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Halcyon
is a transvestite club which specialises in services for men who want to be maids - and the women who use them! Over the last ten years we have placed many uniformed maids in 'service'; trained newcomers to the scene and advised wives and mistresses on how to deal with submissive partners. We have also assisted many local groups in their development.The glossy monthly Newsletter specifically aimed at the sub/dom scene. Each A4 issue contains at least one full length illustrated domination story; plus True Confessions from both men and women who have had experiences involving men as maids; plus news, adverts for maids and mistresses, maid training programs and clothing, including maids uniforms, at reasonable prices. Click here for image (19K). Or order online here!
If you are a Mistress or a Maid, or a transvestite group, this is the magazine for you!
HOW TO SUBSCRIBE?
You can use our instant on-line service, which will give you immediate access to three of our stunningly illustrated magazines:
All three
of these magazines will be yours to browse or download Today!You can also send £10 to HALCYON, 21, PRINCE STREET, EARL'S BARTON, NORTHANT'S NN6 0LL, ENGLAND, and we will post you by return our INTRO PACK - which consists of: the latest issue of PINAFORE PAGES, and copies of our sister publications APRON, for cross-dressers, and APRON STRINGS, for 'forced to feminise fans' plus a free CD! Seams, the pictorial history of postwar fashion!
If you are female
and would like to know how you can meet a submissive obedient man just write to me, June, at Halcyon. I will supply you with a selection to suit your particular needs without divulging your details to anybody. Remember ladies! Cross-dressers are everywhere - you've almost certainly met many already. They are bank managers and policemen; they are businessmen and civil servants. Many are wealthy and successful; some young and handsome - but they are all obedient! They are nice, ordinary men, TRY one and see! You can also email us at: halcyon@lovenet.co.ukIf you are a member of a TV group
- remember; we can help you. We'll place your contact adverts free of charge within our newsletter and WEB pages; we'll advertise your group's activities and meetings - just write to, or email, June.If you are 'in the mood' right now
you can call our INTERNATIONAL PREMIUM RATE CALL LINES FROM THE USAA mother's tale....
As the mother of a life-long cross-dresser I must accept at least part of the blame. I must point out, however that everything I did was to protect him - not from life - but from school bullies. Today's Newspapers are full of stories about children and their fears of the playground bully. Let me tell you, it was far worse in the Fifties. In those days many schools were run by ex-soldiers who thought that 'boys will be boys' and a little playground fisticuffs did no harm. In fact any child who complained was immediately thought of - and named - as a Sissy. If parents such as myself interfered the child's problems seemed to multiply.
I can still remember Robin, my son, begging me not to say anything after one vicious bout of teasing and bullying. I suppose if he'd had a Father we might have managed the problem differently, but as a single parent life was very difficult in those days.
To be fair Robin was not your average boy. Perhaps living in an all female environment, (we initially shared a house with my sister), caused him to 'imprint' our lives as the norm in his mind. Robin had never enjoyed the rough and tumble of playing in the street or park and school became an absolute nightmare with bedwetting becoming a serious problem. His idea of heaven was siting with me and my sister drinking tea and talking about fashion, and baking. He always helped with the housework and was perfectly content to stay indoors. He was very good company being a natural mimic. And yes, he loved 'dressing-up'. With my heels and a long frock he would impersonate every one he saw on TV including Shirley Bassey and Alma Cogan and his favourite Dora Bryan.
If it had not been for his terror of school our lives would have been incredibly happy. So; as the school could not or would not help, I took the law into my own hands. I moved away from the District taking Robin with me. It was a simple matter to change his name to Robyn - spelt with a Y; and the sex to female on his birth certificate. Not that this was needed. He attended school without any requirement for documentation. He attended school as a girl!
He wore a navy-blue frock with white piping and white wrist gloves.
I permed his hair into soft girlish wave and I took him for a walk!
Now I want you to understand clearly; at this stage in his short life Robyn had shown no sign of wanting to be a girl.
And I did not WANT him to be a girl! When I told Robin what was to happen he was distinctly uncomfortable with the idea. He showed absolutely no interest in the frocks and petticoats I purchased for his new life. He was scared of his new role, but he was terrified of returning to a life of teasing and bullying. In reality he had no choice. Other than keeping him at home permanently this was the only common sense solution. And I must tell you it worked.
