Date: Mon, 16 Aug 2010 17:25:42 +0000 (GMT) From: nder pants Subject: A LIFE WITHOUT TROUSERS - 2 Chapter Two of "A Life Without Trousers" Authoritarian A resume of the end of Chapter One Orly went on insisting that there would be a written contract drawn up which I should have to sign giving him complete authority over me and in which I would waive all my rights in his favour for as long as he deemed fit. I was forced to glumly agree. "There will, however, be a trial period," he continued in ominous tones, "during which I shall test the sincerity of your desire to conform to my wishes in all things in return for my help. If I detect any wavering reluctance to instantly fulfil my demands then the agreement is terminated and the matter of your debts to me will be put into the hands of the courts. And with your record you may be very certain it would mean a jail sentence. Is that clearly understood? I swallowed hard and mumbled that it was. "Excellent," he said, suddenly throwing himself into an easy chair and crossing his long legs, he rested his chin on steepled fingers, regarding me with an almost amused air of insouciance. "Test number one, then. Spread your legs apart and hands behind your neck!" With an inward groan of mortification, I dropped my eyes and unclasped my fingers. Trembling, I drew my hands away and placed them on the back of my head as I slithered my bare feet further apart. Thoroughly conscious of my complete and utterly demeaning exposure before him and my total subjugation, nothing of me concealed at all, not even my armpits, my eyes teared up. "Shoulders back, laddie; head up. Present yourself properly for me." I complied with as little reluctance as was impossible to conceal. As I stood there, blatantly devoid of all means of cover, I uttered a silent oath and a quick prayer. Please not now of all times, I wordlessly begged of my Maker as, with a growing sense of horror and disbelief, I became aware of a slight but sudden stirring within my reproduction system. I watched with hot red eyes as Orlando Urquhart studied my - prior to this - entirely private parts with what appeared to be almost undue fascination. "Would it be possible to put something on," I asked tentatively, maintaining the stance to which I had been ordered. "It would seem to be quiteimpossible since you arrived here with nothing," Orly remarked blandly. "I was meaning perhaps I could borrow something . . ." "I think not!" Orly barked quite sharply. "It is all this borrowing that has reduced you to the position in which you now so miserably find yourself, David. Don't you see that? I see it as my mission to be a constant reminder of where your profligacy got you, so my first rule will be no clothing at all whenever you are here alone or with me." "You mean until I move in and bring my stuff with me?" I anxiously sought clarification. "You have no stuff, David! Of that let us be clear. You forfeited it all to me." "S-s-so you will keep me here . . . naked? All the time?" "As a constant reminder." "But what if people call?" I asked. "You will be allowed a small hand towel to clasp round your loins as though you were caught about to shower," he responded after a moment's consideration. "You may thank me for my magnanimity in this. It is more than you deserve under the circumstances." I grudgingly did so. "But what if my parents call?" I asked a little more desperately. "Doubtless they have both seen you naked before?" "Well, yes, of course, but that was some years ago," I added. "I can't let them see me naked nowadays." "You have no option, David," Orly stressed. "The question is will I allow them to see you naked." He stared at the ceiling for inspiration. "Let us say my decision for each visit will be judged according to your attitude and behaviour prevalent at that time. "I must reiterate for your benefit, David, you are no longer `your own man'," he added. "You are mine instead!" CHAPTER TWO I was allowed to sleep the rest of that Friday morning naked and on the sofa with no covering whatsoever. It was a fitful slumber as you may imagine. I would keep lurching awake, self-conscious of my nudity, then lie there wondering into what I had really got myself. At about eight-thirty Orly appeared. He was dressed which did much to add to my sense of naked vulnerability and I quickly sought to cover my natural morning tumescence with a cushion. "Put that cushion down at once, David," he ordered brusquely. "You shall conceal nothing from me from now on; even your basest instincts must be revealed. You may use the bathroom now, but remember the door must be left wide open at all times while you are using it. Sitting naked on the lavatory wiping one's bottom as one's friend mounts the stairs clearly viewing your every move through the open doorway is a most salutary experience and one I am sure I shall never get used to. Eating breakfast in the nude seemed decidedly odd too, especially extracting a crumb of cornflake from one's pubic hair. The one thing that I found particularly unsettling in retrospect - and which I was reluctant to acknowledge in the beginning - was that from the moment of my initial and humiliating total exposure I had not for one instant been in an entirely limp and flaccid state. After breakfast it was decided that I go to vacate my rooms, gather up my worldly goods -- now Orlando's worldly goods, as he pointed out -- and return to take up my new position. I was provided with a bright yellow