PETTICOATED!

[petticoated]

rob sank to his knees, his own pettis rustling and swishing excitedly, lacy hems exposed, and took his small tembling fingers, touched the mesmerizing stiff lacy petticoat layers of the Beautiful Blonde, and began to finger each stiff lacy layer, carefully addressing any wrinkled or crunched petti, imagined or real. ~L~ynn towered over her new sissy husband, continuing her feminine taunting, "That's a good little boy. Is my naughty litttle girly-boy hubby getting excited by all of this lace, net, satin, and tulle? Surrounded in Aunty ~L~ynn's boudoir by racks of frilly party dresses? Wondering which frilly little confection he will be wearing for the ladies. Of course, we DO know it will be pink, don't we, sissy? Hmmmmm....? She laughed, encouraging her boytoy husband to hurry. "Hurry, hurry, girly boy, fix Auntie's lace petticoats. Be Auntie ~L~ynn's obedient and docile little sissy girl.  A new frilly party dress awaits you!" She laughed loudly. rob's fingers nervously plucked at the beautiful blonde's petticoats. ~L~ynn looked down at the poor man. "Oooooooooooo...YOUR petticoats are showing, sissy! I can't wait to put you in a shorter dress, one just a little more poufy, so I can force even more petticoats beneath it. Expose you as the real sissy you are...or will become...as soon as Madame Chadwick becomes your personal Governess. She really has a talent for the ultrafeminization of weak sissies." Satisfied finally with her husband's "work" of fixing Her own petticoats, the tall blonde ordered rob to rise. "Very good, Sissy. You are quite adept at fixing the wrinkles in my petticoats. One can only hope you become as adept at fixing your own lacy layers. It is a talent which will be absolutely essential under Madame's tutelage. You've earned a stroke of blush on your cheeks. Curtsey for me, and say 'Thank Auntie ~L~ynn!'" As the tall blonde brushed her flowing blonde locks to the side, She retrieved the blusher, clicked it open, swirled the big soft brush in the pale pinkish powder, femininely tapped it against the compact to fremove the excess powder, and then...s-l-o-w-l-y ... v-e-r-y ... s-l-o-w-l-y dusted her frozen sissy husband's face. As Her short, stiff rustling petticoats rustled with Her every movement, ~L~ynn femininely, girlishly applied blusher to the cheeks of her poor, defeated sissy husband. "Does the makeup make you feel pretty, Sissy Fetisha? Hmmmmmm... Make you feel like a girl? A pretty little girl? Is your 'little soldier' all excited beneath your layers of net and lace? Does he want to come out and play? Betray your...your...your..." She laughed, "your masculinity?" And then, slowly, ~L~ynn clicked the compact shut and placed it and the big makeup brush off to the side. "Now...raise your petticoats...slowly...layer by lacy layer..." Then the tall blonde removed from beneath a pale pink satin pillow on the feminine canopied bed, a white glove...a gleaming soft white satin glove...trimmed in the most delicate white Italian lace imaginable...slowly slid it on over her right hand, and whispered to Her petticoated husband..."The softest satin imaginable. Just like my lacy slips that I wear for you. Cool...soft...sensual...and, yes, ohhhhhh so feminine...so very feminine...with just the right amount of lace...to subdue, once and for all, your brave little soldier...hidden away in his own petticoat prison...but ready now...just as you are, my dear little sissy husband...to submit. To obey. To do whatever it takes to be petticoated, frocked, feminized, and sissified...No turning back...no silly resistance...just obedience...complete obedience...through abject humiliation, embarrassment, and shame." And as the tears welled up in the poor little man's eyes, the beautiful blonde looked about the ultrafeminine boudoir, at the racks of frilly party frocks displayed in every nook and cranny, and said, matter-of-factly, "As soon as I entertain your little soldier with my pretty satin and lace glove, you're going to model some new dresses for Auntie ~L~ynn ... some daintier, frillier, and yes, shorter party dresses...in pale pink, of course ... just for Aunty ~L~ynn." And with her other hand, She dangled menacingly in front of the poor man's glazed eyes, the palest pink, white ruffled lace-encrusted satin sheath, dangled by four pale pink satin ribbons, and whispered, "Our little brave soldier is about to surrender..."

