Synopsis: In which Kay discovers that her nephew Tom is being dressed as a girl to make him behave himself.

Petticoat Boys
by Emily Ross

Part One — Tammy

One day I was passing my sister Jill’s house on the way home, so I decided to drop in on impulse and say hello.

I rang the doorbell but Jill didn’t seem too pleased to see me. "Oh I thought it was the new television we’re having delivered," she said before inviting me as an afterthought. "Come and have a cup of tea, Kay," she said.

I followed her into the kitchen. "Greg’s still at work," she said as she filled the kettle. "He’ll be back soon."

I nodded. She asked about my children Jason, 15, and Jack, 11. I asked about my 13 year old nephew, Tom.

"Oh, he’s fine. He’s done really well at school this year and as a reward we’re sending him off to a summer camp in three weeks," Jill told me proudly as she’d poured the boiling water into the teapot.

"Is he around?" I asked casually. "I suppose he’s out playing with his friends."

"No, he’s here," she said. "He’s playing in the back garden."

I walked over to the window and looked out expecting to see Tom kicking a football around the lawn but all I saw was a short-haired little girl playing hop-scotch on the patio. I watched for a few seconds before I realised that the little girl was Tom.

He was wearing a little girl’s knee-length party dress in a pale pink colour. It had puffy short sleeves and a white lace trim. It tapered to a thin waist before flaring out. I guessed that he had at least two petticoats on underneath. The dress was very girly and made him look like an eight-year-old girl with short hair. In keeping with the dress he wore black Mary Jane shoes and white ankle socks.

I watched him hop across the patio. "Jill, he’s wearing a dress," I said, stating the obvious.

"Yes. Isn’t he cute?" She poured the tea into two mugs.

"And he’s wearing lipstick," I added.

"Just a delicate pink. He looks so sweet."

"And if I’m not mistaken, he’s wearing pink nail varnish too."

"A really nice shade."

"But why?" I asked.

"Why not?" she asked in return as she poured a glass of fruit juice.

"Boys don’t wear dresses," I suggested.

"Oh don’t be so fuddy-duddy," she retorted. "Boys can wear whatever they like these days."

"And is that what Tom likes? Wearing dresses?" My cross-examination continued. It seemed a little odd for a 13-year-old boy to dress as an eight-year-old girl.

"Sometimes," she said handing me a mug. It was as if there was nothing unusual in Tom’s habits. She went to the back door, opened it and called out, "Tammy, honey, come and get your juice."

The boy-girl stopped playing and skipped towards the house. He came into the kitchen and politely said, "Thank you, mommy. Oh hi, Auntie Kay."

"Hi, Tom." I couldn’t bring myself to call him Tammy. I wanted to pay him a compliment like ‘that’s a nice dress’ but somehow it wasn’t appropriate. He picked up his glass and took a sip.

"Tammy," said Jill, "why don’t you go upstairs and put on your new wig for Auntie Kay?"

"That’s a good idea, mommy. I won’t be five minutes. Excuse me."

He put the half empty glass down. His manners were perfect and I noticed that each time he had called Jill mommy, just like a little girl.

I sat down at the kitchen table and Jill sat down too. I was curious now. "So how did it start? Has Tom been wearing dresses for ages? Or did he come down to breakfast one morning in a little floral number? Or did he ask Santa for a dress for Christmas?"

"It’s a long story."

"I thought it would be. I’m listening."

"It started a year ago. Tom wasn’t doing very well at school. He kept getting into trouble. I decided to do something drastic; I couldn’t let it carry on." She sipped her tea.

"You went for petticoat discipline?" I asked guessing what had happened.

"More or less, yes. I’d read a few books about behaviour among young boys, including two that advocated petticoat punishment. The idea was that if the boy misbehaved, he should spend some time dressed as a girl. If he behaved he could dress as a boy."

"And you decided to do this with Tom?"

"Sort of. I discussed it with him. We decided on a six months’ trial. He’d go to school dressed a boy but at home he’d be Tammy. As soon as he got in from school he’d slip upstairs and put on something girly. If he got good reports from his teacher he could have time off. If he got bad reports the petticoat punishment would continue. If he got really bad reports he’d have to go to school as Tammy."

