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Justin's Unexpected Discipline by Steveboy20
JUSTIN’S UNEXPECTED DISCIPLINE by Steveboy20
The problem with Justin was that at 15, he thought he was in charge. Because he was so good-looking, he also had a cocky attitude and was totally convinced that everything should go his way. From his casual attitude about grades, to his clothing, grooming and behavior, there was no talking to him. Since their divorce, his mother was at a loss with what to do with him.
His father had gone back to the UK with his family after the breakup and that was just the opening Justin needed to let loose. Slowly but surely his mom lost control. Now he wore sagging shorts and jeans, his blond hair regularly got ratty and long, and had a mouth to go with it.
In the summer before his freshman year in high school, Justin took full advantage of his newfound power even though his mother had put him in summer school. He and friends cut school and spent time at the big sandpit nearby where they could explore and indulge in newly discovered forbidden things. One boy snuck a couple of beers over in his backpack one day from his father’s extensive stash. They were warm but provided a nice introductory buzz. Another brought an armful of Playboys he found picking through someone’s trash down the hill.
Justin did his share of trash picking as well but never seemed to score much of interest until the day he found some magazines of a type he had never seen before. Like the Playboys, they featured a lot of bare bodies. Only these were male bodies. Young and fresh looking; only a couple of years older than he and his friends. Some of the writing was in a foreign language that he couldn’t decipher. Looked like some kind of Scandinavian. And the boys in the pictures were almost all blond or light brown haired. And besides the hair on their heads, some cuts were long and floppy, others were close cropped or even buzzed, the boys were quite smooth otherwise. Medium to small bushes of pubic hair, all looking naturally small. Lightly fuzzy legs at most. Some had no armpit hair at all or just the suggestions of sprouts. A couple of the boys had no hair at all around their penises.
Justin secreted these special magazines away in a bag inside a spare trashcan in the garage. Every trash day before school, he moved them to his father’s old workbench and then replaced them in the trash can later after the trash men had picked up. He wanted desperately to share them with one of his friends, Jake, who was just a few months older than Justin. Every chance he got during the year he stole glances at his friend in any state of dress or undress that he could manage. Pool days were the best as they stripped down and changed in the smelly cement building next to the pool. Over the years in the dim light, he watched his friend develop into an irresistible hunk of boy.
Now that he had a supply of pictures, he was able to compare his friends to the boys in the magazines and spent long hours studying every inch of the boys who had been so gracious as to allow themselves to be photographed. Justin always became erect every time he snagged the bag from the trashcan and took them out to the old dilapidated shed in the back of the property behind the big trees. There he would inhale the smell of weathered wood and contemplate the smooth boy flesh in the pictures. Before long he would let things take their natural course and as time passed, he’d stolen a spare box of tissues to have on hand.
Two of the magazines were in English. One of those had pictures that had been made on the grounds of some big mansion-looking place. In the pictures where the boys had clothes on, they were all dressed the same. Grey sweaters over some sort of collared dress-looking shirts, very short grey shorts, knee socks and shoes. Justin thought they looked really stupid. Especially the ones who had dress jackets and ties with their shorts. He flipped past those pages rapidly to get to the ones that showed the boys in their underpants and eventually without those. There was something about the boys that looked different. He couldn’t put his finger on it but even though they were white, they didn’t look like American boys. He had never seen clothing like that.
Justin flipped back to the cover and realized he had missed the subject in his haste to get to the pictures. “The Difficult Years at St. Dunston’s” was the title. So that was it: this was a school and these boys were students in school uniforms. His interest grew as he looked further into the pages until he came to a picture that brought him up short. It was in what looked like a gymnasium with a boy, naked from the waste down, bent over a vaulting horse with some wicked scars on his butt. A much older boy was standing to the side holding a long stick. The caption mysteriously read, “Six of the best.”
Justin found his available hand caressing his growing member as he searched the picture for every detail. The texture of the walls, the exposed bare hairless thighs and legs of the boy over the horse. The look of determination on the older boy. The looks on the faces of two other boys also standing there wearing what appeared to be tank tops and white gym shorts.
This was a whole foreign world to Justin and he spent many hours in the shed contemplating what it all meant.
