It was just after noon when Colin and Mike set off into town on what Mike knew was going to be a shaming and awful shopping trip. Mike's Dad had provided Colin with what had seemed like enough cash to clothe a scout troop and Mike was unhappily recalling all those trips to the school uniform outfitters that he had had to endure as a schoolboy. The only consolation was the pair of navy shorts that Colin had made for him earlier and that Mike was now wearing. The navy cotton shorts might just about pass for casual wear even though they were being worn with a short-sleeved white shirt and striped school tie. The day was reasonably warm and maybe, just maybe, he would be able to pass ignored as they walked through the streets. And walk is what they did even though it was three miles from Mike's home to the city centre. Colin had decided that the exercise would be good for both of them but as they walked Mike was terribly conscious of that strange sensation that comes from moving welted skin against cloth. After the ferocious caning that he had received that morning Mike was having real difficulty keeping up with his authoritarian tutor. But on they walked, and briskly too, managing to get to the main shopping area by one o'clock. Mike was aware of a couple of strange glances from older shoppers and had felt his face flushing when he noticed a middle aged man walking towards them who was obviously appreciative of the sight of Mike's bared legs and who had smiled and nodded as they passed. At least the streets were clear of younger people who must have been sitting in their classrooms waiting for bells to sound the start of lunch, but while Mike was relieved to avoid the stares and giggles of schoolchildren he was also aware that he was all the more conspicuous as a result. But they were in town now and he had survived the walk, that at least was something.
They hadn't reckoned on the traditional outfitter's shop being closed for lunch but Colin suggested that they should eat as well and the two older teenage boys went into a café and sat down to peruse the menu. A smiling waitress greeted them and Mike was somewhat embarrassed to realise that she was probably about as old as himself, maybe even a bit younger. He felt the difference in their situations rather acutely, she a working, earning, independent and confident young woman, he a disciplined, tamed and shamed teenage boy. He buried his face in the menu to avoid her eyes as she asked if they were ready to order. Mike had just about recovered enough composure to be able to nod yes and look up to voice his request when he heard Colin ask for a BLT and coke for himself and then go on to ask for a cheese sandwich and glass of milk for "young Mike here". So that was how it was going to be. Colin wasn't even going to allow Mike to make his own choices even about such a basic matter as lunch. It was easy to guess that choices weren't going to be part of Mike's life for a while now, just as it was easy to guess what was going through the waitress's mind as she barely repressed a giggle and thanked them for their order. Mike looked up at Colin and tried to work out how it had come to be that Colin seemed to have acquired a natural personal authority and air of maturity. How come Colin, who had been one of his two best friends at school, had come to have such a mean and nasty streak. Mike was still very confused in his feelings about what had happened earlier that morning when Colin had forced Mike to submit to him _s_e_x_ually. Now here he was smiling and relaxed, and joking with waitresses, and making clear to all and sundry that Mike was a boy under authority. Colin smiled back at his pupil and for his part thought that this was how things should have been a long time ago. Mike was manifestly a boy who needed to be made aware of the fact that he was always going himself in the submissive role in any relationsh! ip.
Lunch arrived and as tutor and boy ate the café began to fill up with other hungry customers. It wasn't until he had swallowed the last bit of his rather dreary sandwich that Mike realised that there were about five or six teenagers in school uniform sitting at tables around them. The happy laughter and chatter of boys and girls enjoying moments of liberty from the strictures of timetable and classroom was beginning to fill the room. Mike felt his stomach churn and he imagined that his nervous shaking must have been visible to anyone who happened to look his way. For Mike had found himself fearfully reminded of three facts that he would have preferred to avoid. The first was the recollection that this was the weekly half-day at the local schools when classes finished at lunch-time so that pupils could supposedly engage in healthy sporting activities. The second was the fact that some of the boys in the café were wearing the same school ties as Mike. Little wonder, it was a local school afterall. And the third fact was derived from a simple calculation. If Mike had left that school only a year ago, and if these teenagers were about fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen, as indeed they looked, then it was likely that Mike would be recognised as being someone who should no longer have to wear that school tie. Mike had previously comforted himself with the thought that anyone who might see him in public would have presumed that he was simply one of the many hundreds of schoolboys who might be seen passing through the city centre each morning and afternoon. Sure they might have thought it odd that he was wearing shorts. Sure they might have smiled or even giggled. But at least he could cocoon himself in the thought that they didn't actually know that he was really a university student who was being punished by his father and forced to submit to the discipline of a tutor. But the presence of these other younger teenagers had pierced the cocoon and shattered it. Mike knew that any moment now his presence would be no! ted, his attire recognised for what it truly was, and he would find himself the butt of insult and teasing jokes just as he had been when he was still at school and still known as the shortie-pants boy.
