The Shoe Thief: Part 1

By Imran.

In the 80s, Growing up as a Muslim boy was a bit tough. A typical day would be 6 hours in school, followed by up to 3 hours in the local mosque for religious studies. There was never any time to play or watch tv. It was all about education and no time for fun or watching tv. The mosque I used to go to was a bit of a walk. That was until one of the “Molvis” (teachers) decided to open his Islamic school in a house on my road. My father was well-known in the community, and everyone thought highly of him. When the Molvi knocked on our door saying he was opening a school on our road, my dad told him he would support him and send my younger brother and me to him for studies, and he will put the word out to other friends and relatives.

A few weeks later, the new Islamic school was opened to a lot of fanfare. It was just an ordinary three-bedroom house, but all the rooms were used as classrooms (three bedrooms & three reception rooms = six classrooms, four for boys and two for girls). The typical setup for a room was low benches about a foot high going around the room perimeter in a square formation with a gap about a meter in place from wall to bench for students to sit and benches used to place study books on, and we sat kneeling on the floor. The center of the room was for students to stand and deliver recitations or used by the Molvi to punish naughty kids in full view of the whole class.

The Molvi sat at the end of one side of a wall on a cushioned seat. It was a lot more fun. All my school friends were attending here, so we were always getting in trouble. Mosques/ Islamic schools have their discipline system. The Molvi will always have a cane or/and a clean new slipper by his side. If you misbehave or haven’t learned your work correctly, you will get caned on your hand or hit your bum with the cane or slipper. Another popular punishment was getting kids into the murga position (murga position is a stress position where you semi-squat down and bend over, so your bum is higher than your head, and you put your arms thru your legs and hold your ears, google it if you haven’t heard of it).

A typical punishment if you’re caught doing something silly would be to go to the middle of the room and get into the murga position while the Molvi finished teaching the person he was with, then came with his slipper or cane and beat your bum with it. Parents always supported this form of discipline as they believed it would stop kids from misbehaving, and they treated Molvis as pillars of the community. No one questions their work or punishments.

My friends and I were always getting into trouble as boys do. One day we asked the Molvi If we could go early, and he allowed it as I live only about thirty houses away and my friend lived at the top end of the road, and we would do it every day and leave five or ten minutes before everyone else. You’re not allowed to wear shoes in the classrooms, so everyone has to take off their shoes by the front door in the hallway. One day as we left, we put on our shoes, and my friend saw a brand-new pair of trainers. He decided to take them and throw them into the neighbor’s garden. I was surprised by his actions, but we laughed about it on the way home that some kid would be walking home barefoot.

The next day we talked about throwing more shoes, so as we left, we took several pairs of shoes and threw them in random gardens and bins on our way home. The next day we would sit in the class hearing about parents having to bring shoes from home or kids walking home barefoot. One kid named Bilal was a spoiled brat that no one liked except his parents, who had spoilt him all his life, buying him the latest toys and clothes. His mum came in ranting at the Molvi about how her precious son had to walk home barefoot. My friend and I were laughing at her rant at the Molvi. We continued our little crime wave of throwing shoes in bins and gardens for the rest of the week. My dad attended a meeting on the weekend at the school, and when he got home, he asked me if I had seen anyone hanging around the school. I said no, I didn’t see anyone. He told my mum they think it’s a local racist stealing the shoes. I was happy to hear I wasn’t a suspect.

On Monday, I went to class, and my friend wasn’t there, so the lessons dragged out and were boring. I was still planning on doing a solo mission tonight. I had it planned that at least two boys would go home without shoes tonight. I asked to leave early as usual, and I went downstairs, put on my shoes, and then looked around to see which two pairs I would take. I grabbed the nicest-looking shoes and walked out (the front door is always left open). Soon as I stepped out, I heard someone shout. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw two cars parked across the road. The doors opened, and about six men called in my direction.

I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I knew my game was up, and I was in big trouble. They all surrounded me and asked me what I was doing with the shoes. One of the Molvis came out to see who they had caught. One of the guys took the shoes from me, slapped me across the face, grabbed me by the ear, and dragged me back into the building. All the Molvis came out and saw me and said it was you who had been stealing the shoes .my Molvi took me back up to the classroom and told me to get into murga position while the kids left to go home. There was a lot of shouting and raised voices from parents arguing with the Molvis.

