PETTICOATING ADMINISTERED MEDICALLY - PART FOUR

Dear Auntie Helga,

I have not been able to write for some time and I have had a lot of enforced free time to think about why I like your website and newsletters so much. I guess like a lot of us, I always felt like I was the only one with these thoughts and needs? Only as I have got older, have I realised that I have more needs than just spanking. Like being a child again, wearing knickers and so on. This seemed such an odd combination that I was very afraid I must be the only one in the world and I struggled terribly with these needs for so many years alone. Then I found your website and discovered that not only are my needs not that unusual after all, but even the combination of them is common enough that your cater for all of them at the same time.

I am aware though that I might not be quite the same as many of your other readers, having ended up like this through quite a different route to most I expect? I have had these interests and needs since my earliest childhood memories. Although it has taken me many decades to understand things even as well as I do now. I do not think Aunty Helga would allow many of the details, so please forgive me for skimming over so much of the early stuff.

I was not wanted by my parents and I was abused. The abuse was extensive and more severe than anything the doctors and professionals have come across before and the child lived. One of the major parts were the beatings. My Father usually beating my buttocks. Due to this I was always very interested in spanking, doing the usual childish thing of looking the word up in every dictionary and encyclopedia I could find. Perhaps because of the pain, I always wanted the thickest and fluffiest things possible to wear on my bottom. Sometimes I would wear multiple pairs of underpants as I felt 'better' (safer?) with lots of padding covering my behind.

I came to hate the ultra-macho because of my Father and I found I neither had, nor wanted anything in common with 'manly' things. I started wearing really soft and fluffy pyjama pants under my school trousers as they made me feel better and eased the pain. Soon I was wearing them every day to school. As I grew up, I started wondering what it would be like to be spanked lovingly by a nice woman, instead of the beatings by my Father? Then the opportunity presented itself.

It was at school, I got detention from the headmistress for something I felt was beyond my control. I greatly resented being punished for something that was not my fault and I must have been in a strange mood, because I found myself arguing with her. I was usually shy and reticent, so she was all the more outraged and sent me to her room. I knew that meant only one thing, that she intended giving me the strap on my hands. I would not let that happen. I became aware of the very soft seat of my pyjamas against my bottom as I moved. It made me think again of being spanked like that, wearing those wonderfully soft, fluffy pyjamas over my bottom, and then I had a bad idea.

When the headmistress came back, she got the strap and came towards me. I looked at her and just said 'no'. She was not in the mood for me to defend myself for a second time and became even more angry. I remained calm and explained that I was supposed to be practicing my instrument for the school concert, and that I could not do that if she hit my hands. She got the idea right away and told me to bend over instead. I remember the sarcasm as she told me 'You won't need that to practice for the concert.' I tried to not let my joy show as I bent over and thought how wonderful it would be to feel her hand spanking me in the seat of wonderful pyjamas. I could almost feel her hand resting on my cheeks in my imagination, but I was wrong, very, very wrong.

She called an assistant in, as there was always supposed to be a witness. Feeling really embarrassed, I had not thought about that, but it was another female member of staff who came in. I imagined her staring at my bottom, waiting to see it hurt. Then the headmistress got out a cane. I had never been hit with a cane and it was not what I wanted. I won't got into the details, but it hurt too much to be enjoyable. Although nothing like as bad as the beatings at home, I couldn't just stay still and be hit. It ended up in a struggle, with me being held down by the assistant.

When it was over, she seemed even more angry than ever and asked what I was making all the fuss about? She did not know anything about my home life and she said something I can never forget. She said I made more fuss about being caned than any of the girls ever did. I left her office, stunned not only that the girls were sometimes caned, but that I was not only a sissy as my Father said, but that I was actually too soft 'even for a girl.' This was the start of my real feelings of being worthless and a failure.

My pyjamas were stuck to me, as I had bled where the cane had cut me. I was so disgusted with myself for how I had shamed myself, that I supposed the headmistress had caned me that much harder for making such a fuss. It would be decades before I would discover the truth. Walking was painful, but I went home and hid from my parents what had happened.

My weight continued to rise over the next years. It was a constant battle in which I knew there must be something wrong, because I was not eating that many calories. The doctors never believed me, but I knew the truth. I did not know that uncontrolled weight gain was a symptom of stress hormones over a prolonged period of time. I decided that I was too big and that I was going to loose weight for the sake of my health. This time I would loose weight and keep it off, so that I would not get seriously ill. The dieting became a permanent thing, but while I lost weight, the more weight weight I lost, the more pains and other health problems started. My health continued deteriorating and there were many visits to doctors and hospitals. The final discovery was that my health problems are all due to the abuse, although this took another decade to find out, as for all but the last two years, I was not able to talk to any of the doctors or specialists about my childhood.

