Pink or Blue

A simple story with BigSisters and an Aunty who trains young boys to be softer and nicer.

[This is an old story which could be added to the SisterDom series but it wasn’t written that way – and I don’t really want to do a rewrite. – maybe - Alys P]

If it had not been for his two big sisters, Amber and Diana, Jane would have found it so much more difficult. Only towards the end of his training was it revealed to him that both Amber and Diana had also been trainees. Amber had once been Eddie while Diana had been known as Henry; and Jane was once a boy called Johnny Simmonds.

They had both come back last week for Jane’s introduction to her new role as a big-sister herself. To her surprise, both said they had gone back to being boys but for Jane’s Event (capital letters) they had willingly gone back to their favourite costumes. They confessed that they had learnt so much by their months of being girls that they were now better people. They felt in touch with their feminine side but they had also gained control of their masculine side. This was the final step in training – and some trainees, the majority actually, did go back while a few stayed on as new-girls.

At their initiation dinner, Auntie had confessed that while she may have started with the intention of making her own children into nicer people and this had actually sent her two boys down the Pink route, she had learnt after the next trainee, a particularly difficult case, that there were more who learnt from their training about the balance between masculine and feminine, about how to be a better person after having a look behind the mirror. These ones opted to go back to being boys. And for the majority of these, the ability to recall their feminine side was enhanced by the occasional opportunity to wear the satins and silks deserved by their feminine side. This she called going down the Blue route.

Aunty confessed that she had rarely had failures although there had been many difficult cases. There were those who came to her with a real imbalance in their spirits – some were so macho they would sooner hit out than interact, others were so downtrodden that they had no confidence to say boo, still others were hurt or damaged in other ways.

She went on to admit that some of her clients arrived because the mothers or even the fathers had problems which they were coping with through their children – and that this was damaging too. There had been one or two occasions with stepmothers and stepsons and even aunts and nephews.

“I see myself as offering a retreat for special children. My skills are at showing how within each man there is at least a spot of woman – the yin-yang principle. I help to bring this out and then show the man, or usually boy, how they can rebalance themselves under their own control. If they have been damaged by power-games then it is essential that they are taught that they are able to control their own lives and to make the best of their own lives.”

Then she had turned to Jane – “Jane, my excellent Jane, are you ready to begin to take the next steps in control of your own life. You have done splendidly well in learning that within you is both an excellent boy and an excellent girl. Each has learnt from the other. I feel confident that you are ready to take on the role of a big-sister. I am not asking at this point whether you feel more guided to the pink or the blue. That is no longer my decision.”

She stood and Amber and Diana stood too. “Jane, I ask you formally, are you ready? And ….. if you are ready then I would like to give you the choice of deciding now or answering tomorrow evening.”

Jane sat there, almost struck speechless with surprise at this sudden alteration in her perceptions. This was not what she had understood to be the purpose of her training. She remembered her manners.

“I am a little startled by this, dear Auntie. But I see Amber and Diana and how comfortable they are to be in dresses even though they have said they have gone back to being boys. If they can do this – then so can I. I believe I would be honoured to join your group of big sisters. As for the pink or the blue options, I cannot yet say what my choice will be. Without these new insights, I would have said that my immediate intent after release from this scented cage would be to run and run and run for ever. Now, I need time to think things through. So – I accept. I believe that I am ready. I would like to ask for 24 hours so that I can make my decision final at dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes, darling, that will be just fine. We will have time to prepare. And if you want, you will have time to talk with me or with Amber or Diana. There may be something that we say or do which will help complete your decision.”

Jane was suddenly the centre of a froth of fragrant loveliness as the other three swept her into an excited hug.

For the rest of the dinner and into the evening, Jane talked mostly with Amber and Diana. She asked how often they dressed up and how often they used their feminine knowledge to enhance their male egos or the situations their male selves found themselves in. She learnt a great deal about the difficulties, and more pleasingly, the pleasures of being a big-sister too.

Jane was well aware of her role and her duties too. She had been startled to realize that the next trainee was known to her. Max Downs, her old playmate. Not one of her best friends but quite well known to Johnny Simmonds as was.

