A Visit the Barber’s

 

The following post was inspired by the story ‘A Full Short Back and Sides’ by Snipped sam which can be found on the site: 

http://www.haircutstory.net/ 

I have taken the liberty of editing and adding to Snipped sam’s delightful tale. If you are the author of the original work and object to this posting, please let me know and I will be more than happy to delete it. But in the meantime, thank you for your enjoyable story and the inspiration it has given me. mogg.

 

 

Uncle Clive, his Nephew Mark and a Visit to the Barber’s Shop 

 

I felt particularly uneasy knowing that Uncle Clive did not approve of the length of my hair, especially as it was lunchtime and we were sitting in a very old fashioned barber’s shop while he was having a haircut. Uncle had taken me with him on a walking holiday in the north of England. We had always got on really well and the holiday was going splendidly, however I had a nagging doubt about this trip to the barber’s even though there had been no suggestion at all of my needing an appointment with the barber’s chair…

Uncle Clive and the barber, a Mr Harris, seemed to be getting on famously. I tried to concentrate on reading an old copy of Autosport I’d found among a pile of dog-eared magazines on a table in the corner. We’d been out walking that morning, so I was wearing my brief hiking-shorts, thick short socks and boots. I’d offered to meet Uncle Clive later at the B&B we were staying at, but he had insisted that I come with him. It would be fair to say that I was in a bit of a sulk. I would much rather have been anywhere than sat in a barber’s shop listening what to my ears sounded like the inane chatter of my uncle and the barber. 

I flicked through the pages of the magazine and eventually, after what seemed a very long time, Uncle Clive got up from the barber’s chair with an extremely severe short haircut, but he was smiling broadly so I knew he liked the finished result. Mr Harris busied himself with the clothes brush, brushing the loose hairs from Uncle Clive.

Uncle turned to face me and spoke: “So what do you think then, Mark?”

 
“Err, it’s okay, I suppose…” I replied quietly, noncommittally and anxious not to get involved in a conversation about haircuts. As I said, I knew Uncle Clive didn’t approve of mine, although he’d not said any more about it, let alone suggest I do anything about it.

“Mr Harris has done a first class job, I think,” he continued, as he admired the cut in the mirror.

“Thank you sir, it’s been a pleasure,” the barber replied as he flicked the last couple of hairs from Uncle Clive’s shoulder.

Uncle nodded in my direction and addressed Mr Harris: “What’s your opinion of Mark’s hair, Mr Harris.”

“I can’t say that I’m impressed, sir,” he replied as he cast a professional eye over what I thought of as my stylish head of hair. I was pleased with the way my fringe flopped forwards over my eyes and how at the back my hair brushed against my shirt collar (The longest we were allowed to grow it in the fifth form). Why should it concern anyone else if my hair came down over my ears? I was proud of the way my hair looked and I didn’t like to hear anyone criticising it. 

“No sir… I’m afraid I’m not impressed at all,” Mr Harris continued, “… but I think I can safely say his hair would definitely benefit from a few minutes in the barber’s chair with me attending to it, sir.”

To my consternation Uncle Clive agreed: “My sentiments entirely… Mark’s hair isn’t usually as long as this.” 

I put down the magazine and indignantly told them my hair was perfect; that everyone at school had exactly the same style; that none of the teachers had raised the slightest objection to my haircut… I must have sounded like a complete prig! 

I was ignored.

Mr Harris continued: “I take it you do not approve, sir.”

“No, Mr Harris I most definitely do not approve.”

“Then, sir, might I suggest that a full short back and sides with no arguments for this young man is called for?”

Pathetically I tried to intervene, whinging like a little boy: “Pleeease Uncle Clive, I had my hair cut a couple of weeks ago, honest I did… Pleeease uncle…”

 
“No Mark, I am afraid your hair is far too long. I simply don’t believe your school would countenance such untidy hair.”

The barber added his support: “Precisely, sir…”

“But it’s my hair,” I pleaded, in a last desperate attempt to put a stop to this before it got completely out of hand. “Please uncle can we go now?”

“It wouldn’t take me more than a few minutes to tidy him up, sir.” Mr Harris wasn’t about to let me escape what he clearly thought was an overdue appointment for me with his barber’s chair. “No trouble at all, sir.” 

“A short back and sides you say?” Uncle Clive asked. 

“Certainly, sir. A proper schoolboy short back and sides…” 

Uncle Clive nodded his head and Mr Harris turned to get the big cape from its hook by the mirror. 

I pleaded again: “But… but… It’s my hair…” 

Mr Harris turned back to face me. He was holding the cape: “Not for much longer if I am not mistaken…”

“Please Uncle Clive… Pleeease!”

“No Mark… Mr Harris is right… Your hair is a disgrace… it needs a proper trim.”

“But Uncle Clive”

 
Mr Harris took control: “That’s enough from you young man. You are having your haircut whether you like it or not. Your Uncle has decided it’s best, so I suggest you keep quiet and behave yourself and do as you are told.”

 
“I hope you are listening to Mr Harris, Mark… you may be nearly sixteen and think you are grown up, but while you’re with me you will do as you are told…” 

I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard what Uncle Clive said next: “And I am quite sure that you don’t want to have to touch your toes for me with your shorts down for a spanking in front of the barber… now do you?”

Stunned, I could barely murmur: “No, Uncle Clive…”

Mr Harris acted as if he heard this everyday and merely said: “Shall I take it from here, sir?”

“If you would be so kind” Uncle Clive replied.

“If you, sir, would like to sit in that chair over there, sir” he said pointing to one of the chairs that lined the side-wall of the shop, “That will give you a very good view of the haircut but the boy will not be able to see you in the mirror”

“Very good, Mr Harris…”

“That way he is less likely to be distracted. Obviously I want him to be concentrating on doing exactly as I tell him and having his haircut and keeping his head still…”

“It also might make Mark feel less self conscious if he can’t see me watching you at work…”

“Oh, I don’t think we need overly concern ourselves with the boy’s feelings, sir,” Mr Harris said with a chuckle.

“Right Mark… up you get and do exactly what the barber tells you.” 

I stood up as Uncle Clive sat down. Mr Harris held out the long barber’s cape: “You may step forward young man and sit in the barber’s chair....sit up straight and sit right back in the chair”

I did as he said and he prepared me to have my haircut. Mr Harris swept the gown with a flourish over my head and it settled down, engulfing me in the all-pervading smell of a barber’s shop. He drew the gown up around my neck and tied it tightly before tucking some tissue paper between it and the nape of my neck. My arms were covered by the gown and I was under orders to behave myself. I looked at myself in the mirror to see my disembodied head ready for the attentions of Mr Harris. 

He started to comb my hair. He did this very slowly with his hand placed firmly on the crown of my head, thus asserting his authority over me.

He spoke to Uncle Clive; pointedly not to me: “So sir, are we both in agreement… a full short back and sides for the boy…”

“When you say full short back and sides Mr Harris you mean very short?”

“Indeed I do, sir. Cut very short all over with scissors and thinned out. No silly pretend sideboards like he has here…” Mr Harris pulled at the long hair that hung in front of my ears, “…and then a no nonsense clipping, back and sides.”

“When you say ‘no nonsense’… perhaps short… not too severe to begin with, Mr Harris.”

“Certainly, sir… Just as you say, sir… not too severe and we’ll see how it goes, shall we?”  

