Stephen and the Family Meeting

 

“But mum… I’m thirteen now…” Stephen whined. “Please mum… please can I have some ‘longs’ for school… Please, mum… all the boys will be wearing long trousers next year…” 

Stephen’s mum read the letter her son had brought home from school. It was the last week of the Summer Term and the school would soon be breaking up for the holidays. The letter reminded parents of certain important regulations regarding school uniforms. Since Stephen would be entering the Third Form on his return to school after the holidays, the letter said, it was necessary for the school authorities to make clear that although the wearing of short grey trousers to school was compulsory during the first and second years at St John’s, boys beginning their third year could, at their parent’s discretion, start to wear long trousers for school. However, the letter continued, should it be decided to continue sending the boy to school in short trousers then parents were reminded that the maximum allowable inside leg measurement of short trousers worn to school was 1 ½ inches “regardless of the boy’s age, height or build”. In addition, boys sent to school wearing short trousers were expected to obey all the school uniform regulations which applied to boys wearing compulsory short trousers in the 1^st and 2^nd Forms and therefore boys who were to be kept in short trousers “must continue to wear a school cap at all times whether or not they are on school premises.” 

Stephen’s mum thought for moment. She had quite forgotten that her son would be allowed to wear long trousers for the very first time when he returned to school in the autumn. She was reminded, as Stephen had pointed out, that her son, along with all the other boys in his class, would be thirteen years old when they returned to school in the autumn. She wondered what other mums would be doing. Would they be sending their boys back to school in newly purchased long trousers? This made her think of the expense of buying new school trousers for Stephen. The four pairs of short school trousers that Stephen possessed had plenty of wear left in them. True, Stephen had had a noticeable growth-spurt in the last few months and was now nearly an inch taller than she was, but most of that growth was in his legs and that didn’t make any difference to how well his school shorts fitted… it just meant there was a bit more bare thigh on display, really nothing at all for a mum to worry about. 

Then there were Stephen’s play-shorts to think about. If she sent him to school in long trousers it wouldn’t be long, she reasoned, before Stephen started to pester her for a pair of denims to wear outside school. Once again Stephen’s mum considered the amount of wear left in the clothes he already had and of course Stephen’s play-shorts were designed to be rugged and long-lasting… yes, there was plenty of wear in those too. Why, Stephen could still get into a pair of play shorts she’d bought for him when he was eleven years old! They were very brief and snug now, but they still fitted him perfectly. I’m not throwing those away! There’s a good few year’s wear left in those… 

But even so Stephen’s mum was at a loss as to what to do for the best. She had reservations about sending her son back to school in short trousers. The more she considered it, the more she thought Stephen might end up the only 3^rd Form boy wearing short trousers to school; the other parents having bought long trousers for their sons. But buying long trousers for Stephen when there was nothing at all wrong with the short trousers he already had was something she couldn’t bring herself to do without making sure there were sound reasons for doing otherwise. And the fact that Stephen might be the only 3^rd Form boy still in short school trousers wasn’t one of them. Even so, she wanted to make sure she was doing the right thing. 

There was only one thing for it, she decided, and that was to call a family meeting at which the matter could be discussed and a decision reached as to what to do about Stephen’s school uniform in the forthcoming school year. Should it be short trousers or ‘longs’ for Stephen? Yes, mum thought, it’s only right the family decide what’s best for thirteen year old Stephen. 

Family meetings, as Stephen’s mum had pointed out to her son on a number of other occasions, were an example of democracy in action. Everyone had an equal say in whatever the subject under discussion was (usually the destination for a day out, where to go for a special treat, or something of that nature) and they would all come an agreement. However if a consensus couldn’t be reached a vote was taken and the result of the vote was final with a simple majority dictating the course of action to be followed. 

So it was the family was gathered together to discuss whether Stephen should be allowed to wear his first pair of long trousers. The members of this family gathering consisted of his mum, her sister Jennifer (Stephen’s aunt), her children (Stephen’s cousins) Rachel (16) and Freda (12). 

Stephen wasn’t sure why his being allowed to wear long trousers to school should involve a family meeting and had serious doubts his mum, aunt and cousins understood how important long trousers are to a boy. 

“But mum, I’m thirteen now…” Stephen repeated himself, “Please mum… please don’t send me back to school in short trousers after the holidays… please… All the other boys will be wearing ‘longs’, I know they will… Please mum…” 

There was another factor too, something else of which Stephen was acutely aware. It so happened Stephen’s birthday was in the last week of September which made him the oldest boy in his year at school and therefore the first boy in his class to celebrate his fourteenth birthday. The next oldest boy in the class didn’t have his birthday until mid-November, so there was quite a big difference in age between Stephen and the other boys in his class. This worried Stephen; to be the only boy in his class still in short trousers was bad enough; to be the oldest boy and kept in short trousers was simply awful! 

Then there was the prospect of seeing Sammy Greene in long trousers. Sammy was the youngest boy in Stephen’s class who would only be just thirteen when the new term started. This meant that Stephen was faced with the prospect of sitting in the same class as a boy almost a whole year younger than he was, but who wore long grey school trousers while he, Stephen, remained in short trousers. What made it even worse and added considerable insult to injury was that Sammy was a late-developer and looked even younger than he was; more like a 1^st Former than a 3^rd Former. 

Stephen knew for a fact that Sammy Greene would be wearing long trousers as Sammy had proudly told anyone who would listen that he had already been with his mum to the school outfitters and had been bought a pair of ‘longs’. Sammy had also been allowed to wear his new long trousers (though not with the rest of his school uniform as that would have been a breech of uniform regulations) on a couple of family visits to show how grown-up he was now he was about to enter the 3^rd Form. He’d also told everyone that he would be allowed to wear his new ‘longs’ to church on Sunday during the holidays. Since Sammy’s family went to the same church as Stephen and his mum, Stephen was guaranteed to find out if Sammy was telling the truth, although depressingly enough Stephen was sure Sammy wasn’t fibbing. 

As these anxious thoughts tormented Stephen it was with an increasing desperation that he pleaded with his mother: 

“…please, mum… please can I wear long trousers when school starts next year, mum… I’ll be fourteen in September…” 

“…not until the end of September, Stephen.” His mum corrected him, “You’ll still be thirteen when school starts and that’s what matters.” 

“But, mum, they’ll be loads of boys wearing ‘longs’…”  

This approach didn’t work either as mum viewed the subject of the family discussion from a purely practical point of view. It sounded to Stephen as if his mum was indifferent as to what other boys would be wearing. 

Stephen felt his stomach churn as everyone agreed how much smarter boys looked wearing short trousers. Mum told everyone how much wear was left in Stephen’s existing school clothes; certainly enough to see him through another few terms at school, possibly longer, without the additional expense of new school trousers. 

Stephen did his best to state his case that boys of his age needed long trousers to wear to school; he was thirteen after all was said and done! He pleaded with his mum and his Aunt Jennifer; he even pleaded with his cousins, but in his heart knew that girls would never understand how important it was for a boy to get his first pair of long trousers. Stephen tried to explain that long trousers were an entitlement for a boy of his age. 

But in his heart of hearts Stephen could see that his mum and his aunt were unconcerned with his feelings. They simply failed to take into account what it would be like for him to be the only bare-legged boy in his class. It seemed to Stephen that the only thing that mattered to them was the expense of long trousers. 

The economic argument was simple and irrefutable: Why buy extra items of school clothing when it was unnecessary to do so? Why take on the extra expense of long trousers when Stephen hadn’t even finished growing? “Who knows how many pairs of long trousers you’ll end up buying, because he’ll soon grow out of them and before you know it you’ll have to buy him another pair…” his aunt had interjected, “You won’t have to worry how tall Stephen gets if he’s wearing short trousers.” Ominously Stephen could see his mum thought this was a very good point. 

Short trousers were designed to be hard-wearing and long-lasting too. Stephen’s short school trousers had plenty of wear left in them and would be perfectly suitable for him to wear for a good long while yet. As Aunt Jennifer observed, it was not as if Stephen had a younger brother to hand them down to, which was considered to be another very valid argument. That last point made Stephen think of all his classmates who had younger brothers. He just knew these boys would all be going back to school in the autumn in long trousers. It was all so unfair! 

“But why can’t you give my old school trousers to Mrs Higgs for Nicholas to wear… he’s only eleven?” 

“That’s not the same thing at all…” mum said, “and besides he won’t need them anyway.” 

Stephen didn’t understand his mum’s answer, so she had to explain the reason eleven year old Nicholas wouldn’t need a pair of second-hand short school trousers was that come autumn he would be starting at a school which had a completely different uniform policy to Stephen’s school. Boys at Nicholas’ new school were permitted to wear long trousers from the First Year onwards. No boys wore short trousers at this particular school. 

“It’s not fair…” Stephen muttered under his breath. He could see it now, in spite of the fact that he was almost three years older than Nicholas, he would be kept in short trousers while the younger boy would be in ‘longs’. Anyone seeing them together at the bus-stop would automatically assume he, Stephen, was the younger of the two boys, in spite of the fact that he was much taller than Nicholas. 