Midweek sometime in August, his mother sat him down at the kitchen table. He dragged himself over in his signature droopy cargo shorts and dirty t-shirt. He was barefoot and dirt could be seen on his feet from the day before. His mother fixed him with a look that made him reflexively push the hair out of his eyes. Something was up.
“Justin, your work in school has not only not gotten better, but it’s actually gotten worse and worse.” This was a discussion with which Justin was intimately familiar. It made no impact and he said nothing.
She continued. “You are going to be a freshman in high school next month and things really start to count now. When you start thinking about college, you’re not going to have what you need to get in anywhere.”
Justin continued to maintain silence. He knew that at some point his mother would exhaust all she had to say and he could leave and go about his business as usual.
“So I’ve been talking and corresponding with your father and we’ve made a decision. Instead of going on to high school here, you are going over to England to go to school there.”
Justin’s eyes got wide. This was not at all what he had expected in the conversation.
“What the hell are you talking about!?” Justin powered up on his mother.
“We’ve been talking and decided that since you can’t or won’t take the initiative on your own to pull your grades up and make something of yourself, that maybe a completely different environment will make a change for the better,” she said.
Justin was stunned. She was serious. “You…what…how…” he stumbled, suddenly not at all in charge as his pubescent brain struggled to find words.
“Your father’s brother, your Uncle Clive, teaches at a school out in the county. I don’t know much about it but they have made all the arrangements to get you in. I held off as long as I could in telling you because I knew how upset you would be. You’re leaving tomorrow.”
Justin sank back in the chair, his mind reeling. Not go to high school here? This was awful. And leaving tomorrow. He opened his mouth to speak.
His mother spoke first. “I am hoping to come over for a visit at Christmas perhaps but between now and then, you’ll be living there at school. It’s a boarding school for boys. It’s all settled and that is the end of it.” It was, too, as she rose and went about the business of getting dinner ready. Justin knew enough to know that once his mother disengaged from the conversation, that really was it.
He got up, jammed the chair into the table, stomped out of the kitchen, and went up to his room. His mother had already laid out the small, old suitcase they kept in the attic. He sat on his bed for a while, just staring at it. A boarding school for boys, she had said. “What kind of totally f***ed place must that be,” he muttered to himself.
His mother called up from downstairs. “Better take a shower now and get it out of the way before dinner, then you can pack.”
“YEAH AWRIGHT!” he hollered down.
The hot water running down his body did nothing to alleviate the hostile feelings. He watched the dirty water encircle the drain at his feet. As he soaped up, he lingered on and around his penis, which stiffened at the attention. His blond bush was small but he was exceedingly proud of it, using an extra measure of shampoo and then conditioner on it. As he worked in the conditioner in he thought of the boys in the magazines and soon he was rubbing one out.
Dressed only in boxers and gym shorts, he padded down the stairs barefoot and bare-chested and went into the garage. Droplets of water slid down his face and dropped onto his bare chest from his undried hair. They formed little rivulets that traced his newly forming definition, paused briefly on one recently sensitive nipple and slid down his stomach. Thank God tomorrow is trash day, Justin thought to himself, wrapping the magazine stash in an extra paper bag and stuffing it into a partially filled black trash bag, tying it off and heaving it into the trash cart outside.
He was sorry to see it all go with so many hours of pleasure connected with it but he was also pragmatic and couldn’t risk his mother discovering it in his absence.
After a relatively silent dinner during which he resisted all attempts at conciliatory conversation, he went upstairs and started pulling clothes out to pack. He quickly realized the small suitcase was inadequate to the job. “Hey Mom!” He called down. “This suitcase isn’t gonna be big enough. Can I use the other two in the attic?”
She came partway up the stairs with a piece of paper in her hands. “Actually, I should have given you this. You actually don’t have to take all that much because they have uniforms at the school.”
“Uniforms? You’re kidding me!” he said. “I’m going to a stupid school with stupid uniforms!?” She wordlessly handed over the paper. It was a brief inventory of what students could bring with them. He skipped down over all the uniform related stuff to the personal items and found it a woefully short list consisting mostly of toiletries and other minor personal possessions. Very minor.
