Mrs Legge was standing on the doorstep of ‘Sea Breeze’. She had been polishing the brass name-plate, the letterbox and the big knocker that adorned the front door of her guest house. It was a task that allowed her to keep an eye on the comings and goings from neighbouring guest houses along the street which faced the busy esplanade. Mrs Legge turned when she heard Mrs Fry’s voice as she and her son Mark approached.
“Aren’t you going to the beach?” she asked, only to be told by Mrs Fry what had happened at the barber’s.
“I see…” Mrs Legge said and as she listened her lips began to purse. It didn’t require a mind reader to see what Mrs Legge thought. Mark was in disgrace and she ushered him and his mother into the front room of her guest house.
“It seems to me this young man needs to be taught a lesson…”
“... but Mr Kirby spanked my bottom…” Mark protested.
“That’s as maybe…” Mrs Legge said and not for the first time Mark wondered why this was the standard reply by grown-ups to any of his objections.
“Mark was very rude to Mr Kirby…” mum said, “weren’t you, Mark?”
There was no doubt about it, Mark had got himself into very hot water and he had an awful feeling the spanking from Mr Kirby would turn out to be the least of his worries. He stood with his head bowed and his hands behind his back: “Yes, mum… er, mummy… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to be rude…”
“That’s no excuse… is it, Mark?”
“There is never any excuse for rudeness,” Aunty Dora said, “I will not tolerate boys who misbehave while they are staying in my house. I won’t have people thinking that little boys who stay with me can get away with their naughty behaviour without them being held to account. I have my reputation to consider…”
“I’m so dreadfully sorry that Mark has let everyone down. I warned him to behave himself at the barber’s… didn’t I warn you to behave yourself, Mark?”
“What can we do to teach this boy a lesson?” mum asked.
“Hmm… let’s see how well Mr Kirby spanked your bottom for a start,” Aunty Dora said as she took hold of Mark’s shoulder and turned him round, “Well, Mr Kirby is an excellent barber, but if you want my opinion he’s got a bit more to learn when it comes to spanking the bottoms of naughty boys…”
Mark thought Mr Kirby knew more than enough about spanking boys’ bottoms.
“... but… but, Mr Kirby pulled my swim-trunks right down and... and they came off when he spanked me,” Mark said indignantly as Aunty Dora pressed his head down so that his bottom pushed outwards for her to see properly.
“Hmmph… why it’s hardly red at all,” Aunty Dora said as she gave her judgment. Without warning she grabbed hold of the waistband of the little boy-trunks and yanked them sharply upwards so they were pulled right between Mark’s bottom cheeks. Then, with Mark’s bottom now completely bare, she brought her hand down sharply on the underside of the left cheek. It was a blow that almost knocked Mark off his feet and left a bright right hand-print. It was also very much more noticeable than the spanking Mark had received earlier.
“There, that’s better,” Aunty Dora said.
Mark begged to differ, or at least he would have done if he wasn’t so preoccupied with trying to catch his breath. Gosh that was a real stinger! It was quite apparent Aunty Dora knew exactly how to deal with naughty boys and Mrs Fry was impressed at her good fortune in having chosen Mrs Legge’s guest house for her holidays.
“Come over here, Mark,” mum said, “It’s about time you had your naughty bottom properly spanked… let’s have those swim-trunks off…”
“But mummy... Mr Kirby spanked me on my bare bottom… please, mummy I'll be good… honest I will… please don’t take my trunks off here… in front of Aunty Dora…” Unfortunately for Mark his pleading did him absolutely no good at all as Aunty Dora laid her hands on his shoulders and held him while mum quickly tugged the little boy-trunks to his knees.
Aunty Dora leaned over thirteen year old Mark. “I see Mr Kirby tidied you up downstairs as well… jolly good job too. Boys look so untidy with their straggly little hairs left…”
“... Mr Kirby didn’t need to do anything,” mum said as she interrupted Mrs Legge with a slight chuckle, “Mark might be thirteen but he’s still waiting for some little boy-hairs to sprout, aren’t you Mark?”
“Yes, mummy…” Mark replied as he wondered whether his day could possibly get any more embarrassing.
