Scott’s Story – Part 7

It’s been a while since I’ve felt able to continue with the upsetting story of how Emily had me put back into short trousers following my shameful academic performance at school. I was told I was to be given a second chance which meant I would be put back a year, back into the 3rd Form. Me, a boy of nearly sixteen in a classroom full of thirteen year old boys all wearing long trousers, but mum agreed with the school that it would be ‘for the best...’

I have related how distressing it was for me to be put back into short trousers. Like many schoolboys I’d progressed from shorts to longs as soon as school rules allowed, which at my school was the end of the first year. No more shorts for me! No more chilly winter days along with the inevitable tingling of cold thighs beneath absurdly short school trousers. No more teasing from all the older boys who wore long trousers… or so I thought. Some boys I knew in the first form said they didn’t mind wearing short trousers, but I hated them and couldn’t wait to get into longs.

Of course there were a few boys, not many, half a dozen at most who continued to wear short trousers to school during all or part of the second year. My classmates and I would tease these ‘shorties’ if we were bored or had nothing better to do (which was most of the time and undoubtedly contributed to my eventual, ignominious and humiliating return to the 3rd Form). A favourite sport was to twang the short-trousered boy on his bare thigh with an elastic band. This was most effective when the victim was standing up in class, perhaps reading a passage from a book during an English lesson. We thought it was great fun to watch the boy being ticked-off by the teacher when the boy yelped or lost his place in the book because of our horseplay.

If I happened to be sitting next to a boy wearing short trousers there was another game to be played and that involved teasing the boy by tickling his bare legs. Gradually I would work my hand further up the boy’s leg until my fingers were brushing the hem of his short trousers. Now boys at my school had hands that wondered quite freely and there was very little you could do about it if the boy sitting next to you decided he was going to do some exploring, but there was even more fun to be had if you were lucky enough to be sitting next to a boy wearing short trousers. By the time you’d finished teasing him, your hand might have found its way right up inside the leg of the little shorts and the wearer would be sporting a very stiff penis. What would make this game complete is if, as often happened, the teacher called on the boy to stand up for some reason. My hand would be quickly withdrawn from the leg of the boy’s short trousers, but not before I’d pulled my classmates penis into a position that made his erection perfectly obvious. Very embarrassing for the boy… but hugely funny for me and my classmates.

I recall these episodes so that you might understand the dread I felt returning to school after I’d been put back, at Emily’s suggestion, into short trousers. I felt sure the teasing and the tricks to which I’d subjected the boys wearing short trousers would be as nothing to what I might expect from the third-formers whose class I was to join. I had teased many of these boys when they were still in short trousers while I swanned about the school proudly showing off in my longs. I knew for certain at least two or three of these third-formers would seize the opportunity for revenge.

All in all I’d been wearing long trousers for three years. As I said I’d admit to doing my fair share of teasing of the first formers wearing their thigh-baring short school trousers and, yes, I suppose I was rather smug in the knowledge that never again would I have to go to school dressed like a first-year. In hindsight it’s easy to see how deluded I was and maybe more than a little conceited too. But as the saying goes, pride comes before a fall and between them mum and Emily made sure my fall was as steep and as memorable as possible…


It wasn’t long after mum agreed to Emily’s suggestion that I be put back into short trousers, the subject of my casual clothes was raised. Emily reasoned that since mum had agreed for me to be put back into short trousers for school, wouldn’t it make perfect sense to keep me in short trousers and shorts when I wasn’t at school? That way I would be continuously reminded of my ‘demotion’, as Emily called my ignominious return to the Third Form.

“It’s very important Scottie doesn’t forget how badly he has let himself down at school,” Emily explained to mum, “Letting him wear longs when he gets home from school will undo all the good work sending him to school in short trousers does…”

I couldn’t believe I was hearing this… and hearing it from a girl three years my junior who was talking to mum as an equal. My protests were all to no avail and often as not it was Emily who told me not to interrupt unless I had something sensible to say.

