"Yes, I quite understand Felicity, you can count on me," Joan Benson said quite emphatically.
Felicity Wilding had phoned Miss Benson the morning after her visit. Joan Benson was surprised by her friend's unexpected call, but once matters were explained to her she promised to do all she could to help: "I understand," she repeated, "... of course not... it's most aggravating. I get a touch of lumbago occasionally, can be quite painful... I put it down to all the time I've spent in the saddle over the years... out in all weathers… some of those fields frightful damp... always... what's that?"
Felicity Wilding was obliged to halt Joan in mid-flow. It was always difficult to stop her when she'd a full head of steam, but the fact of the matter was that she urgently required her friend’s assistance and the sooner she could call round the better. Mrs Wilding told Joan Benson what had happened after her visit the previous evening when Oliver and Stephen had sung their songs. Rachel, she explained, took the boys upstairs for their bathtime…
"Now it’s about time we got you both up to the bathroom," Mrs Wilding said after Joan Benson had left, "Rachel, would you go upstairs as well and keep an eye on Oliver and Stephen for me?"
"I don't mind helping at all…” Rachel said and then turned to Oliver who stood waiting, “I expect mummy washes you at bathtime Oliver, doesn’t she?"
Oliver confirmed that even though he was now seventeen years old, mummy was always in charge at bathtimes.
"Is that because you can't be trusted?" Rachel asked.
"Mummy says that boys shouldn't be left alone when they haven't got any clothes on," Oliver answered rather sheepishly.
"That's perfectly correct," Felicity Wilding confirmed, "Boys should never be left unattended when undressed. There should always be a babysitter available to supervise... that's why I'm so grateful to have you here to help me Rachel."
"I'm going to have to ask you to take a more active role than usual, Rachel," Mrs Wilding said to her niece, "You see my shoulder is giving me a bit of gyp... a trapped nerve or something. It's been aching all day and I think it's time to give it a bit of a rest..."
"Oh aunty... you should have said something earlier," Rachel replied. "Of course I'll help wash the boys."
"Thank you, you’re an angel."
So it was that the boys were placed under the watchful eye of Rachel.
Oliver and Stephen were taken upstairs to the bathroom while Mrs Wilding sorted out the boys’ pyjamas and placed them over the hall radiator to warm.
Although Oliver was used to being bathed by his mum, he felt distinctly uneasy about being washed by Rachel. Stephen felt even more upset at the prospect of being bathed by his cousin and thought it was unfair for a girl her age (older than he was, but younger than Oliver) should be left in charge.
Nevertheless, Rachel took the long rubberised-cotton apron from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and put it on as the boys watched.
“I know what boys are like at bathtime,” Rachel explained as she tied the apron on, “I don’t want my clothes to get wet when you two start splashing about.”
The bath was run and when Rachel was satisfied the temperature was right she told the boys to get in. Stephen, being the younger, sat with his back to the taps. In spite of being bare-nude since tea-time Oliver felt very strange when he climbed in to join Stephen. Oliver’s long legs stretched down the bath and rubbed against Stephen under the water. For himself Stephen was thrilled to be in the bath with the older boy.
Rachel leaned over Oliver to reach a shelf above the bath. The apron brushed against the boy’s head. Rachel turned and spoke: "Now who wants the boat and who wants the frogman? You can have one toy each to play with... which is it to be? As you're the oldest, you can have first choice Oliver."
Oliver blushed. He deeply resented being treated like a little boy at the best of times, but being talked down to by Rachel was galling. For heaven's sake he was seventeen and Rachel was a year younger than he was. But Oliver knew that to argue or to act up would not only be rude, it could also mean at the very least a smacked bottom. He had no desire to be punished by anyone, least of all by Rachel, who he was pretty sure had been given spanking rights over both himself and Stephen.
"Please may I play with the boat please miss?" Oliver asked.
"Certainly Oliver... I'm going to wash Stephen's hair, so I want you to play quietly and try not to wriggle."
Oliver thanked Rachel for giving him the boat to play with in the bath while Rachel set about shampooing Stephen's hair. She had watched Aunty Felicity bath Stephen on a number of occasions and even helped out few times, so she knew what she was doing. It came as no surprise when Stephen suddenly started twisting about and yelling noisily.
"Stephen, I told you to keep your eyes tight shut while I washed your hair," Rachel said sharply.
"... but… y-aw… it stings!"
