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Mom's Discipline: A Crossdresser For Life
🕑 Added 2024-07-24 14:30:01 +0000 UTCWhen I was a young boy, walking with my mother, women on the street would often remark, "He has such nice curly hair. It’s a pity he isn’t a girl." This happened many times.
In my first year of high school, there was a science teacher named Mr. Potts, a strict man who frequently used the cane on misbehaving students. I was and still am a quiet, withdrawn, meek, and mild person.
One day, lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear Mr. Potts ask me a question. He called me out in front of the class and gave me six cuts of the cane—three on each hand. I held out my right hand, and swish, swish, swish, I received three painful cuts. My hand felt like it was on fire. I had never experienced such humiliation in front of the class. When he told me to put out my left hand for the remaining three cuts, I couldn’t bear the thought of more pain.
I ran toward the classroom door, down the stairs, and out of the school grounds until I was out of sight. In the 1950s, both boys and girls still received corporal punishment for misbehavior.
I usually traveled to and from school by bus, but that day I didn’t want to be seen in my school uniform at the bus stop. I decided to walk the five miles home, stopping at a milk bar for lunch. An hour and a half later, I arrived home to find my mother waiting. The school had called her, and the headmaster had told her what had happened.
"You are not a very brave boy; you are a bit of a wimp, I think. Your father is not going to be pleased when he comes home. It’s the strap for you, then bed without dinner. Go to your bedroom and think about your fate."
I lay on my bed for the rest of the day.
At six o’clock, I heard my father arrive home from work. I listened through the door as my mother told him about the events at school. The door opened, and my parents came into the room.
"I hear you’ve been a bit of a coward at school and ran away from class." My father unbuckled his leather belt and pulled it through the belt loops on his pants. "This will hurt far more on your bare back than the cane. It’s twelve lashes for you, my lad."
"Take off your pants," my mother ordered. I did as I was told, starting to protest. My mother told me to lie face down on my bed. Nervously, I complied.
"You won’t run away this time," Father said as he sat on my abdomen, pinning me to the bed. I couldn’t wriggle out from under his weight. I turned my head to see my mother raise my father’s belt above her head. The sting of it wrapped around my bare backside.
I screamed and yelled, "Stop it," only to feel the pain of the next blow. I kicked and screamed as each of the remaining ten welts bit into my flesh.
It was over in a minute or so, but it felt like forever. My bottom was on fire when my father released me. I could see the red welts on my face in the wardrobe mirror. I lay on the bed, crying for at least an hour as the pain and heat subsided. Eventually, the pangs of hunger took over.
I must have fallen asleep because it was early morning when I awoke, just after sunrise. My mother was already in the kitchen. Father had already left for work, and my bowl of Weet-Bix was waiting on the table. I poured the milk from the jug and ate my breakfast greedily, then asked for another bowl.
Mum filled the tub again, saying, "Off to the shower. You're not going to school today. I'll show you what happens to sissy boys." As I showered, I thought, It's Friday, so I’ll have three days off from school. Great. I finished up and headed back to my bedroom to put on my shorts and T-shirt. Lying on the bed was a white, frilly dress. I stared at it for a moment.
My mother came into the room and handed me a pair of white lacy panties and a slip. "Put these on, then the dress, sissy boy."
I protested, "No, Mom, I can’t put on a girl’s dress; I’m a boy."
"Don’t argue, sissy boy, or it’s the strap again." My behind was still sore from last night’s belting, so reluctantly, I obeyed.
She returned with white stockings and a pair of black girl’s shoes. Mom helped me put on the stockings, and then, hesitantly, I put on the shoes. She stepped back, appraising me.
"You look nice as a girl, better than a grubby boy. Your curly hair needs a brush." She produced a hairbrush and worked on my hair until I looked like the girl in the Ginger Meggs comic. Then she tied a blue ribbon into a bow in my hair. I looked in the mirror and saw a pretty girl staring back.
"Not quite right yet." Mum went out and returned with a tube of light pink lipstick, which she applied to my lips. "That’s better. Now you’re a real sissy boy. Us girls are going shopping in town now."
