Robin was excited to be going on holiday with his mum. They had been invited to stay with one of mum's friends in a small country town. Mum had often talked about Lockton where, she told her fourteen year old son Robin, she'd enjoyed many happy times when she was younger. She'd kept in touch with Daisy and that's who they would be staying with.
Robin was smartly dressed in his short trouser suit for the journey. He secretly hated wearing it, but mum insisted, saying that she wanted him to set an example to all the other boys he was bound to meet on the train journey to Lockton.
"... or would you rather you wore your school uniform?" mum had said.
Robin knew not to argue and besides wearing his school uniform was just as bad as wearing his short trouser suit, consisting as it did of traditional grey flannel shorts. These school uniform shorts were a bone of contention between Robin and his mum, since Robin had not had a new pair of school shorts since he started at St John's almost three years previously. Robin had grown a lot since he was eleven and his school shorts, short enough when he was first bought them, were now so short that when he buttoned up his school blazer it looked for all the world as if he wasn't wearing any trousers at all. Robin's smooth thighs were bare right to the top, but in spite of all the compliments and admiring looks from all mum's friends, Robin wished his mum would buy him a new pair.
"... but, mum, some of the boys in my class have got new school shorts that are much longer... one boy has school shorts that reach to the top of his knees!" Robin said as he begged for new school shorts.
"... and I bet they look very silly too," was mum's verdict, "I'm surprised the school lets him wear them... they sound more like longs to me."
Yes, mum had very strong views when it came to boy's clothes. She had standards and as she'd told Robin on many occasions, standards are there to be kept. It was the same when it came to haircuts. Robin was expected to submit gracefully to the almost impossibly short haircuts that mum demanded. It was not Robin's place to have any say in what he wore or how he looked. He was only fourteen and boys of that age are not mature enough to know what's good for them and that was all mum was prepared to say on the matter.
Of course that didn't stop Robin from trying his best to influence his mum when it came to clothes and haircuts. In his heart he knew he couldn't win and he also knew what would happen if he overstepped the mark. When Robin was to be punished he was sent to see Mrs Walsh and a visit to Mrs Walsh was to be avoided at all costs. So on the whole Robin behaved himself and did as he was told.
It wasn’t long after their arrival at Lockton before disaster struck… at least it was a disaster for Robin, but more of an inconvenience for mum when it was found Robin had no play-clothes to change into when they got to Aunty Daisy’s house. Robin had helped mum with the packing and needless to say got the blame for the missing clothes.
“I hold you entirely responsible, Robin,” mum said, “but I can’t having you running about in your best clothes. I think we’d better put you into your pyjamas… at least I hope you remembered to pack those…”
“But mummy it’s only half past two…!” Robin said, clearly shocked. He was never put into pyjamas this early, unless he was poorly.
“Robin, I don’t want your best clothes getting dirty,” mum said firmly, “Now, what have you done with your pyjamas?”
The suitcases had been put at the bottom of the stairs after it was discovered Robin had no play-clothes to wear, so he was sent to fetch his pyjamas from the case. Here was another bone of contention between Robin and his mum. Mum’s views on boy’s pyjamaring were quite straightforward. Everyday pyjamas should comfortable and loose. They should be made from brushed cotton, winceyette and always be worn with the top button done up properly. She wasn’t too particular about the waist; whether it was cord-tie (her preferred choice), or elasticated with a button. She wasn’t at all concerned as to the pattern. In mum’s view it simply didn’t matter whether the pyjama pattern was ‘grown-up’ (stripes), ‘boyish’ (space-ships, trains, superheros, etc.), ‘girly’ (flowers and pink-patterned stuff), or ‘infantile’ (nursery rhyme and cartoon characters).
Mum also had very fixed views on the subject of pyjama-times. Pyjama-time was that time of day by which a boy should be undressed, bathed (if it was a bath-day) and put into his pyjamas. Robin had grown up being pyjamered in the front-room, a routine that hadn’t changed over the years. Even now at the age of fourteen and to his ever increasing embarrassment, Robin was still required to stand impassively by the side of his mum while he was undressed downstairs in the front-room. During colder months Robin’s pyjamas would be warmed in front of the fire, or hung over a radiator when the fire was not lit. Robin was normally already wearing his slippers by pyjama-time, as one of mum’s rules was that ‘outside’ shoes or sandals must be changed for ‘inside’ footwear, usually slippers.