[petticoated]

Meanwhile, in the parlor, Dr. Jennifer Haynes, Madame Chadwick, and the other women had been carefully discussing a variety of topics, most of them inclusive of their victim. "You can absolutely expect him to resist my ultimate plans for him," stated Madame Chadwick, now seated in a comfortable overstuffed oak and leather chair. Slowly crossing her still-exquisite legs, encased in beautiful silk stockings, Madame stated that "all males, especially those of whom have experienced the kind of freedom that our Master Rob has had, invariably move past the fantasizing stage only to encounter the inevitability of one's fate. It is absolutely essential that he is kept in only the very frilliest and daintiest of party dresses. Hiding or completely disguising his real male facade should be limited to the rare occasions that he is being presented to a potentially new client. I have procured the finest wigs for that, exaggerated girly-girl blonde curls, feminine page boy, and even the "Alice in Wonderland" long flowing blonde locks. But there should NEVER be any doubt whatsoever that he is to be exposed, and displayed, for what he really is: An ultrafeminine, ultragirly naughty sissy boy undergoing severe feminization and sissification through intense petticoating. Of course," Madame said with a wry smile, "his overwhelming fetish for frilly little pageant dresses and stiff petticoats only makes his fate more inevitable. And it will be essential that a larger degree of extreme humiliation and shame be imposed on him on a daily basis. In the end, he will become a sweet, submissive, simpering, ultrafeminine little sissy boy who, and this is where it is so delightful...will retain just a hint of that, how shall I say it, masculine stubbornness. That small contradiction...that occasional little boy...wanting to be...well, a little boy. And yet, deep within, that frilly little girl, in all her power and femininity, doing everything she can to subdue and feminize him. And, of course, my dear ladies, all of you will be thrilled and delighted, as well as entertained, at my relentless pursuit of perfection...the perfect sissy...obedient, respectful, simpering about in his dainty party dresses, unable to resist one humiliation after another...pondering, with unbridled contradiction, the exquisitely titillating excitement that being forced into frilly dresses and those oh-so-dear sweet petticoats, balanced with the abject shame that his sissification is to be played out before some of the most exotic, beautiful, feminine, and powerful women imaginable. Resistance will be futile because I know each and every one of this sissy's deepest and most exquisite fantasies. And obedience and submission will be the price he pays for his humiliation and acquiescence."

[petticoated]