I am now permanently disabled with badly disfigured buttocks. I has always believed their shape and problems were due to being fat as my deceased father had always said, but not so. The beatings have left the skin covering my bottom so damaged that the hems and seams on underpants tear my skin, causing bleeding. Knickers are much more stretchy and softer. They are the only thing I can safely wear now. That was the start of my always wearing them. That also explained why the caning had gone so badly and why it left me bleeding. It was my mother of all people who bought me my first pair of knickers. She saw the blood soaking through my clothes when I was loosing weight and she was frightened that I had injured myself? I had to explain that it was happening more frequently as I lost weight.

At that time we thought it was because I was still so fat that the hems on the legs and the centre hem were rubbing the skin from me. Boxers were even worse than Y-Fronts and so in desperation to find something that was not going to tear my skin, my mother came back from shopping one day with an enormous pair of bloomers. She was almost ashamed to ask me to try them on as she handed me a brown paper bag from the 'posh' shop for ladies clothes in town, thinking I would be offended? I said nothing, but I could not wait to try them on as they were so much softer and fluffier than underpants. I was also aware of a very strange feeling of these were WOMENS knickers and I was going to put them on my bare bottom. I could not understand what the excitement was at first, but I now understand it was a feeling of not being threatened by masculine things like underpants near my bottom. I think it is the same with wanting to be a child again, but this time with a nice, safe childhood and good things.

Trying them on, they felt so soft and almost caressing to my backside. Something I was not used to certainly. It also felt 'naughty' somehow for me to be wearing them, like it was something wrong and yet it felt the right thing to do. My mother wanted to see how they fit me and so I had to find the courage to come out of the kitchen and let her see me in a pair of bloomers. She did look a bit shocked to see me in them at first, but they fit my deformed shape better than anything else I had ever worn. We could not deny that and so each week she would buy me another pair until the shop ran out of them. I had them in blue, red, white, orange and the last pair they had in my size were pink. That was difficult for both of us when she came in with them and apologetically explained they were the last the shop had in such a large size. They fitted as well as all the others and because they were cotton that stretched, they moved with my skin and did not cause bleeding.

At that time neither of us knew that being fat was not the real cause of the skin damage, but that the things they had done to me when I was younger had left the disfiguring shape and weakened skin. The plain white were my favourite colour, while I did not like the pink colour much at all, emotionally they felt the 'safest' pair and I liked wearing them because they were feminine and so I did not feel as 'on edge' with them on. Now I understand that masculine things feel threatening to me and make me uneasy, like I could be attacked again at any moment. I am always ready to fight around men or masculine things and defend myself. Feminine things calm me down and relax me.

My mother died soon afterwards. She had only been nice to me for a short while, and that somehow made the need for a kind mother figure all the more vital. I continued to wear bloomers and knickers, slowly graduating from solid colours, to floral patterns and other quite feminine designs. I found that the more feminine they were, the less threatened I felt my bottom was. This was when I began to realise that my childhood was not history, but was having a serious effect on me emotionally. I had never realised how profoundly it had effected me mentally. Worse was to come when the constant discomfort/pain that my bottom had always been in, began to get worse. Eventually I went to the doctor and had multiple referrals to all sorts of specialists in hospital. I could not talk to them about being beaten and humiliated as they were men and so there ended up being more and more referrals to try and find out what was going on as the tests were coming back with results that made no sense to them.

Girlfriends had always been a problem for me, how can you let one find out you are wearing nicer knickers than they are? I had met someone very special to me indeed. I started off by asking her if she had ever been spanked? That lead to would she like to spank me. She reluctantly agreed. I explained that it could not be very hard though, as it did a lot of damage very easily. I should have seen it coming that she would ask why, but I had not thought it through that well, it had been a spur of the moment thing even asking about spanking. It was a long time before I could start explaining to her some of the things that had been done to me. She was very understanding, but in practise it was very difficult for her to cope. I had to explain that I had a bad shape and then that the skin would tear and bleed and that it had been my mother who had in desperation tried me in knickers. She demanded to see them. She did not react well at first, thinking it was stupid that I'd wear women's knickers, but then I let her see me without them on and she became very concerned when she saw the damage for herself. It was a rough patch, but she accepted it and even started buying me occasional pairs, before becoming more comfortable with me wearing them. She occasionally made detrimental comments about them.