Jane knew that she had not been recognised, could not be recognised, by her friend. She was wearing a little Alice-style frock with frills and lace and her hair was shoulder-length, ash blonde and curled. This was in contrast to the dirty jeans and straggly hair of a few months back. And instead of the sulky, timid boy there was now a confident, well-presented young girl on display.

But now some weeks had passed while Max was introduced to his new persona of Erica. There had been some familiar shouts and screams and sulks and indeed tantrums along the way but Auntie had dealt with many of these in her own way. But Jane had helped on many occasions too as she grew into her role of big-sister. She was now much more aware of her own balance between masculine and feminine. And every time she found a way to guide Erica towards learning her own balance, she knew that the process had actually turned out well for her.

There had been the time when Erica had been brought into Jane’s bedroom. Jane remembered this Event from her own experience. This was the Choosing of the First Panties. “Now, Erica, today is your first day here. I’ve brought you into Jane’s room so that you can choose your own panties to wear today. I’m not going to have any arguments from you. So, get on with it. You can ask Jane to show you each one and make her suggestions.”

Max-Erica had scowled. This was not what he wanted to be doing. What on earth was happening that his mother had sent him to this dreadful place where they were making him dress as a girl. Where they were making him choose his own panties. He glared at the girl in front of him.

He watched carefully as Jane showed him all her panties. He was angry so he was going to upset as many people as possible. Unfortunately for Jane, she was the only one he dared be cruel to. After some twenty pairs had been held out, he noticed that Jane was being extra careful with what a girl might have said was a particularly pretty pair with red piping and little red roses.

Max chose his moment. “I’ll have that pair”, for he knew that these were obviously special to Jane and that his choice would hurt her. He was right. Jane squeaked, “but Auntie, those are my favourite pair, they’re special.”

Auntie grinned, “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize that you now had such a preference for panties that you were not willing to lend them to a little sister. We’ll buy you some more later today.”

Jane grimaced. Despite her months of training, there were times that she did not like to be reminded that she was not a girl and that once upon a time she had hated her girlish apparel.

“You do look pretty, Erica. Don’t you think you look pretty,” said Jane. She was well aware that Erica was in fact Max but she knew that Auntie expected her to be completely supportive in what she said. Her duty was to help persuade Erica that this transition was right for her. That it was right and useful to release the feminine side. To her surprise she suddenly wondered if there was ever an equivalent place for girls to learn about their masculine side.

Jane smiled as she looked over at her old friend in his new dress. “You do look pretty, look in the mirror and see for yourself.

Erica walked over to the long mirror and as she looked, she flushed bright red. She looked again and pulled at the hem of her frock. She looked again and fluffed her hair to see if it made a difference.

Just then, Auntie’s voice came from the doorway, “Close your eyes, little Erica, my sweet.”

All of a sudden, Max felt her footsteps come toward him, he felt her hand on his head and then something was being pulled on over his head like a hat. It was tight somehow and he felt long strands like spider webs brushing against his cheek. He kept his eyes shut so that no beetles could crawl in.

Then he heard Auntie sigh happily and say, “You can look now, darling.”

He opened his eyes and was amazed at the difference. In front of him now was a pretty girl in a long frock and with shoulder-length blonde hair. She was really very pretty. Max was Erica.

Erica smiled slightly and then turned round to say thank you to both Jane and Auntie. It would not have been good to be impolite in any way right then. Each step forward towards prettiness and feminity was received with kindness and encouragement – each step backward towards being a macho boy was given a more painful reminder.

Auntie stepped back and smirked to herself while thinking if all her trainees went as easily as this then there would be no fuss at all. She knew that the business with the wig was just another little trick. A lively young child would be unlikely to keep one on for any length of time. But her methods were to use examples of pictures of young girls as guidance for new pupils. When they were confronted with their own image – somehow every one reacted in the same manner. They all behaved as if it was wrong to have a girl’s dress topped by a boy’s head. Every time – the fluff of the hair and then they surrendered when the wig completed the image.