I was slightly relieved to think that Uncle Clive had at last taken my side, even if it was only slightly.

Mr Harris addressed me: “Right young man, I shall begin,” and he turned to pick up a pair of long steel scissors.

 
My haircut began and within seconds large curls of my thick mousey-blond hair began to fall into my lap. As Mr Harris snipped away expertly with his scissors, he and Uncle Clive chatted to each other. Ignoring me they talked mainly about our walking holiday. They had really got on well whilst uncle had his haircut earlier, almost like old friends, and now the barber suggested some of the lesser known local hikes for us to explore. I kept quiet knowing that I was to sit perfectly still and not to speak so the barber could snip my hair as he talked.

I found it very uncomfortable because the barber did not brush the loose hairs away from my face which really tickled. My arms were of course trapped underneath the big gown, but in any case I wouldn’t have dared to brush the hairs away with my hand. Mr Harris did eventually give me a brush down as I screwed up my face, before he selected a pair of thinning scissors prior to the next stage of my haircut.

“So far so good young man,” he said, “Now these will tug at your hair and you may feel some discomfort, but this is a very small price to pay for the benefits of nice well thinned out hair, is that understood”

“Yes sir” I replied meekly.

 
“Do not move your head.”  

“Yes, sir…” I repeated, dreading what was going to happen next.

Mr Harris started to chop my hair with the thinning scissors and I watched in horror as big clumps of it fell into my lap. I was sure he was about to give me a ‘Yul Brynner’, which is what we used to call a bald head in those days. He cut my hair so closely that I could feel the scissors pressing against my skull as he worked away. Once he was satisfied that he had cut off sufficient hair he put the scissors down and gave me a good brush down. I sneaked a look at myself in the mirror and was relieved to see that Mr Harris had left me with some hair.

Mr Harris looked over at Uncle Clive.

 
“Is everything to your satisfaction so far, sir?”

 
“Definitely, Mr Harris.”

 
“Quite a transformation, sir…”

“It certainly is…” Uncle Clive concluded, “Now… with regard to the clipping he is going to have…”

“Yes sir, that’s what I will be doing next,” Mr Harris confirmed, “… in fact I was about to bend his head down in preparation, sir…”

 
“I wonder if perhaps a little tickle with the clippers might suffice?” 

I once more felt happier that Uncle Clive was on my side. He’d make sure Mr Harris didn’t get too carried away with my haircut, I thought.

“I understand what you are saying sir. Perhaps you would like me to clip the back and sides of his head lightly… more of a token.”

“That’s it, Mr Harris.” 

“As you wish, sir…” Mr Harris appeared to accede to Uncle Clive’s request. But then he added: “… however, I must point out, sir that we are due some very hot weather over the next few days. It will be much better to have his hair cut as short as possible, especially if you are walking any distance. It will keep him cool and better tempered I can assure you, sir.”  

“I understand exactly what you are saying Mr Harris, but I have reservations…”

“I know, sir… and you don’t want to be the heavy handed Uncle, but, if I may say so, the boy has the opportunity to have an experienced barber take care of his hair…” 

To my horror, I could see that Uncle Clive was wavering. Mr Harris saw this too… 

“Perhaps, sir, if I might suggest… Why not take a little stroll for five minutes or so and leave your young nephew with me…”

“That’s an admirable idea, Mr Harris. I know your recommendation for my nephew to have a no nonsense clipping makes perfect sense, but… I think it best for me to absent myself until it’s finished.” 

“That’s perfectly understandable, sir… Have no worries, your nephew will be perfectly safe in my hands… Believe me, sir you’ll be more than happy with the result of a good no nonsense clipping. You get along and relax for five minutes… there’s a shop just down the end of the High Street which has a good selection of local guides. Take your time…” 

And with that Uncle Clive left. I was speechless. 

Without my uncle there, what was I to do? I hesitated and lost the only opportunity I might have had to talk my way out of the barber’s chair. 

With a jovial: “Righty-ho… ready for your no nonsense clipping my lad?” 

Before I could answer, Mr Harris placed his hand on the back of my head and bent it as far forward as he could get it, telling me to make sure I did not move at all. 

“Stay perfectly still…” 

“Yes, sir…” 

“… Don’t concern myself with what I’m doing…” 

“No, sir…” 

“… Just keep your head right down... Once I start the clipping I don’t want you to speak or move a muscle…” 

“Yes, sir…” 

“… I will move you head into the position I want it… understood?” 

“Yes, sir…” 

I had seen the various clippers hanging from hooks just below the mirror in front of the barber’s chair. They all looked well cared for; oiled and ready for use. I could just see Mr Harris reach out to select the first set of clippers he needed for the next stage of my no nonsense traditional schoolboy haircut.

He switched them on and the warm buzzing contrasted with the cold metal as the clippers touched my neck. I shivered… 

“Sorry, sir…” 

“Try and keep still lad… if you’ve not had a no nonsense clipping before, it will feel a bit strange at first… you’ll soon get used to it and wonder what all the fuss was about…” 

With those few kind words my opinion of Mr Harris changed completely. I couldn’t believe how understanding he was. I wanted to thank him, but knew I had to keep quiet… and I knew I was going to co-operate. 

The clippers started their journey, travelling very smoothly up the nape of my neck and back of my head. They tickled and I tried my best not to move. Mr Harris held my head very firmly and that helped. I could feel the hair as it fell onto my neck and as the clippers buzzed away loudly, it occurred to me that as the shop door was open anyone walking past could hear the clippers in action. Looking in they could see a fifteen (nearly sixteen!) year old schoolboy having his very first traditional full short back and sides haircut! 

After giving the back of my head a very generous clipping he stepped round the chair, but held my head still with the firm grip of his hand. Having moved position he pushed my head to one side and started to run the clippers up each side of my ears. It felt very strange indeed. I managed a sideways glance in the mirror and was dismayed to see Mr Harris actually sweep the clippers across my head above my ears! In my ignorance I thought the ‘sides’ part of my haircut was simply the removal of the long hair in front of my ears. I never thought it meant all the hair on the side of my head! 

Now my opinion of Mr Harris changed again. I thought it was rotten of him to do this to me, but I’d hardly had time to think this when I felt my head being pulled and twisted again, prior to the same treatment being given to the other side of by head. When I next caught sight of myself in the mirror I found that my luxuriant schoolboy locks had been reduced to a few tufts of hair seemingly perched on the crown of my head… and Mr Harris hadn’t even finished!  

Once he’d attended to the hair above and round my ears, Mr Harris gave me a quick brush down. He then told me to keep my head down as he selected another set of clippers. These ones were more uncomfortable than the first set of clippers he’s used and I sensed they were being used for a more severe finish. He didn’t go quite as far up with these clippers, but then I guessed he didn’t need to as most of my hair was scattered in front of me in my lap and on the floor around the chair. 

Finally it was the turn of the razor which again was very uncomfortable. Then at last Mr Harris let go of my head and I was instructed to look up. He took a towel and wiped my face and head and then applied some white hair-cream from a jar before combing my hair into place with faultless precision.

He then stood back and surveyed his work.

 
“Well young fella m’lad I don’t mind saying that I couldn’t improve on this haircut if I wanted to… You are now the proud possessor of a traditional boy’s short back and sides.”