He scowled back to his room and unpacked several pair of jeans and some extra shirts he was taking. Still he packed it as full as he could and sat on it to close it. He didn’t bother returning his mother’s “good night” later on. Managing to work himself erect again, he furiously masturbated with the understanding that this was the last climax he was going to have in the privacy of his own room for a long time. He tossed and turned for another hour and forced out another almost dry climax.
The airplane ride was something like nine hours and Justin brooded the entire time. His mother told him either his father or his uncle or both would meet him at the airport. He hoped it would be his father as he hardly remembered his uncle at all from a visit when Justin was young. He wasn’t sure he would recognize his uncle. Flying as an unaccompanied minor meant that at least one flight attendant paid a little more attention to the teenager but mostly he stifled her attempts at conversation and kept to himself. She helpfully escorted him through customs and out to the other side where he found a lone dignified man looking down his nose and over his glasses at Justin. “Uncle Clive?”
The man addressed the flight attendant, showing her some paperwork. “I’ll take it from here, Miss, thank you very much,” he said briefly and then turned his attention to Justin.
“Where’s my dad?”
“He is rather busy so he sent me to collect you.” Not even a smile as his uncle looked him over, his lips registering distaste. “Those…clothes. Is that what you normally wear?”
Justin looked down at himself. He was wearing a black oversized t-shirt with baggy skateboard pants that gathered on top of his Vans. “Yeah, why?” he said. “What’s wrong with it?”
His uncle turned and said, “this way please,” and led him out of the airport and to his car. Justin was put off by the attitude of his uncle and coped with it as he did anything not to his liking. He sulked. This was a trip through hell and he remembered what his eighth grade social studies teacher had quoted Winston Churchill as saying, “when you are going through hell…keep going.”
His uncle seemed perfectly content to remain nonconversant as they drove out of the city and into the country. Only then did he speak. “Did your mother tell you much about your new school?”
“She didn’t tell me jack s*** about it,” Justin said, deciding to test his uncle’s tolerance at this first opportunity. “All I know is it’s some stupid school out in the middle of nowhere.”
His uncle glanced over at him at the profanity, exhaled and returned his eyes to the road. “I see.” Justin looked out of the corner of his eye at his uncle, unable to gauge the reaction. The countryside began to show indications of the outskirts of a small town.
“The Bedford School enjoys the finest reputation a school can have in England. You are very fortunate to be able to attend it considering the horrific nature of your grades. It’s quite impossible for me to believe that you are 15 years old. You look and act in a manner completely unfitting for boys of that age here. It is clear that everything your father told me about you is true…and quite a bit more,” he finished with a sidelong glance.
“What do you mean, Uncle Clive?”
His uncle continued down a main street and parked the car in front of a group of stores. One window said Debenhams and appeared to be a clothing store. “Our first stop,” his uncle said and got out of the car without waiting for a reaction from Justin.
His uncle led the way back past men’s and women’s clothing and they emerged into girls and then boys. A turn navigated them to school clothing. Justin surveyed the area. Everywhere he looked was a sea of grey. Sweaters, pants, shirts, shorts, socks. Everything was one or another shade of grey except the shoes, all of which were hideous brown leather affairs, some looked like sandals.
“Ah Mister Hawthorne, good day, wonderful to see you,” sang out an overly helpful young man who looked to be no more than perhaps 20.
“Hello Nathan, how is your father?” replied his uncle.
“Never better, sir. He is spending some of his recovery time at seaside now for the fresh air.”
“Good, good. Happy to hear it,” said Justin’s uncle. Justin became the subject of the young clerk’s gaze.
“This must be your nephew then?” the clerk surmised.
“Yes. Justin. He is starting at Bedford just now and so he needs a full supply of things to get him ready.”
Nathan studied Justin for a moment. “About 14, is he?”
“I’m 15,” Justin interjected.
The clerk raised one eyebrow. “Sixth form then?” Justin had no idea what the clerk was talking about.
“Well normally he would be, yes, but his grades are rather a bit underwhelming so he is being enrolled in year 9 instead.” These two were talking in code as far as Justin was concerned.
The clerk raised his other eyebrow. “Oh. I see. Shorts then, is it?”
“I should say so,” his uncle said.
Nathan went about picking things off of racks: long and short sleeve dress shirts, several pair of grey shorts, a couple of blazer type jackets and other accessories. “These boys’ shorts are two pair for £10. They have the elastic in the back and the pleats in front. Very user friendly for boys.”
