Diapered Sassy

wimpe:

Hi, I’m Paulette. formerly Paul.  Good to see you again, it’s been a long time.  You don’t remember me, do you?  Well, don’t be embarrassed about that, seeing as how I have changed quite a bit.  I remember you way back from my last year in elementary school.  You were Peter then, right?  Right, so what does your family call you now?  Petra?  Oh, I see, Petunia.  What a pretty name, derived from such a pretty flower.  And I just love the way your pink hairbow accentuates your uber-cute shoes and pretty pink tights and the pink highlighted print characters on your baby blue nursery dress.  Your wonderful mommy did such an awesome job in putting that sweet scrumptious look together.  And the job she did on your makeup and hair is positively divine too.  Before long, under her loving guidance and strict supervision, you’ll be able to fix your own luscious gorgeous face, just like me.

Hey, I’m sorry that you’re so obviously uncomfortable with my total ease of femininity, everything from the way I talk, to what I now notice, to how I move, how I smell (except when I’ve done a di-dee stinky!), and well, everything.  I know this is all new for you, but my mom and sisters have had years to drill this giggling girly-girl girlyness into my pretty little head.  I wasn’t always this way, believe me.

Believe it or not, I was once just like you are now.  Angry, confused, fearful, resentful, wondering why my masculine identity had been so ruthlessly and suddenly hijacked.  I get it, believe me.  I’ve been there.

But once you can get past the fact that you’ll never be respected or even thought of as a male anymore, that you’ll never attend another school dance or even go on another date at all with a real girl, that you’re destined to be a simpering sissy, a diapered dude, a mama’s boy, a wussy weakling, a pathetic

petticoated pansy, put on this earth solely for others’ amusement and laughter … well, you just learn to somehow accept it.  Because you’ll go crazy otherwise.  It IS now your fate, after all.

Awww, Petunia, you’re crying.  Actually, that’s a good sign.  Don’t try and hold back those tears like a real boy would, just let them flow.  Don’t be driven by logic and reason anymore, just surrender to your shallowest emotions.  Let it all out, Petunia.  Just have yourself a good cry and let it all out.

So anyway, I guess my mom invited you and your mom over so we could have what they call a “play date”.  Not a date date actually, just a social function so that we sissies don’t have to be quite so lonely.  I mean, my mom and sisters are great, even when they’re teasing and shaming and paddling me, but it’s nice sometime for me to be able to commiserate with another sad-sack sissy who’s stuck in the same miserable boat that I am.

Plus, during this visit I know that your mom will be getting lots of tips from my mom about how to raise and discipline and handle you in general, since my mom now has so much experience that she’s been appointed as the new home-sissy regional director.

Plus, I’m sure that my mom will be bringing your mom back here at some point to see my nursery room, to get an idea of the color scheme and crib layout and all.  Don’t be surprised when your old bedroom with the rock-star posters and hot-girl posters and cool black lights gets totally redone and made over into something much different.

Something much more along the lines of this room here.

So anyways, our moms will be coming back here soon.  Let’s get some of my dolls and my little table and chair set and let me show you how to throw a tea party.  I have an actual Easy-Bake oven too, so we can even have a few genuine tasty snacks, but not too much because we don’t want to ruin our figures.  You’ll be learning lots more about dieting and appropriate exercise pertaining to sissies.  Do you have any sisters or aunts or female cousins, anyone besides your mom to help mentor you in things like hopscotch, ballet moves, baton twirling and the like?

Oh, you don’t?  You say you live with your mom and dad and a bunch of burly all-boy brothers who now laugh at you?  Oh dude, that sucks – errr, uhh, I mean, how positively awful for you, my poor darling Petunia.

Oh well, maybe some of your brothers’ girlfriends or platonic female friends or other neighborhood girls can help reinforce and expand upon what your mother will be so diligently teaching you.  Also, if you and your mom sometimes need a break from one another, you’re always welcome back here anytime for lessons and encouragement from me and my mom and sisters.