Saturday, 20 February 2016

Scott's Story - Part 9

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.

I protested.

“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.

Wednesday, 10 February 2016

Scott's Story - Miss Emily Writes: Part 2

In which Miss Emily takes Scott to Miss Fairchild’s Emporium

Something had to be done. I couldn’t have Scottie getting in and of bed just when he felt like it. I was surprised at how successful my ruse had been in tricking Scottie into thinking that Teddy had told tales on him, but I knew I couldn’t rely on keeping Scottie under control that way forever. I had to come up with some other way of making sure that when I put Scottie to bed, he stayed in bed.

Of course Teddy hadn’t ‘told’ me anything. But try telling Scottie that… he was convinced Teddy had betrayed him, but in actual fact there was little mystery to my subterfuge. I had merely placed a baby monitor under Scottie’s bed, something of which he was completely unaware. I explained to Mrs Harris my need to be able to keep a check on Scottie while I got on with my school work downstairs… how else could I properly baby-sit Scottie? Mrs Harris agreed wholeheartedly with my suggestion and also agreed with the need to keep Scottie in the dark, since we both knew he would be tempted to find a way of switching off the monitor. If truth be told I think Mrs Harris was so impressed by the change in Scottie’s behaviour after he was put back, at my suggestion, into short trousers, that she would happily approve any of my ideas regarding her son.

With the agreement of Mrs Harris I decided to pay a visit to Miss Fairchild’s shop which had been recommended to me by the kind lady at the school outfitters the day Scottie was measured up for his first pair of thigh-baring short school trousers; the first pair of short trousers he’d worn for a number of years, that is.

Miss Fairchild’s shop was situated just off the High Street in a narrow alley called Flannel Lane. There weren’t many people who were even aware the shop existed. Certainly I’d never had cause to walk down the lane in which it was situated and therefore had no knowledge of Miss Fairchild’s shop.

As I held Scottie’s hand and walked with him along Flannel Lane I wondered how many people had noticed the sign that hung above the shop doorway, ‘Little Boy Clothes for Bigger Boys’. I turned towards the door and Scottie, no doubt having read the sign, looked at me nervously and spoke:

“Are… are we… why are we going in there?” he asked.

“Because I’ve got some shopping to do, Scottie,” I replied, “I want you on your best behaviour… so no fidgeting and you’re to do as you are told. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Emily,” he said underneath his breath in case a passerby heard him address me as such.

A bell tinkled as I pushed the door open and I saw Miss Fairchild, a lady in her late forties to mid fifties, standing behind a highly polished wooden counter. It was a comfortably old-fashioned shop and the counter at which Miss Fairchild stood had a glass front through which you could see displayed the contents of a number of shallow wooden drawers. On the lower shelves I could see, neatly folded, a varied supply of very short, grey flannel trousers as well as excruciatingly short play shorts. In the middle drawers there were pyjamas that ranged from boy’s standard striped, to pairs with rocket ships and geometric patterns on them. I could even see some pairs of pyjamas that must have been especially stocked for naughty boys as they had designs that included teddy bears, bunny rabbits and cartoon characters more usually seen on pyjamas for very young boys. In the top drawers I could clearly see white vests and underpants and also plain white towelling bibs, necessary, I assumed, to help with messy eaters. Any of the items could easily be selected for inspection and produced by Miss Fairchild for closer examination by the customer.

Miss Fairchild herself wore half-moon spectacles that hung from a chain around her neck and rested on her ample bosom when not required. She was tall, plump and wore a white blouse fastened at the neck with a cameo brooch. A tape measure was draped around her neck. She smiled at me, but pursed her lips when she turned to look at Scottie who stood cowering beside me. We must have looked an odd couple to Miss Fairchild; Scottie was noticeably taller than I and quite obviously a few years older too, but wearing short trousers as well as ankle socks and T-bar school sandals. I could see straightaway that Miss Fairchild had no difficulty in deciding who was in charge.