As Colin finished his own lunch and paid the bill Mike felt increasingly anxious about having to stand up and leave. If the other teenagers hadn't noticed him so far they surely couldn't help but notice when the time came for a bare-kneed eighteen year-old to stand and walk through the café to the door, an eighteen year-old who was not only wearing shorts but was also wearing the unmistakable tie of the local public school. Colin was now standing, it was time to go. Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor Mike stood up, turned around, and walked alongside his tutor out onto the street. His face was beetroot, his shame was nearly overwhelming. He felt his eyes begin to water. And then they were out on the street again and absolutely nothing had happened. No catcalls, no whistles, no barbed comments, not even the sound of laughter.
Colin turned to him and smiled. "See, that wasn't half as bad as you imagined, was it? Even kids from our old school didn't notice. They must have thought that you were from the junior department, a little boy not worth their attention". Mike was still trembling but now he was trying to work out which was worse. To be subjected to the taunts of schoolboys who recognised him as an older teenager who clearly shouldn't be wearing shorts with a school-tie, or to be looked upon as no more remarkable than any other prep-schooler. For his part Colin knew right well what had been going through Mike's mind. He too was surprised that none of the kids in the café had teased Mike, but unlike Mike Colin had been looking around him as they walked out, he had seen that those kids had been all too engrossed in their happy conversations and their pocket-money lunches to even notice the incongruity of Mike's attire. It had been a close escape and Colin hadn't been sure that he would have been able to handle the situation if it had got out of hand. But it hadn't, and it was good to be able to make Mike feel even more juvenile and humiliated by his fears. It was time to head for the outfitters and have a bit of real fun.
Crewe Brothers on the High Street had been selling gents and boys clothing for just over fifty years now. In fact there was only one brother left and he ran the shop pretty much on his own even though he was now in his seventy-sixth year. But old Mr Crewe liked having something to do and enjoyed shuffling around and serving the occasional customer who was willing to enter what was obviously an incredibly traditional outfitters. Designer labels and fashionable clothing was not part of the Crewe Brothers business-plan. The shop window was an honest indication of the wares on sale: comfort socks and flannel pyjamas, flat caps and trilbys, polyester ties, country shirts and golf sweaters, tweed jackets and sober pinstripe suits, these were the mainstays of the display and seemed never to change regardless of season or year. And there in a corner was a calligraphy notice advertising the fact that Crewe Bros were suppliers of school uniform for boys at all of the local schools. Mr Crewe's grandson, Andy, was sitting on a high-stool behind the counter listening to the old man complaining about some fusspot customer who had been in earlier looking for a pair of jeans. It was a matter of pride for old Mr Crewe that no denim had ever been sold in his gentlemen's outfitters, nor would it ever be so long as he was still fit enough to open the door. Andy was used to this sort of thing and in a way he liked the way his grandfather ranted on about stuff. Like other members of the family Andy used to drop in from time to time and see that his grandfather was alright and hadn't fallen down the stairs or anything. So it was that Andy had come straight from his comprehensive school as usual on half-day and was sitting behind the counter in his school uniform (obtained at Crew Bros at a significant discount) when Colin and Mike pushed at the door and entered the shop to the sound of the bell.
Mike recognised the old man at once. This was the guy who had supplied all those humiliatingly short school shorts over the twelve years of Mike's school career. This was the guy who always seemed to have Mike's size in stock no matter how fast Mike grew. This was the guy who even managed to have a stock of school kneesocks in Mike's size when Mike was easily five or six years older than the boys who had to wear them as part of their school uniform. This was the shop of horrors and humiliations, Mike's personal hell at the end of every August and on occasions throughout the year. It was awful to have to step into its crammed and musty space again, and utterly dreadful to find a teenage boy behind the counter. Mike instantly wanted to vanish into nothingness his mind already anticipating that if any further humiliation was possible it would surely take place in the next few minutes at the hands of this compo boy. It did.
