Humiliated in little boy pyjamas

I have been ill recently and my Aunt took the opportunity to insist I stay with her so she could nurse me back to health. As soon as I arrived she made me change into pyjamas and put me straight to bed. This was early in the afternoon and Aunty decreed that my bedtime would be 5 pm every night but I was to be kept permanently in pyjamas during my stay. It didn’t take long until Miss Jacobson appeared and one morning I was deemed well enough to serve tea to her sewing club ladies dressed in humiliating pyjamas. I am only five foot tall and my Aunt has always been overprotective. Even when I was a boy my usual bedtime was 7pm, unchanged until I left for University. She has bought me boy’s slippers to wear (size 3.5) so I greet her friends wearing pyjamas with spacemen or trains on them and wearing Scooby-Do slippers, it is hardly surprising they treat me as if I was a seven year old.
 If I complain Aunty tells me I am an ungrateful little boy, she spanks me, with a slipper of course, and brings my bedtime forward an hour for a week. Yesterday at 1pm I was made to wear my little boy pyjamas and stand in the corner whilst my Aunt and Miss Jacobson entertained her book club members. Aunty pinned a card to the back of my pyjamas explaining why I was being punished and I stood there until 3pm when I was made to say night-night to everyone and was tucked into bed.

Pyjama Punishment Poll

Babysitting Teenage Boys

I recently acquired the help of a babysitter for my  sixteen year old nephew Michael. Miss Fanshawe is a woman in her sixties who will adopt a no- nonsense approach to babysitting duties. Michael is very immature and needs constant supervision. Miss Fanshawe has recently imposed alternative measures to myself and is seeking my assurance that she has my support in her methods.

Recently Michael has been allowed to stay up until 7pm on school nights. Miss Fanshawe would like some flexibility in Michael's bedtime.

Should Michael go to bed when he is tired or be set a bedtime. What time would his bedtime be?

Michael is usually dressed in his pyjamas at 6pm. Miss Fanshawe would prefer to dress him in his pyjamas sooner.

At what time should Michael be dressed in his pyjamas and why?

Michael usually wears striped or paisley patterned pyjamas for bed. Miss Fanshawe wants him to wear the yellow and blue teddy bear motif pyjamas she has sewn for him.

Which style of pyjamas should Michael wear to bed?

Michael has a habit of getting out of bed once Miss Fanshawe has tucked him in for the night. His excuse is that he needs to go pee pees. Miss Fanshawe has been dressing him in Dry-Nites Pyjama Pants to combat this whilst I favour more traditional nappy wear.

What nappies would be best for Michael's incontinence, terry towelling cloth or Dry-Nites disposable pyjama pants? Suggest an alternative method of preventing bed-wetting?

Michael enjoys singing and has been asked to sing a night- night song at bedtime and is finding it hard to decide which is his favourite.

Should Twinkle -Twinkle little star or I'm a little teapot short and stout be Michaels bedtime song? Suggest an alternative bedtime song Michael could sing.

Michael has developed a nasty rash on his legs and is scratching until he draws blood. What is the best method to prevent this?

Wearing thumbless mittens to bed or wearing two pairs of pyjama bottoms to bed. 

Due to medication he is being given, Michael becomes tired around lunchtime and often requires an afternoon nap. How should Miss Fanshawe dress him for his nap?

Put into his usual nighttime pyjamas. Undressed and wearing a nappy. What do you suggest Michael's naptime sleepwear should be?

Michael sometimes sucks his thumb when he sleeps. What is the best preventative measure?

Use nail varnish remover on his thumbs. Train Michael to suck a baby's dummy at bedtime. What method can you suggest to prevent thumb sucking?

It will soon be time for Miss Fanshawe to host her monthly ladies sewing society evening.

Should Miss Fanshawe dress Michael in his babyish pyjamas before the ladies arrive or wait until they are all present before fussily getting Michael ready for bed in front of her friends? Suggest Miss Fanshawe's best course of action.

Miss Fanshawe recently took Michael visiting to her sisters and unintentionally stayed beyond Michael’s pyjama time. Luckily her sister lent her a pair of her pink floral brushed cotton pyjamas and Michael was soon properly attired.

Should Miss Fanshawe take a pair of Michael's pyjamas with her when she takes him visiting or rely on borrowing a pair from her host?

Miss Fanshawe does not drive and usually relies on public transport. Michael was highly agitated about travelling home by bus wearing pink floral pyjamas. On this occasion Miss Fanshawe's niece drove her and Michael home.

In future should Miss Fanshawe insist Michael board public transport in his borrowed pyjamas or take a taxi?

Stepmother imposes early bedtimes on father and son

A naughty boy spanked and put to bed wearing his sisters pyjamas

A strict mother has written to tell about the mackintosh and pyjama discipline she imposes on her naughty boy.

Dear Wincy

You asked me to recount my thoughts on the disciplinary methods I impose on my son Jonathon.

I can say without any hesitation that it is unashamedly traditional.  My hope is that it helps other like minded concerned mothers adopt a similar approach in their own approach to home discipline.

Matters first came to head as my son Jonathon turned fifteen and became involved with some badly behaved boys. It  soon became apparent to me that I had no alternative rather than to regress Jonathon back to a time in his life when mummy knew best.

My first action was to introduce a smacked botty for even the most minor of infractions. I facilitated this mode of discipline by ensuring Jonathon wore traditional school boy style short grey trousers that ensured slapping his legs in public was made  much easier.

I have also introduced some of the behavioural standards one would commonly see in years gone by. I now expect  Jonathon to address me as "mummy dearest" at all times.

In addition, any of my frequent guests must  now  be recognised as "aunty" and other ladies he may come into contact with as "Miss".

Most importantly I have now introduced a strict traditional dress code.

Although his school allows sweat shirts and polo tops to be worn optionally, I prefer to send him to school wearing a smart blazer, shirt and tie. Unfortunately they don't allow short trousers but as soon as he's home, this Mummy ensures he's put back into his short trousers right away, plus knee length socks and brown sandals. The grey shorts are unfashionably short and not at all like the shorts that are fashionable today. They're fitted with an elasticated waist, making it easy for these to be lowered when I need to administer a smacked bottom which is frequent.

This is probably a good time to reflect on the first visit to the traditional outfitters to purchase his new clothing. His behaviour had gradually deteriorated until I'd run out of patience. When I was told that he'd used bad language in the presence of a friend of mine I decided that action was required. For the first time in many years I pulled down his jeans and underpants and smacked his bottom. The punishment took him aback and Mummy was definitely in charge from that moment onwards. This gave me the confidence to introduce the punishment dress code  that I'd been considering more and more in previous weeks.

So, making him hold my hand all the way, we paid a visit to the sort of traditional outfitters that are sadly now a dying breed.  A small bell tinkled as I pushed the shop door open and the attentive shop owner and her young assistant  asked if they could be of assistance. I told Jonathon to sit down and behave himself while, out of earshot, I outlined my requirements. I then returned to Jonathon and pushed him into one of the large changing rooms and proceeded to remove his clothing. His initial response was to resist but a slap across his bottom showed him I was in no mood to discuss matters.

One by one, clothing was passed to me through the curtain. One by one, I proceeded to dress him just as one would a small child. First a short sleeved collared shirt, which I buttoned up to the neck. Second, and much to his amazement, a pair of short trousers in schoolboy grey, along with the matching socks. The short trousers were hitched up high, the shirt tucked into them neatly. A grey v neck jumper followed, and a smart blazer too. Finally a pair of Startrite brown, T Bar sandals.

