Royal Frills 1

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Royal Frills
Chapter 1 - Spoiled Brat

Prince Taylor is just a boy that gets in a lot of trouble. Some say that he is spoiled and some say he has a problem with temper tantrums. His parents are very worried... so worried that they are sending their son to the Victorian Virtue Institute.
This school specializes in an old method of raising boys called petticoat discipline. They help improve a boy's behaviour by expressing their feminine side. In other words, they treat boys like sissies.
How will Prince Taylor deal with this, and since as a royal member he is in the public eye, how will the public react?

chapter 1
I know you are all waiting to hear about my childhood as Prince Taylor. That's me by the way. But before I do this, I should explain an aspect of the world that I live in. It's not the same as your world. It is the future. So being the nice person I am, I will explain one aspect of my world that may sound extreme for you and even unbelievable. However, this is the future. It will affect your children and grandchildren!

In your world, you would never force a child to wear girl clothes and act like a girl. I am sure that it was done, but it would have been seen as child abuse. I heard that it was common in the Victorian age. However, things changed. Children were respected and had more rights. It was illegal to spank children or harshly discipline them. I think this was good. You can raise a child without hurting them. It was good that children were protected. The problem was that some parents had no clue how to raise children. it was thought that children were becoming worse and worse. Adults thought that children were undisciplined and spoiled brats. Parents felt powerless. Still, this was a time when my parents were raised as children, and they ended up being good people.

So when I was born, things started to change. Some people thought that petticoat discipline for unruly boys was a good idea. After a lot of public debate, people no longer thought that it was abuse. So it was allowed. Not a lot of boys were given this treatment, as while parents thought it was not a bad thing, they did not want to do it to their sons. There was only one school in my country that had a petticoat discipline for boys. Only a handful of boys went there, so we never heard much about it. I heard that some parents did it at home, where they treated their son as a girl for a few days. I never heard any boy admit that this happened to them. All in all petticoat treatment was allowed, but was not a common practice.

I had a friend who went to the Victorian Virtue Institute. His name was Blake. He was the same age as me. We used to be good friends, but he started at the VVI a few months before this story started, so I no longer had him to hang around with. When he told me he was going to the special school, I could not understand why. He was in my class and he never got in trouble. I was only 10, so I had no clue what petticoat discipline was. Blake never told me what would happen at the school either, so I just thought that he was going to an ordinary boarding school.

I was part of the Royal Family. My grandmother was the Queen and my dad was the crown prince. I was the oldest, so this means that someday I would be the King. I had a little sister whose name was Julia. She was 7 years old. The Royal family was respected and loved by the people. We lived in luxury and did not understand that some people in the country found it hard to pay daily expenses. We lived in a palace but had homes all over the country.

As I told you, I was 10 years old when this happened. I was an ordinary boy who liked ordinary boy things. The difference was that I was a prince. I never was hungry and had maids and servants who did everything for me. I realized by the age of 10 that being a royal prince was not the same as other boys. While I had a great life, there were also some disadvantages. One thing was that my life was predestined. I could not be a fireman if I wanted or work as James Bond. I was going to be a King. Another annoying thing was that I was public property. Every time I walked in public, the paparazzi were there taking pictures of my every move. In the media, my every move was analysed over and over again.

So where do I finally start my story? I suppose I can start with a time that I was with my mom visiting an elderly people's home. My mother was a perfect princess. She smiled and spoke with everyone. I was much different. I know that as a prince, the public needed to see me and I had obligations. It was not often I had to do things like visiting a retirement home. However, my mother thought it would be a good learning experience. I wanted to be in any other place than this. One of the old ladies ruffled my hair and told me that I was so sweet. I spoke before I thought and replied that it was good that I was not an old bat like she was. Needless to say, my comment was on the front pages of the media the next day. I was seen as a rude prince. My mother told me she was so disappointed in me.

I was told to think of how my comment made the old woman feel. I thought why didn’t anyone realize that I would rather play football than speak with old people? I got in more trouble. I made my sister cry the next day. In my defence, my parents were just after giving me a long speech on how to be polite and I was frustrated. I went to my little sister and she was sitting peacefully playing with an old porcelain doll. I just looked at her. Everyone thought she was an angel. No one ever got mad at her. It was always me that had to stand attention and have my parents yell at me. I took her doll and tore the head off of it, leaving my sister in tears. I will be honest, I did not know why I did that. It just happened in a flash. Of course, I was now in trouble once again.

I know my parents loved me and I know that my behaviour worried them. I heard them speaking one day about me.
“Taylor seems to be getting out of control,” my mom said
“He is like any other boy his age.” my dad responded
“And thats what worries me. He constantly gets in trouble and his temper is becoming worse. I am afraid how he will end up. Will he start doing drugs and alchohol? Will he be mean and arrogant? Will he be a good king?”

My parents discussed that as a prince, my every move is scrutinised by the public. Unlike other children my age, I had to grow up in the public eye. My behaviour had consequences for the monarchy. My parents were also judged for their parenting skills and not many thought they were doing a good job.