The old man asked if he could be of assistance to the two young gentlemen and Colin had clearly and loudly announced that "young Mike here" was in need of some new school shorts for the summer, along with socks, some more casual shorts, and some grey short-sleeved shirts. Mr Crewe had smiled his appreciative smile and assured Colin that he had come to the right place. "We don't get much call for school shorts in the larger sizes any more but we certainly keep them in stock for those young men who require them".
Andy Crewe had nearly fallen off the stool at the sight of Mike in those navy shorts and his posh kids tie. There had never been any love lost between comprehensive lads and the boys who went private and Andy hadn't forgotten the day when two of the enemy had jumped him at a bus-stop and kicked him to the ground. Now here was one of those posh boys being brought into his grandfather's shop to be supplied with school shorts. School shorts! Andy couldn't believe it. He looked at Mike and guessed that even though Mike was a bit taller than himself he must have been about the same age. Surely not older! No, Andy reasoned. He's just an extra tall fourteen or fifteen year-old, afterall he didn't even have any hairs on his legs. But all the same, who had ever heard of a fifteen year-old boy being kitted out with school shorts. Andy had been told that his own Dad had worn shorts all year round until he had turned fourteen, but in this day and age! Well this would be a fine tale to broadcast at school tomorrow.
If Mike was feeling embarrassed he was about to find that shame knows no limits for the old man had turned to his grandson and asked Andy to bring the customers downstairs into the basement and assist them. Granddad was apparently feeling too tired to manage the steps down and anyway, "young Andy here knows his way about". Andy was off that stool immediately and leading the way down to the boys' schoolwear department as it was grandly known. He was a lad who had a fine ability to sense the possibility of having a bit of fun and this, he thought, was going to be one of his more amusing hours.
So Andy led the way with Colin and Mike following. Andy was trying to figure out why it was that Colin seemed to be in charge given that he appeared to be only in his early twenties and it was obvious that Mike was incredibly respectful towards his companion. Colin was enjoying the moment, thinking to himself that he was going to be sure to take any opportunity that this situation presented for embarrassing his pupil. And Mike was getting that sure and certain feeling that things were likely to take every possible turn for the worse that could be imagined, along with some turnings that could never be imagined.
There had been an attempt in the early seventies to update the boys' department. A couple of full-length mirrors and some chrome clothes racks had made the basement seem a little bit lighter and more spacious. But that was as far as the modernisation had gone. It was a room that Mike knew all too well from his years of being required to accompany his Dad on those regular shopping trips. One wall was now given over to cardboard storage boxes that contained old stock that was now unlikely to be sold but was nevertheless neatly folded and kept dust-free just in case for as the old man used to say, "classic clothing never really dates". But as far as Mike was concerned the most striking feature of the basement was the large chrome stand in the middle of the floor. This shiny circular rack had to be one of the most terrifying objects in the whole town, or at least terrifying to behold if you were a boy being dragged along to be forced to try on new school shorts. Because grey school shorts hung from this rack the whole way round starting with tiny little elastic waist pull-ups for four year olds and ending at the top of the spiral with large knee-length shorts suspended from a hanger that sported a little blue marker, 34".
When he had been brought here as a schoolboy Mike used to gaze in terror at the sight of those larger sized shorts. It was bad enough being made to wear school shorts as a younger teenager but those 34" shorts seemed to hold out the threat of a whole life-time of being kept in short pants. Even now, when he was practically nineteen years old, Mike's waist was still only 28" and those large short pants seemed to suggest that it was possible that a boy might never outgrow the threat of being put back into shorts. What poor sod, he asked himself, is still having to wear school shorts at such an age. The answer of course was that there was no other teenage boy being led in terror to face the rack of juvenile schoolboy clothing. Those 34" shorts had arrived in the shop as part of an order that had been invoiced and paid off over ten years previously. Even then it was thought that one or two pairs of the larger sizes was plenty to have in stock. It simply meant that the parents of fatter youths could rely upon being able to have their son properly kitted out despite his girth.
