I received the following letter from titi, a reader of this blog who has enjoyed Georgie’s memoirs. It was written by Miss Mary to her close friend and pen-pal, Amelia and as such presents us with an insight into the life of Georgie from her point of view.
My dear bestie Amelia,
I am still missing you and wish you had never moved away. Such a lot has happened since I last wrote. I have so much to tell you, Amelia, and I think I must be the happiest, luckiest girl in the world, so I do hope you will be able to come and visit this summer. If you do come I could even show you what has happened, because I don’t think you’ll believe me after you’ve finished reading this letter.
I am sure you remember last year when I stayed with you how we seemed to spend nearly all the time talking about boys and how frustrating it was that we never got the chance to spend any real time with any of them, especially the older ones.
You remember I spoke to you about my friend Vivienne who has a brother who is two years older than her. You agreed he looked very cute when you saw the photo Viv had given me and like me, you were really jealous that she’s lucky enough to sometimes even see him in his underwear. Do you remember all the ideas we had about what we would do if we had an older brother like Viv has? How we would want him to be very cute, but shy and easily manipulated. How we would sneak into his bedroom without knocking and pull him out of bed in the morning. How we might get him into trouble so he was punished and perhaps he would even get his trousers taken down and we would be able to watch. Do you remember how excited we got when we thought of the idea of of using a screwdriver to unlock the bathroom door from the outside so we could walk in while he was in the shower, making him think he had forgotten to lock the door properly? We had some great ideas, but unfortunately it was all a fantasy as neither of us have a brother not even a younger one!
Well, get this, I have sort of got one now. No, of course I haven’t actually got an older brother, silly, and no, nothing like we talked about has happened, but it is still very exciting. If you come and stay you will be able to meet him. His name is George or as I call him now, ‘Georgie’. He is seventeen, two years older than me, really sweet and nervous around girls. He has beautiful big innocent blue eyes, long curled eyelashes, full and very red lips. He is thin, but not skinny and looks younger than his age. Georgie’s face is very smooth with none of that horrid bum fluff and I’m sure he doesn’t even shave yet. His legs are also totally hairless. You may wonder how I know. Well be patient for a minute. You won’t believe it, but Georgie is shy, blushes easily and is very docile, polite and naive, just like the big brother we imagined!!
I think he’s so shy and all the rest of it because his parents, especially his mother, are very strict with him and treat him like a much younger boy. A big advantage for me, since he’s kept in very short shorts all the time except when he attends school, is that I get to see his bare, hairless, smooth thighs every time we meet. Now you know how I know all about his dreamy legs!
Until recently this wasn’t often as although his mother and mine are good friends, we are not close neighbours. But then, a series of things happened that allowed me to see him more often…
It all started after my mother and father had been to dinner with George’s parents, Mr and Mrs Longwood. They came back and announced that George was going to be coming and spending the evenings at our house when his parents were out as they didn’t like to leave him in their house on his own. Apparently he was revising for important exams and they were worried that George would slack off if he wasn’t closely monitored. I imagine they thought my parents would do the supervising, but I knew my mother wouldn’t want to be spending her evenings looking after a boy of seventeen.
As you know I’ve built up a reputation for myself as being a good babysitter for boys. Although the ones I’ve sat for have all been much younger than me, I quickly volunteered to help. Mummy was delighted and told me how proud she was of me. She explained that I was not to worry about George being older than me (as if!) because girls matured quicker than boys and I should just treat him the same as all the other boys I’ve looked after. I wasn’t sure how she thought that would work, as the oldest boy I’d babysat for up to then was eleven and most were younger, but of course I agreed with mummy and said I would do just that.
Then I had a brilliant idea and told mum how I thought we should ask George’s mother to come round so that we could find out what she wanted the babysitter (oops! ‘supervisor’) to do for her seventeen year old son while he studied. Mum agreed saying how thoughtful I was, got on the phone straight away and it was arranged.
During the meeting with George’s mother I quickly grasped that, given a bit of intelligence from her and some suggestions from me, I could have a lot of fun and at the same time earn a little extra money. I think at first Mrs Longwood was surprised that I had volunteered to look after George, but by the time mum had told her how experienced I was, any doubts she might have had had disappeared.
