Mrs Wilding smiled indulgently at Oliver then looked at her son Stephen. "You see how a lovely short haircut can make you look extra smart?" Stephen remained silent, he always tried to be non-committal to his mum's questions, it was his way of trying to avoid trouble. It rarely worked. His mum continued to eulogise about Oliver. "And his amazing smooth legs, do you have to shave him, you know where Vera?"
Mrs Evans blouse expanded as she enjoyed the praise being heaped upon her. "On no, luckily Oliver has shown no signs of sprouting hairs anywhere thank goodness. His legs are as smooth as his face, the only thing I have to look out for is the odd hair at the base of his penis and on his scrotum. I soon whisk them out with my tweezers."
Both boys stared resolutely at the floor. Oliver because he was actually becoming quite annoyed at hearing his most intimate details being discussed and Stephen because he was wincing at the thought of hairs being extracted by a pair of tweezers. He was disappointed to learn that seventeen year old Oliver had such a hairless existence, he could not contribute anything to the hair growing competition, his own body being quite hairless but he was hopeful that by the age of seventeen he would be positively hirsute.
"Oh yes, and how delightfully smart Oliver looks from head to toe Vera, you must be very proud of your son. Now I must have a keepsake of such a smart boy, especially as he is wearing his lovely yellow play shorts." Mrs Wilding pointed her camera at Oliver.
"No! Oliver Evans stretched out his hand is if he could snatch the image from the air.
It was bad enough that his mother had sent him to school wearing a pair of his play shorts but now he had returned home and discovered Felicity Wilding and her son Stephen had come "visiting" and Mrs Wilding wanted a photo as a keepsake for goodness sake.
It had all started last evening when Oliver decided that at seventeen years of age, as he was the man of the house, it was his job to open the new jar of mayonnaise. Unfortunately he opened it all over himself, covering his regulation, grey flannel short trousers with a large dollop of mayonnaise.
His mother had not been best pleased and as his shorts were quite ruined, he was dispatched to school that morning wearing his yellow play shorts, along with a note for his form teacher.
It must be pointed out here that the school had no policy enforcing sixth formers to wear short trousers. That particular rule applied only up to fourth formers, such as Stephen. It was Mrs Evans herself who advocated that boys should continue to wear shorts, not only for the health benefits, (Oliver had never found out exactly what these were), but also because although Oliver was seventeen, she took the view that as long as he was living under her roof, she would decide what he wore. Without argument.
Oliver's day had been disastrous. His form tutor, Mrs Ledbetter, had read out his mother's note to the entire class.
Dear Hyacinth
Please excuse Oliver's appearance. I have had to send him to school today in a pair of his play shorts as he was a very naughty boy last night, he soiled his school short trousers rendering them unfit for purpose.
Yours sincerely
Vera Evans.
Miss Ledbetter had silenced the guffaws that came from her class as she read out the note but she then called Oliver out to the front.
"So Oliver, you were a naughty boy last night and soiled your shorts, that was careless of you. I shall have to check to see that you have not soiled yourself again."
Miss Ledbetter proceed to examine his yellow play shorts thoroughly. Her left hand felt the material of his shorts while her right hand rested on the inside of his smooth, hairless inner thigh. Hyacinth Ledbetter had always been intrigued by Oliver, she wondered why he meekly accepted his mother's decision to dress and apparently treat him as a little boy. She promised herself she would find out more about Oliver and his mother.
Miss Ledbetter then deliberately placed her body in the way of the watching class, blocking their view, then let her hand linger on his thigh, visibly increasing his discomfort.
"P.p..p..please Miss, it wasn't like that. I..I..I didn't...really s..s...soil...." He attempted to explain himself whilst the class laughed at Miss Ledbetter's successful attempt to humiliate him.
Oliver desperately tried to divert his thoughts before he was thankfully sent him back to his desk with a light swat to his bottom and a remark about, "managing to survive the day without soiling yourself if you please Master Evans."
Everybody had laughed themselves silly and Oliver had experienced a quite awful day of teasing about being a pee-pee pants and worse. No wonder then, that he was annoyed at returning home and finding Mrs Wilding there attempting to capture his appearance on camera.
Almost immediately Oliver knew he had made a mistake.