"Stephen... I'm warning you!" Rachel said as she continued to work the lather over Stephen's head, "Now keep still... I'll soon be finished and you can play with the frogman while I wash Oliver's hair."
Stephen continued to whine, but it was clear who was in control. Wisely Oliver continued playing with the toy boat, lying as flat as he could in the bath and beaching the boat on his tummy. He tried to ignore Stephen's whingeing and prayed he wouldn't push Rachel's patience too far.
Oliver’s prayers remained unanswered as Stephen continued to act up. It became apparent Rachel had been very wise to put on the apron as Stephen floundered about and managed to splash water over the side of the bath. Then, with a suddenness and strength that astonished Oliver as he lay playing with his boat, Rachel pushed her soapy hands under Stephen’s armpits and hoisted him upright. Rachel had clearly had enough of Stephen’s tomfoolery and before the boy knew what was happening, she had landed several sharp hand-smacks on his wet bottom. Oliver was lying in the bath right under Stephen as the smacks landed and from this position he watched as Stephen’s hips jerked forward in response to the spanking. Oliver was treated to the sight of the inevitable display of jiggling boy-bits.
The sound of the spanks echoed around the bathroom, made even louder since Rachel’s hand was striking wet bottom. Lather from the shampoo slithered down Stephen face as he begged Rachel to stop, but all that got him was a mouth full of soap bubbles. Even so Stephen carried on pleading that he’d be good, along with all the usual nonsense from a boy having his bare bottom spanked.
Oliver was shocked at Rachel’s practiced efficiency. It was clear she knew exactly what she was doing and Oliver resolved to be as cooperative as a boy could be, or should be, during bathtime.
“Now Stephen Wilding, are you going to behave yourself?” Rachel demanded once she’d finished smacking the naughty fourteen year old.
Stephen nodded and spluttered his apologies through the soap bubbles. Rachel told him to sit back down the while she rinsed his hair. After she'd done this Rachel turned to Oliver and told him to kneel up in the bath to make it easier for her to wash his hair.
“Be a good boy and keep your eyes tight shut for me… I don’t want to have to spank your bottom as well… You don’t want a spanked bottom like Stephen, do you?”
“No miss,” Oliver said politely as he shifted his position. He turned to Rachel and asked whether Stephen could be allowed to play with his boat while Rachel washed his hair.
“That’s very considerate of you Oliver, but I’m not sure that after Stephen’s performance just now, whether I should allow him any toys to play with in the bath.”
Oliver was now kneeling in the bath facing Stephen who had stretched his legs out either side of the older boy. He held the frogman in the bathwater between his thighs. Stephen’s bottom felt sore on the hard surface of the bath.
“Don’t want to play with the boat,” Stephen said petulantly.
“And you shan’t play with the frogman either…!” Rachel was in no mood for any further naughtiness from her cousin and took the frogman from Stephen and replaced it on the shelf. “You can have it back when you behave yourself properly.”
“Oh! That’s not fair... ”
As he knelt in the bath, Oliver began to wonder if this wasn’t going to turn out to be the strictest bathtime he’d ever experienced.
“You can have your frogman back to play with when you apologise, Stephen,” Rachel told her cousin.
Stephen did as he was told: “I’m sorry… Please can I have the frogman back?”
“You may…” Rachel replied and stood up once more. Her apron rustled as she turned her back to the boys. Oliver saw a mischievous grin on Stephen’s face and in the brief moment when Rachel reached for the frogman, Stephen reached out and slapped the side of Oliver’s penis. Oliver was too shocked to do anything and besides he didn’t want to make a fuss and get either one of them into any more trouble, so he left his penis to wobble and come to rest. However the inevitable happened and Stephen snickered to himself when he saw that Oliver’s penis was pointing straight out towards him.
Rachel saw that Oliver’s penis was slightly aroused and pursed her lips: “Oliver Evans… what is the meaning if this?!” she snapped, leaving Oliver in no doubt what she thought. “I expected you to set an example to Stephen… not to show off in front of him. Were you playing with your willy behind my back?”
“No, miss… I’m sorry, miss… I didn’t mean to, miss…” Oliver said meekly. He glanced at Stephen who, behind Rachel’s back, made a sign with his curled fingers and thumb which Oliver couldn’t fail to recognise. Oliver penis twitched, Stephen grinned wickedly and signaled again.