“I shouldn’t worry about that, Mark,” Aunty Dora said, “I’ve seen a fair few boys… older boys than you… at bathtime over the years and quite a number of them were as bald as you are…”
There was a knock on the front door that stopped Aunty Dora in mid-flow. She took her hands from Mark’s shoulders as Mark thought that he never would stop longing for some boy-hairs to sprout at the base of his penis like some of his friends. Didn’t Aunty Dora understand how important it was for a boy to start growing his hairs? Boy-hairs were a badge of honour; a sign the boy was progressing toward being grown up; a status symbol to be flaunted in school showers where boys kept a close eye on their classmates. People like Mark’s mum and Aunty Dora would never understand the importance of this stage in a boy’s life.
Aunty Dora left the front-room to see who was at the door.
“I called to see if Mark was coming out to play…”
Mark recognised the voice straightaway. It was Lucy.
“... only I wasn’t sure after Mr Kirby, the barber, had to…” Lucy paused and was told by Mrs Legge that she knew what had happened at the barber’s before she continued. “Mr Kirby had to spank Mark’s bottom.”
To Mark it sounded as if Lucy was talking about something commonplace; an everyday occurrence.
“Mark was naughty,” Lucy said by way of explanation.
“Yes, Mark was very naughty,” Mrs Legge agreed, “and I will not condone that sort of behaviour… Mark’s mother and I were just discussing Mark’s behaviour with him…”
Mark, standing in front of his mother with his swim-trunks at half-mast, heard movement in the hallway and was horrified when he realised that Lucy was following Aunty Dora and about to enter the room!
“Oh, mummy! Please don’t let Lucy see me… please!”
“It sounds as though Lucy knows all about what happened in the barber’s,” mum said.
Mark nodded his head: “Yes, Lucy was there when Mr Kirby spanked my bottom,” Then Mark looked up at his mum and added indignantly, “Lucy teased me!”
In an instant Mark regretted saying anything that might lead to him having to answer awkward questions about his stick of seaside rock. He knew full well how girls could easily manoeuvre boys into corners.
Aunty Dora ushered Lucy into the front-room and Mark’s hands flew between his legs to cover his boy-bits. Although his swim-trunks were still clinging to his legs, Mark knew better than try to pull them up again.
“Now, Mark, don't be silly… there no need for that…” mum said looking pointedly at her son’s attempt to cover-up.
“But, mum… it's not fair! Lucy already saw Mr Kirby spank my bottom…”
“... your bare bottom,” corrected Aunty Dora, “Isn’t that right, Lucy?”
“Oh yes, Mrs Legge… Mr Kirby pulled down Mark’s swim-trunks… like they are now, but by the time he’d finished spanking Mark’s bare bottom, the trunks had almost fallen from his feet… Mark was wriggling quite a lot,” Lucy added by way of explanation.
“Well Mark won’t be needing his swim-trunks again today…” Aunty Dora announced and mum agreed.
“No! Please, Aunty Dora…! Mummy! Please can I keep my swim-trunks on… please!”
Mark got himself into a rare old flap as mum reached for his his little trunks. He didn’t want to be bare-nude in front of Lucy or Aunty Dora… or mum for that matter. He was thirteen after all and at that age Mark felt himself to be entitled to some privacy… if not from his mum, then at least from girls. Of course his protests were to no avail. Aunty Dora and mum were of one mind… boys of Mark’s age simply did not require any degree of privacy and the fact that Lucy was present just did not matter.
Mark was told to put his hands on his head and when he reluctantly placed them there, his little trunks were finally removed to leave Mark standing in just his red plastic play-sandals waiting nervously to see what would happen next.
Lucy spoke: “Mrs Legge…” Mark noticed with some irritation how Lucy was allowed to call Aunty Dora ‘Mrs Legge’, “Mrs Legge… there’s something not quite right.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“Mr Kirby gave me a brush to help sweep the hair from Mark and when I was brushing Mark’s legs I saw something in his…”
“Please, Lucy… no, please don’t tell…” Mark was understandably frantic that Lucy would say something about seeing his erection pressing inside his swim-trunks and begged her not to say anything. But it was too late. Mum wanted to know what Lucy saw.