I was dumbfounded. "You can’t do that; I’ll be recognized," I pleaded.
"Remember the strap, sissy boy? I think I’ll call you Catherine now. You look just like a Catherine. Come." She led me out the door, up the path to the front gate, and into the street. One of the neighbors was passing by and stopped to look.
"I didn’t know you had a girl child. She’s a pretty little girl. Such lovely hair! Much nicer than your son’s." She commented in passing. "What’s her name?"
Mom replied, "Catherine. Yes, she’s a pretty little girl."
My legs were shaky, but at least I hadn’t been recognized. We walked toward the tram stop. The cool breeze made the skirt of my dress balloon upward.
"Hold your dress down, put your hands in front of you, Catherine. You don’t want the boys to see your panties. It’s not ladylike," she instructed.
I did as I was told. Walking up the street toward us were two of my schoolmates. I tried to hide behind my mother. They walked past, and I felt relieved until one of the boys looked back and whistled at me as my skirt blew up, revealing my panties.
"You’ll have to keep that skirt under control. I don’t want you turning into a slut," my mother commanded. I didn’t know what a slut was, but I obeyed.
But I knew it was something bad or unladylike. We waited at the tram stop for twenty minutes before a city tram came along.
I stood there with my eyes down in shame, afraid of being recognized. We boarded the tram, an open-air model with half a dozen doors and long rows of wooden seats that seated about eight people on each side. I sat near the door with my mother next to me. At least I wasn’t sitting next to a stranger. However, at the next stop, a man got on and sat opposite us.
My mother whispered in my ear, "Keep your knees together, girl. That man is looking up your skirt." I quickly brought my legs together, looking down sheepishly at my feet for the rest of the journey into the city.
We alighted at the town hall and walked down the street to Market Street, heading to the department store called Farmers. Mom entered the store with me following behind. We took the lift to the first-floor ladies' wear department. She headed toward the ladies' powder room, and I meekly followed.
She whispered in my ear, "Don't forget, we girls always sit on the toilet. Girls cannot stand to pee!"
I went into the first cubicle, lowered my panties, and sat down to empty my bladder. After I finished, I pulled my panties up under my dress.
My mother came to the closed toilet door. "Are you finished yet, Catherine? You must not take all day!" I opened the door to see the room now full of ladies waiting for a cubicle.
"Go wash your hands, girl."
I moved to the washbasin and washed my hands. Mom was washing hers in the next basin. Then she opened her handbag and took out a tube of lipstick. She smoothed it on and then handed it to me. "Your lips need touching up."
Obeying, I took the lipstick and looked into the mirror to apply it. Though still nervous, I thought the quicker I put it on, the quicker I would be out of 'The Ladies Room'. Once we were out, she led me to the handbag section, where she browsed through little girls' bags before purchasing one and handing it to me. "Put the strap over your shoulder."
We went down in the crowded lift to the cosmetics department and looked at the rows of lipstick. She chose another light pink tube and paid the sales lady. They handed it to me. "Put it into your handbag for later."
Reluctantly, I did so. Mother and I spent the next hour or two looking at dresses for both herself and her little 'Catherine'. She held dozens of dresses up against herself but put them back on the rack.
Off to the 'girls' department we went. This time she got me to hold a dozen or so in front of me, 'her little girl'. She chose two and sent me off to the changing room to try them on.
Terrified, I did as I was told. In the changing cubicle, I took off my white dress, put on a pink one, and then stepped outside for my mother to see. "No, that's not nice. Try the other one on." I went back in and changed into a yellow dress. "No, that's not you either. Go back and put your dress on. Then we will go to Curzon's down the road."
Leaving Farmers, I followed Mom to the other department store. This time we went straight to the Lingerie Department. Mom took me over to look at nightdresses. She held several against my body before selecting a blue satin one with lace and ribbons at the top. After paying, she handed me the bag with my new nightdress inside. We spent another hour looking at underclothes for her, and she eventually purchased a new corset.