“It’s just not fair…” Stephen repeated to himself. 

Mum read the letter she had received from her son’s school to the assembled family gathering much to Stephen’s annoyance. She apologised and told everyone that she was expected to inform the school whether Stephen would be returning to school wearing short trousers or ‘longs’, so it was important for the family to come to a decision. To Stephen’s dismay it was apparent that once the decision was made, his mum would be committed to sending Stephen to school wearing exactly the uniform which had been decided for him. At the moment, in Stephen’s eyes, it looked as if mum might very well send her soon to be fourteen year old son back to school in short trousers! 

“I really can’t think of any reason not to keep Stephen in short trousers.” Aunt Jennifer made it perfectly clear her opinion on the matter. “Boys look much smarter in short trousers and are generally much better behaved,” she added. 

“I quite agree with you Jennifer, but it’s not just a question of whether to keep Stephen in short trousers for school,” mum replied, “but should I allow Stephen to have some longs for ‘best’? He is going to be fourteen soon and after all boys have to start wearing long trousers at some point…” 

This was a ray of hope for Stephen. If mum bought him ‘longs’ for best, then surely it would only be a matter of time before he could discard his short school trousers for good? But Aunt Jennifer dashed that possibility straightaway: 

“If you want my opinion, Felicity, it would be most unfair to buy Stephen any long trousers, even if they are only to be worn for best. If he’s to be sent to school in short trousers, then he should be kept in short trousers at all times. It will be confusing for him for it to be otherwise. It will be no kindness to let him get used to wearing ‘longs’ for special occasions, only for him to have to change back into short trousers afterwards. It’s bound to upset him…” 

Before Stephen had chance to say anything, his Cousin Rachel added her view: “I don’t see why Stephen shouldn’t carry on wearing short trousers whether he’s in school or not. A couple of the girls at school have brothers who are still in short trousers… and they’re much older than Stephen.” Then she turned towards her thirteen year old cousin and added, “Besides, Stephen looks cute wearing short trousers…” 

Stephen blushed furiously at this comment. Even his long, smooth and very bare legs seemed to take on a rosy glow! 

“Mumm…!” Stephen blurted out in protest. 

“Oh, Stephen don’t be so silly! Rachel’s only teasing you.” 

Stephen wasn’t so sure. He knew that girls, particularly older girls, had an instinct for embarrassing boys. If Rachel said there were other boys, boys older than he, kept in short trousers, then he, Stephen, better be careful this evidence wasn’t used to keep him in short trousers for ages as well! 

“There’s even one boy who goes to school in long trousers, but has to change out of them and into proper grey school shorts when he gets home before he sits and does his homework,” Rachel added, “Pamela Evans says her brother is only allowed to wear ‘longs’ when he goes to school because boys in the 6^th Form have to wear them, otherwise she said her mum would keep him in short trousers all the time.”

Hearing this made Stephen feel distinctly queasy. The idea that a 6^th Form boy could be made to change back into short trousers when he got home from school sounded appalling, but when Rachel’s mum expressed disbelief his cousin told them: 

“It’s true… I saw Pamela’s brother when I called… he answered the door and he was wearing full school uniform with short trousers… He’s not allowed to wear long trousers outside school.” 

Stephen wished his cousin had kept quiet about Pamela’s brother. 

Then Aunt Jennifer spoke again: “I think you have to ask yourself, Felicity, if there is any reason Stephen should be allowed to wear long trousers in the first place. For myself I can’t think of any reason not to keep him in short trousers for a good while yet. After all Stephen may well be nearly fourteen, but he is still a boy. In my opinion boys should be kept in short trousers and that’s all there is to it.” 

“It hardly matters whether other misguided parents decide to send their sons to school wearing long trousers. It’s much more important Stephen sets an example. Keep him in short trousers, that’s my view and let everyone see how much smarter a boy in short trousers looks. Pamela Evans’ mother clearly seems to think so…” 

Stephen, when he heard the forcefulness of his Aunt Jennifer’s argument, realised that any hope of convincing his mum to buy him some ‘longs’ for school was fast diminishing. Again he asked himself why his mum had called a family meeting to decide what he should wear to school. Again he mumbled to himself that it was so unfair! What did Aunt Jennifer know about boys anyway? What did she know about how important long trousers were to a teenaged boy? How could she possibly understand how humiliating it would be for him to be the only boy in his class wearing short trousers? 

In his mind Stephen could already hear the schoolboy taunts of his classmates as they called him a shorty-short-shorts. He knew that he would be constantly teased about his bare legs. Legs that he already knew would be bare right to the very tops of his thighs. Grey school shorts with a maximum leg length of 1 ½ inches would guarantee that to be the case and he also knew the school outfitter would counsel caution as to the question of leg length. Stephen remembered that at his last visit the outfitter had recommended the inside leg measurement of his new boy’s school shorts should be less than an inch, “… just to be on the safe side. We wouldn’t want Stephen to break any of the school rules, would we?” 

“Freda, what do you think?” Stephen’s mum asked his twelve year old cousin, “Do you think Stephen should be allowed long trousers for school?” 

Inwardly Stephen fumed. What right had his little cousin to a say in what he wore? Never mind that it should be something as important as long trousers. It annoyed Stephen the fact that girls’ dresses were always longer than boy’s shorts. He looked down at himself and at his legs which were bare right to the very top of his thighs. Then he looked at Freda’s pinafore dress which reached all the way down to her knees. Why, Stephen wondered, was it alright to bare a boy’s legs but not a girl’s? 

“I think boys should wear short trousers,” Freda replied and after giving the matter a few seconds thought, added, “Girls aren’t ever allowed to wear long trousers at my school, so I don’t see why boys should be allowed to wear them either.” 

Stephen muttered: “That’s girl’s talk… not the same thing… It’s not fair…” But nobody was listening and with a sense of foreboding Stephen folded his arms, pushed out his lower lip in a pout and waited. 

Then mum said it was time to decide whether Stephen would be allowed to wear long trousers when he moved up to the 3^rd Form in the autumn: “Right,” she announced cheerily, “Who thinks that Stephen should continue to wear short trousers to school?” 

It came as no surprise to Stephen when four hands were raised, as his mum, his aunt and his two cousins cast their votes to keep him in short trousers. 

“And who thinks that Stephen should be allowed to wear long trousers to school?” said mum, continuing the formality of the family meeting. 

Stephen looked noticeably sorry for himself (what boy wouldn’t?) as he raised his hand; the solitary vote in favour of ‘longs’. 

“Four votes to one… That’s settled then,” mum announced, then turned to her son and said brightly, “Stephen, the family have decided that you should continue to wear short trousers when you return to school in the autumn…” 

“… but mumm…” Stephen interrupted, “… but mum, it’s not fair…” 

“It’s perfectly fair, Stephen,” mum pointed out, “We’ve had a Family Meeting at which you’ve had ample opportunity to explain why you think you should be allowed to wear long trousers to school. We’ve had a vote, a binding vote, on the matter… if you weren’t able to convince us of the merits of your point of view, then you’ve only yourself to blame…” 

“But mum,” Stephen interrupted again, “Please mum…” 

“That’s enough, Stephen,” mum said firmly, “That you’re making such a silly fuss about wearing short trousers I think proves that you’re not yet old enough to be allowed ‘longs’…” 

“Mumm…!” 

“I’m warning you Stephen, the more fuss you make, the longer you’ll be kept in short trousers!” 

“Quite right, Felicity,” Aunt Jennifer said and added, “If Stephen were my son, I’m sure I’d say the same.” 

Stephen was heart-broken. 

Mum continued: “I shall write to your school to confirm that you will be dressed in short trousers when you start school in the autumn…” 

Stephen rubbed his bare thighs together. It looked as though he’d have to put up with wearing short trousers for quite a while longer.

 

 

 

 

Scott’s Story – Part 6

 

Before I forget… although I find it very unlikely that I ever will… I ought to mention something else. It was another consequence, quite unexpected, of my being put back into short trousers for school. 

Among the truly Byzantine rules and regulations that governed the correct wearing of boy’s uniform at my school, a number of pages were devoted to P.E. uniform. Now boys who wore short trousers, like me, were expected to wear a slightly more juvenile version of P.E. uniform than that worn by boys who had progressed to long trousers. In practice this meant that all First Form boys wore Junior P.E. shorts and singlets without exception, since all boys in their first year at my school wore compulsory short trousers as part of their uniform. As I have said before boys in their second year were, subject to parental approval, allowed to wear ‘longs’, but if a boy remained in short trousers during his second year, then he was also obliged to wear Junior P.E. uniform for his gym and games lessons. As I have also said before it was extremely rare indeed for any boy to be seen wearing short trousers to school in the Third Year. I was the exception. I was therefore, due to Emily’s strict interpretation of the school rules, reduced to wearing Junior P.E. shorts and singlet once more for all my gym and games lessons whether indoors or outdoors. 