Emily explained that she thought it would be a good idea to buy me something she called ‘play-clothes’. I didn’t really understand what Emily was talking about. ‘Play-clothes’ sounded like something for really small boys, so I guessed Emily must have meant jeans, or something hard-wearing I could change into after I’d taken off my school uniform. Of course, I was wrong in all respects.

These play-clothes, my play-clothes, turned out to be even more humiliating than my new short-trousered school uniform. Hard to believe, I know, but it was true. At least when I was dressed in my short school trousers I had the benefit of school uniform white cotton underpants to wear, even if they felt far more juvenile than the boxer-shorts I’d become used to wearing. When wearing play-clothes I had no such advantage. It was made perfectly clear from the outset that I was never, for whatever reason, to wear anything underneath play-clothes.

This, Emily explained: “... was so that Scottie can experience all the healthy benefits proper play-clothes will give him.”

I soon found out just how my wardrobe was to be changed. Gone would be my old familiar tee-shirts and jeans; gone would be my collection of trainers; socks and underpants both boxers and coloured briefs, would disappear too. Emily’s influence on my clothing was complete. It seemed as if no aspect of my clothing would escape her attention… and mum agreed wholeheartedly with whatever new and humiliating decision was taken by a girl three years my junior!

Once I had been demoted and put back into short trousers it wasn’t long before I found out there was to be no going back. I couldn’t hold up my head among my contemporaries, the kindest of whom treated me as if I were a younger brother, but very definitely a junior brother who needed to be told what to do and how to behave. But that’s getting ahead of my story…

As I said it wasn’t long before my wardrobe was completely transformed… transformed on a never-to-be-forgotten day when I came home from playing football to find my clothes cupboard and drawers had been stripped bare.

I’d come home that day and headed straight for the bathroom for a well deserved post match shower. Afterwards I wrapped a towel around my waist and went to my bedroom to put on some fresh clothes, only…

… only none of my old clothes were to be found. It seemed all that I had left was what I stood up in (a small towel) and my new school uniform which lay neatly folded on a chair. The muddy football shorts and shirt I’d tossed unthinkingly into the laundry basket. I was speechless. What had happened?

It took me about two seconds to guess what had happened… Emily had happened that’s what!

“MUM!!” I shouted from my room, “MUM!! What’s happened to all my clothes?!!”

It turned out the ‘kind’ lady from the School Outfitters had made a note of my measurements and had recommended some play-clothes for me to wear when I was not dressed in my school uniform. Unknown to me, mum and Emily had gone to the outfitters while I was playing football. Mum was impressed by the play-clothes she was shown and straightaway bought some for me to wear. Once they got back home mum asked Emily if she wouldn’t mind going to my room and to give it a good ‘clear-out’ of all my ‘unsuitable’ clothes.

“MUM…!!” I shouted again. This time leaning over the banister at the top of the stairs while clutching the towel at my waist.

“Come down here, Scottie,” mum called up, “We’ve got a nice surprise for you!”

I didn’t like the sound of that one little bit, but what choice did I have? There were no clothes in my room for me to change into, so with a great deal of trepidation I descended the stairs.

“Please mum, where are my clothes?” I asked as I gripped the towel tightly around my waist.

“Oh, those old things,” she replied breezily, “Emily and I thought you’d like some new clothes to go with your new school uniform…”

“But, mum…” I was confused, “what was wrong with my old clothes… I don’t get it… why do I need new clothes… I liked the ones I had.”

Then, to my amazement, Emily popped her head round the door. It was still early days and I wasn’t yet fully cognisant with Emily’s total involvement in my new regime. I didn’t understand why she was there. Then mum spoke again:

“It was Emily’s idea actually. She thought you should have some new clothes… play-clothes… you heard us talking about it the other day, surely you remember, Scottie? Clothes for when you’re not wearing your smart new school uniform. So we went and did some shopping…”

“… Yes, but… I thought… but what’s happened to my clothes, mum… the clothes from my bedroom?” I was desperate to know… to try and understand what was happening. My head was reeling with this new turn of events and I didn’t like the conclusions I was drawing from them.

