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Hello Little Miss This is the second of my "Little Miss" stories. Poor old Nathan. Love, and stay safe KT Pel xxx The Playmate "But what on earth is it?" Nathan was positioned cross legged on the living rug, just as I had instructed. It was Christmas morning, though there was little spirit of the season in the air. "It's a doll," I replied coldly, as I warmed my hands on the mug of hot chocolate Nathan had made for me. "Yes, I can see that Tabitha. It's the same doll as Emilia next door plays with. The one we...I mean you...bought for her birthday. What I mean to ask is, why have you given this to me?" He was beginning to look angry now, his cheeks turning a shade of red to match his ever long, and ever curlier, red hair. He looked so small and pathetic with the doll in his hands, an appearance helped little by the long plain white nightshirt I'd instructed him to wear which, with little imagination and maybe a few ruffles in the right places, could easily pass for a little girl's nightdress. That the indignant creature was also my 35 year old husband? Well, it barely seemed plausible. The plan, as I clinically and dispassionately informed him, was thus. Given Ashley had found a new job, one which would start in just two days time, and given also that Nathan had failed to find himself any work (hardly surprising given his terrible shyness), us women had decided that he could help out by babysitting Emilia, a task which even he, I somewhat cruelly added, should be capable of. "Well that seems fair enough," he sputtered, his eyes still full of confusion and perhaps just a little terror at the idea of having to spend time with the brash and confident little girl next door, "but I still don't understand the doll?" The doll had been my idea - one pulled from the deepest, naughtiest recesses of my mind after a couple of bottles of prosecco with Ashley a few nights before. For while I was happy to put Nathan to some kind of use, I most certainly didn't want him to develop any kind of ego or too much confidence, which looking after a child just might have provided. The doll, I reckoned, with its need to be fed and changed and patted when it cries, would act as a quite wonderful leveller. So, while yes, Nathan would be the adult of the house and responsible for Emilia, the doll would remind him not to get too full of himself. I spun it differently in my explanation however, instead telling Nathan that given Ashley and Emilia had only just moved to town, the little girl didn't really have anyone to "play" with, and wasn't it reasonable enough that as part of his babysitting duties, that he might also play whatever games she would like? "Well...I don't know..." he whispered, looking down at the still unopened pink box in his hands and the Little Lucy doll inside. This was the point where I told Nathan I didn't require his input in the decision anyway, and that for the next 48 hours before his first day with Emilia, he was going to practice how to look after the doll properly, just like Emilia did. His first duty therefore, carried out with trembling hands while I looked on with a most wonderful feeling inside, was to dress Little Lucy in the nappy and little pink smock dress that came with the doll, and to talk to her like a "real" baby while he did so. "What does that mean?" Nathan spat, his eyes widening. "You know what it means. Just as Emilia does with her doll. Ask her if she's OK. Tell her she's a good girl. Tell her she's a pretty girl." "I can't do that!" he said. "You WILL do that." Naturally poor Nathan didn't make a very natural "Mummy" for his doll. He was, after all, a 35 year old man who really should have been doing something far more grown up on Christmas morning, and even with his submissive and docile nature, traits which I'd come to find most alluring in my undersized and dominated husband, he simply couldn't bring himself to dote on his newest possession with anything like the zeal that Emilia treated her doll. "You're greatly disappointing me," I told him around lunchtime as he pulled Lucy onto his lap wordlessly and began feeding her from the little plastic bottle which he otherwise had to keep in the doll's pink carry bag. "This is just ridiculous, that's why," he replied, pushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. I had some other aces yet to serve though, starting with the revelation that Ashley and Emilia would be joining us for Christmas dinner, a statement which hardly improved Nathan's already sour mood, especially when the little girl arrived in her special lavender Christmas frock with its petticoated skirt and puffed sleeves and let out a childish squeal when she realised that she and Nathan were now BOTH proud owners of a Lucy doll. Ashley, looking splendid also in a low cut poker dot dress and dark make-up, shot me more than a look of amusement as Emilia bounded over to more fully inspect poor terribly mortified Nathan's doll. "How fun," I said, thrilled by the sight of Emilia wrestling herself into the space next to Nathan, the little girl's bouffant dress and large pig-tails somewhat engulfing Nathan as he shuffled nervously in the face of such girlish excitement. That Emilia, barely 7 years old, somehow seemed more physically imposing than my husband, only added to my excitement. Quite how he survived the next few hours of Emilia "teaching" him how to look after Lucy I don't know, but it was quite remarkable to see her so thoroughly dominate him, going as far to as to tap him on the hand angrily when he didn't fasten Lucy's nappy correctly. By the time she had him sitting on the floor participating in a game of "baby hospital," I thought I might just die. "Did you enjoy today?" I asked, tucking Nathan into his bed in the spare room, with Lucy naturally placed by his side. "I did not," he shot back, cheeks ever more red. "Well you'll need to become accustomed to it quickly," I replied, flattening his hair with my hand, "because you'll have two weeks of it before Emilia goes back to school." The events of the day inspired me to rise early the following morning and watch Nathan wash and dress himself. Quite what he thought of me sitting on the side of the bath or on his bed I don't know as he kept his thoughts to himself, but I could tell he felt nervous being naked around me, with any of the ease a husband and wife should feel around each other's bodies a thing of the past, if it had ever existed. For my part, I simply found myself marvelling at the very odd creature in-front of me, one who showed none of the manly characteristics one would expect of a male approaching middle age. His very light colouring made him look hairless across his body, save for the straggle of slightly darker hair around his groin, while his arms and legs were thin enough that one would have no problem believing them the property of an adolescent. The same could be said of his most private area. I'd been shocked on our first night together to see just HOW small he was down there and I'd had to do everything not to giggle as he'd tried to put it inside me. How to compare it? It was not unlike the acorn type nubbin of a baby boy, almost cute in its own way, but nothing like any of the penises I'd come across before. And so I called it his "little baby willy," something which always guaranteed to send his cheeks to a hot flush. With Ashley away visiting her family for Boxing Day lunch, I had to serve up my second ace to bring my ever more confused, and ever more indignant, husband into line. After breakfast (during which Lucy was placed firmly in his lap) I told him we had something special to do, and after he was suitably wrapped up in his duffle-coat I pushed him toward the door. "I can't be seen with this!" he hissed, looking down at Lucy clasped to his chest. "I shouldn't worry, we're not going far." he continued to complain as I led him out, by the hand, to the end of the driveway, and then looked up at me with complete confusion as we immediately turned into Ashley's drive next door, and then inside the house. "They're not in," he kept saying, as though I didn't know, "what's on earth are you doing Tabitha?" Still by the hand, I brought him upstairs and then into the wonderfully cluttered and princess-pink of Emilia's bedroom. While she had taken her Lucy doll with her of course, the remains of her toys, including her Barbie dolls and teddy bears, was still left strewn across the pretty carpet. "Sit down," I commanded, pointing to a gap on the floor, in-front of Emilia's bright pink TV and VHS combination player. "Tabitha," he began to whisper as I pulled out the VHS tape from its plain black box, while his eyes continued to dart around the room, "I don't know what you're thinking, but..." "Quiet," I snapped, placing the tape into the machine and then perching myself on the ruffled quilt atop Emilia's white framed bed. I paused the screen before the recording could begin, and then after placing a hand under Nathan's chin, told him, "yesterday was a good start, but we can't let standards slip just because Emilia is away." "Standards slip?" he muttered. "What are you on about..?" "Your training of course," I replied, "if you're going to be Emilia's playmate, we're going to have to put some sustained effort in today." I un-paused the video, and after a few moments of fuzz, a picture of Emilia appeared, the girl clad in a very cute canary-yellow pinafore dress and with her blonde hair left straight down her back, and she was sat in the exact position Nathan found himself in, with the Lucy doll in her lap just like his was. "You're going to watch Emilia play for ten minutes," I told a very embarrassed looking Nathan, "then we're going to pause it and you're going to copy, as well as you possibly can, her every movement and word." "What? Absolutely not!" he raged, his voice cracking with sheer emotion. "Yes you are. If you don't do it well enough we'll simply rewind the tape and do it again." The tape had been Ashely's idea, and just few minutes of watching Emilia rush around her little room had confirmed it as a good one. For his part Nathan looked completely and utterly aghast as he remained cross-legged staring at the screen, watching Emilia set up her teddies around the small pink plastic table which sat just to his right and then shuffling around them on her bottom and talking to them like lady-friends at a luncheon, telling them that their hair was pretty and that she loved their outfits. When the ten minutes were up and I paused the tape, he looked at me with sheer pleading. "Tabitha, really," he said, "you cannot honestly expect me to.....to.....act like a little child? Like.....a little....girl?" "You're