I'd been looking forward to summer. No more school uniform, warm weather, long days... it felt like I'd finally get a bit of freedom.
Instead, Sir decided the holidays were the perfect excuse to dress me even more childishly than during term time. Before long, I found myself dreading whatever outfit would be waiting for me each morning.
Today's was already laid out neatly on my bed: a pastel green short-sleeved Oxford shirt from the children's department age 16, the checked shorts with the elasticated back that Sir had bought from M&S boyswear and had taken up to a humiliating three-inch inseam, traditional white y-fronts, and knee-length white cotton socks held up with garters. I got dressed without a word, each item making me feel that little bit smaller.
Sir entered and nodded with quiet approval. “You look appropriately summery, my boy.” He clipped on the navy silk bow tie patterned with teddy bears, then attached the cream braces with red and blue stripes, adjusting them so the shorts sat neatly. “It is a bright, sunny day,” he added gently. “I will not have you sunburnt.” He applied a thick layer of Factor 50 children’s sun cream to my face, neck, ears, arms, and exposed legs.
Once that was done, he buckled my T-bar shoes himself before settling a straw boater on my head.
I caught sight of myself in the hallway mirror and immediately blushed. The sun cream hadn't been rubbed in properly, leaving white streaks across my nose and cheeks. Between that, the bow tie and the boater, I looked like the sort of painfully wholesome British schoolboy you'd find on an old postcard.
Outside, the contrast only made it worse.
Everyone else seemed to be wearing T-shirts, trainers and sports shorts while I walked beside Sir looking as though I'd wandered out of a children's clothing catalogue. I tried keeping my eyes down, but all that achieved was giving me a constant view of my knee socks and T-bars.
At the supermarket, Sir helped me choose a healthy sandwich and some fruit juice for lunch. Because I'd been well behaved, I was also allowed to pick an ice cream.
We took everything to the park, where Sir insisted I sit on a bench while he took photograph after photograph.
When he handed me my ice cream, he added, almost conversationally, "Mind you don't drip any on your outfit. If you do, you'll be going over my knee for a spanking, regardless of who's watching."
I became increasingly self-conscious with every photo. Sir noticed immediately.
"Oh? Have we got a grumpy baby today?"
Before I could answer, he produced an oversized light green dummy that matched my shirt almost perfectly and slipped it into my mouth.
"There we are. Now smile nicely."
The photos continued. Sitting. Standing. Hat on. Hat off. Turn around so the braces showed. One where I was told to look wistfully across the sunny grass while everyone else enjoyed themselves. I, of course, stayed obediently in the shade.
Eventually we headed home. Sir took my hand as we walked, protective but unmistakably in control. From a distance, we probably looked like a father walking his particularly well-dressed little boy home after a day out. The boater stayed firmly on my head the entire time.
At one point I quietly complained about the long route we were taking, pretending I needed to go home to use the loo.
Sir stopped, put the dummy back in my mouth and made me pose for some even more ridiculous photos.
By the time we got home I still felt hot with embarrassment. Sir looked me over with quiet satisfaction.
"You looked excellent today," he said. "That straw boater is going to become a daily occurrence. But perhaps since you complained about needing the loo on such a short excursion, we need to put you in nappies for your future lunchtime walks."
I gulped. This was going to be a long summer.
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