Royal Frills

Natural Sissy

Madam Criben took me to Blake's nursery room. I started crying when I realized that this would be my new room. I told the old lady that I was not a baby and did not want to wear diapers all the time. Madam Criben just smiled back and told me that I only wet the bed. I did not need them at day, so I "could keep my pretty panties". As for the nursery, this was my new room, so I best get used to it. Then she went. Blake hugged me and told me that he thought that Madam Criben loved taunting us. He did not understand why the law allowed this. I managed to stop crying and told him that I would just make the best of it. My grandmother told me once that she learned something as a queen, and that was to pick your fights.

I will be honest, living in a nursery was not that bad. Miss Eva even bought me magazines about horses, kittens, bunnies and puppies. When she saw that I had not caused a lot of trouble for a long time, she gave me a new stuffed animal that I could sleep with. It was a pretty unicorn. I loved it. I never was so bothered about stuffed animals before, but now the unicorn and my doll were the best things I had. I did not consider myself a baby. I had time to observe Blake. He wore diapers all the time and used a pacifier all the time. He even had a baby bottle. Blake was nearly 11 years old and was treated like a two-year-old. It was then that I noticed all the other boys wore diapers as well. They all lived in girls' baby nurseries. This made me wonder if this would happen to me. Why would this school treat us like babies? Blake told me that he was not allowed to tell me however I would get the talk when they thought that I was ready.

Blake constantly complained about the sissy treatment. I on the other hand did not complain. I figured that it did not help. If you complained, you would be spanked. I also noticed that you were rewarded when you went along with the strange things they asked us to do. I also figured this was the reason why I was not told to wear diapers and be a baby sissy. I figured that there was very little a 10-year-old could do. I was now getting used to dresses and tights and panties. When I left this place, I would forget all this, pretend it never happened and go back to being a boy.

In a way, Blake confused me. He protested all the time and yet I would see him play a lot with the baby toys. I never played with them. I did not understand how he thought of stacking blocks on top of each other was fun. I preferred to use crayons and colour kittens and bunnies in a jumbo colouring book. This was one reward I got if I was nice and obedient. I got a new colouring book when I wanted one.

Blake was quiet one afternoon when we were in our bedroom... I mean nursey. Then he said, "I know you laughed when you first saw me because I am a sissy. I just wondered are we still friends? I think it was my mother that persuaded your mother to send you here. I can understand if you hate me." I told Blake that I knew his mom spoke with my parents. I hated coming here. However, now I am getting used to it. The other boys are also nice. It's also nice I am not treated special because I am a prince. I could be normal here. Black laughed and told me "Did you take a look at yourself? You're wearing a dress and your bedroom is a nursery. We are not normal! Everyone wants us to be sissies!"

I was given a new girls' school uniform. My first extra class was about good manners. The lesson began with the basics of greeting adults. "Good morning, Madam Criben" the teacher demonstrated with an exaggerated smile. We were expected to replicate this performance flawlessly. Then came the lesson on the curtsy. The teacher demonstrated the perfect curtsy, her movements precise and controlled. She explained the importance of showing respect and grace through this age-old tradition. I couldn't help but roll my eyes discreetly, thinking about how unnecessary it all seemed.

As we awkwardly attempted to mimic the curtsy, it became apparent that none of us were born ballerinas. Arms flailed, skirts twisted, and stifled giggles filled the room. The teacher's stern expression tightened, and I couldn't help but wonder if she secretly enjoyed our discomfort. In my 10-year-old mind, I couldn't grasp why a simple "hello" and a wave couldn't convey the same message. The idea of showcasing curtsying seemed more like a recipe for embarrassment than a display of refined manners.