It is a matter for speculation whether our P.E. teacher would have noticed if I had worn the same regulation P.E. uniform of my classmates. But as it was he couldn’t fail to notice me wearing my Junior P. E. shorts and singlet. He asked me why I was wearing ‘junior kit’ and I was forced to explain that it was because I was still in short trousers; that I had to wear the same P.E. uniform as a junior boy. He shrugged his shoulders and said something like, “Well it’s your choice…” My choice! My choice! What choice did I have in the matter? If it were my choice I most certainly would not… repeat not… as a fifteen year old boy, wear a junior boy’s P.E. uniform… and most definitely not Junior P.E. shorts! 

Why was I making all this fuss about a pair of Junior P.E. shorts you might ask? Emily thought I was being silly and mum certainly agreed. Furthermore, my making such an issue out of something which to them was simply of no consequence, was just one more example of my childish behaviour and one more example of the soundness of Emily’s reasoning which put me in short trousers in the first place. So as usual I couldn’t win. But why did I make such a fuss? Simply put, Junior P.E. shorts had no inner lining, as it was considered unnecessary in P.E. shorts that were to be worn by young boys, most of whom would still be at Tanner Stage 1 and unlikely to have entered puberty. There were of course exceptions and there were rules and guidance notes in the school uniform regulations which I will come to in a moment. 

As you are by now well aware, I was fifteen years old and, apart from an embarrassing lack of pubic hair, as well developed as any other boy of my age. So can you imagine what it was like for me to be made to wear Junior P.E. shorts? Junior shorts not only had no inner lining, they were cut in such a way as to make the inevitable ‘fall-out’ for an older boy much more probable. There was simply very little I could do to stop my penis from poking out of the leg of the shorts. Any activity in the school gym would cause me uncontrollable exposure. Handstands were a nightmare as the whole front of the upturned Junior P.E. shorts would flop downwards towards the waistband and expose everything! If exercises in the gym weren’t bad enough, imagine what it was like when the class was held outdoors. The anxiety and humiliation was intense. 

As I said, there were cases for which exceptions could be made. For instance if a boy was rather, shall I say, too well-developed to wear Junior P.E. shorts with any degree of modesty. After one memorable cross-country run during which my penis spent most of its time outside my flimsy shorts, so that I was forced to run with my hands pushed between my legs as I ran through some well-populated streets, I plucked up courage to talk to mum about my ‘problem’. 

The school uniform rules didn’t allow the junior boy to wear different P.E. shorts, but it did mean the boy could wear a junior schoolboy jockstrap if he was suffering similar problems to my own. But it wasn’t that simple of course… not only did the boy have to have written parental permission; boys also had to have a medical certificate from their school or family doctor sanctioning the wearing of a junior, school approved jockstrap for specified P.E. lessons. 

Now, under normal circumstances it might be expected that the boy’s doctor would be sufficiently aware of the boy’s medical history and physical development for a request to be made and the appropriate paperwork generated for the issuance of a certificate allowing the boy to wear a junior boy’s jockstrap during his P.E. and games lessons. Not so me. For a start… but I’m getting ahead of myself again. 

Before anything else I had to ask mum. Can you imagine how embarrassing it is for a fifteen year old boy to have to say: “Mum… err… mum can I have a jockstrap to wear for school?” Well that’s what I did say when I found mum on her own in the kitchen. It had taken me a while to summon the courage to ask about the jockstrap and I was definitely not going to ask mum when Emily was about. 

“What on earth do you need a jockstrap for, dear?” mum said and looked me straight in the eye. 

“It’s for P.E., mum…” I said, not liking the way the conversation was heading. 

“I thought jockstraps were for older boys…” she said dismissively and turned back to what she was doing before adding, “Anyway you’ll have to speak to Emily about it. You know she looks after your school uniform requirements now…” 

Right on cue, Emily walked into the kitchen where I had been talking to mum. 

“What about Scottie’s uniform?” Emily asked. 

“Oh, Scottie wants a jockstrap for some reason… I can’t think why,” mum answered casually, quite unconcerned about what I thought would be considered a personal matter. Mums just don’t see these things in the same way though. 

I wanted the kitchen floor to swallow me up, I felt so embarrassed. And I just knew what was coming… 

Emily looked at me with her serious look. I didn’t think that Emily would even know what a boy’s jockstrap was, but I was wrong of course. 

“Why do you want a jockstrap, Scottie?” I was asked by a girl two years my junior. 

“I… I just do… that’s why,” I said, trying not to say more than was necessary. 

Emily persisted: “But we must know why you want a jockstrap, Scottie. It’s an extra item of school uniform and it will be an extra expense… an extra expense, Scottie.” Emily said using that ‘reasonable’ voice that so irritated me; talking to me as if I were a ten year old who didn’t understand grown-up things. She carried on: “School uniforms cost money, Scottie, so if you want a jockstrap for school, you’ll have to tell us why you want one.” 

“I suppose some of the other boys have got them... so now he wants one,” mum interjected.

I hesitated and thought that if I could just get this over with and it was agreed I could have a school jockstrap, then that would be and end of it. At that point I had no idea what else would be involved. So I blurted out after a couple of hesitant starts: 

“It’s… it’s… I have to wear Junior P.E. shorts for gym and games… and… and…” 

Red-faced and utterly embarrassed I told mum and Emily how my penis dangled out of the Junior P.E. shorts. I told them about the cross-country run and how my penis jiggled about outside my shorts even though I kept trying to push it back inside the shorts. In the end Emily and mum agreed they would ‘think about it’. 

I was so relieved to have got through my ordeal that I left the kitchen thinking that, either way, whether I got a school approved jockstrap or not, then at least the worst was over. 

It wasn’t. A couple of days later Emily announced that she had read the relevant paragraphs of the School Uniform Handbook and the requirements and approvals needed before a junior boy could be allowed to wear a jockstrap for school activities were quite specific. 

Emily told me about the necessity of a medical examination before a doctor’s certificate could be obtained which sanctioned the wearing of a school approved boy’s junior jockstrap during specified lessons. My heart sank. Why couldn’t I just be given a jockstrap to wear? 

“Don’t be silly, Scottie,” Emily said breezily, “If that was the case… why every junior boy would want one… whether they really needed one or not. Now don’t you see, Scottie, school uniforms are expensive and if every little boy decided he wanted a jockstrap to play in, why think of all that extra cost.” 

Before I could say anything Emily carried on briskly, telling me she had tried to make an appointment to see the school doctor but that he was fully booked for the next few days. So she had managed to get me an appointment with her own family doctor, a Dr Bradley. 

“Once I’d explained how urgent it was, Scottie, they managed to squeeze you in for a special appointment tomorrow afternoon straight after school. I’ll pick you up outside your school and we can go round together… it’s not far. I’m sure the doctor…” 

“But… but Emily, it’s not that urgent,” I pleaded now that the full horror of a doctor’s appointment was made plain, “Why can’t I wait to see the school doctor…?” 

“But Scottie, I thought you wanted to get a jockstrap to wear for your P.E. lessons,” Emily said, “If you’re now telling me that you don’t need one when I’ve gone through all this trouble…” 

“No… no, please Emily, it’s not that… it’s just… just that I didn’t know that I’d need to see a doctor… I thought… I thought that…” 

“… You thought we could just go out and buy one from the school outfitter…” 

“Yes, Emily… but I do still want one… honestly,” I said unable meet Emily’s gaze. 

“Good, then I will meet you outside school and take you to see the doctor for your examination.” 

And that was that.

 

The next day after school Emily and I went for my appointment with her doctor. My embarrassment started as soon as we arrived at the doctor’s reception when Emily loudly announced my name to the lady and that I was there for the express purpose of an examination to see whether I needed to wear a schoolboy jockstrap during P.E. lessons. There were at least two or three ladies in the waiting area along with a couple of young boys who sniggered when they heard Emily telling the receptionist what I was there for. Then I noticed a girl who looked to be about my age. She turned and whispered something to her mother. 

Now bearing in mind I was wearing short trousers, knee-socks, blazer and school cap and therefore looked like a gangly, overgrown 1^st Former, the mother’s disparaging reply to the girl’s whispered comment will probably come as no surprise: 

“That boy there? Oh, he’s just showing off… Trying to make us all think he's got a big do-dah… that’s all…” Then she sighed and turned her eyes upward and added: “Boys! They’re all the same at that age… just showing off.” 

I wanted to say, “But I’m not that age… I’m nearly sixteen!”, but of course I couldn’t as it would have been even more embarrassing to have to explain to a complete stranger why I was dressed in short trousers, so I had to keep quite and blush in silence. 

As we waited Emily managed to draw even more attention to me by fussing over me; straightening my socks, making sure my cap was on properly and brushing bits of fluff from my blazer. She tugged at the hem of my little grey school shorts and told me to speak up and not to mumble when the doctor asked me questions. It was mortifying to be treated like this, but I knew it would be even more mortifying if I had made a fuss and mum got to hear about it, so obediently I stood while Emily made sure I was nice and smart for the doctor. 