cagoule and a pair of flip-flops. "Er -- what do I wear under the cagoule?" I timidly asked, dreading the already expected answer. Indeed, it did not come immediately. It was followed by another question. "What have you to wear under the cagoule?" he asked in response to my question. "Nothing," I murmured despondently. "Then that is precisely what you will wear - also the flip-flops for your feet. Aren't you going to thank me?" I bit back "But I can't go out in just a cagoule!" just in time and shrugged in numb resignation of my complete humiliation. "Thank you, Orly," I said bitterly through clenched teeth as I pulled the nylon garment over my head. It reached my upper thigh. I regarded my reflection in the full length mirror with abject horror. My appearance was grotesquely obscene in the extreme. My genitals were only just decently covered; the slightest breeze would risk their imminent exposure. If I bent forward my bare bottom could be seen, to say nothing of a rear view of my scrotum. I was appalled. "I need more than this," I groaned. "Of course you do. That is why I gave you the flip-flops as well," Orly said. It was pointless to protest at this stage. I regarded my bizarre image in the mirror on the verge of tears. "Look Orly, I can't even sit down," I showed him trying to reason with him. "Then be sure you remain standing," he said reasonably enough. Bitterly ashamed and even crossly puzzled at the slight pushing out of the lower part of my ghastly brief cagoule, I stepped out into the street. Without doubt I proved a spectacle upon which there was due speculation, but I refused to acknowledge anyone from the passing throng on the busy city streets and sallied forth, head down, avoiding any form of eye contact. The disquieting and unnerving airflow around my upper legs and indeed under the cagoule itself, its fabric brushing against my nipples, excited and alarmed in equal measure. In the High Street I was hailed by Yvonne Fielding. "What do you look like, David?" Why on earth a cagoule in this weather?" she wanted to know. I lied about an embarrassing rip in the jogging shorts I claimed to be wearing under it, which she seemed to accept before changing the subject. "Are we all meeting up at The Trout tonight?" she wanted to know and I had to prevaricate, telling her I was seeing Orly later and it would depend on what he had planned. I cut the meeting short and hurried on my way. At the porters' lodge I had quite an uncomfortable grilling as to why I was vacating my rooms, citing my lodging with friends as my main reason and was told the housekeeper would have to make an inventory after the weekend before things could be settled. I accepted all this meekly enough as my fellow students and college visitors passed to and fro eyeing up my legs protruding from the flimsy garment, my sole form of covering. I felt extraordinarily vulnerable in this draughty passage and . . . at the same time, embarrassingly excited by it. Gerald Ingham was on my stairs and heard me. He came out of his door in playful mood. "Aha so the wanderer returns!" he trumpeted. "You dirty stop-out, David, I hope she was worth it!" and he made a little dive for my wedding tackle under my cagoule. Imagine his astonishment -- and mine - when he came into contact with it, flesh upon flesh so to speak. His jaw dropped and we both recoiled from the shock of such intimate contact. "You've got nothing on under there, have you?" he asked, agog, staring as though with x-ray vision through the fabric of the garment at my genitalia. I decided irony was my best weapon. "Haven't I? Oh my god! Thanks for telling me, Gerry, old man. That could have been really embarrassing if I'd gone on not knowing." "What happened to your clothes?" he asked fatuously. I struck my forehead with my palm. "Clothes! That's it! I knew I'd forgotten something. Thanks, old man -- see you around," and I endeavoured to shepherd him from my room. "Oh no you don't, you crafty bastard," he persisted, dodging round me. "You don't get rid of me so easily as all that. Not when there's a tale begging to be told. Who is she and why did you have to leave in a hurry? At least that's why I assume you've arrived back here in a state of, shall we say, deshabille ? I spun him a convoluted yarn about this older woman I'd met in a club with whom I had gone home and had my wicked way, but whose old man came home unexpectedly and I had had to shin down the drainpipe to avoid having the crap kicked out of me. He swallowed it, hook, line and sinker with many a nudge, nudge, sly wink, tapping of the nostril, thrusting of the forearm and throaty chuckle. Gerald was a stereotypical. He even helped me pack as I fed him the tale. He ended up believing that I was even at that moment being tracked down and so I was "doing a runner" and going to "lie low" at Orly's until the coast was clear. He even promised to deny my very existence should the geezer turn up after I'd gone. I thanked him warmly, zipping up my rucksack as he sat on my suitcase to close it. "Er, just one thing, Dave," he said at last. "Haven't you forgotten something again?" "What?" I asked, my mind ahead of him again and already searching for a plausible excuse. "Clothes, you dim git!" he laughed uproariously. "You've gone and packed all the buggers and not left any to put on!" "No time now. I don't know how close he might be -- the bloke who's after me," I explained. It seemed to do the trick and even fired his enthusiasm