“Don’t pay any attention to what Mark says, Lucy,” mum said, “Mark has been very naughty and is in disgrace. Mark was rude to Mr Kirby, but if there is anything else, then you should tell us…”
Once again Mark saw Lucy’s face as it became a picture of innocence, just as it had done at the barber’s, and once again Mark thought to himself how you just couldn’t trust girls. Girls exist solely to get boys into trouble, he said to himself as he stood fuming in Aunty Dora’s front-room.
“When I was helping Mr Kirby brush the loose hair off Mark’s legs I saw he’d got something inside his swim-trunks,” Lucy explained, “When I told Mr Kirby, he said Mark was hiding a stick of sea-side rock there... in his swim-trunks. But he can’t have been…”
Aunty Dora and Mrs Fry looked at each other. This was more serious than they thought.
“... because if it was seaside rock,” Lucy continued, “where is it now?”
It took no more than an instant for Mark to realise mum was about to blow a gasket, but if he thought he could stop her from blowing her top he was sorely mistaken.
“Mark Fry… what have I told you about this sort of behaviour?!” mum started and Mark could feel his tummy turn to jelly, “... this sort of depraved behaviour… have you no shame? How many times have I told you about showing off like that?”
Mum’s words were accompanied by some very sharp smacks to Mark’s thighs.
“You deliberately chose to disobey me… What did I say before I took you to see Mr Kirby for your holiday haircut? What did I tell you, Matk? I told you to behave yourself and what do I find out you’ve been doing? You’ve been showing off… deliberately showing off in front of Mr Kirby and poor Lucy here. I suppose you thought it was smart? Well, I think it’s high time you were taught a proper lesson.”
During this tirade Mark knew he was not expected to reply to mum’s questions, but that didn’t stop him from trying to apologise. He did feel truly ashamed of himself, but what could he do, he was thirteen and like any other thirteen year old boy he lived with the ever constant uncertainty of spontaneous erections. He had pleaded with his mum to be allowed to wear something less revealing than the ridiculously brief swim-trunks he’d worn for the last two or three years. It was impossible to disguise even a nascent erection and when an arousal reached its full potential, Mark’s penis sometimes appeared above the waistband of his little trunks. Oh why didn’t mum understand?
“I think Mark ought to tell Lucy about the stick of rock,” Aunty Dora suggested. Mum agreed that would be a good place to start.
“Well, Mark,” Aunty Dora said sternly, “Tell Lucy what happened to your seaside rock.”
This was appalling. It was bad enough for Mark to be accused of deliberately flaunting an erection inside his swim-trunks at the barber’s… but to be expected to explain what happened to a girl! That was a new and awful humiliation.
“Please, Aunty Dora… please, I don’t want to tell Lucy…” Mark pleaded.
“You will tell Lucy exactly what happened and you will do that now!” Aunty Dora was not going to stand for that sort of nonsense.
Mark turned to face Lucy as he was ordered, although he was barely able to look at the girl who’d got him into such deep trouble, although he was unsure whether it was intentional or not.
“It wasn’t a stick of rock,” Mark said nervously, “It… it was my… penis. It gets stiff sometimes… I… don’t know why… I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“What… that? That little thing dangling between your legs…” Lucy said and pointed at Mark’s rather shriveled penis, “I don’t believe you…”
In spite of his situation… bare-nude in front of Lucy, Aunty Dora and his mum… Mark was offended: “It’s true!” he said forcefully before realising how much trouble he was getting himself into. “I… I mean… I didn’t mean to do it…”
“So you admit you deliberately let your penis get stiff in front of Lucy at the barber’s?” Aunty Dora said.
“It wasn’t like that…” Mark couldn’t believe how unfair it was, “I didn’t mean to… to do it. Lucy was tickling me with the brush…”
“... and you couldn’t resist showing off!”
“No… please Aunty Dora… I wasn’t showing off… I couldn’t help it…”
“Really, I’ve heard this all before. Boys who think it’s clever to show off… Next he’ll be boasting how he plays with his penis with his friends among the sand-dunes…”
Mark’s mouth fell open. How did Aunty Dora know about that?!