All of these women, so very feminine, yet now clearly mesmerized and captivated by this mysterious woman, Madame Chadwick, listened to Her every word. Madame Chadwick indeed came from three generations of petticoating. Victorian petticoating, mostly in England. Her mother and her grandmother had been very much in demand from the privileged and the wealthy in Europe. Mostly single mothers, frustrated with recalcitrant sons who had tested their last nerve; some stepmothers who simply had realized that the stepsons in their new lives were against the marriage, and these women felt the urgency to subdue all obstacles or "threats," real or imagined, to their rightful place in the new home; or maybe it was the stepmother who had discovered a naughty stepson infatuated with her collection of exquisite lingerie and would sneak into his stepmother's boudoir when she was away; Madame also had petticoated the nephews of Aunties, who for one reason or another, had inherited boisterous and unruly males from other family members; and then, of course, Madame also had petticoated the occasional tomboy, that wild little lady refusing to subordinate herself to the wishes of a desperate guardian who wished to transform her into the girliest of girly-girls. Madame's own niece, Lacey, had fallen into that category.  And even Lacey, so very proficient at any boy's sport, adamant about her strong disdain for girly girls and...ahem...weak sissy boys, eventually became subordinate to the strong will of Madame Chadwick. And now, Lacey, a mere young lass in her early twenties, was being groomed to be the next generation of that rare strong-willed and determined woman who put sissies in their rightful place. "Madame Chadwick, how did you become so expertly involved in the feminization of sissies and tomboys?" ~L~ynn's friend Julie asked the woman. "My dear Julie," responded Madame, "My mother was in very high demand beginning in the late early sixties. She had a very small but exclusive clientele of women who would recommend young boys to her for training. We lived in a marvelous large old house on an estate outside of London, quite secluded. When I was about ten years old, I remember a very beautiful woman who had come to visit our home on a Sunday afternoon. And she had with her a smallish boy, maybe nine or ten years old, who obviously did not want to be there. He was dressed in very tight pale blue velvet shorts which buttoned up the side with mother of pearl buttons. He had a short bolero style jacket to match his shorts. And underneath was a creme-colored withe blouse, ruffled, with lace cuffs. White knee-length thin cotton socks and black Mary Jane syyle leather shoes completed his outfit. At that time, it was not completely out of the ordinary to dress boys like this; however, more masculine boys rarely wore those outfits. Of course, my mother had dressed me properly for tea. I was in a very short taffeta party frock with a very frilly bouffant party slip and several layers of stiff net and taffeta petticoats underneath. It was the frilliest little dress mother had ever put me in. It wa sooooooo short. I knew my lace petticoats would easily be exposed. But I loved my frilly little party dress! When the beautiful lady arrived with her stepson, 'Billy' was his name,  I curtseyed sweetly, held out my little hand quite femininely to shake his, and saw this knowing look exchanged between the beautiful woman and my mother. Billy was rude. He refused to shake my hand. Said it was too girly for him. Called me a sissy. Made fun off my pretty dress. Laughed at my petticoats. He was very mean to me. My mother was obviously very displeased. The woman, Billy's stepmother, had recently lost Billy's father in a car accident, and was very frustrated at her complete inability to manage and discipline her stepson. My mother never gave any reaction to Billy's disrespect at that moment. I just remember her staring at Billy, as if she was studying him. His every move she watched. 'My, what a pretty little party dress your little girl is wearing, Ms. Chadwick!' Billy's stepmother commented. Of course, I curtsied. Billy ignored his stepmother. My mother took note, commenting, 'Thank you, my dear. She loves to wear frilly party dresses..and, of course, would NEVER wear a frilly dress without her petticoats! Isn't that right, my dear?' She looked at me and, looking right at that mean little boy, I asked him, 'Do YOU like my pretty little party dress, Billy?' He laughed at me. Called me a sissy girl. Again, my mother and Billy's stepmother exchanged knowing glances. We went into the parlor where Billy sat on the sofa with his stepmother. I was told to sit in a very uncomfortale straight-backed chair, directly across from Billy. I remember lowering myself into that chair and doing everything I could to smoothe my skirts underneath me before settling into my seat. But, alas, to no avail, my voluminous petticoats were simply everywhere! Mother chastised me. Told me that proper young ladies did not make such immodest displays of their petticoats, especially in front of young men. She stared at Billy, and added, 'Unless, of course, the young man is a sissy, or worse, a bad little boy, who needs to be forced to wear dainty party frocks until he learns to respect women and girls.' I was stunned. Billy's little face grew red. Mother continued to taunt him. 'Billy, my dear, would you like to be wearing petticoats and a frilly little dress for us? Hmmmmm........?"

[petticoated]