In this case it was fortunate that Max’s mother had always made him wear his hair long. It was partly this which had alerted her to Mrs Down’s feelings about her offspring. The other details had been discovered later. The wishing for a daughter rather than a son; the alternation of rough heavy boy clothes and smooth, soft, girlish clothing; the discovery that Mrs Downs often let Max watch her get dressed; the lack of protest when she had discovered him playing with her lipstick or pretending to dance in her high-heeled shoes. Finally there was the barely concealed happiness when Mrs Downs had first become aware of Auntie’s Training Establishment.

Auntie chimed in with her own comments, “It’s really much nicer to wear pretty clothes. Perhaps tomorrow we can go shopping and get yourself pretty in clothes that you have chosen for yourself. You can help us buy clothes for Jane too. Actually, you can help buy Jane her first brassiere. She just at the stage of needing her first training bra for her pretty little boobies.”

Jane gasped and crossed his arms as if to surreptitiously feel whether he did in fact have a softness and a bulging on his chest. His arms moved slowly up and down. His mouth opened a little as he realized that it was true. He was developing breasts.

Auntie smiled at him, “Don’t worry darling. Everything is just fine. Come on, girls. Let’s go down for breakfast. Later we will go out shopping.

Downstairs, Maria had got everything ready and breakfast was soon over. Auntie had to correct both Jane and Erica over details of etiquette but this time there was no need for more than rebuke. During breakfast, Jane had asked Erica what sort of clothes she wanted to buy. Max had blushed and finally stammered out “… I … I don’t really know but I am sure that you will be able to help me.”

Jane had grinned back at her unknowing friend. “We’ll just have to see. I may be able to give you a few pointers. I suspect that I may be able to choose colours and fabrics which will please and delight you. I certainly intend to do so.”

Eventually they climbed into the car and drove the few miles to the small local town. Auntie said little during the journey except the occasional ‘be still and stop chattering, just quieten down’ and so on. As they stopped, she said, “Now I’m sure that we can have a lot of fun this morning. We have a whole variety of clothes to buy for Erica and, don’t worry Jane, we will buy enough so that you don’t feel left out.”
They parked in a side street and Auntie swept them into the back door of a shop.

As they went in. they passed piles of cloth and clothes on racks. Auntie called ahead “Miss Carter – where are you?”

An old lady of about sixty called back from a corner where she sat surrounded by more cloth being turned into pretty dresses – “She’s upstairs waiting. She said everything was ready for when you arrived.”

They climbed the steps to the brightly lit upstairs room. Miss Carter greeted them all with kisses – even Erica. Nearest on the table was a pile of frocks. Further along were piles of underwear of all sorts and colours. All was indeed ready.

“Now, Erica,” called Auntie. “See if any of these pretty clothes fit. You can choose two or three which seem most pleasing to you. Be quick because we do not have much time.”

Max-Erica went over to the table and looked at the pile. The first pile on his side was panties made of a silky, smooth, soft material; then a pile of vests; then a couple of petticoats, both half and full length; finally stockings and garter-belts. On the opposite side were outerwear such as blouses, skirts, frocks and finally a pale green satin with layers of built-in frou-frou frilly petticoats which made it look like a meringue hanging on a rack. It looked like the sort of thing that only the girliest little girl would ever be expected to wear. Next to it was a second dress in the same colour but much more the thing for a young teenage girl to wear to her first dance.

Erica walked slowly round the table, touching the occasional item, brushing her hand over the satiny panties or the sheer stockings.

Suddenly, Auntie coughed and Erica took this as a signal that time was passing with no obvious action on her part. She took off her skirt and jersey top leaving her in new pink frilly underwear that Jane had never seen before. She whispered “Auntie, those aren’t ones that I have lent to Erica.”

Auntie was already stepping over to help Erica with her selection. “You should try this, and this, and this, you will feel and look so pretty wearing this. It will feel so much nicer than the rough stuff you have been used to that has made your skin so itchy.”

After some time, Erica had tried on everything except the pale green satin dresses. Auntie insisted on the little-girl dress first so that she could tease Max-Erica about how sissy and little-girly it was. Her plan was that then the more grown-up dress would be a relief and a pleasure. And so it was. Erica hated the meringue, hated the layers of starched petticoats, hated the way all of us joined it to say how suitable it would have been if she was just a year younger.