“Oliver Evans! Stop that this instant!” Rachel was very annoyed and when Oliver failed to behave himself she ordered him to stand up in the bath. “Put your hands on top of your head, Oliver… Really, I haven’t even begun to wash you boys and you’re playing up… well we’ll just have to see about that…”
On the bathroom toy-shelf Felicity Wilding also kept a very useful six inch plastic ruler and this is what Rachel showed to Oliver. She waved it in front of the naughty boy whose penis was pointing straight out, seemingly in defiance of the young girl, and told him what she’d do if he didn’t behave himself straightaway.
“I’m waiting, Oliver…” Rachel said and tapped the little plastic ruler on the palm of her left hand. “... and you can stop sniggering, Stephen… Oliver is only trying to be clever and it’s not funny.”
Oliver’s penis continued to defy Rachel and so she was forced to take matters a stage further and tapped the ruler on the side of the penis. When Oliver still refused to behave, Rachel had no choice but to teach the older boy a lesson in self-control.
Oliver jerked backwards, pushing his bottom out, as he felt the stinging thwip! of the ruler make contact with his penis. Three - four times and each time Oliver straightened himself back up again, before his naughty penis behaved properly.
Rachel replaced the ruler on the toy-shelf and gave Oliver permission to kneel down again in the bath. Oliver chewed his lower lip in an effort not to blub in front of Rachel or Stephen. Later Stephen would apologise to Oliver. Stephen was no stranger to the little plastic ruler as his penis often misbehaved at bathtime, but as he said to Oliver, he didn’t think Rachel would ever use it and besides, he said, “your nob wasn’t even… y’know... I mean you didn’t have a proper hard-on”. All Oliver said in reply was, “Your cousin is very strict…”
After one spanked bottom and a one smacked penis the two boys were very compliant for the remainder of their bathtime. Rachel lathered up the boys’ flannels and lifted up arms; soaped ears and faces; pushed them this way and that. She lathered their fronts and soaped their backs; lifted legs and washed feet to the constant accompaniment of her rustling apron. All the while both boys were thinking about what would happen when Rachel got to the very tops of their legs and you can be sure both Oliver and Stephen were getting very nervous indeed.
Finally the time came: “Stand up Stephen,” Rachal ordered in a brusque, no-nonsense manner, “Turn around so I can wash your bottom…”
Stephen did as he was told, all the time praying that Rachel wouldn’t need to reach for the plastic ruler. Rachel lathered up Stephen’s flannel once more and soaped his bottom. She pushed her hand between her cousin’s bottom cheeks, causing Stephen to wriggle as he felt the flannel being rubbed over a very sensitive spot... Rachel was very thorough!
Finally Stephen was told to turn round and face Rachel. He watched as his flannel was soaped and made ready for cleaning his boy-bits. Rachel rubbed the flannel all around the base of Stephen’s hairless penis before taking hold of it with the flannel. Then she slowly eased back Stephen’s foreskin and squeezed warm soapy water over the exposed head of the penis.
Although Rachel had had no hesitation in smacking Oliver’s naughty penis with the plastic ruler, she clearly understood how sensitive the exposed tip of a boy’s penis is when the foreskin is fully retracted. She was extremely gentle when washing underneath Stephen’s foreskin and was equally gentle when it came to dealing with Oliver’s larger penis.
The boys behaved themselves and before along Rachel was drying them off with fresh, fluffy bath-towels. She kept her apron on as first Oliver and then Stephen was allowed to climb out of the bath to be rubbed down. Then it was time to go back downstairs to be put into their pyjamas that had been all the while warming over the radiator in the hall.
Oliver and Stephen were in for a surprise when they arrived downstairs for their pyjama-time. They could hear voices coming from the front-room and it transpired that Stephen’s Aunt Jennifer (Rachel’s mother) and her daughter, Rachel’s younger sister, Freda, had called round, along with Miss Reeves, a family friend. Miss Reeves was a spinster in her early forties with seemingly permanently pursed lips, who wore horn-rimmed spectacles and had never been seen without her hair scooped up into the tightest bun anyone had ever seen. Unlike Miss Benson, Miss Reeves was devoid of all humour.
The boys stopped in the hall and looked at each other. They were of course still bare-nude. Oliver glanced towards the radiator across from the doorway where their pyjamas were hanging. The boys knew better than to touch them without permission, so they waited and listened…
“... yes, Rachel has been absolutely wonderful,” Felicity Wilding gushed, “I don’t know what I’d have done without her to help… It won’t be long before Freda’s old enough to help look after the boys…”
“I’m almost thirteen, aunty,” Freda said, slightly indignantly.