Billy squirmed in his seat. His stepmother laid her hand firmly on his knee to prevent him from attempting to leave the room. My mother laughed, continuing, 'Kyra has dozens of frilly party dresses upstairs in her room. I am just sure that we could find a frilly one, all lacy and girly, to put you in. Are you sure, little billy, that we cannot find something more suitable for you to wear for tea?' Mother laughed gaily. And Billy's beautiful stepmother joined in the merriment. 'Stop saying those things! I'm a boy. And boys don't wear dresses, especially sissy dresses like SHE is wearing!' Mother replied, 'Oh really, little boy. You might like wearing dresses...especially short frilly ones...with oodles of petticoats. I know of boys..especially little sissy boys...who just adore their frilly dresses. Are you sure, little billy, that you're not one of them...one of those delightful little sissy boys who secretly wish they could be 'forced' to wear frilly little dresses?' Billy continued to squirm. His face grew redder. "My, my, little billy, you even blush like a girl. Well, if you change your mind after we have had our tea, I am sure it can be arranged to put you in a frilly little dress and petticoats...just like my pretty dainty little daughter. Now...my dear boy....why don't YOU do us the honor of serving us our tea. Okay??????' Billy paused, and stammered....'N...n...noooooo...I'm NOT going to do it. I'm NOT!' My mother calmly and firmly replied, 'Of course you are, little billy. Because if you don't you just might find yourself in a frilly dress and petticoats...just like my obedient daughter.' Meanwhile, Billy's stepmother kept her hand firmly placed on Billy's knee. And then she looked at her stepson and asked, 'My dear stepson, does Mummy need to tell your naughty little secret to the ladies. Hmmmm...?' 'NO! NO, Stepmother, please. You said you wouldn't. Please don't!' 'Billy, Honey, don't call me 'Stepmother.' You know you are to call me 'Mummy.'  Now...are you going to serve us our tea...before it gets cold...or shall I share your naughty little secret...?'  Little Billy sighed, and pleaded one last time with his beautiful stepmother. To no avail, however, as she looked at my mother and smiled, saying, 'I do apologize for Billy's outburst. I just know he would like to apologize to you...wouldn't you, Billy?' And with that, she removed her hand from her stepson's knee, allowed him to stand...in the middle of the room... and express his sincerest apology for his outburst. But I noticed," said Madame as she hesitated slightly, smiled at the room of beautiful women, bit her lip slightly and continued,  'that little billy couldn't keep his eyes off ...my petticoats. He had this glazed over look in his eyes. He was fixated on the lacy hems of my pettis which were peeking out from everywhere under my short frilly dress. And his stepmother noticed, too. My mother looked at him and said, laughing gaily, "Young man, please stop staring at my daughter's delightful petticoats and come over here and stand in front of me. Billy looked first at his stepmother imploringly, but she only motioned for him to obey. He moved cautiously towards my mother. 'Hurry up, young man, we don't have all day.' And so Billy moved to stand directly in front of my mother, who had taken out the laciest, frilliest, white satin serving apron imaginable and dangled it enticinngly in front of the poor boy. "A nice lacy apron for a naughty little boy," Mother declared. The poor boy never answered. Instead, he meekly turned around so that Mother could tie the beautiful satin sash into a large pretty bow in the back. Mother ordered Billy to turn around, face her, and stand still while she adjusted the lacy frills and made frou frou with the lace hems. And because his short shorts were so abbreviated, the apron was flounced just enough to make it look like Billy was wearing a small petticoat. It was sooooooooo lacy!  It completely emasculated poor little billy right there on the spot. 'There! That's sooooo much better! Now, young man, please take this delightful pinafore and help my daughter put it on over her pretty party dress. We certainly don't want you spilling tea on her frilly frock, now do we?' Mother handed Billy one of my laciest and frilliest white satin pinafores, and then ordered me to stand. Slowly, I rose from my chair, fluffed out my skirts and petticoats in front of the frightened little boy, and waited for him to help me with my pinny. Mother looked at Billy, and stated matter of factly, 'After you have helped my daughter into her pinafore, you may help her to adjust her petticoats and fix any wrinkles in her party dress. Since you obviously are so infatuated with her pettis, I am quite certain you will have no problem helping her to adjust her skirts' Poor billy! Poor little billy! My mother had him right where she wanted him. He fumbled mightily to lower the pinafore over my full skirts. My stiff pettis and taffeta skirts rustled and hissed. He was soooooooo embarrassed. And when he finally had tied the bow to Mother's satisfaction, I made frou frou with my rustling petticoats while Mother ordered poor billy to help me fluff them out. But the humiliation didn't end there. Oh no. Mother then ordered billy to stand right next to me, his bare legs brushing up against my short taffeta skirts and exposed lace petticoats, and commented to Billy's stepmother, "Well isn't this just perfect! Ms. Anderson, little billy and Kyra are almost exactly the same size. Kyra is jus a little bit taller. Her frilly party dresses would fit your billy like a glove!!!' Billy's stepmother clapped her hands in delight, and exclaimed, Ohhhhh...did you hear that, billy?' Billy froze. The women laughed. I giggled. This mean little boy who minutes before had called ME a  sissy was wearing a frilly serving apron and on the verge of tears. Billy's stepmother wryly asked billy, "Darling, Ms. Chadwick is right. Perhaps you should be in dresses. Frilly little party frocks. Wouldn't you just love to put on a frilly little dress for Mummy? Serve me tea in a frilly dress. Let Mummy see you in petticoats? Ms. Chadwick is an expert in training naughty little boys, like you, to be dainty little sissy boys. You can be Mummy's little girl.' And then, without allowing her stepson to answer, Billy's beautiful stepmother looked at Billy, smiled, got up from the sofa, approached my mother, and whispered something in her ear. They giggled, looked at Billy, and then my mother earnestly whispered something back in Billy's stepmother's ear...