What else could I say, but: “Thank you, sir…” 

“You can get up out of the chair now…” 

“Thank you, sir…” 

As I pushed myself out of the barber’s chair, Mr Harris pulled the big cape off me and busied himself brushing me down. 

Quite a different boy looked back at me from the mirror; a boy with extremely short hair; unbelievably short hair; hair so short it made me look at least five years younger. My stomach knotted up as I realised that now I could so easily be mistaken for a lanky schoolboy no more than twelve years old! 

“There, that’s much better, isn’t it?” 

“Err… yes, sir… thank you, sir…” 

As I said this Uncle Clive marched breezily back into the shop. 

He looked around the shop with a rather theatrical air and asked: 

“Has anyone here seen my nephew?” 

He then made a great pretence of not recognising me with my new very severe schoolboy haircut and didn’t stop this charade until I piped up: 

“But it’s me Uncle Clive! It’s me… Mark!” 

Mr Harris laughed at the joke even as my uncle continued to pull my leg. 

“No… you can’t be my nephew Mark! He had long hair… very long, straggly, untidy hair…” 

“He did indeed, sir…” Mr Harris chipped in, “… but if you take a closer look at this young boy here…” 

“Well I never! It is you Mark…” 

I was blushing furiously, though less from embarrassment and more from a sense of pride that I’d made my uncle happy. 

“You do look very smart indeed, Mark,” Uncle Clive said as he examined my haircut. “I hope you’ll want to keep it nice and short from now on…” 

“I’m sure that once he gets used to it, sir, he’ll wonder why he ever thought it was ‘clever’ to have such untidy long hair…” Mr Harris concurred and added, “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he asks you to help him find a proper schoolboy barber’s shop in your neck of the woods when you return home from your holiday, sir.” 

“I hope you’re right, Mr Harris… You’ve made me so proud of Mark… indeed you have.” 

I blushed again. Embarrassed, I bit my lower lip and avoided looking at uncle. I wanted to get back to our B&B, but I soon found out that our visit to the barber’s shop wasn’t quite over yet… 

Mr Harris turned to Uncle Clive and asked: “Does the boy require anything else, sir?” 

My uncle hesitated, unsure of the meaning of the barber’s words. 

“A number of my regular clients like me to keep their boys smart and tidy… ahem… elsewhere…” Mr Harris said by way of explanation. When Uncle Clive still looked puzzled I saw the barber tilt his head down slightly and looked in the direction of my hiking shorts. 

“Oh… I see…” Uncle Clive said as the penny dropped. “Yes… I see what you mean.” 

“It wouldn’t take a moment, sir. I believe I heard you mention that your young nephew was almost sixteen… so many young boys become rather untidy at that age, don’t you think?” 

“Yes… yes, in fact his birthday is only a few weeks away… isn’t it Mark?” 

“Umm… in three weeks, Uncle Clive,” I replied, then added for the benefit of Mr Harris, “I’ll be sixteen then, sir…” 

I stopped talking because at that point two boys who looked to be abut ten years old came into the barbers and sat down. One of them nudged the other and pointed at my very brief short back and sides plastered down with hair-cream. They giggled as they looked at my haircut. I couldn’t understand why they were laughing at me and I couldn’t understand why they had perfectly ordinary haircuts like the one I’d had until half an hour ago. It certainly didn’t look as if they were there for a haircut like mine; otherwise I’m sure they wouldn’t have found my haircut so funny. 

The father of one of the boys came into the shop and sat down next to them. He looked at where his son’s finger was pointing (my head!) and chortled: 

“Blow me down! I don’t think I’ve seen a boy with a hair-cut quite like that for a very long time… Take a good look lads; that’s how it used to be…” 

The customer looked up at the barber and added: “You certainly have done him proud Mr Harris. There’s no one else can give a young boy a proper short back and sides when it’s needed… well done!” 

Then he turned back to me and asked: “Did you have it done for a school play or was it for charity?” 

“No… I… err…” I didn’t know what to say. It was clear to me that I was rapidly becoming a laughing-stock. I felt really, really stupid standing in front of this stranger and the two very young boys not knowing what to say. 

Uncle Clive spoke up for me: “No, it’s not for charity… Mr Harris and I thought Mark could do with a bit of smartening up, that’s all.” 

“Well blow me down!” the man repeated. Clearly his two young charges were not about to be given the same treatment as I had just been given. This made me feel even worse and with these thoughts running through my head, it’s probably no wonder I wasn’t paying any attention and didn’t see what else was about to happen. 

Mr Harris hadn’t forgotten what he’s been talking about before the new customers came into his shop. Believe it or not, I hadn’t a clue what he was saying to Uncle Clive. 

“Well, sir… shall we tidy up the young gentleman… that is if he needs tidying up?” Mr Harris said with a wry smile. 

Uncle Clive made up his mind: “Yes… by all means…” 

I still can’t believe that I stood there and let it happen. 

By the time the words: “Certainly sir!” had finished ringing in my ears, Mr Harris had undone my hiking shorts, lugged them down and without a moment’s hesitation had them off me completely! As I was not allowed to wear underpants with hiking shorts, I leave to your imagination how this turn of events made me feel! Two seconds later and Mr Harris had my tee-shirt pushed right up, then over my head and off. 

Within the space the perhaps five seconds I was standing in the middle of the barber’s shop bare-nude apart for my walking-boots and socks! 

As I stood in shock opening and closing my mouth (though no words came) I must have looked like a recently landed fish. My eyes were certainly bulging like one as well. 

Mr Harris was nothing if not brisk and extremely efficient. He’d quickly put my clothes out of my reach and with a crisp order to keep my hands out of the way, set about ‘tidying me up’. 

I hardly need say how hilarious the two ten year olds thought this all was. They were in hysterics. Dad did absolutely nothing to stop them giggling. He was too busy laughing himself! 

Mr Harris looked at my rather pathetic pubes with a disdainful air. 

“Rather a waste of time trying to tidy those up, sir,” he said addressing my uncle. “Fifteen you say, sir… why I’ve seen boys of twelve with more hairs than these…” 

I couldn’t believe how humiliated I felt. Uncle Clive had to rub it in though: “Nearly sixteen… in three weeks you said didn’t you Mark?” 

I managed to croak out the words: “Yes, uncle,” and stood there… yes, I actually stood there, as Mr Harris leant forwards and took my penis between his thumb and index finger. He lifted it up and pulled it this way and that, clearly looking for signs of any more hairs. 

“There’s no point in trying to do anything with these few straggly hairs, sir,” the barber concluded, “May as well clip them right off. That’s my professional opinion.” 

“Whatever you think best, Mr Harris,” Uncle Clive replied. 

“Right, sir… we’re in full agreement once more,” the barber said so that there could be no misunderstanding, “Complete removal of your nephew’s pubic hair… Right sir?” 

Uncle Clive nodded, “Yes, Mr Harris, that is correct.” 

It didn’t take long for Mr Harris to leave me as smooth as a new-born babe. Using the special clippers he reserved for ‘tidying-up’ boys of my age, he soon had my straggly pubes removed. Then, as I stood shell-shocked by the day’s events, he rubbed some astringent lotion between the palms of his hands before bending down and applying it all round the base of my now hairless penis. It stung and I leapt about the shop, no doubt making a complete spectacle of myself as my penis slapped and jiggled about between my legs. Yes the lotion stung alright, but not half as much as the knowledge that the whole proceeding had been watched by two ten year old boys who had laughed so much they’d almost fallen from their chairs. 