I had been sort of aware that George’s upbringing was pretty strictly controlled… I guess the short trousers he wore were a dead giveaway! But I had no idea quite how strict his parents were with him. So after listening to Mrs Longwood for a while, and remembering how you and I had talked about the need to be very strict with our imaginary older brother, I decided to push my luck by saying that if I agreed to supervise George, I would have to do it in my own way. I told her that I would need to be firm, uncompromising and demanding with him. I was ready to backtrack if Mrs Longwood objected as I didn’t want to miss the chance to spend time with George, but to my delight the opposite happened. Mrs Longwood said she was in full agreement with my proposed method and said that George, like all young boys, needed a firm hand to keep him on the straight and narrow. She went on to say that if he gave me any trouble, any trouble at all, I was to tell him that I had been told to report his behaviour to his parents. This, Mrs Longwood said, should set her son straight, but that I should nevertheless let her know what had happened. She and George’s father would make sure he saw the error of his ways. Mrs Longwood was also sure that my mother and father would also support me and of course they had her permission to punish George in any way they thought was appropriate.
By that time I was more than satisfied with the situation, especially when Mrs Longwood offered to pay a little more than my usual rate for babysitting because she recognised that George was that much older than the boys I normally sat for. We agreed he would come in a couple of evenings’ time and it was also agreed that in the meantime if I had any more questions or concerns I could ask my mother to contact her and she would be more than happy to talk some more.
Although it was good to know I had the support of all the parents, I was determined to deal with George on my own terms and only involve them if he became totally unmanageable. Luckily, this has never happened so far and I don’t think it will now, although I must admit I have used the threat of telling his parents when he has tried to oppose my wishes. As I said he is very compliant by nature because of his upbringing and he is clearly terrified of his parents getting angry with him, so from the start I rarely even had to suggest I would speak to them.
As soon as she had gone I started to really plan for George’s visits, so that during these visits over the next few weeks I developed a lot of rules for him. At the beginning I spoke to his mother about them as I didn’t want to risk ruining the arrangement, but she always supported me in whatever I suggested. It soon became clear there was no point in talking to her unless I wanted her to take some action herself.
Just to show you what I mean, here are some examples to give you a flavour of Mrs Longwood’s reaction when I told her my ideas for ‘helping’ George concentrate at his study sessions:
“So that he understands and respects my position as his supervisor, despite the fact that I am younger than him, I intend to instruct him to call me ‘Miss Mary’.”
My request was met with a surprised but admiring look from my mother and a nod accompanied by a smile from Mrs Longwood approving my wish.
“I am thinking of regularly testing George to check his progress. But if I find that he’s been slacking I admit that I don’t know what to do. It’s obvious that some sort of punishment will be needed, but I as wouldn’t want to do anything you would not approve of, so perhaps you might suggest what can be done to teach George a lesson.”
“My little Mary, with boys like George you have to act immediately to alert them of their failings, because they sometimes behave as if they’ve got the memory of a goldfish. You must treat him in the same way as you do with the younger boys that you look after. As for me, I simply slap George on the thighs, but to reassure you I give you carte blanche to use whatever method you find suitable for a boy his age. I can see that you are mature and organised, so I trust in your judgement of how you make my son work.”
I was thrilled and delighted at being given such a responsibility. I had received permission to punish George and treat him like a young boy. However, I thought it would be better if his mother, in the presence of mine, clearly spelled out her authorisation to use corporal punishment at my discretion, so I asked further.
“I want to make sure I understand you correctly. Are you saying I may use corporal punishment if I feel that George deserves it? The parents of the boys I look after give me this permission, but they are between six and eleven years old and George is seventeen, a teenager.”
“Dear Mary, I understand that you have some qualms about using your usual methods with a teenager older than yourself, but to reassure you - boys are much more immature than girls, especially my George who can still behave like a child. So if he doesn’t work to your satisfaction don’t hesitate to give his thighs a good smack,” Mrs Longwood chuckled before she added, “next to his bottom, it’s the shortest path to his brain,”.