“And how can I help you?” she said addressing her enquiry to me.

I came straight to the point: “Scottie has been getting out of his bed,” I explained to Miss Fairchild, “The minute I’ve got him settled and go downstairs to get on with my schoolwork, Scottie seems to think it’s time to start being a nuisance... I really don’t mind being his babysitter, but I can’t spend all my time getting him back into bed and tucking him up again.”

Miss Fairchild understood my problem and said that it was not uncommon for older boys to ‘try it on’, particularly with younger babysitters: “And this is Master Scottie, is it?” She looked over towards Scottie who was standing next to me looking rather self-conscious. I had dressed him in full school uniform, complete with a pair of the shortest short trousers that I had ordered from the school outfitter, as I wanted him to look nice and smart for our shopping trip and to create a good impression when he was introduced to Miss Fairchild. The little trousers Scottie wore were so short that his school blazer actually reached further down his bare legs than the hem of the shorts did. It made it look as though Scottie wasn’t wearing any trousers at all!

Miss Fairchild came out from behind the counter and I saw that she was wearing a rather functional tweed skirt and a pair of sensible brown brogues.  She walked over to Scottie and told him to stand up straight, then she told him to take off his blazer and T-bar school sandals. From the puzzled look on Scottie's face it was clear he had no idea what was going on and I’m sure to a boy like Scottie a shop like Miss Fairchild's must have appeared very intimidating.

“I have just the thing that will stop this young boy from getting out of bed every five minutes,” Miss Fairchild announced as Scottie slipped off his school blazer and bent down to take off his sandals. “Good… now just you stay there while I show your babysitter what I have in mind…”

Miss Fairchild stocked a variety of play-clothes and outfits that at first glance looked as though they were designed for younger children and infants, but on closer inspection could be seen to be made in larger sizes, clearly intended to be worn by older children and teens. Towards the rear of the shop Miss Fairchild had displayed a number of useful items such as high-chairs, play-pens and cots clearly labelled as ‘...suitable for the older boy’. It was to this area of the shop Miss Fairchild guided me and I took the opportunity to introduce myself.

“Emily, have you considered a cot for Scottie? My customers report great success in curbing naughty boys’ nighttime adventures when they’ve been settled down in a cot,” she said as we stood next to a beautifully made cot decorated with stencils of bunny rabbits at play. The sides of the cot were very deep; deep enough to deter even the most determined boy.

Miss Fairchild leant forward and pressed a recessed button concealed on the end of the cot. The side panel in front of us slid smoothly upwards which allowed access to the bed inside the cot. I noticed a teddy had been placed against the pillow.

“This is one of our larger cots which should be quite suitable for Master Scottie,” Miss Fairchild informed me, “I will, with your permission, make sure of the fit by taking Scottie’s measurements before he tries it out.”

Of course I agreed straightaway and while Miss Fairchild went back to start taking Scottie’s measurements, I took the opportunity to look at some of the outfits on display in her shop.

I had noticed a cute little lederhosen outfit when we entered the shop and determined that Scottie would have one to wear at the earliest opportunity. Then my eye was caught by a set of child’s harness and reins and I wondered how soon they would be needed. The leather harness was beautifully made and had a number of delightful little bells designed to jingle as the boy was led by the reins. Also available for the harness was an optional crotch-strap for 'added control'.

The contents of Miss Fairchild’s shop gave me lots of ideas and lots to think about.