After a bit, the Molvis entered the room, and one yelled at me to lift my bum higher. They told me off for the damage I had caused to their reputation and the fear I had put amongst parents that racist activists were targeting the school, not to mention the financial impact of buying new shoes on parents. One of the Molvis came with his cane, told me to lift my bum higher, and started hitting me. Then one of the parents walked in, saying to teach him a proper lesson, take off his trousers, then cane him. I want to see cane marks on his bum. A few more parents and kids were at the door, and they agreed with the man. Just then, I heard my dad’s voice (my younger brother was in the downstairs class, and the Molvi sent him to get my dad), and I thought, yes, finally, it’s going to be OK now.

He walked through the hallway crowd and into me in a murga position. The Molvis told him they caught me taking shoes and are now punishing me, but his parents insisted on a harsher punishment without any clothes. The room fell silent, waiting for my dad to respond. He told me to stand up. I got up and looked at him, and he seemed so angry he slapped me and told me to get naked. I resisted, and I got another slap, and he started pulling on my shirt. I saw the buttons pop off one by one flying in various directions. For some reason, I was more focused on tracking where they landed so I could retrieve them after.

I looked around the room, and the room was slowly filling with parents and kids. I could hear more in the corridor asking what was happening to the people at the front by the door. I eventually stripped to my underwear, and my dad said to take them off.

I said, “No, please, I won’t do it again.”

He hit my legs with a cane till I took them off, making sure I had a hand over my genitals .my dad asked the crowd whose shoes I had stolen. A few people said their kid’s shoes were stolen, and they had to bring shoes from home; another said his son walked home barefoot. My dad picked up my clothes, gave them to him, and said take them. You can bin them or do whatever you want. I promise you he’s going to walk home naked today.

Another parent asked what about the money we spent replacing the shoes. Another said their son got glass in his foot. The complaints were coming from all directions. I just stood there trying to avoid eye contact, but I could see the anger in the parent’s eyes, some were there to spectate and were finding it amusing, and the kids were snickering away, looking at me standing naked.

My dad told the Molvis to punish me as they saw fit and handed the cane back to them. He’s going to take my brother home, speak to my mum, and be back in a bit. As he left, the Molvis told me to get back into the murga position. I didn’t know how to get into position without exposing my penis. Even though I was thirteen, I hadn’t hit puberty yet, and my flaccid penis was less than an inch, rising to two inches at best.

I turned around to face away from most of the people and got back into the position. It was only then that I realized that my bum, balls, and micropenis were fully displayed to the crowd. Before I could move, one of the Molvis put his hand on my back and told me to lift my bum higher, and the caning started. I have been caned on my bum many times, but never without clothes. The pain was tenfold of a regular caning.

I kept falling. The Molvis took turns giving me five canes each. By the time they had all taken turns, I had fallen over multiple times, fully exposing me to the kids and parents. The parent that insisted on me being naked was asking for a turn, but either the Molvis didn’t trust him to show restraint with the cane and didn’t want the cane breaking or a severe injury happening to me, they gave him the slipper instead that angered him a bit more. He told me to stand up and go to the wall and bend over and put my hands on the wall.

He came, stood to my side, and started beating my bum. After a few hits, he hit me with a real stinger, and I turned around in pain, covering my cock with one hand and extending the other hand, trying to stop him from hitting me. He grabbed my hand and tried to hit me, forcing me to lift the hand on my groin to protect myself, leaving me exposed to the parents. I looked around the room, and I saw a woman. It was Bilal’s mum.

She was smiling ear to ear with an evil look in her eyes . they were all happily watching me get punished. I turned around, and the routine continued for about a minute, with every few hits being stingers forcing me to turn around and being exposed to everyone. My dad came back just as the guy was finished with me. He looked at my red, bruised bum and said he’s had enough for today. Some parents objected they didn’t get to release their anger, and Bilal’s mum started going on about her son having to walk home barefoot, and she isn’t satisfied with the punishment.