"Oliver! How dare you talk to Auntie Felicity in such a manner. You know very well not to be rude to grown-ups."
Mrs Evans apologised to Mrs Wilding. "I am so sorry Felicity, I know exactly what lies behind Oliver's behaviour. Because of all the upset with his school shorts last night, by the time I got Oliver bathed and into his jimmy-jams, it was nearly eight thirty before he was tucked into bed. Of course with his usual bedtime being eight o'clock it meant Oliver missing out on a full night's sleep, and as you have just witnessed, he becomes very irritable and bad tempered as a result."
Felicity Wilding said there was no need to apologise, confirming that Stephen was exactly the same and that was why it was important that boys had a regular pyjama time and bedtime. In fact, she added, if Stephen had a restless night, she would make sure he went to bed earlier the following night to make up for his lost sleepy time.
Vera Evans nodded in agreement as Stephen winced inwardly, he didn't like where this was leading.
Sure enough, Oliver's mother immediately turned to her son who was looking fearful and obviously full of remorse for his outburst, and announced. "Come along then Oliver, lets get you undressed and into your jimmy-jams, you obviously need an early night to catch up on the sleep you missed." Oliver visibly began to well up. "But mummy..."
Mrs Evans held up her hand to silence her son in a manner he knew was not to be argued with and she immediately began removing his blazer and unbuttoning his shirt as she spoke. "Stephen, would you run upstairs to the airing cupboard and bring me down a clean pair of pyjamas for Oliver please."
Up to now, Stephen had been a reluctant observer. He knew only too well how easy it was to fall foul of all the rules and regulations his own mother imposed on him so he wasn't about to put himself in the firing line by refusing Mrs Evans request. He went upstairs and opened the airing cupboard door, there on the shelf were several pairs of pyjamas. He closed his eyes, grabbed a random pair from the middle of the pile and went back downstairs.
Oliver was already bare naked and his mother was carrying a bowl of water and some wash flannels. "This is a good idea of yours Felicity, a pre-pyjama time wash will be much quicker than a bath."
Stephen watched as his own mum took a flannel and, after rubbing in soap, began to wash Oliver's legs.
"Yes, it's a lot easier, I often give Stephen a quick pyjama time wash with a flannel rather than wasting all that hot water. Don't I Stephen?" Mrs Wilding continued to move the flannel up Oliver's naked seventeen year old body.
"Yes mum, he said, sheepishly handing Oliver's mother the pyjamas. It was only then that he realised he had not done Oliver any favour with his random pyjama selection.
Mrs Evans proffered the pyjamas to Stephens mum.
"Would you mind starting his pyjamaring Felicity? I'll just get rid of this." Mrs Evans scurried away with the bowl of water. Stephens mum held up the pyjama jacket. "How lovely, Toy Story jimmy-jams.
Stephen himself was subject to a strict pyjama and bedtime regime and his mum made him wear pyjamas that were far too childish for a boy of fifteen, but Oliver was seventeen.
Stephen made brief, apologetic eye contact with Oliver as his mother unbuttoned the pyjama jacket, held it by the shoulders and jiggled it. As any boy who is regularly dressed in his pyjamas knows, a female jiggling a pyjama jacket initiates a response where the pyjamaed one automatically inserts his arms into the sleeves and prepares to be "buttoned up".
From experience, Stephen knew his mother would start with the top button.
"Was Woody your favourite or Buzz?" His mum enquired of the hapless Oliver as she worked her way down the buttons.
"Actually it was Jessie the cowgirl. He had quite a crush on her. That's why I bought those jim-jams for his birthday this year, didn't I Oliver?" Mrs Evans had bustled back into the room just as Stephen's mum finished buttoning up Oliver's pyjama jacket. Luckily for him, his pyjama top was just long enough to reduce his embarrassment slightly by concealing his penis. He did still look ridiculous, as only the tips of his fingers were exposed due to the length of his pyjama jacket sleeves.
Oliver visibly blushed upon hearing his mother's words. To have it announced, that not only did he have a crush on a fictional, pixellated character, but also that he had received a pair of Toy Story character winceyette pyjamas for his seventeenth birthday was excruciatingly embarrassing. Stephen sympathised.