[petticoated]

My mother also slipped a small piece of paper into Ms. Anderson's hand. Ms. Anderson smiled, thanked my mother, and returned to her place on the sofa. Then my mother ordered little billy to stand still for a moment while she stared at him as if she was measuring him for a frilly dress. 'Hmmmmmm, I wonder......,' my Mother said to Ms. Anderson, then turned to look at little billy, a frightened look in his blue eyes. Little Kyra has the palest ice blue party frock, a frilly satin and lace confection...it might be just a tad short...midthigh, perhaps, but since little billy here IS a boy, and boys do love to wear the color blue,' my Mother said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, 'with just the right amount of petticoats...and perhaps a poufy bouffant party slip...' poor little billy gulped, and then his face reddened. Mother then nodded her head up and down, smiling at poor little billy. 'Would you like that, my boy? Hmmmmm...? A dainty little party dress and frilly petticoats...just like my beautiful little daughter here? Why, who knows? You might even LIKE wearing  frilly little dresses!' Mother moved closer. Stood over little billy. Taunted him. 'Tell me, little billy....are you a sissy boy? Do you wonder what it would feel like to be forced to wear a frilly little party frock? Feel your delightful petticoats swish about your thighs? Hear them rustle musically? Curtsey for the ladies? Hmmmmm...? Be your Mummy's little sissy boy for her?' Billy's eyes bulged with fright! "NO! NO! That's shameful of you to call me a 'sissy.'' Please don't call me a sissy. Because I'm NOT! I'm NOT a sissy.' 'Of course you're not a sissy, little billy...yet!' Mother laughed. Poor little billy looked imploringly at his beautiful stepmother, 'Please, Stepmother...er, 'Mummy,' please make this lady stop! Please!' I simply stood there, demurely, in my frilly party dress and petticoats. Though I must say, the scene was electric! I actually enjoyed it! I really did! And then when poor little billy started crying..." Dr. Jennifer Haynes interrupted Madame, "So the poor little boy started CRYING?! How priceless!" Madame laughed. "Oh yes, my dear. He started crying. I remember him looking desperately at his stepmother, and then even at me, begging for anybody to stop my mother's teasing him. And I remember my hands, folded demurely in front of me, but daintily raising the hem of my party dress slightly...ever so slightly...to reveal my lacy petticoat layers. And then...and I will never forget this...that poor little boy...little billy...immediately feasting his eyes on my petticoats. Soooooo....I fingered the lacy hems of my pettis...teasingly...and....just as quickly....smooothed my skirt out over my lacy hems...so they would be hidden from billy's eyes. My mother nodded at me approvingly, looked at little billy, and remarked, 'Isn't her lace pretty, sissy boy?'  Billy stomped his feet, his pretty lace serving apron became wrinkled, and his stepmother warned him about 'the unruly behavior of boys.' And my mother remarked, matter of factly, 'If he was in my charge  that kind of behavior simply would NOT be tolerated.' And then with just the tone of her voice, not raised at all, but very authoritarian,  my mother said to Billy, 'Young man, you WILL stand completely at attention and you WILL allow my darling little daughter to adjust your dainty lace serving apron so that we may enjoy our tea. If you even so much as whisper a protest, you'll find yourself in a very stiff, very lacy, petticoat to wear beneath your serving apron. Do I make myself clear?' Poor little billy simply nodded. 'You will address me as Madame Chadwick, little boy.' And while Billy's stepmother sat on the sofa, smiling at the control my mother was exercising over her recalcitrant stepson, Billy meekly responded, 'Yes, Madame Chadwick.' And without saying a word, the little boy stood perfectly still while I re-tied the large pretty satin bow of his poufy white satin and lace serving apron. Of course, as I adjusted the bow, the rustle of my own petticoats whispered musically throughout the parlor.' And then I was instructed by my mother to retrieve the dainty tea cart and supervise little billy as he poured the cups of tea, added cream and sugar, and served my mother first. 'You MUST always perform a dutiful and respectful feminine curtsey after you have served each guest her tea, my boy. My daughter will demonstrate for you.' Of course, my curtsey was perfect. After countless numbers of hours training by my mother, I knew better than to perform anything but a perfect curtsey. And I made CERTAIN that this particular curtsey provided a generous glimpse of my petticoat frills. And poor little billy's eyes, once again, were fixated by the views. After several minutes of him practicing, my mother finally dismissed the poor boy with a wave of her hand, remarking, "Your curtsey would be far more dainty if you were in a frilly party dress, my boy.' Her words stung billy, but he knew better than to say anything. After he served his stepmother, he was ordered to serve me. But only after I had been directed by my mother to return to the straight-back chair I had been told to sit in previously. As I s-l-o-w-l-y lowered myself into my chair, atttempting to suppress the bouffant frilliness of my stiff white lace petticoats, I finally sat down and, once again, my voluminous skirts and pettis generously displayed themselves. little billy nervously poured the cup of tea, slowly approached me, and simply could NOT resist the temptation to STARE at my petticoats. And then his stepmother gaily remarked, "My oh my, billy, aren't little Kyra's petticoats simply exquisite? Tell her how much you LOVE Her pretty party dress and Her petticoats. Go ahead. Tell her...'"