At last came the moment for the party dress. This was clearly a superior costume, satin lined with satin to ensure the slickest and smoothest feel of the fabric against smooth teenage skin. Once it was on, he turned towards the mirror with a small smile. As he did so, Auntie took a small box from her handbag. From this she took out a dainty necklace which she fastened round Erica’s neck and a matching pair of bracelets. Having accessorised her new girl, she turned to Miss Carter and me saying, “doesn’t Erica look so beautiful in that gorgeous dress. I can’t say when I have seen a young girl look more attractive in her very first party dress. I think we must keep it for the most special occasions.”

“Come along, Erica. Slip it off and choose something more suitable for shopping today. Put on a blouse and skirt so that we can move on to the rest of today’s work. We’ve got to go to the shoe shop and we need you to choose some accessories for yourself, then quite a variety of other places. So much to do and so little time.”

Erica glanced at Jane and BigSis understood his unspoken demand – ‘please come and help me, I daren’t make a mistake’.

When they left the shop, Erica had accumulated a complete range of clothes for daily wear, casual wear and night wear too. She had had to select every piece, explain why she had chosen one rather than other, and then be shown how to fold and pack each item into a series of carrying boxes. Auntie always insisted that part of the training was to ensure that the trainee actually selected as many items as possible. Every item that could be referred to as ‘the panties you chose’ squeezed just a little extra femininity into the process. In accord with her well-practised methods, each such unit of learnt girlness would reduce and weaken the years of inbred boyness. Nature versus Nurture – the endless argument which always ended up with ‘a bit of each’.

At the next shop, Jane was fitted for her first bra. This was a big step in the life of any girl, real-girl or new-girl. Auntie ensured that the occasion was yet another Event for Jane. Jane remembered each of them – the first panties, the first dress, the first stockings, the first lipstick – each one was a further step in her fem-training. And almost every one had been her decision to take another little step forward.

The morning sped by. Mostly, Erica was entranced at the idea of being able to choose what the money was being spent on. Almost never had he been able to choose for himself – and in the last year or so, Auntie had made sure that his mother had followed her suggestion in this matter. Despite the fact that he was dressed as a girl and choosing girl-stuff – the ability to feel in control was what Erica was enjoying most. So, every now and again, Erica would realise what s/he was buying. She would blush, or stammer, or shake or stumble until Auntie or more often Jane would help her onwards.

Whenever Erica bought something and used the proper attitude, that is no fuss or, better still, girlish words of excitement and pleasure, each time, Auntie and Jane would glance at each other with a twinkle in their eyes. Johnny-Jane remembered how it had been for him.

He remembered his first trip to Miss Carter’s shop. He had stood sullenly while Auntie had picked out things to see that they fitted properly. Even the slightly sensuous feel of the satin had not interested him. But he had had to obey and make his choices. He had tried to look for panties which were plain and ordinary – but there were none. It seemed he only had a choice between lacy and frilly or frilly and lacy. And it was the same with everything else. Satins and silks and slinky slidy materials.

Gradually the pressure exerted by Auntie had won. When one day after yet another trip to town, Auntie had his old clothes fetched and had made him put them on, he had scowled. They had felt itchy, uncomfortable, wrong. He had been almost glad to take them off and put on his proper clothes.

Auntie had asked which had felt more comfortable. Truthfully he had had to answer that the panties and dress were nicer – as if he had had any choice. He still recalled his horror at her next words.

“Well, in that case, you may as well take all those horrid boy’s clothes down to the furnace. Afterwards we will go and buy you more of the clothes which you have so clearly stated you prefer.”

Since then so much had happened. Especially in the last few weeks. He had met his old friend Max and not been recognised. He had become a big-sister and helped Max to learn about Erica. He now had this excitement of his budding breasts. He was so unsure. Was he a little boy learning about his feminine side or was he a little girl?

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.