I knew from the beginning of the first visit it would be essential to establish my authority in everyone’s eyes, but especially in those of George. At that time I had not yet fully realised how easy it would be to control him, so I confess I was a little nervous. I was glad that George was coming to our house and not the other way around. Not only because I would have the support of my parents close to hand if I needed it, but also because I thought he would be less confident in a strange environment. I was soon to discover that I need not have worried, as not only did I not need the active support of my parents, but it turns out that George is as nervous in his home as he is in mine.
From the moment George arrived for his first lesson, I was very curt and authoritative towards him. I immediately sent him into the dining room for his study session, the setting I had chosen in consultation with my mother. I wanted to make him understand my no-nonsense approach from day one.
His clothes, as usual, were very old school, really short short trousers, and his school attire - a grey, short-sleeved shirt, tie, sleeveless pullover, socks and T-bar sandals. He had all his books in a leather satchel carried on his back, the very picture of a good little school pupil coming to study.
His very strict upbringing had accustomed him to obey, so it was without complaint that he moved towards the dining room. I saw that my parents and George’s seemed to be impressed by my immediate command of the situation. I got smiles and even my father seemed to be admiring my conduct.
I stayed for a while talking with the parents, not that we had much more to talk about, but so that George understood that despite the fact I am just fifteen, I was accepted as being an adult among them, while he was treated as a child even though he is two years older than me.
Upon entering the room a few minutes later, I saw that my pupil had not dared to sit and was standing waiting for me. I made it clear to him that I appreciated his gesture of respect. I admit that I was relieved to see this sign that he had accepted my authority.
For this first lesson, I wasn’t too demanding and I saw that George, while obviously trying to hide whatever he thought about me being put in charge, did make an effort to behave himself. So when his parents came to pick him up, my report was positive. I confirmed that as long as he continued to behave and show me the same respect I was willing to take charge of him for future revision sessions. You should have seen how red-faced he was at having me discuss his behaviour with his parents!
As soon as they had gone, Amelia, I started to plan my future sessions with George I was determined to step up my control and start to implement some of the ideas we discussed last year about how a girl could boss a boy around.
When George arrived for his second lesson I could see he was surprised to discover that the dining chair he had sat on before had been replaced with a much less comfortable wooden seat. For my part, I had added a small cushion to my chair; a small detail, but I could tell he had noticed.
As I hoped, after an hour, he began to wriggle. I took the opportunity to give him my first reprimands and impose tests on him to assess the quality of his work.
I must say that to devise these tests, I had to work hard on a school syllabus that was well over a year ahead of me, but I was lucky to have the help of an older friend, Rebecca who had done her A-levels the year before. I will tell you more about her later because she is going to have a bigger part to play in the future. She thinks girls should be in charge of boys and was keen to help me with ideas as soon as I told her about George. Between us we researched lessons that we were sure George wouldn’t have studied yet in order to make him fail.
This lesson was when I started calling him ‘Georgie’, a diminutive name to constantly remind him of his status as a 'little boy' in our relationship.
With each new lesson, the parents of Georgie expressed their satisfaction with my programme and for the way in which I had managed to quickly take charge over their son, something they were convinced Georgie needed. After only four lessons I was confident enough to increase my demands and to impose further humiliations on my pupil.
First, I ordered that for the tests he had to remain standing. Then, after tricking him into making mistakes by including topics I knew he knew nothing about, I added another rule that he had to keep his hands on his head to help him concentrate.
As I had quickly grasped, Georgie, docile and afraid of upsetting me, accepted everything in the hope it would keep me happy - fat chance! On the contrary, it only encouraged me to impose new and more humiliating rules on him.
To show his respect, he was henceforth to call me Miss Mary. I saw that he didn’t like it, but he did not dare to contradict me. It must be said that I was really sneaky, making Georgie agree to each new rule by presenting them as perfectly harmless little things that would help both of us during his lessons - yes, Amelia, I had started to call his study sessions ‘lessons’, and as he didn’t say anything, I knew I’d scored another little victory!
It was at this moment that I decided to take new, important steps and finally to deploy my carte blanche to use corporal punishment.