His mum smoothed the pyjama collar of Oliver's pyjamas and ran her hand down the front of the pyjama jacket. "Lovely and soft and cosy," she said. " I think Stephen would look lovely in a pair..."
Felicity Wilding paused mid-sentence, her hand resting on Oliver's crotch. Stephen was grateful for the distraction whatever it was, he certainly did not want a pair of Toy Story pyjamas.
"Vera, I think you need to see these."
Stephen had sensibly taken out his school book and now sat half peeking, half cringing behind it as his mum lifted up seventeen year old Oliver's penis. "You see, three, no, four hairs sprouting. I expect you want to do something about them before you put him to bed?
Oliver had to suffer the indignity of the two woman peering at his testicles as though they were in the local butcher's shop examining the produce. "I was in such a hurry to get him to bed last night that I let him wash himself down there when I went to fetch his pyjamas. Why didn't you tell me you had sprouted hairs?" She scolded crossly.
"Sorry mummy." Oliver was attempting to be as contrite as possible but Stephen was not the only one to notice his use of the infantile, "mummy".
His mother grabbed one of the rogue curly hairs with her tweezers as Stephens mother held his penis out of the way. Peeking over his book, Stephen was close enough to see Oliver's skin extend outwards as the hair resisted Mrs Evans pulling action. "Ow it hurts." Oliver yelped as the hair refused to yield.
"Don't be such a baby Oliver." She pulled harder and the newly sprouted pubic hair was plucked untimely from it's rightful place. "That has it, now, only three to go."
Eventually the hair had submitted and was triumphantly scrutinised by Mrs Evans before she returned her attentions to the remaining hairs. Having realised resistance was futile, the three other hairs feebly conceded defeat and succumbed to Mrs Evans tweezers without much of a fight. Stephens mum ran her hand over the now hairless region and lowered his penis.
"All nice and smooth again Vera, we can finish getting him into his pyjamas now and tucked into bed good and early. Oh....."
There was about three inches of material after the last button on Oliver's pyjama jacket and into that space his penis began to rise. It formed a V in the material, as first of all it extended horizontally before slowly rising vertically to about forty five degrees before pausing, as if it were a dock yard crane in the middle of a funereal salute. From the tip of his penis began to ooze a gooey substance commonly known in the school playground as pre-cum. It dribbled over the edge of his penis as gravity sent it towards Mrs Evans front room carpet before it stopped and elastic like, retracted upwards slightly.
"Oliver! Stop that at once. How dare you show me up like this." His mother was annoyed and ashamed of her son when less than fifteen minutes ago she had been bursting with pride.
"I can't help it, I was trying to be good when Mrs Wilding had a hold of my thingy and then I started thinking about Miss Ledbetter.... and.."
His voice gave way as tears began to form. "I said stop that. Hands on head at once. "
Mrs Evans had armed herself with Oliver's school, ruler. Twelve inches of clear plastic that she slapped his still part raised penis with very firmly, once on the shaft and once on the tip from where the goo was still emanating.
"Onto your naughty stool immediately you disgusting boy." Oliver had doubled up as the slaps to his penis were received, but he straightened up again almost immediately with two slaps to the back of his legs that were delivered with more force than the first two. He stepped on the rickety looking wooden stool and placed his hands on his head as instructed. Even now the urge to please and obey his mother was forefront in his mind.
Stephen peered from behind his book at the seventeen year old perched on a wooden stool with his hands on his head. The act of which, raised his Toy Story motif pyjama jacket just enough to expose his sticky, now shrivelled penis. And then Stephen had an insight. His book was George Orwell's 1984 and there was no doubt in Stephen's mind that he now understood why Winston Smith was prepared for Julia to suffer his mortal fear. Stephen was pleased that it was Oliver up there, pleased that it was not him that had been punished and humiliated in such a fashion.
Stephen was eager to leave the Orwellian scene behind, unfortunately Mrs Evans insisted Oliver was to stay half naked perched on his naughty stool while the two women took tea. Eventually Felicity drained her cup.
"Well, I think it's time we got this naughty little boy of mine finally tucked into bed."
Oliver's penis was subjected to a rather rough flannel wash before his mother went to the sideboard cupboard and returned with a packet of Dry-Nites pyjama pants Oliver looked distressed but he had been punished and humiliated enough and now just wanted to be put to bed out of harms way.