Johnny-Jane remembered her old self. Stroppy, afraid, angry, hurtful and hurting, unwilling and unreasonable, - in fact, overall, unbalanced. She knew she was better for this training. She had confessed this to Auntie a few weeks ago. Auntie had asked if she had begun to think about the pink or the blue route. And Auntie had spent some time discussing the whys and wherefores of the two options. To go towards the permanence of becoming a girl in fact as well as deed or to stay as a boy who enjoyed sometimes being and looking like a girl.

She still hadn’t made up her mind. But Auntie said, “I have found one option that many of you have found useful. It’s a new pill which temporarily and I mean really temporarily allows you to grow breasts. So many of you have told me that pretending to have breasts is one thing – but having something real helps make the decision as to whether to go pink or blue. The pinks can then choose to have real breasts and the hiding-operation which Teresa told you about and showed you.

I remembered that event. Teresa was of course another trainee, but she had gone the pink route. When I talked with her about this, she had said, “do you want to see the evidence so that you know, really know, what can be done for you?”

Teresa continued talking while she calmly stripped off every scrap of clothing. She stood for a moment wearing just her bra and panties. She gestured to me to stand up and come closer. As I stepped forward , she unhooked her bra and her breasts were on display. Despite having big sisters and knowing so much more about girls than I did before, these were the first breasts that had been so presented to me. And I was being expected to touch, and feel and learn about them. Me, a boy in a dress.

Stand up, darling. Now put your hands out so that you can feel my breasts.”

I held my breath. My hands went out almost automatically. Teresa grabbed them and placed one hand firmly on each breast. “They’re not dangerous you know. You need to feel them and know them so that you can have understanding of their meaning. For me, when I touched my big-sister’s breasts after her decision, then I knew that it was right for me.

My brain exploded with electricity. Boys of my age were still mostly fumbling beneath blouses, hoping at best for a feel of a bra strap. First base, second base. And here I was with fleshy weight in my hands. I began to run my hands over them. To press and squeeze. Teresa murmured that I needed to be ever so gentle, they were sensitive and needed to be treated like day-old puppies. I laughed at her description but it made me realize that these breasts were real and belonged to Teresa – that they were only ever lent to men to enjoy and caress.

Teresa helped me to the settee where we sat. After a while she asked if I would like to kiss them as, for many, this was the next stage in learning about this special piece of anatomy.

Later still, after dinner, I found that I was snuggled up against Teresa and nearly going to sleep. Teresa wriggled a little and helped me into the curl of her arm. Then she whispered, “let me lean over a little and you can be my baby.”

“What?” I mumbled.

“Darling, I’m going to let you suck on my nipple just like a baby. You need to learn that this is part of what makes breasts special to me.”

I opened my eyes wide and stared into her gorgeous blue eyes. “Really, you’d let me do that’”

“Well, I wouldn’t offer unless I meant it. Come on.”

I snuggled back into position and took Teresa’s breast in my mouth. It felt …. nice. Teresa grinned and said, be even more gentle, darling, nipples and teeth are a painful combination. I trust you though.”

We fell asleep like that. Auntie or Maria must have come in a put a blanket over us for when I woke we were still snuggled into the corner of the settee. My waking meant that Teresa woke too. Half-asleep we tottered over to the bed and crawled in together. Once again, at her invitation, I nestled in and placed her very human comforter between my lips.

Somehow during the night, I made my mind up. Well, partway. I went and asked Auntie if I could take the pills to give me the temporary breasts. I wanted to know what it felt like to have flesh rather than pretend in my bra.

Auntie promised that the pills would take a little time to begin their effect but she was pleased that I was being careful in how I made my decision.

The nest night, Teresa began my next lesson. “I’m glad to learn that you are taking your time over the PB decision. I think next you need to know more about the next option. You have been told about the hiding-operation, have you.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I understand.”

“Alright then, let’s take this a step at a time. You know about the different parts of the penis, the testicles, the scrotum and so on – as well as the labia, clitoris and vagina which the girls have?”

“Yes, but what’s this hiding thing?”

“Exactly right, it is an operation for ‘hiding the thing’ – they push the testicles back inside – which is quite easy actually. A lot of sportsmen do it, speed cyclists for example so that they can sit more comfortably. Then the surgeon uses the scrotum to hide the penis, he attaches the scrotum with glue to make a pocket – and hey presto.”