His complaints grew louder by the minute but a series of slaps across his bare legs kept him in check. At this point I opened the curtain and led him into the shop where we were greeted by the two assistants who had helpfully ensured that my requirements were perfectly catered for. The senior assistant made a point of commenting how smartly he was dressed, and wasn't it a pity that other children weren't dressed like this anymore, whereas the younger assistant who couldn't have been more than seventeen smiled at him knowingly. I then proceeded to tell him loudly that these clothes were to be worn from this point forward and that he could wave goodbye to his jeans, t shirts and trainers. It was at this point that I noticed the rails of raincoats assembled in the corner and realised that Jonathon would need appropriate top coats.

Following a brief discussion with the senior shop assistant, the younger one was despatched to locate a navy blue gabardine mackintosh. When Jonathon was greeted by this perceived monstrosity, he threw what I can only describe as a tantrum when I told him that this was to be his new everyday coat. It was below the knee, double breasted with a belt and buttoned to the neck and was a perfect complement to his new outfit. However he was having none of it and let out a series of complaints outlining why precisely he wouldn't wear it. The senior shop assistant held the mackintosh up to him and told him not to be such a naughty and silly little boy and to put the mackintosh on at once. A casual remark from her that he was going the right way for a smack was all I needed and without a moment's hesitation I led him by the hand into the changing room, and pulled him over my lap to administer the soundest of smacked bottoms. The noise was to carry clearly into the shop, but this Mummy was not for turning to say the least.

We returned to the shop assistants and taking the gabardine mackintosh I pulled it over his arms and shoulders. Turning him around to face me I proceeded to button it up in front of everyone as if he was a small child. His eyes said that he wanted to protest, his head said otherwise, and he stood there meekly while I fastened the top button and tightly fastened the belt. Asking him to stand up straight, I judged that the mackintosh was a little on the short side - knee rather than full length. The senior assistant suggested a girl's mackintosh, as these were cut longer than the boys. The look on his face was a picture, but this was a splendid idea, and before he knew it, Jonathon was dressed in a full length girl's mackintosh, buttoned to the neck.

Asking the assistant whether they had a suitable nylon pakamac that could be worn over it, she returned with a wide selection of both boys and girls, suggesting that the girls style would be more appropriate so that it fitted over the long mackintosh underneath. Needless to say this idea was seized upon, and Jonathon found himself being buttoned up into his traditional navy blue nylon pakamac.

I decided that Jonathon should wear his new clothing home, so having entered the shop dressed in the trappings of the 21st century, he departed in short trousers, knee length socks, T Bar Sandals and collared shirt, topped off by the hated mackintoshes - the gabardine and the nylon pakamac. He looked as if he'd been transferred from the 1960's, and had a long face to match. I took him by the hand having adjusted his clothing one last time, and marched him home for the first day of his new discipline, punishment and dress code regime.

I  then decided to reinforce his new disciplinary regime by introducing early bed times. One problem was his night attire. As with his day time  attire I had become lax and allowed Jonathon to wear unsuitable clothing to bed each night, by that I mean

t- shirt and sweat trousers. His new bedtime was to be set so that he was tucked up in bed by 7.30. I determined that to implement this successfully he must revert back to wearing traditional little boys pyjamas and that necessitated another visit to the outfitters to purchase said pyjamas.

Once again the bell tinkled as we entered the shop with Jonathon holding my hand and wearing his fully buttoned up girls mackintosh. The shop assistants recognised him immediately and were delighted to discover the purpose of my visit was to procure some new little boy pyjamas for Jonathon.

A selection of traditional winceyette pyjamas that buttoned to the neck were unfolded and laid out on the glass counter. We had quite a discussion on sizing and style until the young assistant suggested Jonathon should actually try a pair on. Much to his chagrin I unbuttoned his mackintosh and selected a particularly appropriately coloured set which was covered in the sweetest little teddy bears. Jonathon was reluctant to out them on but a few slaps to his bare legs persuaded him otherwise and as he emerged from the changing room wearing his teddy bear pyjamas the shop owner and her assistant made such a fuss of him that he blushed quite red. We left the shop with four pairs of delightfully childish pyjamas which invariably means Jonathon is dressed in his pyjamas ready for bed by 6.30 and tucked in by 7.30. Of course in the event of bad behaviour this bed time can be brought forward. It's not at all rare for him to be tucked up in bed with a sore botty and without his supper by 5.30 if he has been particular naughty.

I hope my account serves as an example to other mothers out there who are thinking about imposing clothing disciplinary measures on their wayward offspring.

Yours faithfully

Etta

Pyjama Punishment Monthly provides an insight into how a wife treats her husband as a babyish toddler complete with nappies and dummies.

Dear Nanny Smackbottom

As a firm believer in discipline for males, I do not simply dress my husband Peter in babyish clothes. I also insist that he behave in a manner befitting his very juvenile status in our household. When properly attired he is required to speak in a soft, childish tone and to use a vocabulary appropriate for a five-year-old. His baby name is Peterkins Winceyette and he must curtsey before entering or leaving a room occupied by “grown ups”. He must ask permission to do most things, such as leaving the dinner table or “going potty.” 

These and many other rules of perfect behaviour enforce his petticoat discipline as effectively as his pretty clothes.  He has become used to wearing his sweet baby outfits, but he still blushes with shame at having to act like a young child, particularly in front of others. Of course, I make sure he has plenty of opportunity to do just that.
 
The other day Peterkins was washing up in the kitchen after lunch.  He wore a pink ruffled pinafore over a crisply starched, back buttoning white blouse with a broad Peter Pan collar.  A precious little pink bow marked the front centre of the collar. Then, high waisted, fly less velvet burgundy shorts buttoned onto the blouse and showed a hint of the heavily frilled pink bloomers he wore underneath.  A dummy hung on a pretty ribbon that buttoned on to his pinafore above the left breast while a lace-edged pink bonnet framed his face and tied in a big bow under the chin. Frilly white anklets and black Mary Jane shoes completed the pretty outfit.
 
As he finished his cleanup chores, Peterkins was looking nervously at the time. I like to get him ready for beddy-byes by four o’clock this is the time when I am at my most gently maternal with him. I undress him, put him into his soft winceyette night clothes give him lots of cuddles on my lap and tuck him into bed at six o’clock.

Peterkins has been taught to suck his thumb whenever he feels anxious, and the sudden ringing of the doorbell made him very anxious indeed.  His thumb leaped into his mouth, and he began sucking vigorously. (He is permitted to use his dummy only when directed to do so.)  He looked at me fearfully, hoping against hope that I would not make him answer the door.  One sharp glance from me dashed any chance of that. He knows from bitter experience that in his sissy clothes he simply cannot resist my wishes.  If I want to display him to a stranger at the door, then I will do so. He knows, too, that any attempt at resistance will only make matters worse for him.  Seeing my determined gaze, he realized there was no escape from his predicament. His eyes lowered, and his face registered sad resignation.
 
Terrified at having to answer the door, yet even more terrified not to, he was actually crying as he toddled to the front hall.  He reached the door just as the doorbell rang a second time.  He opened it timidly, and in strode my sister Jean. She has often seen Peterkins in his baby clothes and nightwear, indeed it was she who named him Peterkins Winceyette after she helped get him ready for bed one afternoon, but she never fails to find new ways to tease and embarrass him.  He is dreadfully afraid of her – dreadfully for him, quite delightfully for Jean and me.
 