By this time Miss Fairchild had taken Scottie by the hand to measure his height at a set of scales to the side of the shop. She then took the tape measure, which had been draped around her neck, and took a few more of Scottie’s measurements, shoulders, chest, hips and so on. I could tell by the look on Scottie’s face that he was getting more and more nervous by the minute, although he kept himself perfectly still for Miss Fairchild. Then, without a word spoken, Miss Fairchild unclipped and pulled down the zip-fly of Scottie’s short trousers. In a trice the little trousers were down at Scottie’s feet and a few seconds later they were off, folded and laid on the shop counter. Scottie was mortified and just stood frozen to the spot. Unsure of what to do he waited and watched Miss Fairchild as she turned, tape in hand to face him. Scottie was left wearing his grey, short-sleeved school shirt and tie. The shirt did  not have any tails and so we could all see he was wearing white, school regulation junior boy’s underpants. The only other items of apparel were his ankle socks.

Miss Fairchild turned her head in my direction: “Have you considered pull-up shorts for Scottie? So much easier when dressing and undressing boys. Perhaps you know then as infant shorts; fully elasticated waist, no fly or pockets?

I told Miss Fairchild that, yes, I was aware of the type of shorts she’s described, but that I was still considering buying some for Scottie: “It’s early days yet… much depend on Scottie’s behaviour,” I added.

“Very wise… no use rushing into these things, but it’s as well Scottie understands how important it is for him to behave properly… otherwise…”

Miss Fairchild clearly knew how to get through to naughty boys. Her experience showed and I was pleased to find in her an ally. I saw Scottie glance around the shop and at the myriad items on display. He did not look at all happy as he stood there in his little junior boy underpants.

Miss Fairchild slipped the tape measure between Scottie’s thighs which caused him to wriggle.

“Stop that at once!” Miss Fairchild snapped.

“But… but it tickles…” Scottie pleaded as he continued to wriggle and twist.

“I’m warning you, young man… I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour in my shop… Now stop wriggling at once!”

I could see Miss Fairchild had succeeded in pulling her tape measure between Scottie's thighs, but the more Scottie wriggled, the more the tape was tickling him. Miss Fairchild held the tape by her right hand in front of Scottie and the other end of the tape in her left hand behind him. She lifted up the tape which caused Scottie to do a sort of dance as he hopped from one foot to the other.

“Really… this won’t do at all… Keep still!” Miss Fairchild said as the tape slipped backwards and forwards between Scottie’s legs, rubbing against the little junior underpants. “What an uncooperative little boy you are… keep still! Really, that’s the last straw!”

In an instant Miss Fairchild had transferred both ends of the tape to her left hand and had yanked down the back of Scottie’s underpants: “I - smack - will not - smack - have - smack - this - smack - behaviour - smack - in my - SMACK - shop!”

Six ringing spanks to Scottie’s bare bottom echoed around the shop just as the shop bell tinkled and two more customers entered. Fortunately the two ladies were in no hurry and were more than happy to wait while Miss Fairchild dealt with an increasingly distraught Scottie.

At last Miss Fairchild was able to finish taking Scottie’s measurements. It seemed to me to be rather complicated, but I knew it was necessary to ensure the correct fit if the cot was to be effective.

While the measuring was taking place I used my time to tease Scottie a little by examining some of the outfits displayed in the shop. I knew Scottie was following me with his eyes as I wandered around and I could sense his anxiety as I inspected each item, holding it up and glancing towards him. Let me see, I thought to myself, should it be a smart little sailor suit, or the delightful crushed velvet, ultra short shortalls? Let me see, to go with them should I choose the neat, but very girly, single-strap maryjane shoes and a pair of lacy white ankle socks?

On a whim and I confess a sense of mischief, I decided to ask Scottie which of the two outfits he liked. Over my left arm was the cute little sailor suit and in my right hand I held the ultra short short-alls: “Which do you prefer, Scottie… the sailor suit or the shortalls?” I asked just as Miss Fairchild had given him permission to put back on his T-bar school sandals. His little junior boy shorts were left where they were, still folded on the shop counter and I guessed Miss Fairchild had simply ‘forgotten’ them, while Scottie was too intimidated after his spanking to ask for them back.

Scottie was gingerly pulling up his underpants to cover his bottom as he looked with horror at the two outfits I was holding out in front of him. He screwed up his face and blurted out that he thought the outfits were ‘sissy’.