“Those scruffy old clothes? Emily very kindly went up to your bedroom to sort out your clothes, but she said they were all quite unsuitable for you to wear…”

“MUM!! You let Emily go into my bedroom!! And… and… look through my things!!” I was furious and not a little nervous about what Emily might have found. “Mum… It’s not fair letting Emily go into my room…”

“Well it’s too late to complain about that now,” mum said, as if I’d even been asked! “Emily couldn’t find anything remotely suitable for you to wear and frankly I’m not surprised. It simply won’t do to have you wearing just what you like after Emily and I have taken so much trouble to dress you nicely in short trousers for school.”

“But what have you done with all my clothes?”

“Emily has sorted them out and bagged them up so that you can help her take them to the charity shop…” mum said to my astonishment.

My heart stopped… WHAT?!! MY CLOTHES?!! Take all my clothes… to the… the charity shop?”

“Not all of them, Scottie,” Emily said, “I’ve already thrown out those T-shirts and silly boxer-shorts… and as for your jeans, Scottie… why some of them had holes in the pockets big enough for you to put your hand through!”

If I hadn’t needed to clutch the towel around my waist to keep it from dropping off, I think I might well have run out of the house… run away… anywhere, just to get away from the nightmare that was overtaking me. As it was I just stood there… stood in the middle of the living-room facing mum and a stern-looking Emily, gripping the towel until my knuckles turned white. Shocked into silence, I said nothing.

I could feel tears of frustration welling up and the only way I knew of stopping them from flowing was to stay silent. So, biting my lower lip, I stood and watched as Emily produced some shopping bags… bags that I could see were from the very same school outfitters that had supplied my embarrassingly brief school uniform.

The first thing out was a pair of bright yellow shorts… at least that’s what I guessed they were, though at first sight they looked more like a pair of yellow dusters than anything any sane boy might wear. The label read: ‘Everyday Play-Clothes for Active Boys!’ and under this I could see the words: ‘Suitable for all boys aged 12 and over!’

“The lady at the shop says they should fit you Scottie,” Emily said as she held up a pair of unbelievably brief and flimsy boy’s shorts.

The label might have said the shorts were suitable for boys of twelve and over, but I’d never seen any boy wearing a pair of shorts like the ones Emily held up in front of me. Yes, the label might have said they were okay for boys over twelve, but I was three years older than that! There was no way I was going anywhere near those shorts!

“Put your towel down on the chair, Scott,” mum ordered in the calm voice I knew from past experience was best obeyed.

“But, mum… please… not in front of Emily…” I pleaded. It must be remembered that at that stage Emily had not seen me in the nude… neither had mum, for that matter, not since I was about ten anyway.

I was fifteen for heavens sake! But my defiance quickly evaporated… I was fifteen and already I was pleading like a little boy not to have to take off the flimsy towel, the little towel which was all that stood between me and total nudity. I begged not to be made to stand in the nude in front of mum and Emily, a girl almost three years my junior. I felt utterly ashamed of myself. How did I let this happen? What a pathetic creature I was.

“Come on Scottie,” Emily coaxed me as she held up the ridiculously brief play-shorts, “come on, just try them on… I bet you’ll like them… won’t he Mrs Harris?”

Mum smiled, but I could tell she wasn’t in any mood to stand for any of my nonsense. I knew it would only be a matter of time before I took off my little towel and stood meekly, bare-nude in the middle of the living-room. Then the thought struck me that Rosie, my younger sister, might come home at any moment and then what would I do? Bad as it was to have to stand bare-nude in front of mum and Emily, the thought of Rosie seeing me without anything on was more than I could handle… so… with nervous, shaking hands, I fingered the towel around my waist and prayed that this could be done quickly… oh god it felt awful…

… but however awful it felt to be standing there on the verge of taking off the tiny towel, what made it a thousand times worse was that when I did finally summon up the courage to let go of the towel, mum and Emily would see that although I was as normally developed as any other fifteen year old boy (heaven knows, I’d compared myself with enough boys of my own age in the school showers to make sure), what I conspicuously lacked was any sign of pubic hair. As you would expect I was teased by the other boys at school, but that was as nothing compared with the thought that anyone else… anyone like mum and Emily, for instance… should see my hairless genitals.

