Hi, it’s Scott here again. Miss Emily says she has written about our visit to Miss Fairchild’s shop, but that she didn’t have time to tell you what happened after I was made to wear that horrid pyjama-romper thing. It was awful! I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life… and that’s saying something since mummy asked Miss Emily to be my babysitter (it still makes me sick to use that word, after all I’m much older than Miss Emily… I’m the one who should be babysitting her!).
That’s beside the point I suppose. What I was going to say was that since I was put back into the Third Form at school and put back into short trousers, I’ve not had a moment's privacy. But when I got out of the cot and Miss Fairchild started to undress me, that was the last straw! I don’t care what Miss Fairchild said, boys are entitled to their privacy! And I shouldn’t have been undressed in front of those ladies who came into the shop after Miss Emily and me. For goodness sake, Miss Fairchild took all my clothes off! Said she didn’t have space for a fitting room and that anyway boys didn’t need one and that I shouldn’t be so shy because I had nothing to hide… certainly nothing these ladies hadn’t seen before. It was as if my feelings didn’t matter! It was so unfair! Of course, Miss Emily sided with Miss Fairchild and warned me not to make a fuss otherwise I would find myself making another visit to the school desk.
As I didn’t want to experience another dose of the discipline strap from Miss Emily so soon, I did what I was told. By the way you’re probably wondering why I should have been such a wooz as to be frightened of another spanking from Miss Emily, but believe me even though she’s only thirteen, she knows how to use that leather strap to maximum effect. My bottom (and legs!) were still red-hot and throbbing from my earlier encounter with the strap, so I was in no mood for another spanking session so soon.
The moment Miss Fairchild finished taking my clothes off, Miss Emily gathered them up and walked off with them! Said it was to keep them safe. Like they were going to be stolen from under the nose of Miss Fairchild! It might have been my stupid school uniform, but it was all I had… or so I thought.
Anyhow after making me stand there bare-nude for what seemed like ages in front of the lady customers who seemed more interested in watching me being dressed in the pyjama-romper than in anything else in the shop. So I was made to stand there, hands at my sides, until Miss Emily returned from putting my clothes away.
The pyjama-romper was hideous. There’s no other word for it. Can you imagine, it was made of this soft winceyette stuff (like the horrid pyjamas Miss Emily makes me wear now she’s in charge. I’d stopped wearing pyjamas ages ago… until Miss Emily came along, that is, but that’s another story). It was printed with really sissy, childish nursery-rhyme characters, so it looked like an oversized baby’s romper… you know like the one’s with feet. It buttoned up at the back, but it also had these mitten things on the end of the arms. These mittens are evil. When I pushed them on they were so tight I had to squeeze my hands into balls. Then there was this slippery stuff on the outside of the mittens…
It was so embarrassing. I stood there dressed in this horrible pyjama-romper and listened to these ladies who started to talk about masturbation! Even Miss Emily joined in, telling everyone she knew all about what boys did and how they played with their willy winkies. I told them I didn’t do that sort of thing… jeez, it’s so embarrassing I don’t even talk to other boys about masturbation… even less so now I’m stuck back in the Third Form… let alone grown-ups! Yet there, standing right next to me, were ladies talking about boys who play with their willy winkies just as if they were discussing… discussing… I don’t know, the price of potatoes at the greengrocer’s!
I was stupid enough to think anyone wanted to listen to me saying how I didn’t play with myself and how I didn’t deserve to be put into the ghastly pyjama-romper. I was making such a fuss when Miss Fairchild took something out of her pocket. I didn’t see it until it was too late and she was pushing a very large baby’s dummy between my lips and right into my mouth. I was so shocked that Miss Fairchild had time to fix an elastic strap over my head so that I couldn’t get rid of the awful rubber teat. The ladies ignored me completely and carried on talking, but I was starting to dribble so much from trying to protest that Miss Emily went and got a pink ‘Lambikins’ towelling bib.
“What a messy little boy you are, Scottie,” she said, tied the bib around my neck and wiped some of the drool from my chin, “Now just you keep quiet while the grown-ups talk.” It will come as no surprise to learn that Miss Emily included herself when referring to ‘grown-ups’ and was perfectly at her ease talking to Miss Fairchild and the ladies.