When he was younger Robin accepted this daily routine of being put into his pyjamas in the front-room. Indeed there was no reason to think of his routine as anything other than a perfectly normal state of affairs. However, by the time he entered his teenage years Robin, like lots of boys, thought he deserved some privacy in consideration of his age. On one occasion he plucked up enough courage to tell mum that he thought he was old enough to put on his own pyjamas and that it was about time he was allowed to change in the seclusion of his bedroom. All it needed was a visit to Mrs Walsh to put things straight and it was a long time before Robin thought to try and suggest anything like that again.
Mum had been genuinely shocked that Robin would think of such a thing like wanting to sneak off to his bedroom in order to change into his pyjamas unsupervised. She was concerned her son was trying to hide something from her. Mum knew all too well what boys were capable of having two older brothers of her own. When she wasn’t even as old as Robin, mum had spent many hours babysitting her brothers. The boys were one and two years older than mum was and it fell to her lot to make sure her brothers were bathed and put into their pyjamas by seven o'clock each evening. Mum remembered all the fuss her older brother would make when he was seventeen, how he would, on occasion beg to be allowed to bathe and put on his pyjamas by himself. Of course this was ignored and as he didn’t dare risk pushing his luck, the two brothers continued to be made ready for bed by their young sister. Because there had been two boys to deal with it had been easier to put them into their pyjamas in the front-room and it was for this reason she had continued the habit with her son, Robin.
“I always put your uncles into their pyjamas downstairs in the front-room at grandma’s house and they didn’t complain… I don’t see why I should make an exception for you, Robin… unless you’ve got something to hide, that is...” Mum said, forgetting to mention the reason her older brothers didn’t complain was because they both knew they would end up with sore bottoms in front of their little sister, something they were not prepared to risk happening. “Have you got something to hide, Robin?” Mum asked menacingly.
Of course Robin thought this thoroughly unfair. He wasn’t at all interested in what his uncles had to put up with and he didn’t think the fact they were put into their pyjamas in the front-room, meant that he, Robin, had to be put into his in the front-room as well. Robin didn’t know for a fact, but he was sure his uncles didn’t have to endure the seemingly endless flow of visitors who turned up just as mum was getting him ready to put into his pyjamas.
It just wasn’t fair when her friends arrived, mum would simply carry on as normal and Robin would find himself undressed and put into his pyjamas in front the visitor, or often as not visitors. On other occasions Robin was expected to endure the embarrassment of being undressed in front of the visitor’s daughter. As time went by and the older Robin became, the more memorable these events became. Robin found it increasingly difficult to treat pyjama-time with an audience as the perfectly normal state of affairs that mum seemed to think it was.
“I hope you don’t mind,” mum would say to her visitor, “I was just about to put Robin into his pyjamas… Take a seat, we won’t be long.”
“Oh, don’t mind us,” the visitor would say as she settled herself on the sofa and turned to her young daughter, “We don’t mind waiting while Robin is put into his pyjamas, do we, Alice?”
Alice, who was two years younger than Robin, politely agreed that she would wait. She might have added that she was more than happy to watch Robin put into his pyjamas, but Alice was prepared to enjoy herself in silence.
The mums chatted as Robin was undressed. It wasn’t long before mum was folding his short school trousers, shirt and tie, as Robin stood nervously in his white school vest and underpants.
“Arms up, Robin…” mum instructed.
Robin looked over to the sofa where Alice was sat. Their eyes met and it was clear to Robin that Alice was relishing every second of his shame. Robin looked away feeling more embarrassed than ever.
“Mum…?” Robin asked nervously, “Mum… can’t I go up to my bedroom…?”
“What? In your vest and underpants? Whatever for? I haven’t finished putting you into your pyjamas yet, Robin,” mum replied.