Removing his thumb from his mouth, Peterkins managed a timorous curtsey for Jean.
’How vewy nice to see you again, Auntie Jean’, he said softly.
She smiled broadly, relishing the sight of her brother-in-law dressed so babyishly and so obviously intimidated by her.  She approached my petrified husband, untied his bonnet, and retied it tightly under his chin.  His head moved under her firm touch.   She fussed with the little bow on his blouse. She straightened the frilled, crossover straps of his pinafore and fluffed out his collar.  Satisfied with her efforts, she stepped back to view him again.
’Oh Peterkins Winceyette’, she teased, ‘you look so very masculine today, with your cute little shorts.  They are very sweet indeed, but I’m afraid they’re not very grown up, are they, dear?’
Moving behind him, she encircled his waist with her arms and toyed with the big buttons holding the shorts and blouse together. 

‘Only very little baby boys wear button-on's like these, don’t they Peterkins Winceyette?’ Peterkins looked as if he might swoon, and never did manage to answer her questions.

No matter.  She got his full attention by clapping her hands sharply and announcing,

‘Teapot!’  Peterkins knew only too well what that meant.  I have trained him to perform several babyish songs, as I believe they are another excellent way to instil in him the proper attitude and demeanour.  At the top of the list is ‘I’m a Little Teapot’, complete with the appropriate hand gestures. Jean likes it so much that she insists on him performing it whenever she visits. He doesn’t like doing it, but of course, that makes his efforts only more entertaining.  He knows he must perform with a pretty smile and proper infant like enthusiasm, this particularly embarrasses him.  He is several years younger than us and there was a time when she was my rival for his affection. Now she can look at him only with amusement tinged with disdain, particularly when he becomes our charmingly reluctant ‘teapot’.  It must be a cutting reminder to him of how far he has fallen in her eyes.  I love watching him perform, his shyly lowered eyes unable to meet Jean’s commanding gaze.
 
Jean was not quite satisfied with his ‘Teapot’ rendition this time, so she stood him face to the wall in a corner and instructed him to keep practicing.  She and I sat down to tea in the living room as his gentle childish patter serenaded us from the hall.  She occasionally called out from the couch to correct him, a reminder that she was still keeping an eye on him.  He made a fetching sight, chirping away in the corner and adding the obligatory curtsey after each rendition.  His plump bottom, perfectly moulded by the sweet little velvet shorts, bobbed enticingly up and down with each curtsey.
 
When Jean was almost satisfied that he had achieved the proper gestures, the doorbell rang again.  Of course Peterkins was once more reduced to tears.  Not knowing what to do, he put his thumb back in his mouth, and Jean and I couldn’t help laughing aloud at the silliness of it. 

 
Jean left him in the corner and answered the door herself.  This time it was Grace, the 22-year-old young woman who used to baby-sit for the neighbours children. Grace had not met Peterkins, but Jean had told her about him and so we invited her around to see him when Jean would next be visiting.
 
Grace took one look at Peterkins in the corner, paused in disbelief, and started to laugh.  She tried to restrain herself, covering her mouth with her hand, but that only made her laugh harder.  She could only point at him and continue laughing helplessly.
Poor Peterkins didn’t know what to do.  He remained in the corner, furiously sucking his thumb and casting furtive sideways glances at Grace.  He couldn’t bear to look at her yet couldn’t seem not to.  He might have stood there all day if Jean hadn’t taken him by the hand and introduced him.
 
’Grace’, said Jean, ‘I’d like you to meet Master Peterkins Winceyette isn’t he sweet?’

The absurd name prompted another titter from Grace, as did a shy curtsey from Peterkins.

‘How do you do, Peterkins Winceyette’, Grace smiled.  ‘What a perfectly lovely name!’

It was all dreadfully and delightfully unfair. He was trying so hard to be good but was finding only more embarrassment for his trouble.   As Grace looked at him delightedly, Peterkins hung his head in defeat and a tear trickled down his face.
 
Now it was my turn to comfort him. Catching his tear with my finger, I sat him upon my knee and cradled his head against my chest. Peter is small in stature and  I find it easy to accommodate him this way. I popped the dummy into his mouth and made him nurse quietly as I soothed him with baby talk.

’Oh my poor ickle Peterkins.  Mummy knows ‘ow tewwibly frightening it is when big stwange ladies see just how ickle and pwecious oo are . . ..’

Jane quickly picked up on my baby talk and began to tease him.

‘Ickle Peterkins is like a fwightened bunny wabbit, vewy scared of the gwown ups’.

Upon hearing her words I immediately remembered his new pyjamas as I had sewn for him. A pair of  lacy, frilly, yellow winceyette pyjamas with a bunny rabbit motif. Of course as soon as I mentioned the existence of the pyjamas Grace and Jean were insistent that he should be dressed in them at once.

Grace volunteered to undress Peterkins and she gently removed his bonnet, shorts and blouse before helping him into his quite delightfully frilly babyish pyjamas which were adorned with a pattern of fluffy baby bunnies. Jane and I looked on with amusement as Grace popped his head into his pyjama top and he emerged surrounded by the froth of a large floppy frilly collar. Three Mother of Pearl buttons secured the neck and a long pink ribbon fastened into a pretty bow at the neckline. Even more lace decorated the bodice and Grace commentated as she dressed him. The cuffs of the sleeves were lightly elasticised and fringed with more outrageous frilliness. When he was all buttoned into his pyjamas, I once again cradled his head against my chest, gently stroking his cheek as I did so

Peterkins does like to be babied but only in my presence, he becomes ashamed when others are here as he is exposed as the complete baby he is.  Closing his eyes, he managed to escape his shame momentarily, and melted into my arms as I cuddled him. Slowly his sobs subsided. Then he opened his eyes to discover Grace bending forward and looking directly at him only inches away from his face.
’Boo!’ she said playfully and pressed her index finger against the tip of his nose. Grace could not have been gentler, but her overtures made the big baby dissolve into tears again. We roared with laughter.  
‘He does seem to be the perfect cry baby’ observed Jean. 

‘Ickle Peterkins has lost his cuwwidge, hasn’t he?’ she teased, ‘I wonder where it could be? Have the bunny wabbits on Peterkins jim-jams got his cuwwidge I wonder?’

She waited for him to answer; ‘come along answer Aunty Jean,’ she ordered.

Poor Peterkins was forced to shake his head no in reply and then Jean proceeded to make my poor hubby hippity hop around the room like a bunny rabbit, looking high and low for his lost ‘cuwwidge’.

Unfortunately his pyjamas bottoms were a tad too large and Peterkins had to hang on the waistband whilst hopping to avoid them falling down. Jean’s seemed oblivious to his plight as she set about making him look for his ‘cuwwidge’ all over the house.

It didn’t seem to be on the mantelpiece, or under the couch, or in the magazine rack.  Peterkins was required to inspect each area and to tell ‘Auntie Jean’ that no, his ‘cuwwidge’ wasn’t there and he didn’t know where it might be. Jean pretended to be stumped, but a mischievous sparkle in her eye told a different story.  Announcing that Peterkins must have accidentally thrown his ‘cuwwidge’ away, she brought a rubbish basket from the kitchen, placed it on the living room floor, and told Peterkins he had better look in there.  Peterkins glanced nervously into the basket and said no, his ‘cuwwidge’ wasn’t there, Grace and I couldn’t help laughing at my pathetic husband and he once again burst into tears.

