The Smartest Schoolboy - Part 2

 

Embarrassing as it had been for Julian when he accepted the award for the ‘Smartest Schoolboy of the Year Award (Senior)’ in front of the packed hall dressed in his short trouser school uniform, it wasn’t, surprisingly enough, the most mortifying moment of the event. As has been related before, Julian’s short trousers had been bought for him when he was just fourteen and, worn for the competition, were now so eye-wateringly short they completely exposed his smooth, unblemished upper thighs. No, that had not been the worse moment of the competition for Julian.

A new feature of the Smartest Schoolboy Awards was a sports section during which boys were required to dress in the outfit or kit appropriate to the sport in which they had represented their school. This would give the judges the opportunity to ask the boys about their favourite sports and for the audience to compare the boys’ sports kits and see if they still looked smart enough to be in with a chance to win the competition.

Whether or not Mrs Raft had read the brochure that accompanied the entry form for the competition too hurriedly or not, the fact of the matter remained that because Julian had indeed swam in the junior school swimming team, she immediately assumed that all boys taking part in the new sports section would have represented their schools in swimming events and be similarly dressed in their school’s official team swimming trunks. Certainly, and for whatever reason, this was the impression she gave to her son. There was no escaping the fact that Mrs Raft was still inordinately proud of Julian for representing his school in swimming competitions and perhaps saw in the Smartest Schoolboy Awards the opportunity to rekindle the glory of her son’s achievement and once again enjoy the warm glow of a parent’s pride.

The boys had spent the morning of the competition dressed in their school uniforms in front of the judges. Both Senior and Junior groups had been assessed and points awarded. There had been a certain amount of banter and teasing among the boys behind the scenes mainly due to the extraordinary sight, a novelty to the older boys, of Julian’s extremely brief short trousers. Even among the junior contestants only two boys were wearing shorts and these shorts, reaching to within an inch of the youngsters’ knees, were nowhere near as short as Julian’s thigh-baring ones. Needless to say and to put it mildly, Julian felt very uncomfortable being the only senior boy in short trousers and such shamefully brief ones at that. But he gulped as he thought of what was to come and what he’d be wearing in the next part of the competition for which Julian’s mum had dug out the swimming trunks he’d worn when he, aged thirteen, had been selected to be on his school swimming team.

He thought of what had happened when he tried them on a few days earlier and shuddered…

                                        +++++

Julian had been sat at his little desk in his bedroom. He’d just returned home from school. On his bed were laid his school short trousers and a pair of the extremely brief white junior schoolboy underpants so generously given to him by Mrs Stevens, a friend of Julian’s mother. Next to these were Julian’s black school regulation speedo-style swimming trunks that his mum had told him would be needed to be worn for part of the Smartest Schoolboy competition.

Julian had a spot of homework that he needed to get out of the way, but before he settled down to this task he took off his shoes and then stood up to take off his long trousers and underpants. Mum had said the best way to get used to wearing short trousers again was to change into them as soon as he returned home after school. Mum was right of course and Julian was slowly getting used to this new state of affairs. What Julian hadn’t bargained on was the reappearance of his old school swimming trunks. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to wear them. It must have been when he was in the Third Form, he thought. Blimey! I’d have been thirteen. Julian gained his Swimming Proficiency Certificate and was chosen to be on his school’s junior swimming team and brief black speedo-style trunks were compulsory for all boys on the team. The tiny trunks were embarrassing to wear even then and as soon as Julian was dropped from the team he managed to persuade his mum to buy him a pair of swim-shorts like most boys wore when they went swimming. The black school trunks were put away and Julian forgot about them, until now...

Julian picked up the little trunks. They hadn’t covered up much when he was thirteen and Julian remembered the awful feeling of vulnerability when he wore them at a swimming gala his school had hosted one year. Being a member of his school’s junior swimming team Julian was forced to wear nothing but his tiny regulation trunks for the whole day. It might not have been too bad if he was in the swimming pool arena the whole time, but Julian was also given a sash to wear and expected to ‘meet-and-greet’ parents and visitors to the gala when he was not competing in events. The sash was draped from Julian’s left shoulder to his right hip and bore the words ‘Swimming Gala Attendant’. Julian was also expected to show visitors around the school and answer their questions, which he found really embarrassing. He shuddered at the memory of escorting fully dressed adults into classrooms dressed only in his tiny school trunks.

Julian’s mum called up from the hall downstairs: “Are you ready, Julian? Mrs Atwell is expecting us at half past… Julian?! Haven’t you changed yet? Get a move on, darling… I don’t want us to be late.”

