppose I could return to Haversham, but having given up my apartment and job there... I'd be in much the same boat as I am here... well, not quite... at least I wouldn't have to be petticoated if I returned to my home town. Maybe there is a silver lining to this dark and thundery cloud? I optimistically wondered.