In happier days Crewe Bros used to buy in over two thousand pairs of grey school shorts in June each year so as to be ready for the back to school rush towards the end of August. In the days when there were three secondary schools for boys in the town, the grammar, the modern, and the public, two preparatory and seven primary schools scattered about the area, the demand for grey shorts was almost unimaginable. Almost unimaginable but not quite. Between 1955 and 1965 Crewe Bros had supplied an average of 735 primary schoolboys ranging in age from five to twelve; 180 preparatory schoolboys between the ages of seven and fourteen; 120 first year boys at the secondary schools aged eleven to fourteen, and about 30 older boys up to sixteen years of age who had the misfortune to have parents who preferred to keep their sons in short pants beyond the usual mandatory age. About one thousand and sixty-five boys turning up in that little basement to be kitted out in school uniform every August, and each of them requiring two new pairs of cotton lined traditional school shorts. Those were the days. Those were the days when Crewe Bros had turned a few happy and very profitable pennies.
Those busy back-to-school days had also given rise to the peculiar fact that the schoolwear department did not have a changing room. It had simply not crossed the minds of any of the brothers Crewe that boys might desire a little modesty as they tried on their new garments. And when the big sales rush was on it would have been far too time consuming to have had boys queuing up to check on fittings. Anyway, the final decision on any item of clothing always remained with the parents so the process would have been incredibly slow. Mike took it all again and remembered those days of standing around in underwear while his father picked through rails of blazers and stacks of shirts as well as those shaming shorts. He recalled the relief he had felt when at last his Dad had bought him a pair of long grey trousers but even so Mike had still be required to try on school shorts in the presence of loads of younger boys.
But today there was only one older boy to be fitted for a pair of these most juvenile of clothing items. In truth Crewe Bros sold no more than twenty pairs of these shorts each year nowadays. Potential customers preferred to shop in the big department store at the covered shopping area in the middle of that awful new city that had been built only an hour's drive away in the mid seventies. Times had changed and boys had long since revolted at the tyranny of short pants and Crewe Bros was no longer the profitable enterprise that it used to be. Those 34"shorts had now been hanging on that rack for a decade. Old Mr Crewe left them there feeling that they were somehow symbolic, a sign that Crewe Bros was able to meet any demand when called upon. He would have been deeply chagrined if he had visited that department store and seen that even today they still carried two styles of grey school shorts in all sizes up to 34"! Those old shorts hung at the highest point of the rack, presiding over one hundred and sixteen other pairs. But the observant eye would have noticed that among the various sizes there were different lengths and styles.
In a shop that avoided throwing anything out with the passing seasons it was inevitable that among those school shorts there would be some that had been hanging there since the days of extra short shorts along with those of a more generous cut. For some reason it was to the shorter pairs that Andy had turned on being told Mike's waist size. Andy might have been the youngest teenager in the room at the time but he recognised the moment for some slightly teasing fun at the expense of this strangely subdued older lad and had figured that it might be interesting to see if he could get his customers to buy some of the older stock. Holding out a pair of shorts in the right size Andy decided to forget about the traditional sales patter with its respectful "would Sirs" and "Sirs might". Instead he brazenly looked Colin in the eye and asked if "the boy" would try on a pair to see how they fitted. Recognising a fellow tormentor Colin replied in the affirmative.
The moment had come. Mike didn't dare provoke his tutor by refusing to try on the proffered shorts, but on the other hand he was dying of shame at the notion of doing so in front of Andy. He simply didn't move for a few seconds as he wrestled with the dilemma. To be forced to try on a pair of short pants that were obviously too small and to have to do so in the presence of this younger teenager who was himself wearing the uniform of the local comp, this was too much for Mike's tortured mind to deal with. Mike froze.
A few seconds passed in stillness and silence and then Mike felt Colin's hands reach round and undo the fly of his shorts. Colin looked up at Andy and explaining, "he's a bit slow", pulled Mike's shorts down and then ordered his pupil to step out of them. Mike was now numb with the humiliation of having been undressed like a little boy in front of Andy. And then the slap came.