When at last Uncle Clive and I left the shop and started back to the B&B I couldn’t say anything, I was so close to tears. In every shop window we passed I saw the reflection of a gangly, overgrown schoolboy and it broke my heart as it sank in that I was stuck looking like this for weeks to come. Then it struck me! Why hadn’t I thought of it sooner…? I’d be looking like this when I started back at school in ten days time!! 

My legs went like jelly. What would my classmates say when they saw me…? What would they say when they saw me in the school showers?! I’d be a laughing-stock… Stupid little-boy haircut and no pubes!! 

“Is everything alright, Mark?” Uncle Clive asked. “Nothing wrong, I hope?” 

“No, uncle… everything’s fine…”

Arrangements for Michael - Part 8

 

Eighth Letter

 

Olive Jefferies to Edith Hudson

  

My dear Edith, 

I’m so glad to hear you’re enjoying your stay in Scotland. Your postcard was most welcome. How nice to see those charming young boys in the picture wearing their mini-kilts… my, but they are short! Yes, I think it would be a lovely surprise for Michael if you bought one for him… I’m sure you know which size will fit him best… extra very short! 

However much you may miss Michael, I’m sure that a break from being constantly on the alert for his mischief must be wonderfully refreshing for you. I do hope you make the most of your holiday. 

It will come as no surprise I’m sure for you to learn that I’ve had to call upon the services of my friend Dr Langham rather sooner than I thought. I’ve known Janet Langham for longer than I care to remember. As I mentioned, one of Janet’s posts is that of School Doctor at a local boys’ school, so she is very experienced in dealing with pubescent boys of Michael’s age. 

The reason the need to consult her came about was because Michael has been having ‘emissions’. I’m sure I don’t need to beat about the bush with you, Edith, as you will have had experience of these unwelcome occurrences before. After all you did take great pains to warn us to be on the lookout for problems with Michael’s behaviour at night, so it proved fortunate that we decided to put Michael into Brenda’s bedroom. She has proved invaluable at keeping an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t get up to anything that he shouldn’t after he’s been tucked up in his cot. 

Indeed it wasn’t long… the second night Michael was with us, in fact… that Brenda heard noises coming from Michael’s cot, so she got up to investigate. Do bear in mind that Brenda is only thirteen and therefore a year younger than your step-son, but she soon realised what Michael was up to and caught him ‘red-handed’, masturbating! 

Fortunately Brenda was quick enough to prevent Michael from finishing his naughty game, but while she was giving him a pretty strict telling-off, Michael’s penis suddenly erupted and a jet of sticky sperm squirted out and some of it splashed onto Brenda’s nightgown. 

Brenda naturally raised the alarm and I rushed to her room to find Michael cowering in his cot, begging Brenda not to tell on him. 

“What’s all this noise? What’s going on?” I asked, “Brenda… are you alright? What’s Michael been up to?” 

From the look on Michael’s face, the state of his pyjamas, and the obvious signs of his ejaculation, I could see perfectly well what had happened, but I wanted Brenda to tell me and Michael to be made to admit what he’d been doing. 

“Mummy, Michael was playing with his little willy,” Brenda started (Edith, I had to smile at Brenda. Michael’s ‘little willy’ as Brenda calls it, isn’t that small… in fact I should say it’s a perfectly normal size for a boy of Michael’s age… we’ve all certainly had plenty of opportunity to examine Michael’s penis since his arrival!)  

“What do you mean Brenda?” I asked. 

“Mummy, Michael had pulled his little willy out of his pyjama-bottoms and he was rubbing it with his hand…” 

I looked down at Michael who was now cringing, utterly ashamed of himself, in his cot while Brenda calmly explained to me what she’d caught him doing. 

“Masturbating, Brenda… it’s called masturbating and it’s very naughty of Michael to do it… his mummy has told me that he has been absolutely forbidden to masturbate.” 

“Then why was Michael doing it mummy… masturbating like that, when his mummy said he wasn’t to?” 

“That’s because Michael is a very naughty boy, Brenda.” 

Well, as you know, Edith, naughty boys have to be dealt with and I soon got in touch with Dr Langham. She asked me to bring Michael along to see her and agreed that he should be given a thorough examination. 

So it was that Brenda and I took Michael along to Janet’s consulting-room. Brandon was out for the day, but Tyler came along too. I made Michael wait outside under the watchful eye of Brenda while I went in to have a chat with my friend. I explained to her what the problem was and it turned out that she was very used to this sort of behaviour in young boys of Michael’s age. 

“We’ll discuss this in more detail once we have Michael in with us,” she said and I realised that she meant Michael to be made fully aware of the shameful way in which he had behaved. 

Janet stood up and strode purposefully to the door: “Brenda, would you bring Michael in, please… Tyler, you can join us as well.” 

Michael didn’t look at all pleased that Brenda, never mind Tyler, would be coming into the doctor’s consulting-room, but Dr Langham could clearly see what was going through his mind and added: “I need Brenda to tell me exactly what she saw you doing the other night, Michael… It’s very important that I know all the details so that I can help you.” 

Michael didn’t say anything as I think he was too overwhelmed. It can’t have been very nice for him to be taken to see a lady doctor by his mother’s friend and her thirteen year old daughter and a very curious eleven year old Tyler… never mind that they’d all be there in the consulting-room while he was examined by the doctor. 

I’d dressed Michael in his brief white and yellow-striped shortalls (no underpants, of course), with white ankle-socks and pink plastic sandals. It was a warm day so Michael wasn’t wearing a tee-shirt… and besides I thought doctor wouldn’t want Michael to wear too many clothes, as I was sure what he was wearing would soon be coming off anyway! 

The advantage with Michael’s shortalls is that they can be loosened very easily and the minute Dr Langham saw them she complimented me on my choice of Michael’s clothes. Michael simply squirmed with embarrassment. As you know, Edith, Michael hates wearing shortalls as they can be adjusted to minimise upper-thigh coverage as much as one wants… and one usually does want Michael’s thighs bare right to the top! 

“Shortalls certainly do make my job a lot easier,” Dr Langham concluded, “They can be loosened and taken down, or completely removed in no time at all…” 

“… first things first though… Michael, I want you to put your hands on top of your head… can you do that for me? Good boy. Now I want you to keep your hands on top of your head… understood? You’re not to move your hands unless I say so.” 

Michael did as he was told and nodded obediently. He looked worried. Brenda was standing to one side and slightly behind him. I was sitting facing him and Dr Langham was standing right in front of him. Tyler sat on a chair next to me swinging his legs excitedly as he watched Michael attentively. 

After examining his eyes and ears, Dr Janet picked up a tongue depressor: “Open wide Michael… Good boy… a little wider… very good. Now keep your mouth wide open…” 

Dr Janet placed the depressor towards the back of Michael’s tongue and looked into his mouth. At this point she decided to ask Brenda a question: 

“Brenda… exactly what did you see Michael doing with his penis…?” 

I thought Michael would choke as he spluttered and coughed. Dr Janet took the depressor out of his mouth, but insisted he open it again as she wasn’t quite finished looking in his mouth. 

Once she had started to examine Michael’s mouth again, Dr Janet nodded and Brenda proceeded to tell her what she’d seen Michael doing in his cot. 

“I see, Brenda… and was Michael actually touching his penis when he ejaculated sperm? Try and remember… it’s very important.” 