I ignored this outburst and, much to Miss Fairchild’s amusement, I persisted: “Oh, Scottie, you mustn’t say that… they’re both lovely outfits. Now come along… you must think one outfit is nicer than the other… what about these shortalls? Look… I can just imagine how nice and snug-fitting they would be on you… wouldn’t you like to wear them when you come home from school? You could have lots of fun in your shortalls playing with your toys...”

Scottie shook his head violently and repeated his view about them being ‘sissy’.

“What about the sailor suit then?” I said as I held it up in front of Scottie, “That would make you look very smart… I might even be persuaded to let you wear it to church on Sunday as a special treat instead of your school uniform…”

Scottie scowled and pushed his lower lip out. He didn’t like the sailor suit either.

“Oh come on, Scottie, don’t be silly… you must like one of the outfits…”

He didn’t.

“... but if you had to choose one or the other, which would it be?”

In spite of Scottie’s willful refusal to indicate which of the childish outfits he preferred, I carried on nagging him to make a decision: “It shouldn’t be that difficult to choose Scottie… the sailor suit or the shortalls?”

“I could always take up the the legs of the sailor suit if Scottie thinks they’re a bit too long,” Miss Fairchild said helpfully, “I know it’s the fashion these days for boys who like to wear shorts, to have the legs nice and super short. Maybe that’s what’s putting Scottie off?” she suggested.

“Scottie’s got such lovely smooth legs,” Miss Fairchild continued, “No wonder he likes short shorts to wear.” This was in a pointed reference to Scottie’s ultra-short school shorts that I had persuaded the School Outfitter to order in especially for Scottie. Miss Fairchild picked up Scottie’s school shorts from the counter. She ran her fingers expertly over the hem of the grey shorts. “Yes, I could certainly shorten the sailor suit if that would make Scottie happier…”

Scottie was clearly flummoxed by all our teasing, but I did enjoy the way Miss Fairchild made it sound as if it was Scottie himself who wanted to wear such childishly short trousers!

“But Miss Fairchild, Scottie is fifteen years old,” I interjected, “... nearly sixteen aren’t you Scottie? Don’t you think, Miss Fairchild, that Scottie should want to wear some longer trousers by now?”

Scottie nearly exploded at the idea he actually wanted to wear short trousers, but it was fortunate for him that he was lost for words and merely stood and fumed. Miss Fairchild was, however, quite conversant with the fact that Scottie had been demoted at school. She was also aware that it was my idea to put Scottie back into short trousers. The two of us continued our teasing and talked of bare-legged boys and wasn’t it odd that Scottie preferred to wear such such thigh-baringly short trousers? Scottie’s face grew redder and redder. He puffed out his cheeks as he fumed with indignation. However, apart from a few “but… but...buts…” he said nothing, perhaps intimidated by his surroundings and the sight of so many sissy costumes and play outfits designed and made for the older boy. Yes, he must have thought, there were worse things for a boy of almost sixteen than to be seen wearing short trousers to school…

“The… the sailor suit I suppose,” Scottie said finally after I’d pressed him for a decision.

I turned to Miss Fairchild: “Scottie says he likes the sailor suit… do you think he could try it on later?”

“But… I don’t want to put it on!” Scottie blustered, “I only meant it was better than that other sissy outfit… I didn’t mean I liked it… that… that I wanted to put it on…”

“Well never you mind about that… it won’t hurt you to try on the sailor suit, will it, Scottie?” I said as I maneuvered him into a corner, metaphorically speaking.

This brought on more sulks, but I pressed Scottie to admit that trying on the sailor suit outfit wasn’t going to injure his feelings: “It doesn’t hurt to try on something new and if Miss Fairchild is kind enough to let you try on the sailor suit outfit, than you should have the good manners to thank her,” I said.

“But… I don’t…”

“Scottie!” I admonished him.