“”Personally I don’t think girls are ever too young for babysitting duties,” Miss Reeves chipped in, “I remember when I was Freda’s age babysitting for a couple of boys… one of them was nearly nineteen, but behaved like twelve year old, so he was dressed and treated like one. His mother gave me her full approval to use my discretion when he was in my care. She was so impressed…”
Back in the hall Stephen whispered: “It’s Miss Reeves…”
Oliver shrugged and shook his head to signal that he didn't know who she was.
“Just watch out, that’s all,” Stephen warned.
Felicity called out from the front-room: “Boys! Are you in the hall? Has Rachel finished with you in the bathroom? Then don’t stand about in that draughty hallway… come in here and say ‘hello’ to everyone…”
Two very nervous nude boys moved to stand in the open doorway.
“Come right in…”
“Err, Rachel’s upstairs still…” Stephen explained.
“Yes, she’d probably cleaning up after you two, no doubt,” mum said, then added for the benefit of her guests, “I don’t know what it is, but boys seem to be quite unable to take a bath without leaving a trail of destruction behind… then they expect us to clean up!”
“Boys wouldn’t take baths unless were forced to,” Freda observed.
Miss Reeves said she couldn’t agree more. “Filthy creatures,” was her verdict. She was devoid of all sympathy towards the male of the species in general and the young male in particular.
“Well,” Felicity Wilding said, “I’m sure Rachel has seen to it these two boys have had a jolly good scrub…”
Rachel’s voice was heard outside the door: “I’m sorry I took so long aunty. I was just getting Oliver’s… Oh! Hello mummy, Miss Reeves…” she said when she entered the room, “I didn’t realise,” she looked at the two nude boys standing in the middle of the room, “I was just getting Oliver’s pyjama-pants…”
Rachel, still wearing the bathroom apron, held up the pair of DryNites pyjama pants with the motorbike pattern.
“Pyjama pants?” Miss Reeves queried, “He looks a bit old to still need pyjama pants… How old are you?”
“Um, seventeen, er, Miss Reeves,” Oliver replied.
Rachel explained: “Oliver’s mum didn’t want to spend all her time worrying about him having a little, you know... accident. Although apparently Oliver hasn’t wet his bed in a long time… have you, Oliver?”
Oliver was so ashamed to have to answer Rachel’s question in front of everyone, but he managed to say: “No… I haven’t…”
“We called in at the chemist’s earlier, so that Oliver could choose the design of his pyjama-pants… didn’t we, Oliver?”
Oliver was almost crippled with embarrassment but managed to croak: “Y-yes…”
“And that was after we took you for a nice haircut… wasn’t it, Oliver?”
Oliver agreed and prayed to himself that this torment would soon be over and he would be tucked up in bed at a safe distance from any further humiliation.
“And very smart it looks too,” Miss Reeves said, “Nice and short, unlike some young boys these days who wander around with long, floppy fringes… it’s a wonder they can see where they’re going… thinking themselves all grown up, wearing long trousers at ridiculously early ages… Does your mother permit you to wear long trousers, Oliver?”
“No, Miss Reeves…”
Felicity Wilding interjected: “That’s not quite true, is it Oliver?”
“Mummy… er, that is… er, for school,” Oliver mumbled feeling more and more embarrassed to be standing, still bare-nude in front of everyone as he waited to be put into his pyjamas and now having to explain for the benefit of Miss Reeves, a woman he’d never met before, what clothes he was allowed to wear.
“Try starting again and tell Miss Reeves properly, Oliver,” Mrs Wilding suggested.
“I have to wear longs to school because I am in the sixth form, but mummy says I have to change out of my long trousers when I get home, because longs are for school only…”
Miss Reeves interrupted: “But why doesn’t mummy simply send you to school in short trousers?”
“Mummy wanted to, but the school rules say that in the sixth form all boys have to wear longs. Mummy spoke to the school to ask if I could continue to wear short trousers to school, but they couldn’t change the rules…”
“Such a shame,” Miss Reeves said, “Were there any other boys in your class who still wore short trousers for school?”
“No, Miss Reeves, there was only one other boy who wore short trousers for school and he went into longs during the third form. Most of the other boys stopped wearing short trousers at the end of the first year. There were only a few wearing short trousers during the second year.”
“What about now? Do many boys wear short trousers to your school?”