“Perhaps he’s shy,” Alice’s mum suggested, although without much conviction, “Perhaps he doesn’t want us to stay while you put him put into his pyjamas…”
“What? I haven’t got time to pander to such silly notions and all that tommyrot, Mavis. The minute you start indulging boy’s every little whim… why, you’ll soon have no time left for anything else. Arms up, Robin and let’s get your vest and underpants off…”
Mavis, Alice’s mum, agreed. She too thought that boys shouldn’t be ‘indulged’ otherwise you’d never hear the last of it…
Dutifully Robin raised his arms up. He knew the procedure. Down came his underpants out of which he stepped. Up went his white vest; over his head and off.
“Arms down at your side, Robin…”
There he stood. Completely nude. In the front-room. Nude in the front-room in front of Alice and her mother, while mum folded his clothes.
“You may fetch your pyjamas now, Robin.”
“Thank you, mummy…” Robin gave the required response and walked over to the clothes airer over which his pyjamas had been warming in front of the fire. Although he desperately wanted his pyjamas, getting them involved walking past Alice and Robin knew she was looking at his penis as it wobbled between his legs.
Robin could see the fresh pyjamas. They were a pair that used to be one of his favourites, but now he was fourteen his superhero-patterned pyjamas had lost some of their appeal. When he was twelve he liked the garish colours and the lantern-jawed superheroes as they fought the baddies over his pyjama-jacket and pyjama-bottoms. The younger Robin would even act out scenes yelling out Kerpow!!, Splat!! and Zapp!!!… words printed on his pyjamas in lurid colours, as he fought battles with his Action Man figures.
Now Robin was older his superhero pyjamas had become a source of shame. He blushed at the memory of his Action Man games, but superhero pyjamas were at least pyjamas and it was with a mixture of relief and embarrassment that Robin retrieved them from the the airer.
“Bring your pyjamas over here, Robin,” mum told him and Robin walked the few paces back across the front-room, once more passing within a couple of feet of Alice who was pointedly looking at his wobbling boy-bits.
Mum took the pyjamas from Robin and held them up: “Let’s see… oh, they’re your pyjamas with all those funny men dressed up and fighting each other…” mum glanced over in the direction of her friend Mavis and said, “I let Robin choose them himself as a special treat for his birthday… didn’t I darling?”
Robin nodded and mumbled, “Yes, mum…” He knew what was coming next and wished mum would just put him into his pyjamas and have done with it… he’d happily go to bed early if it meant he could avoid listening to mum talking to her friend in front of Alice.
“Robin used to love putting these pyjamas on… would you believe that sometimes he’s even come to me in the middle of the afternoon and begged me to bring forward his pyjama-time so that he could play in his birthday pyjamas… isn’t that right, Robin?”
“Yes, mum…” Robin said hanging his head in shame, now that Alice knew what a baby he was.
“And what games did you like to play into your pyjamas?” Mavis Carter asked.
Robin couldn’t bring himself to reply and mumbled something that sounded like: “dunno… can’t remember…”
“Stop talking to the carpet, Robin and answer Mrs Carter’s question…” mum turned to her friend, “I really don’t know what’s got into Robin… he used to love showing everybody how he could fight the men in their funny costumes…”
“... and he’s got some lovely pyjamas with all sorts of funny cartoon characters on them and all of a sudden Robin’s decided he doesn’t like them… but you know how it is, Mavis, I can’t go out and buy new pyjamas every five minutes just because Robin doesn’t want to wear them anymore… I wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t for the fact that I always make sure and buy Robin the best winceyette pyjamas… lovely and comfy and warm.”
With this observation mum gave Robin his pyjamas back and told him to show them to Mavis Carter. Still undressed and yet to be put into his pyjamas, Robin took his superhero pyjamas over to the sofa and held them out for Mrs Carter and her daughter, Alice to inspect.