"And how has his behaviour been?" I asked.

"Immaculate," Jill said. "Since then he’s got straight grade A’s and his behaviour has been perfect."

"Amazing," I said. "But you said it was a six-months’ trial. Surely if Tom has been behaving himself, you stop the punishment now."

"I have," she said.

"But Tom’s still in dresses."

"Yes. That’s his decision. He decided that he likes himself better when he works hard. He works hard because he has no other distractions here. He always stays in and does his homework. He doesn’t go out with his friends. Anyway secretly I think he likes wearing dresses." Jill smiled a knowing smile.

"And what about Greg? What does he think of his son and heir wearing dresses?"

"Oh he’s right behind it. In fact I’ve got a little photo to show you." She got a photo out of a drawer and handed it to me. It was an old photo, about 1980 judging by the fashions. It showed a pretty young girl smiling at the camera in a pretty dress."

"Recognise her?"

"No, I know it’s not you."

"Of course it’s not me, stupid. It’s Greg."

"Greg?"

"Sure he had petticoat punishment when he was young. He said it did him the world of good. That’s why he was keen on Tom wearing dresses too. It’s a pretty dress in the photo. Isn’t he cute too?"

I stared at the picture. Now she’d told me I could recognise the pretty feminine figure as my brother-in-law. "So Greg used to wear dresses as well."

"No."

"No?" I asked.

"No he didn’t used to wear dresses, he still does. Have a look at this." She handed me a picture of a woman in a black minidress. "It’s Greg. Last Christmas. Hasn’t he got great legs? I love him in that dress. You should get your Marvin to wear one. He’d look cute too."

I ignored my sister’s comments. Tom came back into the room. He had not only put on a wig but he had changed. He wore a denim mini-skirt and a tight sleeveless top that didn’t quite reach his waist and revealed a stripe of bare midriff. In the ten minutes he’d been upstairs he’d grown small breasts too — at least under the top was a padded bra. He wore nude tights and shoes with a small heel. The wig was shoulder length in a light brown colour. I was sure he’d touched up his lipstick and mascara added too. Before he’d looked like a little boy in a party dress. Now nobody would know he wasn’t an attractive teenage girl.

"Wow, Tammy, you look great," I said honestly.

"Thanks, Auntie Kay. Mommy, is it all right if I go over and see Jessica?"

"Of course it is, honey. But be back by seven for your dinner."

"Yes, mommy. See you later. Bye, Auntie Kay." He left the room and I heard the front door shut quietly.

"You let him go out dressed as Tammy?" I asked.

"Occasionally. Jessica lives around the corner. She is Tammy’s best friend. She has no idea about his real identity. Nobody could tell he’s not a girl, could they? He can’t mope around here all day. Of course he has to dress like a teenager when he goes out. When he’s at home he likes wearing girly dresses like the one he had on earlier. Also he doesn’t wear his wig because it gets too hot and itchy."

I nodded.

"You’ve got to admit he’s cute, isn’t he? And the petticoating has been so successful. I would recommend it for Jason and Jack. I’ll lend you my books if you want."

I smiled at her and said nothing. Pretty soon I said I had to go and say goodbye. In the car I thought about Tom. How could Jill enforce such a barbaric punishment on him? It was so demeaning. Yet it was very successful and he didn’t seem to mind. If anything he liked it. I tried to imagine Jason and Jack in dresses. I wondered what they would look like. Then I tried to imagine Marvin in a dress. He was slim and had great long legs. Perhaps he’d look OK. As I pulled up on the drive I couldn’t understand why I found the idea of getting my family into dresses so exciting.

Synopsis: In which Kay decides that her son Jack’s behaviour is so bad that he too must dress as a girl.

Part Two — Jodie

Although my nephew Tom had been the subjected to petticoat discipline by my sister Jill, I really had no intention of getting my two boys into skirts. No really I didn’t. But I can’t deny that after that visit to Jill’s and seeing Tom (now called Tammy) the thought was never far from the back of my mind.

The summer holidays had begun and the kids were … well they were like kids, getting in and out of trouble; fighting with each other, fighting with friends, annoying everyone with their too loud music, upsetting the neighbours, damaging the flowers in the garden with a tennis ball. Tennis! I ask you. The garden’s tiny.

