Chapter 1: Nice boys and naughty boys
"Mother, I can't wear this to go to church. It's too sissy. Take it off me at once."
"Don't speak to your mother like that, my boy," said Thelma, holding onto the collar of his coatee in spite of her son's efforts at wriggling. "Wait until I have brought out your blouse collar and arranged it nicely around your shoulders."
The boy waited with thin patience. The collar was very large and took a lot of time for his mother to thread it all out from the primrose silk of his new jacket. Then she spent ages arranging it in a full circle down his back and with its two cornered points on his breast. It was bad enough having to wear this stupid new blouse, but this jacket was mad... just mad!
"No," he declared, pulling away from his mother, and he marched across to the full length wall mirror and surveyed himself.
Oh my God! What a picture. The colour of the suit to start with: primrose yellow silk, with a shortie jacket that left his blouse showing above his pants, and those idiotic bows on the outside of each knee. He looked like a baby pageboy. And his blouse! That was the typical full sissy collar, at least twelve inches wide, and overlaid with lace to make it pretty. It made his face look girlish, and he wasn't having any girls at church grinning when they saw him. And his hair! Why was he afflicted with this awful, fine, blond hair which his mother could shape with rollers into quiffs and waves, draping so girlishly over one eyebrow. He grabbed the front of his coatee and pulled it off, almost tearing it to shreds as he did so.
"I'm not wearing it, and that's flat", he shouted, slinging the coat to the floor and throwing himself face first onto the settee so that his hair disappeared under his white silk collar.
Thelma Pressington jumped to her feet and stood over him, her hands fisted on the pleated hips of her chocolate silk dress. "If you think this little fit is going to change my mind about what you're wearing to go to church today, Roger, you are quite wrong. Now get up or I'll be dusting your silk backside."
There was a moment's hesitation, but her son knew that his mother always meant what she said. "But it's so sissy," he complained, standing up with his sissy collar still framing his reddened face. "They'll all be nudging each other and pointing, and giggling and joking about me. Don't you realise?"
"Maybe they will, Roger, but stop shouting. It's uncouth. I've spent a lot of money on your outfit for today. It's an absolutely adorable little suit and I want you to be seen in it. End of story." Her son's tantrum had quite shaken her up and she stood at the fireplace to straighten her blond hair in the mirror. She saw her mother coming into the library, ready for church herself in her pastel green woollen suit and a satin blouse.
"What on earth is all this fuss?" she enquired, with that look that half blamed her daughter for allowing things to go on. She joined her at the mirror, making corrections to her large hat, her gracefully greying hair and the ruffles of her blouse. "Is there another issue with that son of yours? What have you let him get away with now?"
"It's the bows on his suit, mother. He thinks they will be remarked on at morning service."
"Oh? And what can be so remarkable about bows on a boy's suit?" She had a way of turning slowly to pin Roger with her small blue eyes. "Come here, Roger. I want to examine your bows."
Roger may conceivably have hesitated to obey his mother, but with Grandma Valerie it was quite another matter. He slunk towards her with a dismal hang of the jaw.
"I don't like that manner," she snapped. "Change it." He made sure he altered his expression and stood with his hands by his side, looking straight at the fussy jabot of her blouse.
"Better. Now, let me see these bows. Put your foot on the chair."
Roger lifted one of his shiny Mary Jane shoes and put it on the upholstered seat of the fireside chair. He was wearing white hose, and the leg of his silk shorts came to six inches above his knee, where the cuff ribbon was done into a neat bow that stuck out at front and back, about four inches forward and back.
"I think it's more this bow that the fuss is about," said his mother, recovering the silk jacket from the carpet. She turned it to show the half belt across the back, with a rather larger bow to sit above the high waist of his shorts.
Valerie focused on straightening her grandson's lovely collar. "I don't see what there is to make a fuss about," she said. "So some silly girls may tease. And boys may laugh. That's all part of looking nice, Roger. A nice boy accepts these things."
A picture of the pathway through the churchyard clouded the boy's mind. There were girls in clusters in front of every flower bed; and boys calling him from behind every gravestone. It snapped his resolve to be good. He lost his self control. "Well I WON'T wear it. It's got sissy ribbons and looks like a girls coatee," he cried, pulling back so that he yanked the wings of his collar from his grandmother's hands. "I'm not a sissy. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!" and he stamped his foot on the carpet with all the venom he could muster. It made no sound at all. He turned, ran to the window where he had a wooden floor, and stamped his foot with a satisfying 'TAP'. His grandmother and mother were looking at him in silence, so he stamped it three more times. He immediately wished he hadn't, for Grandma Valerie was walking towards him, her shiny red lips pressed tightly and her head dropped slightly so that her chin brushed her frill.