“Feel how lovely and soft Robin’s pyjamas are,” mum encouraged her visitors, “I’ve tried other types of pajamas, but they’re just not the same as proper winceyette. You know someone even persuaded me to buy Robin some nylon pyjamas once… said they were very hard-wearing and would last a long time, but I wasn’t convinced. In the end his Aunty Joan bought Robin a pair of nylon pyjamas after I told her how they had been recommended to me. Well, nylon pyjamas are easy to clean and they’re certainly hard-wearing, but after sleeping in them for a few nights they brought Robin out in a frightful heat-rash… didn’t they, dear?”
“Yes, mum…” Robin answered still holding his folded pyjamas out as Alice ran her hands over the soft winceyette material.
“... yes, a rash between his legs… around his little, you know... boy-bits,” mum said in a stage whisper, then added, “… I rubbed in some calamine lotion and that helped and now I’ve kept Robin’s nylon pyjamas for special occasions… haven’t I, Robin?”
“Yes, mummy,” Robin blushed an even deeper red than he already was, desperately ashamed of mum’s conversation and where it was going next.
“What sort of special occasions, Olivia dear?” Mavis Carter naturally enquired.
“Oh… well, I’m not sure if I should… in front of...” mum nodded her head towards Alice, “...but I don’t suppose it matters… girls these days seem to know a lot more than…”
It was now or never for Robin. He knew what these ‘special occasions’ were: “Mummy… please, mum… please… don’t… I can’t help it… it’s not fair...”
“Hush now, Robin… Mrs Carter has asked me a question and she’s every right to expect an answer… I expect Alice is grown-up enough to be told about how silly little boys can be…”
“That’s enough of your nonsense, Robin… unless you like me to smack your bare bottom before I put you into your pyjamas… Well, Robin would you like Alice to see you with a smacked botty?”
Robin hung his head: “No, mummy…” he answered meekly.
“You see Robin has started having nocturnal emissions,” mum explained in her best matter-of-fact voice, “They can be very messy and require a fresh pair of pyjamas. Then, when he had two emissions in the space of one week, I told Robin he would have to wear his nylon pyjamas… yes, Alice… what is it, dear?”
“May I ask what Robin’s nylon pyjamas are like?” Alice asked politely.
“They are rather uncomfortable, as I said… but I didn’t want Robin to ruin his nice winceyette pyjamas with all the nocturnal emissions he’s been having… but perhaps you meant what do they look like?” Alice nodded in reply and mum continued her description of the nylon pyjamas, “The pyjamas are lemon-yellow with lots of bunny-rabbits leaping about and playing and Robin has a special pair of bunny-rabbit slippers to wear with them, haven’t you, Robin?”
“Yes, mummy…” Robin answered and wondered when his torment would cease.
“Those special pyjamas sound lovely,” Alice remarked to Robin, “I expect you’ve been a good boy since you’re not going to be wearing them today… I suppose that means you haven’t had an emission lately…?”
The last thing Robin wanted to do was to stand in the nude in front of Alice, two year his junior, discussing his pyjama collection and things he thought she ought not to ask about, but mum insisted he answer the question.
“Um, err… no… no I haven’t had one since last week…” Robin finally answered, now feeling more hot and bothered than ever.
But Alice wasn’t finished with him yet: “I bet you’ve got loads of different patterned pyjamas,” she said, making Robin stay standing in front of her and her mother, Mavis.
“Um… yes, lots of different ones… I, er…”
“Have you got a favourite pair of jimmy-jams?” Alice asked.
“Err… not really…” Robin mumbled nervously, wishing mummy would put an end to his embarrassment and put him into his pyjamas. Robin just wanted to be tucked up in bed even though it wasn’t quite his bedtime.
“Oh, Robin… you know that’s not true,” mum admonished her son, “You’re always asking me if you can wear your pyjamas with all the rockets and spaceships… and what about the ones you’re holding? And I can’t believe you don’t like your choo-choo train pyjamas any more… the ones that Aunty Florence gave you for Christmas… you were thrilled to bits when you first wore them, running about making funny train noises… whoo! whoo!... don’t you remember?”