Scottie pouted again: “All right... I’ll do it… stop nagging… but it’s not fair…”

Then finally, with what looked like considerable effort, Scottie thanked Miss Fairchild for the opportunity to try on the supremely childish and ridiculously brief sailor suit.

“I’m sure I’ve got a sailor suit in your size Scottie,” Miss Fairchild said, as if this was a great treat for him. Then she turned to remind me about the reason for our visit to her shop. Having all the measurements she required she led the way through to the back of the shop where cots and other furniture were displayed. Scottie stood next to me and looked puzzled.

“Scottie,” I explained, “You’ve been very naughty while I’ve been babysitting, haven’t you?”

Scottie looked very shamefaced as he stood in front of me and Miss Fairchild. He nervously picked at the elastic hem of one of the legs of his underpants while he looked to see if anyone else in the shop had heard what I was saying.

“Stop fidgeting, Scottie,” I said sharply, “and tell Miss Fairchild what you’ve been up to when my back has been turned.”

Scottie hung his head in shame as he told Miss Fairchild how he’d been caught getting out of bed after I’d tucked him up, read him a bedtime story and finally turned off his bedside light. He went bright red as Miss Fairchild said that she wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that wasn’t all the naughtiness he was guilty of after he had been put to bed.

“So to stop you getting out of bed, Scottie,” I explained, “Mummy has agreed with me that you should sleep in a cot until you learn to behave yourself…”

Scottie’s eyes very nearly popped out of his head and he immediately started to plead: “But… but… it’s not fair! Oh, please don’t make me… please… cots are for babies!”

All this whingeing achieved was to draw attention to a naughty boy, bereft of his short trousers, getting all upset and showing himself up in front of everyone. But before Scottie’s protests that he didn’t deserve to be sent to bed in a cot and his promises not to get out of bed in future developed into a full-blown temper tantrum, Miss Fairchild stepped in to make it clear how silly he was being:

“Scottie, it’s high time you realised you’re only making things worse for yourself by indulging in this sort of behaviour,” Miss Fairchild said, “...and Miss Emily would be quite justified in my opinion, if she should decide to teach you a lesson. It was very rude of you to interrupt her after she’s gone to so much trouble to help you… If I were you I would say ‘sorry’ to Miss Emily and…”

But at this point Scottie snapped and like a little boy clenched his fists, stamped his feet and shouted that he wouldn’t apologise… ever, never, ever!!

It was quite the funniest sight and guaranteed to draw the attention of the whole shop to his silly tantrum... and of course everyone could see that Scottie’s ridiculous performance could only end one way.

“Excuse me!” Miss Fairchild said, “I won’t stand for this sort of childish behaviour in MY establishment!” With these words left ringing round the shop she stepped forwards and took Scottie by the ear. She marched him howling and wailing to a school desk (‘Ideal for Home Study’ - a sign informed customers) and tugged Scottie’s ear which forced him to bend over the desk.

A lady who had been watching Scottie’s performance looked at the label and observed that from the looks of it ‘home study’ wasn’t the only use the desk was ideal for. By this time Scottie was pleading for forgiveness, but finding out that no one was listening.

Miss Fairchild turned to me. She was still holding Scottie by the ear to keep him in position bent right over the school desk: “Now, about that lesson…” and I realised I was expected to contribute to the ‘discussion’.

“Scottie… you’ve been a naughty and very selfish little boy,” I said, “I hope you feel thoroughly ashamed of yourself. Showing off like that in front of everyone isn’t clever… it’s very, very rude…”

As I said these words Miss Fairchild gripped the waistband at the back of Scottie’s regulation school underpants and yanked them right up as far as they would go. This resulted in the complete exposure of Scottie’s smooth bottom cheeks, still red from his earlier spanking. Miss Fairchild also had total control of Scottie’s position over the school desk. A couple of shoppers gasped as they watched Miss Fairchild dealing with Scottie as it became perfectly clear what was going to happen next.