 
Grace took pity on Peterkins.  She knelt beside him and cradled his head in her arms then kissed his tears away. As we sat down to tea, Grace placed him into his high chair tied on his baby bib and set about feeding him. Tenderly she encouraged him to eat up his pureed vegetables. Then she patiently sat and ensured he drank a full baby bottle of his special sleepy time milk. Responding to her gentleness, Peterkins became a charming, docile baby and even formed a shy liking for his new mistress.  All agreed that we had found a new babysitter for Peterkins that afternoon.
 

Jean insisted on one more round of ‘Teapot’ before his six o'clock bedtime and Peterkins managed to get through it this time without blubbering, smiling timidly in response to our applause.

‘Come along Baby Peterkins, time to prepare for beddy-byes, go fetch your potty.' Peterkins once again looked slightly fearful but I ushered him through to the cloakroom. He returned momentarily clutching his pink potty and his dry-nite. We three ladies watched delightedly as Peterkins removed his pyjama bottoms and squatted on his potty looking like an overgrown toddler.

'Who's a good boy den?' I praised as I sent him scurrying off to discard the contents and when he returned it was time to put on his dry-nite pyjama pants. At first Peterkins was going to be petulant but  Aunty Jean soon had him stepping into them and she pulled up his pyjama bottoms.

"There now, Peterkins needs his nappy-wappy on because he spends such a long time in beddy-byes doesn't he?" I said sitting him once again on my lap. Now be a good boy and  kiss Aunty Jean and Aunty Grace night-night and we'll get you tucked in shall we?’

It took another five minutes to get him into his bedroom as the two ladies made such a fuss of petting him and telling him how sweet he looked all ready for beddy- and then kissing him goodnight umpteen times that when I eventually got him upstairs I had to smack his botty to calm him down..

I tucked him in then sat on the edge of the bed pushed his dummy into his mouth and gave him a dire warning about the consequences of getting out of bed once he was tucked in. A kiss on the forehead and I left Peterkins in his darkened room to reflect on another eventful day as Peterkins Winceyette.

 Geraldine Harwood (Mrs)

Melissa makes Philips pyjama punishment even worse.

At 8:32 on Saturday morning there was a knock on the door. Philip was sitting at the breakfast table still wearing the red striped pyjamas he had been put to bed wearing the previous night at 5.30. Philips bottom was still sore from the hairbrush spankings he had received, one each from Agnes and Enid Thurston and what was worse he had suffered the indignity of being put across the lap of his friend from college Melissa and was spanked by her too. He had then been put to bed whilst the three females remained chatting and drinking coffee together. "Well up you get and answer the door you lazy boy, do you want another reminder from our hairbrushes." Philip wasn't happy about going to the door wearing his red striped pyjamas but he decided it was the lesser of two evils. " Good morning Philip, I had forgotten how ridiculous you look wearing those pyjamas, we need to get you out of them quickly." Melissa grinned at Philip as she looked down at him. Only yesterday he had hoped  they could be more than friends but he knew now that her six foot two body was never destined to be with his puny and diminutive four foot eleven frame. Especially now he was aware that the Thurston sisters were acquainted with her mother. She pushed Philip  in the small of the back and propelled him into the hallway. "You appear to have lost your naughty boy placard too Philip, you are careless." Melissa was welcomed by the Thurston sisters like an old friend. "Did you bring them?" Inquired Enid. Melissa held open the bag she  bought with her and withdrew a pair of pink floral winceyette pyjamas. "I haven't worn these since I was about ten, "she said unfolding the pyjamas, but they will still be rather large on Philip I suspect." She said, holding the pyjama jacket up against Philip who immediately tried to back away from the hideous garments. Unfortunately for Philip he stepped back straight into the arms of Enid. "Now, now where are you going? You didn't think yesterdays wilful disobedience would be done and dusted with a  little corner time, a triple spanking and an early bedtime? Melissa kindly suggested  a punishment weekend where you would learn to behave by wearing these lovely pyjamas." Philip tried to break free from Enid s grasp but Agnes was already undoing the buttons of his striped pyjamas and slipping the jacket off his shoulders. His was quickly divested of his pyjama bottoms and was totally naked in front of the three females. "No..no I won't wear them.." He gasped, struggling to avoid being enveloped in pink floral winceyette.  Melissa and the Thurston sisters had other ideas however and soon he was being buttoned into the pink pyjama jacket and the pyjama bottoms were hoisted high past his waistline. Agnes returned from the printer with a another placard. She showed it to Philip before pinning it to the back of his pyjamas.
Read it out Philip, good and loud." Philips voice was close to tears as he was forced to say out loud.
 "I  was a naughty boy so have to wear floral winceyette pyjamas all weekend as a punishment."
Melissa guided Philip to face the kitchen wall as Agnes scolded him. "Into the corner with you naughty little boy while the grown ups talk. Another hairbrush spanking across our knees is imminent for you but we still have to decide what further punishments we can devise for the rest of the weekend."

A Spanking Cornertime for this Naughty Little Boy

"What is the meaning of this?" The Thurston sisters had returned early to find Philip in the kitchen brazenly drinking coffee with a young lady. "I..I.. thought you weren't coming back until 4.30 stammered Philip, spilling coffee as he anxiously looked at Agnes and Enid.  The sisters ignored his question. "Well, aren't you going to introduce us?" asked Agnes. "This is Melissa my friend from college, she..she is helping me with an essay." Philip managed to reply despite turning a very pale colour. Melissa these are my landladies Agnes and Enid.. I m..m..m..mean Miss Thurston and Miss Thurston," he babbled. Melissa nodded to the two sisters, "Good afternoon ladies, I believe you know my mother Mrs Hazard? Anyway I had better be going, Philip, I will see you on Monday." Enid smiled, " Mrs hazard's daughter, indeed we know her very well, please, stay and finish your coffee my dear, did you know that Philip was a very naughty, disobedient little boy?" Melissa laughed nervously. "Well I know he's not the tallest, ha-ha but.." Enid joined in the laughter as Agnes left the kitchen. "That's not quite what I meant. When Philip left this morning he was told that as we would possibly be detained in town he was to come home, take his bath, put on the pyjamas that he would find laid out on his bed for him and to sit quietly in his bedroom until we arrived home." She turned to look directly at Philip, "is this not the case?"   " Y..y..yes Miss Thurston." Philip cast his eyes down to the floor. "You willfully disobeyed us didn't you? Undress please Philip." Poor Philip looked aghast. "Oh no Miss Thurston, not here,  not in front ...." Miss Thurston again ignored him as she addressed Melissa. "You see what a naughty little boy he is Melissa? Perhaps you could help by turning that computer on for me?" She asked pointing to the laptop that stood on the worktop. Melissa  depressed the button and the computer began to whir into life. Philip removed his shirt and trousers and socks but had to be cajoled into taking off his underpants. "I am sure Melissa has seen naked little boys before, I believe you have two younger brothers is that not correct?" Melissa confirmed this was so, she now seemed relaxed and unperturbed at Philips predicament.
"Here we are," said Agnes returning to the room carrying Philips red striped pyjamas. "Time to get you ready for beddy-byes." Melissa watched as the two sisters buttoned him into the pyjama jacket and stepped him into the pyjama bottoms. "This is how you should have been attired two hours ago," Agnes said as she tied pyjama cord into a neat bow. Philip wished the ground would swallow him up as he stood looking ridiculous in his pyjama clad state in front of Melissa who was busy speaking to Enid. "Would you print that for me dear? Thank you." Melissa laughed out loud then began typing. Seconds later the printer chugged out a piece of A4 paper. "Show Philip what it says please Melissa," prompted Enid. Melissa smiled and held up the piece of paper. "Sorry Philip, if only I had known I would have bathed you and put you into your pyjamas myself. I have done it often enough times for my brothers." Philip moaned as he read the print on the sheet of paper. It read, I am a naughty disobedient boy and deserve to be spanked after my pyjama corner time.
"Hands on head and into the corner with you Philip," ordered Agnes. "We three girls will have little chat about how we can improve your behaviour and after that we will fetch our hairbrushes and deliver a sound spanking to that naughty bottom of yours. You can be certain that this weekend will involve lots of smacked botty and early bedtime for you Philip dear."