"Pyjama pants are required because once Oliver has been on the naughty stool his bedtime is a confined one, that means no getting out of bed unless there is a flood or a fire, Oliver understands this don't you?"
"Yes mummy," replied the subdued seventeen year old as his feet were threaded into the Dry-Nites.
Stephen was still intrigued enough to notice the pattern on the front of the pyjama pants was the dinosaur version.
He recognised them since those were the very same pattern as his own Dry-Nites pants.
As "compensation", for his behaviour, Stephens mum was given the task of finishing what she started and helped him into his Toy Story pyjama bottoms, pulling the elasticised waist up high and letting it ping under his rib cage.
"There, all ready for beddy-byes. Oliver, thank Auntie Felicity for putting you into your jimmy-jams and apologise for being such a naughty little boy," requested his mother. Stephen recognised the look of anguish on Oliver's face as he mumbled, "thank you Auntie Felicity." His mother looked exasperated. "That's not what I said, try again."
Oliver took a deep breath. "Thank you for putting me into my jimmy-jams Auntie Felicity and I am very sorry for being such a naughty boy."
Satisfied at making her son act like a six year old, Mrs Evans took hold of Oliver's wrist in readiness to escort him upstairs to bed. "I wonder how much longer we will have to continue putting naughty boys into their pyjamas putting them to sleepy-byes for early bedtimes Felicity," she mused.
"Oh I am sure for a long time yet Vera, a very long time," ventured Mrs Wilding looking at Stephen, "goodness knows when we will be able to stop looking after them, probably never."
Vera Evans appeared very pleased with the response and tightened her grip on Oliver's wrist. "Up the wooden hill we go then."
"Come on mum, let's leave" urged Stephen. Mrs Wilding looked at her watch, "goodness you're right Stephen, if we don't catch that bus, we'll be lucky to get home for your own pyjama time. Say night-night to Oliver and give Auntie Vera a night-night kiss."
"Actually I would like you to come upstairs, just until I get Oliver settled, it will only take five minutes."
Mrs Wilding checked her watch again, "just a few minutes, then we must be off."
If truth be told, Felicity Wilding was very interested in Vera's disciplinary techniques and was happy to continue witnessing Oliver's punishment. Stephen meanwhile was extremely worried as he too was ushered upstairs. His mum was too involved in this for his liking.
Stephen felt awkward being in Oliver's bedroom and stayed just inside the
doorway.
It wasn't right, not under the circumstances, he fervently wished he could
be somewhere else. However curiosity allowed him to look around. It was
certainly not the bedroom of an ordinary seventeen year old.
There was certainly no computer or laptop, nor any sign that Oliver listened
to music in his bedroom, Stephen mused that even he had an old CD player, and
he owned six Cd's to play on it too. Without seeing or knowing the age of the
occupant the bedroom could have been the sleeping space of a seven year old
rather that of a seventeen year old. Buzz Lightyear posters adorned the walls
that themselves were papered in a nursery style print of rather disturbing
looking clowns. One large image of Jessie, Woody the cowboys girlfriend, was
pinned to the wall directly facing Oliver's bed.
This was the bed that featured bedclothes portraying an ebullient Bob the
Builder triumphantly waving a spanner and Stephen had no doubt that there was a
Buzz Lightyear set too, lurking somewhere in the six draw dresser that stood
against the far wall. All in all, thought Stephen, his own bedroom was far more
of a big boys bedroom than this infantile horror. And those pyjamas? He
shuddered at the thought of having to wear and be seen, in a pair of Buzz
Lightyear pyjamas.
Mrs Evans drew the heavily lined curtains and instantly the room was
darkened. Only the bedside lamp offered enough light for Mrs Evans to see as
she opened the third drawer down of the dresser.
Seventeen year old Oliver, standing by his bed clad only in his Toy Story,
winceyette pyjamas, watched Mrs Evans remove a pair of white mittens.
"Handy Pandie please Oliver,"
"But mum…" His protest was ignored as his mother pushed his
left hand into the mitten. Stephen could see that Oliver had to make a fist
before his mother could fit the mitten properly. There was a cuff of about
three inches that extended to his wrist. Mrs Evans threaded the long lace into
eyelets and fastened on the mitten. Stephen now saw that it was more of a mini
boxing glove, not leather though, instead it was a sort of shiny vinyl. The
same process was repeated with his right hand.