Over the summer holiday period I let Robin's hair grow long. I made him wear frocks every day. I taught him how to walk and sit - and he watched television with a new perspective watching girls like Pet Clarke and Shirley Temple - so he could copy their movements, their wrist actions. Their walking and even their mannerisms. It became a game. And he was very good at it. At first he was self-conscious and uncomfortable in skirts - like most boys he was used to shoving his hands deep inside pants pockets. But slowly he got used to them. Soon he wasn't even aware of them. I think this point is important - most transvestites will tell you that clothes, not being female as such, but the frocks and panties themselves, excited them even as children. This was certainly not the case with Robin. His skirts were at best a distraction and occasionally a deep embarrassment to him.
I permed his hair into soft girlish waves, using pink slides and ribbon as well. And soon we both actually thought of his as Robyn the girl. I can still remember Robin's first day outside in skirts. It was nothing more than a short walk to the local shops. He was pale and scared and was on the verge of tears as we opened the garden gate and began that first terrifying walk along the busy pavement. I had dressed Robin in a knee length cotton frock. It was smart sleeveless creation with white piping about the square neck. He wore white cotton wrist gloves, white ankle socks and black shoes. Nobody took any notice. He looked and walked like a girl. I didn't stay out long; the only person to speak to Robin was the Butcher, a large red-faced individual who said, "And who's THIS young lady?"
Robin flushed and clung to my hand like a baby - but the Butcher only laughed at her shyness.
Over the next few days I took Robin out to the Park, to the Zoo, and even to the Cinema. His confidence grew and soon it was time for school. His only real problem was a fear of talking to others. He thought, quite wrongly in my view, that girls talked differently than boys. In the end I decided to tell people that Robin had a small speech impediment that occasionally caused him embarrassment.
In the first week of September Robin I reluctantly and fearfully left Robin at the gates of his new school. He was wearing the same as every other girl; a yellow check shirtwaister cotton frock, straw hat, white gloves, white ankle socks and black shoes. He looked scared - but then so did most of the girls!
I spent the day terrified of a visit from the police or social workers. I was waiting impatiently at the school gates half an hour before they opened! And what sight met my eyes - Robyn laughing and giggling with another girl as he came rushing out of the school yard! I gave both 'girls' a lift home and listened wide-eyed as my son chattered incessantly about teachers and schoolmates and lessons. As I dropped the girl off at her home and turned to Robin I saw at once that my fears had been groundless and that I had in fact taken the right course of action. Robin was positively glowing. He was like any ordinary schoolchild - full of excitement and brimming with life. I had been full of questions about his 'role' as a girl, what did they think of his manners; his walking and talking. But I never asked a single one; it was quite clear that Robin thought of himself, for all intents and purposes as a girl. I sat back and listened. No talk of bullies, although there were girls who were 'mean' and 'nasty'. I was immensely relieved.
Over the next few years Robin quite literally changed sex! Mentally there is no doubt in my mind that he was a real girl; and that he was totally happy and comfortable in that state.
Yes, of course there were real problems - puberty was the most obvious. I had to get across to my son, not only the facts of life - but the basic fact that his natural tendency to like the company of females was now a sexual one. Again I can assert with absolute confidence that clothes as such did not sexually arouse Robin.
A schoolgirl called Alice had an obvious crush on him - they had already held hands and kissed one another! And he also liked one of his teachers.
I was very careful at this stage in his development to watch out for ANY signs of sexual activity. I often helped him dress and I would have seen any hint of this when helping him on with filmy nylon knickers and such like. Yes - he was thrilled when given a pretty frock or a really nice pair of shoes - but his reaction was similar to any young girl. So on the face of it I had no problems. But you must understand, I was terrified of him being thought of as a lesbian. I was scared of any sexual activity that might involve other girls. I also had a sneaking fear of men or boys being attracted to Robin, he was by this time a very pretty young girl!
Here is where I made my biggest mistake. With the very best of intentions I decided to give Robin regular sexual relief! I know this sounds bizarre - but we were already in a bizarre situation. I had already taken great risks for his sake. If we were 'found-out' Robin would be placed in care. I might never see him again.
I explained this to Robin one afternoon after he had spent the afternoon with a friend. A girl called Alice had an obvious crush on Robin. He was flattered and not a little excited by her interest. Under questioning he admitted that they had held hands and kissed! I was shattered. If he was telling Me...was she telling HER mother? I sat him down and told him the blunt truth. He was a boy in a skirt and he would have very strong urges. He would at times be incapable of refusing the advances of a fellow schoolgirl. I also pointed out that was not unusual for teachers to become attracted to their pupils. We were both in great danger. He was clearly shocked and I could see that some of my worst fears were justified - he was attracted to the girls and he had spent a lot of time wishing one particular woman teacher would notice him.