to act in a fashion that makes you a good playmate for Emilia, that's all," I replied. "But I'm a man," he said, somewhat pathetically, "it's not right." "Right?" I laughed, cupping a hand to my mouth, "well Nathan, let's just talk about right, shall we? How right is it that I pay all the bills and look after all the household management? How fair is it that I work 50 hours a week AND have to do ALL the chores around the house? How fair is it that I've been lumbered with a husband so painfully shy that he can't hold down even the most menial jobs?" "Please Tabitha, don't...." he was desperate for me to stop, that much was clear from the redness of his eyes, but I was enjoying his squirming far too much to stop there. "And how fair is it that I ask you to do ONE thing, just ONE simple thing, and you STILL argue with me?" he looked more scared than angry or embarrassed now, and it was when he'd start to fidget with his hands and look down at the ground that I'd know he was defeated. It was only ever a matter of time. Whether it be to move him out of our marital bed and into the spare room, or even just to ban him from getting a haircut, I always won. "I'll try to do it," he muttered, his voice wavering as a few tears made an appearance on his cheeks. What followed was quite possibly the most bizarre, and yet tremendously thrilling, few moments of my life, as my 35 year old husband made a not terribly successful effort to ape the mannerisms and language of the 7 year old girl next door. "Hello Mrs Bubbles," he squeaked to the large pink bear as he lifted it from Emilia's bed and into place around the table from which he was about to host what I could imagine to be his first teddy bear tea party, "you look very pretty today. I love your dress." "Not bad," I commented, "but remember that Emilia gave the bear a cuddle and a kiss too." By lunchtime we'd fallen into quite the pattern, extending each clip of video to twenty minutes and then watching poor Nathan reach new levels of embarrassment and humiliation while I appraised his efforts with the finest of toothcombs. Not only did he complete his first tea party, he also found himself spending nearly half an hour dressing and undressing Emilia's two favourite Barbie dolls and reading from a book of fairy stories which the girl kept next to her bed. He could only have been relieved when the girl turned her attention instead to watching a Sparkle Ponies film on her TV, which Nathan watched in exactly the same fashion, flat on her carpet with elbows on the floor and his chin cupped in his hands. I spent the evening in a state which could only be described as "extremely randy," replaying Nathan's childish behaviour over and over in my head. By the afternoon's end I'd even had him affecting a much higher voice so that he sounded even more childish than his own small voice did, and he was aghast when I instructed him to keep the practicing the voice all evening. "I really don't see why it's necessary," he complained as we sat down to dinner, "it's one thing to make me learn to play like her, but I don't see why I should need to sound like her too?" "It's a mindset thing," I replied, but I was sure he knew the truth. How could he not? For years our relationship had been one of master and submissive, and this was simply an extension of that. As it was when, after Nathan had readied himself for bed and returned downstairs in his plain white nightshirt, I pulled him up and onto my lap, instructing him to wrap his arms around my neck and rest his head on my bosom. It was a pose I often had him assume before bed, but it felt different this time. I felt no sexual longing for him, but I was desperate to run my hands over his body for reasons I couldn't quite fathom. "Nathan," I said finally, settling on having my arms around his waist, "you will be a good boy tomorrow, won't you?" Looking down at his chest he gave a little nod, his head bouncing against my breasts as he did so. "Yes," he added very quietly. I'd very rarely called him a boy before, and his seeming acceptance of such a title gave me an awful thrill. I'd called him "little man," and things like "silly sausage" that a Mother might use with her son, but never straight out "boy." It gave me an idea. "Maybe, given the circumstances, you should call me Mummy for the next few days," I felt odd just saying the words, but also excited, "you know, to help with mindset." He didn't change the position of his gaze, but nor did he shake his head this time. "It's not like we're much of a husband and wife anymore, is it?" I added, pulling him in closer to my chest, his head now firmly cushioned by my breasts to the point where he must have been able to feel my right nipple against his cheek. "We could be," he whispered, softly and sadly, his eyes stinging with tears once more, which only served to enhance his childish appearance. "The hidden camera we used to record Emilia will be in place tomorrow," he was trembling slightly now, as though he was so confused by the situation his body was starting to rebel, "and I will watch the tape back tomorrow evening. Do you understand what I'm saying?" He nodded once more, and with it let out just the smallest of sobs in such a wonderfully child-like way. "Good boy. Now, a kiss of the cheek for your Mummy please, and then off to bed. You have a busy day ahead tomorrow, so you need to be fresh as a daisy." It's fair to say I had a really quite unproductive day at work. How could I not, when I knew my husband was likely sitting with his new best friend next door, playing tea-parties or some other girlish endeavour? I called just before lunch and was delighted to hear Emilia answer, the girl very cheerily telling me that everything was fine and that Uncle Nathan was a LOT of fun. "What have you two been up to?" I asked, barely able to contain my excitement. "Oh lots of things," she trilled, "we played hospital with my barbies, and Nathan...sorry Uncle Nathan....he pretended to be the nurse doll. Oh oh, and we did some colouring in my Disney book! Auntie Tabitha?" she began to ask, lisping the h sounds in my name in the most cute way. "Yes poppet?" "Can Uncle Nathan come tomorrow too? Please?" Absolutely, I thought wickedly to myself. That evening I had Nathan resume his position on my lap as we watched back the tape of the day, with my praising each of his childish actions and him squirming as he listened to his high, shrill voice say something awfully girly, like "which dress should I put this Barbie in Emilia?" My favourite thing though was watching Emilia so thoroughly and completely dominate her "babysitter" in a way that one could think barely plausible. Despite Nathan's VERY notional title as the adult and of the person in charge, Emilia called the shots all morning, even being the one to serve them the lunch we'd left in the kitchen and to pour the juice when she deemed they needed a drink. Nathan for his part simply followed her around like a little lamb, and his only argument of the entire day (or at least the parts I watched. I had to fast forward some of the play because it was simply too inane) was when, at the end of the Sparkle Ponies film they had watched together on Emilia's bed, the girl began to rewind the video to watch it again. But even that minor insurrection was quickly quashed by no-nonsense Emilia, who gave him a very short answer in the affirmative when asked if they really had to watch it again. "Bossed around all day by a little girl in a ra-ra skirt and sparkly tights," I said to Nathan, who winced at the most obviously correct assertion, "you're a treat Nathan, you really are." "You told me to do whatever she wanted," he said, his voice free of any protestation, but rather one of sour acceptance. "I did. And you did. Well, nearly. I'm not happy about that Sparkle Ponies incident." "Oh come on!" he said. "She'd just watched the awful thing! Really Tabitha, it's so boring." "Hmmm," I replied, for some reason pulling up the hem of his nightshirt until it was left just above his knees, his almost hair-free legs left dangling off the side of the side of my lap and resting against the cushions of the settee. The next day, slighter brighter if still rather cold, Nathan found himself introduced to playing in the garden. I was annoyed at not being able to see this, but it was just about enough to hear Emilia's gushed recollections of them playing hopscotch and of Nathan using one of her old toy prams to push his Little Lucy around the garden. Even more adorable was Emilia's insistence that she join her in a game of "dress-up," which involved the girl gussying herself up in one of Ashley's cocktail dresses - the black number draping off her little body in a most comical fashion - and tottering around in a pair of her Mum's high heels, all while carrying a matching bag and illicitly applying the dark red lipstick she found in the bag's inner compartment. Clearly Emilia knew her Mother's wardrobe was off limits, the naughty giggles showed as much, but any attempt by Nathan to stop her was met with only the scantest of acknowledgements and shrugs of the shoulder, as though his status as an adult, and therefore able to dole out the boring rules that grown-ups did, was long gone in her eyes. In the adult's place? Simply a playmate. And the playmate wasn't going to be excused from her game. Rushing into the spare room with the cocktail dress billowing around her, the girl soon came back into the video's sight carrying an armful of men's clothes. Smart trousers, a shirt, a tie, a jacket. "We're going to be a husband and wife," she told Nathan, depositing the clothes next to him, "hurry up and get dressed." "Where did you get these?" Nathan asked. "They were my Daddy's," Emilia replied, her voice impatient, "hurry up and change! I'll wait outside." Leaving him alone in her pink room, Nathan stared at the clothes for a good minute or so, his fuzzy ginger hair bouncing around as he shook his head in amazement. For a moment I thought he was going to refuse, and internally I started to ready myself to punish him for it, but I suppose I should have known better because, after a brief and sad final shake of the head, he began to pull off his jeans and t-shirt and replace them with the pile of clothes in-front of him. I paused the video once he was down to his pants and revelled myself at the sight of him standing almost naked amongst the teddies and the dolls and looking so perfectly small and pathetic. He looked even worse once dressed. If Emilia's dress hung off her ridiculously, it was nothing compared to how the trousers and shirt sat on Nathan's small frame. Clearly Emilia's Daddy had been an awfully big man in almost every