“Hmm… I thought so,” Aunty Dora said when she saw Mark’s reaction. She knew what boys got up to when they thought they could get away with their naughty games. She’d enough experience over the years running her guest house to know a lot more than boys like Mark realised.
“Is this true, Mark?” mum asked and when she received no reply from her chastened son said: “Mark… how could you? That any son of mine could be so... so… why, I can’t think what to say to you.”
“It’s not what you have to say… It’s what you have to do to teach these boys a lesson,” Aunty Dora said. “Lucy would you be an angel and bring the piano-stool over here…”
Mark’s protests went unheeded as he tried to explain how it wasn’t his fault; how other boys had encouraged him to be naughty; how he’d only been with these boys once. This last statement was somewhat disingenuous, since it gave the impression that Mark had kept away from the sand-dunes, when in fact he’d been there and played with himself on a number of occasions, it being the perfect place for a boy to have a good wank.
“Then you shouldn’t have listened to those boys…” mum said all of a sudden.
Mark was crestfallen as he muttered his apologies: “No, mummy… I’m sorry.” Then Mark began to feel guilty about going to the dunes on his own. Aunty Dora probably knows, he thought, and wondered whether he should say anything. But mum had told him off before when she caught him masturbating, so Mark knew she would not be at all pleased if she found out that he’d been doing it in secret. Mark really didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Wanking was great fun. All the boys he knew did it and quite often they conspired to wank together. But mums disapproved of their sons masturbating… and nobody understood why.
“I’ve got just the thing to stop him playing with himself,” Aunty Dora announced, “but first I think Mark’s naughty little bottom needs some attention…”
Mark was horrified and pleaded with mum that he’d already had his bottom, his bare bottom, spanked by Mr Kirby, but mum agreed with Aunty Dora… and even more so in the light of Mark’s recent revelations about what he’d been up to in the sand-dunes.
“No, Mark, Aunty Dora is quite right… I can’t let your behaviour go unpunished. It’s high time that naughty bottom of yours was given a reminder…”
“But, mum! It’s not fair! And… and…”
“Mark! That’s quite enough. Aunty Dora has her reputation to consider. You should have thought of Aunty Dora before you went off playing with your penis… what do you think would happen if people found out you'd been abusing yourself when staying at Aunty Dora’s?”
Lucy meanwhile had moved the piano stool and placed it, as instructed by Aunty Dora, close to the big bay window from which guests could view the esplanade and beach beyond. The bay windows of these guest houses were notable features of the sea-front houses and the curious holiday-maker found it hard not to peek in and see what each guest house had to offer. On this particular day they would see a young thirteen year old boy, bereft of swim-trunks, being told to bend forward over a piano stool. The onlooker would see the boy rise up on to his tip-toes and push out his bare and still slightly reddened bottom.
By this time one or two more curious holiday-makers had stopped to look in through the window of Mrs Legge’s guest house, while inside the front-room Lucy watched with bated breath as Aunty Dora drew her thin rattan cane up the back of Mark’s legs. She tapped Mark’s bottom and he tried his best to keep still. Mark’s calves were already straining from keeping to his tip-toe position when he felt the first thwip! of the cane on his backside. It stung… it stung badly as Mark sucked in his breath and tried to control himself. He didn’t want Lucy to think he couldn't take a few strokes of the cane. Mark had been caned before, but he never remembered quite how much that first stroke could sting. Obediently Mark pushed himself back up onto his tip-toes and tried to prepare himself for the next stroke of Aunty Dora’s whippy cane.
It was a real struggle for Mark to retain his composure after the next few strokes, by which time quite an audience had gathered to watch outside including a few youngsters who were busy eating bright pink candy-floss as they looked through the window. At the end when Mark had lept up and danced around the room, a big cheer coming from the onlookers could be heard through the open windows of the front-room and, for the first time, Mark was made fully aware of his audience. It was as if Mark’s caning was simply another seaside attraction, all part of the holiday fun to be enjoyed by children and grown-ups alike. Mark didn’t know what to do with himself when he realised how many people had watched him struggling to maintain his self-control as his bottom was caned. His first instinct was to cover his face with his hands and then to peek out to see if the spectators were really there, but his bottom was on fire from Aunty Dora’s expertly wielded cane, so that took priority and he shamelessly hopped about with his boy-bits jiggling as he tried to sooth his sore bottom.
