Date: Mon, 16 Aug 2010 17:25:42 +0000 (GMT)
From: nder pants <nderpants@yahoo.co.uk>
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.