“Get a move on, Scott,” mum said sharply, “Emily and I haven’t got all day…”

Finally and with a heavy heart, I pulled the towel away. Feeling utterly ashamed of myself, I went and put the towel on the chair mum indicated. I couldn’t help but feel supremely conscious of my penis as it swung between my legs and brushed my thighs. I turned and faced mum and Emily. As I did so, I caught sight of myself in the mirror which hung over the fire-place. My face was redder than any fire which had ever burnt the living-room grate.

“Now that wasn’t difficult, was it Scottie?”

“No mum,” I replied, knowing from the tone of her voice that mum expected an answer.

Any scintilla of doubt that she might have had about putting me back into short trousers, must have evaporated when mum saw how smooth and hairless I was. I reckon I could have read her mind at that moment: Clearly it was a mistake to allow Scottie the privilege of ‘longs’ so soon… yes, it’s best to put Scottie back into short trousers, she’d have thought… Yes, Emily is quite right… what a clever girl. And now Scottie’s wearing short trousers, of course he’ll need a baby-sitter more than ever…

It was a circular argument from which I had no escape. Emily was making sure I stayed in short-trousers and the longer I was in short trousers, the more I needed Emily to look after me and if I needed Emily to look after me, then it followed that I needed to be kept in short trousers!

Once I’d placed the little towel on the chair I hardly need to bother saying how much I wanted to put on those flimsy little play-shorts! I wanted anything, anything at all to wear, anything to cover up my embarrassing nudity. I think at that moment I’d have put on pretty well anything.

So I took the bright yellow play-shorts from Emily, who smiled sweetly as she told me how much I’d soon look forward to wearing them after school.

I wasn’t in any mood to argue the point, as I just wanted to cover up my shamefully hairless penis and testicles, so I stepped into the ‘pull-up’ play-shorts with their fully elasticated waist. I soon found out how embarrassing it was going to be for me to wear them. For a start the play-shorts were painfully short… shorter even than the supremely short trousers I had been put back into to wear to school. The play-shorts were made from a cotton jersey fabric and there can’t have been more than half an inch of inside leg. Whereas the legs themselves were a comfortable fit against my thighs, the rest of the shorts were fairly tight and went up no higher than my hips. This meant the bulge of my ‘boy-bits’ was obvious… very obvious, but this didn’t seem to bother either mum or Emily as she next produced my ‘top’.

I thought that at least the play-shorts might be hidden underneath a baggy tee-shirt… some hope! The top which Emily produced was nothing more than a short singlet made from the same stretchy jersey fabric of the play-shorts. Even before I put it on I could see the top would hardly reach my belly-button… I was right. When I pulled on the equally bright yellow top I was left with a large expanse of bare flesh between my midriff and the low waist of my ridiculously brief play-shorts. This accentuated the appearance of the shorts, drawing attention my embarrassing boy-bulge. The shorts had no fly, however there was a seam running up the middle of the front which added to my embarrassment, since my bulge was of necessity pushed to one side of the seam.

It got worse… Next Emily produced my ‘play-sandals’. I couldn’t believe that mum would make me wear them. A pair of bright yellow plastic sandals, just as you would see little boys wearing when they played at building sand-castles at the sea-side!

