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In the face of a new enemy, conscription became a part of British life for the first time in WWII. Unlike back then though and because of a change in attitudes, females were considered eligible for conscription. 

Because we had reached a point where few alive could remember war but such great attempt had been made to show the previous war the blood bath that it had been, people were reluctant to enter into the war and nearly ten million people registered as conscientious objectors in the first week alone.

Having debated endlessly on how to encourage the public to join the forces, the government finally decided on a ‘Trouser Revocation’ policy. Anyone not signed up for the forces would have to spend the war period solely in a wardrobe of flouncy skirts and dresses that the fashion policy deemed suitable. This policy extended to the mandatory wearing of women’s under garments, stiletto heels and full makeup.

So it was that the majority of men filled the spaces that were required leaving the women behind to fulfil the roles at home. I couldn’t face this prospect however and on 1st January 2028, the local ‘Fashion Police’ came to our house to bag up my male clothes. 

The next few weeks were a real experience. There were serious skills to be learned such as farming to feed our country (now that it was much more difficult to rely on imports- and it was on a farm that I ended up. Stiletto heels and farmyards do not go together, but the Trouser Revocation’ policy remained in place and that’s exactly what we all had to put up with.

My day would start at 6am, putting on my lipstick, foundation, blush and eyeliner followed by my knickers, suspenders and push out bra. I then had to don my stiletto heels and 50s style swish dress. It wasn’t remotely practical but with the support of the other girls, I soon got the hang of sashaying round the farm in my new 50s style outfit.

As the war progressed, a position came up in the local war commissioning office and, taking pity on me the women put me forward. 

I still had to put in a full face of makeup everyday and wear most of the rest of the outfit however, the swish dress was traded in for a black and white Secretary dress and it was much easier to mince round on the hard floor in my heels. I Even started to get used to that incessant clicking of my heels, there to remind me that I was subservient.

The war eventually ended in 2038, ten years after it started but as reward for their war efforts, the returning soldiers were immediately employed in the highest positions, meaning that they got to keep their trousers. In order to bring about a smooth transition, a law was passed to extend ‘Trouser Revocation’ for a further five years. It was therefore not until 2045 that I finally got to shed my dresses, heels and makeup and return to my trousered life back on the farm.

This is my second story posted in this section and I concept I have had in my head for some time. If anyone has any suggestions of any concepts they would like to see explored (and assuming my early efforts are actually any good of course) it would be good to hear from you.

Hugs and kisses

Like the person in your story, heels are effectively used by my wife to make me feel and appear subservient. However, I doubt I will ever get used to the sound they make. The clicking of my heels often draws attention from females and serves as a reminder that I am my wife’s obedient little sissy.

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