to join me on my adventure to outwit this non-existent pursuer, insisting on heading out into the quad first to ensure the coat was clear. So that is how I arrived back in little more than an hour and a half at Orly's place still wearing only the cagoule and flip-flops, having suffered further traumatic indignities of marching through the busy city centre in broad daylight stark naked under a yellow cagoule and with Gerald in tow carrying my luggage. I could see that Orly was a little bemused. "I won't come in, if it's all the same to you," Gerald said to Orly, looking up and down the street to ensure he wasn't being observed. "I'd better get back to begin `Operation David Who? No such person exists!' in case anybody's been sniffing around." As Orly closed the door he flicked his fingers at me. "Cagoule and flip-flops," he said, and I half-heartedly began to remove them. "This is all your stuff?" he asked when I stood before him naked once more. I told him it was and he directed me to carry it up to a little attic room. "This room is out of bounds to you, David," he said after he had directed me to put my bags down. "If I ever find out you have been in here then further sanctions will come into force. I hope I make myself clear." I told him he had. In my shaming nudity, I self-consciously followed him downstairs all too aware how every movement emphasised the swinging and lolling of my preposterously exposed appendages. I was shown my room. Orly had been busy whilst I was out. The door had been removed and the bed had only a fitted sheet on the mattress. There was no further covering in the bare room save for a small white hand towel on the back of the chair by the bed -- my sole form of permitted concealment for the sake of decency. It looked pitifully brief. I found myself imagining the appalling prospect of greeting my mother with only that small piece of terry-towelling girding my otherwise naked loins. There was a knock at the door. I made a grab for the towel which Orlando snatched away. "Only if permitted by me," he reminded me firmly. "The whole point of this exercise is to drum into your head that you have to be responsible for your own actions. You are in this mess entirely on your own. It is already less of a mess because I am bailing you out." He left the room and I sank onto the bed. Again I was alarmed to note that anybody coming up the stairs would have a full view into my room without a door. All privacy had been deprived from me. "David, can you come down, please?" Orly called. I stood up in alarm. "But, Orly, you know I haven't anything . . ." I faltered, feeling myself begin to tremble. "Immediately, David," Orly's was the voice of authority and brooked no argument. "It is important you come down now just as you are." I stepped out of the doorway and onto the landing. Nervously, hands clasped to my groin I stepped down the first stair feeling much, I imagine, as a condemned man must have felt when he stepped up to a scaffold. Stooping almost double I loped on down the stairs. "Come in, David. There's someone who wants to see you," Orly said evenly from the doorway of his sitting room, gesturing towards the hidden occupant of the room. "Who is it?" I mouthed frantically. "Is it my father?" -- This a very foolish question, for why on earth would he of all people turn up unannounced at Orlando Urquhart's rooms, assuming Father even knew he had any? "Come and see," Orly smiled thinly, determined to prolong the agony of my suspense. My naked right foot crossed the threshold of the room and I peered wide-eyed round the door. There stood the manager of the gambling club, the architect of my downfall from the previous night. (Orly would refute that last sentence stating that I and I alone was the architect.) I fancy the man looked utterly bewildered to see me still in a total state of nakedness after my forcibly being stripped at the hands of his bug-eyed henchmen last night. "You remember Mr Tito from last evening, David?" Orly enquired graciously acknowledging his guest as though he were a member of the aristocracy. I nodded sullenly. "You see, Mr Tito, although I have agreed to pay you Mr Ballantyne's debts in full, I have not entirely let him off the hook, so to speak," he explained to the bemused man who stared openly at my nakedness. "He is very much in debt to me now and in order to work it off he has had to pledge complete and utter subservience to me in all things until I deem it a suitable time, if ever, to release him from his bond." I shuddered involuntarily at the "if ever". Tito leered at me, gold tooth flashing, and a snigger of derision got caught in his throat. "Whatever floats your boat, matey," he chortled and shot his cuffs and eased his lizard-like neck in his shirt collar as though about to retract his head completely. "So, here is my cheque. All I ask of you in return is my friend's wristwatch -- not particularly valuable as, doubtless, you have already ascertained -- but of great sentimental value to his family," Orly explained. Tito looked askance at the cheque and said he had been expecting a cash transaction, but when reminded of Orly's pedigree he begrudgingly accepted it on this particular occasion overlooking the rules of a lifetime in his line of business, he added. The watch was placed unceremoniously on the table. As he left the room he had the temerity to reach out and smack my bare bottom. "So long, Davey boy. Have fun," he chuckled throatily, winked