As I bent over to put the sandals on I could feel my new play-shorts creeping up at the back as the seam pulled inwards between my bottom cheeks. When I checked, running my hands round the back of my legs, I could actually feel the lower curves of my bottom were completely bare! I was horrified! Everything about my play-wear it seemed was designed to embarrass me! It was so unfair! And what was worse was that mum didn’t mind in the least! It was a signal, if any were needed, that I’d better get used to play-clothes. I might be fifteen years old, but I clearly wasn’t too old to be taken down a peg or two…

“My what a difference!” mum said as she looked me up and down, “It’s a definite improvement on all those horrid baggy clothes you were wearing Scottie.” She turned to Emily, “I’m so glad you suggested we get some new clothes for Scottie… he looks so much smarter… I should of thought of it years ago… Still, I guess it was my own fault for allowing Scottie to wear long trousers far too soon…”

I noted the use of the word ‘we’ when mum spoke to Emily. It was further proof, if any were needed, that Emily had the full support of mum in dressing me in my humiliating new clothes.

I stood in front of mum and Emily. My red face contrasting with my bright yellow play-clothes. I felt like a ripe banana ready to be taken to a fancy-dress party.


I’ve already told you about my Auntie Violet and how she bought me a ‘continental suit’ (Scott’s Story - Part 4), so you know she was a strong-willed and independent woman, the sort of lady who lurked in the works of P G Wodehouse ready to blight the life of Bertram Wooster. Needless to say it wasn’t long before Auntie Violet saw me dressed in my new play-clothes. Somehow I don’t think it will come as any surprise to learn that she came up with some ideas of her own for play-clothes she thought would be suitable for me to wear. That’s when Emily first saw the undoubted benefits of shortalls. Shortalls themselves were bad enough, but the ones Auntie Violet made for me were truly hideous… appalling… frightful! The more I objected, the worse they became. I would plead not to be put into a pair of purple crushed velvet shortalls, so the next time I was taken to visit Auntie Violet I would be presented with pink satin, eye-wateringly brief shortalls complete with a shirt which had lacy collar and cuffs with a floppy bow tie. This outfit was accompanied by black court shoes with silver buckles rather than the more familiar single strap maryjanes I was normally made to wear with I visited Auntie Violet.

Each time I was put into one of these hideous outfits Emily would make sure I thanked auntie and told her how grateful I was to be wearing it. I would be paraded in front of Auntie Violet’s friends who delighted in examining the clothes I wore, commenting on how smart I looked and saying how lucky I was… Lucky!! Me… a fifteen year old boy, lucky to be wearing some of the most sissy-looking clothes imaginable… Lucky? If it was possible I’d have run away, but where would I have run to wearing such shameful, girly clothes?

These women just didn’t seem to understand I was a boy and I wanted to wear proper clothes… boy’s clothes.


With mum’s blessing Emily also established my pyjama-times. I was told Emily would be putting me into pyjamas at 6 o’clock each evening, apart from bath nights when I would be put into pyjamas at 6:30, to give Emily, Emily! time to give me my bath.

I was so distressed on hearing these new arrangements that I ran upstairs to my bedroom, threw myself onto my bed and wept. Me, a fifteen year old boy... I actually cried into my pillows. What made it worse and added immeasurably to my shame was that mum came up a bit later to ask why I was so upset. I’m sure mum wanted to comfort me and she sat down beside me on the narrow single bed and stroked my head as I continued to sniffle.

“There, there Scottie…”

“It’s… it’s not fair… I hate shorts… and I hate… school...and...and…”

“... and…?”

“It’s not fair…”

“But Scottie, you must understand that you’ve let yourself and everybody down… that’s not fair, is it? Everybody wants to help, but you’ve got to let them help you… it’s not fair if you don’t let people help you, is it?”

“No, mummy…”

“That’s better, Scottie. Now, are you going to promise to be a good boy and do everything you’re told?”

“Yes, mummy…”

“... and you’re not going to make a fuss when you’re told to do something you think is not fair?”

“No, mummy…”

I was still sobbing into my pillow, but was just about ready to dry my eyes when Emily appeared at my bedroom door.

“Is Scottie having a good cry, Mrs Harris?”

“Yes, dear… Scottie and I have been having a little talk and he’s promised to be a good little boy from now on, haven’t you, Scottie?”

This was too much, the floodgates opened again as I buried my head into the pillow once more and my shoulders heaved as I sobbed.

