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.