sense, because poor Nathan was left to desperately hold the trousers up and completely and utterly swamped by the white button up shirt. "You look funny," Emilia giggled when he finally called her in, before fully explaining the rules of their game. Around the little pink play- table, they would pretend to be a husband and wife out for a fancy dinner including, much to Nathan's horror, holding hands and having to pull the chair out for her. "You should tell me I look pretty!" she commanded him half-way through the meal. "You do," he muttered, "you look very pretty." After "going home," which involved walking around the house hand-in- hand, Nathan struggling to hold up his suit and Emilia stumbling in her high-heels, she led him back into the bedroom where she made him help tuck their children - the two Little Lucy dolls - into bed, after changing their nappies of course. All of this must have been bad enough for poor Nathan, but it was nothing compared to a moment or so later when, completely without warning, little Emilia leaned over and kissed him full on the lips, the little girl's pig-tails swirling around the side of Nathan's head as her arms wrapped around his body and pulled him firmly against her, leaving a smudge of dark lipstick around his own mouth as she pulled away. "Emilia!" he cried, looking completely horrified. But the girl only giggled and grabbed his hand once more. "Now we're REALLY husband and wife. Let's have our lunch now." I HAD to call Ashley over to watch, and once over her annoyance at Emilia dipping into her things, she joined me in laughing heartily at poor Nathan's discomfort, the two of us wondering if there was anything Emilia couldn't make her 35 year old "babysitter" do. With her, Ashley brought my next surprise for Nathan, a surprise I had myself done some work towards during my lunchbreak. "Did you have a nice bath?" I asked him, as he pulled himself onto my lap, the soft fragrance of the bathwater so perfectly pleasant in the quietness of the room. "I suppose," he said, wrapping his arms around my neck in the now expected fashion. "You know, I've been thinking about your Sparkle Ponies problem," I began, "and I think I have the answer." "I don't have a problem, it's just boring." Indeed, he'd complained to Emilia once again that afternoon when the girl had put the film on once more, and I'd been annoyed to see him turn his back on the screen and face up to the ceiling instead. "Still," uncoupling his arms from around my neck, I proceeded to lower him gently off my lap, leaving him standing nervously in front of me, his long night-shirt suddenly looking very big as the impact of landing on the carpet sent it swirling around his torso. With that I reached down and pulled out the C&A carrier bag which I'd hidden down the side of the chair, and from which I produced Nathan's latest humiliation. "What's going on?" he asked, his tone a mixture of fright and confusion. It was then that I unfolded his newest possession and held it clear out in front of him, "you, little man, quite clearly need some help loving Sparkle Ponies." He let out a quite audible gasp as he caught first sight of the short white nightie, with a pink embroidered Sparkle Pony on the chest and pink, slightly frilled trim on the scooped hem. "No!" Was all he could muster by way of response, but the response was in his eyes anyway, and straight away they began to redden with tears of pure embarrassment. "Yes," I replied simply, pushing the garment against his. The nightie, bought that very afternoon in my trip to town, would become his new nightwear until I felt he showed the appropriate amount of excitement about watching the film with Emilia. Naturally I shared the embarrassing revelation that the garment was made for girls age 10-11, the largest size such a girlish item went up to, but that with his tiny frame I expected it to fit well enough, if perhaps a little tight around the waist and a little shorter in the skirt than intended. "No, no, no, no, no," he continued to say, crying fully now with arms folded across his chest. At one marvellous moment he even stomped his feet! "It's not a discussion," I replied, and although he thrashed about a little as I pulled him into my grasp, he lacked anywhere near enough strength to stop me pulling off his existing nightshirt, or to stop me placing his new, thoroughly girlish nightie, over his curly hair. "See, not that bad, is it?" I continued, pulling the nightie's hem around his little legs, amazed at how well the childish garment fitted him. After that I forced him in-front of the mirror, where he threw his hands up to his mouth and gasped at the creature in the reflection wearing a little girl's Sparkle Ponies nightie. "Let me take it off," he pleaded once more, "I promise I won't complain about watching the film ever again." "I bet you won't. Here's what is going to happen. From 7 to 9pm each night, you'll sit in your room and watch the film twice. And if I come in there and find your attention anywhere else, there'll be big trouble, understand?" "Yes," he replied, still shaking his head at the reflection in the mirror. "Yes what?" I said, in the mood now. He looked up at me sadly for a moment. "Yes...Mummy." "Better," I handed him the copy of the film Ashley had brought around earlier in the evening, "well here you are then. Upstairs and start watching now, there's a good boy." And I watched as my 35 year old husband slinked out of the room in his adorable little Sparkle Ponies nightie - Lucy doll under one arm and the videotape in his hand - and wondered how things could ever possibly be the same again. I have learned, both in my job and in personal life, that the best way to thrust change on a person is to do so slowly, and if possible, practically imperceptibly. Sure, the motivational speakers and business gurus will tell you that it's all about change right NOW, and that you're a coward and a procrastinator if you don't take immediate action, but that's all to sell books and seminars. In the real world, people need time. Take the Clerical Assistant I hired in the new year, a week or so after Emilia went back to school and Nathan was relieved of his babysitting/play-mate responsibilities. Her name was Lisa. She had just finished school, so much so that you could probably have smelled the classroom in her hair if you tried hard enough, but I could sense straight away that she had a mind and an acumen well beyond her 16 years. In many ways she was quite normal. She dressed as the other teenage girls did - all big hair and colourful blouses tucked in to a short skirt - and she shared some of the ignorance you'd expect from someone so young (she confided on her second day that she thought Wales was a town in England), but there was something sharp and different in there that perhaps only I could see. For instance, when the accounts boys came sniffing around, and they always would given how pretty in the face Lisa was, she didn't giggle like the other young girls. Instead she looked at them coolly, as though appraising if they were worth her time. While the other girls brought tiny salads in for lunch with barely enough in them to sustain a bird, Lisa went out and bought herself a hamburger. When I gave her the accounts calendar to organise for the month, a task many of the senior people in the office would run a mile from, she ploughed into it with an icy logic and no drama. I decided there and then that I'd want her for more, but to start with one complicated task was enough. When she found that easy and normal, I'd revisit it. It was much the same with Nathan as the new year progressed. It would have been easy for me to lay on embarrassment after embarrassment in quick order, and God knows I wanted to, but I could sense that the Sparkle Ponies nightie had pushed him as close to the edge as I'd get away with at first. Still, within two weeks the arguments had almost melted away entirely, and within three he was dressing himself in it each night before shuffling down for his nightly hug and kiss. I was sure he still hated the awful thing but, quite incredibly, it had become the norm. Once that had happened I knew I could press him just a little further, and so after a month or so I placed a purple and white striped version of his nightie in the wardrobe next to the original, and a couple of weeks after that came a pair of wonderfully poufy pink shorts and a flouncy white top with a Peter Pan collar and two Sparkle Ponies inside a large embroidered heart. He was told he could pick his nightwear for himself, but that he could only wear something for two nights in row before I washed it. He was red-faced at learning this, but I was unsurprised to find him appear in the doorway one night, looking terribly sheepish and ashamed, but perfectly clad in his new short and t-shirt set and with Lucy clasped to his chest. When a rebellion finally came, it was carried out in the most typically Nathan fashion one could imagine. Instead of a violent outburst or a dramatic act, I found a letter on my nightstand one evening, very carefully written in his cursive but plain handwriting. It said, Dear Mummy, I do hope you not think me ungrateful, or prone to complaint, and I'm sure you understand I write this only because I feel I'm better placed to explain myself in writing than in person. The purpose is to ask again, as respectfully as I can, to reconsider my need to train myself in the matters of interest to Emilia, namely the care of the Little Lucy doll and the watching of the Sparkle Ponies film. I feel this is especially redundant now that Emilia had returned to school and my play- mate duties reduced to the odd hour in the evenings. I think you'd also agree that I perform these duties quite successfully now, and so the need for further training seems unnecessary. I also hope you'll reconsider my night-time attire. While I fully appreciate the need for it at the time and that I was wrong not to follow your instructions, I am quite sure you can understand the embarrassment that comes with wearing each item. I feel I would be perfectly able to carry out my duties with Emilia after a return to my normal nightwear. I write this letter as a suggestion rather than any kind of demand, and trust you know how appreciative I am of your constant support and care. I love you, I really do, and I'd fear my future without you. With Love, Nathan The letter stopped me in my tracks. At first, I was just tickled that he'd addressed me as Mummy even in letter form (a habit he was falling into with increasing ease as the weeks passed) but as the letter went on I found myself increasingly excited. If ever proof were needed that the poor thing was mere putty in my