[petticoated]

Madame laughed as she told her story to the ladies. And the ladies were captivated by her every word. Madame continued, "My mother had this certain air of superiority about herself. A certain confidence. She never had to raise her voice. And she had that stare. Her steel blue eyes looked deeply into your soul. As if she knew exactly what to say and how to say it. Poor little billy. I remember when my mother ordered him to compliment me on my pettis and my dainty dress that he would be unable to refuse. Still, he tried. I remember him saying, 'I'll do NOTHING of the sort! Why...why...why...she's a...a...sis...sisssssssssy...for even wearing such a frilly dress! Look!' billy laughed, though albeit halfheartedly, 'She can't even sit in that dress...it's...it's...it's so...so...so...sooooooooo...' And I remember fingering the lacy hems of my petticoats as little billy stammered, staring now at my stiff lacy petticoats. My mother knew she had him and exchanged a quick glance with billy's stepmother, as if these two women were sharing a deep secret.  "You were saying, little billy?" My mother taunted him. 'Kyra's dainty little party dress is so..what?' My mother put her hands on her hips and leaned forward in her chair. Go ahead, my boy, say it. Say it.'  'S...s...sayyyyy...what?' stammered billy. "Ohhhhhhh, you know what, my silly little boy. Is the word 'frilly?' Is that the word you are looking for to describe her delightful little party dress?' But before little billy could respond, my mother continued. It IS a frilly little dress, isn't it, my boy? All lacy and satiny? With oodles of stiff petticoats? Don't you just adore the way her petticoats rustle musically as she minces about the room? Hmmmmmm, billy? Or is it ALL of that frilly lace, net, and taffeta that seems to be just peeking out from everywhere? Are you wondering, my boy, what it feels like to wear dainty dresses and petticoats?  You do know, of course, that I require my little Kyra to wear dainty frilly dresses whenever we are having little boys over for tea. She doesn't like it. She says that the boys make fun of her. They call her a sissy. But I make her wear them anyway. I tell her that most of those little boys that we have over for tea are secretly jealous of her frilly dresses and petticoats. And that some of them secretly wish that THEY could wear frilly party dresses. I also tell her that the little boys who make fun of her dresses the most are secretly sissies themselves.  And that they are soooooooooooo envious of her frilly frocks. And I tell her I know this because when I have this type of conversation in front of them, that their faces get red...really red...just like yours, billy!...' Billy gave my mother a startled look. And then he glanced at his pretty stepmother, who, too, was smiling poor billy's discomfort. Billy disdainfully responded. 'That's NOT true. It's NOT. I'm a boy! Period...' 'Of course you are, my dear,' my mother said sarcastically. 'Now...' my mother said, never losing her calm, her voice filled with resolve, 'little boy, you will apologize to my dear little daughter for calling her a sissy...and then you will tell her how much you adore her frilly party dress.' Billy looked desperately to his stepmother for help. Instead, the beautiful woman said, 'Shall I share your naughty little secret...right here and right now, billy?' Billy gulped. "OH NO! NO, please, stepmother. PLEASE! You prmised!' 'Have you forgotten to call me 'Mummy,' my boy? His stepmother asked coldly. "I'm sorry......Mummy. Truly I am. Please don't tell my...my...my...secret. Oh PLEASE!' My mother laughed gaily. Turning to billy, she calmly said, 'We're waiting, my boy.' Billy stammered and hesitated, but only for a second. Then he turned to me, and said, 'Oh Kyra, I apologize for calling you a sissy. I did not mean it. Truly I did not.' Hoping he had said enough, billy stopped. But then his beautiful stepmother interrupted this moment of silence, 'billy, I am losing my patience with you.' And then she said, "Ladies, billy has the most shameful little secret to share with...' 'NO! NO! Mummy! No, puhleeeze! I'll finish...I promise!' And then the frightened little boy looked at me, and stammered, 'Kyra, your dress is very pretty. And so are your...your...your...petticoats.' 'And what EXACTLY about my daughter's frilly party dress and petticoats do you like the MOST, billy?' My mother asked him. Hmmmmmm...?'

