In the summer of 1958, a very naïve 13 year old boy was on his way home from school when he felt the call of nature. It was me, of course. A few minutes later, sitting on a public toilet seat, I heard strange noises behind me and on turning round, I saw a piece of paper being thrust in and out of a hole in the wall.

Being so naïve, I had no idea what these holes were for, but curiosity got the better of me and I peeped through. What I saw was the bottom half of a woman, holding up her brown tweed skirt, playing with herself – or , as I thought, scratching an itch!

After a few minutes, she left the cubicle and shortly afterwards, I finished my business and also left the toilet. But I had only walked a few yards when I felt a tug on my arm and a woman’s voice saying: “Just you wait a moment, young man!”

I turned and immediately recognised the brown skirt. In it was a buxom woman who seemed old to me but was probably not yet 40. She was wearing a brown tweed suit with a cream nylon blouse. Her brown hair was tied in a bun and she was wearing glasses. I later found out that she was an Art Teacher at the local Girls’ convent school. “What do you want?”, I asked, timidly.

“You dirty little beast!” she yelled, “you were spying on me in the toilet, weren’t you?”

“I’m sorry Miss, I didn’t mean to!” I spluttered, getting quite frightened now as she held my arm in a vice like grip.

“Right,” she said, “you can either come with me and have a good talking to, or I’ll call the police and let them deal with you. What do you want to do?”

Well, now I was terrified! I didn’t want her to call the police – what would my parents say? So I fell into her well laid trap and told her I would go with her to be told off.

“Very well”, she said sternly, but with the trace of a smile, “get into my car and I will take you to my home”

We both sat in silence in her old black Morris 1000 for the ten minutes it took to get to where she lived which was a large block of flats. As I got out of her car, she again grabbed me by my arm and marched me into the building with a curt “Come along!” It was then that I thought of making a run for it, but she held me with a fierce grip which made it impossible. We took the lift to the sixth floor and then down a corridor to number 604. I shall never forget that number!

Once inside her flat, she turned on me again. “You dirty little boy”, she said. “How dare you spy on me!”……“Please Miss …. Ow! … you’re hurting my arm!”

“I’ll do more than that,” she said, “you have been very naughty and you must be punished! Remove your trousers and pants. You’re going to get six of the best!” She then ‘helped’ me to remove my clothing, dragged me over to a chair which she sat on, pulling me over her lap and produced a cane with which she commenced my punishment.

I was very confused. The pain was excruciating and tears were  falling down my face. But, at the same time, I was experiencing another feeling down below, for the first time, which was kind of exciting, and only too obvious to my tormentor!

“You disgusting boy”, she snarled, looking directly at my embarrassing member. “You need a bath”, she added. “It will cool your ardour and also help to ease the pain, Get the rest of your clothes off and come with me to the bathroom.” she said. In the bathroom, I stood before her naked as she ran the bath, pouring some very scented bath oils into the water. “Get in and wash yourself, you dirty little boy!”

She left me to bathe for ten minutes but soon returned with a sponge with which she proceeded to ‘cleanse’ me all over. She also performed other acts on me – but that’s another story. Suffice to say, it did nothing to dampen my excitement below! Then she wrapped a scented towel around me and told me to dry myself. She left a blue satin dressing gown which she told me to put on when I was dry and then join her for some tea. I did as I was told. The satin felt so cool and soft against my skin – another new and exciting experience.

I returned to the drawing room, smelling like a French prostitute! She beckoned me towards her. “Doesn’t that feel better?” she asked. “Yes, Miss” I replied. “You must call me Miss Thomas” she added. “Yes, Miss Thomas” I meekly obeyed. She had changed into a nightdress and negligee, pink chiffon over nylon, and she had let her hair down. It was very long – hanging below her waist. “Do you like my satin gown?” she asked. “Yes, Miss Thomas” I replied, not knowing what else to say. “Good”, she purred, “because I have another surprise for you. First, though, we must do something about your naughty friend here.” So saying, she tapped my embarrassment which was protruding through the gown.