hand, then the letter was surely it. There were no demands. Only suggestions. It couldn't have been better. Of course, I knew what to do. For two days I ignored the letter's existence, and the hints Nathan dropped about it, completely, and it was only on the following Friday night that I called him upstairs where, with the letter in my hand, I affected my best possible impression of being angered. "This is what I get, is it? For looking after you? A letter telling me I'm stupid?" "It doesn't say that," he muttered, looking firmly down at the ground. "That I don't know what's best for you?" "You do," he replied, wincing, "it's just...." "Enough!" I yelled, "you think you're the bee's knees, don't you? That you're still the big man around here and I'm the stupid little woman? I watched you playing with Emilia the other night and you were woeful!" He let out a gasp at this, "when?" "Wednesday evening I think, when I came to pick you up. Emilia was having you act out her favourite scene of the film, the one where they fight the evil pony or something, and you were just moping around." "I was tired," he whispered, "and...and...worried about the letter." "You were absolutely right to be worried! How dare you! The only reason it's taken me two days to talk about it is because I was just too angry." "I'm sorry, I really am," he let out, his voice cracking with emotion, "just forget it, honestly." "No, that's not enough." I stood up and positioned myself right in-front of him, in a fashion that left him staring at the bottom of my chin and looking every inch an admonished child, "it's quite clear to me you need MORE training, not less. It'll start tonight. Come along." Led by the hand toward his bedroom, he sobbed, "I'm sorry, really. Let's just talk about this." "Talking is over." After pointing at him to sit on the bed, I pulled out the first nightie I'd bought him from the wardrobe and quickly lifted it over his head, before adding a very cute pink cardigan I'd purchased at the girl's section of C&A that morning, along with a pair of pink fluffy ladies slippers and pink ankle socks with adorable fold down frills. Then, with his questions still ringing in my ears, I pulled him onto my lap, "this is what's going to happen. Auntie Ashley has VERY kindly said you can spend the night at her house tonight," at this point I placed a hand under his chin, my hand dampened by the tears rolling down his cheeks, "that way, you can spend a whole evening and morning with Emilia, can't you?" "No!" he gasped, looking completely shocked and terrified. "They can't see me like this!" "Silly goose," I lowered him down and grabbed his hand, "Emilia will be thrilled. She'll love your pretty nightie." "No, wait, please," he continued to say as I forced him downstairs and then out into the cold winter evening, "I'm sorry about the letter, I really am. Don't do this!" At this point you might be doubting if this is really happened. I mean honestly, what kind of 35 year old man would let himself be dressed in a little girl's nightie and dragged to a sleepover? And yet, I swear on all that's holy that my husband, a grown man no less with a University degree, found himself hugged by Emilia, who herself was in a fleecy pair of pink pyjamas and carrying her Lucy doll, and pulled excitedly up to her room. "What's going on?" Ashley smirked, as we settled into the living room with a bottle of wine, the squeals and giggles from upstairs quite apparent as we uncorked. "I think Nathan is finding out what it's REALLY like to be a 7 year old's playmate," I replied, picturing him up there in his short nightie and little girl socks. "How fun," Ashley replied, before telling me about her stressful day at work and the man who'd tried to chat her up on the bus. "You're still OK about...you know?" I asked coyly as we started on a second bottle. "Hmm of course," she grinned, "how could I not be?" What Ashley derived from all this I wasn't sure. In simplest terms she seemed not much to like men anymore, but that seemed a little too obvious. I think the full answer was somewhat more complicated. She liked me, looked up to me, and wanted to please me. Looking at her as she sat with legs folded under herself and a large throw over her upper body, sipping slowly from the wine glass with her raven black hair falling around her like a cape, I started to wonder about my feelings for her. I'd been with a woman once before, a University fling gone wrong and quickly regretted by all concerned, and I'd have been lying if I said I wasn't interested in seeing what was under her tatty wear at home jeans and purple sweatshirt. Or maybe it was just the wine. Everything becomes normal eventually, right? I left just before 10pm, with Ashley about ready to go up and put the "children" to bed. I didn't call up a good-bye to Nathan, but I could hear plenty of playing from the room and Nathan's little squeak certainly made up at least some of it. Indeed earlier in the evening Emilia had dragged him downstairs to show us the little cardboard doll- house they'd made together, and both Ashley and I voiced amazement afterwards at how girlish he looked as he shuffled nervously behind his "best friend." That night, with the room dark and still and with Nathan a mere twenty or thirty feet away but separated by a wall or two, I closed my eyes and switched between images of him running behind Emilia as they headed back upstairs, his little nightie flying around his thin legs as he went, and images of Ashley as she smiled naughtily and told me about her early sexual encounters. I imagined her getting ready for bed, discarding her jeans and top and perhaps just sleeping in her underwear. I imagined her touching herself in the manner I was touching myself in, perhaps thinking of me. Perhaps, maybe, thinking of Nathan in his tiny sleeping bag, a man so thoroughly emasculated that to call him a man was now faintly ridiculous. I had to put my hand over my mouth to stifle the cries, quite mindful of Nathan, or Ashley, hearing them. By morning's arrival I felt somewhat odder, flatter perhaps, as though seeing to myself in such a way had let the air out of the balloon. It was only when Ashley knocked on the door around 9am with a VERY red-face Nathan in one hand and Emilia in the other, that my spirits began to pick up. "Thank you for having him," I said, grinning, as Emilia excitedly ask whether he could stay next Friday too. There was only one thing I wanted to see and know, and so as soon as the pair of them had left I told Nathan that it was time to get washed and dressed. "What?" he replied sharply, eyes widening. "Yes, yes of course. I'll do that now." "Yes, we will," I said, grabbing the poor thing by his hand once more. "No really, you carry on with what you're doing," he stuttered, "I wouldn't want to bother you." "Nonsense." The excitement was growing within me now, and by the time I had him sit on the bed and take off his socks and slippers I thought it might all become too much. "It's not fair!" he yelled, placing a hand firmly over his groin area as I began to lift the nightie over his head. "What's not fair?" I asked, feigning confusion. "That one next door," he spat, face turning to anger, "she's just as bad as you! Said I was wet, but it was just sweat from sleeping in that room! I've never known a room so hot!" "I still don't understand." But I did, of course. After finally batting his hand away and lifting the nightie up, I let out a mock gasp of surprise as the pair of pink trimmed Sparkle Ponies themed knickers were left on full display. "Oh my," I said, "are those...." It took me a moment to compose myself. "Are those Emilia's?" "Well of course they are!" he said, crying again now. "But it wasn't fair! I wasn't wet Mummy, I really wasn't! And these are really tight and uncomfortable, and Emilia knows I had to borrow them. What must she think?" "It's alright," I said, patting him on the head and trying not to laugh. The knickers really were quite tight, and in their tightness they further served to push his tiny willy into nothingness, so much so that the front looked impossibly smooth. "I'm going to take them off," he said, a hand moving towards his mid- riff, until I grabbed it. "No you are not!" I yelled, startling him, "I just can't believe this Nathan! I send you to have a sleep-over, to learn better how to play with Emilia when necessary, and you go and embarrass yourself like this? Like a bloody infant?" "I didn't!" he said, shuffling nervously now as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, perhaps noticing as I had that it was all very flat and girlish down there. "You'll leave them on all day as a reminder of what a silly little boy you were." "No," he sobbed, "please..." "Yes. If you're going to act like a three year old girl, one who can't control her bladder, you can bloody well wear pretty little knickers like a three year old girl." "I didn't wet myself," he tried once more, but he clearly knew it was too late. Back at work that Monday, I called Lisa into my office and asked her if she'd start looking after Mark and Geoffrey's expense accounts, "they never file them properly, and you did such a marvellous job with the calendar." "Oh thanks," she replied, "and yes of course, I'd be happy to do that for you." She looked young as she stood in the doorway, and for a crazy moment I thought about telling her of Nathan, that was until I saw sense and remembered my own maxim. Better to go slowly and walk 100 miles, than to run and collapse after 50. Here are some of the things Nathan did over the next few weeks which, unless he possessed far greater imagination than I gave him credit for, I can't believe he ever thought possible. Firstly, on a cold crisp Sunday morning, he accompanied me into town and to C&A. The reason for the trip was no secret and had been outlined that morning. As punishment for his childish behaviour at the first sleepover, and also to fully confirm his position at the now weekly event, we would be buying him own his pack of Sparkle Ponies knickers. He picked them of the shelf himself, a six pack of various pastel colours for girls age 9-10 (the largest size in stock alas, but at least a little bigger than Emilia's) and I even had him pay for them, with the young girl on the till obviously thinking they were intended for our daughter. "You'll put them in your bedside cabinet," I told him coolly as we left. He nodded. A sad nod and one of complete embarrassment. How could it not be, after becoming a 35 year old man who owned a six pack of Sparkle Ponies knickers. "At least I didn't make you bring your dolly," I whispered, much to his disgust. I also don't think he'd have ever expected to have his