Mother was always eccentric, but when father left, there would be a number of ways in which mother,
Mother was always eccentric, but when father left, there would be a number of ways in which mother, would have to make do with less money. Ways which would make a young boy, very uncomfortable.There was a time where I had long suspected that much of the hand-me-downs, she had been getting from other mothers she knew, were for girls. In particular the fit of many of the tops, were often on the thin side, accentuating how small my arms were, and pulling in my waist, as to also exaggerate my hips. But it would be nothing compared to the first time I would find myself in possession of a skort. As you can imagine, how stunned, I complained to mother, and how hopeless it was. How she insisted that it didn’t matter that it looked like a skirt, underneath, it was a pair of shorts. And besides, trying to console me, she would emphasize how I practice tennis at a club which happened to be the only boy, so I shouldn’t worry about being judged. We would all being wearing the same kind of attire anyway.As time passed, I did somewhat get used to wearing the skort. A few times the girls at practice mentioned it in passing, and that was all there was to it. My worries at this time were qualmed by that soon my current gear would be worn out, and with mother getting a new assortment of hand-me-downs, I would be in (boy’s) shorts again.Some time later, to my horror, upon arriving at tennis practice and discovering a new skort in my gymbag, it would be much worse than that. In inspecting that new skort, I would discover that it wasn’t a skort at all, but a regular skirt!After a very overwhelming practice session in a skirt, I couldn’t believe mother’s response to my plight. Not only did she insist that, since I had long been wearing what looked like a skirt, that it didn’t matter whether it really was a skirt at all! To top it off, she said that I should be so happy to own such smart attire!After a fair bit of time in skirts, and discovering new attire in my gym bag, my reaction differed from those before. I was a boy defeated. In inspecting my first tennis dress, without thought, I held it over myself in front of a changing room mirror, before stepping into it and getting on with practice. Mother, when I arrived home, had been expecting a huge tantrum from me, instead was pleasantly surprise to find me skipping into the house, still in it, thanking her for my new “beautiful” tennis dress. The Masochistic Emasculation Fetish reddit group -- source link
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