She produced a pair of panties. Not soft nylon or silk ones, but the elastic support type. “Put these on while I get you your clothes to wear” she commanded, “they’ll hide Mr. Naughty”. Again, I did as she said. The panties were very tight and did indeed hide ‘Mr. Naughty’. I was expecting her to bring my school clothes back , but, to my horror, she returned with a yellow party dress and other paraphernalia! “Put these on” she ordered …….. “But I can’t wear those….they’re girls’ clothes!” …….“Do you want another caning!” she hissed. …..“Oh, no, Miss! Please!” ……“Very well then, do as you are told! Come here and I will help you”

With that, my resistance folded and she helped me into a white satin bra which she stuffed with nylons. Next came a matching suspender belt to which she attached a pair of sheer nylons. Then she held open a yellow net petticoat for me to step into, pulled it up to my waist and fluffed it out to its fullest. Over this came a white nylon slip with satin shoulder straps and three layers of chiffon over a paper nylon base. Then she pulled the dress over my head and zipped me up at the back. The dress was bright yellow with a full satin skirt overlaid with yellow chiffon with lots of flounces at the bottom. Finally, she gave me a pair of white, high heeled shoes which were slightly too big which made it difficult for me to walk in – or maybe it was the fact that I had never worn high heels before!

“Give me a twirl” said Miss Thomas. I just stood there, dying of embarrassment! “How does it feel?” she asked. Once again, my emotions were completely confused with this new experience. I had to admit that it did feel kind of sensual, and ‘Mr. Naughty’ was fighting a losing battle against his constraints! But all I could manage was a barely audible “Nice, Miss.”

Miss Thomas then took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom where she sat me on the edge of her bed. “Soon, you’re going to look like a real girl” she said excitedly, as she began to apply lots of make-up to my face. When she was satisfied with her work, she got a blonde wig out of her wardrobe and positioned it gently on my head. She stepped back to admire her work, grinning all over her face. “Oh, my!” she exclaimed, “you are absolutely gorgeous!” She led me to a full length mirror and I could not believe my eyes! Staring back at me with a mixture of horror, amazement and admiration was a reflection which simply just could not be me. But it was! Miss Thomas was right. I was absolutely beautiful! Miss Thomas was certainly a brilliant artist! I could not resist a soft “Wow!”

She led me back to the drawing room and produced a camera and took several photos of me. Then she sat next to me and said “By the way, what is your name?” ….“Peter,” I lied. “Oh really,” she smirked. “ I think not! You see, Keith, I looked through your satchel so I know your name, what school you go to and where you live!” She went on, “I don’t like that name. It doesn’t suit you. From now on you will be called Sylvia, ok?” My only answer was to squirm with embarrassment. “Tell me again, what is your name, young lady?” …..“Sylvia” I replied quietly. ……“Good girl!” she exclaimed. “Now then, Sylvia. I’ve decided that in order to curb those nasty little thoughts and habits you had as a disgusting little boy, you need lots of training to turn you into a lovely young lady. So, you will come here every Saturday afternoon so that I can complete your transformation. Do you understand?” ……“Oh no Miss,. I can’t ….” She cut me short. “Look, Sylvia, if you don’t do exactly as I say, I will send these photos to your parents and your school. Now, will you visit me every Saturday or not?”

It finally dawned on me that I was completely trapped. I had no choice but to succumb to Miss Thomas’s demands. My token resistance crumbled as I accepted the inevitable and replied feebly “ Yes, Miss Thomas. I will visit you every week.

"Oh jolly good!” she smiled. “I will teach you how to dress properly, how to walk gracefully and many other things. You will be my niece, Sylvia, and we will go out shopping together. You must call me Aunt Louise, ok?

And so it was that I became Sylvia and have been ever since. I soon overcame my embarrassment as a girl and began to really look forward to my Saturday afternoons with Aunt Louise whom I came to love very dearly. True to her word, she coached me in all things feminine and although I say it myself, with her help, I became a very beautiful lady with no shortage of admirers. I later discovered that Aunt Louise was bisexual and sometimes would invite one of her favourite pupils to join us during our many weekends together over the next few years. I fell in love with one in particular, Jane, a blonde like me. Aunt Louise encouraged the relationship which, again, is another long story not for here. Let’s just say that all my first sexual awakenings were as Sylvia with Jane and Aunt Louise and as you probably all know, these first experiences lay down the blueprint for the rest of your life, which is why my love of net petticoats is a lifelong affair.

Jane disappeared from our lives after a few months, but my relationship with Aunt Louise went on for several years and with her guidance, I became a fine, beautiful woman. Unfortunately, Aunt Louise departed this life many years ago, But I will never forget that I owe my very existence to her.

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