hair washed for him, or to have a bath drawn and to be bathed while he sat still in the soapy water, but both soon were realities. This happened after I expressed disappointment at his dirty neck and fingernails one morning, and became the norm immediately. Then, quite a few weeks later, just after I'd given Lisa two new projects at work and a week or so after Ashley and I had gone out for drinks (naturally Nathan had acted as babysitter) and after Nathan had fallen firmly into the routine of putting on a pair of knickers, a pair of cute frilly socks and one of his nighties and heading to Emilia's for a Friday sleepover, I sprung my next embarrassment on my ever more girlish and emasculated husband. It was just before he left for the sleepover that I pounced. Not enough time for him to think about it too much or to offer too many complaints. After he rushed downstairs for his hug, dressed this time in his poufy pink shorts and matching tee, I expressed severe dissatisfaction at the state of his hair. "Really Nathan, it's such a mess. Not sure what I didn't realise before now." This was partly true, but also unfair as I'd been the one who'd banned him from haircuts, so much so that his curly hair was starting to tickle the bottom of his neck. Still, that didn't stop me dragging him back upstairs to my vanity table and into the seat in-front of the mirror where, amongst some very loud complaining about the situation and moaning about me "pulling" his hair, I somehow managed to pull it into two small messy bunches which were left sprouting from the side of his head, both held in place by some white ribbons I'd purchased for the occasion, ribbons which now dangled down the side of his face to where they rested on his nightie covered shoulders. "Undo those!" he cried, actually trying to do so himself until I gave his hand a slap. "If you touch them, I swear to God we'll be going to the park tomorrow with your hair just like it is now. This is just to keep it out of your eyes and well, if you're going to a girly sleepover anyway, and you're wearing girls" clothes, then what's the issue?" "I look like a girl, that's why!" he said, his eyes fixed on the quite pretty little girl in-front of him. "Hmm, yes you do," I said, "well that's OK. In fact, it can only help with your training. Now, you can really be Emilia's playmate. She doesn't want a boy as a playmate, does she? And she's been treating you like a girlfriend for quite some time now. What about last week, when she called you a "she'?" "That was a mistake," he said. "Ashley already calls you a girl you know. When we're downstairs she says things like "I can't hear the girls, can you?" "Stop it," he whispered. "And you really do act like a girl when you're around Emilia. I bet you barely even realise it now." He continued to argue and pout, right up to the moment I presented him to Emilia who let out a gasp at her friend's new hairstyle, which very cleverly on Ashley's part, exactly matched her own. "Look at you girls," I said, "you look like twins!" Nathan shot me possibly the most evil look of all time, but any chance to back it up with words was taken away by Emilia leading him upstairs. "I had fun the other night," Ashley said, though I could barely hear her amongst the thoughts of Nathan's bunches bobbing up and down in-time with Emilia's as they rushed up the stairs, "earth to Tabitha? Are you there?" "Oh...yes...of course. I did too." It hard to think about anything other than Nathan at that moment - Ashley definitely losing the battle for my affections - and what really struck me is that I started to think about, for probably the first time, just HOW humiliating the situation was for Nathan. In the space of a few short months he'd fallen from husband and, notional, man of the house, a 35 year old with a degree and hope of maybe finding a new job, to sitting around with his hair in bunches, forced into acting and behaving like a very small, and completely helpless, little girl. It was such a strong feeling that I had to excuse myself before a second glass of wine, as though a little more distance would help dampen the fire inside me, but then something about the distance, and that Nathan was in another place and at Ashley's mercy (a woman 5 or 6 year his junior), only heighted my passions. Back home, I found myself sitting in-front of the vanity in which Nathan had been sat only an hour or so before, and after staring into my wide and excited eyes for a good while, I began to pull my own hair into bunches, with identical white ribbon wrapped around the base of each black lump of hair. My hair was longer and straighter, and so the bunches were bigger, but the real difference was that I in NO way looked like a child. My eyes were too old, too tired, but that hardly mattered when the lines around them so clearly showed my middle age. It was hard other than that to discern why I looked so ridiculous, other than I was quite clearly a grown woman sporting a child's hairstyle. I left it in that fashion as I lay down on my bed and looked up at the ceiling, thinking about how Nathan was feeling the same pull of the bunches on his head as I was on mine, and how the hairstyle had looked so at home on his head and so alien on me. How was that possible? Returning home the next morning the poor thing looked awfully tired and defeated, but with his hair still in impeccable bunches as he and Emilia bounded in. Clearly Ashley had re-set them for him, hopefully while he sat next to Emilia in the morning and while Ashley told the "girls" to sit still. As soon as they'd left Nathan grabbed me by the hand with a beseeching look. "Please Mummy, put my hair back to normal. I hate it." I felt so incredibly powerful in the moment. Just like the letter, there was no demand in his question or superiority in his voice, only the sound of a child pleading with their dominate Mother. "You looked shattered," I replied, ignoring the question, "were you up all night chatting?" "No," he replied bitterly, "I just couldn't sleep. I...." I knew why he couldn't sleep. It was the same reason as I'd tossed and turned, I was sure of it. Something about that new hairstyle had pushed the situation into a whole new stratosphere, and it was one I didn't think it possible to return from. I took him by the hand. "I'm tired too. Why don't we go upstairs for a nap?" Nathan remained wordless as I had him sit back at the vanity to take his hair out the bunches, but even more surprising was his silence as I instead pulled it into a high-ponytail, held in place by one of my own black hair-bands. Whether he was just too exhausted to complain, or whether he was just happy to have his hair in ANY other style I wasn't sure, but either way it somehow served only to heighten his girlishness. With his warm body in the bed next to me and my arms wrapped around his waist, the poor thing was asleep within moments, his small breaths so replaced by cute little snoring and flickering eyes that told me his slumber was full of, hopefully, embarrassing dreams. Not able to help myself, I gently slipped a hand downwards to the hem of his pyjama shorts, the ruffles on the hem tickling my hand, and then slipped it under to feel the lace trim of his knickers, the feeling so very odd and confusing but also terribly illicit. From there, as gently as I could so not to wake him, I slid my hand over to the front of the knickers where I was only just able to make out the bump which was formed of his tiny, condensed willy and balls, a malehood locked away behind the most girlish of garments. A garment that, I considered as I retracted my hand, was being worn by lots and lots of little girls across the country, but only by one 35 year old male. Knowing I'd never be able to sleep in such a state of excitement, I decided instead to head into town to run some errands, leaving a note for Nathan to inform him of this. The walk around the shopping centre was mostly carried out in some kind of weird haze, especially when passing little girls, which I'd find myself invariably comparing to Nathan in terms of size and mannerisms. My ears were certainly pricked by the little girl outside Beatties, who in a pique of anger and disappointed grabbed her Mother's hand and cried, "please Mummy, it's a new Barbie!." The girl was perhaps five or six and was clad in a black jumper and tartan kilt skirt, and naturally her hair was pulled into cute bunches too. "No Samantha," her tired sounding Mother, who was also attending to a slightly younger boy and a baby in pram, replied. "You've got plenty of Barbie dolls at home." "But I want that one!" she stomped, pulling even more firmly at her Mother's arm. I followed them from a distance for a while, watching the little girl skip alongside her Mother and how she often twirled herself around like a practicing ballerina. The boy was equally demonstrative, but focussed his attention on pretending to shoot passers-by with his little toy gun. Both acts drew their Mother's admonishment, but never did it stop them doing it. Intrigued now for reasons I didn't fully understand, I found a table next to them when the Mother stopped at Wendy's, and broke the ice by giving the woman a smile that suggested I understood her pain. "Horrors, both of them," the woman replied, sounding so awfully worn out. "I know the feeling," I said with a sympathetic nod, though of course I did not, before pointing at the, now terribly shy, little girl, "I've got one not much older than her." The words gave me a tremendous thrill. Poor Nathan was perhaps 30 years old than the girl, but yet he'd been turned into a peer. I talked more with the woman, who as she puffed a cigarette told me her name was Barbara, and that her husband worked at a food packaging factory near the airport. The story was interrupted two or three times by her son, or Samantha, doing something naughty, and I could tell the poor woman wanted nothing more than an hour to herself. "So how old is your little one?" she asked eventually, now cradling the baby in her arms. I had to think about this for a moment, but realised I needed to answer fairly quickly or look like a very bad "Mother" indeed. "Oh she's just turned 9, but she's very young for her age. Isn't that different to Samantha there." Barbara talked for a long time after that, perhaps just glad to an adult to converse with, but I spent most the time fazed out to her long stories about other Mothers at the school-gates and their manifold failings ('two of the girls in Sammie's class aren't even toilet trained properly yet') or about some naughty thing her daughter or son Thomas had done. Instead I spent the time with one eye constantly on little Samantha as she clumsily coloured