His uncle looked them over and held one up against Justin. “Try these on along with the shirts.” It was not a question, it was clearly an order that Justin was expected to carry out.
Justin’s eyes got wide as he suddenly recognized the color and style from one of his magazines at home. The one that featured a number of boys dressed in clothes nearly exactly like what was being presented to him now. In horror, he realized that he was going to be dressed exactly like those boys.
Before Justin could reply, the clerk was leading him toward the changing room. He selected a booth for the boy. As Justin looked over everything the clerk had given him, he heard his uncle say, “Give us two packs of those white briefs too, please, Nathan.”
White briefs!? This was getting worse all the time.
“Of course sir,” he heard the clerk reply and then heard the sound of a package being ripped open. Justin removed his shirt, kicked off his Vans and was pulling down his baggy skateboard pants when his uncle pulled the curtain aside just in time to see Justin in his boxers.
“I might have suspected as much,” his uncle said. “Take those deplorable things off,” he indicated the boxers, “and put these on.” He handed Justin one of the briefs and closed the curtain. Justin uncomfortably pulled down his boxers and set them aside with the rest of his clothes. Maybe I’ll be able to at least keep my own clothes on hand for days off, he thought to himself.
Standing there just in his socks, he slipped on the briefs and pulled them up over his boyhood. They felt tight and strange. Very snug and oddly arousing. He put on the dress grey shirt and then the grey shorts. They came up quite high on his bare thighs. These shorts were shorter than anything he had ever worn. He fingered them and discovered that the inseam was maybe three inches at the most. Even as he tried to push them down to a fashionable straddle of his hips, they did not encroach much on his hairless thighs. He felt very exposed. They made him feel like a little kid. He pondered tucking in the shirttails or leaving them out. Out, they came down and nearly covered the shorts entirely. In, he felt like a hopeless dweeb.
He was in mid-debate when he heard his uncle’s voice. “Come come, hurry along please. Let’s see how you look.”
Justin knew from the pictures in the magazine that the shirts were tucked in so he left his so, and slid open the curtain to find his uncle and the clerk there waiting. They both looked him up and down. “Good guess on the sizes, Nathan. Your father would be very proud.”
“Thank you sir,” the clerk said. He handed Justin a pair of socks. “What size shoe do you wear?”
“Uh, 9 I think,” Justin said as he accepted the socks.
“US I presume? That would be 8 then,” he said and disappeared while Justin sat down to put on the socks under his uncle’s watchful eye. He returned with a pair of the ridiculous looking shoe/sandal that Justin saw on the boys in the pictures. None of this seemed real and was all happening very quickly.
“Pull UP the socks, please. They are called kneesocks for a reason,” his uncle said.
Justin had hoped that at least he could keep them somewhat wrinkled around his ankles but evidently he was to toe the line in every way. The clerk handed him the shoes. Hideous, yet plainly they went with the whole look.
“Much better already,” his uncle said. Justin was mortified. “Get your shoes on while I go and attend to a few more details.” He turned and left Justin to put on the shoes in private. He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror for the first time.
If it weren’t for his unkempt hair, Justin for all the world looked just like one of the boys in the magazines he had masturbated over so many times because of their strange, foreign yet strangely arousing look. Now at 15, he was looked almost exactly like them. Strange how the clothing had such an equalizing affect. He had thought that all the boys in the magazines somehow looked foreign and would stand out even if they wore regular US clothing. But now he knew that was not the case. He looked just like them. The clothes made the boy.
He gathered up his own clothing and came out, feeling the cold breeze on his bare thighs and the stiffness of the new shoes. His uncle took his clothing and put it on the counter. “Shall I put these in a bag for you sir?” the clerk asked.
“Please. I appreciate your help today, Nathan. Thank you so much and please give my highest regards to your father.”
“You’re welcome, Mister Hawthorne. Thank you so much.” He regarded Justin. “Quite an improvement I would say.” He stared unblinkingly into Justin’s eyes. “Yes indeed. Quite an improvement. Only his hair gives him away as an American boy.”