Emily must have come right into my bedroom because the next thing I felt was her hand stroking my back as she too began to comfort me.

“There now, Scottie, you have a nice big cry,” she said, “It’s good to have a nice cry… boys have to cry sometimes, don’t they Mrs Harris? I expect it’s been a long time since you had a good cry, Scottie, so just let it all out…”

But I didn’t want to ‘let it all out’, I wanted to be brave... brave like a boy of nearly sixteen should be brave. I didn’t want mum or Emily to see me crying. The presence of them in my bedroom just made me feel worse and more ashamed of myself than ever.

“I think it might be better if we got Scottie settled down,” Emily said, “He’s had a busy day and a nice early bedtime will help him, don’t you think, Mrs Harris?”

“That’s a very good idea, Emily,” mum replied, then explained how she would put me to bed if I got ‘over-tired’ when I was a little boy. Emily wanted to know all about my early bedtimes and it was very embarrassing having to listen to mum giving Emily all the details, including the times when I had my mouth soaped for using naughty words. I could tell Emily was very interested to hear this; I was mortified.

“Oh, please, mum… do you have to tell Emily everything?”

As far as I was concerned mum was giving Emily ideas, when it was apparent to me that she had plenty enough of her own!

“Come along, Scottie,” Emily said, “Let’s wipe away those tears… there are some lovely new pyjamas warming for you downstairs… It’s about time we got you settled down…”

I was so exhausted and completely overtaken by events that I meekly let Emily help me. I sat on the edge of the bed and let Emily dry my eyes. I felt like I was six, not almost sixteen. Emily even made me blow my nose as she held a handkerchief to my face. I glanced up at mum and could see she approved of the way Emily treated me.

I was still wearing my new school uniform complete with eye-wateringly short grey trousers and as I stood up from my bed I wondered how long I would have to endure Emily and mum treating me as if I was a little boy.

Emily took my hand: “Come along Scottie… let’s get you downstairs and into your pyjamas…”

“But why do I have to go downstairs? Why can’t I put my pyjamas on here in my bedroom?” Then I had another thought: “And… and besides it’s not time for me to put on pyjamas… it’s too early,” I said as I blurted out my pathetic attempt at defiance.

“Now Scottie,” Emily said with a firmness that belied her age, “I don’t want any nonsense from you. Mummy’s got a nice pair of pyjamas warming for you downstairs. If I hear any more complaints, you’ll find yourself with a smacked botty before pyjama-time… Do I make myself clear?”

One more glance in mum’s direction and I knew what to say: “Yes, Emily,” I replied sheepishly.

Downstairs we went to the front-room. It was still light outside and the curtains remained open. No attempt to close then was made and I was so terrified that Emily would make good on her threat to smack my botty, that I didn’t dare complain.

“We’ll have to make do with a strip-wash today,” Emily said to mum and then to me added, “Come over here into the light, Scottie, where I can see you better…”

Emily proceeded to pull me towards the window. “Let’s get you undressed…”

“MUM!!” I shouted, “MUM!!”

But mum simply ignored me and said to Emily: “I’ll go and get a bowel of water and a flannel while you get Scottie ready…”

I suppose it shows what a laughing-stock I’d so quickly become when I say that Emily proceeded to undress me as if I was a little boy, while I stood still and whimpered that it wasn’t fair. Emily took off my school tie and unbuttoned my shirt. She pulled out the shirt-tails from my short trousers and then knelt down to undo the clasp and pull down the zip. I begged Emily not to undress me, at least not there in the front-room, so close to the window. I could see children outside playing and knew that if they looked up from their games, they would be able to see me quite easily.

I must have complained a bit too much because the next thing I knew Emily had given me a couple of very sharp smacks on my bare legs. I flinched. The smacks stung horribly. Nothing more was said and Emily continued to get me undressed.