in the little drawings the waitress had brought over, or how she sung nursery rhymes to herself ("...and the knife ran away with the spoon') or how she played with the food on her plate, pushing the sausage around from one side to the other as though she'd invented the most exciting game in the world. A few tables away there was a Mother and Father with what I assumed to be a daughter of about 11 and one of about 14 or 15. Both girls were dressed in a "teenage" style, one with pale blue patch-work denim jeans and a multi-coloured sweater and the younger in a denim mini-skirt and long lavender shirt which hung down past the skirt's waistband. They held themselves differently to Samantha of course - they were more like Barbara and I in their mannerisms - though the younger girl did grab her Dad's hand as they left. They were really quite boring. I took Barbara's number as I made my own plans to exit. I wasn't sure why I suggested it, other than I was completely sure I needed it. She was happy to oblige, obviously thinking she'd found another school-gate Mummy to gossip with, and as I left Samantha, no longer as shy, offered me a cheery, "Good-bye!" It was spat out in such a girly way that it melted my heart and almost froze me to the spot, were it not for the angry waitresses trying to get passed with her plates of hamburgers and luke-warm chips. Like a ship attracted to the lighthouse in the distance, I headed back to Beattie's. The girl's toys aisles were my destination of course, though I was disappointed to find it almost empty, save for a harried looking Mother perhaps searching for her daughter's birthday present and for a bored looking sales assistant re-stocking a bin of colourful teddy-bears. I found the "new" Barbies myself, in a display at the end of one of the aisles. The pink boxes stacked together in such magnitude were almost too much to look at, but I still took the box from the very top and inspected the doll inside. What was so "new" about her was hard to tell, until I read the blurb at the bottom of the box which told us, in very excitable fonts, that the doll could talk! Or had a range of 15 exciting phrases, at least. Naturally I was desperate to buy it, and could only wonder happily what Nathan would think of his newest toy, but I knew it felt too much. Besides, there was something nearby which made far more sense, so within seconds I found myself at the foot of the large Sparkles Ponies display, face to face with row after row of colourfully haired horses. I thought about buying it all. Of buying each of the ponies and all of the little accessories that came with them. I thought about buying the Sparkle Ponies themed playhouse and thought of Nathan perched in-front of it in his little nightie, playing horsies before bed. I even thought about buying the adorable, and loudly coloured, Pony themed play-dresses which hung at the end of the aisle and as I held the frothy skirt in my hand was delighted to find they went up to size 11-12, more than big enough for Nathan, but with much needed sense I pulled myself away from it. I settled on two other things instead. After reading a poster informing that the shop could personalise a pony for a small charge, I picked up the most populous pony, which announced itself on the box as Lady Sparke(I'd heard the name in the film) and asked the girl at the till to add a glittery N to the doll's body. She looked at my oddly and checked at least twice that I only wanted an N, "we can add your daughter's whole name," she said, tiring of my odd choice, but I knew better than to push my luck. The inscribing would take an hour or so, so I took the time to re-visit the clothing section in C&A where, in a moment of sheer delight, I picked out a new night-set for my very strange husband - a lemon yellow Sparkle Ponies nightdress with a pink haired pony splashed across the front and a two tiered skirt that I knew would suit Nathan to a tee. I chose it because the pony's name was Shybaby, which seemed terribly appropriate, and because he was lacking in something other than purple or pink to wear to bed. Sitting on the steps outside the shopping centre, after I'd picked up the inscribed Pony and laid it in the bag next to Nathan's newest nightie, I spent a good hour or so watching people pass by, some with children, some not. But every time a Mother passed by with a girl in tow I felt a stab in the heart not unlike the first time I'd kissed a boy, and slowly I became quite, quite sure of at least one thing. I wanted the world to see Nathan. I had to work slowly, but now with an actual goal in mind I was able to better plan out my next few steps. The very first had been to take away four of his sci-fi paperbacks he'd stored on the shelf above his bed and replace it with the inscribed Lady Sparkle doll. Oh how he hated that thing! It wasn't hard to understand why. The knickers and nightie in his draw and wardrobe were at least hidden away, but the same couldn't be said for the colourful pony staring down at him at all times. I gave him a new task, still trotting out the line about it being good practice for playing with Emilia. While he watched the film in the evening, he'd take Lady from the shelf and act out a few scenes while they were happening. This took a LOT of encouragement on my part, and quite a few replays of the film each night until I was satisfied, but sure enough he eventually got himself into the habit of scooting around the floor with the pony in one hand, whispering the lines of the film as they happened. It was delightful to see. As spring progressed and slowly turned into the early stages of summer, so did Nathan fall more firmly into his new routines. Friday was sleepover night of course, but now he was expected to dress himself and sit himself down at the vanity for me to do his hair. I would always check that he'd picked a pair of knickers to match his nightie, yellow Shybaby knickers for his Shybaby nightie, or "Princess" knickers with his pink shorts and t-shirt. I hadn't known each nightie and pair of knickers were themed with each pony, but I was delighted to find out it was the case. Though he knew he was prohibited from wearing the same outfit two weeks in a row, over time he seemed to gravitate towards the Shybaby outfit, perhaps because it was only non-pink item, but I also couldn't help but wonder if, deep down, he most associated with the apparently quiet and nervous pony. May brought his birthday, and he could barely have been surprised to receive a second inscribed doll, this time a white "Snowie" pony with a glittery A on the side, but also, and this was pushing it slightly, a second Sparkle Ponies film and a Sparkle Ponies colouring book with a range of girlishly coloured crayons. Finally he was blessed with an orange "Clementine" themed nightie, which was much the same style as his Shybaby one and which would match his orange "Clementine" knickers. "Oh thanks," he said softly, which I deemed completely unacceptable. "Nathan," I said harshly, arms folded across the chest, "do you think that's how Emilia would react to those presents?" "But why do I have to...." he began, staring down at the ground and shaking his head. "Because your performance has been sorely lacking recently," I shot back, "and with summer coming up you're going to be spending six whole weeks with Emilia. Now, you'll rush over to me and say thank you Mummy, not forgetting to give me a big kiss." I was surprised to find him remain where he was, his head still shaking. "Nathan?" I said, in most matronly tone. "NO!" he shot back, his voice loud and full of anger in way that almost sent me falling backwards, "I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS! I DON'T WANT TO BE EMILIA'S FRIEND, AND I DON'T WANT TO PLAY WITH GIRL'S TOYS OR WEAR GIRL'S CLOTHES! I'M A MAN, FOR GOD'S SAKE! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THAT YOU...YOU...." "Nathan!" I gasped, hand over my mouth. "What's happened to you?" "YOU'VE HAPPENED, THAT'S WHAT! AND THAT HORRIBLE WOMAN NEXT DOOR! AND THAT STUPID LITTLE GIRL WHO ACTUALLY THINKS I'M HER FRIEND! I ABSOLUTELY REFUSE TO WATCH THAT STUPID FILM EVER AGAIN, AND I DEMAND YOU PUT MY BOOKS BACK RIGHT NOW!" His face had turned a shade of red I didn't think was possible in a normal human being, almost like a tomato being squeezed from the centre. "I HATE THOSE FUCKING PONIES," he continued, standing up now, "AND I WILL NOT WEAR KNICKERS AGAIN! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? I'M 36 YEARS OLD TODAY TABITHA! 36 YEARS OLD!" he averted his eyes away from mine and back at the ground, "and I'm a man," he repeated, sighing, "a man. Not some little girl." I wasn't particularly angry at his outburst, in-fact I was surprised it hadn't happened already, and so I already knew how to react. Feigning a similar, angry disgust that I had in response to the letter, I quickly grabbed him by the hand and began to pull him toward the door, "that's it, I've had enough of you," I said two or three times, "if you won't do this for me then you're of absolutely no use." Opening the door as he continued to complain, I pushed him out into the front garden, where he nearly stumbled over the flowerbed along the path. "What are you doing?" he cried, loud enough for the neighbours to hear. "Go." I replied coldly. "I don't want you here anymore." "Go? Go where?" he said, the anger replaced by a look of sheer panic. "I don't care in the slightest. You're a big MAN though, so you should have no problems looking after yourself." "Oh come on," he whined, looking awfully small as he started to nervously twirl a strand of hair in his fingers - a trait developed in the last few weeks. "Goodbye Nathan. Let me know where you end up so I can send the divorce papers." He called out another desperate "NO!" as I locked and closed the door. Of course I didn't want him to go - it would have devastated me - but I was perfectly sure such a thing would never happen, confirmed by his tiny knock at the door only thirty seconds later, and by his very contrite appearance as he shuffled on the doorstep, still twiddling his ginger hair. "I'm sorry, really," he said, complete panic in his voice, "please let me back in." "Hmm," I replied, arms still folded across the chest. "Please!" he said, starting to cry. "Well..maybe. But first you need to say sorry properly." He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry Mummy." "And your birthday presents?" "Oh they're wonderful, really," he exclaimed, launching into his best impression of Emilia, "I really love them!" I hadn't planned on making him do anything that day - in fact I thought it reasonable to let him read his books or watch TV - but with opportunity