My dad spoke to the Molvi, and the Molvi said to the parents that my dad was very sorry for my actions and was ashamed of my stealing. Still, every person who had their shoes stolen will be paid for the replacements, and parents could bring in the receipts if they have them and be paid. My dad then spoke, explaining he’s not a rich man and he can’t afford to pay everyone at the same time, so it’s going to be one person per week that gets compensated.

A few parents started huffing, saying that’s not good enough. There out of pocket now. My dad told them it’s not something he has control over. He wishes he could pay everyone now, but the best he can do is once a week and speak to the Molvi as he knows all the people who have missing shoes so that he will make a list and whoever is most in need of the money will be paid first. It will keep going till everyone’s paid, he looked at Bilal’s mum and said, and if anyone thinks this punishment wasn’t enough, he will be present for any additional disciplines.

Bilal’s mum gave a big evil smile looking at me, eyeing my body from top to toe. She shouted to my dad, “As long as he is naked, then I will be OK with the arrangement.”

My dad nodded in her direction to say yes The Molvis asked the parents and kids to leave, and my dad discussed the payment arrangement with the Molvi, asking him to compile a list of people and shoe costs and how urgently they want to get paid.

He told the Molvi, “I get paid on Fridays, when it’s a half workday, so you can bring a parent or send them to my house anytime after two pm. But if they want to punish him, they can come after four (looking at me) when he returns from school, and he will be waiting naked as he is now.”

After the talks were done, my dad looked at me and said, “Let’s go.”

The Molvi pointed at my clothes in the corner, saying, “That parent didn’t take them. He left them behind.”

My dad said, “He needs to learn a lesson. He’s going to go home as he is.” He told me to move. I slowly moved toward the door, and he started pushing me from behind, saying, “Move faster.”

I got down the stairs, and the girls’ classroom door was open, and the female teacher saw me naked she had a couple of girls still in her class and told them not to look, but they had already seen me as I passed the door. I wasn’t covering my penis then, so they saw everything as I passed the door.

I saw my shoes. I turned to ask, but before I could speak, he shouted. “NO SHOES. GET OUT.”

I reluctantly stepped out, looking to see if anyone was watching, as I could hear people talking outside. My dad pushed me out, and there were still parents and kids standing outside talking (most likely waiting to see if I come out naked) .all the kids were laughing. There were girls, probably as young as seven and as old as fifteen, either standing outside or sitting in cars with their siblings and parents, smiling or laughing as I walked out with one hand over my penis and the other on my bum crack.

My dad walked past me, saying, “Hurry up and get home.” He left me behind.

I realized I couldn’t keep up with him with bits of stones, glass, etc., on the pavement, so I had to stroll, watching where I stepped. A few parents and kids were walking behind me (they live in the same direction, so they usually go past my house), that added humiliation and pressure to the moment. I got home in about two minutes, and my mum was waiting at the door. She let me in and quickly closed the door.

I tried to run upstairs before my younger brother saw me, but my dad called me into the room. I went in and stood in front of him(my brother and mum were also in the room) with my cock covered, and he said, “Why are you covering up? Move your hand. The whole community has seen you naked. There was no point hiding it now.

“I moved my hands, and for the first time, my brother saw my dick and was trying his hardest not to laugh, but he was making faces at me when my parents weren’t looking at him. My brother asked my mum, “Has he always been this small?”

My mum said, “I last saw him naked when he was eleven (two years ago), and it was the same size then.”

My dad replied, “That’s not normal. It’s like a baby’s dick. I’m sure when his brother was born, he was bigger than Imran is now.”

I looked at my brother, who was sitting silently, laughing away.

My dad gave me a long lecture on my actions. “Son, we have lived on this street for over ten years and have built a lot of community respect. Now you’ve ruined all this respect I have in the community. I’m now known as the father of the shoe thief.

I kept apologizing, saying, “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

He added, “I’m not just the father of a shoe thief. I’m also the father of a boy whose penis had never grown. Now everyone has seen it. You’ve ruined our family name, boy.


To Be Continued…?


*This story has been edited to fix spelling, punctuation, formatting errors, & basic grammar, but the narrative and plot have remained the same. Even with the limited editing done here, it doesn’t mean any possible major flaws in this story were fixed (That’s the author’s job). The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) are those of the author and do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech. This story was submitted directly to this website.

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