"Come with me, Roger," she said, reaching out and gripping the back of his delicate neck in the clasp of her thumb and fingers, and his remorse spilled out.
"I'm sorry, Grandma... Ohhhh... I... I didn't mean... What are you going to do? I'm awfully sorry if I..."
"Be quiet. Up to my room." On the way into the hall she spoke over her shoulder to his mother: "I'll get him ready for church, which may take us twenty minutes of re-thinking. You get yourself ready, dear."
It was a dreadful walk up the staircase, especially since Roger had been told to be quiet, so he couldn't try to explain how ashamed his clothes were making him feel. He wasn't looking forward to Grandma Valerie giving him a piece of her mind. She was terrible when she made him sit on her low stool, with her sitting over him. Once in her room, she started.
"Nice boys make no bones about what clothes they are put in. Do you think your mother doesn't choose your blouses and pants without a great deal of care and excellent taste?"
"No, Grandmother."
"Boys who object to what their elders and betters do for them deserve to be humiliated." She was getting things out of her chest of drawers. "There are going to be changes in this house, do you understand?"
"Yes, Grandmother." Roger's heartbeats were quickening at what he could see his grandmother doing. She had underclothes of hers on the bed, and now she was putting one of her blouses with them.
"If you won't wear your own bows," she said, "you will wear some of mine." To the items on the bed she added her huge white sunhat with a navy-blue ribbon round the crown. Her grandson's lip began to tremble.
"G-G-Grandmother... w-w-what are you going to do?"
"Stand up," she ordered. "Step in."
A whimper of embarrassment crossed his lips as he lifted one shoe and threaded it through the leg of her white silk bloomers. The other shoe too, and she pulled them up his legs and into place... on top of his primrose shorts. The bloomers were unbelievably long, with the elastics clasping the narrowest part of his leg below the knee.
"Turn round," she commanded. "Perhaps you would prefer these little bows, hmm? One on each garter?" he was hooked into a white garter belt four inches deep, with four wide, white suspenders dangling down each leg and a pink ribbon bow on the stocking clip of each one." They hung over his bloomers... so humiliatingly. He was told to sit on the bed.
"Each part of a boy needs to be pretty and delicate. That is what I hold as being most important, at the front of my mind. Your mother believes the same. She had you dressed very nicely, my boy, but oh no, you had a mind of your own." She was rolling a thick, light grey stocking onto her hand. "I am teaching you how unfortunate it can be for a boy to have that ignorant spirit of independence."
Roger sat aghast as she rolled the stocking up his white tights, until it was well past the elastic of his bloomers. She pulled each of the garters down and clipped them to the welt, giving him a rather bulky top to his stocking, full of bloomers and shorts. The second followed in the same way. Tears freed themselves from Roger's long lashes and splashed onto his blouse collar. His grandmother was going to dress him in one of her skirts to take him to church!
When he was brought downstairs to be reunited with his mother, he was crying outright. He knew he had been rude... he knew he was a naughty boy... but he hadn't deserved this.
Even his mother was taken aback. He could tell from the way she covered her mouth with one of her white gloves as she beheld her hapless son, told to sit in the middle of the settee so that the two women could survey his repentant condition.
He was not wearing one of his grandmother's skirts, instead he was wearing one of her blouses: a large blouse in crisp patterned silk in orange, greens and blues, with wide sleeves that buttoned in cuffs over his hands and an enormous pussycat bow at his neck, with the white sissy collar of his own blouse drawn out so that it lay around his shoulders. The blouse was not tucked in but was left loose like a tunic, looking for all the world as if he was wearing nothing but his grandmother's blouse and her stockings. But there were two other additions. On his head he wore her picture hat, tilted back: a white disc wider than his shoulders, edged all round with a down turn of navy blue ribbon, while the crown carried its gorgeous bow of silk at the back, its ribbons dangling onto his bottom, while on his feet he wore a pair of his grandmothers navy blue patent heels with a white patent bow bursting from the toe of each of them.
"He is coming to church wearing bows," she said in a done-and-dusted tone, "but we are really going to have to do something about the boy's manner. It's unforgiveable. I'm not going to stand for it any longer."
"You can rest assured on that score, mother," replied her daughter. "I have already taken a step which will help to produce the sort of son and grandson we both want."
Mother and son, turned to look at her, one with surprise, the other with a sudden pattering in his chest.
"I have emailed a good friend of mine from my college days. Sonia Cherriton as was, now Sonia Forbes-Withers. She's 35, the same age as me, and is strikingly attractive, with shining black hair and a fine figure. She was widowed not so long ago, but she has a son of the same age as Roger, and has very similar views to my own on how she wants him to be brought up."