All too soon the door to the doctor’s consulting-room was opened and I was in for a shock. It was a lady doctor! I hadn’t even considered this turn of events. Emily hadn’t said anything and there was nothing in the reception or waiting area to indicate whether Dr Bradley was male or female. To suddenly see that I was to be examined by a female doctor turned my legs to jelly. 

Dr Bradley was wearing a white coat and looked to be extremely efficient. She smiled at Emily as I was led through the door. It was then that to my horror I realised that Emily would be with me in the doctor’s room! 

The door was closed. Emily was shown a chair and I was expected to stand. 

“Mind your manners, Scottie…” Emily said. I must have looked gormless as I was still in shock at finding out that Dr Bradley was a woman. “Take your cap off… and stand up straight,” Emily instructed. Dr Bradley smiled at me and it was clear she was impressed by the way Emily had me under control. 

Dr Bradley looked at me, then shuffled some papers in front of her and spoke to Emily: “I believe you wanted me to examine Scott to see if it is suitable for him to wear a school approved jockstrap?” 

There followed a conversation between Emily and the doctor about boys needing jockstraps for P.E., a conversation about which I was not included. Dr Bradley glanced at some papers before announcing: 

“Well, I suppose we’d better get on with it… Would you get undressed please Scott?” Of course it wasn’t a request; it was an order. Dr Bradley indicated a side-table, “You can put your clothes there while I carry out the examination.” 

I was stunned. “What? All my clothes…?” 

“Yes, Scott. Of course ‘all your clothes’. How else do you expect me to carry out the examination?” 

I noticed there was a screen on one side of the room. “Should I go behind the screen?” I asked. 

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Scott,” came the doctor’s reply, “Now hurry up and get undressed so that I can examine you.” She didn’t seem to be in the least concerned about Emily’s presence. 

But then, to my complete surprise, Emily spoke: “I’ll go and sit in the waiting-room while you carry out the examination doctor…” 

I simply couldn’t believe my ears that Emily was proposing to spare my blushes until Dr Bradley replied: “That won’t be possible Emily, I’m afraid. I shall need you to stay and chaperone Scott while he is undressed. All boys have to be accompanied if they are to undergo a full nude examination… it’s Practice policy…” 

The words ‘full nude examination’ sent a shiver down my spine. 

I got undressed and as I turned to face Dr Bradley I’d never in my life felt more naked. Every little draught tickled my bare skin. I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands. I knew instinctively that it would be wrong to try and ‘cover-up’. I was unbelievably aware of the way my penis wobbled when I moved and I prayed that it would behave and that I wouldn’t get ‘flustered’ in front of the doctor. 

Dr Bradley told me to come and stand by the side of her desk. She swivelled her chair round to face me. Then she spoke to Emily: “You did tell me, but could you remind me of Scott’s age…” 

“He’s fifteen, Dr Bradley.” 

“Oh, yes that’s right, fifteen… hmm, fifteen years old...” she was looking straight at my hairless pubis, “Well, it’s unusual... not unknown…” she addressed my smooth genitalia, “… and just within normal distribution… even so I would have expected some sign of pubarche…” 

Then she suddenly looked up and directed a question straight at me: “Are you able to produce sperm, Scottie?” 

She caught me completely off-guard. I was so stunned and embarrassed by the directness of her question that I didn’t answer it properly and simply muttered: “I… I… Umm… I…” 

“Come along, Scottie, you must know whether you can produce sperm. Do you know what sperm is?” 

I glanced sideways at Emily. This was so embarrassing: “…err, yes… yes, doctor…” 

“Then tell me… do you produce sperm, Scottie?” 

This was awful! 

I bit my lower lip before admitting: “Yes miss… I mean yes, Dr Bradley.” 

“Well, that’s something,” Dr Bradley said breezily and turned to address Emily, “It’s not uncommon for boys to begin puberty and start producing semen before they start to grow pubic hair… in fact most boys are able to begin ejaculating some fluid during this stage, although it’s usually quite thin and clear and unlikely to contain mature spermatozoa…” 

I stood there, bare-nude and on full display, and Dr Bradley proceeded to give an impromptu lecture to Emily about boyhood puberty. She went on to talk about how the boy’s penis lengthened and thickened; how the testicles developed and the scrotum increased in size to accommodate them. 

“What we have here in Scottie is an example... an interesting example... of delayed pubarche,” Dr Bradley told Emily, “Scottie has clearly entered puberty, since he has admitted he is able to produce sperm. From a purely visual examination of his genitalia I would say that puberty is well on-track, but without any sign of hair growth. Interestingly enough…” Dr Bradley continued, “Full pubertal development does not in anyway depend on pubarche, so that a boy can happily proceed through until even late-teens without any sign of pubic hair. Even when it does finally begin to grow, it may never be more than a light dusting of immature hair such as one would see on a much younger boy…” 

“So Scottie might not grow any hair around his penis for ages…” Emily concluded with more than a hint of mischief in her voice, “and he’ll look like a little boy…” 

Dr Bradley smiled indulgently, “… not quite like a little boy, Emily, though you’re right, it does look as though Scottie will have to wait for some while yet before he gets any hair down there.” 

The examination began in earnest and I was weighed and measured. I was prodded, poked and listened to… all the usual stuff. But then I was told I would have to perform a series of exercises for ‘evaluation’ purposes. 

“First of all Scottie, I just want you to jump up and down for me…” Dr Bradley instructed, as if making a nude boy perform an exercise purely designed to make his penis and testicles bounce about, was nothing out of the ordinary! 

Of course my penis bounced up and down made a noise as it slapped against me. 

“That’s it Scottie, keep jumping up and down… good boy…” Dr Bradley said as she watched my penis bouncing. 

I felt like a complete idiot, but worse was to come as Dr Bradley decided to “up the tempo” as she put it. 

“Right Scottie, you can stop now,” she said as she leaned back in her chair to make some notes. For a moment I thought she had finished, until she said, “Okay, Scottie, I want you to do some jumping-jacks for me… can you do that?” 

Of course I could do jumping-jacks; it’s just that I’d never done them fully nude before… and certainly not in a doctor’s surgery and never in front of a lady doctor… to say nothing of Emily! 

“Please, Dr Bradley… do I have to?” 

Dr Bradley smiled at my evident embarrassment: “Of course you have to Scottie. How else do you expect me to evaluate your suitability for a special school uniform dispensation? Now there is no need to be shy in front me… or Emily for that matter. I gather from Emily that she’s seen you fully nude before, so that shouldn’t be a concern. Now how about some nice vigorous jumping-jacks for me? I want you to put as much effort as you can into them… Come on Scottie, let’s see you really exert yourself…” 

By this stage I was seriously wondering whether being awarded the privilege of wearing a schoolboy jock-strap was worth the extreme embarrassment I was being put through. But if I didn’t convince Dr Bradley, I’d have to put up with the further and endless humiliation that came from having to wear junior boy’s P.E. shorts.

I started the exercise and my eyes were drawn to look at myself in a mirror across the room. I tried to look away, but I couldn't stop myself from looking at my penis and testicles as they bounced and jiggled about. The noise as my feet smacked the floor of the doctor’s room was echoed by that of my penis slapping against my abdomen and legs. After a while I was told to clap my hands over my head and this made the exercise even more exhausting. And the bouncing about had a stimulating effect on my penis… as if I needed anything else to add to my embarrassment! 

When I was given permission to rest I couldn’t help but see what had happened to my penis in the big mirror… it was pointing forwards, straight out and level with the floor! I wanted to run and hide, or at the very least to cover myself, but Dr Bradley briskly told me to put my hands on my head and to walk back to her desk. My shame was intense as I walked the short distance across the room. I could feel my ears burning as my blushing reached proportions of embarrassment that I’d never experienced before. My penis wobbled from side-to-side and as I walked I could feel my legs trembling. 

I was subjected to an intimate examination of my genitals by Dr Bradley. As she did so she kept up a running commentary on her findings. Emily asked questions and was answered by Dr Bradley. I was more or less ignored as they discussed my penis and how it had responded to vigorous exercise. 

In the end Dr Bradley left me standing still fully nude and still with my hands on top of my head, while she went and sat down at her desk again. 

“Emily, I’m going to recommend that Scottie be permitted to wear a junior schoolboy jockstrap for a trail period. You will have to bring him back for further tests and a medical examination in, say, two weeks, so that I can assess how he’s getting along…” 

“I’m not prepared to give Scottie a full certificate, but I will issue him with a probationary certificate with will allow you to obtain a junior school approved jockstrap from the school outfitter. As Scottie is still in short trousers the assistant at the outfitters will need to see this authorisation. I am only prepared to sanction the use of his jockstrap during P.E. and Games lessons… Scottie is not allowed to wear it on any other occasions…” 

Emily told Dr Bradley that she understood and that she would make sure that I wouldn’t abuse my new privilege. 