His landladies deliver a well spanked bottom to this naughty boy

When Philip attempted to sneak in late to his lodgings the two Thurston sisters were waiting for him.
"What time do you call this young man?" Agnes asked.

" I...I... I 'm sorry for being late but it .." he stammered " Enid Thurston held up her hand.

 "Silence! We don't want to hear any of your lies. You were told to be home by five thirty and it is now five thirty two, therefore you will be punished. Off with your clothes." 

Before he could respond, two pairs of female hands began to remove his clothing. Between them, they quickly reduced the eighteen-year-old to nakedness. 

"Stop it please, what are you doing?" He gasped frantically trying to preserve his dignity.

His hands were slapped away. 

"Agnes pointed toward his tiny pee-pee, "really Philip, it's hardly worth the effort is it, you really are a little boy aren't you?" 

He stared shamefaced at the floor then realised that Enid Thurston was holding his pyjamas. The blue striped pair his aunt had bought and packed for him. He had told her that he would not be wearing pyjamas now that he was a student but she had insisted all the same. "You never know, the nights may be chilly and you'll be glad aunty made you take your pyjamas.

Enid flapped out his pyjama jacket. 

"Come along into your jim-jams, we know full well your aunt expects you to wear pyjamas and you failed to put them on last night didn't you, naughty boy?"

Without waiting for an answer, Enid turned him around and from behind, placed his arms in the pyjama sleeves and bought it up and around his shoulders as if a tailor was fitting a suit. Quickly, she spun him around and began fastening the buttons from the bottom upwards, finishing with the top button despite his squirming. His aunt had always insisted on the top button of his pyjama be buttoned as well as tucked in pyjama jackets. She slapped his hand away as he attempted to undo the button that strangled his throat.

"Ah...ah." No you don't, we must follow your aunts instructions."

She stepped back to admire her handiwork, running her hand down the front of the pyjama top to smooth it.

"There much better," she said. Agnes had been patiently waiting, holding his pyjama bottoms open and now she moved forward, bending down in front of him as Enid firmly gripped his shoulders. 

"Step!" She commanded, and Philip obediently lifted his leg and stepped into the pyjama bottoms. 

"Again," she said, and once more he pointed his foot into the pyjama bottoms. Agnes pulled the blue striped pyjama trousers half way up and ordered Philip to bend over. He noticed the two sisters now each brandished a hairbrush

Agnes bent him forward and caressed his buttocks with the bristles of the brush.

"Time for your punishment Philip, just as your aunt predicted, this is what happens to naughty boys who come home late and don't wear their pyjamas to beddy-byes. Let's get you spanked and tucked into bed. Your aunt recommended you be tucked up in bed no later than a six o'clock bedtime every night and we intend to abide by her decision."

Philip thought he had escaped his pyjama punishment spankings and early bedtimes but he was beginning to realise that his aunt would not give up her control over him easily.

An early bedtime and pyjama punishment regime imposed on Simon by strict aunty Beatrice

I thought you might like to read about the bedtime schedule I impose on my nephew Simon.  

He was in great danger of going off the rails and ruining his life before I became involved in his life and introduced him to an early bedtime and pyjama punishment. Now, at the age of seventeen, he goes to bed on school nights at 6.30. I collect him from school at 3.30 as if he was a toddler and as soon as we arrive home I supervise bath time and dress him in his pyjamas ready for bed. 

My neighbour Miss Fulbright, makes his pyjamas especially for him. She chooses the most ridiculously babyish patterned material of winceyette brushed cotton to make his pyjamas from and I can tell you that he absolutely hates wearing them, especially the footed jammies she makes for him. 

He looks so crestfallen each afternoon, as I button him into his little boy pyjama jacket and tug up his pyjama bottoms. Once he is safely dressed in his pyjamas he goes across my knee for his first bedtime spanking. I like to spank him as soon as he is in his pyjamas to remind him that he is just a little boy being punished. 

He then settles down to his homework until I call him for his supper at 5.30. At 6 o’clock he brushes his teeth and presents himself to me. It is then that I take him across my knee for his second bedtime spanking. After his spanking, I sit him up and he receives a cuddle from aunty before I take him by the hand and lead him upstairs to tuck him into bed. 

His bedtime is set at no later than 6.30 but usually, it is about 6.20 when I tuck him in and kiss him night-night.

The bedroom is strictly functional. There are no electronic distractions, just a child's two foot six wide bed and a chair that I sit in to read him a bedtime story. His curtains are made from blackout material and ensure no daylight can penetrate once they are fully drawn. This is particularly helpful during the lighter nights as Simon is reluctant to go to beddy-byes when there is still daylight for many hours. 

I use a nightlight to read to him but once this is turned off, his bedroom is left in total darkness to help induce a long, healthy nights sleep.

On Friday night his routine is exactly the same, he is bathed and dressed in his pyjamas at his usual time. I did experiment with letting him stay up until 7 o’clock, but since he was so used to his earlier bedtime he became tired and irritable so I reverted to his normal weekday bedtime. 

On Saturday I like him to be ready for bed by 3 pm for a 5 o’clock bedtime. Miss Fulbright and her sister come for afternoon tea at 4 o'clock each Saturday and they enjoy seeing Simon dressed in his babyish pyjamas since after all, she is the one who has kindly sewed them for him. 

Last Saturday for some reason, Simon, despite a telling off, had a tantrum and absolutely refused my attempts to get him ready for beddy-byes dressed in a lovely pair of lemon-coloured bunny rabbit pyjamas made from the softest winceyette material you could imagine. I desperately wanted him to wear them especially to greet the Fulbright's as they love to sit him upon their laps and cuddle him admiring his jim-jams.

Sadly, instead, he ended up in tears across my knee. He was still sobbing when the Misses Fulbright arrived and I am afraid I had no choice other than to make him crawl upstairs like a fractious toddler might and put him to straight to bed well before 4 pm. 

It was such a shame as he looked so sweet in his bunny jim-jams and the Fulbright's were obviously disappointed at having to wave him off to bed so early. 

I have promised to take him around to their house one afternoon to visit for tea when I will take several pairs of his jim-jams that he can model to make up the disappointment to them. 

On Sundays, I prefer him to be wearing his pyjamas by noon. He is bathed and pyjamaed as soon as we return home from church and I like him to be in safely tucked up in bed for 4 pm ready for school on Monday. 

If anyone has some ideas as to how I can develop his bedtime regime I would appreciate any advice. 