Roger crouched lower beneath his grandmother's hat. This had all the signs of crushing humiliation coming his way.
"I've suggested to her that I bring Roger over to see her Jodie. I know from what she has said in the past that he is a very nice boy and does all that he can to please his mother. I think that we can feel confident that Roger will change somewhat for the better as a result of meeting him."
***
"My... goodness! Come and look at this, mother."
Agatha Cherriton joined her daughter at the computer table as Sonia enlarged the print of the email. "I think you had better read it out for me, darling, she said. Quietly, so that our little sweetheart can't hear."
Her grandson was sitting on the far side of the morning room in the sunlight from the window, putting a lot of effort into his embroidery.
" 'Sonia honey, I should have been in touch but have had so many things to do. How are you? And your dear mother? And most of all, I hope that your darling Jodie, the love of your life, is blooming as brightly as we all hope he is.' "
She paused and turned to her mother. "You remember Thelma, darling: Thelma Pressington who married that business executive who disappeared after they got married. A great friend. She had a son, but I think he turned out to be naughty."
Agatha's lips and nose twisted with superiority. "I can't understand mothers who let their sons go," she said. "Is she on her own, trying to bring him up?"
"She has the help of her mother. Mercifully she is a woman of the old school, like yourself, and keeps him toeing the line. You and she would get on well together. But let me show you what Thelma says.
'There is a reason for my mail to you today: an unfortunate turn in the state of my dear Roger's upbringing. Do you remember I told you not so long ago how he could cry at dressing time when I put him into some pretty outfits? Well yesterday's crying has increasingly become today's naughtiness. In fact, he has just refused to wear the new suit I bought for him to attend morning service at St Aloysius's followed by the choir meeting in the church hall. His grandmother has put him in some of her things, which will bring home to him the advantage of doing as he is told first time. Not only will he be in her clothes, but she will have to hold him by the hand to make sure he behaves impeccably.' "
"Oh my giddy aunt!" said Agatha. "Imagine, refusing to wear his clothes. Does your friend make bad choices for his wardrobe, darling?" She looked across the room to her grandson, whose puffy blouse sleeves in a delicate shade of lemon glowed in the sunshine as his needle plied its way along the blouse collar he was decorating.
"Goodness, no, mother. At least not the last I saw her with her son: she had him in a one piece romper bubble in pale blue silk decorated with posies of little flowers. He must have been about ten at the time."
Her mother nodded her approval. "Well then, is she proposing something?"
"She is indeed. Listen.
'I thought to myself, this must stop and very quickly. I am sure you will understand my consternation, my dear Sonia. And that is why I am turning to you and your dear mother for support in the most important matter of my son's education. I know you have been devoted in your attention to Jodie, the dear, dear boy. I know that meeting your little darling, as well as falling - if only for a day - under the feminising influence of yourself and your dear mother, will produce a profound effect on my own darling Roger. He is not a bad boy... not really bad. He just needs to be brought round a little with the sort of sweetness I have come to know and love in your beautiful family at Sweetwell Park. Could I ask a huge favour, and suggest that we visit you perhaps one day soon?' "
Sonia and her mother looked at each other. "I must invite them over," she said. "Thelma, her mother, Valerie, and her poor son, Roger. We must do whatever we can to help them to improve him. But I hardly think a day visit is going to do her much good. We need a few days at least, I would have thought."
"Hmm, my only concern," said her mother, toying with her beads, "is the effect bringing a naughty boy into the house might have on our little buttercup." She rested her hands with resignation in the lap of her buttoning, floral dress and put her trust in the decision-making of her daughter.
As a business executive herself, Sonia Forbes-Withers showed confidence in such matters. She called to her darling boy, and Jodie was at her side in a couple of seconds. "Darling," she said, slipping her arm round his satin shorts and hugging him for a moment into her glossy black hair, tied back as usual in a white netted snood. "You always want to help mama, don't you, my petal?"
The boy spread his blouse sleeves reverently around his mother's head and kissed her on the forehead. "Oh mama, I want you to be happy, so I must always do just what you would want me to do." He kissed her again, so that she chuckled.
"Well mama and Grandmama, are going to make arrangements for a dear friend of mine and her son, and her mother, to come and stay with us at Sweetwell for a little while. Would you like that?"
"Oh yes, mama, that would be jolly. Is her son a little boy?"
"Well that's what is so wonderful about it, petal. He is the same age as you."
Jodie jumped on the spot with joy and gave his mother another kiss. "What is his name, mama?"
"His name is Roger... and his mother is Thelma and his grandmother is Valerie."
This information delighted Jodie so much that he took a step away from his mother's dress and danced in a little circle in his Mary Jane shoes, so that the ruffled collar of his blouse danced about his shoulders in silky prettiness. His grandmother's enthusiasm was not so unbounded.