That’s how I finally came to be awarded the special dispensation which permitted me to wear a jockstrap (albeit a junior schoolboy jockstrap). All the same, I still had to accompany Emily to the school outfitters in order to purchase my new item of school clothing. Much was made of the paperwork and Emily explained all about our visit to the doctor’s and how I was assessed for my suitability for the jockstrap. It all got rather embarrassing as the shop was fairly busy. I noticed a boy come into the shop who was in the year above me before I was put back into short trousers. His name was Noel and of course whereas I had been demoted to the 3^rd Form, he had entered the Sixth Form and was well on his way to becoming a Prefect. He looked at me rather disdainfully as I stood there in my short trousers. I smiled as if to say ‘hello’, but he made no attempt to speak to me. My eyes travelled downwards to look with envy on his smart, tailored long trousers that fitted him perfectly. 

After casting one more disparaging look at my bare legs Noel turned to the shop assistant to make enquiries about buying a new cricket box. Within the space of a few minutes he had completed his purchase. I was left feeling utterly bewildered that he could come into the school outfitters and buy a cricket box, on his own, without anyone asking for documentation to prove he had been given authority to wear one. I knew as I watched him that Noel hadn’t had to undergo one of the most humiliating medical assessments ever devised to test his suitability to wear the item in question. He wore long trousers and things were different when you wore long trousers. 

It was so unfair… after all Noel was only a year older than I was! 

I was snapped out of my resentful thoughts by Emily: 

“Come along Scottie, the assistant is going to show you how to put on your new junior jockstrap so you’ll know how to put it on properly by yourself at school when you get changed for P.E. lessons…” 

I was aghast: “But… Emily… I know… I don’t need… please…” 

Emily didn’t stand for any of my nonsense and simply reminded me that if I didn’t do as I was told she would have to speak to Dr Bradley and tell her that I didn’t need to wear a jockstrap anymore. That did it of course and I meekly followed the middle-aged lady assistant to the fitting-room. 

As we passed by Noel he turned and gave me a look of such withering contempt that it made me feel utterly ashamed of myself.

 

Arrangements for Michael - Part 9

 

Ninth Letter

 

Olive Jefferies to Edith Hudson

 

 

My Dearest Edith, 

Michael’s tartan mini-kilt arrived safely you’ll be pleased to hear… which is more than Michael was when he saw it! I say mini-kilt but really, Edith, I think it would be more appropriate to call it a micro-kilt! I don’t think you could have found one any shorter! (I do apologise for the liberal use of exclamation marks… sometimes they are so overused, but I can’t think of any other way of expressing my astonishment at the brevity of the little kilt you sent for Michael to wear). 

Brenda was thrilled to see the whole costume (you really shouldn’t have gone to the trouble, although the effect is quite something to see). I agree that while white knee socks and black, single strap mary-janes are probably not completely authentic, they do, nonetheless look especially sweet on Michael. I think the white socks coming to just a couple of inches below his knees simply draws one’s attention to the enormous expanse of very bare thigh exposed below his micro-kilt! (Dear me, another one of those pesky exclamation marks again!). 

Yes, you may gather from that, that we lost no time in getting Michael (however reluctantly!) to try on his new costume. Brenda helped me get the white blouse, all ruffles and trimmed lace (simply gorgeous!), tucked neatly into the pleated micro-kilt. A tartan sash over the shoulder and the glengarry bonnet set the whole costume off rather well. 

As you requested Brenda and I checked the length of the micro-kilt by having Michael stand at attention and place his hands with his palms flat against his legs and I’m pleased to say that the hem of the micro-kilt only just reached his wrists as you said it should. 

There is just one question, dear Edith. Do you think Michael should be allowed to wear anything underneath his micro-kilt? The reason I ask this is because, as you can imagine, Michael’s penis is easily visible below the hem of his tiny kilt especially if it gets caught in a gust of wind, or Michael makes a sudden movement. And I hardly need explain to you how his pert little bottom is shown off, quite bare for all to see, when he makes the slightest attempt to bend forwards! 

His penis at erection lifts the front of his micro-kilt right up and the pleats fall away from each side of his hairless organ leaving the front of his thighs at each side with little tartan drapes. The effect is rather amusing. It looks just as though he’s about to toss his little caber! (Please excuse my silly joke, dear Edith, but Michael was so mortified when it first happened that his instinct was to try and hide his stiff little penis back between his thighs and… well I’m sure you can imagine what he looked like!)  

Of course the sight of Michael’s penis poking out from underneath his micro-kilt doesn’t in the least bother any of us here. And I don’t suppose for one minute any of our neighbours will give a hoot about it either way, no matter how embarrassed Michael might be. How do the little Scottish boys get along with their mini-kilts? Their kilts are not as brief as Michael’s, I know, but it might be worth asking your friends if boys ‘north of the border’ are allowed to wear anything underneath their kilts. I was thinking of nothing more than a small posing-pouch at most. However, I leave the decision up to you, dear Edith. 

Brenda, who’s been reading up about traditional dance, promised to show Michael the Gay Gordons. It was so funny to see the look on his face when Brenda mentioned it. Poor lamb, I think he got quite the wrong idea!

 

Now, on to another subject… 

It is with great sadness that I have to tell you that I have been forced to withdraw Brandon’s masturbation privileges. I had better tell you everything as it involves your naughty step-son Michael… well you probably guessed that, didn’t you? It all started after Brenda, Tyler and I came back from Dr Langham’s with Michael after his examination. As I mentioned in my previous letter it had been a very long day and I asked Brenda to supervise Brandon and Michael’s bathtime, while I took care of Tyler’s. 

I’m afraid Brandon kicked up quite a fuss when he was told of the arrangement. He started shouting that he didn’t want his twin sister to see him bare-nude and he didn’t see why Michael should see him in the nude either! Well, the idea that a 13 year old schoolboy should make such a fuss put me on my guard straightaway. Was Brandon trying to hide something? I confess dear Edith that I’d not seen Brandon nude for a couple of years, not since he was a rather less inhibited 11 year old! What a change from his present performance! 

Well, Edith, I didn’t have the time or patience to argue with Brandon and simply told him and Michael to go to the boys’ bedroom and get prepared for their bathtime. Michael quickly ran off upstairs while Brandon followed, with his bottom lip pushed out showing all the signs of a major sulk. 

Brenda very kindly offered to help me with Tyler. We got him undressed in the kitchen before we took him upstairs where Brenda (bless her!) had already run the bath. I watched Brenda as she washed Tyler’s hair, rinsed it off and then had him stand up for a good scrub down with the flannel. Well, we soon had Tyler looking nice and clean. Then Brenda asked me why Brandon was making such a fuss. 

I’ve already told you how when Brandon was younger he was happy to let his sister Brenda see him at bathtime and, just as happily, let her help me bathe him. Tyler would share Brandon’s bath as a matter of course and between us, Brenda and I would soon have the boys scrubbed clean, dried and into their pyjamas and ready for bed. 

Now two years might be a long time in a boy’s life, but it doesn’t excuse rude behaviour and the sort of temper-tantrum we’d seen from Master Brandon. I was determined to nip this sort of behaviour in the bud. 

“Brandon’s been very naughty, hasn’t he mummy?” Brenda said and she was right. 

I tried to think why Brandon would suddenly behave in this way. There’s certainly no place for false modesty in this house! Brandon might be a thirteen year old, but he has no right to refuse changes to his bathtime routine. 

I thought back to earlier bathtimes… One of the games the boys loved to play in the bath was ‘Submarines’. It was harmless fun and quite sweet to see my two young boys playfully shouting, “up periscopes”. They would have a competition to see whose ‘periscope’ could rise furthest out of the soapy suds of the bathwater. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but it always seemed as if Tyler’s periscope came out best, even though he’s two years younger than Brandon. But as I said, it was all such harmless fun and even if I did give the matter of Brandon’s little periscope any thought, it was that with the approach of puberty it wouldn’t be long before he would be able to beat Tyler in the ‘battle of the periscopes’. 

This thought went through my mind as Brenda led Tyler along the landing to his room to get him dressed in a fresh pair of pyjamas. The next thing I heard was Brenda shouting: 

“Let me in! Let me in this minute! Brandon! Michael! Open this door immediately!” 

What on earth was going on? I wondered. Brandon and Michael had somehow barricaded themselves in the boys’ bedroom, but it didn’t take me more than a few seconds before I was able to force my way through the door… 

Both boys had certainly taken off their clothes as they had been told, but… they were engrossed in a most unseemly ‘game’. It appears that Brandon wanted to hear all about Michael’s visit to Dr Langham; how he was examined and most of all how he was ‘milked’. Brandon had coerced Michael into showing what had happened, only this time the ‘subject’ was Brandon himself! Clearly Brandon had reached the stage at which he was about to release sperm, but when he looked up and saw his mum, sister and younger brother all looking at him, he told Michael to stop. 