To ridicule him a little more for what I began to call ‘Georgie’s question time’, he had to stand on a low footstool in front of me, hands always on his head, of course. It was during this lesson that I started to slap Georgie’s thighs for each wrong answer. Suffice to say it didn’t help him concentrate, on the contrary! Once more, he didn’t try to stop me, accepting that I had the right to smack his legs.
I accompanied these slaps with reproaches, scolding him to emphasise his poor concentration and lack of effort, saying things like, “How do you expect me to help you when you don’t take your lessons seriously, Georgie?” I’m sure that apart from the physical pain, it made him ashamed that, try as he might, he had fallen below the standards I had set him.
Do you remember those tingly feelings we got sometimes last summer when we were talking about boys. I got those a lot during Georgie’s lessons especially during the tests!
When one of his lessons finished, during which I’d had to be especially strict with Georgie, for the first time he actually left the room with tears still glistening and moist on his cheeks, sniffling as he desperately tried to contain his sobs. I was a little concerned I might receive some negative reaction from at least one of the four adults who were patiently waiting for the lesson to end. I needn’t have worried as I was soon both relieved and delighted that the state of my pupil was virtually ignored and the only reaction were smiles between the adults and looks of approval directed towards me, while looks of disapproval were directed at Georgie who was standing in the hallway with head bowed, no doubt feeling very ashamed of himself.
From then on George’s passivity during his punishments and the adults silent approval convinced me I could go further. Even though the sound of slaps, tears, yelps and cries increased continuously over time, it never seemed to bother my parents and not once did they interfere in any way with my lessons.
It was the same with Georgie’s parents, when they came to collect him. While the physical evidence of his limpid damp and puffy eyes, his red thighs, the marks of which extended to the inside as well the outside of his legs, got more noticeable, they never once made any comment or reproach. On the contrary, they continued to shower me with compliments.
For his part, while Georgie might have realised the adults accepted how he was punished, I’m sure he also came to suspect that his parents might have suggested their use to me. Of course I didn't enlighten him - I wasn’t going to discuss my methods with a little boy like Georgie.
Encouraged by my rapid progress and the approval of the adults, I decided to push my luck and try to extend my influence beyond the lessons. So after one particular lesson I suggested to his mother that she give him an earlier bedtime. To support my proposal, I explained that Georgie had seemed tired during his lesson and was therefore making more mistakes. I could see by the look on his face how annoyed my pupil was at this new affront, but as usual Georgie managed to control the anger that must have been simmering inside him. I already knew from his mother that he had a nine o’clock bedtime, a disgrace for a seventeen year old, but thanks to my little suggestion he would now have to be tucked up in bed by eight-thirty. Another brilliant victory!
I later learned that Georgie had finally rebelled in an attempt to keep his later bedtime. As always with his parents, this little act of defiance was taken as proof of his immaturity and silliness. This would only further break what little resistance he still had.
After that, his docility and, I would even say, his acceptance of his inferior status increased even further.
However, my own status had improved considerably, to the point at which I too was invited to join my parents at the dinner parties held at Georgie’s house. The first time I went I found it hard not to giggle as, on entering the house, I was met by the sight of Georgie stood meekly next to his mother. He was greeting the guests, standing barefoot and dressed in childish boy’s pyjamas. I couldn’t imagine what must have been going through his head, him, a seventeen year old boy, waiting in his pyjamas to say “Good evening” to the guests knowing that he would soon be taken upstairs to bed. Then, as he stood facing me, a fifteen year old girl, a guest he must call Miss Mary, he must have nearly died of embarrassment!
Despite this further proof of my superior status, I confess I felt no pity. On the contrary, I added insult to injury by thanking his mother in front of the other guests for listening to my advice about moving Georgie’s bedtime to eight-thirty. I told everyone how his work had improved now that he was in bed earlier in the evening. I admit I enjoyed studying the expression on Georgie’s face - it was priceless!