“You’re right, Nathan, but that won’t be the case for very long. Good bye,” his uncle said, picking up the various bags, and leading Justin out the door. He struggled to keep up with the pace his uncle set, and with the stiffness of the new shoes, he felt very clumsy all of a sudden and not at all like the cocky boy he had been.
“Wait, Uncle Clive, what do you mean?” he asked as they took to the sidewalk. He hadn’t long to wait to find out. Two doors down was Beresford’s Barber Shop.
“I mean that you can say goodbye to that ridiculous hair cut you have,” his uncle said. “You’re going to get cleaned up to complete your transformation into a proper English schoolboy.”
Before Justin could utter a word, his mouth hanging open, they entered the shop. There were three chairs, two of which were filled with boys around Justin’s age with two other fathers and three other teenagers who had obviously already had their haircuts and were waiting for their brothers to be finished up. All eyes landed upon Justin in his new school clothes. Smirks greeted him from the other boys.
One of the fathers nodded his approval. “Clive,” he said in greeting. “This must be the nephew is it?”
“Yes it is, Robert. Nice to see you.”
“Well now,” the man said. “I suspect this is going to be quite the change for the boy. How old is he, 13 or so?”
“He’s 15, actually, Robert,” his uncle said.
The man looked him over as if he didn’t believe it. “I see. Oh, put him back in shorts, did you?” His expression changed. “Excellent way to get off to a good start at a new school. Leave nothing to chance. I understand completely now.”
The available barber called “Next!” and Justin’s uncle prodded him forward. The leather seat was cold on Justin’s bare thighs as he was caped up. “Now what’ll it be, lad?” he asked.
“Short back and sides, please, Pete,” his uncle called out. “Very traditional. The old fashioned kind, please.” Justin had no idea what was meant by that but didn’t like the sound of it one bit.
The barber turned the chair away from the mirror, selected a guard, snapped on the clippers, and began his work from behind. Justin felt the clippers bite into the hair on the back of his head and go up higher and higher. The barber moved around to one side and the other, hair falling down in huge chunks onto the cape. Justin sat motionless in horror.
Clipper over comb took down the top and the front to a length just barely long enough to comb. He turned Justin around to show him the finished look. Justin could not believe his eyes. He looked like a completely different person. From his ratty skater hair to a completely clean-cut, church-ready boy.
“Marvelous,” his uncle said. The barber pulled off the cape and Justin was greeted by his new compete look in the mirror. A boy in school uniform with shorts and a short back and sides haircut. His transition from American teenager to English schoolboy was dramatic and complete.
“Thank you very much, Pete,” his uncle said.
“Certainly Mister Hawthorne,” the barber replied as he was paid. “Has he been to the school yet?”
“Not yet, Pete. We had to see you and get his school clothes first. Now it’s off to the clinic for his medical examination and we should be all set.” The barber gave Justin a wink as they headed out the door.
Again, Justin struggled to keep up with his uncle’s rapid pace. “A medical examination!? Why do I have do have that? I’m fine!” protested Justin.
“Rules,” his uncle replied tersely.
Another few doors down they came to a door with a sign that read, Kenneth N. Smithson, MD. Adolescent Medicine. Inside they were greeted by a nurse and immediately ushered in.
She looked Justin over and asked him various health history questions. He squirmed uncomfortably in his new school clothes. When she was finished gathering information she led Justin and his uncle back to an examination room. “We’ll need your height and weight and vitals now. Won’t take but a minute. Please undress completely.”
If this was a surprise to anyone other than Justin, nobody registered it. Justin looked from his uncle to the nurse and back again, and back again. She expected him to undress right now while she waited and while his uncle was in the room. He looked at his uncle imploringly as if to say, must I really? He was greeted with not a response to him but with his uncle saying to the nurse, “He has a bit of trouble with obedience.”
“Yes I can see that. Seems to me that he is going to the right school then,” she said to his uncle. “Now, let’s get on with it please. Get undressed. The doctor will be in soon.”
Justin gulped and started to croak something out. “Justin,” his uncle said. “You are already going to find out about how different life is over here than it was in your comfortable American home with your permissive mother. You have made great progress today with just a few issues with which we will deal later. So now don’t waste everyone’s time with some silly misplaced sense of modesty. Everyone here has seen plenty of boys in their time.”