‘Boys!’ Mrs Raft said to herself as she went back to the kitchen. It was very kind of Mrs Atwell to offer to set up the paddling-pool in her back garden. It would be an ideal opportunity for Julian to try out his school swimming trunks again.

Upstairs Julian stepped into the little trunks, just to see what they felt like and to see if they still fitted him. He slowly pulled them up his long bare legs and over his bottom. He pushed his penis and testicles into the trunks and stood up straight. Gosh, the trunks were small and as Julian peered into his bedroom mirror he could see that it was obvious he was now a ‘baldie’ again, since the trunks only just covered the base of his penis. His pubis was clean and hairless, Mrs Stevens saw to that on her visit with the junior underpants. It was also quite clear to Julian that his trunks were far too small for him to wear, never mind to parade in on the stage in front of everyone for the Smartest Schoolboy Awards.

“Oh good, you’ve put your swim-trunks on already,” Julian’s mum said from the doorway of his bedroom.

Julian looked at his mum: “What do you mean?”

“That’s why I put your school trunks out for… so you could put them on when we got to Mrs Atwell’s…”

“But I don’t  understand, mum… what’s Mrs Atwell got to do with it?”

“Oh, Julian, I sometimes think what I tell you goes in one ear and straight out the other,” mum sighed and explained that she’d told Julian that Mrs Atwell had a big paddling-pool she’d bought for her daughters and that as the weather had been so nice the last few days, she’d filled the pool for the children to play in. “When I told her that for part of the competition boys had to put on their school swimming-trunks, Mrs Atwell offered to let you use the pool just to get used to wearing your school trunks, Julian… Wasn’t that kind of her?”

“But, mum… I can’t wear these… look at them, they’re far too small,” Julian protested.

“Nonsense, Julian… there’s nothing wrong with them… nothing at all,” his mother assured him, “I can’t see what all the fuss is about… Come on, get a move on…”

Julian stuck his thumbs into the trunks, ready to lug them down.

“Oh, don’t bother to change now, Julian… you may as well leave your trunks on. Mrs Atwell house is only just round the corner…”

“B-but…” Julian was horrified at the very idea of visiting Mrs Atwell and her three young daughters… never mind walking round wearing his tiny school swimming trunks. “Shall I take some clothes to get dressed, er… when we’ve finished, um… playing in the paddling pool, mum?”

Julian thought he sounded like a little boy of ten asking mummy for her permission, rather than a teenager of sixteen. Maybe it’s because I feel so vulnerable, he said to himself.

“Really, Julian, I can’t see why you’re making such a song and dance about wearing your swim trunks to visit Mrs Atwell. You know very well that you’ll be welcome to wear your trunks for as long as you like. Mrs Atwell won’t be in the slightest bit bothered if you stay in your trunks after you’ve finished playing in the pool. Now, for the last time… will you get a move on?!”

Mrs Raft turned, left Julian’s bedroom and went back downstairs. Julian took one last look at himself in the mirror and followed his mother. He felt very strange and very nervous as he escorted his mother out of the front door. When he heard the lock click, Julian shuddered to think how all his clothes were now completely out of his reach. He would have to remain dressed in nothing but his embarrassing little school swimming trunks until he and his mum returned.

“Come along, Julian… don’t dawdle,” his mum urged as she strode along the pavement passing by a neighbour who was out clipping his hedge with a pair of well-used garden shears.

“Afternoon, Mrs Raft,” he called, “Afternoon, Julian… off swimming are you? The pool is the other way, you know…” he added with a teasing smile.

“Good afternoon, Mr Watts,” Mrs Raft replied as she stopped and returned the greeting, “No, Julian and I are off to Mrs Atwell’s… Julian is going to be entering the Smartest Schoolboy Awards and for part of the competition boys will be wearing their school uniform swimming trunks. I thought Julian might like the opportunity to wear his trunks in public as it were… so as to be more confident when the time came and he had to wear them in front of all the judges… isn’t that so, Julian?”

Mr Watts could see how embarrassed Julian was to be standing in the street wearing nothing but what appeared to be the smallest, tightest little black swimming trunks that a boy of Julian’s age could possibly wear without being arrested. Why, Mr Watts could even see to his surprise, that Julian had no pubic hair… certainly none to speak of, as the trunks were so small and low-fitting. Anyone could see that Julian’s pubis was quite bald.

Julian saw where Mr Watts was looking and blushed a deeper shade of red than ever as he replied to his mum’s question: “Er, yes, mum…”

“Of course in my day…” and Mr Watts was off, recalling that at his particular school, boys weren’t even permitted to wear what he called ‘bathing costumes’. “No… we all had to swim as nature intended, in the nude.” He turned to Julian, put his open hand to the side of his mouth, and in a stage whisper intended for Julian’s ears alone, “You should count yourself lucky to have anything to wear, my lad. It were dead embarrassing the times mums and daughters came to watch us boys all in the bare...” Mr Watts winked, “... and I don’t need to tell you what else can happen to a boy on those occasions… ‘twere dead embarrassing.”