“I don’t think so Dr Langham,” Brenda replied, “… no, I’m sure he wasn’t touching himself, because when I caught him… doing it…” 

“Masturbating, Brenda… you caught Michael in the act of masturbation.”

 

“Yes, Dr Langham… masturbating. When I caught him masturbating, Michael took his hand away and his willy… sorry doctor… his penis… his penis sort of twitched even though he wasn’t touching it…” 

Michael stood still with his mouth wide open and with a very worried look in his eyes as the doctor put down the tongue depressor. She picked up a torch. 

“Keep your mouth open… you can do better than that Michael… wide open… that’s right… Now Brenda when Michael’s penis twitched, was that when he ejaculated? Michael, I’m not going to tell you again… keep your mouth wide open… Carry on Brenda…” 

“Yes Dr Langham… Michael squirted all this stuff from his penis… and he wasn’t touching himself because I was telling him off for being so naughty. I was about to get Mr Redbottom Ruler when suddenly all this stuff came out of his little willy… I mean little penis…” 

Michael looked as if he wanted the floor to swallow him up and it was clear he was thoroughly ashamed of himself. So ashamed that he didn’t try to say anything or even deny what Brenda was saying to the doctor. 

“That’s excellent… yes that’s very helpful Brenda… It certainly gives me an idea of what needs to be done to help Michael with his problem. Alright you can close your mouth now Michael… keep your hands on your hand though!” 

Michael’s look had quickly changed to that one of worry. I could see him asking himself, ‘What problem? What does the doctor mean? I haven’t got a problem…’ But his expression didn’t last for log as Dr Langham decided it was time to proceed with Michael’s ‘examination’. 

Janet turned to me: “Would you be so kind as to loosen Michael’s clothes for me…” 

One of the many useful things about shortalls, Edith, is that Michael could keep his hands on his head as I unbuttoned the braces of his shortalls. The buttons held up the bib of course and that flopped down and allowed Janet to place her stethoscope on Michael’s chest, while I slipped the braces over Michael’s shoulders, where they hung down from the waist. All that held up the shortalls now were the buttons, one each side of the bottom half of the shortalls, located at Michael’s hips. 

Michael shivered as Janet moved the stethoscope to various point across his chest, then down onto his tummy, getting lower and lower. Michael looked worried, but then Janet suddenly stopped and told Michael to turn round. He did as he was told, but found himself facing Brenda. I noticed that when Michael moved his shortalls slipped a little, not much but enough to make him wish he hadn’t been told to put his hands on his head, I’ll bet! 

Edith, Michael looked so sweet standing there in Dr Langham’s consulting-room… so sweet and cute. You’d never guess why we’d had to take Michael to the doctor’s to have an examination. Was this the same little boy who’s been caught playing with his penis by my daughter? Was this the little boy who’d squirted his sperm as he was ticked off by Brenda? Yes, Michael stood there looking every inch the sweet and innocent schoolboy, a boy like any other at the School Doctor’s for a routine check-up. 

Janet was now standing behind Michael facing his back. She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned forwards, close to his left ear, and spoke: “Now Michael, I’m just going to have a little look at your penis. In a moment we’ll be taking down your shortalls so that I can carry out my examination… understood?” 

Michael nodded. His face was a picture, Edith… bright red and clearly very worried about what was going to happen in front of us all.

Janet continued: “There’s no need to be nervous, Michael… Mrs Jeffries is here to hold your hand while I examine your penis and testicles… and don’t worry if your penis stiffens when I touch it during the examination… it’s perfectly natural for a boy of your age to have an erection during the procedure…” 

I’m sure none of this did anything to alleviate Michael’s acute embarrassment, Edith, and when Dr Langham asked Brenda to help by unbuttoning the shortalls, I really thought Michael would try and make a run for it! 

With the side-buttons undone, there was nowhere else for Michael’s shortalls to go other than downwards. They slid easily down his long smooth legs and Michael was bare from top to toe! 

“Turn round Michael so that I can have a good look at you,” Dr Langham ordered. 

Michael shuffled round to face the doctor and as he did so his slim, hairless penis jiggled from side-to-side and came to rest pointing downwards, but undoubtedly slightly tumescent which of course added considerably to Michael’s embarrassment. 

By the side of me Tyler watched eagerly. 

Janet walked over to a chair by her desk and sat down. She then patted her lap and told Michael to come and stand in front of her to be examined. Poor Michael looked from left to right, not quite sure of himself and trying to decide whether or not to take his hands from his head and bend over to take off his shortalls. Dr Langham made up his mind for him: 

“Come along Michael… we haven’t got all day and I need to examine your penis and testicles… Now come over here where I can see you properly.” 

Michael shuffled across the room. It was most amusing to watch as he was hobbled by the shortalls around his ankles and with his hands still up on his head there was nothing Michael could do to prevent us all from seeing his penis doing its waggle-dance between his legs. By the time he reached Janet, Michael’s penis had stiffened a little more, as I’m sure was the intention of making him shuffle across the floor. My friend Dr Janet can be very mischievous at times! 

Michael stood facing the doctor and I could see his lower lip quivering as he looked down at himself. Dr Janet, of course, was full of her professional cheerfulness, telling Michael not to worry and that everything would be alright, that she’d soon sort out his little problem… all things designed, I’m sure, to make Michael feel anything but reassured. Then she started the examination… 

Michael flinched as Janet took hold of his penis and lifted it this way and that, looking at it closely, pulling it, holding it up and stroking the side with her finger-tip. 

“Hmm… no sign at all of any little hairs yet, Michael. That is unusual for a boy of your age. I’d certainly expect to see at least a few little hairs sprouting around the base of your penis by now. All the boys of your age who come to see me have something to show… but you’re still as smooth as silk. Let’s have a look at your scrotum. No hairs there either. Still very pink and winkled, but your testicles are developing nicely… I’ll be measuring them properly in a moment…” 

“… Tyler, be a good boy and fetch me those instruments from the table over there… yes that’s right, the ruler and those callipers… good. Would you like to help me take some measurements of Michael’s penis?” 

Eleven year old Tyler didn’t need to be asked twice and eagerly agreed to be Dr Langham’s assistant. 

“Now Tyler,” she said, “Why don’t you see if you can find any little hairs round Michael’s penis? That’s it; don’t be afraid to take hold of Michael’s penis, Tyler… Good… pull it to one side… that’s it… can you see any little hairs?” 

 

Tyler shook his head as he lifted Michael’s penis and pulled it this way and that. Then he announced proudly that his brother had already started growing his hairs! That piece of news clearly upset Michael. You could tell that he thought it was very unfair if Brandon, who’s over a year younger than him, had started sprouting pubic hair before he had! 

Dr Janet took hold of Michael’s penis again and this time examined his foreskin. She rolled it backs and forwards over the pink head of the now obviously tumescent penis. 

“That’s alright, Michael… there’s no need to be shy… I know your penis is getting a little stiffer, but that often happens when little boys visit the School Doctor… but I need to make sure your foreskin is nice and loose… just stay still… nearly done…” 

Dr Janet then called over to Brenda: 

“Brenda, I wonder if you could help me…? I need to examine Michael’s testicles a little more closely, so I need you to hold his penis up out of the way… would you do that for me?” 