Somewhat to Mark’s relief the spectators drifted off, but that still left Lucy who’d had a ringside seat during his punishment. Added to that was the fact he was, apart from his red plastic play-sandals, still bare-nude. Mark looked up at Aunty Dora and wondered what would happen next.
“Why it’s almost lunchtime,” Aunty Dora announced, “You’ll stay and have some lunch with us Lucy, won’t you? As there’s just the four of us, we’ll use the kitchen.”
There was no mention of returning Mark’s swim-trunks and he was loath to say anything which might draw attention to himself.
“Before we sit down there is something we must see to though,” Aunty Dora said and addressed Mark’s mum, “If you recall I mentioned that I had something that will stop Mark from playing with himself…”
“Yes, I most certainly do,” mum replied, quite obviously keen to know what the ‘something’ was. Mark looked worried. Lucy was clearly very curious.
From a drawer in the big sideboard that rather dominated the wide hallway, Aunty Dora produced a device that at first glance Mark wondered what it could be, until Aunty Dora added a few words of explanation.
“This will stop Mark from playing with himself. It is fitted over his penis and locked into place with this little key. As you can see it will prevent Mark from rubbing himself… masturbating… It will also discourage him from… ahem, showing off as he did in front of Lucy and Mr Kirby.”
Mark’s head swung round to face his mum. He wasn’t given chance to say anything.
“It’s for the best, Mark,” mum said, “Aunty Dora has lots of experience in helping boys who can’t control themselves. I’m sure you’ll soon get used to wearing it… won’t he Mrs Legge?”
“Oh yes, it’ll will make sure he behaves himself while he’s on holiday… and I know lots of boys who wear one at home to remind them of their holiday at the seaside…”
“There, Mark… Aunty Dora might let you wear it to take home with you.”
“Now there’s just one thing,” Aunty Dora said, “We need an extra special, responsible person to look after the key…”
“Oh, please, Mrs Legge… can I look after the key?” Lucy said.
“What do you think, Mrs Fry? Should we let Lucy look after the key to Mark’s chastity device?”
Mark was appalled. It seemed so unfair to have his penis locked into the… thingy so that he couldn’t play with himself anymore, but to give Lucy the key! What if she lost it?! What if she told everyone?
“Please mum… please don’t…”
“That’s quite enough, Mark,” mum said, “I’m sure Lucy will take special care with the key. It’s time you grew up, Mark and learnt to act responsibly. I’m sure Lucy will help you behave yourself…”
There was nothing Mark could do about it. He could see mum had her ‘determined’ look on her face. It would be pointless to argue and besides he didn’t want to risk another painful caning so soon after the one he’d just received. So he stood still while Aunty Dora showed Lucy how the chastity device worked. It was quickly fitted into position and with a very positive sounding ‘click’ the device was locked into place.
“Now let’s go and have some lunch,” Aunty Dora said cheerily and led the way through to the kitchen, but not before whispering to Mrs Fry, “I do have a spare key, but it will keep Mark on his toes if he thinks otherwise…”
For lunch Mark found himself subject to a further indignity for, without warning, he was directed to sit in a high-chair. Ostensibly this was so that Aunty Dora could keep an eye on Mark to make sure the new chastity device was working properly, but Mark was pretty sure the hard wooden seat of the high-chair might have had something to do with it, since his freshly caned bottom was still very sore, so it would be impossible for him not to wriggle and fidget.
The tray of the high-chair was pulled down over Mark’s head and he found himself trapped in the chair with his arms pinned to his sides. Now what? he thought. How am I supposed to eat any food when I can’t lift up my hands? Mark struggled, but it was no use as the tray was held firmly in place once it was lowered in order to provide a stable surface on which to place food and drink for the seated child.
“That’s enough Mark…” Aunty Dora said, “I’m sure Lucy won’t mind helping you to eat when we’re ready.”