Julian knew only too well what Mr Watts was alluding to and the very thought of it made him tremble. What if it happened when he was at Mrs Atwell’s in front of her daughters? What if it happened in front of the judges? What if it happened now?! Already Julian could feel an uncomfortable pressure in the front of his tiny school trunks. He desperately tried to think of something to take his mind off the images Mr Watts’ reminiscences were conjuring up in his mind’s eye. The thoughts were terrifying, yet they were having an effect least desired for a boy standing on the pavement of a suburban street wearing only a pair of swimming trunks bought for him when he was thirteen years old.

Julian’s mother and Mr Watts carried on talking as Julian struggled with his thoughts and how to control himself in front of his mother and their neighbour. That Julian felt so conspicuous was only the half of it. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, leastways he knew he couldn’t use them to shield the front of his swimming trunks, that would only draw attention to them. Folding his arms across his chest made him feel smug and self-important, as if he was happy to be seen wearing so little and the same went, if not more so, for how he felt when he held his arms akimbo. Holding his hands behind his back, Julian just felt too submissive. So Julian stood with his arms hanging limply by his sides and thought about the kit of the Sopwith Camel that awaited him at Mr Handley’s shop and that seemed to do the trick.

“Come along, Julian!” his mother called as she waved ‘cheerio’ to Mr Watts.

“Good luck, Julian!” Mr Watts called out as he watched the two of them continue on their way.

Upon reaching Mrs Atwell’s Julian followed his mother up the short path leading to the front door of the semi-detached ‘Tudorbethan’ house. Julian expected to hear the sounds of splashing and raised voices coming from the paddling-pool, but he could hear nothing. Suddenly the front door was flung open and Mrs Atwell stood framed in the doorway. Behind her were her three daughters… all fully dressed!

“I’m so sorry…” she said, “There’s been a bit of a disaster… the pool has sprung a leak… but the water’s not going to waste… Watering my runner beans with it... Never mind come in… come in both of you… oh, I see you’ve put your trunks on already, Julian… I am sorry, but they’ll be no paddling today, not until we’ve got the pool mended…”

Mrs Atwell was one of those women who, once she started talking, it was difficult for her to stop.

“Never mind, Julian, we don’t stand on ceremony in this house… you can go and change upstairs… what’s that? You didn’t bring a change of clothes? Oh, never mind, this is liberty hall, isn’t it girls?” This was one of Mrs Atwell’s verbal tics. She didn’t expect an answer from her daughters. “You come straight through, Julian and you can help the girls in the kitchen while your mother and I catch up with each other’s news… There’s some sandwiches and the tea’s brewing...”

At this point Julian was as red-faced as he’d ever been. Now he was the only one wearing the wrong, the wholly inappropriate, clothing… such as it was. Now, when he really needed to concentrate on the Sopwith Camel kit to take his mind off his present situation, he was being ushered through to the kitchen by three fully dressed girls who were clearly all thrilled to see a sixteen year old boy wearing such brief swimming trunks.

In the kitchen and out of hearing of their mother, the oldest girl, Maria, started to hum a tune. Her sisters giggled and joined in and started to sing a few words before Julian realised what the song was.

It was an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini

That he wore for the first time today...

Of course it wasn’t a bikini Julian was wearing let alone a yellow polka-dot bikini, but that didn’t matter to the girls, they was just thrilled to see how absurdly brief Julian’s swimming trunks were and the song was so appropriate. The girls were right, Julian might not have been wearing a yellow polka-dot bikini, but his swimming trunks were surely itsy bitsy and most definitely teenie weenie!

If it had been at all possible for him to blush a deeper red, Julian would have done so, but as it was even his ears were glowing hot and bright red with embarrassment in front of the girls.

“Mum says you’re going in for the Smartest Schoolboy competition,” Maria observed, “Is that why you’re wearing your school swimming trunks? They are your school trunks, aren’t they?”

Julian said they were.

“Bit small aren’t they? They don’t look very comfortable...” Maria queried. Her sisters stifled a giggle and snickered as their older sister questioned Julian.

“They’re an old pair… I don’t wear them anymore…” Julian answered.

“But you’re wearing them now…” Maria countered.

“That’s because I don’t have any other school trunks… I usually wear swimming shorts, but mum says I’ve got to wear these for part of the competition.”