I could see from the way he looked at me that Michael was about to complain, but I simply ignored him and spoke to Brenda: “Of course you’ll help Doctor Janet, won’t you darling…” 

Brenda moved over to stand next to Michael and waited her instructions. 

“Good… It’s so nice to have helpers,” Dr Janet said by way of encouragement. “Brenda you hold Michael’s penis like this… very good. Now Tyler, you pass me the callipers and we can measure the size of Michael’s testicles… won’t that be fun?” 

Tyler was clearly thrilled to be able to take part. So often the younger child can get left out of things… so it was very kind of Dr Janet to give him some responsibility. 

I’m not at all sure if it was quite necessary for Janet to take all those measurements of Michael’s penis and testicles. Brenda and Tyler were willing helpers though and I’m sure that Brenda learnt a lot from the experience. 

I’m pleased to report that Michael was well-behaved and kept his hands on his head throughout this part of his examination. However, when Dr Janet started to ask him about his ‘problem’, I’m afraid he became rather less co-operative. 

Brenda was again forced to recount what had happened. She answered all Dr Janet’s detailed questions fully, much to Michael’s acute embarrassment. In the absence of Michael’s co-operation, Janet was forced to make her own diagnosis… 

It seemed, she said that Michael was suffering from a build-up of sperm. This condition was exacerbated by excessive masturbation which stimulated the over-production of semen. When masturbation was subsequently brought under control, or the boy was ordered to stop masturbating, sperm was perforce ejaculated by means of nocturnal emissions or by the slightest stimulation of his erection. In the later case the boy’s penis was on a hair-trigger and the slightest touch could often be enough to cause the sort of spasm Brenda had witnessed. As Brenda had seen, emission of sperm under these conditions could be both powerful and voluminous. 

I asked Janet if there was anything that could be done, since Michael was forbidden to masturbate and I didn’t want to have him leaving his sticky boy-mess everywhere. 

Thankfully Janet told me there was something which could be done. It was called ‘milking’. This was a clinical procedure which was used to relieve boys of the build-up of sperm by means of controlled extraction techniques. The function of these techniques was twofold: Firstly, to ensure the maximum release of semen and secondly, to achieve this in such a way as to deny the boy any pleasurable experiences, or orgasm which would normally be associated with masturbation. 

“To summarise,” she said, “Michael will need to be milked on a regular basis, say every two days to start with. I will collect and measure the volume of his sperm, since any variation in quantity will tell us whether he has been furtively masturbating… I hope you are paying attention, Michael… Now, since Michael ejaculated less than 36 hours ago, I will not take today’s measurement as a basis for future…” 

Michael was horrified: “You’re not going to…. Not now…! Please… please, doctor…” 

“Of course I’m going to milk you Michael… Mrs Jefferies brought you along today for treatment…” 

“Oh, but please… not in front… of Tyler and Brenda … please, doctor…” 

“Don’t be silly, Michael…” It was Brenda who spoke this time. “Don’t be silly… I saw you squirting all your boy-stuff…” 

“But… but that was an accident…” 

“Michael that’s enough,” I said, “We’ve brought you here for Dr Janet to help you… If Dr Janet says you need to be milked, that’s what we’ll do…” 

As you can imagine, Edith, Michael made a big fuss when Dr Janet started to milk him. Tyler was fascinated when he saw clear drops of fluid starting to ooze out of the tip of Michael’s penis. Dr Janet was very thorough and let Brenda help with the milking, explaining how important it was to let Michael think he was going to ejaculate and then to stop abruptly. 

“That way you keep the boy under your complete control,” Dr Janet explained to Brenda. “You must pay no attention to him when he starts to plead with you to let him ejaculate… You will do him no favours if you let him do so… Each time you feel his penis start to twitch in anticipation of release, stop immediately…” 

There was a look of intense concentration on Brenda’s face as Dr Janet explained how to milk boys. She was a quick learner and soon had Michael begging to be allowed to ‘cum’, as he called it rather vulgarly. Dr Janet calmed Michael down, telling him that he would soon be allowed to ‘milk’, but I don’t think he fully understood that he wouldn’t be experiencing the intense pleasurable feelings that he was used to when he masturbated furtively by himself. 

The look of disappointment on Michael’s face was priceless as Janet expertly manipulated his penis, milking him so that the semen merely bubbled out and dribbled into the measuring jar a bit at a time. Michael’s ejaculate slithered down into the glass as he gasped and another blob of slimy fluid was squeezed into the jar. 

Michael’s frustration was palpable and I wondered how long it would be before he broke down completely. Yes, there were a few tears to be seen rolling down his face by the time Dr Janet had finished, but as she explained patiently to Michael, it was all for the best. 

Tyler kept very quite during Michael’s milking and I wondered how long it would be before he was telling his older brother what he’d seen. I’m sure it will have made a lasting impression on him. 

Well, I’d best be signing off, Edith. It’s been a long day and I’ve yet to give the boys their baths! Brenda has very kindly offered to help and so I’ve asked her to supervise Michael and Brandon. Although I mentioned in an earlier letter that Brenda occasionally baths her twin brother, she hasn’t actually done so for nearly two years now. I expect Brandon will be in for a bit of a surprise when he finds out he’ll be sharing his bath with Michael under the watchful eye of his sister! 

 

With kindest regards,

 

Olive

Arrangements for Michael - Part 7

Seventh Letter

 

Olive Jefferies to Edith Hudson

  

Dear Edith, 

Such a busy few days! I’m afraid Michael has been a bit of a handful, but nothing that can’t be sorted out with a few well aimed smacks on his naughty bare legs. Brenda is getting very adept at landing some tear-inducing hand-slaps on Michael’s smooth upper thighs and it is so sweet to see him apologise to her after he’s finished his ‘corner time’. Brenda says it’s very important to let children ‘cool off’ after they’ve been punished for naughtiness. Isn’t Brenda a treasure? 

I thought the sooner we got Michael into his new daily routine the better and I decided that in the morning he would do his supervised P.E. I had no idea you hadn’t told Michael he would be expected to continue with his daily exercises when he stayed with us! It clearly came as a complete surprise when Brenda explained to Michael that it was time for him to ‘change’ (what a lovely euphemism for taking all his clothes off!) and get ready to perform his P.E. exercises. Well, that was another temper-tantrum and Michael flatly refused to take off his shorts and little top. 

(My, but his shorts are more brief and flimsy than I imagined, Edith, especially when they’re pulled right up tight and the waist rolled over to keep them from falling down!) 

While Michael had his silly little tantrum, Brenda stood her ground and held up his P.E. ‘uniform’, which as you know consists of nothing more than a pair of plimsolls, and waited for him to calm down. 

At that moment Brandon and Tyler burst into the room dressed in their school P.E. kit of white shorts and singlets and plimsolls, as I had decided the boys would be nice company for Michael. This set Michael off again and he stamped his feet on the floor like a ten year old and we were treated to another bout of his infantile behaviour. 

“Why can’t I have a proper P.E. kit like Brandon…? It’s not fair!” Michael whined. 

“Brandon and Tyler do P.E. exercises in their P.E. uniforms,” Brenda explained calmly, “and you will be doing your P.E. exercises in your P.E. uniform… that’s how you do your P.E. exercises at home, isn’t it Michael?” 

Michael nodded and I could see that Brenda had the situation well under control as she continued to make sure Michael understood who was in charge: 

“You know perfectly well that you have to do your daily P.E. exercises… and your mum has asked our mum to make sure you do them every day while you stay with us…”  

I’m afraid the there was a lot of sniggering coming from the boys and Michael turned and glared at them. 