It didn’t take long before I was standing in just my white school uniform underpants. I had to bite my tongue in order to stop myself from saying anything as Emily, without a moments hesitation, pushed her small fingers into the waistband of my junior boy Y-fronts. Emily slipped my underpants down my smooth legs as I looked out of the front-room window, desperately worried in case any of the children were looking towards our house. My underpants were removed and I was completely nude. Now I was less concerned by my nudity than by an understandable eagerness to get my strip-wash over with and my pyjamas on.

Mum appeared with a bowel of warm water, soap, flannel and a small hand towel. She left Emily to attend to my strip-wash while she went fetch my pyjamas. First my head and face were scrubbed and I spluttered as some soap bubbles found their way past my  lips. This brought an instant rebuke from Emily who told me to keep still. Next my ears were pulled as Emily told me how boys never washed behind their ears properly. She also muttered something about my needing another visit to the barber… even though I’d had my hair cut little more than two weeks previously!

“Chin up!” Emily ordered as she set about my neck and shoulders with the rough flannel.

Remorselessly Emily worked her way down my bare chest and back before taking hold of my left arm and lifting it right up. It was at this point I saw one of the children outside look straight at me. I knew I’d been spotted and I instinctively moved my right hand to cover my genitals. The youngster, who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old, called to his friends and pointed towards me. They started to make faces and clearly enjoyed seeing my distress. They laughed when they saw Emily push my hand away from between my legs. I was only grateful they couldn’t have heard Emily’s admonishment:

“I don’t want to see any of that sort of behaviour! Keep your hand by your side, Scottie.”

It still puzzles me why I put up with Emily bossing me around. Don’t forget she was only thirteen at the time this took place. Nearly three years younger than I was. I suppose the fact that I’d been put back into short trousers must have been the key factor, along with my demotion at school. Being put back into the Third Form had undoubtedly knocked me sideways. And once Emily had me put back into short trousers with mum’s wholehearted approval, I was sunk and I had only myself to blame.

My strip-wash continued, now with an excited, giggling audience, since word had quickly spread among the children playing outside the house.

“Please, Emily,” I pleaded as I became ever more anxious about the children watching me through the window, “Please, can’t I put on my pyjamas now?”

“Don’t be silly, Scottie, I haven’t finished… besides it was only a little while ago that you told me it was too early to put you into pyjamas…” Emily said with that word-twisting logic that would become all too familiar to me over the forthcoming months.

“Yes, but…” I started to explain that I was fully dressed then, not fully nude and standing in the front-room window where all the local children could see me. I soon realised though that my complaints were simply holding things up and that the sooner I stopped talking, the sooner I’d be safely dressed in my pyjamas.

Emily kept me facing the window as she rubbed the flannel down my back and over my bottom. I’d rather draw a veil over the final part of my strip-wash, but suffice to say that, yes, Emily did rub the flannel (non too gently) over my hairless boy-bits. It was not a pleasant experience. Emily did not appear to have learnt how sensitive a boy’s testicles are and that, coupled with the laughing faces of the children outside, made me wish I’d not been so stupid as to end up in the situation in which I found myself.

I had been conscious in the meantime of mum standing in the room keeping a watchful eye on me as Emily proceeded with my strip-wash. Mum told me not to be ‘so silly’ when I complained about Emily’s rough handling of my boy-bits. I could see mum was holding a pair of boy’s pyjamas. The pyjamas were blue and white-striped and definitely not the ones I was used to wearing. Another one of Emily’s ‘suggestions’, I thought. Yet another sign of my changed status.

Finally I was put into my new pyjamas. I have to confess that I found the soft cotton winceyette from which the blue and white-striped pyjamas were made very comforting. The pyjama-top was buttoned all the way up and Emily made sure the top button was properly fastened. The pyjama-bottoms were pulled up afterwards so the top could be tucked in neatly as the white cord was pulled tight and knotted. My feet were slipped into a pair of tartan-patterned boy’s slippers and I was almost ready to be put to bed.

Mum thought I looked lovely and said so as she brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead with her hand. I felt and looked like a ten year old.

“Well done, Emily!” mum said, “Scottie… you can thank Miss Emily for getting you ready for bed.”