“I will not tolerate naughty behaviour in my shop…” Miss Fairchild said and nodded for me to step forward. I did so and she presented me with a short leather discipline strap and told me that I would find it useful.

I certainly did as I landed some sharp smacks with the strap on the backs of Scottie’s upper thighs. He squirmed and protested, but Miss Fairchild held Scottie firmly in position over the desk. I continued to smack Scottie and worked my way slowly upwards until the lower half of his botty received its fair share of attention from the discipline strap.

It was an extremely chastened boy that stood up. Scottie’s eyes were damp and red and I watched as a few tears rolled down his face. The backs of his legs were also red and bore witness to the smacks received for extreme naughtiness. It was my intention that even when he was allowed to put his brief junior short trousers back on, it would be clear from his red legs that Scottie had been naughty and properly punished.

There were murmurs of approval from the shoppers who had watched as Scottie paid the price for his silly temper tantrum and now they waited to hear him apologise for his behaviour.

“Well, Master Scottie, what have you got to say?” Miss Fairchild asked.

Scottie rubbed the backs of his thighs and sniffed like a little boy: “I’m sorry Miss Emily… and… and I’m sorry Miss Fairchild for making a scene in your shop…”

“Very well… now let's sort out a nice cot for you,” Miss Fairchild said and showed us a boy’s cot which she assured us would be eminently suitable for Scottie. “This is similar to the one I showed you earlier, Emily. The sliding side makes it simple to get even the most headstrong boy settled down at bedtime…” As she said these words Miss Fairchild looked meaningfully at Scottie who stood looking wide-eyed at his new childish cot.

“You’ve only yourself to blame, Scottie,” I reminded him, “Did you really not think I wouldn’t find out that you'd been getting out of bed?” I turned to Miss Fairchild, “It was Mr Teddy who told me what a naughty boy Scottie had been…”

I think that really hurt as Scottie pouted and mumbled something about a boy and his Teddy, to which Miss Fairchild observed that boys of all ages trusted their Teddies quite blindly, so it would have been a bitter blow for Scottie to find out Mr Teddy had been spying on him. However, she did add that she was otherwise delighted to hear that Mr Teddy was setting a good example and knew the difference between right and wrong. Scottie should be grateful for that, she concluded.

“Take off your school sandals again and we can see if the cot is the right size for you,” Miss Fairchild said.

I could tell Scottie was about to protest, but he soon changed his mind and bent down to to undo his T-bar sandals. Meanwhile Miss Fairchild prepared the cot and fetched a lovely mobile to hang over Scottie’s new bed. The mobile featured brightly coloured rocket-ships, planes and old-fashioned hot-air balloons, all slowly turning and moving underneath puffy white clouds. It was a delightful mobile suitable for the younger boy.

“This will give Scottie something to watch while he waits for the sandman to send him to sleepy-byes,” Miss Fairchild said, “Now come along, Scottie… in you get… that’s right, nice and comfy… good… now I’m going to close the cot up.”

Miss Fairchild snapped the cot closed and Scottie lay back and looked up at the childish mobile suspended over his head. I leaned over the cot and looked down at Scottie. He did not look at all pleased about being trapped in the cot.

“There… that will keep you nice and cosy, Scottie,” I said, “You and Mr Teddy will be snug as two bugs in a rug… and there will be no getting out of bed without permission… will there, Scottie?”

“No, Miss Emily,” Scottie replied as I reached down and brushed the little fringe back from his forehead.