presenting itself I said, "and you'll spend the morning watching your new film and playing with your new pony?" He looked momentarily hurt at the suggestion but quickly turned Emilia back on. "Oh yes, I promise!" Still trembling with fright as I led him back to his room, he stood perfectly still and without question as I pulled off his jeans and t- shirt, leaving him standing quite naked in-front of me with one hand hiding his tiny willy, before I pulled out the orange knickers from his wardrobe and slipped them up his legs. Then, while he continued to cry self-pitying tears, I unwrapped his new Clementine nightie and lowered it over his head. Then, without bothering to take him to the vanity, I pulled his hair into two ever larger bunches, decorated with long white ribbons. "There," I said, twirling him around, "now you can show me just how much you really love your presents. If not, you can bloody well leave!" "No, please!" he replied, wild of eye as I handed him both My Little Ponies. "For the morning, or until I think you're truly sorry for that outburst, we're going to forget that it's really your 36th birthday today," I took a deep breath and tried to contain my excitement, "instead, you'll bloody well pretend to be a little girl on her 7th birthday. Understood?" "Yes Mummy," he sobbed. "So tell me, how old are you today?" "Seven," he replied. "Seven what?" "Seven Mummy." "And will you be a good girl this morning?" This pained him, but the sight in-front of me was really just that - a naughty, crying little girl holding two Sparkle Ponies and with a Lucy doll at her feet. "Yes, I'll be good." "A good what?" "A good...girl," he whispered. "No, say it like Emilia would please," I commanded, shaking my head. He closed his eyes before replying excitedly, if still with a voice laden with emotion, "Yes, I'll be a good girl Mummy." He must have heard Emilia say similar a hundred times, and so I could only wonder at the humiliation of having to say the same thing, especially when so girlishly dressed. I gave him a bit matronly hug as I left but checked up on him multiple times during the morning, each time finding a little girl acting out scenes from the colourful film in-front of her while rushing around the room in her brightly coloured nightie. As further punishment I had him leave the orange knickers on when we popped over to Ashley's for lunch - they looked ridiculous under his men's jeans of course - and I spied them over his waistband once or twice as he and Emilia played hide and seek in the garden. Ashley was sat next to me in a sun lounger, her long tanned legs protruding from a pair of very small white shorts. "There's a new restaurant opened in town. An Italian. I thought we could go one night." "Love to," I replied, "though if you could wait a few weeks that'd be great." "Of course," she replied, "it'll take a while get a table anyway." I didn't tell her my reasons for wanting to wait, mostly because I feared they'd sound silly. I just knew that I could no longer stand the thought of Nathan "babysitting" Emilia - such an idea repulsed me in fact - and so I needed some time to enlist further help. And I knew just who to turn to. Rainbow was his next pony, bought on a random trip into town just before the summer break, and the first one purchased with Nathan in attendance. For the shopping expedition I'd made him wear knickers under his clothes, an increasingly common occurrence when I felt it necessary, and it delighted me to embarrass him by saying, "I bet that little girl is wearing knickers just like yours," when a small girl would pass by with her Mother. "Stop it," he'd always hiss, face reddening. Afterwards we visited the swimming baths. This was something we'd started doing frequently, sometimes with Ashley and Emilia and sometimes just us, and Nathan was horrified at the thought of having to store his knickers in the men's lockers. "What if someone sees?" he whined. "Just don't let them," I replied. I didn't want to send him off to the men's changing rooms of course. I wanted to drag him into the women's room with me, just like other Mum's were taking their little girls in there, but it was enough for now to make him visit the baths for the first time while wearing his Princess knickers. I enjoyed how small he looked in his plain back swimming trunks, no more well endowed than any of the little boys swimming in the shallow end, and while he a surprising swift and strong swimmer I had him stay in the lower half of the pool, even when I went swimming off to the deep end. There, lost amongst the little boys in their trunks and the little girls in their bright swimsuits and swimming caps, he looked very much at home. On quite a few occasions he had to swim out of the way of a Mother or Father teaching a tot in pink or blue inflatable arm rings, and I was quite sure they'd think him a little boy, albeit one with surprisingly long hair. I was running out of time if my plans for the summer were really going to come to fruition, and while I was always mindful not to push Nathan too far, I was also well aware that his little birthday outburst had left him quite unable to refuse anything I commanded. Not when the threat of being locked out loomed so hugely. So it was that I called Lisa into my office the following Monday and asked, somewhat falteringly, if she'd like some babysitting work to supplement her incomings. She looked surprised at first, and perhaps a little hurt that I'd offer such a demeaning task for someone so capable, but that was quickly assuaged by telling her that I needed someone very responsible, and that I'd pay ?5 an hour - a huge sum. "I knew you were married but I didn't know you had children?" she said. I felt a surge of adrenalin. "Well, it's not quite what you think. Lisa," I said, voice dropping to a whisper, "I'm paying you so much for a reason. This isn't a normal babysitting job. Can you keep a secret?" So I told her. Everything. I had no idea how she'd react. She looked confused at first, and then more than a little shocked, before going quiet for a while she considered the situation. "So, just to be clear. You want me to pretend your husband...God, this is bizarre....you want me to pretend he's a 7 year old girl?" "That's right," I said softly, nodding. I don't think she really understood the reasons as I outlined them, but I was quite sure she'd keep it to herself. She'd been discreet about all other matters, surprisingly so for a 16 year old girl. When she accepted the job I simply thanked her and told her to arrive at Ashley's house for around 7pm that evening. "The...girls....will be dressed for be already," I told her, not quite able to believe what I was saying. Nathan, reading one of his books when I arrived, was surprised to find himself taken upstairs with urgency when I arrived home, and irritated when I began to dress him in his yellow Shybaby nightie and knickers, as well as his frilly yellow socks, along with the message that he'd be staying with Emilia for the night while Ashley and I went to dinner. "Babysitting? On a Monday?" he moaned, fiddling with the hem of his nightie until it sat straight on his legs and then twirling his hair in his fingers. "Well, not really. You see, Ashley and I have been talking, and we think that Emilia probably needs an actual grown up to look after her. She's been rather naughty lately." "I'm an "actual" grown up," he said, the words sounding hollow as I put his hair into bunches. "Oh don't be silly," I laughed, "you know, it always looks like Emilia's babysitting YOU, not the other way around." "Well she isn't!" "Doesn't matter," I told him as headed downstairs, "a girl from work is going to come round to help. You'll like her, her name is Lisa." "What!" he cried, pulling backwards as reached the hallway, "you're not serious, surely? And hold on a moment, why do I have to go at all if you've already got a babysitter for Emilia." "Because, Nattie," I'd never called him that before but I liked it straight away, "even if you're no use to us as a babysitter, you can still be Emilia's playmate. Just now, you'll have an ACTUAL babysitter there in-case you two get into trouble." "That's ridiculous," he yelled, looking quite terrified, "I can't have someone see me like this!" "Why on earth not, baby?" I said, giving him a hug, "I told Lisa that you were my 7 year old daughter Natalie. And Ashley is telling Emilia to play along with it too." "Because she'll know I'm not a 7 year old!" Nathan cried out. "Oh really?" I replied, pushing him in front of the mirror, "what'll give it away? The hair in cute bunches, or they frilly ankle socks? Maybe it'll be you playing dollies with your friend that'll do it? Or your pretty nightie?" "Oh my God," Nathan replied, perhaps realising for the first time that I was serious. "And if you don't want her to know I'd suggest putting on your best little girl voice and your best little girl mannerisms all evening." Introducing him to Lisa was possibly the greatest thrill of my life. The girl played her part perfectly, telling "Natalie" that she was a pretty girl and that she liked her nightie, before the "girls" rushed upstairs to Emilia's bedroom with Lisa's warning in their ears to behave nicely. "Oh God," Lisa whispered, "you weren't joking, were you? He looks so little. So...girlish." I spent the evening enjoying the food and the company - Ashley looked gorgeous in a red dress and matching heels - and the pair of us couldn't help but laugh momentarily at poor Nathan's fate. "He looked absolutely mortified," Ashley said, "but that red face only serves to make him even more girly." We'd booked Lisa until 12, and so with dinner finished by 10 we headed to a bar, and then another bar, and then another bar. By half eleven Ashley was quite drunk, most evidenced by her tendency to break out into a show-tune at any moment, but I still felt stone-cold sober, with Nathan still at the front of my mind. "The "girls" are fast asleep," Lisa whispered when we arrived home, the girl sitting on the living room couch and reading a collection of Robert Frost poetry. I took Ashley up to bed straight away, where as I helped her out of her dress and into a nightgown I couldn't help but touch her soft, warm stomach, a touch she was too drunk to feel. Back downstairs with Lisa I was treated to a blow by blow account of the evening, which Lisa relayed in hushed tones and a look of amazement etched on her face. "She bosses him completely," she said, "I've never seen anything like it. If she says it's time for juice, they have juice. If she wants to play Barbies, they play Barbies. And they way he shuffles about after her? He looks like a little sister, or he would if he