The nurse folded her arms and her mouth because a grim line. This would never have happened back home, Justin thought. They’re treating me like a kid. He decided that even though he hated medical anything, he’d been through it before and was again reminded of the Churchill quote, decided to pick his battles, and proceeded to undress. Off came his shoes, socks, shirt, grey shorts, but he stopped short and kept his underwear on, looking up at the nurse to see if there was any reprieve. “Those too,” came the reply. Justin gingerly slid down his new white briefs, turning around in the process to face the examination table. “Much better. This way please,” the nurse said.
She meant for him to follow her out the door! He did his best to conceal himself as she led him down the tile corridor past several other examination rooms, a left at the end, down a few more paces and into another small room with an examining table, counter, some cabinets and a scale. “Step up,” she said. She came around the front of the scale, directly facing him, carefully balanced his weight and noted it. “One hundred thirty five pounds.” She took his height. “Five feet five inches. Very well, step down please.” Justin obeyed, hoping that speedy compliance would at least get things over with sooner.
She removed a thermometer from the cabinet and shook it down. “All right, I think you know how this works.” Still trying to retain some modesty with his hands, Justin opened his mouth. The nurse sighed. “Well, I see that you don’t. Up on the table please, on your hands and knees.”
This wasn’t possible. She was going to take his temperature rectally! The teenager turned bright red. She turned and smeared the thermometer with lubricant and then turned back to face him. A large gob of lubricant slowly oozed down the bulbous tip of the thermometer as she held it in the air at his eye level. “I’m waiting.”
Justin crawled onto the padded table on all fours. “Chest down on the table please, and turn your head,” she instructed. “Knees farther apart. Farther. Farther. There that’s a good boy.” With one hand she spread his buttock cheeks further apart and held the thermometer against his anus. “Now, since you obviously have never had this done before, I will tell you that you’ll feel a little cold and a little pressure.” She pressed the thermometer against his anus and rotated it back and forth, easing it far in. “There we are, now don’t move.” She watched the clock and kept one hand in place on his bottom as it stuck up in the air. The minutes took forever to tick by as she hummed a little tune.
“Time’s up!” she chirped and popped the thermometer out. “98.6. Just what we’d hope for. Sit up please.” She arranged the blood pressure cuff as he turned over. The nurse made quick work of it and led him back down the corridor. The lube in his bottom felt strange as he walked. Slippery and slick sensations caused his penis to twitch a couple of times, adding to his embarrassment.
They returned to the examination room to find his uncle and the doctor conversing. The doctor stuck out his hand, forcing Justin to try and respond while still covering. “Well well, Justin, I’m Dr. Schikler. Your uncle has told me all about you.” Fantastic, thought Justin. Let’s get this over with.
“I have the forms here that I need from the school so we’ll move right along,” the doctor said. “Clive, do you want to remain with us here or relax outside?”
To Justin’s relief his uncle said, “I have a few papers to grade so I’ll retrieve them from the car and do a little work outside.”
“Suit yourself,” the doctor said.
His uncle stopped at the door. “Oh his mother tells us that from time to time he has some hygiene issues so please be thorough. We don’t want any problems at school.”
“Good to know. See you shortly.” The doctor went through his usual examination steps, poking, prodding, listening. Justin bore it without too much difficulty, including the dreaded hernia exam. The prostate exam was a new wrinkle that Justin hadn’t experienced before but the doctor was remarkably sensitive to the boy and conducted it quickly and mercifully, albeit with the nurse ever-present.
But what came next was most unexpected. The doctor had Justin lie down on his back and put his feet in stirrups that appeared from nowhere on the exam table. “Scoot down please,” he said until Justin’s bottom was nearly at the end of the table. From a drawer, the nurse pulled out a set of barber clippers as the doctor was making some last notes.
“Now,” he said to Justin. “From a hygiene point of view, we’re going to see that you have a nice clean start. No nasty surprises at your new school. They are very conscious of cleanliness at Bedford so don’t worry, we’ll make quick work of this.”