I told him what I would do. It was an awkward moment, but again it has to be realised that we had both been through several traumatic incidents together and that we were not exactly living a 'normal' existence. I told Robin that the only way to ensure that his normal sexual feelings remained quiet would be for me to, as I delicately put it, 'relieve' him each morning and each afternoon. Don't forget - this is the child I've raised, I've changed his nappies and dressed him all his life. It isn't as ridiculous as it sounds.
Anyhow, I didn't waste any time; I took him upstairs to the bathroom. I explained quite clearly what what was involved - and as he obediently raised his skirts I put on a pair of rubber gloves and took him in hand. It could have been desperately embarrassing for both of us but I made it all as 'clinical' as possible. And I suppose for him, despite the shame, it was undeniably pleasurable. He was wearing a very pretty frock made of filmy white nylon over a pink satin underskirt. He held the two skirts in both hands, partially obscuring his face from what I was doing. It was all over very quickly. Afterwards I wiped him clean, tugged his pink panties high into his groin, carefully rearranged his skirt and petticoat and sent him on his way.
The next morning just as he was ready to leave for school I deliberately pulled on a pair of bright pink washing-up gloves and took his hand. He went a little pink in the face but meekly allowed me to accompany him to the bathroom. Robin calmly raised the skirt of his yellow check school skirt and the white slip he was wearing. I never looked at his face during these awkward, but necessary sessions. And he studiously avoided mine!
That same afternoon Robin entered the house and I knew at once he'd been thinking about what would happen. Instead of his usual chatter about school and the like he was pale, silent and withdrawn. In fact his face was white except of two red spots of embarrassment high on his cheekbones. I was very sad, but determined not to falter. I knew that eventually he'd accept it all.
His eyes took in my rubber glove and my clear plastic apron. He walked towards the bathroom without a word. He closed his eyes and raised his skirts so I could get at his panties.
So, like so many things in life it became a habit. Before he left for school each morning I'd meet him in the bathroom. I'd be wearing my plastic apron and rubber gloves. He would close his eyes and wait as I massaged him to relief. As he rushed in from school - I noticed that he never went anywhere else once I'd started our relief sessions - I would already be wearing my uniform of pinny and gloves and we'd both go straight to the bathroom.
We never raised the subject at any other time. It was a 'forbidden' topic. If I wore my uniform - he went meekly, and sometimes eagerly, to the bathroom and obediently raised his skirts.
And it worked. I'm afraid it worked too well.
Robin became 'addicted' to these sessions. Over the next few years it was a clear success. He spent more time at home and mixed less with girls. Any desires towards them was quenched at least in part by his own mother's hand!
It only became a problem, or at least an obvious problem later. I can remember the first time I knew something had gone terribly wrong. I was in the bathroom with Robin. Instead of my usual full-bibbed plastic pinny I was wearing a rather pretty PVC tea-apron in a delicate shade of pink. I was also wearing a white silk blouse with large pink buttons down its front. Under my sheer, almost transparent blouse I as wearing a daring half-cup lace and satin bra that was faintly visible.
Normally Robin simply closed his eyes and held onto his skirts as I pumped away between his soft girlish thighs. But on this occasion I was suddenly and shockingly aware of Robin's hands at my breasts! I looked up and saw that he was holding his blue silk skirt and matching petticoat in his teeth! Both his hands, and his eyes were on my breasts. At first I was too shocked and surprised to move and thus Robin was allowed almost free access to my over large bosom. It was only when his eager fingers flipped open the first button of my blouse that it occurred to me that I had to take action.
But I didn't move!
I've tried to understand why for years. In any event I was frozen.
That night I took him to my bed! And made love to him!
I've been told by several experts since that Robin's first sexual feelings were probably 'perverted' by my attempts to control his natural urges. He mentally and physically associated his sex-life with rubber gloves, plastic aprons, an older woman, passive acceptance and - of course, the wearing of female clothes. Any hope of Robin one day living a normal life as a man was gone.
To be fair to myself Robin has always been adamant that he never wanted to be anything other than female. He says he is quite happy now. I'll never know, perhaps he would have changed if I hadn't interfered. Today he still lives with me. As my daughter. He says he is happy, and I cannot complain. I'm sure he would have been desperately unhappy if I hadn't tried to help. He is of course unmarried; like many of your readers he hopes one day to meet a woman who will let him live life as a wife. I'm not hopeful.
I did my best, but I'm not sure what I did was right.
L.M.D
LIVERPOOL
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