Michael did as he was told but held onto Brandon’s penis. At least I think that’s what he was doing as I couldn’t see Brandon’s penis at all! It was clearly completely enveloped in Michael’s fist. 

“Brandon Jefferies! What do you think you’re doing?!” I snapped. As I’ve said Edith, it had been a very long day and the last thing I needed was to have to deal with this sort of behaviour. 

Michael jumped out of the way when he saw how annoyed I was. I could see that it really wasn’t Michael’s fault, but as he is the older boy, he must take his share of responsibility for what I saw. However, what struck me more than anything was how tiny Brandon’s penis was now that Michael had taken his hands away. Brandon’s penis didn’t appear to have developed at all in the two years since I’d seen it last! Even in its fully erect state (which it was) I don’t think it could have been much more than an inch long at most. Brandon was red-faced, as well he might be, but I think that had more to do with his embarrassment at revealing his small penis to everyone than what he had been up to with Michael. 

True enough I could see that he had started to sprout a few little boy-hairs, just as Tyler had told us all at Dr Langham’s, but they really weren’t much to look at, Edith. It was at that moment I decided that a suitable punishment for Brandon would be the removal of that silly little fluff of hair and for Brandon to remain without any pubes at all at least until Michael started to sprout a few, if not longer. That way there would be three pleasingly smooth boys; all equals in one respect at least. For poor Brandon though, it looked as if he’d never win a game of ‘up periscopes’ against Tyler or Michael! 

Brandon tried to protest his innocence, but merely added to his disgrace by trying to blame Michael for his behaviour. All he did was to succeed in strengthening my resolve to give him a lesson he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. You see, dear Edith it was at that precise moment I realised how foolish I’d been. Please don’t misunderstand me, but in looking after Michael I’d been focussing my attention on his behaviour and trying to emulate your magnificent work, but at the same time completely ignoring the deterioration in Brandon’s behaviour. My eldest son had simply been getting away with far too much recently and it was time for a change. Brandon needed to be taken down a peg or two. I knew he would kick up a fuss, but it would be for his own good in the long term. 

“That’s quite enough, Brandon!” I told him, “There’s going to be some changes around here… and the first of those changes is going to happen right this minute!” 

With that I took Brandon by the ear and lifted him up until he was struggling to keep his balance. All thoughts of his modesty were gone as he pleaded for me to let go. Michael, I noticed, stood solemnly by with his hands folded behind his back… what a difference in behaviour! Even though Michael was bare-nude, just like Brandon, he made no attempt to ‘cover-up’. 

“Brenda… go and fetch the little scissors from my work-basket and bring them up to the bathroom. Then I shall want you to help me with Michael and Brandon…” 

It was as though Brandon’s behaviour had given me a second wind, but whatever it was, I was determined that there were going to be changes! And, yes, the first of those was to be the complete removal of the silly little wisps of fluff at the base of Brandon’s penis. I had not the slightest doubt in my mind, now that I’d seen an example of his behaviour that Brandon was boasting about his ‘pubic hair’ to boys in his class at school. He’d certainly convinced Tyler that his few straggly hairs constituted ‘proper’ pubes. Well Brandon was going to learn that he would have to wait a while longer before he could start to boast about his ‘hairs’. 

It wasn’t until I’d got Brandon into the bathroom that he realised what my intentions were. Michael had followed us and stood nervously by the side of the bath watching. Brenda appeared with the little scissors and I ordered both nude boys to stand up straight. I’m afraid to say that Brandon put up such a struggle that I was forced to tell Michael to pin Brandon’s arms behind his back. Michael, being a year older and the stronger of two, managed to keep Brandon still by bracing himself firmly against Brandon’s back. 

Once Michael had a firm hold of Brandon, Brenda turned and asked: “Mummy can I do it?” 

Hearing this Brandon started to struggle again and pleaded not to have his little hairs snipped off by Brenda (well, Edith, that’s putting it mildly. Brandon made such a fuss). All Brandon’s shouting and wriggling was so noisy that Tyler came to see what was happening and I decided to let him stay and watch his older brother having his pubes removed. 

“Please, mummy…” Brenda repeated. 

“Alright darling, but be very careful…” 

Brandon struggled even more and in doing so pushed his hips this way and that making his little penis jiggle about and bounce up and down. Michael, being stronger, managed to hold Brandon steady enough for Brenda to take hold of Brandon’s penis and push it out of the way. 

“Brandon,” I said, “I’d advise you to keep quite still now while Brenda tidies you up…” 

The look of horror on Brandon’s face was priceless, Edith. He strained to look down at himself (Michael had managed to get him into a full-Nelson) and a tear came to his eyes as he watched Brenda snip his straggly little boy-hairs of which he was inordinately proud. 

I knelt down beside Brenda and pointed out a couple of little hairs she’d missed and between us we snipped off the last few little hairs at the base of Brandon’s penis. Then it was a simple matter of a few strokes with a razor and Brandon was as smooth and hairless as Michael and Tyler; a little boy once more. 

I’m afraid to say that Brandon was by now crying. The tears ran down his face, but they didn’t impress me in the slightest. Brandon had got what was coming to him, so without more ado I ordered both boys into the bath; Michael at one end and Brandon with his back to Michael sat between Michael’s open legs. 

Brenda took over the shampooing of their hair and made the boys squeeze up close together so that she could do both of them at the same time. So Michael had to put his arms around Brandon (who was still sniffling) and rest his chin on Brandon’s shoulder. How sweet they looked, Edith! Both boys had their eyes scrunched closed as Brenda made a thorough job of washing their hair and as she did so I determined to take both boys for a haircut the following day. Michael was due for a trim in any case and I thought it was about time that Brandon had a proper schoolboy haircut as well. 

Once their hair was done Brenda set about washing the boys; arms and then legs as the boys slithered about in the bath. I left Brenda to it since Tyler was still bare-nude after his bath and needed to be put into his pyjamas. So I took him back to his bedroom and took the opportunity for a little chat. 

“Now Tyler I want you to understand why mummy and Brenda had to snip off Brandon’s little boy-hairs,” I told him, “Brandon has been very naughty and was in need on a lesson. I’m afraid things are going to be a bit different for him from now on…” 

“Have I been naughty, mummy?” Tyler asked. 

“No dear, you’ve been very helpful since Michael arrived and I want you to carry on being helpful. There such a lot of work for Brenda and me to do with boys like Brandon and Michael to take care of, so I’ll expecting you to be on your best behaviour and you mustn’t be afraid to tell mummy if you think Brandon's been doing something he shouldn’t…” 

To my surprise Tyler straightaway said: “… like playing with his willy, mummy?” 

“Yes, darling, that’s just the sort of thing that Brandon has to stop doing. Michael’s not allowed to play with himself, so I don’t see why Brandon should be allowed to either.” 

By the time I got back to the bathroom Brenda had both boys standing up while she set about them with a soapy flannel. Brandon and Michael had been told by Brenda to stand with their hands on top of their head and she was busily rubbing the flannel over Michael’s armpits making him squirm and giggle. 

“Keep still Michael!” she said. “I’m not going to stand for any nonsense from you boys.” 

Well, Edith, Brenda certainly had those two boys under control… Heaven help them if they misbehave when Brenda’s in charge! 

It was a somewhat chastened Brandon who was put into his pyjamas that evening. He was clearly overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events, but as a mother yourself, Edith, you know these things have to be done. Although boys may not realise it at the time, mums only do what they know is best for their sons. 

Dear me, I’m afraid this has turned into another rather long letter, Edith, so I think I’d better sign off now. Please let me have your thoughts on whether Michael should be allowed to wear anything under his micro-kilt.

 

With my warmest regards,

 

Olive

 

 

 

 

Scott’s Story – Part 5

 

So there I was, a boy of 15 who had been ignominiously demoted back to the 3^rd Form and just as ignominiously put back into short grey school trousers. What could have been worse? Well, I'll tell you… sitting in a class full of 13 year old boys, two whole years younger than me, and all of them wearing proper long school trousers… that was worse! 

In the intervening months since the start of my ordeal I had pleaded on many occasions with Emily, my babysitter, to be allowed to wear ‘longs’ again, but my words had fallen on deaf ears. Emily had the full and unqualified support of my mother who had been impressed at how something so basic as a change in my wardrobe could have such a dramatic effect on my behaviour. The truth was there was no longer anything to distract me from my schoolwork, other than my own innate tardiness, since none of my erstwhile contemporaries would have anything to do with me. If you were nearly 16 years old, would you want to be associated with a boy of your own age who had been put back into short trousers as well as put back a whole school year? No? Well neither did any of my former ‘friends’ either. As for the 13 year old boys in my class, they didn’t want anything to do with the gangly 15 year old in short trousers either. To them I was at most a curiosity; an odd specimen of boyhood who had landed in their classroom dressed like a bare-legged 1^st Former. No, the only contact I had with them consisted of little more than was required in the classroom together with a considerable amount of teasing about my oh-so obvious juvenile status. 