Alternatively, some may think I being too harsh on Simon and maybe I should be more lenient with Simon’s early bedtimes and pyjama punishment?

Please let me know.


Summation of Simon's pyjama and early bedtime regime

Monday-Friday

Pyjamas on by 4 pm, first over the knee spanking 4.05 second over the knee spanking 6.05 bedtime by 6.30 pm

Saturday

Pyjamas on by 3 pm first over the knee spanking 3.05 second over the knee spanking 4.45 bedtime by 5 pm

Sunday

Pyjamas on by Noon first over the knee spanking 12.05 second over the knee spanking 3.45 bedtime by 4 pm

Yours truly

Beatrice Halewood.

Frillykins frilly pink pyjamas

Aunty tightens my early bedtime disciplinary regime

I have been to aunties where she insisted I wear pyjamas for the entire weekend.

She decided it would be good practice for when I go to live with her and I will be subject to permanent pyjama and early bedtime discipline. Aunty even drew up my bedtime itinerary. She couldn't however decide on the timings, I suggested an eleven p.m. bedtime but she simply put me across her lap and spanked me for being cheeky. 

Bedtime Routine

Bath time

Put night-night pyjamas on

Milky Drink and a biscuit

Toilet

Wash hands and brush teeth

Into bed

Short Story

Kiss aunty night-night

Lights out

Aunty says night-night and closes door

Peter's aunty takes him on a trip where he is forced into baby clothes, spanked and humiliated in front of the guide troop!

Recently, on one of her visits my aunt announced she thought I looked decidedly peaky and needed some fresh country air. She informed me that I would accompany her on her forthcoming weekend away with the ladies of the select club she had founded called, Sensible Pyjamas And Nighties Knaughty Males Enjoy.

Aunty came to supervise my packing; she selected plenty of pyjamas and folded them neatly into one case. I had no intention of wearing any of those items on this trip and had already packed a case of sensible clothes for myself. Aunty looked at what I was wearing and shook her head.
"No nephew of mine is going out dressed like that she decreed.
 Aunty stripped me down to my underwear and pulled a pale yellow t-shirt over my head then, at her insistence she dresses me in a pair of babyish yellow shortalls
“You must join in with the spirit of things Peterkins,” she scolded. Grumbling, I did as I was told, despite my hatred of her calling me Peterkins,  I had no wish to upset aunty so early in the trip. The shortalls were the kind that have straps over the shoulders and fasten at the back. In addition she dressed me in white ankle socks and a pair of red plastic play sandals.
A horn beeped outside. The club bus had arrived.
I dived outside and hurried on board, anxious that none of my nosy neighbours would see me attired as the child aunty seemed to think I was.

 The five lady members of my aunt’s club greeted me.  Miss Gladys Spankalot, her of the buxom chest, was at the wheel,
“It’s young Master Peter. My goodness it’s been a long time since I had that pleasure” she laughed. I was puzzled by her comment until I noticed the lettering on the back of my t-shirt reflected in the bus window. Even spelt backwards I could read the words SPANK ME emblazoned upon it.
Blushing furiously, I recalled that Miss Frobisher used to take a keen interest in putting me across her knee. In fact all the ladies present had at one time, administered a spanking to me, usually at bedtime when I was wearing my pyjamas.

I noticed no one else was wearing the club t-shirt and huffily looked around for my seat. Aunty had followed me on board and was sitting up front behind the driver's. She motioned me to the seat on the opposite aisle.

She was indicating to the the child's safety seat.

“I can’t sit there,” I protested,  “do you know how old I am?”  Miss Faversham-Fulbright peered over her pince-nez, eyed me up and down and said. “About six I would estimate.”
That woman had always taken great pleasure in humiliating me. She was over six foot tall and was always dressed in high-neck blouses and a grey two-piece. She stayed rather aloof, owing my Aunt said, to the fact she claimed to be related to the Faversham-Fulbright family who owned most of Hampshire.
“Don’t be such a baby, Aunty reprimanded. “This is a six seater bus, five grown-ups and you.”

Furiously I sat down, I was a grown up for goodness sake, nineteen years old, I admit, due to a hormone deficiency I was only four foot eleven tall but I was still an adult for goodness sake, aunty was far too protective.

Sadly, to my disappointment, I found that the child’s seat fitted quite comfortably. Perhaps being so diminutive had something to do with it but I was still annoyed and I was even more so when Miss Harkness leaned across from behind and fastened the safety harness straps that held me firmly in place.
“I don’t need to be strapped in,” I said sharply and attempted to undo the catch. Miss Harkness grinned, “Childproof I am afraid Peter.”
She patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, we shall take good care of you on this trip you can be sure of that,” she said, before resuming her knitting.
Miss Harkness appeared to suffer from colour blindness. I still shudder at the pink and lemon coloured woolly hat and scarf she had knitted me for my Christmas gift.

Aunty had made me wear them when she took me to the park to feed the ducks. Fortunately I had managed to hide them away at the bottom of a drawer, the hat and scarf. Not the ducks, which would be silly. Miss Harkness herself wore one of her own creations oblivious to the fact that her cardigan threatened peoples retinas.  

Miss Frobisher crunched the gear stick into first and we lurched off.
Immediately I regretted not visiting the toilet before we had left. We had only gone about ten miles when aunty Hyacinth, my aunt's oldest and longest companion, passed me a fizzy drink. Aunty Hyacinth used to baby-sit me and I remember she had occasion to do so on my sixteenth birthday. I misbehaved and she put me to bed at six o'clock clutching Mr Bunny, my bedtime comforter and since then, everytime we meet she has always reminded of that occasion, even though I cringe when aunty lets her know that at nineteen years of age, I still sleep with my toy rabbit.

“Hyacinth!” Aunty exclaimed as she saw the drink being passed to me.
"He will only spill it, you know how careless Peter is.”

For some reason, just as I put the drink to my lips, Miss Spankalot chose that precise moment to brake quite violently. Why I have no idea, later she claimed to have been avoiding a hedgehog. Of course I spilt lemonade on my t-shirt and shortalls and dribbled lemonade down my chin.

“What did I tell you? Aunty always has to clean up after Peterkins.”
Aunty took the drink from me. Before I knew it she had tied a towelling bib around my neck, the one with the bunny rabbit on. I hated that bib. I much prefer the one with the little lambs on.
“Stop it Aunty, I don’t need a bib, you are treating me like a baby and I won’t have it!
Aunty slapped the inside thigh of my bare leg. “ Be quiet, you will do as you are told. Do you want a smacked botty?”

Immediately I regretted my outburst. “N.. no Aunty, Peterkins is sowwy."
I was furious with myself for reverting to the baby talk I used to placate aunty but I had no choice. The last thing I wanted was to be put across my aunt's lap for a spanking in front of all the ladies.

Aunty gave me one of her stern looks. “That’s better, here use this.”

She thrust my sippy cup into my hands and I was forced to complete my drink using my Peter Rabbit sippy cup and wearing a baby's bib.

After half an hour of crossing and uncrossing my legs and frequent requests to stop, Miss Frobisher finally pulled over at a deserted picnic spot
Miss Harkness undid my straps and I rushed toward a bush some distance away to gain some much longed for relief.

It was then that I discovered my shorts were fastened in such a way that I was unable to lower them unaided. I could not reach the fastenings at the back of my shorts to undo them.

Too late! I could not help myself; the wait had proven to be too long and I produced an involuntary torrential stream. My shorts, socks and sandals were all soaked. What would my aunt say?