Just one. But all the same, a firm hand-slap on Mike's briefs clad bottom. "Come on, get a move on, we haven't all day". And with that Mike reached out and took the new shorts from Andy and started to pull them on. If Mike was in shock you can imagine how amazed young Andy was. Here in the basement of his grandfather's shop, a shop where nothing ever happened, where old widowers came to buy the same sort of clothes that their wives used to buy for them, a shop where most of the clothes seemed like museum pieces. Here, in front of his own eyes, an older teenage boy had been undressed and smacked and ordered to try on a ridiculously short pair of grey school shorts that had been hanging around in the shop for donkeys of years. Andy wasn't at all certain that this had really happened, but there again it must have. For there was Mike standing before Andy and Colin and looking incredibly cute and juvenile in a very short close-fitting pair of shorts. The shorts looked very tight but Colin was smiling and nodding. "Yes, these look just right". Colin ordered Mike to walk around the room and then to bend over and touch his toes. The shorts were perfect as far as Colin was concerned. Just perfect.
As Mike walked round the basement Andy began to think that there was something else that was not quite right. And then it dawned upon him. Those marks on the backs of Mike's legs just below the hem of those disgracefully short little short pants. Little bruises and sore looking patches of skin. Surely not! Andy had never been the recipient of corporal punishment, he had never even seen any one receiving such punishment unless you counted the occasional smack delivered by an irate parent to a small child who was throwing a tantrum in a supermarket. Indeed Andy wasn't the kind of guy who could be bothered reading old school tales of whackings. Corporal punishment was well outside Andy's experience but despite that it seemed to Andy that there was only one conclusion to be drawn from the sight of those bruises. This humiliated young man striding round in front of him was evidently a boy under strict discipline.
Andy turned to Colin and decided to ask straight out. "So what age is Mike here, and what has he done to be treated like this?"
Colin considered his response for a brief moment and then concluded that a simple version of the truth would be fair in the circumstances. "Would you believe that this delinquent is all of eighteen years of age? He has screwed up his schoolwork, failed his exams, and basically _f_u_c_k_ed up big time. His Dad has employed me to be his tutor for the next few months and to see if some firm traditional discipline might help him get back on the rails again".
Andy nodded. He couldn't really understand why Mike allowed himself to be punished but he guessed that he might not have much choice. But if Colin was saying that he thought that traditional discipline would help sort Mike out then Andy felt that there were a few odd items in the basement that might help. Helping his grandfather with stocktaking and with getting boxes down from high shelves and generally working around the shop over the past couple of years meant that Andy had a pretty good sense of what the various old storage boxes held. Even if he didn't manage to sell some of it to these guys he might as well have the fun of seeing Mike try some of it on.
Andy brought a couple of boxes down from a high shelf. They were both marked in near faded black ink, 'socks, knee sizes 4 - 9'. Opening the first one he sorted through the contents and handed some pairs of socks to Colin. Two pairs had stripes at the top in the colours of the local public school that Mike and Colin had attended and Colin was obviously delighted by them. Then there were a couple of pairs that were grey and had one wide blue stripe at the top, and one green-topped khaki pair. They were obviously quite old, the school socks had a cardboard label illustrated with a sketch of a smiling boy in neat school uniform, smart shorts and kneesocks and an accompanying legend in flowing letters, 'Salver, strength and comfort'. Colin smiled, 'how much?'.
Andy was stuck for a moment. This stock was so old that it no longer had any price other than one in shillings and pence. So Andy figured that if he could get cash for them it would be money his own pocket. "Two pounds fifty each, or I could do a deal if you want a few and do them at a pound each for cash".
Colin nodded guessing that he understood the nature of the transaction being proposed. "I guess that'll be cash then; but he'll need a few more pairs". And so it went on. Andy pulled down boxes of ancient unsellable stock, rooted through and pulled out stuff in Mike's size, and Colin nodded assent. Mike simply stood to one side and looked on in shock at what was being set aside for him. Eight pairs of kneesocks had been assembled on the counter, along with four pairs of grey ankle socks with various school type stripes, and about a dozen pairs of the most appalling underpants, mostly trunks that must have been white originally but were now slightly yellowed. A fairly large box had been opened to reveal a few pairs of cotton khaki shorts and Mike had had to go through the ritual of trying a couple of pairs on until Colin had been satisfied. A couple of tank-tops had been selected, both grey, one with the colours of some long-forgotten school uniform at the v-neck and on the bottom hem. The shelves of more recent stock had been searched through for a few plain-coloured polo-shirts, and one pair of khaki walk-shorts. "Absolute treasure", thought Colin. "Gold-dust" was the thought in Andy's mind. While Mike looked on and thought that there was no way he was ever going to be able to survive the coming months. The only things that were not available and that Colin had been anxious to obtain were short-sleeved grey school shirts, but they would be got somewhere soon enough.