But worse were the younger boys in the 2^nd Form, many of whom were already in long trousers, who would tease and humiliate me without mercy. To these younger boys, proudly wearing their first pair of ‘longs’, I was a figure of fun dressed in my ludicrously short, short school trousers. One of their games was to ‘tag’ me. This involved creeping up behind me to give me a sharp, stinging smack on my bare legs with their school rulers. The ruler would be held in one hand and the boy would bend the ruler back as far as he could using the tips of the fingers of his other hand. When the boy got as close as he could to my bare legs he would release his fingers and the school ruler would deliver a stinging smack to my exposed and vulnerable thigh that would make me jump in the air. The idea of their fiendish game was to see who could make the highest and reddest mark on my thighs. I’d be walking along the corridor between classes or out in the playground during break-time when all of a sudden I’d feel the sharp sting of a well placed ruler, smack on the top of one of my thighs. I’d turn to see the boys cheering, whistling, pointing and yelling “Shorty-short-shorts!!” (this being one of my new nick-names), “Who’s a shorty-short-shorts? He’s a shorty-short-shorts!!”

Their game would invariably leave me with red legs and sore thighs for the rest of the day. 

The awful aspect of this teasing from junior boys was that I soon found myself powerless to retaliate, since the only time I did lunge at one of my tormentors, who had me almost in tears, I was accused of being a bully! One the teachers (an eager student P.E. teacher who everyone hated) saw me pushing the boy, a 2^nd Former of course, out of my way in an effort to escape the taunts. The teacher grasped hold of me by the ear, gave me a stern telling off, turned to the boy I’d shoved and told the boy to give him his school ruler! 

The P.E. teacher then twisted me round, bent me forwards, leant down and grabbed one leg of my grey school shorts and yanked it right up as far as it would go! He then proceeded to give me six very hard smacks with the boy’s ruler right on the very top of my thigh, before pulling up the other leg of my short trousers and giving another six whacks with the ruler on the top of my other thigh. My god how they stung! 

To the delight of the 2^nd Formers watching I pleaded shamelessly with the P.E. teacher to stop and actually was in tears by the end of my ordeal. 

When he’d finished and handed the boy back his school ruler, he turned to me and told me that I was a bully and that he hated bullies: “I’ll be keeping and eye on you from now on Harris and if I ever see you pushing younger boys around you’ll think you got off lightly today… Understood?” 

“Yes, sir,” I said as I rubbed the backs of my sore thighs. Through my watery, tear filled eyes I could see my 2^nd Form tormenters; their faces filled with glee. They knew I wouldn’t dare risk a repeat of my punishment. It will come as no surprise, I’m sure, when I tell you that incident gave the green-light to those junior boys to torment and tease me as much and as often as they pleased. 

After sir finally let me go, I ran off, but now with tears of frustration stinging my eyes. The unfairness of it all… me a fifteen year old boy! 

 

Being permanently dressed in short trousers also meant I was subject to certain other school rules and the most significant of these was that I had to wear my school cap. Only boys who wore short trousers to school were obliged to wear school caps, as if it wasn’t enough to mark one out as a junior boy to be dressed in short trousers in the first place. Of course the wearing of a school cap also brought with it even more school rules to be obeyed, such as the raising of the cap to grown-ups. Humiliating as this was for a 15 year old boy, it was even worse when I was called to do so in the presence of a school prefect. 

Of course school caps were always fair game for other boys to knock off your head and run off with and as a consequence I was always being caught without my school cap. I soon found out it was no excuse to blame the high-spirited boys who were so intent on teasing me and getting me into trouble. As a consequence I was forever being told not to let it happen again, but never was I told how I was to achieve this. 

Shaming as my short-trousered school uniform was, I was totally unprepared for what happened when school resumed after the Easter Holidays. You see I had quite forgotten about ‘shirt-sleeve order’… 

If I was not used to being put back into short trousers, then the best that could be said was that by the approach of Easter I had become resigned to pulling on my white-lined grey short trousers for school every morning followed by long grey woollen school socks. I would sigh and carefully turn the tops of the socks over to reveal the hoops in my school colours and then finally slip on my black lace-up school shoes which Emily made sure that I polished the night before school. With my shoes laced up I would stand and look at myself in my bedroom mirror and tell myself what an ass I looked. Then, after I’d made sure my tie was straight, my socks were both pulled up neat and level, I packed the previous night’s homework in my satchel (yes, I had to carry a schoolboy’s leather satchel to and from school every day, just like any other junior schoolboy), I made my way downstairs. 

School holidays gave me no respite from the ritual of putting on my full school uniform as I was expected to wear it when mum had guests, when we visited family friends and relations, and of course on Sunday when I was taken to Church. The vicar seemed to take great delight in telling mum how smart I looked in short trousers and every Sunday he made sure he complimented Emily, who always accompanied us to Church, on her suggestion to put me back into short trousers. I was not expected to say anything other than to thank him for drawing attention to my humiliating clothes. 

As I’ve said before, short trousers were a compulsory part of the school uniform at my school for all First Year boys. Boys were permitted to wear ‘longs’, at their parents discretion, from the 2^nd Year onwards. It was not at all unusual though for a number of parents to keep their boys in short trousers during the 2^nd Year, but by the 3^rd Year it was very rare for any boy to be seen in short trousers… apart from me that is. For the two years I ended up spending back in the 3^rd Form, I was the only boy to be still dressed in short school trousers. 

Humiliating as it was to be kept dressed in short trousers, I think I could have coped much better had it not been for the yearly ritual of ‘shirt-sleeve order’. If I had given it any thought, I’m sure I would have thought it wasn’t going to be applied to a boy of almost 16 such as myself, even though he was still in the 3^rd Form. 

I should perhaps explain what ‘shirt-sleeve order’ entailed. This might help you to understand why it caused me so much anguish. When school resumed after the Easter holidays, boys were dressed in the same school uniform that had been worn during the previous two terms. The main feature of this uniform was that long-sleeved grey school shirts were worn whether or not the boy wore short or long trousers. School blazers were worn at all times unless boys were given permission to remove them during class. However, when the days started to get warmer during the Summer Term, the Headmaster would announce the commencement of ‘shirt-sleeve order’ during School Assembly. From the next day all boys would change into thinner, short-sleeved grey school shirts and these would be worn whatever the weather right up until the end of the School Year. 

For junior boys wearing short trousers to school, there were other changes too. As well as wearing short-sleeved shirts, boys in short trousers also had to change into short, turn-over-top, ankle socks and at the same time swap their black lace-up shoes for brown T-bar school sandals. If that wasn’t enough, standard junior lined school uniform short trousers also had to be swapped for lighter, ‘summer’ regulation school shorts. These summer shorts were cut even shorter than my standard school shorts and to add to my distress were accompanied by supremely brief white cellular underpants. 

If all that wasn’t bad enough, matters were made considerably worse for me since no one knew when the Headmaster would announce ‘shirt-sleeve order’. Every School Assembly became a nightmare for me. Emily had made sure I was ready for ‘shirt-sleeve order’ during one of our increasingly embarrassing trips to the school outfitter and I knew my summer school uniform was all ready for the announcement. Every day I’d look outside at the weather, trying to gauge if it was sufficiently gloomy for another day’s respite from the dreaded announcement from the Headmaster. Mum couldn’t understand my increased interest in the old-fashioned, mahogany-cased barometer that hung in the hall. My heart would sink as I tapped it and the needle jerked to ‘set fair’. Would this be the day, I’d ask myself? 

Of course the inevitable happened. How Emily found out about the announcement I’ve no idea, but by the time I got home that day, she had already laid out my official summer school uniform on my bed. Each item of clothing had been neatly laid out for me to see and I also saw, on the floor by my bed, the brown T-bar school sandals I would have to wear from now on. 

Normally I would find my play-clothes laid out on my bed ready for me to change into when I arrived home from school, so I knew without Emily saying anything that today I was expected to change into my summer school uniform. 

“Oh, but please Emily, I don’t have to wear it until tomorrow…” I pleaded pathetically as I looked at the clothes laid out in front of me. I tried desperately to postpone the inevitable, but Emily would have none of my procrastination. 

“I want you to get changed Scottie,” she said firmly, “It will give you time to get used to wearing your summer school uniform. Don’t forget you’ll be wearing it every day from now on, so the sooner you get used to wearing it the better.” 

“But please, Emily, do I have to…?” I whined. 

“Yes, Scottie… Now get a move on, I really can’t see why you’re making such a fuss about it…” 

“But, Emily…” 

“That’s enough, Scottie. Now hurry up and get changed.” 

I did as I was told. I knew there was no point I my arguing. How could I possibly explain to Emily the full extent of the added humiliation that wearing my summer school uniform would entail? Even if I could put into words the horror I felt at the thought of presenting myself at school the following morning dressed even more briefly than ever, would she understand? I knew she wouldn’t; girls just don’t realise how embarrassing it is for a boy of my age to be dressed in short trousers for school. 