I did not think that I was a bad boy. I was just not a goody-good person like my sister. My grandmother said that I was an angel, just a fallen angel at times.

My friend Blake visited me when he had a weekend off from the Victorian Virtue Institute. I burst out laughing when I saw him. He was wearing a pink frilly dress and had a ribbon in his hair. He started crying at my reaction and cried even more when I called him a crybaby. When I told him that it must be a joke that he dressed as a girl, he told me that this is what the school did to boys. It was petticoat treatment. I had no clue what petticoat treatment meant and did not understand why a school would turn boys into sissies. Blake told me that he didn’t mind being a sissy. He liked looking pretty and being a girl. I told him that he had changed. He was now so weird. The rest of his visit did not go well. When I noticed that he was also wearing a diaper, it was too much for me. I ignored him. It was so sad that my best friend was now just a sissy.

After Blake went, my sister started speaking to me. She thought I was mean to Blake.
“This is not how you treat a friend,” she said, “Why do you always have to be mean to others. You think the world revolves around you. You know it's more fun making people smile than making them cry. I always wanted you and me to have a good relationship as a brother and sister, but it's hard at times. I will try to be a better sister if you try to be a better brother”

I rolled my eyes at her.

The next day, I was with my mother once again visiting a flower show. I was so bored. There were flowers everywhere. My mother tried speaking with me and telling me how she loved beautiful flowers. I responded that I did not want to be here. Then my mother gave me a speech about duty and dedication. I thought that there was loads of time before I learned how to be a good prince. My mother just told me to smile and pretend that I was having fun. This was hard to do as there were journalists everywhere taking pictures and asking me questions. When I was asked for the hundredth time which flower was my favourite, I started shouting that I was not a sissy. I started destroying the flowers around me by tugging the flowers from their pots and throwing them everywhere. Needless to say, I was once again on the front pages of newspapers as they wrote about my latest temper tantrum.

I was not popular after this. I heard the Queen tell my parents that something had to be done about me. I thought that I would be grounded. This did not happen. I decided that I would apologize to my mother. She was not at her desk, but there was a brochure from the Victorian Virtue Institute. I picked it up and read it.

"At the Victorian Virtue Academy, we believe in fostering a unique environment for character development. Introducing our avant-garde 'Petticoat Enrichment Program' specially designed for our young boys. Embracing the spirit of diversity and creativity. Boys express themselves through a range of clothing styles traditionally associated with girls. Boys enrolled in the program embrace the role of girls, Our curriculum is designed to provide a well-rounded education while encouraging students to explore a variety of interests. Engaging in activities traditionally associated with girls breaks down gender stereotypes and fosters a more inclusive and understanding community. We believe in breaking down traditional gender barriers to promote understanding, empathy, and inclusivity. This delightful initiative is not a punishment but a transformative experience, allowing our students to explore different facets of themselves. After the program, participants are empowered to make informed decisions about their gender identity. Whether they choose to continue their journey towards transitioning or to return to their previous gender expression"

Why did my mom have a brochure about a sissy school? It made me feel sorry for Blake. This school forces him to be a girl. I felt weak in my knees. Beside the brochure was a newspaper that had an article about me. It was a poll about the royal family. I was the most unpopular member of the royal family. Of course, my sister was popular. On top of that the majority of people thought I was too spoiled and would make a bad king. They wanted my sister to be the Queen. Why did people hate me? I am only 10. It would be decades before I became the king. I felt like the most misunderstood boy in the world.

When I did find my parents, Blake's mother was about to leave. My mother told me that they wanted to speak with me.
“You are growing up to become a man that the world does not need,” she explained, ” So we have decided to send you to the Victorian Virtue Institute. It is far away, so you will be boarding there. The school will be good for you. It will give you humility, empathy and kindness. You may not like it at first, but Blake loves going there. At least you will know someone there. I know you may not want to do this, however, your behaviour has left us no little option. It has been decided, so accept it.”

I shouted and screamed at my parents that Blake was no longer a friend. He was a sissy. I did not want to go to a school that made me wear dresses and do girl things. I was a boy and not a girl. This whole idea of sending me there was evil and abuse. I begged my Dad to convince my mother not to send me there. He did not say a word. He always agreed to what my mother decided.

I did not speak with my parents after this. I thought they were so mean, I would refuse to go to that sissy school. I would kick and hit anyone that tried to force me to go there. I would run away from the school. Over the next few days, I just sat on my bed. I do not think that I ever cried so much.

Julia (my sister) tried to console me. She said she would miss me but hoped also it would make me a better person. I did not answer her. How would she like to be treated like a boy? Still, I did appreciate that she felt sorry for me and tried to cheer me up. The Queen even tried to speak with me. She told me that she knew this would be hard for me. The whole country would know that I was there and this could be embarrassing. It could even be humiliating as people would think I was a sissy. She told me that not many boys were given the petticoat treatment, and I could make it popular. This could be good or bad. My grandmother told me that I needed to be brave, hold my head high and show the world who I was. I could use this school as a chance to find a side of me that I never had.

The day came when my bags were packed and I was sitting in the car ready to travel to the Victorian Institute. I had tears rolling down my cheeks.

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