Miss Fairchild was right about one thing, it would be impossible to do anything naughty when dressed in the pyjama-romper. After a few more minutes I was told to crawl back into the cot so the ladies could see how snuggly I fitted into it. I don’t know what to say about the cot. Miss Emily has described it, but maybe you want to know how it felt to be put into a cot at my age… It was fiendishly secure with no way to climb out without the risk of tipping the cot over and creating the most awful noise. Besides which, dressed as I was in the pyjama-romper, there was little chance of getting a purchase on any of the wooden bars with the special frictionless mittens. No, I quickly realised the only way out of the cot was going to be when I was given permission to do so by Miss Emily. I lay back and looked up at the mobile Miss Fairchild had suspended over the cot. It was hypnotic and as I followed the rocket-ships and aeroplanes as they moved gently in circles over my head, I found my eyelids becoming heavier and heavier. The voices of the ladies became more and more distant as I instinctively reached for Mr Teddy… but he wasn’t there.
“Ahhh… little lambikins has fallen asleep… what a little sleepyhead… Oh, isn’t that sweet… Look how happy he is… Isn’t he cute?”
I was vaguely aware of the voices above my head as the ladies ‘Cooo-ed’ and ‘Ahhh-ed’ at the sight of me… me, a fifteen year old boy, tucked up in a cot, dressed in a pyjama-romper and silenced by an outsized baby’s dummy. What is it about women that they thought I looked cute…?!
Then I heard Miss Fairchild explain to the ladies that I wanted to try on a sailor suit! That got my attention and woke me up with a start. I was furious! There was no way I wanted to try on a sailor suit. Earlier Miss Emily had made me choose between a pair of utterly revolting crushed velvet shortalls and an equally sissy sailor suit. I thought both outfits were gruesome, but that wasn’t enough for Miss Emily, I had to make a choice. Then, when I said the sailor suit, thinking that would be the end of the matter, Miss Emily calmly turned to Miss Fairchild and said I wanted to try it on! It was really unfair of Miss Emily to tease me like that. Then Miss Fairchild said something about taking up the legs of the sailor suit… as if they weren’t short enough already! Then they started off talking as if I wanted to wear super short short trousers!! I couldn’t believe what they said… like I wanted everyone to see my bare legs; like I wanted everyone to think I was a little boy.
Miss Emily helped me out of the cot and I was ready to tell Miss Fairchild that I didn’t want to wear short trousers to school… or anywhere else for that matter, but I was still gagged by the dummy. Besides which I realised Miss Emily would make me explain to the ladies what had happened at school, how I was put back into the Third Form; how it was her idea to put me back into short trousers. The dummy was removed from my mouth and the drool I’d created while getting myself worked up over hearing Miss Emily talk as if I liked wearing short trousers wiped from my chin. However, now I was able to talk, the thought of having to explain what happened at school was just too much, so as a result of not standing up for myself (fat chance against Miss Emily and Miss Fairchild!) I was about to be dressed in a childish sailor suit.
To be honest I was relieved to get out of the pyjama-romper… that was horrible, especially those mittens. Even now I just can’t get it out of my mind that someone actually thought about the best way of stopping boys playing with themselves at bedtime. That someone must have sat down and worked out that putting a teenaged boy in a romper he can’t get out of without someone helping, then adding the whatdomacallit… pièce de résistance… those shiny mittens! Can you imagine it? Well they did, with the result Miss Fairchild stocks the pyjama-romper in her shop and from what I can gather, it sells very well. So there must be other boys who are settled down in their beds at night unable to play games with willy winky. I say ‘other boys’ because from the look in Miss Emily’s eyes I got a feeling it won’t be long before yours truly is put into a pyjama-romper at bedtime as well.
Of course the daft thing is that I really don’t need to be put into a pyjama-romper, because, as I wrote before, I’m too afraid to play with willy winky in bed. Not now that Miss Emily’s in charge. She’s much stricter than mummy ever was. With mummy I could get away with cleaning up after you-know-what, but Miss Emily is liable to carry out spot checks… in every sense of the word! Then there’s Mr Teddy. I don’t know what’s going on with him these days telling tales on me, so I can’t risk doing ‘it’ when Mr Teddy is in the room. It’s really frustrating… to say the least.