Teresa leaned back on the bed and opened her legs wide. I was astounded – I had never expected a full-on display. But after a moment I realized that this was the only way. Only a pinkie could show a trainee what could be done; only a pinkie could show that for them it was the right choice.

“For me, this is the right decision so far. If the time comes when I decide to become a full-time permanent female and want to have the necessary vagina – then there are more operations to take. This technique let’s me retain my penis and I personally enjoy the company of girls who know about my choice. This way you can learn that there are further options on the Pink-Blue. There are girls out there who adore the idea of a husband who truly knows about his feminine side. Some of these girls want a husband who can dress up, others want them in dresses fulltime – but many of them also want a man in the bedroom. Even if he is wearing a nightdress prettier than theirs, they still want a man and they want the babies with that man. That’s been my choice. Someday soon I hope to ask my girlfriend to take the final commitment to marriage and babies. I’d like you to meet her soon.


That evening, Auntie relaxed in front of the fireplace. All in all, Auntie was very pleased with her record. A lot of children had passed through her private training school. She smiled at the good fortune that had let her take over the small village school for her business; St Anne’s School for Boys. The times that the unusual combination of female saint and ‘boys’ had been a useful screen. Often there were as many as ten or even twelve trainees, more usually there were about half a dozen. At this moment, there were just the two – Jane and Erica as she was looking to build up the Senior section.

She remembered back and back. She had had two children in the seventies and after her husband had died and left her almost destitute, she had made do. She had felt so poor that she made clothes for all of them out of her old dresses and other bits. She had cut corners, for example, the easiest way to make shirts was to reshape a dress. The easiest way to make a pair of shorts was to adapt the bottom of the dress into a skirt and sew up the central seam. These tactics meant that a lot of clothes were always ‘being transformed’. Due to this lengthy poverty, she had to continue with this finger-wearing effort for several years.

She lived alone now after the death of her husband from his injuries. The insurance had found ways not to pay and there was only the little pension. She did own the little house but she had never been clever with money. It always seemed to drip away however hard she tried to hang on to it.

During the holidays one summer, she had gone out shopping and come back a few hours early to find both of them wearing dresses which she recognised from the ‘ready to remake’ pile. She had not known what to say. The two children were after all both little boys.

After a moment, she had spluttered, ‘I don’t understand this. I think you had better scoot off upstairs and get changed and then you will stay in your rooms until dinnertime. I may actually bring your dinner upstairs. I can think of no words to say about this very strange behaviour.”

During the evening, she remembered some comments from her cousin about how she had punished her revolting boy one weekend. She had forced him into a dress and paraded him around until he was so embarrassed that he promised in future to be the best boy he ever could. He was in the army now. She remembered that cousin Valerie had called it ‘petticoat punishment’.

She realized that she had to react in some way to the boy’s behaviour. And the obvious answer was that she would either have to put them into dresses as punishment or refuse them dresses if she thought they had actually been enjoying wearing them. What a complication. What was the best way to punish them. What was the best way to make them behave like boys. This second thought made her pause. Was there any potential benefit for her or for them if they learnt just a little about being girls. She could see how it could be easier for her hard-worn fingers if she didn’t have to remake everything all the time.

The next morning she had realized that the idea of helping them to be girls or at least to dress as girls was quite interesting. For a start, it would save her from the ever-lasting task of cutting and trimming which she had never enjoyed.

She wondered for a moment about how much they would argue if their little game was made a little more, er, thorough. Never mind, they were brought up to be obedient and she could use their ‘misbehaviour’ as a potent weapon.

Her idea had grown during the long hours of that night. What had begun as a necessity had evolved ever onwards. When Mark and Mike walked downstairs to join her for breakfast she had everything worked out.

It was particularly useful that she had been offered a new job which included a house so she could sell this one and move very easily. She had decided what was going to happen. Her two sons were going to become ‘daughters’. She knew that the house was so deep in the country that she would probably have to home educate them too.