weren't taller." She broke out into a smirk, "and then, when I was taking his hair out of the bunches, he starts singing the Sparkle Ponies theme! I wanted to burst out laughing, but instead told him it was very nice." "He was terrified of being found out," I smiled. "The amazing part is, if he were a foot or so shorter you could pass him off a four or five year old no problem. He's really that childish." I thought of little Samantha, and smiled that Lisa would think my husband as the same age. A 4 or 5 year old! It thrilled me to the core. "Why is he so small anyway?" "Not sure. He told me once that he'd been sick as a child. Never pressed the issue." Thanking her as she left, I found myself heading up to Ashley's room rather than leaving and then, fully clothed, I took a place next to my next door neighbour under the embroidered quilt, wrapping my arms around her body. I didn't know why I was there, or what I wanted to do, other than I wanted to be there, with her, and not at home. With the washing cycle getting me down, a further trip to town left Nathan the owner of a very bright, multi-coloured "Ophelia" short and t- shirt night set, and deciding to keep him on his toes I picked up a pack of six princess themed Disney knickers, which he looked at thoroughly dismayed when they were added to his pile. "I'm not keeping two sets of underwear going," I told him, taking away his plain briefs that I so hated, "you'll wear your knickers at all times from now on. Understood?" "Please don't," he whinged like a little girl having her favourite toy taken away, but it really wasn't that big a change when you considered he now wore knickers all weekend (for when he played with Emilia) and on the nights Lisa babysat, which was becoming more frequent. But I knew it was time to push one step further, and had decided the swimming baths were a perfect place to do so. I'd seen a few little boys be taken into the women's changing rooms by their Mother, and Nathan squeezed my hand ever so tightly when, quite unannounced, I simply told him that he'd get changed with us. "Oh God," he whispered. Not that anyone cared. Within seconds were in a cubicle with Ashley and Emilia next door, and I noted how Nathan's hand trembled terribly as he pulled off his trousers and jumper. Perhaps it was seeing me naked again after such a long time, but such things seemed ridiculous to care about given other events. It was when he reached into the change bag to find his trunks that he eyes widened. "Where are they Mummy?" he said in a panic, his naked body covered in goosebumps. "You didn't pack them?" "Me?" he said. "I thought you did that..." "Of course," I replied, shaking my head, "you want to be treated like a grown up but you expect ME to everything." "What will we do?" he asked, eyes full of panic once more. "Hmm, wait there. I'll check the lost and found." "What? No!" he hissed, but it was too late. I didn't need to check the lost and found of course. Instead, a smirking Ashley simply handed me the pink swimsuit from her changing bag, a suit with a row of frills on the bum that was clearly meant for a very young girl, more childish even than Emilia's black suit, and with an in-on-it Emilia also giggling, I re-emerged into the cubicle. "That's all I could find," I said sharply. He gasped at the item, but was even more shocked when I knelt down and, with only a small amount of manoeuvring, pushed his tiny testicles back up into his body. Then, quite wordlessly and clinically, I took a swim plaster from my changing bag and pushed the padded item firmly over his willy. All that was left after that was to have him step into the girl's swimsuit, which he did with great tenderness and while breathing heavily, and to pull it up over his chest, where it was left clingy snugly, but not noticeable so, to his still trembling torso. Even more incredibly, with the plaster hiding his manhood, there was nothing on show down there except the same perfect smoothness any of our swimsuits displayed. "Oh my God," he whispered, as I placed a pink cap over his hair. "This is your fault," I said, "now, you better get into girl mode and quickly. That means staying at the shallow end with Emilia and playing with the inflatables like the other children." "I'm going to be sick," he said. "No you're not." But I was aware that it was his first foray in the real world as "Natalie," as I so desperate to see how he'd do, "your best bet is to be as girlish as you can. Just like with Lisa. When I open the cubicle door I'd advise that you grab Emilia's hand and skip with her to the pool. And if I don't hear you squealing like the other little girls I'm going to be most annoyed." Ashley and I could only watch in amazement as Nathan did just as he was told, with even Emilia amazed at his gusto. He didn't even seem to notice the topless women heading into the shower and no-one seemed to pay him a second glance. Not when he throwing the ball around with a group of other little boys and girls, and not when a lifeguard told them off for dunking each other's heads under the water. What really ticked me though was what happened after twenty minutes or so, when the children split in a group of boys and a group of girls, as children invariably do. The boys continued to play with the ball, acting out football matches or roughly pushing each other, while the seven or so young girls, my husband somehow crazily amongst their number, sat with their legs dangling into the pool, giggling and chatting. Nathan wasn't even the tallest amongst them - that honour went to two of the older girls of 11 or 12 - and so he seemed completely enveloped in their little girly world, just another pink swimsuit and giggling girl. "You had fun, didn't you?" I asked him when back in the cubicle, with both of us as naked as the day were born apart from the plaster over Nathan's groin, which when he tried to remove I swotted his hand away from. He looked hurt and confused, but didn't offer any argument as I handed him a pair of fresh Barbie princess knickers from my change bag for to put on. With his little man tucked away he now looked as girlish as Emilia down there, and I could tell he was thinking the same from the horrified look on his face. "I didn't enjoy it. I hated every horrible second," he pouted. "You're becoming quite the little madam, aren't you?" I mocked, casting the tiniest of glimpses down at his knickers. "I am not!" he pouted, arms across his bare chest. "You know what. I'm tired of having a boy with us today. It was so much more fun for Emilia when she had her little girlfriend to keep her company." "Well that's tough," he said, "now where are my trousers?" "Well, we'll just see about that. Ashley," I called into the next cubicle, "did you bring a change of clothes for Emilia today?" "I did," she replied, "why?" "Because Natalie here forget to pack HERSELF something to change into." "Only this little sundress," Ashley replied, propping a sleeveless yellow dress over the top of the wall, "I brought it in-case she got too hot." "I don't mind her borrowing it," Emilia chirped. "No!" Nathan gushed. Of course, Ashley and I had planned this well in advance. The dress wasn't actually Emilia's, we'd bought it the previous weekend careful to remove the size label, but it was close enough in style to a little yellow sundress that Emilia did own for anyone to notice. That Ashley had also packed a pair of white flip flops as well, and that they slid so easily on Nathan's feet, should have given the game away. But he was in far too much of a state of shock at having the pretty dress lowered over his knickers to care, where it comfortable hung off his body and around his thin legs. "This is Emilia's," he said in wonderment at the ease of fit and looking down at his very girlish appearance. "Yes it is," I replied, "you must be losing weight. It's all that playing. "I....I...." I didn't know what Nathan wanted to say and didn't much care. Instead I told him that he'd need to be on his best "girly" behaviour once more, and that's what's more, he better well act like a little girl should when with their Mummy. "That means holding my hand when we're crossing a road, and skipping as you go." "Skipping?" he said, as I fussed with the bottom of his dress and as he nervously twirled his hair in his fingers once more. It was this that made me realise I hadn't attended to his hair, which I did so in double quick time, "yes, skipping. And when we go to lunch you'll act just like a little girl should. You'll do the colouring in with Emilia and you'll be as loud and chatty as you can possibly muster." Emilia was delighted at the sight of her playmate in a pretty dress, and the sight was made even cuter by the girl being dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt rather than a skirt. We headed to Wendy's, where I chose the same table as Barbara had sat with her children, and where we were served by the same bored looking young waitress who, without question, handed both Emilia and Nathan a colouring in chart. One problem both Ashley and I spotted was that Nathan was completely uncomfortable with sitting in a dress, especially one so short when he sat down. He did make a couple of attempts to push his knees together in a girlish fashion, but more than once he got a little over-excited while giggling with Emilia (can you believe such a thing?) which would invariably lead to his little dress riding up too high and giving off a view of his Barbie knickers, a fact with Emilia was always quick to point out. "I can see your knick-knicks," she'd giggle, at which point a mortified Nathan would sort himself out. "That's what I say to her when she sits spread-eagled," Ashley whispered. The final stop on Natalie's big reveal to the world, which had gone quite swimmingly all things considered, was a quick stop at the play area of the park, a sight which Nathan winced in pain at the sight of. There, just like at the pool, he seemed to naturally gravitate to the group of girls around the climbing frame, and when it came to his turn to go down the slide he shot me a very quick glance before hopping his way over to it. His pink Barbie "knick-knicks" were displayed over and over again as he found himself pushed on the swings or climbing on the frame, but no-one much cared. Why would they? "I can't believe you did that," he said when we finally returned home. "Oh stop it," I replied, smiling, "you were completely wonderful. If anyone says they saw anything but a cute little girl they'd be lying." "But I don't want to be a cute little girl!" he said, somewhat redundantly. And yet, we both knew, that's exactly what he was becoming. Only, I wasn't sure he understood just how LITTLE a girl.