To get back to what happened in Miss Fairchild’s shop. The two ladies who’d come into the shop after us decided to watch while I was stripped nude again by Miss Fairchild, ready to be dressed in a sailor suit... not that I had any say in the matter, but you can guess how that made me feel! Ladies (and that includes Miss Emily) just don’t seem to understand how embarrassing it is for a boy of my age to have his winky on show… it’s not fair! Anyway, while I was standing there in my birthday suit, one of the ladies started saying how her nephew could benefit from a pajama-romper, as when he came to stay with her he would always spend a lot of time alone in his bedroom.
“He said he was studying,” she sniffed, “but I know he was up to no good…”
“How old is he?” Miss Fairchild asked and when told the boy was nineteen, she pronounced without any hesitation, “He will have been masturbating… no doubt about it. It’s the same with boys who want to lock the bathroom door and stay in there for hours on end. When have you known a boy to want to wash himself so thoroughly it takes all that time? The minute a boy is allowed to lock himself away in the bathroom unsupervised, is the minute you’ll know he’s learnt how to masturbate… you mark my words.”
Everyone agreed with Miss Fairchild’s conclusion.
“You know that’s exactly what he does do,” the lady said of her nephew, “Well, the next time he visits there are going to be some changes… For a start no more locking the bathroom door and hiding away playing with his little winky thinking I don’t know what he’s up to…”
I couldn’t help but feel sympathetic towards the nineteen year old boy who was soon going to find himself having supervised baths and being put into a pyjama-romper at bedtime. However, all this talk was simply delaying my being further humiliated by being dressed in the ridiculous sailor suit. But I think Miss Fairchild knew that by leaving me standing in the middle of her shop with no clothes on, I would be only too pleased to have something to wear. And she was right… up to the point when I was taken to stand in front of a full-length mirror and saw to my horror what a complete sissy I looked dressed in the sailor suit. Miss Emily had insisted I wear a pair of shiny, dark blue, patent leather Mary Jane shoes. To go with these Miss Emily selected a pair of white, lacy ankle socks with little ruffs around the tops. This had to be the most girlish footwear imaginable, but Miss Fairchild said it was an ideal match for the sailor suit and went so far as to complement Miss Emily on her taste!
As for the rest of the outfit… I was barely able to bring myself to look back into the mirror and study my reflection. It was awful, simply awful. What made it worse was hearing the ladies say how smart I looked; how I had such lovely smooth legs and how mummy would be so proud of me when she saw my outfit. I gulped and looked again at the sissy single-strap shoes, the dinky little ankle socks and my long, bare legs, my slim equally bare thighs... on up to those tiny white, sailor suit shorts. Jeez! I thought my junior school shorts were brief, but they were positively modest compared to the sailor suit shorts. For a start the legs of these little shorts were cut upwards at the sides and very nearly reached my hips. It almost felt like I was wearing a pair of brief speedo swimming trunks. There was no fly and no pockets. The tiny shorts, which were finished with blue piping along the edges, buttoned up at the sides (three buttons to each side) would you believe? I’d never worn shorts like it. Then there was the sailor suit top, which incidentally didn’t quite reach my shorts and left a band of bare tummy visible, sometimes giving the ladies a peek of my tummy-button... which they thought was ‘sweet’. This pull-over top was short-sleeved and also white, with an attached navy-style collar which had blue and white striped edging. A little lanyard was tucked under the collar along with a pale-blue scarf which was tied in a loose knot in front. There was a patch-pocket on the left breast of the top into which the end of the lanyard was tucked and needless to say the pocket sported an anchor motif to leave no-one in any doubt about what the outfit was designed to represent. To top it all off a jaunty sailor’s cap, complete with a tassel at the back, was placed on my head as I stood looking at myself in the mirror. I very nearly wet myself with shame.
“Miss Emily,” I pleaded, “I don’t like it… I don’t want to wear it…”
“But Scottie, it’s lovely!” Miss Emily squealed with delight at my humiliating costume. Egged on by Miss Fairchild, Miss Emily insisted I wear it home to show mummy what a delightful outfit it was.
I very nearly fainted at the thought of wearing the sailor suit for another minute longer; the thought of actually leaving Miss Fairchild’s shop wearing it made my legs go all wobbly.
“But Scottie… you must…” Miss Emily trilled as if was a singular honour to display the sailor suit to a wider world.