My mother and I stayed in the hall, while my father and other guests went through to the lounge. I got the impression from my mother that she was savouring Georgie’s humiliation almost as much as I was. Then, when his mother was about to take him upstairs to bed, I suddenly had an idea. I would volunteer to put him to bed and thus have a good excuse to see inside his bedroom, to invade his private space as it were. Seeing Georgie’s mother hesitate slightly, mine supported my request, explaining that her friend needed to rest a little, to relax and enjoy the company of her guests. She even added that I’d know how to put Georgie to bed. Wow, me putting a seventeen year old boy to bed! Amelia, believe me it’s true!
Needless to say Georgie tried to escape this new indignity. He begged, his face and ears scarlet with shame. But this just ensured he suffered another defeat and I could see that in his mother’s eyes, his behaviour appeared even more childish. He was told by her in no uncertain terms that he was to go with me and that I, Miss Mary would see that he was properly tucked up in bed. Amelia, can you believe that Georgie’s mother actually called me ‘Miss Mary’ to his face?!
Once upstairs on the landing, away from the adults, I continued to belittle Georgie by taking him by the hand and treating him like a boy of six or seven. I asked him if he had brushed his teeth properly and when he remained silent, I scolded him, tugging and shaking his hand as if I was dealing with a naughty little boy. I was deliberately pushing Georgie and I could sense that any thoughts of rebellion he might have had were getting weaker and weaker as he answered my questions.
Finally, we reached his bedroom, Georgie’s sanctuary! I put him to bed without any further trouble. Do you remember that story we read, Amelia and how we didn’t really understand about a Catholic school where the boys had to sleep with their hands on the top of the blankets? I asked Rebecca about that later when I got home and she said it was supposed to stop the boys touching their private parts, as apparently they like to play with them. I don’t know whether Georgie does that but I placed his arms on the blanket before tucking him in tightly. I certainly saw in his eyes that he was embarrassed but whether it was because of me doing that or just the general situation I don’t know. I can’t imagine he would ever do it and I am sure his mother wouldn’t let him. I need to ask Rebecca for more details and maybe I can use it to embarrass Georgie some more!
Then I examined all his stuff and asked questions about his various possessions. Blushing, he answered everything in a small voice, almost whispering, as if he didn’t like me looking at his things. His room was just like the ones of the young tween boys I babysit, certainly not how I imagined a big boy of seventeen’s would look. I smiled when I saw he had an old wooden school desk in one corner of his room… pretty but certainly not comfortable - perfect for Georgie.
To add insult to injury, after my first invasion of his bedroom, I had another idea. I’d just seen his teddy bear, so I picked it up, put it in bed next to him. Then I told him that it was time for me to go back downstairs and join the rest of his parent’s guests, but that he was to go straight to sleep! The ultimate indignity!
On this winning streak, I turned off his bedroom light, leaving him in bed and wished him ‘nighty-night, sweet dreams’, while I went to join the adults to enjoy my dinner in their company. Georgie must have been furious, but he didn’t dare react, being too well-trained by his parents.
Back downstairs and after the appetisers, just as we were about to sit down to eat, one of the guests complained of a slight headache and asked Mrs Longwood if she had an aspirin she could take. Like the perfect young lady I am, I offered to fetch them. After a moment’s hesitation, Georgie’s mother agreed and gave me the key to their medicine cabinet which is in the upstairs bathroom. I'd scored more brownie points and I think the adults were practically ready to canonise me!
In truth, my intention while doing this little chore was to take a peek at Georgie. Perhaps I'd be lucky enough to catch him doing something naughty!
So I went upstairs as quietly as possible. I went and got the aspirin, but when I came out of the bathroom I was quite surprised to find my little pupil lying flat on his tummy on the floor at the top of the stairs. Georgie must have sneaked out of bed while I was in the bathroom and had lain down hoping to catch snippets of conversation from the diner party downstairs. It was immediately clear to me how this demonstrated Georgie’s frustration at not being accepted into the adult world.
Slowly, silently, like an eagle that has spotted a rabbit, I approached him. Totally focused on trying to decipher a few sentences, Georgie only spotted me at the last moment. As he turned his head and looked up at me his large, innocent eyes showed for a few seconds the fright I had just caused him.
I decided not to raise my voice, but to react like a responsible, calm person who had just caught a little boy with his hand in the biscuit jar. I even gave a small, indulgent, and condescending smile. I then addressed him as if he were a naughty eight year old boy.