The pains from my buttocks continued getting worse and she finally persuaded me to talk about my childhood to the doctors at the hospital. Most of them were men and I found that too difficult. I asked for women doctors instead and just explained it would be a lot easier for me to talk to them. I guess it is quite a common thing as no one said anything, although I imagine they guessed my reasons. It took about three years to get most of the diagnoses finally.

Before I had even started school, I would be spanked until I lost consciousness from the shock of so many blood vessels being burst from the repeated impacts. Ultrasounds revealed a great deal of internal injuries in my buttocks. What is left of them is full of internal scar tissue. The skin tissue is thin and breaks down so easily, that is why my bottom is injured so readily. There is also considerable nerve damage. So the news was not good, my injuries are extensive and permanent, with little that can be done for them, or to ease the pain. I had also had a very bad experience at the hospital when I was wearing underpants as I could not at that time let them see me in knickers. I had started bleeding though during one visit. Since my conditions were well documented by then, I had little choice after that but to wear knickers, even to the doctors and hospital. They were shocked also to begin with, but explaining how underpants caused the bleeding, they accepted that this was better for me and even began to encourage me to do whatever helped.

I married my girlfriend and life went on for a while. I eventually realised that I felt very comfortable in knickers, not just physically, but emotionally as well. I no longer thought of them as "women's" anymore though, but just as 'my underwear.' My wife used to tease me about the knickers and liked the way it would make me "shy". She started making them more and more feminine so that they would have a strong effect on me again. The visiting district nurses all saw me in bloomers, then floral knickers, then really frilly, 'girlie' ones, because they had to keep an eye on the pressure sores that would sometimes develop. One of the nurses asked if I needed any more pairs, because I could not get them in my size. She said she had some that were clean. Next time she came round, she brought them with her and asked if they would do me? They fit me well and I realised that was what had been missing. They were feminising again, because they HAD been a women's knickers and had been worn. Whenever you feel them against you, you quieten down because they are feminine and you cannot forget that like you can with unworn ones.

The medical people think only of the physical improvements with me wearing knickers. They are completely unaware as far as I know, of the emotional effect they have on me. So many things that are 'masculine' like underpants are threatening to me. Mainly because of the threats my father made. They would always revolve around my pants and 'arse'. Now words and images like that, make me feel very threatened and so very aggressive in return. Knickers have the opposite effect and feel safer and calming.

Whenever I was going to be punished as a child, they would either just pull my clothes down to hurt me, or make me stand there and take them down myself. In the days afterwards, my pyjamas or underpants would be pulled out at the back, while one or both of my parents would check out how I was healing. They would make comments about my injuries and my 'arse'. That all had more of a lasting effect on me than I ever realised.

It was only when a nurse needed to check me for pressure sores during a stay at the hospital, that I did realise the extent it had effected me. She told me she needed to check me, but without warning she pulled the back of my knickers out and had a good long stare at my unprotected bottom. I almost lost it when she did that. It was what they called a 'trigger' for me. It was only days later that I began to think hadn't there been something nice about it though, after I got over the shock. That thought scared me, until I came to understand that what was such a nice thought about it, was that she wasn't looking for ways to hurt it, she was TENDING to it. To have a woman look at your bottom and CARE and to want to be nice to it, was what had felt good. It became easier after that to let medical women look at my bottom. At least it was up until the time I was very ill with a suspected fever.

I was breathing hard and so the nurse was suspicious that was why my temperature was reading almost normal. She was very worried that I was a lot more ill than that reading was saying and so she said she would have to take my temperature anally. I refused and she insisted as she thought I was very ill. I explained briefly about my childhood, but she was adamant that taking it in the armpit or wherever was not good enough. she said she would not even take my knickers down. I was too ill to fight and I gave in. I felt my knickers being pulled out at the back, which I had expected, but it was harder not to panic when I felt her hand on my bottom, then fingers between my cheeks and parting them. Then her other hand slid though the leg of my knickers and gently slid the thermometer in. It was the hand though the leg and touching me that made me jump and turn round quickly to confront her. She had her hand though the leg still and I hurt her wrist when I twisted round. I had to explain that it had been triggering and that I had not thought it would be. She had a sore wrist, I had a sore hole and it turned out I had a high fever after all and I had to be admitted for IV antibiotics.

While ill in the hospital bed, I thought about why I had reacted so strongly. It was not difficult to work out. I have several memories of my parents sliding their hand through the leg of my underpants when I was getting dressed to see how my cheeks felt in the days after being punished and not just how they looked. Had the hard swelling gone and the heat I suppose they were feeling for. Sometimes my cheeks would be cupped in their hand and I would be warned what was going to happen to that area of my body. The nurse doing something similar had brought all those memories back.