Justin suddenly realized that they meant to clipper off his pubic hair. The nurse approached and took a firm hold of his penis with one hand and immediately snapped on the clippers and began plowing them through his sparse young growth. His penis stiffened, making a better handle for the nurse. It took only a few strokes and it was gone, down to the skin. His crotch was completely bare. A few strokes of a safety razor carefully removed the few stray hairs on his scrotum until nothing remained. The nurse produced an antiseptic wipe and swabbed down his genitals clean. The cold air made him shrink rapidly at the conclusion of the procedure, rendering the effect of a much more childlike look.
“Raise your arms, please,” the nurse said and made quick work of the tiny few hairs in the boy’s armpits.
“You can dress now,” she said perfunctorily. Justin wasted no time in covering up his hairless crotch with his new white briefs and dressing the rest of the way. With his new haircut, lack of body hair, and proper school clothes, he bore absolutely no resemblance to the boy who came over on the airplane.
Outside in the waiting room, Justin’s uncle had taken the time not only to grade some papers but also to dispose of the bag containing Justin’s American clothing. In the rubbish bin it went on the street when he went to his car to get the papers.
After issuing thank yous to the medical staff, Uncle Clive steered Justin to the car and they drove the short distance to the school. After they passed though the gates, Justin saw boys coming and going, many of the younger ones dressed as he as in shorts but quite a few older boys who Justin thought were more his age wearing long trousers. He looked down at his own bare thighs and thought about his hairless crotch as well. There was no way he was going to fit in with other boys his age.
“What is year 9 anyway?” Justin asked.
“Since your grades are so abysmal by English standards, we couldn’t enroll you in what would be your regular grade level, sixth form, so you will be in year 9. Typically for 13 year olds. This will help you ease into your work and catch up.”
Justin’s heart sank. He was wearing the school uniform of a 13 year old so that he would fit in with the grade level he was performing at. And there was little doubt in looking at him that he now looked much less like a 15 year old and quite completely like a 13 year old. In addition, anyone seeing him naked would have no doubt that he was 13 and an immature 13 year old at that.
Uncle Clive pulled into a parking space and stopped the car. “We’ll go directly to my office. I have some things to…explain to you before I introduce you to the headmaster.”
Into the stone building they went, down a dimly lit corridor, up a short flight of stairs, then another, and around the corner where his uncle unlocked a door and gave it a push with his hip. The smell of old books was the finishing authentic detail of his uncle’s office.
“Now,” his uncle said. “Because I work here and will be one of your teachers in addition to being your uncle, I think it is time that we lay out some ground rules. I will treat you no differently than any other pupil here. And I think it is best that the fact that I am your uncle not get in the way under any circumstance. So from now on, you will address me as Mister Hawthorne or sir in the same way that any other pupil does. Is that clear?”
“Yes unc…Mister Hawthorne,” Justin said.
“Good. Now earlier today you used language in the car that we do not approve of at this school at any time,” his uncle said. “And there are real and sincere consequences for violations of rules here.” He moved over to the corner of his office and picked up what looked to Justin like a thin cane. Which is exactly what it was. “At The Bedford School we do things the old fashioned way.” He whipped the cane in the air to make his point. “And we find through experience that one way and one way only teaches the lessons we want boys to learn quickly and effectively.”
Justin flashed back again to the magazines he left in the trashcan back home which were now probably in the back of a trash truck or already in a landfill.
His uncle took the upright wooden side chair and placed it in the center of the room. “Drop your shorts, your underwear, face the back of the chair, bend over it and grasp the other side.”
Justin could see by the look on his uncle’s face that he was not kidding. Slowly he undid his shorts and let them drop. He slid down his underwear and was grateful for his shirttail covering his completely bare boyhood. He turned, leaned over the chair and grabbed the seat. His uncle came over and pulled Justin’s shirttail up and over his back exposing the boy’s smooth backside.
“Do not release your grip of the chair. Step out of the shorts and underwear.”
Justin did his best to comply awkwardly. “Spread your feet apart, shoulder width.” Justin adjusted his stance and felt the cane placed gently across his buttocks.
“This is your first experience with discipline so I want to be sure that you remember it well so that perhaps it is the only time we’ll have to do this. Again, I tell you do not release your hands, attempt to stand or cover in any way or we will begin again. Do you understand?”
Blood was going to Justin’s head while air cooled his backside. “Yes…sir,” he managed.
“For vulgar language, six of the best,” his uncle said.