“What are you doing out of bed? Are you spying on us, Georgie?” (By saying “spying on us”, I was deliberately making sure Georgie understood how I was part of the adult world that was forbidden to him. Aren’t I devious, Amelia?!)
To show my disappointment at his childish behaviour, I added, “I really thought you were much better behaved.”
Suddenly Georgie must have realised the position he had put himself in and broke his silence. He panicked, terrified that I would tell his mother, in front of all the other guests no less, that he was out of bed spying on everyone.
No other seventeen year old would have acted like that. In reality what he had just done was more ridiculous than truly serious, but in his childish mind, crushed by his upbringing, he had just defied his mother’s orders. He was expecting a catastrophe… he actually pleaded with me, “You won’t tell on me… please?” he said.
After a few seconds thought I decided to keep it between us, like a secret between a toddler and his babysitter. I told him that I’d put him back to bed and that we’d say no more about it. I immediately saw the tension release in his body and a sense of relief, perhaps even gratitude.
That’s when I added the words ‘for now’ just to show I was hanging a sword of Damocles over his head, ready to use it and strike whenever I wanted.
I tucked him back into bed with a stern warning not to move again until morning and went back downstairs with the aspirin. I came away from that diner party thrilled that I had another hold on Georgie, as I knew instinctively that he would do anything to avoid his mother finding out what he had done.
After a few more lessons from which he always emerged with bright red thighs and puffy eyes, Georgie sat and passed his exams brilliantly. This was for me the satisfying culmination of all my efforts to get him to take his studies seriously. However, I was surprised and furious to discover, upon our return from a short vacation, that Georgie’s parents were giving him all the credit. I learned from my mother that my little “protégé” had even received a huge reward: the right to wear long trousers for family outings!
Not only had this dream period of mine just ended, but I could sense that Georgie, with this new privilege, might even try to become ‘George’. I don’t think I need tell you how that made me feel, Amelia. I didn't want Georgie’s gorgeous, smooth thighs to be hidden away… and I didn’t want his infantilization to stop.
Shortly after we returned home, Georgie’s mother invited us over to hear about our trip. It was during this first meeting after he had passed his exams that I discovered my toy strutting around in long trousers looking really pleased with himself. I could see from my mother’s expression that she too was surprised and maybe even a little displeased by this discovery.
I understood that I had to nip this tiny bit of pride in the bud and take control of the situation.
First, I scrutinised him from head to toe, lingering on the part of his body below the waist now covered by his long trousers. My cold, prim expression quickly extinguished the small spark of pride and self-confidence that had briefly flickered in Georgie’s eyes as if he had been seeking my approval of his new privilege. But I greeted him with a cheery, “Hello Georgie” to show him, that for me, nothing had changed.
After joining our parents, I watched my prey out of the corner of my eye, waiting for the right moment to pounce. I had to listen as Mr and Mrs Longwood showered their son with praise, which irritated me to no end. Georgie remained silent, trying to remain unnoticed, for it was clear he had sensed how very annoyed I was with him. I took advantage of a moment to be alone with him when he was sent into the kitchen to fetch more appetisers. I followed, saying that I would help.
I immediately launched my first attack, “Long trousers, Georgie… I am surprised.”
Then I belittled him, telling him that long trousers didn’t suit him and that he looked much smarter, much nicer in shorts. I could see he was flustered and anxious. He didn’t quite know how to react.
Then I added coldly, “Did your parents give you permission to wear long trousers, Georgie?”
That’s when he replied defensively, “Yes, of course they did. It’s my reward for doing well in my exams.”
This sentence only fuelled my pent-up anger. He didn’t deserve to receive any reward, I thought. If it hadn’t been for me he wouldn’t even have passed his exams. I was the sole reason for his success.
“Your reward?" I sniffed, “What about my reward for all the time and effort I devoted to keeping your nose to the grindstone? Jolly hard work it was too. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have done nearly so well in your exams.”
