The meet & mingle wasn’t as humiliating as I’d expected. Most of the attention was on Vincent and most of the compliments went in his direction too. I was a little envious of my brother when people told him how smart and grown up he looks in his conservative skirt, shoes and blouse. His hair is brushed into a simple low ponytail and his make up is natural and subtle.

Having spent the night in rags, my hair is as curly as curly can be, and with the addition of a candy pink ribbon tied in a bow, is also very girlie. The few acknowledgements I received included the words ‘pretty’ and ‘prissy’ and more often than not, my very visible ‘flat-bra’ was also mentioned.

Mother was clearly very proud of me and my attire, and made it clear to those we chatted with that I wasn’t a full-time petticoatee, but was only doing it for the day to support my brother. “Oh that’s a shame.” was a frequent response. One woman even said that petticoating should be compulsory because males only know their place when petticoated. Initially I thought that compulsory petticoating would be horrendous, but thinking about it, my biggest fear wouldn’t exist as all the other boys my age would be petticoated too… just like so many are here at Malham Hall.

Vincent left us to go and don his graduation robe and take his place with the others. Mother and I took our seats and waited for the ceremony to begin. A boy about my age clad in a curious all-in-one shorts & top outfit followed his parent or guardian to a seat a few rows in front of us. His hair is very boyish and no make-up decorates his face. His outfit is sky blue with a white round collar, trimmed with lace and is clearly a feminine garment. The shorts are short, as are his sleeves and his legs, like mine, are completely free of hair. He wears a pair of thin white pop-socks and sky blue T bar sandals, but instead of fastening with a buckle, they have a broad satin ribbon tied on a bow atop each foot. I learned the name of his outfit when Mother said “That play-suit looks lovely doesn’t it.”

It wasn’t what I’d call nice and guessing by the morbid expression on his face, he doesn’t like it either. As he took his seat, I noticed that his play-suit fastened via a long back zip, meaning the white buttons on the front must have been for show. On spotting what looked like a small padlock at the nape of his neck, I turned to my mother and quietly said, “Is that what I think it is?”

At first Mother wasn’t sure what I meant, but after observing the boy for a moment she said “Oh you mean the lock?”

I nodded and she went on to tell me that he’s probably being punished for something. She speculated that he may have refused to wear his dresses, kept taking them off and as a result, has been fastened into a garment that he can’t remove. I used to wonder why Vincent didn’t simply remove his dresses when Mother began to petticoat him. I’ve often wondered why I didn’t do the same as it is the obvious thing to do, but if the consequence is an outfit like that, I’m (kind of) glad I complied. “What if he needs the loo?” I asked.

“I expect he’s wearing a nappy.” Mother replied, plain as day. I recalled the multi-packs of TenaSissy I’d spotted in the lingerie shop and suggested that such a practice was maybe bit extreme. Mother said it’s quite common for petticoated boys to be put in nappies and mentioned that she herself had ‘almost’ put Vincent in nappies when he first became Sonia.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because he refused to wear his knickers.” Mother replied. I was slightly agog with this revelation. My own mother was willing to put my eleven year old brother back in nappies, just because he didn’t want to wear knickers! “Once he knew what the options were he made the right choice.” she smugly informed me. After a short pause she said “You on the other hand needed no such encouragement.” She threw a wry smile at me. “I had no trouble putting you in knickers. No trouble at all.” she proudly added.

Surely I put up a fight, I figured. But on reflection I guess I did simply accept my first pair of knickers. It was Xmas morning and I’d put them on before Mother was even out of bed. I remember quizzing her about the pack of school knickers she gave me that very same day, but thinking about it… I just did as I was told and wore them after school everyday and my defiance was nothing more than a whiny “Oh Mu-um! Do I have to?”