As the mother of a transsexual, I must accept at least part of the blame. Actually, the boy in question is not really my son -- he's my nephew.  But for reasons too difficult to even think about, he came into my care when he was still an infant, and had no knowledge that I was not his real mum.

I must point out, before describing how I treated him, that everything I did was to protect him - not from life - but from school bullies. Today's newspapers are full of stories about children and their fears of the playground bully. Let me tell you, it was far worse in the Fifties. In those days many schools were run by ex-soldiers who thought that 'boys will be boys' and a little playground fisticuffs did no harm. In fact any child who complained was immediately thought of - and named - as a sissy. If parents such as myself interfered the child's problems seemed to multiply.

I can still remember Robin, my nephew/son (I will refer to him only as my son, because that is how I think of him), begging me not to say anything after one vicious bout of teasing and bullying. I suppose if he'd had a father we might have managed the problem differently, but as a single parent life was very difficult in those days.

To be fair Robin was not your average boy. Perhaps living in an all female environment, (we initially shared a house with another of my sisters and her two girls), caused him to 'imprint' our lives as the norm in his mind. Robin had never enjoyed the rough and tumble of playing in the street or park and school became an absolute nightmare with bedwetting becoming a serious problem. His idea of heaven was siting with me and my sister drinking tea and talking about fashion, and baking. He always helped with the housework and was perfectly content to stay indoors. He was very good company being a natural mimic. And yes, he loved 'dressing-up'. With my heels and a long frock he would impersonate every one he saw on TV including Shirley Bassey and Alma Cogan and his favorite Dora Bryan.

If it had not been for his terror of school our lives would have been incredibly happy. So, as the school could not or would not help, I took the law into my own hands. I moved away from the District taking Robin with me. And I made a fateful decision, but one which I believed was the best for Robin -- I decided he would live as a girl.  It was a simple matter to change his name to Robyn - spelt with a Y; and the sex to female on his birth certificate. Not that this was needed. He attended school without any requirement for documentation. He attended school as a girl!

He wore a navy-blue frock with white piping and white wrist gloves. I permed his hair into soft girlish wave and I took him for a walk! Now I want you to understand clearly, at this stage in his short life Robyn had shown no sign of wanting to be a girl.

And I did not WANT him to be a girl! When I told Robin what was to happen he was distinctly uncomfortable with the idea. He showed absolutely no interest in the frocks and petticoats I purchased for his new life. He was scared of his new role, but he was terrified of returning to a life of teasing and bullying. In reality he had no choice. Other than keeping him at home permanently this was the only common sense solution. And I must tell you it worked.

Over the summer holiday period I let Robin's hair grow long. I made him wear frocks every day. I taught him how to walk and sit - and he watched television with a new perspective watching girls like Pet Clarke and Shirley Temple - so he could copy their movements, their wrist actions. Their walking and even their mannerisms. It became a game. And he was very good at it. At first he was self-conscious and uncomfortable in skirts - like most boys he was used to shoving his hands deep inside pants pockets. But slowly he got used to them.

I permed his hair into soft girlish waves, using pink slides and ribbon as well. And soon we both actually thought of him as Robyn the girl. I can still remember Robyn's first day outside in skirts. It was nothing more than a short walk to the local shops. He was pale and scared and was on the verge of tears as we opened the garden gate and began that first terrifying walk along the busy pavement. I had dressed Robyn in a knee length cotton frock. It was smart sleeveless creation with white piping about the square neck. He wore white cotton wrist gloves, white ankle socks and black shoes. Nobody took any notice. He looked and walked like a girl. I didn't stay out long; the only person to speak to Robyn was the Butcher, a large red-faced individual who said, "And who's THIS young lady?" Robyn flushed and clung to my hand like a baby - but the Butcher only laughed at her shyness.

Over the next few days I took Robyn out to the Park, to the Zoo, and even to the Cinema. Her confidence grew and soon it was time for school. Her only real problem was a fear of talking to others. She thought, quite wrongly in my view, that girls talked differently than boys. In the end I decided to tell people that Robyn had a small speech impediment that occasionally caused him embarrassment.