hugely and clicked his teeth. I heard their voices murmuring as Orly showed him out but then I heard a woman's voice, and not just any woman's, but Yvonne Fielding's. I froze, knees knocking together, crouched forward, hands fighting to push my genitals back into my body almost. "Yes, David's here all right, in the sitting room as a matter of fact," I heard Orly saying. He appeared in the doorway and carelessly tossed me the small hand towel he had confiscated earlier. I grabbed it like lightning and engulfed as much of my nakedness as was possible, which in fact was disappointingly little, as Yvonne followed him into the room. Her jaw dropped on seeing me clothesless. "There was no hot water on his staircase this morning when he got back to college from his run, so he came on here to beg a bath, didn't you, old chap?" he said smoothly. "Y-y-yes," I stammered, throwing him a look of gratitude and glancing down in sheer horror at how much of my nakedness was clearly on display. Yvonne stared at my ill-concealed nudity, an expression of almost hypnotic horror on her face, a bit like a frightened rabbit caught in headlights. Orly went on to sow the seeds of my future dwelling chez Urquhart claiming that I was very unsettled in my rooms this year and that we could both do with the company and sharing of general living expenses. It all sounded remarkably plausible. She finally tore her eyes off me when he asked the reason for her visit and she told him of our meeting earlier in the High Street and the proposed pub' visit that evening. "I thought we could perhaps walk along the river as far as Godstow with it being such lovely weather," she said. "We can sit out on the river terrace by the weir." "A capital idea, my dear," Orly said with enthusiasm. Don't you think so, David?" I agreed, though less enthusiastically, desperately wondering how I could spend the evening in a bright yellow anorak and flip flops with nothing else being allowed at all, let alone being able to think of a plausible explanation to satisfy the curiosity of all my friends. In fact, it was the very subject I first broached on Yvonne's departure when Orly returned from letting her out of the front door and demanded the forfeiture of my towel with a flick of his fingers. It was an amazingly pungent sensation being forcibly reduced to a state of utter nakedness before a fully-clothed adversary. The uncanny feeling of total inferiority, having no clothes with which to cover yourself, was quite amazing and you became so conscious of even minor body changes, the way your kneecaps move, testicles suddenly having a mind of their own and moving in your scrotum. The most shaming, somehow, was when my foreskin took on a life of its own and decided to roll back all by itself, revealing even more of my previously private parts to the man who now possessed me. I gained a crumb of comfort and much relief from his agreeing to my being dressed for our evening out, never for a moment envisaging that he might consider rescinding that agreement part way through the evening. I dressed to his strict stipulation though. He chose the rather startlingly scarlet underwear that the entire staff and patronage of the Trout Inn was to see later that night. To be honest, they were from the bottom of my underpants drawer, a pair given me when I was still at school. It was my seventeenth birthday, I think, and a girl who had a crush on me had given them to me as a birthday present, coyly suggesting that I might like to model them for her. I never did. I remember at the time being a little scandalised at the prospect. They were cotton boxers, very vivid, on the baggier side than is customary today and briefer in the leg so that, upon donning them in the morning, when raising a leg to put your sock on, one ran the risk of everything falling out of the other leg hole. He was pretty specific about the trousers too, although, of course. I had no idea what plans he had in store for them. He warned me it was his intention to test the sincerity of my debt to him in front of our friends and even hinted that he thought the prospect of such revelation excited me a little. I was at a loss to understand. We duly met up and had a leisurely stroll alongside the river. It was a balmy evening and there was a great deal of pleasure craft upon the water. Orly was in good form and very attentive to Gerry Ingham who, he thought a bit of a twit normally and with whom he tended to avoid being put. Yvonne was being Yvonne, twenty-two, going on forty. Her best friend Jessica was much more with it, I thought. I liked her; not my type, but she was good fun to be with. Nigel, Derek and Guy made up the little party -- oh, and I forgot, Jessica had brought along a girl from her college, Millie, who we thought was called Camilla, but it turned out it was short for Amelia. The nine of us arrived about nine o'clock, I suppose, and the whole place was heaving with folk. Eventually Guy and Nigel managed to get us a table right next to the railings overlooking the weir. I think we were well into our third respective glasses when the fateful moment came -- the moment at which I opened my story. "Those trousers you're wearing are really quite disgusting, David." Orly had said of a sudden. "Take them off at once!" And the rest of that evening at the pub' is for ever etched upon my memory. Little did I suspect how much worse things could be in store for me before Orly would consider my debt paid.