Behind me I could see aunty and the others forming a gossipy circle and unfolding chairs and opening flasks and packs of sandwiches. To the left was the parked bus.

With luck, I might just be able to reach it unseen, if I could retrieve my suitcase I would be able to sneak back into the bushes and change into my big boy clothes.

Furtively, I opened the luggage storage area and cast my eyes over the many suitcases. Where was mine?

A pair of hand grasped my shoulders. “Had a little accident have we young man?"
I was forcibly turned round. Facing me was a woman in her mid-fifties wearing a senior Guide uniform. Behind her was a gaggle of twelve-year-old uniformed girls, staring at my soaked appearance.

Standing there, with my yellow shorts, white socks and sandals all soaked I made a fateful decision to play act my way out of my embarrassing situation.

“My auntie’s over there,” I mumbled in a pathetic, little boy voice.
The Guides leader took my hand led me over to where aunty was sitting. The girls of her troop followed curiously behind.

“Is he yours?” She enquired of aunty. “I am afraid the poor little fellow has had an accident. I found him rummaging through your luggage, must have been trying to change himself, wasn’t that sweet of the little boy?"

Aunty looked at the Guide leader, without batting an eyelid , she replied.
“Oh yes, he's mine. How very kind of you to return him to me.”

Aunty beckoned me into the centre of the circle and I stood, soaked and shamefaced in front of Aunty.

“Look at you, soaking wet, just like a toddler. Well, aunty knows just how to deal with naughty little boys like you.”

My voice trembled as I struggled to hold back my tears. “I'm so sorry aunty but I couldn’t undo the buttons on my shortalls to have a wee-wee.” I sobbed, my lower lip trembling.

“Well you could have asked for help to go tinkle but you didn’t and now you must suffer the consequences.”

Aunty began to undress me in front of everyone.
The Guide leader and her girls were only yards away erecting their camp for the night.

“I am afraid there wasn’t room for your suitcase on the bus Peterkins,” Aunty said, with a slight smirk, just the one I packed for you."

"It's not fair," I protested, stamping my foot with a wet squelch.

“Now then, I won't tolerate your tantrums Peterkins, only naughty little boys wet themselves at your age and as always, you will be treated accordingly."

I stood in the middle of my aunts friends and sobbed uncontrollably as aunty proceeded to strip me naked.

Encircled by her friends, I stood obediently as aunty grabbed a handful of wet wipes and  lifted me onto her lap. She proceeded to clean my little boy ares in full view of everyone as I continued to sob.

She opened the case and selected an item of clothing,

“Luckily I anticipated you having accidents Peterkins, come along, get these on.”
She held up a pair of Drynites pyjama pants, boys age 13-15.

I struggled to hold back more tears as aunty, in front of several pairs of eager female eyes, stepped me into what was basically a nappy and settled them around my groin.

“Yes, well you obviously need them my little pee-pee pants,” she said, patting the padded front and smiling at my discomfort.

She stroked my cheek as she spoke to me softly and I felt that familiar feeling of obedience and submitting to her will as she caressed me.

“Now then, let's stop pretending you are a big boy Peterkins," she cooed, delving into the suitcase, "come along, let aunty get her little nineteen year old boy ready for beddy-byes and into his jimmy-jams.”

In her hands she held a pair of my most extremely infantile winceyette pyjamas.

Aunty ignored my protestations and slipped the pyjama top around my shoulders.

The soft material encased me and I was engulfed in the warm embrace of yellow, bunny rabbit motif pyjamas. "There's a good boy," she said softly as she buttoned up the jacket and eased my legs into the pyjama bottoms. She pulled them slowly up, settling them over my Drynites and tucking the hem of the jacket into the bottoms.

Surrounded by the members of the SPANKME  club I had been humiliating dressed in a nappy and my babyish, little boy pyjamas.

Aunty turned me around, patted my nappied and pyjama clad bottom
and ushered me toward Miss Spankalot. “Now off you go for a cuddle while I prepare your sleepy time milk.”

Miss Gladys Spankalot's strong arms wedged themselves beneath my armpits and lifted me onto her lap.

“There-there Peterkins,” she cooed. Pressing my face into her bosom.
She clasped me to her chest that I found it difficult to breathe, she rocked me gently in her arms, caressing my pyjama clad back as she did so.

"Peterkins you are so vulnerable, I think it is best that you remain aunties little boy forever and not try to be a big boy, don't you agree?"

My face was buried into her blouse and I my protests only came out as a muffled, mmmph!

Aunty handed her my milk. I had expected it to be in my sippy cup, but no, aunty had prepared a baby bottle.

I would have complained but Miss Spankalot cradled me as easily as if I was an infant in her arms and proceeded to ease the teat of the baby bottle between my lips, with my head encased in her firm grip, I had no choice but to drink auntie’s concoction.
I knew from experience that whenever aunty prepared her special sleepy time milk for me that within ten minutes, I would be very sleepy indeed.
I comforted myself with the thought that at least I was hidden from the prying eyes of the gaggle of girl guides. I could hear their laughter only a matter of yards away.

“We’ve come to see how the little boy is?”They enquired, "we were worried about the poor little boy.

I struggled to keep open my already drowsy eyes. Several of the Guides were leaning across Miss Gotobeds shoulder and staring down at me as I lay cradled in her arms wearing my nappy and baby pyjamas.

Miss Gotobed continued feeding me. “That’s very sweet of you girls, as you can see he is much happier now he is all nappied and ready for beddy-byes.
After his milky he will drift off to sleepy-byes.”

Miss Gotobed removed the bottle. “Say thank you to the girls for their thoughtfulness Peter.”

I turned crimson red lying cradled in Miss Gotobeds arms wearing my bunny rabbit pyjamas, but drowsily managed to mutter words of thanks.

“Isn’t it a bit early for him to be in pyjamas ready for bed?” One of the girls ventured to ask.”

Aunty hove into view. “Because Peterkins has been such a very naughty little boy he must be punished with an early bedtime, now run along girls.”

Everyone was packed up ready to leave and I was aware of Miss Gotobed hoisting me onto her hip, toddler like, I automatically wrapped  my arms around her neck as she carried me to the bus. She strapped me back into my seat as aunty fumbled in her bag.
“Here we are Peterkins this will help you go sleepy-byes, there is quite a drive left and we have had enough of your babyish antics for one day and into my mouth she thrust a babies dummy, sometimes when I was especially naughty, aunty would make me use my dummy but this was the first time in many years she had made me use my dummy in public view.

The sound of tyres on gravel stirred me from my induced sleep and I was aware of Miss Harkness lurking nearby and unfastening my childs seat straps.

I drowsily clasped her outstretched hand as she helped me out of the bus. As I looked downward gingerly trying to control my ambience I was horrified to discover, whilst I was asleep, my feet had been adorned with a pair of I had been Miss Harkness' creations, yellow knitted bunny slippers.

“Dat are dese? Et em off me...” I realised that my dummy had been tied in place and that my words of protest were meaningless babble. so, while being led by the hand, wearing my baby winceyette bunny pyjamas and bunny slippers we entered the hotel.

Aunty was standing talking to the proprietor; a plump woman in her forties with a ruddy complexion, derived no doubt from the local weather, which even in summer is never the warmest.
Miss Harkness positioned me beside aunty and the hotel owner.