So Mark sat and waited while lunch was prepared and laid out on the table. The high chair felt cramped and very uncomfortable and, try as he might, Mark was unable to stop himself from fidgeting which brought admonishment not only from mum and Aunty Dora, but Lucy too!
“Keep still, Mark!” she said sternly, “How am I supposed to feed you if you keep wriggling about?” Lucy turned to Aunty Dora, “I don’t suppose you’ve got a bib that I could use to put on Mark… If he keeps on wriggling like this, his food is bound to go everywhere.”
“Why of course, dear,” Aunty Dora replied and thought what a bright and sensible young girl Lucy was. A bib was produced which to Mark’s eyes looked even worse that the ‘Andy Pandy’ cape he’d been put into at the barber’s. The bib was bright pink and covered in what Mark dismissed as ‘girly stuff’; little ballerinas, fairies and such like, enough to make a thirteen year old boy die of shame.
The bib was put on him by Lucy who then asked if she could have a feeding bottle or a sippy cup for Mark since he was still wriggling so much and she didn’t want to risk him upsetting his drinky over everything.
“Very wise, dear,” Aunty Dora agreed and a sippy cup was produced and while the grown-ups ate their lunch, Lucy would stop every so often and ask Mark if he was ready for some more food…
“... or would you like a drinky-winky from your special sippy cup?” she said as she teased Mark almost beyond endurance and when he did finally snap, it was decided he needed a rest from all the morning’s excitement.
“I’m afraid Mark is getting a little too fractious,” mum said and asked Aunty Dora whether it would be alright to put her son into pyjamas after lunch, “... so that he can have a little lie down.”
“Yes,” Aunty Dora agreed, “I think that’s just what he needs. Mark’s clearly over-tired. I’ve some boy’s pajamas he can borrow…”
Mark’s subsequent outburst that he didn’t want a lie-down; that he didn’t want putting into pyjamas; that he wasn’t tired; that all he wanted was to be left alone… was taken as proof positive that being put to bed was just what he did need.
“Hmm… when you have quite finished,” Aunty Dora was used to these silly temper tantrums and simply added, “... perhaps Lucy would like to help.”
Lucy didn’t need to be asked twice and lept at the opportunity to assist. But Mark was on the verge of tears as he protested and pleaded with mum that it wasn’t fair. All this performance did was to reinforce the view that Mark was in need of a rest and that putting him straight into pyjamas after lunch would be the best thing for him.
“There’s a cot in the box-room on the half-landing,” Aunty Dora said, “Mark will be nice and comfy there and perfectly secure… a few hours sleepy-time will do him the world of good. It will give you a bit of a break too, Mrs Fry.”
“If you’re sure it won’t be too much trouble…” Mark’s mum said although it was clear the thought of an afternoon on her own was a most appealing one. It had been such a pleasant treat to have a little time to herself in the tea-room that morning while Mark was having his holiday haircut, so Mrs Fry needed little encouragement from Mrs Legge to put Mark into fresh pyjamas and tuck him into bed. Lucy agreed to baby-sit which gave Mrs Fry the opportunity to invite Mrs Legge to sample the delights of ‘Ye Copper Kettle’ tea-shop.
All that remained was to put Mark into the boy’s pyjamas Aunty Dora went to fetch while mum removed Mark’s plastic play-sandals.
“You’re to behave yourself while I’m out,” mum said, “You’ve to do whatever Lucy tells you to… I don’t want to come back to find you’ve been naughty and have to ask Aunty Dora to give you another dose of the cane on your bare botty… Ah, here’s Aunty Dora with your pyjamas…”
Mark’s mouth fell open when he saw the pyjamas Aunty Dora had brought for him to wear.
“Blue for a boy!” Aunty Dora said breezily as she held up a one-piece, soft cotton, winceyette item of boy’s nighttime apparel which had a hood attached to the collar, although ‘nightmare’ apparel might have been a better description.
Mark thought the pyjamas looked hideous. Mum thought them ‘sweet’. Lucy was thrilled and couldn't wait to see Mark wearing them.