I was indignant. But I was exaggerating a bit, being a good actress. I knew he had suffered to achieve his good results, but I had to frighten Georgie by showing him that his ingratitude towards me along with his failure to tell his parents how much he owed to me, had deeply offended me.
Georgie was trembling, his gaze avoiding me, as he filled the bowls with little snacks. He knew he was in trouble. What a glorious feeling it was to watch him quivering, Amelia!
At that point, I raised my voice to get his full attention. “Georgie, look at me when I’m talking to you!” I snapped.
I was starting the second phase of my plan. “Do you not think I deserve a reward for supervising your studies?” I asked sternly and made him agree that this was indeed the case.
In front of this trembling and frightened teenager, I stated my demands. The first thing I wanted him to do was insist, in front of our assembled parents, that the real reason for this success was me, not him!
And I was about to deliver the hardest blow since the beginning of our relationship. I ordered him to tell his parents that he didn’t want to wear long trousers anymore, only shorts. I knew that if he agreed to do that, then anything was possible. Because I knew full well that I was shattering his biggest dream and that any hope he had of being treated as a young man and not like a little boy would disappear.
I made it clear that I wanted him to do this after we left, so no one would suspect my involvement. I could see from his face and gestures that he was half-stunned by my request, but he was so conditioned to obey that he barely rebelled. He stuttered, as if about to protest, but I quickly reminded him how it would be a shame if his parents found out about his disobedience at the dinner party. I didn’t need to dwell on it. Georgie got the message.
Furthermore, by agreeing to make known his rejection of his long trouser privilege, he knew the reaction of his parents, particularly his mother, would be terrible and that he would be condemning himself to remain in short trousers, quite possibly for many more years to come.
Upon our return to the lounge with the snacks, I could sense Georgie’s nervousness, while I felt quite tingly from the excitement. But the minutes ticked by and still Georgie didn’t speak. He struggled, finding it difficult to assert himself among the adults until suddenly he raised a timid hand, like a schoolboy trying to get his teacher's attention.
I almost burst out laughing because his mother, so unaccustomed to this sort of behaviour, immediately assumed he needed to use the bathroom. Once again, she casually humiliated him by telling him how he needn’t ask permission to use the toilet, “just politely say ‘excuse me’ before you leave the room”. But I must admit Georgie persisted and to assert himself he stood up. He explained that he was grateful for the time I had dedicated to helping him succeed in his exams. But with my eyes, I made it clear that I wanted more. With a lump in his throat and blushing all the while, he gave me all the credit for his success and added that without me, he certainly wouldn’t have passed his exams. It must have been heartbreaking to completely deny himself any credit, especially while he had received so many slaps on the thighs and had worked hard for so many hours.
He was so convincing that suddenly, in our parents’ eyes, I was the only one who deserved praise. And indeed, they showered me with compliments, reminding everyone what a wonderful young woman I was. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Georgie’s dismayed, sad face. His moment of glory had been so fleeting, but now he was falling back into the shadows from which he should never have emerged. He was on the verge of tears. But I didn’t leave him in peace. With my eyes I reminded him that later he would have to accomplish his second task.
I don't know what happened after we left, but I imagine his parents’ reaction must have been stormy. It must have been awful for him, having to give up his dearest wish and then being criticised by his parents for his lack of logic and being capricious. To be scolded for destroying his own dream - Amelia, I am so Machiavellian!
I learned from my mother that Mrs Longwood was furious because she felt her son was causing her to lose face in front of their family and friends. She always made everything about herself. She even argued with her husband, which is unusual, because he had agreed to his son’s request.
I already know her revenge will be severe and the next time Georgie sees long trousers he won’t be the one wearing them! What a triumph for me and a complete capitulation by my victim.
Eager to know the outcome of this confrontation, we went to Georgie’s parents’ house. I was overjoyed to see my former pupil back in short trousers. What a thrill!
But despite this complete victory I couldn't resist teasing Georgie, pretending to be surprised to see his bare thighs again. After telling him, in private, that I preferred him in short trousers, I told him the opposite in front of the adults, emphasising that I had found him elegant when I had seen him in his long trousers just a few days ago.