Robin remembered alright, but that was four years ago. Didn’t mum realise he was a teenager now. He didn’t run about making funny noises any more. And he didn’t like wearing little boy pyjamas either. Robin wanted to wear proper grown-up pyjamas without silly childish patterns on them making him look like a ten year old. Better still, Robin thought he was old enough to decide if he should wear pyjamas at all! He didn’t dare tell mum that when he stayed for a sleepover with his friend Matty, they dared each other to take off their pyjama-bottoms when they were both in bed. The two naughty boys did just that and slept in only their pyjama-jackets. Luckily for Matty and Robin they weren’t caught, but in the morning they dutifully pulled up their pyjama-bottoms before going down to breakfast amidst much giggling about their naughty nighttime adventure.
“... um, these, I suppose,” Robin said, finally answering Alice’s question.
“Now if you’ve quite finished talking to Alice, I think it’s time we got you into your pyjamas young man,” mum said, making it sound like Robin was the one doing all the talking and holding everything up.
Robin thought about protesting that he had been ready for his pyjamas ages ago, but thought better of it. He was old enough to know that boys always got the blame.
“Yes, mummy…” he said, “I’m ready for my pyjamas now.”
“About time too,” mum said as she took the pyjamas from Robin. She placed them to one side then picked up the pyjama-jacket. “Let’s have your arms, Robin… there we are, now turn round so I can put the other arm in… good, now let’s get you buttoned up properly.”
The soft, cosy winceyette felt warm and comforting as mum pulled the jacket together and started to do up the buttons. Mummy always insisted that all the buttons were done up and that meant the very top one as well. Robin felt better already now he was dressed in his pyjama-jacket, although he knew Alice and her mother were watching his every move.
Mum held Robin’s pyjama-bottoms open: “Come along now…” mum didn’t need to say anymore as Robin lifted first his right leg, then his left, into his pyjama-bottoms and stood still as mum pulled them up… up and over the lower part of Robin’s pyjama-jacket. “Now stand up nice and straight so that I can get you tucked in properly…” Robin waited while mum pulled the white cord taut and tied the ends together. All that remained was for Robin to bend down and put on his slippers.
“Thank you, mummy,” Robin said when he was at least dressed in his superhero pyjamas.
Alice whispered something to her mother. “What is it, dear,” Robin’s mum asked.
“Alice was asking if she could see Robin’s nylon pyjamas,” Mavis Carter answered on her daughter’s behalf.
“It’s nearly past Robin’s bedtime as it is, Alice… but if you’re sure you want to see them…” mum said.
Alice nodded enthusiastically.
“Perhaps you would you like me to put Robin into his nylon pyjamas for you, Alice?” mum asked.
“Oh, yes please, Mrs Greene,” Alice replied, her eyes positively sparkling with enthusiasm.
“... and once he’s been put into this nylon pyjamas, if you like you can help me to get Robin tucked up and settled down in his bed… but only if your mummy says it’s alright...”
“Oh can I mummy?!” Alice squealed with excitement, “Please mummy… can I help put Robin to bed?!”
“MUMMY!!” Robin was stunned at this turn of events, “Please... it’s not fair… please… and don’t make me wear my nylon pyjamas again… not to bed… please… I haven’t been naughty… please mummy...”
“But Alice says she would like to see you wearing them, Robin,” mum explained, “It would be unkind to refuse…”
“... but they itch and I get all sweaty… they’re horrid, mummy…”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say… You know that Aunty Joan bought them for you especially… it’s very ungrateful of you, Robin,” mummy said, “I hope you’re not going to sulk before bedtime… but if you’re a good boy I’ll rub in some soothing lotion before we settle you down in bed if you promise not to be naughty…”
On hearing this Robin nearly burst into tears and protested at the very idea of being made to wear his nylon pyjamas simply for the benefit of Alice… and as for having lotion rubbed all round his naughty bits, that he could certainly do without. It wasn’t fair! Robin hadn’t had an emission since the week before last... not since he’d been shown by his friend Matty the best way of preventing them altogether…
“Robin! That’s quite enough! It’s no way to behave in front of guests… Any more of this nonsense and you’ll be wearing your nylon pyjamas for the next fortnight!”