In the first week of September I reluctantly and fearfully left Robyn at the gates of her new school. She was wearing the same as every other girl; a yellow check shirtwaister cotton frock, straw hat, white gloves, white ankle socks and black shoes. She looked scared - but then so did most of the girls!

I spent the day terrified of a visit from the police or social workers. I was waiting impatiently at the school gates half an hour before they opened! And what sight met my eyes - Robyn laughing and giggling with another girl as he came rushing out of the school yard! I gave both 'girls' a lift home and listened wide-eyed as my son chattered incessantly about teachers and schoolmates and lessons. As I dropped the girl off at her home and turned to Robin I saw at once that my fears had been groundless and that I had in fact taken the right course of action. Robin was positively glowing. He was like any ordinary schoolchild - full of excitement and brimming with life. I had been full of questions about his 'role' as a girl, what did they think of her manners; her walking and talking. But I never asked a single one; it was quite clear that Robyn thought of himself, for all intents and purposes as a girl. I sat back and listened. No talk of bullies, although there were girls who were 'mean' and 'nasty'. I was immensely relieved.

Over the next few years Robyn quite literally changed sex mentally! There is no doubt in my mind that he was a real girl. That she was totally happy and comfortable in that state.

Yes, of course there were real problems - puberty was the most obvious. I had to get across to my son, not only the facts of life - but the basic fact that his natural tendency to like the company of females was now a sexual one. Again I can assert with absolute confidence that clothes as such did not sexually arouse Robin.

A schoolgirl called Alice had an obvious crush on him - they had already held hands and kissed one another! And he also liked one of his teachers.

I was very careful at this stage in his development to watch out for ANY signs of sexual activity. I often helped him dress and I would have seen any hint of this when helping him on with filmy nylon knickers and such like. Yes - he was thrilled when given a pretty frock or a really nice pair of shoes - but his reaction was similar to any young girl. So on the face of it I had no problems. But you must understand, I was terrified of her being thought of as a lesbian. I was scared of any sexual activity that might involve other girls. I also had a sneaking fear of men or boys being attracted to Robyn, she was by this time a very pretty young girl!

I was desperate for some solution to this problem, and finally decided, with the very best of intentions, to give Robyn regular sexual relief! I know this sounds bizarre - but we were already in a bizarre situation. I had already taken great risks for his sake. If we were 'found-out' Robyn would be placed in care. I might never see him again.

I explained this to Robyn one afternoon after he had spent the afternoon with a friend. A girl called Alice had an obvious crush on Robyn. He was flattered and not a little excited by her interest. Under questioning he admitted that they had held hands and kissed! I was shattered. If he was telling Me...was she telling HER mother? I sat him down and told him the blunt truth. He was a boy in a skirt and he would have very strong urges. He would at times be incapable of refusing the advances of a fellow schoolgirl. I also pointed out that was not unusual for teachers to become attracted to their pupils. We were both in great danger. He was clearly shocked and I could see that some of my worst fears were justified - he was attracted to the girls and he had spent a lot of time wishing one particular woman teacher would notice him.

I told him what I would do for now. I was dreading the time a few years hence, when he would grow to tall to be a girl, start to have big muscles, and have to shave. It was an awkward moment, but again it has to be realised that we had both been through many traumatic first incidents together, such as his always walking in on me, when I was in the loo, and that we were not exactly living a 'normal' existence then. I told Robin that the only way to ensure that his normal sexual feelings remained quiet would be for me to, as I delicately put it, 'relieve' him each morning and each afternoon. Don't forget - this is the child I've raised, I've changed his nappies and dressed him all his life. It isn't as ridiculous as it sounds.