"Roger is a good boy," she said, breathing in so deeply that her dark pink dress swelled right up beside her jiggling silver earrings, "and he will play with you in a nice way while he is here at Sweetwell."
Her grandson stopped dancing and clasped his hands together in front of his blouse. Something was wrong and he stepped towards his grandmother for comfort. She held the sides of his collar tenderly and fussed them to arrange them around her darling's pretty neck and cheeks.
"Mama and I are going to need your help, sweetheart." She took a deep breath. "Sometimes a good boy can make some unfortunate mistakes, so that his mama and his grandmama are not happy with him. I don't mean you, of course, you little darling," and she clasped Jodie in her arms as he threw himself in desperation upon his grandmother.
"What I mean is that when Roger comes to see us, he may... make one or two little... mistakes, which you can help him with. I remember once, when I was bringing up mama's younger brother, I had to correct some rather wretched behaviour in a visiting sissy."
She looked at Sonia over her grandson's shoulder, who still gripped her round the neck in his blouse.
"Darling do you remember the incident we had with Benjamin Telford?"
Sonia's mouth dropped open. She covered it with her hand and nodded. Agatha carried on with her account, mainly for the benefit of the little darling around her neck.
"That boy could have been such an angel. He was to spend the evening with our own Ainsley, dressed nicely together and playing with Ainsley's dolls in the dolls' house, but when I decided it was time for the boys to feel pretty together, the visitor simply refused to have his shorts taken down. He simply refused!"
Jodie released his grandma so that he had just one hand resting on the back of her neck, and looked into her face with puzzlement. "But why did he need to have his shorts taken down, grandmama?" he asked.
"Because from time to time, nice boys must feel very sweet together. Either dressed beautifully, or half un-dressed beautifully."
Her pet still felt there was a piece missing, so she enlarged. "One nice boy's little bit needs to touch another nice boy's little bit, and they both feel those lovely, flowery moments of sweetness, almost as much as girls do."
"Girls?" exclaimed the boy."Do girls have better moments of sweetness than boys do then?"
"That all depends, honeypie," said his mother. "When boys are being very nice and behave like girls, their sweetness can be just as lovely. Or even nicer."
"I want to feel as sweet as girls do, mama, only... I don't want my shorts to be taken down."
His grandmother exchanged a look with his mother. "Well, sugar, when Roger comes to stay, we may need to take both your pants down... and your panties too... so that your little bits can see each other."
As the words left her mouth, Agatha Forbes-Withers saw her cherub's lips and chin dither and tremble and inevitably crumple into a flood of tears. She gathered him tightly into her dress and rocked him backward and forward, her sympathy shared with her daughter through her drooping brows, but he was inconsolable.
"Don't cry, angel," said his mother, fighting back her own tears at seeing her dear heart so upset.
"Listen... grandmama will take you up to her room and let you hold one of her silkiest pairs of panties... to make you feel better."
"Yes, that's what we'll do, my little angel. Come along with me, and you can wear one of Grandma's nicest pairs of panties. I'll make you feel so nice." She picked up her darling, which she often did in spite of his size, and carried him as if he was still her little toddler, and took him to her bedroom where she lay him in the middle of her bed.
Quarter of an hour later they were joined by Sonia, who found her sorry-looking darling lying back on the satin pillows, his face deep inside the pink and white striped collar of her mother's silk blouse.
"I don't want to have my panties taken down, mama," he whimpered, lying quite motionless in grandma's pink rayon Vanity Fair panties and her cream linen, silk lined skirt, while Agatha's fingers slid softly to and fro over the little damp point that stood in the front of them.
"I know you don't, my dearest darling," cooed his grandma, and she kissed him again on his lips. "I want you just to feel lovely in grandma's blouse, and never mind about all that," and she gently closed the points of the collar over his face and kissed him again all over the collar as Sonia lay down on the other side of her darling and took her turn with encouraging kisses as well.
In the meantime, her friend Thelma opened the email and called her mother to see it too. It read:
'Darling Thelma, what a joy it was to read your message and yes, of course, my mother and I would be so delighted to do all we can in the education of your sweet child. The doors of Sweetwell Park are open and inviting you to come and join our humble household for the month of August. Can you get here in two days' time? Darling Jodie wants to help so much. He has a little morsel of worry - you know what sweet things our boys can be with these imagined little anxieties - but nothing at all to worry about. Mother is greatly looking forward to getting to know Valerie, but mostly, we all can't wait to see Roger and find ways of making him feel so much nicer.
Love and kisses,
Sonia xxx'
***
In Chapter 2: Roger meets Jodie... and causes a few waves at Sweetwell Park