Miss Fairchild was peering at Scottie over my shoulder as I sighed: “It’s a pity Scottie’s not wearing his pyjamas…”

“There was something else I was going to mention,” Miss Fairchild said, “A lot of babysitters have trouble with boys who find it difficult to control their… ahem, boyish urges…”

“Oh… you mean masturbation?” I said, proud to be able to demonstrate my knowledge of such matters to Miss Fairchild, “We did masturbation in biology… I know all about what boys of Scottie’s age get up to… Boys think it’s so clever when they play with their little winkies… and then they are stupid enough to think we don’t know what they’re up to, playing their silly games…”

Scottie was visibly squirming in the cot as Miss Fairchild and I talked as equals on the subject of boys and their naughty habits. Miss Fairchild was impressed that I was of the opinion that masturbation was not a practice in which boys should be allowed to indulge themselves.

“Boys have to be taught to self-control,” Miss Fairchild observed, “I’ve seen what happens when boys are left to their own sordid devices… Masturbation is not called self-abuse for nothing.”

“I wonder… do you have any nightwear that would assist an older boy like Scottie… to stop him from…?” I started to ask, before Scottie interrupted.

“But… but, I don’t… I don’t do it… honestly, honestly, I don’t…” Scottie whinned, pleading that he didn’t masturbate.

I could tell that Miss Fairchild didn’t believe him. Neither did I. It was still early days and I hadn’t been babysitting Scottie for very long, but I knew from my biology teacher that all boys masturbated, whether they admitted it or not. Scottie’s pathetic pleading was ignored.

“Nightwear… certainly, Emily,” Miss Fairchild said answering my question, “I have a new range designed specifically to prevent boys from pleasuring themselves. It’s called a ‘pyjama-romper’. Would you like to see one?”

I said that I would be most interested to see one of the new pyjama-rompers and a couple of minutes later Miss Fairchild had brought one from her stockroom for me to inspect.

“As you can see, the pyjama-romper is made from good quality winceyette and is designed specifically to curb naughty little boys’ bad habits,” Miss Fairchild explained as I felt the soft nap of the romper. “The pyjama-romper is a one-piece suit that buttons up at the back all the way to the nape of the boy’s neck. It is fitted with integral mittens which are designed to stop the boy masturbating. As you can see the mittens have special, frictionless pads that prevent gripping or rubbing by the wearer. We’ve found during extensive testing that the pyjama-romper eliminates the opportunity for self-stimulation. Boys find the pyjama-romper intensely frustrating at first, but after a while even the most persistent masturbators find themselves thwarted and eventually settle down… Perhaps you would like Master Scottie to try it on?”

I need hardly bother to describe Scottie’s response to this question. If he hadn’t been trapped in the cot I’m sure he would have run from the shop… without even his junior short trousers which were still lying on the glass top of the display counter!

“What do you think, Scottie?” I teased the obviously terrified boy, “Would you like to try on the pyjama-romper?”

It was perfectly clear that Scottie would rather not try on the romper. Miss Fairchild held the pyjama up in front of the cot and allowed Scottie to see what to him must have seemed a monstrous garment. He could see the hideously childish pattern which considered of nursery-rhyme characters such as the Cow jumping over the Moon, the Dish running away with the Spoon, the Owl and the Pussycat and Little Miss Muffet, all beautifully detailed in bright colours on the soft winceyette.

“Please… please don’t… please don’t, Miss Emily,” Scottie pleaded, “I… I don’t need to wear it… I don’t do it… honestly, Miss Emily, I don’t… so I don’t need to wear… that.”

“It seems Master Scottie is making just as much fuss about trying on the pyjama-romper as he did about the sailor suit,” Miss Fairchild observed.

“Scottie it won’t take a minute to try on the pyjama-romper… will it Miss Fairchild?” I said, “Then, if we’ve got time you can slip on the sailor suit… you said you wanted to try on the sailor suit, didn’t you Scottie?”

Scottie’s mouth opened and closed like a freshly landed fish, but no discernable words could be heard, just a few moans and groans that I took to be protests at how unfair it all was. Miss Fairchild showed me how to open the cot and Scottie was allowed out. Straightaway she started to undress Scottie and straightaway he started to protest.

“What’s all the fuss about?” she asked.

