by 'Harve' 2009



I had never thought of myself as being a particularly naughty child, just perhaps a little prone to becoming bored – especially during school holidays.  So back in July 1959 at the age of 13, it didn't seem all that terrible a crime to climb over the backyard fence, late one Wednesday morning, and sneak up on the tent in which those two awfully soppy girls Cynthia and Brenda, who lived next door, were playing inside. 

It also didn't seem such so naughty for me to 'accidentally' pull out the tent pegs that held it up, leading to it suddenly collapsing on top of them, with lots of girlish screams resulting.  Of course, by that time I was well out of the way, having climbed quickly back over the fence before I could be recognised as the perpetrator of the tent collapse. 

Or so I thought, because when I reckoned the coast was clear about an hour later for my lunch, I found my mother waiting for me with her arms on her waist, looking decidedly annoyed.  “So, Peter, what have you been up to this time?” she said.  I tried to look as innocent as I could, but it soon transpired that I had been observed by Mrs Thomson, the mother of Cynthia and Brenda, sneaking away, after letting down their tent.

“I've warned you before about picking on those nice girls next door.” said Mother.  “This is the last straw, so go up to your room and change into your school uniform right now.  I know it's a week before you have to go back to school again for the new term, but I have an errand for you and I want you looking respectable for it.  Off you go, you naughty boy!”


Well, I'd been sprung, so there was nothing to do but carry out Mother's orders and change into my school uniform, after a quick wash in the bathroom. When I came down the stairs in my school short trousers, shirt, tie and blazer, Mother gave me the usual inspection, and then handed me an envelope.  “Peter, you are to deliver this right now.” she said.   It was addressed to 'Edna Bainbridge, c/- Bainbridge Fashions, High Street' in the local High Street.   I knew Mrs. Bainbridge and my mother were old friends from way back, but it did seem a strange sort of errand for a Wednesday afternoon, seeing as it was half-day closing.   

“Won't the shop be shut, Mum?” I asked.    

“Edna and her staff are stocktaking this afternoon, so all you have to do is knock at the side-door of the shop and they'll let you in to take this envelope. You'll have to wait there for a reply.  Now, on your way, and show me you can at least do one thing right!"

So off I headed, without even getting a bite to eat for my lunch.  I might have been only 13, but I wasn't so stupid as to see when obeying Mother's orders was the most important thing.  We only lived about a mile away from the High Street, and I knew quite well where “Bainbridge's Fashions” were, because my mother and elder sister Wendy often visited it.    On occasion, I'd even had to go into the shop myself with them, waiting while they looked at this or that silly frock or bought themselves some new underwear or whatever.  Luckily, the shop had a sort of outer waiting-room, with a pile of comics and magazines to look at while Mum and Wendy were checking out their new frillies or frocks.  So the shop wasn't as much of an awesome prospect as it might have been for a 13 year-old schoolboy like me. 

I reached the “Bainbridge's Fashions” shop just after 1 pm, seeing as the local Town Hall clock was striking as I turned the final street corner into the High Street.  The shop already was shut, but I knew where the side entrance was and knocked loudly on the door.  I heard some clicking footsteps and the door opened.  It wasn't Mrs Bainbridge, but one of her sales staff – a really frightening looking woman called 'Hilda,' according to her name badge.    “Ah, you must be Peter, with the envelope for Mrs Bainbridge,” she said, with a strange sort of grin.    “Well, come in, lad – don't just stand there!”    

I followed the gruesome Hilda into the shop, and was led through the main sales area with all the silly frocks and other stuff on display, into a side waiting room that I'd never noticed before.  “Sit down over there, lad”  said Hilda.  Madame Bainbridge will be here shortly to take control”.    

With that, she left, closing the door.  There was a sofa to sit on, with a table in front but no comics or anything to read.  The only things of interest were some corset and brassiere adverts on the walls.  Well, I might have been only 13, but I was already noticing the interesting shapes of young ladies and the ways they achieved such things, courtesy of the magazines that Mum and sister Wendy used to leave lying around our house.


After about five minutes, Hilda returned, with no less than Mrs. Edna Bainbridge herself in tow.  The door was ominously shut behind them.   

“Peter,” said Mrs Bainbridge with a frown, “I've been having some bad reports from your mother that you've been very naughty today.    You've apparently been ignoring all the good advice from your mother about how a 13-year old boy should conduct himself, and disgraced your mother over your bullying behaviour with your next door's  neighbour's two girls.   Is this true, Peter?”  Well, what could I say?   I could only hang my head and mumble that I was sorry for what I'd done. 

There was a silence and then Mrs Bainbridge looked directly at Hilda, ignoring me completely.  She just said “OK, Hilda, you know what to do.   This young lout needs some strict petticoating to mend his ways.  Please give him the full treatment as before, with those other naughty boys.  I'll be back in 15 minutes to check on progress.”   She then walked out, with me looking aghast – what was this petticoating and full treatment going to be?


It didn't take long to find out.  That awful Hilda was holding a pair of elastic panties, which she handed to me.   “Peter, you have five minutes to undress and put these panties on by yourself.   If you don't, I'll be back with my assistant Gertrude and we'll do it for you.  I should tell you right now that Gertrude does not like cheeky boys, and she carries a stick that she'll use on your bottom if you don't cooperate.”  With that, she turned around and left, closing the door behind her.     