“No need to feel embarrassed, Mrs McFlannel knows all about our requirements for you. That’s why we are staying here. You will get plenty of rest and fresh air during our visit.”
I was about to protest, what requirements?  I decided that, dummied and dressed as I was, discretion was probably the best course of action.

Mrs McFlannel bent down toward me. “Hello there little one, your aunt has told me all about you, don’t worry about not wanting to talk if you don’t want to, Bonnie and I quite understand.”

Bonnie?I wondered who Bonnie? As if reading my mind Mrs McFlannel enlightened me.

“Bonnie is my fourteen year old daughter, she’s looking forward to your stay with us.”
Mrs McFlannel called out. “Bonnie the guests have arrived, come and help with their bags.”
Bonnie appeared, fresh faced with shoulder length dark curly hair. She was tall for a fourteen year old, well, taller than me; she wore the uniform of a chambermaid, a white blouse and a black skirt with a white frilled apron tied around her waist.

“This is Peterkins, the one we have to take extra special care of.”
I disliked the sound of that. Bonnie looked at me, smiled and said, “I love your slippers and pyjamas Peterkins, you look so sweet, come with me and I will show you to your room. I helped Mum get it ready for you.”

I traipsed sleepily upstairs as aunty held my hand, Bonnie went ahead carrying the case aunty had packed for me. We went into a normal looking bedroom with a double and a single bed. Oh no, not sharing with aunty I thought.
“Your room is through here Peter.” Ah bit of privacy, I could cope with that I thought.

Bonnie opened an adjoining door. It was a nursery.
The main feature was canopied cot with matching baby blue rails and layers of soft, yellow flannelette bedding. From atop the canopy a revolving mobile stretched out above the deep pillows.
“I will just go and fetch the rest of your luggage.” Bonnie said, leaving aunty and me alone in the nursery. 
Aunty could see I was annoyed and untied my dummy that swung on its ribbon pinned to my pyjama jacket.

“What the hell is going on?” I exploded. “Why have I got a babies cot to sleep in?" I stomped my slippered feet childishly and demandingly insisted, "I want some proper clothes right now."

Aunty didn’t reply; instead, she grasped my shoulders to face the mirrored wardrobe door.

“May I remind you that you are wearing little boy bunny rabbit winceyette pyjamas, bunny slippers, a nappy and have a dummy pinned to your pyjama top? You have been dressed in your babyish pyjamas in front of a group of girl guides and you have just been led into your nursery by a fourteen year old girl.”
“Well it just happened that way, I….”
My voice tailed away as I struggled to explain myself.
Aunty continued. “Yes, exactly Master Peterkins. It just happened because you are a naughty little boy who has grown too big for his tiny little bootees.”
I wiggled my bunny slippered feet uncomfortably. A lecture from aunty was coming.

“I think it is time we reverted back to the days when you behaved properly and were respectful to aunty. On this trip you will do as you are told, wear what you are told and generally behave like the polite little boy I know you can be." She turned me away from the mirror and knelt down to face me.

"Mrs McFlannel and Bonnie don’t expect to hear anything but the odd babyish gurgle from you. So unless you want to complain to Bonnie about your treatment and tell her how old you really are, I suggest you put your dummy in immediately before she returns. Do I make myself clear?”
I stared down at my slippers. “Yes aunty.” I mumbled, deeply ashamed of how easily I capitulated to a telling off by aunty.

“Good, and don’t think you have avoided punishment for your foul mouthed outburst. I will discipline you in due course.”

Bonnie returned carrying auntie’s suitcase. Realising I had little option other than to go along with aunty I quickly popped the dummy into my mouth.
“Bonnie my dear, Peterkins requires a little nap, whilst I get him ready do you think you could warm his sleepy-time milk up for me? Perhaps you would like to feed him with it too?”
“Yes madam, I would love to, he is so cute.” She turned to me and said, “Bonnie will be back in a few minutes with your bottle sweetums.”
Aunty waited until she had gone.  “ Such a well-mannered girl, I predict she will be a great help to us during our stay. Now come along, I have the perfect pyjamas for your nap.”

Aunty removed my bunny pyjamas and took off my Drynites pyjama pants. “Can I trust you not to do wee-wees at nap time? She asked mockingly as she approached me holding a pair of pale blue, teddy-bear motif footed pyjamas.
“No, not those I will look like a four year old.” I protested. Aunty ignored my pleadings and as she buttoned up the pyjamas jacket commented, "there now, all ready for your nap-nap, just a couple of refinements I think.”

Aunty placed my baby’s dummy on a ribbon around my neck and popped it into my mouth. “Take it out at your peril,” she warned. 
“Ah, here comes Bonnie with your milky-wilky.”

Bonnie had knocked and entered immediately. She had put on a pristine clean white pinafore apron; triumphantly she held my baby bottle.
“Oh Peterkins what sweet pyjamas you’re wearing.”
I stood there feeling very embarrassed sucking loudly on my dummy and cast my eyes to the floor.
Aunty smiled at my obvious discomfort, and addressing me with baby talk said. “Be a good babykins for aunty and dwink up all your lovely milky-wilky for Bonnie while I go and change,”

 Turning to Bonnie she instructed, “make sure he drinks it all up then we can put him down for his nap. I am glad to see you have followed my instructions and hung thick curtains, Peterkins needs complete darkness for his sleepy-times.”
As soon as we were alone Bonnie’s attitude suddenly changed. “Right babykins,” she said, posing with one arm on her hip, “I want no nonsense from you or I will have to put you over my knee for a smacked botty. Come along it’s milky time, let me put your bib on then we can get you into your cot for sleepy-byes.”                 

Aunty had changed into her favourite tweed suit. “Has he drank all his sleepy-time milk up?” she asked, “I want Peterkins settled before the ladies and I go for our walk.
Bonnie nodded, “yes madam he’s been a very good babykins.”

Little did Aunty know that I had little choice?  Bonnie had insisted on tipping up the baby bottle until my bib was wet with the dribbles.
She showed Aunty the empty bottle.
“My Peterkins you must have been thirsty, I will have to make up a bigger formula for you next time.”
I glared at Aunty and was just about to give her a piece of my mind when she put her finger to her mouth.
Luckily, Bonnie hadn’t noticed my attempt to speak; she was busily folding back the flannelette cot sheets.
Aunty led me over to the cot and settled me down.
After putting on the night-light Bonnie went to draw the heavy curtain. I whispered to Aunty, “how long will you be? This stupid girl is a menace, I don’t want to be left alone with her.”
Aunty smiled. Instead of reassuring me she popped the dummy back into my mouth.
“Bonnie, do you think you could put Peter’s mittens on for me? The one’s Miss Harkness knitted for him. He has a tendency to be a naughty boy when he is in beddy-byes, oh and can you tie his dum-dum in for him? He gets terribly cranky if he wakes up without it.”
“Of course madam.”
My eyes popped at auntie’s comments. I watched as she silently laughed, blew me a kiss and left leaving me alone with Bonnie.
Bonnie fussed with the yellow flannelette sheets, tucking me tightly in but leaving my arms exposed. Miss Harness’s mittens had taken me by surprise but Bonnie seemed to relish putting them on me.
“ Let’s get your handy-pandies into your mittens now Peterkins. I know what little boys get up to. There now,” she said as she fastened them. “Peterkins is all cosy-wosy. Now straight to sleep, I don’t want to hear a sound out of you or there will be trouble.”
Bonnie tied my dummy in place, turned out the light and left me stranded in the darkness.