“Come on Brenda,” Brandon said, as if on cue, “Come on… we want to do some P.E. exercises…” 

“Michael…” Brenda put on her stern voice, “Michael Hudson, if you don’t get changed and ready for your P.E. exercises right now, there’ll be trouble…” 

“Come on…!” Brandon repeated and looked straight at Michael, “What’s up… scared ‘cos we’ll be better!” 

“Yeah… we’re better than you are…” Tyler added. 

I hadn’t expected Brandon and Tyler’s teasing to have the effect it did, because within seconds Michael was announcing to anyone who’d listen that he was ‘loads better’ than they were… and he’d show them… 

Brenda, who had already put on her tracksuit, stood and watched as Michael finally slipped out of his shorts, top and plastic sandals. He stood in the nude in front of her and waited for his P.E. uniform. Brenda made Michael ask nicely which he did reluctantly and he was soon ‘dressed’ and ready for P.E., but there was another surprise for him… 

“Last one outside’s a…” Brandon shouted on his way out of the room. I didn’t hear the rest of what he said, because at that point Michael exploded: 

“I’m… I’m NOT going outside… NO WAY…!” he screamed. 

Edith, for a fleeting moment I was shocked at Michael’s outburst. But really, it was so funny to see a fourteen year old boy, bare-nude apart for a pair of while plimsolls, standing in the middle of my living-room behaving in such a manner in front of a thirteen year old girl! I would have thought that Michael might have known what would happen next… 

“Brandon!! Tyler!!” Brenda called the boys back from the garden. 

The boys rushed back inside to find out what the hold-up was. Brenda told them that Michael was being silly… and… 

Edith, I had real difficulty in keeping a straight face as Brandon and Tyler wrestled Michael to the floor where he struggled desperately (shamelessly, I should say, as his ‘boy-bits’ were jiggling about as he flexed his hips in a futile effort to free himself) as my boys grabbed him by his feet and hands and carried him bodily out of the room and into the garden. 

All the while Michael yelled his head off as he twisted and turned in an effort to break free, but naturally all that did was to alert our neighbours! Soon a number of inquisitive heads were looking over the three fences which border our garden. Michael was carried unceremoniously out of the house, still twisting and wriggling and making a complete spectacle of himself! 

Brandon and Tyler put him down in the middle of the lawn, but instead of letting him go, the boys held Michael spread-eagled on the grass in full view of our now very curious neighbours. Brenda marched up to Michael while Brandon and Tyler held him tight by his ankles and wrists. 

“Michael Hudson I’ve had just about enough of your behaviour for one day…” 

Really, Edith, Brenda is a treasure. You should have seen the way she ticked off Michael, simply treating him as he was… just a silly little boy. 

“… if I see any more of your childish temper-tantrums,” Brenda wagged her finger at him sternly, “you will have a smacked bottom before tea-time and a visit from Mr Redbottom Ruler at bedtime… and you know how little boys’ legs sting after Mr Ruler’s been to see them, don’t you?” 

Michael was still twisting and wriggling, but the threat of a spanking on his bottom and the ruler on his legs checked his struggle. He realised he had to behave himself. He also must have become aware he had an audience, as he cannot have failed to hear the giggling coming from the other side of our garden fence. Michael strained his head in an effort to look over Brandon’s shoulder and see who it was, but Brandon, in spite of being a year younger than Michael, easily held him pinned to the ground with Tyler’s help. 

“Let me go… Let me go Brandon…!” Then suddenly the defiant tone of Michael’s voice changed, “Please…” He clearly realised it was useless to struggle any more. The boys let go of Michael and stood up, leaving Michael still spread-eagled on the ground. Brandon stood on one side of Michael and Tyler on the other. Then I realised that Michael was waiting for Brenda to give him permission to get up… It just shows how a few well-chosen strict words can work wonders! Michael was told to get up and all three boys faced Brenda ready for the morning’s P.E. exercises. 

I looked on from the back-door to make sure Michael behaved himself, but as I’ve said before, Edith, Brenda seems to be more than a match for a naughty fourteen year old boy! I looked over into one of our neighbour’s gardens and saw Elaine Bond and her daughter Lucy peering over the fence. I called over to them just to say ‘hello’ and added: 

“I do hope you’re not going to be bothered if Michael does his P.E. exercises in the garden…” I turned to Michael, “Say ‘hello’ to Mrs Bond, Michael…” 

Then Lucy spoke: “Mummy… why hasn’t Michael got any clothes on? Why’s he in the nude?” 

I had to point out to Lucy that Michael wasn’t nude because he was wearing his P.E. uniform. 

“What P.E. uniform?” she asked. 

Then Brenda spoke: “His plimsolls, silly…” 

“Brenda’s right, Lucy,” I explained, “Michael always does his P.E. exercises at home wearing his P.E. uniform and his mummy insisted Michael wear it to do his exercises when he came to stay. She said that Michael wasn’t allowed to exercise wearing his birthday-suit…” 

“… but Mrs Jeffries, I can see Michael’s willy… doesn’t that mean Michael is wearing his birthday suit?” 

“… no, Lucy, just because you can see Michael’s willy doesn’t mean he’s wearing his birthday suit. You see, Michael isn’t wearing his birthday suit now, because he’s got his P.E. uniform on… if he didn’t have his P.E. uniform on he would be bare-nude… It’s only because he’s wearing his P.E. uniform that I said Michael could do his exercises in the garden!” 

Brandon and Tyler were sniggering as I explained why Michael wasn’t technically bare-nude and knowing those two, were probably making plans to exploit this hitherto unknown loophole. 

“Well, Brenda,” I said finally, “I think you’d better get on with the boys’ P.E. exercises.” 

Brenda produced Michael’s P.E. logbook and when Michael saw it, his face fell. He knew the sort of exercises the book listed… exercises that seemed to be designed to cause him the maximum embarrassment and now here he was expected to perform them in front of an audience right there, out in the open, in the middle of the lawn! 

Brenda looked every inch the efficient P.E. instructor; bright, breezy and eager to get the best performance out of the boys. She produced a whistle and hung it round her neck. In one hand she held a pencil and in the other Michael’s P.E. logbook. As I say, Edith, you wouldn’t think a thirteen year old could take her duties more responsibly than Brenda was doing. 

First off were a few stretching exercises; touching toes, side-bends and so forth; nothing too demanding. But then Brenda announced a run round the garden to get the boys warmed up and ready for some more strenuous exercises. Well, Brandon and Tyler shot off down the garden and were soon running back up towards the house. However Michael didn’t seem to be that enthusiastic as he shuffled off across the lawn. Then I saw why, Edith. It really was so sweet to see him, red-faced, looking at Lucy and her mother and trying to run with both hands pushed firmly between his legs. Of course, Michael was only delaying the inevitable and when Brenda blew her whistle for the boys to line up in front of her again, she chose jumping-jacks for the first exercise… 

Of course Brandon and Tyler started leaping up and down, stretching out their legs and arms, but Michael was very reluctant, as I think you can imagine. But as Brenda pointed out, each boy had to do twenty jumping-jacks within an allotted time; otherwise they’d have to do them all over again. That got Michael going and as he jumped up and down and… well, I don’t think I need tell you what a sight Michael presented, Edith. 