[petticoated]

'I remember little billy's red face. He was so embarrassed. And the pretty white satin and lace serving apron he had been forced to wear hung just like a small little petticoat. But what I remember most is how his little fingers had been playing nervously with the frilled lacy hem. How he had fingered the delicate white lace while gazing at my bouffant petticoats. How he just couldn't take his eyes off my exposed pettis. And how my mother knew it. billy froze in the moment, but my Mother did not. 'Is it the gleaming satiny look of the short taffeta frock, my boy? Hmmm...? Or is it, perhaps, the exposed layers of net, taffeta, and lace from her many layers of stiff petticoats? Or maybe it is the delightful rustling sound her petticoats make? I wonder, my little billy...which is it? Or maybe it is ALL of these things. So girly. So dainty. Tell us, my boy, which is it? Tell us...' Poor little billy. The room grew silent. And it stayed silent. Until, finally, poor billy attempted to talk. 'It........it.........it's........th.........th.........the..........pet.......ti.......petti.......coats.' There. he'd said it. My mother smiled, almost triumphantly, but unrelentingly, implored the little boy to continue, "Yes, my boy......? And what is it about her petticoats?' billy hesitated. "So many of them. There are so many of them,' he repeated. My mother responded, Yes, my boy. But.....very necessary...especially for such a frilly and dainty party dress. Wouldn't you agree, billy?' Billy gulped. 'I...I...guess so,' he replied sheepishly. "Sooooooo, my dear boy, IF you were to be put in such a frilly party dress, wouldn't YOU think you NEEDED to wear oodles of stiff petticoats, too? Hmmmmm...' Billy's reddened face said it all. Mother continued, "and wouldn't YOU want ALL of us to SEE your pretty petticoats, too?' Before billy could answer, Mother continued, "Are you wondering, little billy, how YOU would feel wearing such a dainty dress and petticoats? Are you thinking, 'Just one time,' I'd LOVE to be put into a frilly dress and stiff rustling petticoats. Just to see how it feels. To walk in a frilly dress and feel my petticoats swish. To smoothe my volminous dainty skirts out as I lower myself into a narrow chair. To have EVERYONE see my frilly undies. And when nobody is around, I might just lift the skirt of my short dainty party frock to feast my eyes on the layers of net and lace I am wearing. Would you like that, billy? Hmmmm...? Would you like to feel girly...just once. Of course, you DO know that if you say 'yes,' well, then, you are admitting that you're really a little sissy boy.  Oh my, billy, you're blushing!'...