I just stood there aghast.  What could I do?  I tried the door, but it was locked.   In five minutes the terrible Hilda and the even worse Gertrude with her stick would be there, to check on my progress.  I might have been only 13, but I wasn't stupid – so I stripped off all my schoolboy clothes and put on the elastic panties.  Those panties were tighter than they seemed, and compressed my private parts so closely that I actually looked just like a girl – the effect was surprising.   There was a mirror in the corner of the room, so I could see just how I looked and it really was  a shock to see that I suddenly didn't look like a 13 year old boy at all.   Apart from my flat chest of course, but that was soon to change... 

The door opened and there were Hilda and Gertrude, carrying several packages.  They came in and shut the door behind them.   “Turn around, Peter.” said Hilda. “Yes, that's a good start – you're looking nice and girly already in your panties.   But now we have to get you into your training brassiere, don't we?  Put your arms out in front of you, there's a good little sissy boy...” 



It was so humiliating, but within barely another five minutes I'd been fitted with a “Berlei Princess Training Bra,” along with some falsies to add additional padding for good measure.  Gertrude made sure I knew just what I was being fitted with, whispering in my ear as she adjusted the bra straps, what a cute “Berlei Princess” I would soon be. 

Bad as that was, worse was to follow. They made me turn around in front of the mirror now in my training bra and panties, this way and that.  I felt so humiliated I wanted to burst out in tears, but I felt that it would just be giving in to them so I didn't.  Maybe I should have, because far worse was to follow... 

As I turned around, Hilda whispered to Gertrude that my hips and bottom were far too slim still, and needed some additional “assistance."    They didn't realise that I could make out what they were saying, but I didn't have a clue just what that “assistance” might be.  Within a couple of minutes I found out only too well, when Gertrude reappeared with a package marked “Playtex Magic Briefs.”  The package was handed to me and I was ordered to put them on, over my elastic panties.  Those Playtex Briefs were padded around the hips and rear, with a constricting waistband.  It was so embarrassing to then have to walk around in front of the mirror yet again, while Hilda and Gertrude ummed and aahed, but they did seem quite satisfied that I now looked more appropriately rounded. 


I took a sly look myself at the mirror and I was amazed – I actually looked like a girl, what with my budding breasts and rounded hips and bigger bottom.



Bad as that was, things were to get even worse.  Hilda said to Gertrude, “I think Peter's ready now for his panty-girdle and stockings, don't you?”

I could have died right there and then, because my elder sister Wendy wore a panty-girdle to control her flabby bottom and waist and I knew it was not a very comfortable thing to wear, because she always complained when she had to wear it for going out.

Still, there was nothing I could do, locked up in that room while Gertrude went away to find an appropriate undergarment for me.    They even measured my waist and hips – now suitably altered by the addition of the Playtex Briefs, of course – so when Gertrude returned with a “Berlei Sarongster Hi-Line Panty-Girdle” - it was a perfect fit.  Well, that's to say a perfect fit after the pair of them tugging and pulling it over my waist and bottom, but finally it was in place.  I just had to sneak another look in the mirror, and it was really frightening now, just how feminine my outline looked.   My waist was now much thinner, but my hips were wider and of course my bottom was much bigger too, which on top of my boobies, courtesy of my Princess Training Bra, really all added up to make me look like the perfect young teenage fashion queen.


Of course, my legs were still my own - but they had that organised only too well also.  “Hmm,"  said Hilda to Gertrude, “those suspenders on Peter's panty-girdle are being wasted, aren't they?  Perhaps we need to fit him with a pair of sheer nylons, just to complete the picture …” 

They already had brought a few packets of nylons with them, so it didn't take too long to have me wearing a pair of size 7 seamed Kayser dark-tan 15 denier stockings.  The first pair they tried on were too long, so there was a minor delay while those came off and were replaced by the size 7 nylons, which were a perfect fit and reached the suspenders on my pantie-girdle perfectly.  I was only a sort of mannequin while this was going on, because  Hilda and Gertrude were doing all the fiddling and fitting.  The stocking seams seemed to be the most difficult part for them to get right, and I had to keep turning this way and that until they were satisfied that my seams were indeed straight.  “Turn around slowly in front of the mirror, Peter” I was ordered.  I could only obey of course, and I was so shocked to see just how feminine my legs now looked, along with of course my boobies, hips and bum.   

If it wasn't for  my familiar face, I'd have sworn I was looking at the figure of some pretty girl.  It was really quite disconcerting how all those various feminine undergarments had transformed me from a typical 13 year old schoolboy into a schoolgirl princess.   However, that also was to change, because the door suddenly opened and there was Mrs Edna Bainbridge herself, carrying a couple of wigs.


“Well done, ladies!”  she said in her booming voice.    “This naughty lad Peter is really starting to look quite a pretty girl now.  All we need is to get his head looking appropriate too…  Within a couple of minutes I'd been fitted with a schoolgirl wig complete with plaits dangling down either side of my shoulders.   It was just so humiliating, to look like some kind of 'Heidi' or “Dorothy' from the Wizard Of Oz.  However, they weren't wearing a pantie-girdle and seamed stocking like I'd been forced to wear, so my embarrassment was even worse. 

I was ordered to turn around while the three of them checked me out from every angle, but they seemed to be satisfied.  What was in store for me now, I wondered?   I soon found out …




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