While browsing through the corset section, I was initially bored. However, over time, I became fascinated with these garments, staring at them and eventually touching them to see how they felt. This fascination has grown over the years, and I still have an interest in corsets forty years later.
Finally, we progressed to the girls' department. The ritual of holding dresses against me began again. I had to try on several dresses and parade myself for my mother's approval. Eventually, she chose a blue dress and another with little roses and hearts. I was given the bag holding the new dresses to carry. Just when I thought we were leaving, my mother selected two pairs of panties to match the new dresses.
"Let's go have a nice cup of tea. Since you’ve been a good girl, I’ll let you have a nice cake at Repin's on Market Street." I did indeed have a fairy cake with my tea as Mother discussed her purchases for both of us.
"It's nearly five o'clock. Your father will be knocking off work soon. We’ll pick him up." Again, I became terrified at the thought of my dad seeing me in a dress, but I had no choice.
We waited outside his workplace, Anthony Hordens, another department store where he worked as a chef in the restaurant. We stood outside the staff exit for half an hour. Lots of people started coming out the door at ten past five. My father approached, and I tried to hide behind my mother. She pushed me forward towards my father.
"Look at our new little girl, Catherine," Mom said. "Isn't she pretty? Better than that grubby boy, Johnny. It's a pity we did not have a girl. Her hair looks lovely. Catherine is such a nice name, don't you think?"
Mother was a very dominant woman, always getting her way. "Yes, dear," was all my father could say. After he bought the evening paper, we took the tram home.
When we arrived, I raced to my bedroom to get out of the dreaded dress. I looked in the wardrobe for my boys' clothing but found it empty. Mother came in behind me and brusquely told me to hang up my new dresses, put my new panties in the drawer, but leave my nightie on my bed for later.
"It is Friday night, so it is fish and chips night." We always went out to a café for the traditional Friday night fish and chips. I remembered that the father of my classmate, Emanuel, owned the shop.
"I can't go there like this," I protested. My father started to undo his belt, and I knew it would be useless to resist. Soon, we left for our meal. It was a long walk to the café, but the night air was cooler, and despite my attire, I enjoyed the stroll.
I protested outside the shop. "If you're a good girl, I might buy you an ice cream sundae for dessert," my mother commented. My parents went into the booth they usually sat in, and I followed hesitantly. The proprietor came to take our order.
"Fish and chips for the three of us, two teas, and a vanilla milkshake for Catherine," my father ordered.
"Don't forget to use your knife and fork," my mother reminded me. "It's unladylike for a girl to use her fingers."
The food and drinks were soon on the table. I ate the fish and chips slowly, using the cutlery. When we finished, my parents told me I had been a good little girl, so I could have my treat. Dad asked for the teapot to be refilled with hot water. The chocolate sundae arrived, and I started to eat. Suddenly, my classmate appeared at the table with the refilled teapot. I closed my eyes in fear. "Thank you, son," my father said. Hesitantly, I looked up. Emanuel had gone without even glancing in my direction.
We finished, and my father paid for the meal. We walked out of the café and then down the hill towards home. When we arrived, my mother instructed me to undress, hang my dress in the wardrobe, put my panties and stockings in the laundry basket, shower, and dry myself properly.
"Don't forget to use the lavender talcum powder before you put your nightie on," she added. I finished my shower, went to my bedroom, put on my new nightdress, and climbed into bed. I felt tired but relaxed in my blue, silky, smooth nightdress. Soon, I was sound asleep.
I awoke in the morning, hungry. I went straight to the kitchen, still in my long nightie. It felt cool against my legs. The Weet Bix was waiting on the table. Dad had already gone to work. I quickly ate my breakfast and drank the glass of orange juice my mother had squeezed. I started to leave the table when my mother spoke up.
"Not so fast, young lady. There is the washing up to be done first." I obeyed, wandering over to the kitchen sink to begin washing and drying the dishes, cups, and cutlery. I put them in their appropriate places on the kitchen dresser.