"You understand why mummy must do this don't you Oliver?" He
nodded miserably.
"Being unable to control yourself just because Auntie Felicity wiggled
your tiny tiddler is unacceptable behaviour. I will not allow you to be a dirty
little boy. Masturbation will not be tolerated in this house as long as I draw
breath. Now, Handy Pandies by your sides"
Stephen shuffled forward slightly to see what was going on. There were two
loops of material on the waist band of Oliver's pyjama bottoms and his mother
tied the loose ends of the mittens fasteners to them, the result being that
Oliver's arm movement was restricted to one or two inches, effectively
pinning his arms and hands to the side of his body.
Stephens mum looked impressed as she turned back the Bob the Builder bed
clothes and patted the bottom sheet, inviting Oliver into his cosy,
infantile bed.
"In you pop Oliver, there's a god boy, there's no question of you
playing with your little pee-pee now is there?"
Even if Oliver was supposed to answer he was not given a chance as his
mother pushed him gently in the middle of his chest. Without the aid of his
arms to balance himself he toppled backwards and gently bounced on his bed.
Oliver was swiftly tucked tightly in by his mother on one side and Stephen's
mum on the other.
"Who do you want to snuggle with tonight, Bibbity Bobtail or Mr
Teddy?" Mrs Evans was waggling a bedraggled looking rag doll bunny rabbit
with long floppy ears that appeared to be home made, and a small Teddy Bear
that was dressed in a pair of tiny blue striped pyjamas. As Oliver's face
was the only part of him visible after being tucked into bed it was impossible
not to notice his embarrassment as his mother waved the two toys impatiently.
"Come along Oliver choose, naughty boys shouldn't really be allowed
to snuggle with a favourite toy at bedtime at all." Finally Oliver
answered in a barely audible voice," Mr Teddy please mummy."
"Night-night," she said tucking the bear in beside him and kissing his forehead.
"Stephen, say night-night to Oliver." Now it was Stephens turn to
be embarrassed. He mumbled a goodnight and at last he could escape the whole
dreadful scenario.
"Oh you've left the bedroom lamp on", Stephen's mum cried as
the bedroom door was closing. Mrs Evans reached to a switch on the landing.
"I had this moved when I caught Oliver reading long after he should
have gone to sleepy-byes one night, so now his bedroom lighting is controlled
from here. Oliver now knows that bedtime means bedtime."
Stephen's mum looked very impressed with this innovation as they headed
back downstairs into the living room.
"Before you go I must give you these for Stephen, Mrs Evans handed a
bundle to Stephen's mum just as he was putting on his new gabardine mackintosh
in readiness to leave. "They are too small now for Oliver but they would
be perfect for Stephen."
Mrs Evans grinned at Stephen and patted his head condescendingly as he stood
buttoning up his coat, she was looking directly at him but talking to his mum.
"I don't know if Stephen wears shorty pyjamas, but you are
welcome to them and the all in one winceyette set is the one I had Mrs
Frederick make for Oliver, you know, used to have the shop on the high street?
It was designed to curb his nocturnal habits but he soon outgrew it
unfortunately and she retired I believe."
Stephen felt faint, if only they had left for the bus earlier.
"Oh, look Stephen a lovely pair of shorty pyjamas, actually if you
don't mind Edith, I will use them as a play outfit for Stephen, how sweet, you
like Bob the Builder too don't you Stephen?"
He was aghast, the thin cotton pyjamas consisted of a short sleeved buttoned
top and a pair of skimpy shorts, they were light blue and emblazoned with the
motif of a cartoon character he liked when he was five.
"I don't really like him that much these days mum, I can't see me
wearing those to be honest…."
His mum gave him one of her looks. "Stephen! Don't be so ungrateful,
you will wear them and be pleased to do so. Now, let's have a look at these
other jim-jams….."
"Hello, hello." Two heads appeared peering into the living room.
Pardon us, we did knock…."
Are people born unlucky? At that moment Stephen certainly thought he was as
the Vicar and Oliver's form teacher entered the room.