“Now Mike and Mark, I don’t know why you were dressed like that yesterday but I don’t like it. As a punishment, I’ve decided that what the people call ‘aversion-therapy’ is required. I believe that if I force you to get dressed as a punishment then you will decide not to do it again. That’s my intention. So go and get dressed up and we will go for a walk in public in the park. If I find you disobedient in future, then I may consider some similar form of punishment again.”

Fortunately, they were far too well behaved to dare to disobey such a direct command. The three of them had gone out and Auntie had been amazed at how comfortable the two children had been. The process had gone onward from that point.


Two years later, Auntie Louise had been woken one day in astonishment by a pair of beautiful teenage girls placing her morning cup of tea on the bedside table. When they noticed her surprise, they both laughed.

“Don’t worry, mother,” said Anne as Mike was now often known as. “In the last year or so, we have begun to see that being dressed up is not much of a punishment. Mary and I have realized that you aren’t wanting to punish us with all this but rather that really what you are wanting is the two much nicer people that we become when we are forced into dresses. It’s taken some time, but we now see that we are better people – less aggressive, more helpful, when we play at being feminine. It’s time for us to accept that being your daughters is right for us. Time to accept that enjoying being feminine is right for us. We are not going to be boys ever again.

“And we want to thank you, mummy darling. We have come to realize that it’s actually much more fun being a girl. So, as a special surprise to please you we thought that we would get all dressed up for you today. Because this weekend is your birthday and we thought it would be beautiful if your two daughters could go on holiday together with you.”

“We can also tell you that we have been doing a lot of reading and there are treatments available which can help us to stay ladylike rather than becoming horrid and hairy like boys do. If we want to, and we do think it is right for us, there are things like hormones and pills at first. We can talk about that at the seaside. We thought that later we could try to educate other boys so they could become lucky little girls too. I’m sure that there must be a lot of us about who would benefit from learning both sides of the mirror.”


Since those happy early days, Auntie had helped quite a few unhappy children and mothers. The tricks she now knew about bypassing those first initial problems were many and varied. But there were only so many different ways for a boy to react to a petticoat. The most useful were the pills. These new ones were never going to get on the market as their effect was only for a year or so – and Auntie’s clientele were almost always needing the effects only while ‘in training’. The permanent effect required for their official market had never been achieved. If permanent effects were required then Auntie had long ago stopped needing pills.

Jane had been taking the pills either directly or crushed into his food from only a few days after her big-sister event. Now the effects were beginning to appear. Johnny’s voice had not broken, little or no hair had begun to appear and best of all, he was developing a tiny little pair of breasts. The dear little girl had not really begun to notice but in a few months when they went off to Africa for their holidays, the major step of the gaffing operation could be done. She hoped the time would be right in a few days to learn from Jane whether she was going to take the pink or the blue route. She suspected Jane was a pinkie.

In the meantime. Auntie would continue to help Victoria, Erica, Jane and the other trainees at the school too.

Despite the extra pressure on her time and resources, she could also encourage Miss Dempster and Miss Carter and the other local ladies in their continued domination and re-training of their husbands at the special evening classes.

Miss Carter was the more important of the two as she also had two younger brothers who she had indicated would easily be put back under her guidance. Auntie felt very differently about guiding or training older people into the delights and enjoyment to be gained from feminine clothes and feminine behaviour. She and her fellow helpers had no doubt about the importance and the benefit of fem-training.

There were side-effects to her work. The realization amongst women as well as men that there was a better balance than the strongly masculine / feminine battleground of the recent decades. In the rest of the country, some men had become extreme in their macho behaviour to the extent of physical and especially emotional abuse. Others had become like the majority of men shown on television – indecisive, weak and not really very masculine. Auntie despised both extremes. The whole process she took her pupils through was to ensure a balanced personality – a balance of weak and strong, taught by showing the pupil how there could be a balance of masculine and feminine. Those who truly learnt their lesson were pupils to be proud of. Whether Pink or Blue.

The incidence of domestic abuse and domestic misbehaviour had plummeted locally. Divorce was at an all-time low and problems such as alcohol or drugs had been obliterated. Surprisingly, the birth-rate continued to climb. Usefully, there were always enough baby-sitters for the expanding population.