“Hardly any, Miss Benson… There are only a couple of boys in the first form who wear short trousers to school,” Oliver paused for a moment before adding, “These days boys think short trousers are old fashioned…”
Oliver thought Miss Reeves was about to explode as she made her views known: “Old fashioned!! Old fashioned!! Why the very idea! Isn’t this just what I was saying… no wonder boys get such high and mighty ideas… behave as if the world owes them a living… Well I thank heaven Stephen’s school is not so lax about upholding standards of school uniform… I gather Stephen is to remain in short trousers for school?”
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs Wilding explained, “We had a family meeting about it when the school wrote to explain that Stephen could remain in short trousers should his family so wish… and we decided that he would continue to go to school in short trousers… you see short trousers are compulsory at Stephen’s school for boys in the first two years, but from the third form onwards boys are only allowed to wear longs at the discretion of their parents, who are obliged to notify the school whether their boy will continue to attend school in short trousers and that decision remains valid for the whole of that school year.”
Miss Reeves sighed: “Why are school uniform rules so complex…? Surely it should be enough to insist that all boys wear shorts trousers to school, whatever their age, and leave it at that… dear me, life’s complicated enough as it is…”
“I think we ought to be getting these boys into their pyjamas,” Felicity Wilding said. She could see Miss Reeves would happily continue to discuss the question of school uniforms and the wearing of short trousers, but it was already past Oliver and Stephen’s bedtime.
“Freda, why don’t you help your sister with Oliver’s pyjama-pants?” Felicity Wilding suggested, “That would be alright, wouldn’t it Jennifer?”
“Oh, mummy please, can I?!” Freda was thrilled with the idea of helping her older sister put pyjama-pants on the even older boy. Mum nodded her consent and Freda jumped out of her chair.
Oliver was horrified. It was awful, just awful to be put into pajama-pants in the first place, but to be put into them in front of everyone, including Miss Reeves who he’d never even met before… but to be put into them with the eager assistance of twelve year old Freda, left Oliver nearly crying with shame.
Rachel’s rubberised-cotton apron rustled as she walked across to where Oliver was standing in the middle of the room. Freda stood ready to assist her older sister. Oliver was told to lift up one of his legs and Freda helped by pushing the boy’s foot into the pyjama-pants. This was repeated with the other leg. Then together the girls pulled the pyjama-pants right up until they were resting at the top of Oliver’s thighs. Freda watched as Rachel calmly cupped one hand over Oliver’s boy-bits and with the other, pull up the front of the pyjama-pants. Freda was told to pull the back of the pyjama-pants up over Oliver’s bottom.
Oliver stood in his DryNite pyjama-pants with the motorbike patten feeling about as humiliated as he’d ever been. Rachel wasn’t quite finished as she smoothed the pyjama-pants and made sure they were, in her words, “nice and snug”. She slipped her fingertips underneath the leg-elastic and around the waist to make sure there were no crinkles. Satisfied, Rachel finally stood back and asked Freda to fetch the boys’ pyjamas.
Freda came back from the hall and held up the first pair of boy’s pyjamas: “Whose are the Bob the Builder pyjamas…?”
There was a pause. Rachel knew whose pyjamas they belonged to and so to did Mrs Wilding, but both Miss Reeves and Aunty Jennifer were puzzled. Naturally they thought Bob the Builder pyjamas, being rather childish nightwear, would belong to Stephen, though even Miss Reeves considered a fourteen year old boy like Stephen a little too old to be wearing them. Miss Reeves was old-fashioned enough to think boys of Stephen’s age should be wearing sensible striped winceyette pyjamas.
It therefore came as a bit of a shock to Miss Reeves when Oliver spoke up and announced to everyone in the room that they were his Bob the Builder pyjamas.
“Well I never did,” Miss Reeves said, “First pyjama-pants and now Bob the Builder pyjamas… whatever next?”
Stephen’s rocket ship/outer-space themed pyjamas at least passed muster in Miss Reeves eyes, as she deemed them to be at least a little more suitable to Stephen’s age than Oliver’s hideously infantile pyjamas were to his.
While Oliver, dressed in his DryNites pyjama-pants, stood and watched, Stephen was put into his pyjamas by Freda and Rachel. Then finally Oliver was put into his pyjamas… his Bob the Builder pyjamas and the boys were ready to be taken upstairs and put to bed.
… but not before a ‘goodnight’ cuddle and a kiss from Aunty Jennifer and Miss Reeves!