From the moment they were all ensconced, Stig's punky fellow passengers launched into conversation, rattling on incessantly about lurid teenage escapades verbally embellished through the aid of witless swearing. Nervously seated before them, the midget learned of widespread underage sex; candid recollections of ruthless wanking competitions held in disused steelmills; diffident male school-leavers browbeaten into unprofitable vocations as long-suffering rent-boys. Apparently his companions were seasoned veterans of the darker fringes of Riggerswell's club scene, despite the fact that come every Monday morning, they still exchanged studded collars and bondage trousers in favour of school uniforms and satchels. Stig had been predictably put on edge by such chatter, something that served, among other things, to mercilessly aggravate his bladder. Yet his discomfort was partly diminished by a prickly kind of excitement, for in the tiny sphere that was his social round, he rarely came into contact with young women... Oh sure, there was his Mistress, however he only saw her about every quarter or so, and anyway, he had to pay for the privilege. Therefore being in such close proximity to girls whose every pore simply oozed rampant rebellious youth solely worked to provoke him, and he could already feel the familiar stirrings, deep within his Pampers.