"Catherine, go have another shower, dry yourself properly, and don't forget to use talcum under your arms. I want you to put on your blue panties and dress. You'll find your clean stockings hanging up in the bathroom. Use my hairdryer to dry your hair and put on your lipstick as well!"
I did as I was told, knowing it would be futile to argue. After showering, I donned the blue dress. My mother came into the room to brush my hair, tying two blue ribbons, one on each side.
"Go sit at the kitchen table; I'll be back soon." I sat at the table, and Mom returned holding a small bottle. "Put your right hand on the table," she instructed. I then noticed she was holding pink nail polish. Without protest, I allowed her to paint each of my fingernails pink, applying two coats each.
"Wait here until they are properly dry. I'm going to get dressed myself. We girls are going to visit Mrs. Menzies."
Mother and I both dressed and walked towards Mrs. Menzies's house. I knew where it was but had never visited before. Dr. Menzies was one of the directors of Anthony Hordens, where my father worked. It was a grand house with many rooms and a huge garden fronting Sydney Harbour. My mother had been invited for morning tea.
Mother rang the doorbell, and Mrs. Menzies, dressed in designer clothes, greeted us. "Come in, my dear. I didn't know you had such a lovely daughter. I love her curly hair. It's so nice. What's your name, young girl?"
"Catherine," I answered meekly in a high-pitched voice.
"That's a pretty name too, my dear. Tea is just about ready. Cook baked us some of her famous scones." We entered the lounge room, which was grandly furnished with antique furniture. A table was set with four cups and saucers, a sugar bowl, four small plates, and teaspoons. We sat down, and Mother started to talk to Mrs. Menzies.
A girl in a white frock similar to the one I wore yesterday entered. "This is my daughter, Anne," Mrs. Menzies said, introducing Anne to my mother and then to me as Catherine. I feared Anne would recognize me as a boy in girl's clothing. A woman in black, wearing a white apron, entered bearing a silver tray holding a silver teapot, a silver milk jug, and a sugar bowl. Another woman followed with a tray holding a dozen scones on a white plate, along with two bowls of strawberry jam and cream. The maids placed the trays on the table and bowed slightly.
Mrs. Menzies thanked the maids, who then left the room. She asked, "Everyone for tea?" Without waiting for an answer, she poured tea into the four cups on the table. "Milk for everyone?" We all nodded as she poured milk into each cup. "Sugar?" We each asked for one teaspoon. Scones were handed around, and we all cut them in half, spreading jam and cream on the halves.
Mrs. Menzies and my mother continued to gossip while Anne and I sipped our tea and ate our scones. After a while, Mrs. Menzies looked at us and said, "Anne, Catherine, you must be bored with us old ladies."
"Why don't you go and enjoy the garden?" Mrs. Menzies suggested. Anne led the way out to the garden. Once outside, Anne turned to me and said, "You're a boy, aren't you?" I nodded and replied softly, "Yes."
"You look pretty in your blue dress," she continued. "I'm glad you're a boy. My mother never lets me play with boys." We became instant friends, walking around the rose garden and talking like old pals. I remember that day vividly.
Years later, I still have a black-and-white photo from my mother's old album of us girls, each holding dolls in dresses just like ours. The morning passed quickly, and soon my mother came out into the garden. Mrs. Menzies took a photograph of Anne and me.
"We have to go pick up your father from work now," my mother said. We said our goodbyes to Anne and Mrs. Menzies and then walked towards the tram stop. The city tram arrived almost instantly. We boarded, heading towards the city. My father was equally under my mother's domination. Almost every day, she collected him from work.
He couldn't go to the pub for a beer like most of the other employees. I think she also didn’t want him to meet other women.
After picking up my father, we caught another tram home. When we arrived, I was about to head to my bedroom, but my mother stopped me.
"You don't get away that easily. You have to do the ironing. I'll teach you how to sew after you finish. All girls must learn how to sew and mend." I spent the remainder of the day ironing and attempting to sew a tear in one of my mother's dresses.