“But, mummy…” Robin said feebly, hung his head and pouted. He knew when he was beaten.
“Are you going to be a good boy, Robin?” mummy asked.
Robin nodded: “Yes, mummy…”
“Well then, go and fetch your nylon pyjamas for Alice to see.”
“Yes, mummy,” Robin dutifully replied. Secretly relieved to be out of the front-room, even if it was to fetch his dreaded nylon pyjamas, Robin padded off upstairs. In his bedroom he took the lemon-yellow pyjamas out of the drawer where they were kept and then sat on his bed. Robin thought he’d earned himself a break from mum and her visitors… especially Alice. What was she doing there anyway? Robin reflected on the unfairness of a boy’s life… girls could get away with pretty much anything. Why were girls allowed to see me being undressed then put into my pyjamas? he asked himself and why did mum listen to Alice when she asked to see these hideous nylon pyjamas? Why did mum have tell them about my emissions? All these questions and more passed through Robin’s mind until he heard mum call upstairs to remind him to bring down his special bunny-rabbit slippers. Robin fished them out of his wardrobe and went back downstairs.
The only positive aspect of all this was that it was now well past Robin’s bedtime. On any other occasion he would have been thrilled to be up so late, but as it was Robin would rather have been put to bed at his usual time… in his nice, cosy winceyette pyjamas.
“Ah… there we are,” mum said as Robin walked back into the front-room, “Show Alice your special nylon pyjamas, Robin.”
Robin did as he was told and offered the lemon-yellow pyjamas to Alice who held out her hand. Just as she was about to touch the material a spark of static electricity shocked her and she pushed herself back into the seat with a yelp of surprise.
“Oww! That hurt!” Alice squealed.
Serves you right for making me wear them, Robin thought, but wisely kept his own council.
“They do that sometimes,” Robin explained, “Watch this…” and he rubbed the nylon pyjama-jacket on the front of the winceyette pyjamas he was wearing. Then he held the nylon pyjama-jacket over his head. Robin’s hair, short as it was, stood up on end like a fright wig.
“It’s the static electricity makes your hair go up… and it can give you a shock. We did it in science class…” Robin said.
“That’s enough... nobody likes a show-off, Robin,” mum said. “Come over here and we’ll get you changed for Alice…”
“Can I help, Mrs Greene?” Alice asked.
“Certainly, Alice. You can undress Robin…”
“... I can do that myself…” Robin said petulantly.
“Robin! Don’t be such crosspatch! Let Alice help if she wants to.”
Reluctantly Robin stood still and let Alice unbutton his pyjama-jacket.
“You’ll have to untie Robin’s pyjama-bottoms before you finish undoing all the buttons, Alice.”
“Mum…” Robin protested, but no one was listening.
“Keep still!” Alice said as she fiddled with the knot which held up Robin’s pyjama-bottoms.
The pyjama-jacket gaped open as Alice struggled to untie the pyjama-cord, but once she did so Robin’s pyjama-bottoms slid easily down his smooth legs to land in a puddle at his feet. Alice quickly finished unbuttoning the pyjama-jacket and opened it wide to leave Robin and his boy-bits on show once more.
“Turn around,” Alice instructed with an authoritative voice that belied her age. Robin shuffled round so that Alice could reach up and pull his pyjama-jacket back over his shoulders and down his arms. All that remained was for Robin to step out of the pyjama-bottoms and he was once more bare for all to see.
Alice picked up the lemon-yellow nylon pyjama-jacket gingerly until she was satisfied there was no danger of her receiving another shock from the artificial fibre. The nylon felt so different between her fingers; so unnatural and cold compared with the soft warmth of the winceyette pyjamas she had just taken off Robin. It gave Alice a mischievous thrill to think it was her wish Robin would be put to bed wearing the horrid nylon pyjamas she was holding. She also reflected on what else she’d learnt about boys in general and Robin in particular; knowledge about his nocturnal habits Alice was sure to find useful. What better way of causing a boy embarrassment than by casually mentioning his messy nighttime emissions in public and telling everyone how he has to wear special pyjamas to bed?