There are so many things that I take for granted, that I am still even now finding out are not normal after all. I used to be hit with a very thick, heavy leather strap. It was like the ones used in schools in Britain at that time, but about twice as thick. I do not mean twice as wide, I mean like two school straps stuck back to back to make it twice as thick. My spankings were always "Martini spankings" (any time, any place, anywhere.) I never really knew when it would happen, or how it would be done to me.

The strap hurt terribly when it hit you, but it seemed to do most damage when one of my parents would stand in front of me and sort of grab me under their arm. My clothes would be down and the strap swung at my unprotected bottom. Standing like that, the strap did not hit you across your cheeks, but vertically down them. That meant a lot of pain and bruising between your cheeks and underneath them. Most people think not being able to sit down is only a phrase, but sometimes it was true for me. Even a cushion hurt too much and for days you would have to sit bent sideways so you were actually sat on the side of your hip. It was humiliating as it was a clear sign your bottom was still very painful 2-3 weeks later.

As I get older, things are slowly getting worse. To stop the blood from coming through my clothes when a tear does open up, or a pressure sore starts, I am provided with nappies. Deeply embarrassing to be seen in them when they are needed, but that is only some of the time. They did cause me to confront another of my feelings... That I wanted to be 'like a child.' I now understand that it is not so much that I want to be a baby, more that I need a kind, loving Mother to help me. Something that I never had in real life and that I desperately miss and need. I cannot help question if I am a bad person (or being weak) for needing Mothering, or is it acceptable, considering I was denied it as an actual child? When a nurse or aide helps you to put one on, I think I can tell if she has a child of her own, or has looked after them a lot. It seems to show in the way they do it and it is comforting, like you are cared for

I have with the help of many people, including many medical professionals, come to understand a lot more. My need for nice things for my bottom, to enjoy so much the thought of someone actually feeling sorry for me and my bottom and wanting to help. Finally the need for someone to treat me like a mother tends a child. All these things are my need to feel SAFE and cared about. To be like a child again, when you normally feel safe, loved and protected. Only the need is happening to me as an adult, because it never happened as a child.

The physical damage means that no matter how much I like being spanked, I cannot safely be, as it does too much damage. So now I have to explore "alternative sensations". Like lots of lace and frills on knickers to make them feel as feminine as possible. Not just on the outside of them, but sometimes on the inside as well, or just wear them inside out.

Although I have no viable alternative medically to wearing knickers, I like wearing them because of not liking particularly masculine things. 'Babyish' items are a little more complex. I do not like to soil my nappies when I do have to wear them, but I do like the soft, safe feeling of them padding my bottom. When you are grown up, they do not feel exactly like they used to when you were a baby. To have then feel more like they did when you were, get a roll of cotton wool. Fold it into a long thin triangle and keep folding it round until you have used the full roll. You put the point of the triangle at the front, between your legs and the bottom of the triangle covers your cheeks. Then put a normal nappy on over that. The nappy will then feel much more like it did when you were little.

I also saw a discussion on your forum about uncomfortable things to sit on after a spanking. Although I cannot myself now, I remember that those 'welcome' doormats that are brown and made of rough fiber do feel very unpleasant after a spanking. You want one made of 'coir' (coconut fiber). If you want, you can use a big ball of sisal twine (that 'hairy' string) and stick it down around the outside, going in a spiral towards the centre until it is filled. Or even make a big open-weave mat of sisal and stick it down. A heating pad, hairdryer or even a hot-water bottle can be used to make the post-spanking burning sensation much stronger.

Those looking after sissies, or nappy wearers, you can do a great deal with their anus. Just a single finger inside can make them go quiet. Try rotating the finger first. Then move it up and down or side to side in a figure of eight shape. You can also bend jus the end of your finger over and gently grab the ring of muscle between that finger and your thumb. Holding the ring of muscle like that, try gently pulling it out and pushing it in and keep doing that. You might be surprised at how much control it gives you over them.

For all the shame and humiliation that most men feel about wearing knickers, I am always amazed at just how accepting so many women are of it, even if they do sometimes make fun of you for it. They do not seem to see it as being as 'wrong' as men do.

Bryn


Thank you for your letter Bryn. I am both delighted and shocked at this letter, of course all the details of your petticoating are of interest to me and my readers, the abuse you suffered on the other hand makes me wonder if I should publish this letter at all. Of course with respect I appreciate the effort it took to write all this amazing letter. I feel so bad for what you suffered at their hands and can only imagine the pain and loneliness you must have endured.

I will also say that your obvious strength of character and personality have helped you to live on with understanding and resolve.

Auntie Helga

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