Lucy squealed as she saw Michael’s penis slapping up and down and bouncing off his thighs as he did his jumping-jacks. My how his penis, and testicles too, jiggled about as Brenda urged him on to try and beat Brandon and Tyler. In the end Brandon finished first, then Michael, followed by Tyler. 

It wasn’t long before I noticed that Michael’s penis was beginning to look a little firmer. All that slapping from side-to-side appeared to have stimulated Michael and every time Brenda blew her whistle to stop the boys, it looked just a little stiffer than before. 

“Mummy…” Lucy said, as she pointed at Michael’s penis, “Mummy… look! Michael’s… willy… Mummy look at Michael’s willy!” 

Thus Lucy drew everyone’s attention to Michael’s state of arousal… not that anyone needed Lucy to show us, we were all looking at it by then anyway! 

Michael was beside himself with embarrassment and clearly didn’t want to carry on, but Brenda wouldn’t hear of it. Brandon and Tyler were keen to do some more exercises in spite of the fact I could see they were both keenly watching the progress of Michael’s erection. 

To Michael’s evident relief Brenda made the boys do some press-ups, quickly followed by sit-ups with hands clasped behind heads. By this time Michael’s bare torso was glistening with sweat and his hair was damp and matted. Of course both Brandon and Tyler were looking fairly exhausted to the point at which they both decided to have a rest. But Michael still had some more exercises to do before his routine was finished and the next exercise proved to be very memorable indeed! 

Having done sit-ups and press-ups, Michael’s P.E. logbook required him to perform some more cardio-vascular exercises. 

“Stand up Michael,” Brenda ordered, “Brandon and Tyler have decided to have a rest, but you’ve got to carry on and do some more exercises…” 

“… but, Brenda… please… can’t I have a rest too…?” Michael pleaded. 

“Michael, you’ve got to finish your P.E. exercises before mummy can sign your book… you know you can’t stop before they’re all done… Now the next exercise is… running-on-the-spot…!” Brenda announced with obvious amusement. 

The look of terror on Michael’s face was all too apparent. Already his youthful penis was pointing straight out and wobbled at the slightest movement of his body. From where I was standing I’d guess Michael’s semi-erect penis was about 4½” long and the complete absence of pubic hair made it look very noticeable indeed. You could imagine what went through poor Michael’s mind as Brenda told him he had to do some running on the spot. 

“… Three minutes… beginning… Now!!” Brenda blew her whistle for the start and Michael bravely started on the exercise. 

From the start we could all hear his penis slapping as it flapped and bounced from thigh to thigh, then slapped up against his tummy and back down to bounce off his legs. It was so funny to see Michael’s penis waggle and jiggle about, Edith, that I couldn’t stop myself from laughing… and once I burst out laughing so did everyone else! 

However Brenda kept her cool and encouraged Michael to “lift your knees up…!” as I’m sure she must have heard her own gym mistress shout at school. Brandon and Tyler joined in and shouted at Michael to work harder and faster, as they laughed and pointed at the bouncing penis, until Michael’s legs were working like pistons and his knees getting higher and higher every second. By now Michael’s penis was a blur between his legs. At the end of two minutes it looked as though the beads of sweat trickling down his face were perhaps mingled with a few salty tears of shame. 

Brenda made Michael carry on for the full three minutes when a shrill blast of her whistle brought Michael’s exercise to a halt… 

Michael stood still, his chest heaving as he panted to regain his breath. His hair was plastered to his scalp and his whole body glistened with sweat. 

His penis was fully erect. 

The boys whistled. Lucy put her hands to her mouth and giggled wildly. My neighbour Elaine Bond stood next to her daughter and smiled at Michael’s obvious embarrassment. And Brenda? Brenda made Michael fold his hands behind his back and stand there in the middle of the garden, legs parted, with his erection on full display! 

It was time for me to intervene: 

“Michael…” I said as I stepped forward, “Michael, would you mind telling us all, just what this is…” 

I really thought Michael would faint with embarrassment. His eyes were like those of a rabbit’s caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. I could almost smell his panic.

“… please, Mrs Jeffries… please…” and he gulped, “… it’s… it’s my penis, Mrs Jeffries…” 

“I can see that Michael… in fact we can all see that it’s your penis Michael… What I want you to tell me Michael is what has happened to your penis…”

Michael’s lower lip curled inwards and I could just make out his top teeth biting down on them. His head bowed, he looked down at himself, at his erect penis…

 

“I’m waiting, Michael… I’m waiting for an explanation…” 

“It’s… um… I’m… please, Mrs Jeffries… I can’t help it… it happens… and I can’t…” 

“It seems to me that your mother was right… that you can’t control yourself…” 

“I’m sorry, Mrs Jeffries… I’m sorry… I really am…” 

I could hear sniggering coming from over the fence as Lucy watched Michael making his excuses. Then I heard Elaine Bond: “Shush, Lucy, can’t you see Mrs Jeffries is talking to Michael…”

“But mummy Michael looks so funny with his… his thing sticking up…” 

“His penis, dear… It’s Michael’s penis that’s sticking up,” Elaine replied. 

“I’m sure you are sorry Michael…” I continued, “… but… I’m still waiting for an explanation… I very much think that Lucy would also like to know what’s happened to your penis…” 

Michael hung his head. He looked a wretched sight standing there in front of us all with his arms folded submissively behind his back, bare-nude apart from his plimsolls, and his erection plain for all to see.  

Finally, almost in a whisper, Michael spoke: “My… my penis is stiff… and… it… it’s called a… an election…. I… I… mean… erection… I… I… it happens when I do my exercises… I’m sorry, Mrs Jeffries…” 

“Is it because your penis bounces about when you do your exercises, Michael? Your penis does bounce about a lot, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes… yes, I think so, Mrs Jeffries.” 

“You only think so… Let’s make sure then shall we Michael? Jump up and down and let’s see if your penis bounces. Keep your hands behind your back… that’s it… now tell me what’s happening to your penis, Michael.” 

Michael was obviously extremely distraught at being made to put on a further demonstration of ‘penis-bouncing’, but he jumped up and down as we all watched. Lucy could hardly contain herself and had to hold her hands to her mouth to control her laughing. 

“Michael…” I prompted him. 

“Please Mrs Jefferies…” he blurted out the words between panting for breath, “my… my penis… is… bouncing… Mrs… Jefferies…” 

I let Michael carry on jumping a bit longer then decided we needed to do something about his erection which was even firmer than ever. 

“Alright you can stop now, Michael. But it’s time we did something about your erection… let me see, what does your mummy do when your penis gets stiff? Oh yes… I remember…” 

I almost felt a little sorry for Michael when he looked up suddenly and pleaded: “Oh, no… please, Mrs Jeffries… please…” 

A cold shower… a freezing cold shower did the trick! Just as you said it would, dear Edith. Michael’s teeth were chattering, but his penis was soon dangling between his legs rather pathetically, having shrunk with the cold. Brenda insisted I leave Michael under the shower a bit longer, ‘just to make sure’. When he was finally allowed out he was covered from head-to-toe with goose-bumps! 

Now I really must sign off, Edith. I feel as if I’ve gone on much too long, but looking after Michael is proving to be far more rewarding than I could have imagined. 

How is your trip to Scotland? I do hope you’re making the most of your break.

 

Kind regards,

 

Olive