Dinnertime finally arrived. I was told to set the table before my mother brought out plates of roast lamb, roast vegetables, and gravy. We listened to the radio serials until half past eight. Then I was sent to shower and use the toilet. I put my nightie on once again and went to bed. Its soft, silky feeling made me feel good. I relaxed and soon fell into a deep sleep.
Sunday morning arrived, and my parents, who usually slept in, were up early.
I found Mom and Dad at the breakfast table. "We are going to Manly for the day. Eat your breakfast, then put on the dress with the hearts and flowers. Don't worry about your stockings. I’ve borrowed a pair of strappy sandals for you to wear. Don’t forget your lipstick. I’ll help you with your hair. Next time, you will brush and tie the hair ribbon yourself," Mum ordered.
We caught the tram to Circular Quay to board the Manly Ferry. I always enjoyed the adventure of traveling on the ferry, especially when it crossed Sydney Heads. The ferry tossed and rolled in the sea, and sometimes, when the sea was rough, it washed onto the outside lower deck. It took an hour to get to Manly on the ferry.
On arrival, we took the traditional stroll down the tree-lined esplanade that fronts the sea. "The sea looks wonderful today, Mum," I commented.
"Would you like to go for a swim, Catherine? I borrowed a swimsuit for you from Mrs. Carson next door. It’s her daughter's."
Mom and I headed towards the ladies' changing room. In a closed cubicle, I took off my dress and sandals and put on the girl's floral bathing suit. As was the fashion in the early fifties, it had a little skirt at the bottom. Mom gave me a rubber bathing cap to keep my hair dry. Mom put on her old, plain blue bathers. We hired a locker to keep our clothes safe and met Dad outside in his swimming trunks. For half an hour or so, we waded in the cool surf, letting the waves break over us. It felt wonderful!
We then stretched out on our towels for a sunbake until lunchtime. Dad went for a paper parcel of fish and chips. Mum said I had to go get two bottles of ginger beer and a Coca-Cola for myself.
With a towel over my shoulders, I confidently walked to the shop to buy the drinks with the money Mom had handed me. When I arrived back with the drinks, Dad was already there with the fish and chips. We sat on the park benches and ate.
I went back to the beach by myself for a final paddle in the water before Mom and I went back to have a cold shower to wash the sand off our swimmers. We dried ourselves before redressing. I felt great. We visited the tourist shops, one of which sold all sorts of knick-knacks.
My mother bought me a nice little gold necklace with a heart ornament. She put it around my neck, matching the hearts and roses on my dress. Feeling really confident now, I asked Mom if she would also buy me one of those golden bangles all the girls seemed to be wearing.
Without a word, my mother purchased a gold bangle and put it around my wrist. We had tea and scones in a café before heading towards the ferry to return home. It was cooler on the ferry ride back.
I stood at the bow of the ferry, watching dolphins leap in and out of the water. The wind blew my skirt up and down, and I felt as if I was really a girl. We took the tram home, and I started to feel the sunburn on my shoulders.
At home, a cold meat salad that Mom had prepared before we left was soon on the plate. I was tired and undressed for my shower. In the mirror, I noticed my upper chest was red with sunburn, the edges in the scooped shape of my borrowed bathing suit.
The next morning, I woke up in my nightdress, ate breakfast, and then found my boy's school uniform waiting on the bed. I dressed hurriedly to catch the school bus. It was John again. I was about to leave when Mom yelled, "Don't forget to take your nail polish off! There's a bottle of remover in the bathroom cabinet. Make sure it's all rubbed off; you don't want the boys to see you have pink fingernails."
At school, no one commented about my running away last week, but several boys, including myself, were kept in class at lunchtime. We could eat our packed lunches but not go out into the playground. After school, at home, my nightdress was again waiting on my bed. The dresses in the wardrobe, however, had disappeared. "You will continue to wear your nightdress instead of pajamas," my mother ordered.
The next day at school, nothing was said until just before lunchtime, when my class teacher ordered that I stay in the classroom to study instead of going to the playground. I could eat my lunch while I read my notebooks.
The school week passed normally.
The headmaster at the assembly told the school that for minor misbehavior, pupils would now suffer lunchtime detention. However, pupils who commit any serious misbehavior would still be punished with the cane. Friday of that week was the end of the term, so there would be a three-week break from school.