Mum would back Emily up if I kicked up too much of a fuss anyway and that could lead me into big trouble. With an aching heart I undressed; out of one set of school regulation clothes and then into another. Gosh but summer school uniform was brief; flimsy too, much thinner than my standard uniform clothes. In fact the summer school uniform was even thinner and briefer than the continental-style suit my Aunt Violet had bought for me to wear… and that was saying something! 

The white cellular schoolboy underpants were clearly designed to be worn with exceedingly brief short school trousers. I pulled them on and they were a comfy fit, even if they were cut so high as to hardly cover my bottom cheeks. I knew this meant that even with my school shorts on, I was going to be showing an awful lot of bare bottom for everyone to see. Quite how much was still a shock to me as I turned to see myself in my bedroom mirror. As I stretched backwards and twisted my head back over my shoulder I was horrified to see the lower curves of my bare bottom utterly exposed. 

Emily thought they were a perfect fit and when I complained they were far too short, she simply told me that summer school shorts were designed for boys to get lots of healthy sun and fresh air to their legs. I pleaded that it wasn’t only my legs that would be getting lots of fresh air, but most of my bottom too! At this Emily told me not to be such a silly boy, which was her usual way of ending an argument. A silly boy! For heavens sake I was nearly 16 years old! 

My next shock came when Emily told me that we must have my ‘winter’ school shorts properly cleaned, pressed and put away “…ready for next year.” 

The implication of this statement was news to me. I spluttered: “But… but, Emily… I thought…” 

“What’s that Scottie?” Emily asked cheerily. 

“Um… nothing… that is… that is, I thought…” 

What I was trying to say, but getting desperately tongue-tied in the process, was that I didn’t think I’d need short trousers again when I went back to school after the Summer Holidays. It was evidence, if any was needed, of how junior my status now was that I dared not argue the point in case the sliver of hope that I retained that I would get my ‘longs’ back might be dashed. I knew how fragile my hopes were and that if I complained about having to wear short trousers what the response was likely to be. Only the other day mum had heard me complaining and her response had left me in no doubt of her views: 

“Scottie," she said, "the more you complain and the more fuss you make about a silly little pair of short trousers, the more I’m inclined to think you’re even old enough to be considered for something as grown up as ‘longs’. I really can’t understand why you make such a fuss… they’re only short trousers after all…” 

There was more, but it was clear enough to me that if I complained about having to wear short trousers, this would be taken as proof that I was not mature enough to be awarded the privilege of ‘longs’. It was also equally clear, to me at least, that the less I said about the indignity of wearing short trousers, the more it was taken that I was happy to wear them! As time went on the more apparent it was that I was stuck in situation that I couldn’t win. 

So I handed over my ‘winter’ school short trousers to Emily without any further comment. I had to accept that whichever way I looked at it and however depressing it was, this was a clear sign I was to remain in short trousers for longer than I thought… much longer. I hardly dared think just how long Emily had planned to keep me in short trousers, but I tried  to put the thought to one side; there were much more pressing matters now that I was dressed in ‘shirt-sleeve order’. I had the rest of the Summer Term to get through during which I would be dressed daily in my summer school uniform. My stomach was in knots. 

“Come on, Scottie, let’s go downstairs and show your mother your official summer school uniform,” Emily said brightly, completely oblivious to my obvious discomfort at wearing a school uniform that made me look even more like a little boy. 

So downstairs we went and into the living-room where mum was having tea with Mrs Jennings, one of her friends and one the few friends of mum who hadn’t seen me since I’d been put back into short trousers. Mrs Jennings took one look at me and nearly dropped her glasses into her tea-cup. 

“Well I never! Scott! It is Scott, isn’t it?” she said, “My… I nearly didn’t recognise you…” 

Needless to say I was blushing fit to burst as Mrs Jennings looked me up and down… mostly down at my tiny thin summer short trousers, I noticed, then further down my bare legs to my ankle socks and T-bar school sandals. 

“What lovely legs…” she added. “I do think it’s such a shame when boys cover their legs… they all seem to want to get into long trousers just as soon as they can these days… such a shame.” 

Mum agreed: “Yes… It was Emily’s idea to put Scott back into short trousers… Scott was held back a year at school, you see,” she told Mrs Jennings by way of explanation and left it at that, as if no further justification were needed to put a boy of nearly sixteen back into short trousers. 

“Well, he certainly does look very smart,” Mrs Jennings said. 

“Scottie thought you would like to see his summer school uniform, didn’t you Scottie?” Emily said. 

The last thing I wanted was for anyone to see me dressed as I was, but I knew enough now not to make a scene, however galling it was to have agree with Emily all the time. 

“Um, err, yes…” I said without any enthusiasm whatsoever. I think I may have even pouted a little, in which case I probably looked even more like a little boy than I already did. 

“Oh, isn’t that nice,” Mrs Jennings gushed, “It’s so nice to see a boy who’s proud of his school uniform and wants to show it off for everyone to see.” 

Emily explained that when my school went into ‘shirt-sleeve order’, because I went to school in short trousers, I had to change into this new uniform. Mrs Jennings expressed a great deal of interest in the changes to the school uniform for summer wear and I had to stand right next to her as Emily pointed out various details. 

It was all very embarrassing as Emily, mum and Mrs Jennings discussed how much shorter and thinner my school shorts were; how I’d had to change to short ankle socks and the humiliating (to me) T-bar sandals; how my arms were now as bare as my legs; how it was so much healthier for young boys like me to get as much sun and fresh air as possible. And so it went on with me standing there like, like… well I might have been a tailor’s dummy for all the attention they paid to me or my feelings. 

Then Mrs Jennings spoke: “Do you know… I’ve just had the most wonderful idea…” 

It turned out that her daughter Melissa was busy planning her wedding which was to take place in a month or so. Mrs Jennings explained that her daughter had always wanted to have a pageboy at her wedding. There were plenty of bridesmaids she explained, but there were no boys of a suitable age that could be asked to join them on Melissa’s big day. Would Scottie help them out? 

“Scottie would love to, wouldn’t you darling?” my mother enthused. It turned out that Mrs Jennings was ‘someone-to-know’ at the bridge club or something, so mum was extra keen to offer my services… whether I wanted to be involved or not! 

“… wouldn’t you like to help, Scottie?” mum repeated and I was left with no choice but to agree to be a pageboy. 

“Yes…” I said with as little enthusiasm as I felt I could get away with, but that didn’t matter as mum, Mrs Jennings and Emily were already discussing Melissa’s wedding plans, the husband-to-be,  the guests, the huge reception, the honeymoon arrangements and all the thousand and one other things in which I was just not interested in hearing. I stood there and was pretty much ignored. 

In hindsight perhaps I should have paid more attention to what was being said, and listened more carefully when I heard the words, “… and there is far more material than the bridesmaids will ever need… Trust Violet to order too much, but I sure she’ll find a good use for it…” 

In the end the wedding was postponed and didn’t take place until November of that year on a Saturday towards the end of the month. There had been a hard frost overnight and, would you believe it, flurries of snow in the afternoon. It was bitterly cold, but I’ll return to that story some other time, as it’s making me shiver just to think about it. 

To round off my current story… I found out later the Headmaster had actually written to mum on the subject of shirt-sleeve order. He was of course aware that I had been put back into short trousers and so he realised the particular implications of the forthcoming change in school uniform to shirt-sleeve order would have on a boy of my age. He accordingly suggested that a special dispensation could be granted in my case, subject to mum’s approval, allowing me to remain in long socks, black school shoes and my regular grey short trousers. Indeed the only change to my uniform, he suggested, would be for me to wear short-sleeved shirts after the order was given to the school. 

As I said I didn’t find this out until later as it wasn’t considered in the least important that I should be consulted. But as you probably will have guessed mum did ask Emily what she thought of the Headmaster’s suggestion. And I’m also quite sure you can guess what Emily’s response was. 

The upshot was that mum wrote back to the Headmaster thanking him for his kind suggestion, but having given the matter considerable thought, she had decided that no exceptions or allowances should be made for her son. The school rules, mum pointed out, were quite specific on the subject of shirt-sleeve order and she felt that to make any special allowance for me, even though I was nearly 16, would be unfair to other boys who were still in short trousers and risk setting an undesirable precedent. Mum ended by saying that school rules, in particular those governing uniform regulations, must be complied with at all times and that my wearing of ankle socks, T-bar school sandals and summer short trousers would, she hoped, set a good example.

To complete my change to shirt-sleeve order Emily arranged to take me to the school barber’s for an extra special short back and sides ‘summer term’ haircut. The barber knew just what was needed and recommended to Emily that I had, “a nice smart short haircut” to match my “nice smart short trousers”. I left the barber’s with my fringe reduced to barely half an inch… I’m sure you can imagine what the rest of my haircut looked like! I felt like... and probably looked like... an overgrown and somewhat gangly eleven year old schoolboy.