Anyhow, I didn't waste any time; I took him to the loo. I explained quite clearly what was involved - and as he obediently raised his skirts I put on a pair of rubber gloves as I looked at his man parts and took him in hand. His by now erect penis was about 4 inches long, and an inch thick. He had pubic hair on both sides above the shaft where it joins the body and a thin circle of hair running around the base of the shaft, as well as a little on hiss bullocks. His foreskin extended about a half inch beyond the knob. I took hold of it, between my thumb and first two fingers, slowly pulling it back as far as it would go.

I took some hot water on a wash cloth and quickly cleaned his penis.  Then I dibbled some spittle onto the glove, and started to move my hand back and forth over his knob with his foreskin sliding as it rolled and unrolled over his tallywhacker. It only took about five minutes for him to Grunt, smash his legs together, and thrust his hips forward, locking them there as his tallywhacker spurted Gobs of frothy stringy big boy goo in a vibrating fountain.

It could have been desperately embarrassing for both of us but I made it seem as though it was just a mum's ordinary pleasant little chore. And I suppose for him, despite some shame, it was undeniably pleasurable. He was wearing a very pretty frock made of filmy white nylon over a pink satin underskirt. He held the two skirts in both hands, partially obscuring his face from what I was doing for him. It was all over very quickly. Afterwards I wiped him clean, with the same wash cloth, tugged his pink panties high into his groin, carefully rearranging his penis & bullocks so they blended in, & adjusted her skirt and petticoat and sent her out to buy some fish an Chips for our evenings meal.

The next morning just as he was ready to leave for school I deliberately pulled on a pair of bright pink washing-up gloves and took his hand. He went a little pink in the face but meekly allowed me to accompany him to the loo. Robyn calmly raised the skirt of his yellow check school skirt and the white slip he was wearing. I never looked at his face during these early awkward, but necessary sessions. And he studiously avoided mine!

That same afternoon Robyn entered the house and I knew at once he'd been thinking about what would happen. Instead of his usual chatter about school and the like he was pale, silent and withdrawn. In fact his face was white except of two red spots of embarrassment high on his cheekbones. I was very sad, but determined not to falter. I knew that eventually he'd accept it all. His eyes took in my rubber glove and my clear plastic apron. He walked towards the Loo without a word. He closed his eyes and raised his skirts so I could get at his panties.

So, like so many things in life it became a habit. Before he left for school each morning I'd meet him in the loo. I'd be wearing my plastic apron and rubber gloves. He would close his eyes and wait as I massaged him to relief. As he rushed in from school - I noticed that he never went anywhere else once I'd started our relief sessions. After some months, I soon abandoned using the pinny and gloves and we'd both go straight to the loo. We never raised the subject at any other time. When he was ready to go to school, and again as soon as he came home in the afternoon - he went meekly, and sometimes eagerly, to the loo and obediently raised his skirts.

And it worked. I'm afraid it worked too well. Robyn became 'addicted' to these sessions. Over the next few years it was a clear success. He spent more time at home and mixed less with girls. Any desires towards them was quenched at least in part by my own hand! On weekends, we had the same routine, except he did not go anywhere other than with me.

I suppose I should not have been surprised, although I still was a bit, when Robyn told me one day that he hoped he woud always be a girl.  This occurred one evening after she had settled down in bed, and after leaving I felt I heard my dearheart whimpering.  When I returned and asked what was the problem, Robyn told me of his feelings and of his concern that someday his life as a girl would end.  What could I do?  It pained me to see him in such discomfort himself.  And so, I promised that that would never happen.  And soon, thanks to certain connections I had, I was able to begin Robyn on the hormone treatments that helped transform him even more fully from male to female.

To be fair to myself Robyn has always been adamant that she never wanted to be anything other than female. She says she is quite happy now. I'll never know, perhaps he would have changed if I hadn't interfered. Today she still lives with me. As my daughter. She says she is happy, and I cannot complain. I'm sure he would have been desperately unhappy if I hadn't tried to help. She is of course unmarried; like many of you, she hopes one day to meet a woman who will let her live life as her wife. I did my best, but I'm not sure what I did was right.

L.M.D

LIVERPOOL