He was sitting on a pouffe, which forced him into a very humiliating position which revealed his upper thighs and even the bottom of his buttocks. His mother really knew how to put him down in everyday life and the worst part for Georgie was that she didn't even realise she was doing it!
By saying how I liked seeing him when he wore long trousers, I was not only teasing Georgie, but I also triggered his mother’s fury. Mrs Longwood had found her son’s attitude to be selfish, inconsiderate and thoughtless. This unexpected change, his desire to remain in short trousers, had put her in a difficult position. She’d had to backtrack on what she had announced, that Georgie was sufficiently mature enough to be allowed to wear long trousers more often, and she was not a woman who liked to do that.
I took advantage of a lull in the conversation to position myself in front of Georgie. Politely, as always, he stood up immediately. I admired his superb bare thighs and asked him, with an innocent air, what had become of his long trousers. I was rubbing salt in the wound.
I pointed out to him how exposed his legs were. I was even going to force him to say out loud, in front of our mothers, that he preferred to stay that way. But Mrs Longwood interrupted our conversation to add that in fact these weren’t Georgie’s shortest shorts. Before I could even ask to see them, his mother ordered him to go put on his ‘special’ shorts. And she added a cryptic phrase, “and wear them the correct way”.
A few minutes later, my eyes practically popped out of my head. This fully grown seventeen year old boy was wearing grey pull-up shorts with a fully elasticated waistband and no fly or pockets! Very quickly, I noticed that he wasn't wearing underwear underneath as almost a third of his buttocks were visible.
The poor boy was even redder than usual, his eyes were downcast and his shoulders slumped.
Suddenly, his mother’s voice boomed: “Stand up straight, George! You're slouching again… what have I told you about slouching? Why do I have to keep reminding you to stand up straight?”
Blow after blow, Georgie’s mother, still angry, continued to criticise him about the untidy way he wore his clothes.
Then my dear mother interjected, “Mary attends dance classes and part of the curriculum is devoted to posture exercises… it looks to me as if they’re something George would benefit from.”
I quickly supported my mother. I realised if I played my cards right, I could resume regular sessions with Georgie and get my toy back. There were still so many things I wanted to do and those ridiculous little shorts were inspiring more ideas.
The rest was really easy, I played the overwhelmed young girl who didn't know if she would have any free time left to humiliate a lovely, docile boy (although I didn’t put it quite that way!). I did this so well that Georgie’s mother ended up begging me to give him lessons in deportment, once again offering payment. How beautiful life is, Amelia!
Much to Georgie’s obvious embarrassment as he stood there wearing the tiniest shorts I’d ever seen a boy wearing, his mother continued to talk about the complete lack of manners of boys and particularly her son. I imagined that even at mealtimes there would be no respite from the pressure Georgie was under to behave properly.
Taking advantage of my position of superiority, I agreed to resume my mission, but on the condition that Georgie should dress in the same shorts he was wearing, explaining that during my dance classes leotards were worn and his ‘special’ shorts would allow the same full freedom movement. Not only was my wish granted, but Mrs Longwood added that I could use the same methods that had helped Georgie to pass his exams. That is to say, she was implicitly reinstating my carte blanche to punish her son.
This letter is already too long, Amelia, but I must just tell you one extra thing. Of course I still want to try and do all those things we talked about. I really would like to see Georgie get his bare bottom smacked properly. Also it would be funny for him to be totally naked so I could see his willy and perhaps even give him a wash! I don’t think it is possible, but Rebecca, my older friend who has been supporting me and enjoying my stories when I tell her about Georgie, wants to help me go further in my humiliation of him.
Rebecca’s family run a smart café in the town and she thinks they could have some fun with Georgie if he worked there and I would of course be free go there to see what they get up to! Apparently it is only Rebecca, her mother and her sisters along with a couple of other women who work there and they all agree with us that boys should be under the control of girls. I can’t imagine anything will happen but I am going to get my mother to suggest to Mrs Longwood that Georgie could get a summer job there and so you never know! So keep your fingers crossed for me and I will let you know what happens and do try and come and stay. Then if anything happens you could come to the café but anyway you could come to one of my deportment classes!
Take care my bestie Amelia.
Lots of love,
Mary