“Miss Emily,” I pleaded again, feeling more and more like a complete wimp, “I… I don’t like it… Please don’t make me wear it…” I could hardly bring myself to say the word, “outside…”
Miss Fairchild chipped in: “Master Scottie, I don’t often let boys try on outfits and let them wear them home ‘on approval’, but I’ve been so impressed by Emily’s level-headedness and the way she cares for you, that I’m quite prepared, just this once, to let her take you home to show mummy… and who knows, if mummy likes the sailor suit she may let you keep it…”
I couldn’t think of anything more depressing than the thought of mummy saying I could keep the sissy sailor suit. Didn’t these ladies understand how utterly, utterly shaming it was to be made to wear such an outfit? I was a fifteen… nearly sixteen year old boy and boys of that age didn’t wear the sort of outfits that a boy half that age would refuse to wear… they just didn’t. What was so special about me that made Miss Fairchild, Miss Emily and those other ladies, want t o dress me in something so hideous? It wasn’t fair!!
But what I thought didn’t matter to them. Miss fairchild, the ladies and Miss Emily knew what was best… at least that’s what I was told, unless I wanted to pay another visit to that school desk.
Miss Emily took my hand and the bell tinkled as Miss Fairchild held open the shop door for us. At that point I was desperately trying to fight back the tears I could feel welling up in my eyes. I would have given anything to be allowed to put on my school uniform again. I would have promised to wear the shortest of short trousers to school all the way through to the Sixth Form (should I ever reach it), if only I could have been spared the walk home in that sailor suit.
“I just know mummy’s going to be thrilled to see your sailor suit, Master Scottie,” Miss Fairchild said as I took the first tentative step into Flannel Lane.
It was a warm day, but I shivered at the prospect of turning into the High Street. A gentle breeze wafted up the lane which tickled my exposed legs. The sailor suit made me feel very vulnerable. I was fast becoming used to wearing short trousers all the time… well, as used as any boy my age might be expected to be in a class full of younger boys all wearing longs. The sailor suit, however, was of a different order of magnitude. I don’t see how anyone could ever get used to wearing the tight little side-buttoned shorts. I had a feeling that when I sat down in them I was going to feel a lot of bare botty flesh in contact with the seat of the chair. Then there was the fact that I was probably the only boy within a thousand miles wearing a sailor suit… and probably the only boy of fifteen on the planet wearing one! So was I going to attract anyone’s attention? You bet!
The minute Miss Emily and I turned into the High Street, just by the side of Timothy White’s, we walked into a couple of her friends. They thought Miss Emily was taking me to a fancy dress party and thought my sailor suit outfit was outrageously funny, until I had to explain that I was on my way home to show it to mummy.
“It’s going to be for Sunday best, isn’t it Scottie?” Miss Emily said.
“If mummy likes it…” I replied. I clung onto the hope that mummy wouldn’t like the sailor suit. It was a forlorn hope I knew, since mummy went along with all Miss Emily’s suggestions.
“Really? But how old are you? ” one of the girls who was called Penny, asked.
I knew this question was coming and I felt sick with embarrassment as I replied: “Fifteen…”
“Fifteen!!” Penny squealed in disbelief. “Fifteen? That’s unbelievable… You’re going home to show mummy your sailor suit? And you’re fifteen!! Unbelieveable...”
“Scottie chose it himself, didn’t you Scottie?” Miss Emily said.
“... err… well… I suppose…” I mumbled wondering if I’d ever live this down. At this point I just wanted to get home. Whether mummy liked the sailor suit or loathed it, was immaterial to me. I felt like a complete ninny standing there, dressed in the utterly humiliating sailor suit, in broad daylight with Miss Emily and her friends who now ignored me and were talking about girl-stuff. I was kept waiting for what seemed like ages and during that time a number of ladies looked at me… or rather my ludicrously brief sissy sailor suit. One woman came right over, said how lovely I looked and how sweet the single strap Mary Jane shoes were. Then she actually leant forward and pinched my cheek!
“What a cute little boy you are…” she cooed as she squeezed her fingers together, shook her hand which made me waggle my head like an eight year old. It hurt too and my ‘yelp!’ drew Miss Emily’s attention away from her friends. Did she tell the lady off? No… she told me off for making a fuss over nothing!
