Dear Miss Candida,

Visiting a friend recently, whom I had not seen for some time, I was absolutely astonished to see her husband busy at work in the kitchen, wearing a really lovely white cotton pinafore! It had big lace frills at the shoulder and another one around the bottom and looked just like one of those fancy pinnies that small girls used to wear!

But when I looked more closely, I got an even bigger shock to see that he was wearing some sort of loose-fitting blue linen smock reaching to just the tops of his thighs, with underneath the unmistakable tell-tale frills of a petticoat!

My friend saw my astonishment and laughed. 'Oh yes!' she said. 'There's been a bit of a change since you were last here. I' ve now taken over control of the household - Petticoat Government, you might call it!'

Remembering those tell-tale frills of lace under his smock, I said, 'You certainly could', at which she laughed again, and told me that I hadn't seen anything yet. 'Perhaps you'd like to really inspect him', she said, and called her husband into the room.

With his face absolutely scarlet, he came in and stood in front of me, with his hands behind his back just like a small child, and she gleefully pointed out that the pinafore buttoned down the back and also had draw-tapes at the neck and waist, so that there was no way he could put it on or take it off without coming to her for assistance. Then she lifted up his smock to reveal a delightful little white lace petticoat and a pair of white elastic-legged silk knickers!

'Guess whose knickers they are', she said. 'They're my mother's. She passes them on for him to wear. Don't you think that's a lovely idea, having him in his mother-in-law's bloomers?'

But these, she told me, were only his working clothes. ' Wait till you see him really dressed up', she said. 'He's finished work now, so I'll take him upstairs and dress him, and we'll be down in about ten minutes'.

I waited impatiently, and about ten minutes later she led him back down - and I nearly fell off my chair with amazement. For the wretched creature was now dressed in an utterly babyish little smocked frock, barely hip length, with a big frill of lace petticoat showing underneath and, under that, babies' nappies! And just to complete the whole ridiculous spectacle, he had a child's dummy in his mouth.

I could hardly believe my eyes. But there was no mistake about it - this big, grown man actually was dressed up just like an 18 month old baby. And the look on his face showed quite clearly the agonies of humiliation and shame that he must have been suffering at being shown off to me like this. Too upset to look at me, he just hung his head, that ridiculous dummy quivering between his lips, and he was just about in tears.

'Well, she said, what do you think? Don't you think he looks cute?'

'Oh, I do!' I said. 'I think he makes an adorable baby! Can I nurse him?' She seemed pleased with the idea and as he came over to me, his petticoats swaying as he walked, and his nappies so painfully and humiliatingly visible underneath, the tears began to run down his cheeks!

Big though he was, I made him sit on my knee: he held his hands behind his back as she had obviously trained him to do, and as I put my arm round him, I could feel him trembling like a leaf. 'Will he cry if I take his dummy away?' I asked, watching him squirm with misery. 'I want to kiss him'.

'No, I don't think so', she laughed. 'But don't forget - make him ask for it back when you've finished'. With that, I slipped the dummy from his mouth and kissed him warmly: of course he was much too ashamed to respond, but even so it was a lovely thrill to nurse him and kiss him like this, and to have him sitting on my knee in those nappies and deliciously humiliating baby clothes.

Afterwards, I held the dummy teasingly in front of him and said, 'Now then Baby, ask nicely'. And in an absurd little high-pitched, squeaky baby voice which she must have taught him to use, he lisped, 'Pleathe - can - can Baby have hith dummy back?' I shudder to think what it must have cost him to talk to a stranger in that awful baby way, but somehow he managed to stammer it out, and I slipped the dummy back between his lips and patted his cheeks and told him he was a good little boy, which made him squirm even more.

' While you're nursing him, perhaps you'd like to give him his bottle', she said. 'He usually has one at about this time, and I'm sure he'd like you to feed him just for a change'. She went off into the kitchen to prepare it, and I amused myself fondling him and whispering sweet baby nothings in his ear which reduced him to such a state that he began to sob again and wriggle and squirm on my lap until his little frock and petticoat got all caught up under him, leaving his nappies even more humiliatingly exposed!

I made no effort to replace them of course, as I was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle, and presently she came back with a baby's feeding bottle and a lovely little lace-frilled bib, which she tied round his neck. 'He's still very messy with his bottle I'm afraid', she said, 'but I'm sure you'll cope'.

I had to really force the little rubber teat into his mouth, but once it was there he began to suck on it just like a real baby, even though he was sobbing with shame as he sucked on the rubber nipple, and the whole time he was doing so, I kept laughing at him and teasing him, saying how sweet he looked and what a dear little baby he was.

Afterwards, he was put into a playpen in what she called the 'nursery', and given a doll to play with and, whilst he sullenly sucked his dummy and tried to amuse himself with the doll, she told me the whole story.

It seems that one day after a friend with a young baby had visited them, she caught him having a furtive suck at the baby's bottle, which had been left behind. She took a snap of him which she then threatened to send to all their friends, and from then on it was easy. First she had him into pinafores and petticoats, and then after a few weeks he was introduced - in spite of frantic protests and pleadings on his part - to the full humiliation of nappies and complete baby attire. That was about a year ago and since then, she told me, he had spent all his time about the house in nappies and baby frocks, except when carrying out the household chores, for which, of course, he wore pinafores and his mother-in-law's pretty silk bloomers.

The poor wretched creature just sat helplessly in his playpen whilst she was telling me all this, quite literally squirming with humiliation. And he squirmed even more when she went on to tell me that now that I had seen him she intended to invite others of her women friends around to show off her lovely 'Baby' to them!

'I'm sure he'll enjoy that', I said, and she laughed and replied, 'Oh no he won't. But we will!'
I think she is right!
Yours sincerely,

Agnes W.