Robin was told to pick up his winceyette pyjama-bottoms and to take them, along with the jacket handed to him by Alice, to his mother. Feeling more miserable by the minute, Robin did as he was told and reluctantly handed his comfy pyjamas to mum.
“Come back over here, Robin and let’s get you into your nylon pyjamas...” Alice ordered, her voice sounding more sterner each time she spoke to Robin, “... it must be well past your bedtime by now,” she added, at which the two mums smiled knowingly at each other, both no doubt thinking what a clever, mature young girl Alice was.
Robin stood, arms at his side and with his head bowed in front of Alice. Much as he would love to have told his new tormenter what he thought of her and his lemon-yellow nylon pyjamas with bunny-rabbits all over them, Robin knew how foolish that would be. Not only was his own mother sitting and keeping a close eye on things, but Alice’s mother was sat a few feet away smiling and nodding approvingly at her daughter. Robin knew that one wrong move on his part would risk the wrath of two grown-ups and undoubtedly give Alice the perfect excuse to humiliate him even further. So Robin stood meekly in front of the young girl, two years his junior, as she readied herself to put him into his nylon pyjamas.
But it seemed as if Alice wasn’t to be satisfied until she’s heard again the reason why Robin was made to wear such uncomfortable pyjamas and as she held up the nylon pyjama-jacket asked: “Tell me Robin, why does mummy make you wear these special boy’s pyjamas?”
Robin glanced over towards his mum and then at the horrid lemon-yellow nylon pyjama-jacket before answering his tormentor: “Mummy makes me wear them because… because…” Robin struggled to say the words even though he knew it had been explained to Alice exactly why he had to wear his special pyjamas.
Alice jiggled the yellow pyjama-jacket in front of Robin. “Come on, don’t be shy… tell me why you have to wear these pyjamas to bed, Robin… Is it because of willy-winky?”
The use of these humiliatingly infantile words to describe his penis made Robin feel like a frustrated little boy. He had no idea why Alice was doing this. Alice, even though she was younger than Robin, had very quickly and with the silent approval of the mums present, got him under her thumb. Robin knew that by accepting her insulting use of baby-talk to describe his boyhood, she had won and he had lost. From now on he would have to do everything Alice told him to do.
“I’ve heard that little boys like to play with willy-winky,” Alice said matter-of-factly, “Is that why mummy makes you wear your special pyjamas? Because you play with willy-winky?”
Robin was caught. He knew that whatever answer he gave spelt disaster. God forbid he should admit he masturbated. Robin knew mummy’s views on boys who masturbate. Mummy would go ballistic and he would probably end up wearing the horrid, itchy nylon pyjamas for evermore, that is after his botty had been given a blistering spanking in front of Alice and her mum.
And if Robin denied all knowledge of masturbation and told Alice that he never played with his penis, how would that look? A boy of Robin’s age has his pride and after all he didn’t want Alice to think he didn’t know about what she was saying. Robin thought of what would happen if word ever got about that he told Alice he didn’t masturbate. Heaven’s above, he’d be taunted and mocked. In short he’d be a laughing-stock!
But the risk of being a laughing-stock had to be a thousand times preferable to mummy’s wrath, so Robin shook his head and told Alice that he didn’t play with willy-winky. At Alice’s prompting, Robin was made to explain how he sometimes woke up in the morning and his pyjama-bottoms were damp and sticky because he’d had a nocturnal emission. That happened, Robin was forced to explain, because when boys got to a certain age they started to produce stuff and sometimes that stuff built up and squirted out from the boy’s penis when he was asleep.
Alice kept making Robin tell her about this even though he was sure she knew all about these things. Then the penny dropped.
“Is that what little willy-winky does when it squirts stuff?” Alice said calmly, looking straight at Robin’s penis. All this talk about emissions had got Robin into a proper tizzy, or ‘over-excited’ as mummy would say, and the inevitable had happened. Even though Robin was as embarrassed as could be facing Alice, his junior by two years, his penis had visibly grown and was pointing straight out towards his tormentor.
Robin: Part 2 Story Index