“Please, mum… do I have to?” I said as I realised this would be a final capitulation and acknowledgement of Emily’s authority.

“You most certainly do, Scottie. Emily has gone to a lot of trouble on your behalf and I think it’s the least you can do to show her the respect she deserves…”

“But, mum… Emily’s not as old as me… she’s only thirteen…”

“But Miss Emily hasn’t been silly enough to get herself demoted into a lower class at school. Miss Emily is a sensible girl and displays a maturity which you, Scottie, singularly lack,” mum said and then added, “Now, no more arguments; do what I said and thank Miss Emily…”

I did as I was told: “Thank you for getting me ready for bed, Miss Emily.” I hung my head in absolute shame and added: “Thank you for putting me into my pyjamas…”

“That’s no trouble at all, Scottie,” Emily replied, “And guess what? I’ve got a special surprise for you… Look what mummy has found…!”

My jaw dropped.

“It’s Teddy!” Emily said as she waggled the rather bedraggled fluffy yellow teddy that I’d last seen when I was about ten before I’d moved on to Action Man toys.

Emily held Teddy up to her ear as if she was listening to something he was saying. She nodded as Teddy ‘spoke’ to her. All the while mum was smiling, but I was horrified by this performance.

Finally Emily spoke: “Teddy says how much he’s missed your cuddles, Scottie. Teddy says he was very sad when you left him… Teddy was very lonely. Teddy says he never wants you to leave him ever again… and… what’s that, Teddy?” Emily held Teddy to her ear again, nodded, “Yes, Teddy, I understand.” Emily spoke to me and told me what Teddy had ‘said’: “Teddy wants you to promise to take him to bed with you every night from now on, Scottie…”

I looked at mum, then at Teddy and back at Emily. I was dumbfounded, but Emily hadn’t quite finished.

“I think you should say sorry to Teddy, Scottie…”

“MUM!!”

“Now, Scottie, you’re not to upset Teddy,” mum said firmly, “Do as Miss Emily says and apologise to Teddy for being such an ungrateful little boy.”

Standing there as I was in the front-room after having been put into my new winceyette striped boy’s pyjamas, I didn’t want to risk a spanked botty, as Emily had so succinctly put it earlier. I pouted and did as I was told:

“I’m sorry Teddy…” I looked up and saw from the expression on Emily’s face that this was not a sufficient apology, so I was forced to continue: “... um, I… I’m sorry I left you, Teddy and… um, I won’t do it again, I promise and… um, you can, um, sleep in my bed… if you would like to that is, Teddy…”

I must have looked a totally pathetic sight as I again looked to Emily for her approval.

Once more Emily held Teddy’s face to her ear and nodded sagely as Teddy ‘talked’ to her.

“Teddy accepts your apologies, Scottie,” Emily said and then dropped another bombshell, “Now kiss Teddy and make up…”

“...MUM!!”

Emily ignored my outburst (and thankfully so too did mum) and simply held Teddy up facing me. I reluctantly stepped forward and leant down slightly so that I could press my lips against Teddy’s.

“Kiss Teddy properly, Scottie,” Emily said, “That wasn’t a proper kiss. Kiss Teddy again… properly.”

I pressed my lips against Teddy’s furry face until Emily was satisfied that I’d kissed Teddy properly. As I drew my head back I glanced over Emily’s shoulder and saw the children standing outside watching; some giggling; some smirking. They had seen everything. Mum and Emily either didn’t see the children staring at me, or had simply chosen to ignore them. Either way I knew I was a laughing-stock and that I would be teased mercilessly by the children when our paths crossed.

“Time to get you tucked up in bed, Scottie,” Emily said breezily, “Take Teddy and hold him close… that’s it, now come along... let’s get you upstairs.”

I took Teddy and clutched him to my chest with my right hand, while Emily took hold of my left hand and led me out of the room. As we walked through the door I glanced back over my shoulder. The children who had witnessed my shameful embarrassment were still standing outside the window. They made faces and one or two poked their tongues out at me. I tried hard not to cry as I had done earlier...