On my arrival home at 4 p.m., Mom told me to take a shower. I returned to my bedroom with a towel around my waist. To my horror, I found the white frilly dress laid out on the bed. I complained to my mother but did not resist for long. After I donned the dress, pants, necklace, and lipstick, Mom came into the room. "We are going to collect your father from work, Catherine," she said. "You are going to have a lovely time over the school holidays, dear."
I was to spend the entire school holidays as Catherine. For the first few days, I felt scared and humiliated. Gradually, however, I began to enjoy the trips to town, looking at dresses in shops with my mother. I could do my own hair in a girlish style, tie the ribbon, and paint my own fingernails. Being a girl was not so bad after all; it was becoming rather fun.
When the holidays ended, I thought it was a pity I could not attend a girls' school instead of a boys' school, where I was treated as a loner who was not one of the crowd.
Until I was 14, my mother continued to bring Catherine to life some weekends and during all the holidays. Schoolwork became more demanding, and I reached male puberty; my voice became deeper, and my manhood started to develop. But my experiences as Catherine were not forgotten, for I had enjoyed being a girl for a while.
I left school at 16 because my parents could not afford to keep me there any longer.
I soon found a job. On my second payday, I went back to Curzon's to buy my first girdle—a Berlei Sarong high-waisted girdle—and a pair of seamed stockings. I began to wear the corset and stockings under my work clothes. I was now on the path to eventually becoming a crossdresser.
Over the years, John amassed a collection of feminine attire—wigs, heels, makeup, and more—secretly at first. He eventually became Catherine on some occasions and ventured out in public alone. John eventually married and abandoned all his feminine attire.
John's wife bore three children, but his passion for the feminine did not die. Several times, he built up a collection of dresses and lingerie only to abandon them on second thought. The hidden desire remained. One day, his wife found out. Initially, she was not accommodating of his passion.
Eventually, the hidden virtues of love prevailed, and she accepted it in part, as long as he kept Catherine hidden from the children. Eventually, the children grew up and left home. John began dressing around the house and sleeping in a nightdress.
In early retirement, John dressed more often and openly.
It has often been said that a man always marries a replacement woman for his mother.
John, as Catherine, soon found this to be true. John's wife made it a condition that if he were to dress as Catherine, he had to do the housework, cooking, washing, sewing, ironing, and, best of all, supermarket shopping. His wife, Joan, made another condition: Catherine was now to be called Maid Joanna and treated like a servant.
John now enjoys his life much more than in his confused earlier lifestyle. Joan has become the woman in charge of all his actions and decisions. All of John's and Joan's present friends know her now as Joanna. Joan's women friends especially like to be served by Maid Joanna when she is dressed in the black silk French Maid's short-skirted uniform with the frilly white tutu-style petticoat that reveals her frilly knickers.
As his mother did in childhood, John has again been dominated by a woman, his wife Joan. John now, however, lives full-time as Maid Joanna. His days as John, full-time and lonely, are now part of the past.
John's children had been aware of their father's 'passion' long before his wife Joan's discovery. Maid Cedwen now serves John's grown-up children when they visit. His grandchildren only know him as Joanna, Grandma's maid, who always plays games with them. They love Maid Cedwen, but do they not associate him with Grandfather John yet?
Do they really know? I am certain they will eventually do so in the future. Will the process of dominating the male child continue in future generations?
Catherine is now called Cedwen. The reason for the change of name is a story in itself. John's first girlfriend and first love was named Catherine, the same name his mother gave him when she put him in a dress. After Catherine departed from John's life, he used to dream he was his girlfriend Catherine. Later on in life, this was thought inappropriate.
So a friend, a B&D mistress, suggested it would be better if Catherine became Cedwen. This is a family name from a long time ago. Now, because of the confusion, my present mistress has called herself Cedwen. I'm now called Joanna. Life is confusing for a crossdresser in many ways.
Comments
Brianna Demonet
A very sweet story ❣️