Four days had passed since I’d learned of Tom’s petticoating and I was at the end of my tether. Marvin was away at some sales conference so he wasn’t there to help me. "Look," I said to the kids one morning, "any more of your nonsense and I’ll take you round to Auntie Jill’s for a dose of her medicine. And you won’t like it." The boys just laughed at me. I meant it. I could see where we were heading.

Fifteen-year-old Jason had gone out for the day playing with his friend Carl. I had no idea where they were or what they were doing but at least it was out of sight, out of mind. Around lunchtime our neighbour Mr Goldstein knocked on the front door. He was fuming. Apparently one of my children had climbed into his garden and released his 12-year-old daughter Rachel’s pet rabbit from its hutch.

His daughter was distraught wondering if she would see the rabbit again, Mr Goldstein was distraught because she was distraught and I was distraught because one of my sons had caused it. When Mr Goldstein left, I tackled my younger son, eleven-year-old Jack about it. He confessed straight away. He didn’t seem to think he’d done anything wrong. "Stupid rabbit, stupid old Goldstein, stupid Rachel, stupid girl," he said. He said ‘girl’ almost as if he was being sick.

That was it. It might have been a minor misdeed but I’d had enough. I phoned my sister and asked her if I could bring Jack round for a bit of discipline — petticoat discipline. She said it would be fine. I said I’d see her in ten minutes and she said that she’d get some clothes out.

I told Jack to get in the car. "Where are we going, mom?

"To Auntie Jill’s," I said enigmatically. "For your punishment."

He laughed, not knowing what was coming. At Jill’s the door was opened by Tom, or rather Tammy, in the little girl pale pink party dress, ankle socks and Mary Janes that he’d worn when I’d seen him before only this time he also wore the light brown wig.

"Hi, Tammy," I said.

"Hi, Auntie Kay, Jack," he said as politely as before. "Come in."

"Tammy?" I heard Jack mutter under his breath. He suddenly realised that Tammy was really his male cousin, Tom. "Hey, why are you wearing a dress?"

"For the same reason that you will be wearing one in a few minutes," I replied.

"Me? Wearing a dress? Oh no," he argued.

Jill came into the hall. "Hello, Kay. Hello, Jack," she said. "Are you ready? Now I’ve got all your stuff out ready for you. Who do you want to help you put it on? Me? Your mommy? Or Tammy?"

Her tone of voice brooked no arguments. It was only a matter of who would help him get dressed.

Looking at the floor and avoiding eye-contact he mumbled, "Tammy, I s’pose."

"OK, you girls go upstairs. We’ll wait down here. See you in about twenty minutes, Jodie." Jack winced first at being called ‘girls’ then at his new feminine name, but he followed his cousin up the stairs.

I went into the living room with my sister and we had a cup of tea and had a long chat while the children were getting ready upstairs. Jill found her books on petticoat discipline and I glanced through them. Jill said I could take them home and study them more. Nearly half and hour after they’d left us, Tammy and Jodie returned.

My jaw dropped when I saw how feminine Jack (or should I say Jodie) looked. Like his cousin and mentor Tammy, he wore a little girl’s party dress (only Jodie’s was a pale mauve), white ankle socks and black Mary Janes. He had a short brown wig on his head that was lighter than his real hair colour but suited his colouring. Like his cousin he wore a delicate shade of lipstick, a touch of mascara on his lashes and his nails were coated in pink varnish. He looked demure and girly. Again he looked at the floor, not making eye contact.

I must say I was a proud mother.

"Oh you’re so pretty," said Jill. "Give us a twirl."

Jodie spun round embarrassed, his dress swirling out as he did so. He looked totally humiliated.

"Sit down here," said Jill pointing to a space next to her on the settee. Jodie plonked himself down.

"Not like that," said Tammy. "You’re a girl. In a dress. You must brush your dress under your bottom as you sit down or it may get rucked up or creased. If your dress gets rucked up someone will see your pretty panties."

Jodie looked even more humiliated at the announcement that he was wearing panties. And pretty ones too.

"And lower yourself gently," said Tammy. "OK? Now try it again."