Penny couldn’t resist adding to my woes: “Ah… Diddums doesn’t like… Oh, diddums not cwying… oh what a silly diddums cwy-baby…”
I was true my eyes were watering, but only because the silly woman was pinching my cheek so hard. The more she pinched the more my eyes watered until tears were running freely down my face. Penny took old of both my hands and told the woman I was ‘vewy sowwy’ for being such a baby-diddums.
“Scotty-watty’s so so sowwy… aren’t you diddums?” Penny kept up this awful baby-talk while she held my hands tight. Tears streamed down my face and I was unable to wipe them away. Penny insisted I apologise to the lady. Apologise for what? I thought… for pinching my face and making my eyes water? I squeezed my lips tight shut in protest. I wasn’t going to apologise to to anyone!
But then Miss Emily stepped forward and I knew from the stern look on her face that I was in trouble. She gave me one more chance to apologise to the lady. Stupidly I shook my head and refused. A split second later Miss Emily’s hand lashed out and a tattoo of spanks landed on my upper thighs. I hopped and skipped about but Penny was still holding my hands tightly and I was unable to escape the rain of spanks from a very irate Miss Emily.
The lady watched as I made a complete spectacle of myself. There was a note of satisfaction in her voice as, between pursed lips, she spoke: “That’s just what he needs… the ungrateful little boy… a proper spanking… that’s all these silly little boys understand… thinks he’s so high and mighty… well it’s time he was taken down a peg or two… mark my words he’ll come to no good unless you keep him on a very tight leash… that’s it, give him something to cry about...”
I was jumping about so much as Miss Emily smacked my legs that I heard someone remark that it looked as if I was dancing a sailor’s hornpipe. Penny thought this was hugely funny and encouraged me to make even more of a fool of myself by waving my arms up and down as if I was climbing a rope.
Penny sang: “Diddly-om-pom-pom… come on Scottikins… join in and sing along… Diddly-om-pom-pom-de-de-diddly-pom-pom…”
I couple of extra hard spanks later and I joined in the singing. After a few more minutes hot salt tears were streaming down my face. My thighs were bright red once more, my nose was running and I was sobbing so much that I could only just about join in the song however much I tried.
Finally my ordeal came to an end, but I still was made to apologise to the lady who’d been the cause of so much of my humiliation. It was so unfair, but rather than risk any more spanks I told the lady how sorry I was. After being prompted by both Miss Emily and Penny, I thanked the lady as I did a sort of curtsy in difference to her authority as a grown-up.
Penny said she’d help Miss Emily take me home, but I think this was just an excuse to make me skip as the two girls ran along beside me, each holding one of my hands. My sailor’s cap flew off a couple of times, so twice I had to bend down to pick it up.
“Keep your legs straight, Scottie!” Miss Emily shouted as I bent down and felt my little sailor suit shorts ride up at the back. From the breeze that tickled me I knew that a considerable expanse of my bottom was quite bare. As if I needed this to be confirmed, right on cue a couple of young boys started to wolf-whistle and call me hurtful names. I tried, I really did try to be brave and not let this taunting get to me, but I was so overwhelmed by the day’s events that I burst into tears again. I clutched my sailor’s cap with both hands and my shoulders heaved as I sobbed. The heartless boys laughed and called me a cry-baby until finally Miss Emily took my hand.
“I think we’d better get you home, Scottie,” she said.
“Yes… yes… please… Miss... Emily…” I replied as I gasped between sobs.
“Let’s put your little cap back on nice and straight and dry your eyes… there, that’s better isn’t Scottie?”
I nodded as Miss Emily put a handkerchief to my nose and told me to blow.
“Mummy wants to see you looking nice and smart in your sailor suit… she doesn’t want to see a silly boy who’s been crying just because some naughty boys have been teasing him… does she, Scottie?”
“No, Miss Emily,” I said… but what about all the other teasing? I thought. Doesn't it count when it’s a girl or a lady teasing? Wisely, I said nothing.
Penny left us at that point. The little boys went their way. Miss Emily and I walked the rest of the way home. I didn’t say much as I was too busy thinking about our trip to Miss Fairchild’s Emporium. Would mummy really buy me a cot to sleep in? And what about that simply awful pyjama-romper? Would Miss Emily insist on me wearing one in future? As for the sailor suit I was wearing, what would mummy say? Then I had another dreadful thought. I realised it was just the sort of hideous outfit that would gain Aunty Violet’s enthusiastic approval.