“You… can’t take my clothes off… here...” Scottie tried to explain.

“Why ever not?” Miss Fairchild asked, clearly puzzled by Scottie’s reaction. “I don’t have any changing facilities in the shop… Not enough room… Besides, this is a clothing and accessories shop for boys... so why would I need a fitting room? Whoever heard of boys needing privacy? The very idea!”

“Don't be silly Scottie,” I added, “no-ones cares about seeing your willy-winky and the sooner you try on the pyjama romper, the sooner little winky will be covered up, won't it?”

Somewhat begrudgingly and with little or no co-operation, Scottie stood and let Miss Fairchild carry on with his undressing: “There now… we’ll have these clothes off in a jiffy,” she trilled, no doubt quite used to little boys and their silly ways, “It won’t take a moment…”

It certainly didn’t take a moment and before he knew it Miss Fairchild had tugged at Scottie’s schoolboy underpants and a second or two later they were pulled right down and off to leave Scottie as bare as the day he was born. I scooped up Scottie’s discarded clothes and took them out of harm's way to put on the counter with his short trousers.

When I returned Miss Fairchild had succeeded in getting Scottie’s legs into the pyjama romper. One or two customers had stopped to watch and were no doubt considering the suitability of the romper for their own sons or nephews. One of these ladies asked me about Scottie and I explained that I was his babysitter and how Scottie had been naughty. The other lady thought I had caught Scottie masturbating, but I told her about how he’d been getting out of bed and that he would be sleeping in a cot in future. I explained that Scottie was trying on the pyjama-romper just to see how it fitted, but that I’d certainly be putting Scottie straight into one if I ever caught him playing with his willy-winky. The lady laughed and said that boys could be very secretive and that I should best be on my guard. I promised her that I would.

By the time I’d finished talking to the lady Miss Fairchild was lifting Scottie’s arms and pushing them into the romper. His feet were in the ‘footies’ and the romper had been drawn up his legs. Willy-winky was safely tucked away as Miss Fairchild guided Scottie hands into the tight mittens at the ends of the arms. The mittens were quite small so that Scottie was forced to curl his hands into balls to fit them inside. This was an additional feature, Miss Fairchild explained, designed to further inhibit the temptation to self-abuse.

Scottie was beside himself and again protested that he didn’t play with himself; that it wasn’t fair making him put on the pyjama-romper. But Miss Fairchild ignored his protests as she finished doing up the last button at the back of Scottie’s neck. During this final stage one of the ladies I had been taking to expressed interest in buying a pyjama romper and was trying to have a conversation with Miss Fairchild, but Scottie was making such a fuss and being such a nuisance that it was becoming increasingly difficult for the two ladies to hear one another.

“Master Scottie!” Miss Fairchild snapped, “Will you please be quiet for one moment!”

“... but… but, it’s not fair!” Scottie kept repeating, venting his frustration by waving his be-mittened hands about. He looked perfectly, childishly, silly in the pyjama romper as he stood next to the cot. But by then Miss Fairchild had had enough of Scottie’s temper tantrum and from her pocket produced a large baby’s dummy which she promptly pressed into Scottie’s mouth! Poor Scottie was so shocked he simply stood there with his eyes bulging and let Miss Fairchild slip an elastic band that was attached to the dummy, over his head, thus preventing him from spitting the dummy out. Scottie couldn’t of course take the dummy out of his mouth with this hands, since these were securely encased in the mittens.

“Now we can have five minutes peace,” Miss Fairchild announced.

Miss Fairchild was able to talk without interruption and Scottie was unwillingly made to model the pyjama romper for the benefit of the customer as she and Miss Fairchild discussed how best to deal with boys who persist in masturbating. Scottie’s face was a picture… well, that part which wasn’t obscured by the big baby’s dummy!

Our visit to Miss Fairchild's Emporium had been more interesting and longer than I expected. I don't think Scottie forgot that shopping trip in a hurry either.