Auntie’s daughter Jane had now married and her husband was now a firm devotee of fem-training. Anne had now got him to wear panties, suspenders and stockings underneath his business suit. And when he came home, she had him change into a proper dress as soon as he had showered.

The process had been most unexpected. Anne had been joking around doing the washing-up after a party and she had insisted that Tom wear an apron. He had gone bright red and refused with considerable protest. Then he had splashed his best trousers and his appalled expression had made clear how in the wrong he now was. Anne had thought very little of this at the time.

Later a local fund-raiser had come round with the idea of a Fancy Dress party in aid of the local church. Tom had been quite determined in his refusal to get dressed up and Anne had got quite cross. “I’m not asking you to dress up, just to wear your best suit for an evening. If you keep on being silly about this - then I’ll …. I’ll, I don’t know what I’ll do – but I want to go to this and you’re being most unreasonable. I’m not pleased with this most unattractive, what d’y call it, macho tantrum.”

She went back on the attack the next night. “I’m still not pleased. So I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. You refuse to dress properly so I’m going to make you get dressed up. And when I say dressed up – you are going to wear the costume I have chosen. And there will be no arguments – will there!?”

Tom had realized that this was one of those arguments he was going to lose. He dropped his eyes and said, “Yes, dear. I think I was wrong and I will do as you request.”

A few nights later, she had told Tom that due to his silliness he would actually be ‘dressing up’ for the party. She took him by the hand and led him to the spare room where his costume was waiting. “Here you are, darling. If you hadn’t said that silliness about dressing up then I would never have thought of this. You can take a shower and shave yourself all over. Then you will come in here and I will get you fitted for this pretty dress. And if you make the faintest protest then we will be going out tonight to get you some ordinary clothes to wear to stop your most unattractive behaviour. I do not approve of any anti-feminine comments and I have had enough. You are my man – but what I do not want is the macho stuff. I want a man in my bed and a man I am proud of, Being silly about parties and the like – is just not good enough.”

“Yes, dear. I’m very sorry. I’ll behave as you wish.”

By the night of the party. Tom was quite expert in his high heels, his wig balanced atop his curls and his whole enveloped in a dress like a meringue. Marie Antoinette and his escort won the first prize easily. Anne’s work had been so good that there was none of the usual ‘drag’ effect. Tom had been all-female and amazingly proud of his efforts. At the last moment, Anne had decided to introduce him as cousin Fiona and he had been delighted with the success of the whole masquerade.

When they had got home Anne had had further encouragement for her spouse. She had hidden his pyjamas and produced instead a long satin nightdress with matching wrap and slippers. He had grumbled unconvincingly but as he was so tired he couldn’t be bothered to look for anything else and he had, unwillingly, put it on. Curled up on the fa with his painted toenails peeping out, Anne had taken more photographs. She had used the accumulated collection of photographs to ensure that Tom had no opportunity to argue about his ongoing transition.

Over time, he had gone through the whole petticoat training until he agreed that he felt uncomfortable if he was not wearing, at least, stockings or some such intimate feminine garment. He had been encouraged to grow his hair to a length which was almost noticeable even in the long-haired seventies. But he kept his hair in excellent condition and there would have been comments about this unless he had not been so excellent a worker in his legal practice.

At home, Anne had asked friends to visit when she knew there would be a chance to witness his transvestism. This had had its repercussions. Others of Anne’s friends had seen the immense benefits from having control of their partners. No more would they have to bend the knee when they could ensure that just one glimpse of their husband’s knee would reveal its nylon embarrassment.

Many of the group were surprised that some of the victims had barely protested. But protesting or not, all had eventually complied with their training. On one occasion which Anne remembered well, the husband had been forced into a dress and then had taken his wife upstairs and opened a suitcase to reveal his own store of sadly crumpled lingerie included a most fetching nightdress which he insisted on wearing that night. From then on, that partnership had proceeded apace.

These thoughts and memories flashed through Auntie’s head as she watched her newest pair of BigSis and LittleSis smile at each other.

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