One would have thought that Mark would have been pleased to at least be dressed in something, since he was still, apart from his new chastity device, quite bare. But there are limits, it seems, which no self-respecting thirteen year old boy would willingly wish to breach. The boy’s pyjamas which Aunty Dora held in front of Mark went far beyond those limits. Blue they certainly were, but the pattern was infantile in the extreme, as was their design. Both ankles and wrists were fully elasticated and the hood, which Mark had never seen on a pair of boy’s pyjamas before, had bunny ears attached!
But the pyjamas were not all. Aunty Dora had thoughtfully brought a pair of froggy slippers which looked as though they’d been designed for an six year old, but were found to fit Mark perfectly.
Aunty Dora also produced a pair of shiny mittens. These, she announced, would help prevent Mark playing with himself.
Mark was indignant. The pyjamas were bad enough and so too were the froggy slippers, but to be forced to wear mittens was too much: “But mummy… I’m wearing the… the thingy… Please, do I have to wear mittens as well?”
“Mark,” mum replied, “Aunty Dora says they will help you to stop playing with yourself and I’m sure she knows what’s best… Aunty Dora has lots of experience dealing with naughty boys who think it’s clever to…”
“But… but… It’s not fair…!” said Mark venting his frustration and resorting to his oft repeated mantra.
“That’s enough, Mark. Now let’s get you into pyjamas and the sooner we get you settled down the better,” mum said.
Mark had little choice to allow himself to be put into the humiliating pyjamas, but not before Lucy had wiped his face and ‘handy-pandies’ with a wet flannel. The thirteen year old boy balanced on mum’s arms as Lucy and Aunty Dora eased Mark’s legs into the bottom of the all-in-one pyjama set. Lucy helped put on Mark’s froggy slippers while Aunty Dora and mum pushed Mark’s arms into the sleeves. Lucy was allowed the honour of pulling the bunny-eared hood over Mark’s head and extremely short holiday haircut. It only remained for Aunty Dora to push the shiny ‘anti-masturbation’ mittens over Mark’s fists and to tie them securely to his wrists and Mark was ready for his afternoon nap.
Aunty Dora had created a day nursery in the box room on the half-landing just up from the ground floor of her guest house. It had proved most useful as somewhere that fractious children could be placed to give them time to calm down. Useful too when younger children needed a rest after lunch. Mark was escorted up the stairs, his mind seething with the injustice of it all and how he had been prevented from playing on the beach. He was supposed to be on holiday! Yet here he was, dressed in childish pyjamas and slippers, the thingy locked onto his boy-bits and a really stupid holiday haircut! It just wasn’t fair! Now he was being taken up to the nursery for a lie-down! I don't need a lie-down, he said to himself, I should be out on the beach, digging and playing in the sand!
When Aunty Dora opened the door to the day nursery, Mark gasped. He was being put into the most childish room imaginable. There were hideously smiling clowns, lots of girly-stuff like pink fairies and, urrgh, little ponies and dolls. Mobiles hung from the ceiling over the cot. The cot, to Mark’s utter dismay, really was a child’s cot, although even Mark could see it was large enough to accommodate a thirteen year old boy like himself. It even had a drop side which could be raised to prevent the sleeping child from rolling out of bed… or simply getting out of bed without permission.
The room, the decoration, the cot were all deeply shaming. Mark could only dimly contemplate what his holiday friends from the beach would say if they were to find out about his enforced afternoon nap.
“Come along, Mark, let’s get into into bed and settled down,” Aunty Dora said as if she were talking to a five year old.
Mark looked back at his mother who was standing in the doorway of the small room and with one last effort pleaded: “Please, mummy… do I have to…?”
But mum was firm: “Do as your Aunty Dora tells you, Mark,” she said, “Lucy will be babysitting for us and won’t be far away if you have one of your nightmares while you’re asleep…”
How will I know the difference? Mark thought as he contemplated the nightmare his life had suddenly become. He climbed into the cot and Lucy stepped forwards to tuck him in properly. Aunty Dora slid the side panel up until it clicked and was made secure.
The heavy curtains were pulled closed and a night-light switched on. Mark lay on his back and stared at the ceiling as he heard the door being closed. He pushed out his lower lip as he felt a tear trickle down the side of his face. It was all so unfair!