Obediently Jodie stood up and sat himself down carefully smoothing the skirt of his dress as he did so.

"That’s better. Now cross your legs at the ankles." Jodie did so. "Remember," said Tammy, "it’s not enough to look like a girl. If you can’t move like a girl, you’ll be spotted straight away and that could be very embarrassing."

Jodie seemed to be listening. He had a lot to learn.

"OK," said Jill, "let’s go over the rules."

Jodie paid close attention.

"One. Every time you misbehave, you get three days in a dress. Two. Very bad behaviour or repeat offences get seven days. OK? And we keep adding them up. Understand?"

Jodie nodded.

"Three," continued Jill. "There’s time off for good behaviour. So if you wash the car or clean the bathroom you could get a day off when you can wear your boy stuff again."

Jodie nodded again.

"Any questions?" asked Jill.

"I don’t think so," said Jodie.

"Now," my sister went on, "for releasing the neighbour’s rabbit you get seven days."

"Seven days. Shit," said Jodie.

"And for bad language, three days. So it’s ten days in dresses. You’ll need plenty of things to wear so let’s head for the shops and buy you a few things," said Jill.

"Go to the shops? Dressed like this? Someone will recognise me."

"Nobody will recognise you," I said. "You’ve got to go as a girl. You couldn’t try things on if you went shopping as Jack. But as you’re so worried, we could go over to Morton Wood." Morton Wood was a shopping centre about 10 miles away. It was unlikely that any of Jack’s friends would be there.

"OK," Jodie said with resignation.

All four of us climbed into my car; me driving, Jill in the front and the two ‘girls’ in the back. Tammy gave Jodie full instructions on how to get into a car in a dress. Jodie had to practise the action until Tammy was satisfied.

Fortunately at Morton Wood there are a few discount clothing stores. It can be quite expensive if you have to buy several outfits for your daughter — particularly if she’s really your son. If Tammy had had her way, we’d have bought three quarters of every shop but in fact we settled on three little girl party dresses, three skirts, four tops, four pairs of socks, six pairs of panties, a pair of Mary Janes and, of course, three silky petticoats.

Jill said Jodie could keep the wig but I decided to buy him one anyway. It was brown, shoulder length. We bought a few cosmetics and some cheap jewellery. Tammy wanted me to buy a bra and tights for Jodie but I said she was too young. However when the ‘girls’ were in the changing rooms with Jodie trying on a skirt, I surreptitiously purchased some tights and a training bra.

All in all I put just over  £400 on my credit card bill. I hoped it would be worth it. Jodie made a great effort to act like a girl and not give himself away. I drove back to Jill’s house and dropped her and Tammy off. Then we headed back to our house, Jodie sitting in the front seat, apparently unconcerned by the fact that he was wearing a dress and his knees were showing. He seemed to have accepted his new role very quickly.

I pulled onto our drive. "Oh no," said Jodie. "Rachel Goldstein is playing in her front garden. I can’t let her see me like this. Would you mind putting the car in the garage so that I can get out without her seeing me?"

I was amazed by Jodie’s good manners. ‘Would you mind?’ That wasn’t the way he normally talked. "Of course I wouldn’t mind," I replied. The petticoat discipline was working already.

Jodie had slunk down in his seat so that he was not visible from next door. I got out of the car, opened the garage door and then drove the car in. Jodie now got carefully out of the car and went through the connecting door into the house.

"Oh thank you, mommy, for doing that for me."

‘He’s calling me mommy,’ I thought. And his manners are excellent. Perhaps something of Tammy is going to rub off on him. "You’re welcome," I said. "Now I’ll get the bags from the car. You pop upstairs and I’ll bring your new clothes up and help you change."

Without so much as a murmur or even a questioning glance, he headed upstairs while I got the bags from the boot of the car. When I got to his bedroom he had already taken his dress and petticoat off and was standing in just his panties, socks and shoes.

I found a new pink top, removed the price tag and passed it to him. He wore it with a black miniskirt that fitted like a glove. I suggested he take off his wig and we put on the new one. It was long enough to put into plaits so I showed him how to do it, tying a pink ribbon in each plait.

Cute? He looked gorgeous.

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