The worst moment for Mike came towards the end when Andy had gone off into a dark space behind the stock-cupboards and came out bearing the most dreadful of all garments, a dark navy short pants suit. "There's only one of these in his size back there I think, but you might like to look at it". Colin guessed that the suit was beyond the budget for today's purchases but nevertheless Mike was told to try it on. It was in fact too expensive for immediate purchase, even at the very reasonable cash-price that Andy had suggested. But Colin and Andy decided that it looked really well on Mike despite the fact that the shorts were a little bit longer and looser than any of the other shorts that Mike was going to be wearing for the summer. Mike was relieved to hear Colin say that they wouldn't be taking the suit, but his relief was tempered by the words Colin tagged on at the end, "for today". It was easy to imagine that that awful suit would be making a reappearance before long.
The purchases were folded into bags, handed to Mike to carry, and Colin settled up with Andy. Some careful arithmetic on Andy's part suggested that it would be safe to keep a tenner back in his own pocket and that his grandfather would be more than happy with the remaining cash given that most of the purchases had been written off the balance sheet years ago. Colin was doing similar sums in his head and reckoned that he had saved about twenty quid by buying this stuff and figured that it would be only fair to hang on to that twenty as a reward for his prudent shopping. It had been a good day all round except, of course, for Mike. Climbing back up the stairs Andy and Colin had a whispered conversation in which Colin established that there were certain days when Andy was likely to be in the shop and available to help if any other purchases became necessary.
Mike and Colin stepped back out onto the High Street, Mike looking very forlorn with his Crewe Bros bags and Colin looking incredibly happy with the world. "Right lad", Colin said, "it's time we got you to the barber's".
Toby's Barbershop on one of the side streets was a place avoided by all right-thinking boys, teens and young men. A place frequented only by men who were so old that they had little hair to be cut, middle-aged men who had been middle-aged all their lives, and little boys who had not yet been able to persuade their mothers that a decent hair-cut was essential both for self-respect and to avoid the taunts in the school playground. Colin had never even been inside the shop, Mike had been subjected to a few scalpings at Toby's hands when he was at prep school. But Colin figured that Toby's approach to hair-cutting would reinforce Mike's juvenile status.
And it did. When the two exited the shop and set off on the short walk towards their bus-stop Mike was a well-shorn little boy with the most incredibly old-fashioned short back and sides and ears that seemed to have gained in size as they stuck out well and truly free of any covering hair. There was now no two ways about it. Nobody could have mistaken Mike for an eighteen, near nineteen, year-old university student. Here now was a boy who was unmistakably under the control of old-fashioned and probably elderly strict parents. Mike might have been either comforted or distressed to know that anyone who saw him now would actually presume that he was a lanky thirteen or fourteen year-old. And that, in truth, was what he had become. Any sense of maturity or independence, any trace of rebellion or any vestige of self-respect, anything that would have left Mike feeling that he didn't have to accept what was happening had been extinguished.
Colin saw all this in the guy he had known so well as school-friend and play-mate. He had learned enough psychology to know that Mike was not going to be offering any resistance to the programme that had been set for the next few months to get him back on top of his studies. As they got on the bus both of them knew that life had been somehow changed for ever. No longer would anyone ever imagine that these two lads might be equals. Here was one, mature, confident, self-assured and authoritative. A man. Here was another, cowed, obedient, unsure of anything other than the certainty that misbehaviour or failure would bring swift retribution and painful punishment. A boy. A well-tamed teen.
They took their seats on the bus. Colin placed his hand on Mike's crotch and spoke into the boy's ear. "When we get home Mike it's straight into the bath for you and then I'm going to have you back over my knee for a little reminder session, I think that will do you the world of good. Don't you agree boy?"