“Crikey! You’re brave… I wouldn’t fancy standing in front of a load of people gawping at me if I was wearing an ordinary one-piece swimsuit, but you, wearing that little thing, you’re… well, that’s brave is all I’ll say.”

“They’re  not so small,” Julian said trying to defend himself, although he knew it was far from the truth. His swimming trunks were absurdly small and to stand in Mrs Atwell’s kitchen in front of her daughters was testing Julian’s commitment to the competition to the limit. Only the thought of missing out on the Sopwith Camel kit kept him from throwing in the towel right then and there and racing back home, to the privacy of his bedroom where he would take a pair of scissors to the blasted, tight little school trunks and cut them into tiny pieces.

But that wasn’t going to happen and Julian knew it wasn’t going to happen. The lure of the kit waiting for him at Mr Handley’s shop was far too strong and it now seemed as if Julian would suffer any indignity for the sake of his hobby.

Mrs Atwell poked her head round the door. “Come on girls! Get a move on! Too busy chatting to Julian I’ll be bound… Julian you can make yourself useful and bring the milk and sugar through…”

The girls led the way and Julian followed holding the milk jug and one hand and the sugar bowl in the other. Plates were passed around and Julian, having put the milk and sugar down on the table, thought he could sit down on one of the comfortable chairs into which he could sink with some degree of safety knowing his little swimming trunks wouldn’t be so noticeable. But the girls got to sit down first and Julian was left standing into the middle of the room, all seats taken.

“Come and sit by me, Julian,” his mother called as she patted the arm of her chair.

To be sat on the arm of his mother’s chair would mean being perched in a most uncomfortable, not say say vulnerable, position and Julian hesitated. He could see that he would have to sit side-saddle, as it were, with his bare legs dangling in front of everyone. Mrs Atwell sensed Julian’s discomfort and told one of her girls to fetch a stool from the kitchen for him to sit on.

Laura, the daughter charged with the task, shot out on the room to return a few seconds later carrying one of the high stools from the breakfast bar. The stools were so high that the younger girls could barely lift themselves onto it without climbing up using the foot rests. Julian, though taller, still gulped as he could see the foot rest at the front was too low for him to reach when sat down. There were two other foot rests either side of the stool that were higher up, but to use them would mean Julian’s thighs would be spread wide, leaving his brief school swimming trunks exposed to everyone’s gaze. It was clear that to be sat on the stool would be a whole lot worse than to be sat next to his mum on the arm of her chair. But as Mrs Atwell had been kind enough to ask Laura to fetch the stool it would be churlish, Julian realised, of him to decline to use the stool.

Julian very carefully stood with his back to the stool and reached back with his arms, placed his hands flat on the seat before hoisting himself up onto the seat. Mrs Atwell and his mum were chatting away and took little notice of Julian as he maneuvered himself carefully onto the stool, but the girls watched him intensely. It was as if Julian could feel their eyes scanning every square inch of his body as he tried, largely unsuccessfully, to ascend the stool with as much dignity as he could muster.

If Julian was in any doubt what the ‘swimwear’ part of the Smartest Schoolboy competition was going to be like, he now had no illusions. Perched on the stool in Mrs Atwell’s living-room, Julian began to see how his short trouser uniform was going to be a doddle compared to parading in front of the judges and audience wearing his school swimming trunks. Indeed, remarkable as it may seem, Julian now realised that short trousers were the least of his worries…

“Oh yes, I’ve already promised that Julian will wear the same short trouser uniform when he goes to visit…” Mrs Raft was explaining to Mrs Atwell.

When Julian heard he almost fell off the stool: “MUM!!” he gasped, “What are you talking about…? What have you promised…?”

“It’s simply common courtesy, Julian,” his mum replied, “Mr Fenner asked you specifically to go back to his shop after the competition to show him your trophy…”

“But I might not win, mum…”

“Of course you’ll win, darling…”

“An honourable mention at the very least,” Mrs Atwell chipped in.

“... and then there’s Mr Handley at the model shop. I think it would be nice of you to put on your short trouser uniform when you collect the Soapwell…”

“It’s Sopwith, mum… Sopwith Camel,” Julian corrected his mother, exasperated by the inaccuracy even though these new developments were worrying him.

“Yes… so you’ll wear your short trouser uniform then, won’t you?” Julian’s mum continued, but not really expecting an answer since it was more of a statement than a question.

Julian was bewildered and wondered if there was anything else his mum was going to surprise him with.

Maria started to hum a tune… It was an itsy bitsy teenie weenie… Her sisters giggled.

                                        +++++

The time came for the boys to change into their sports kit. Cubicles had been set up for the senior boys to use. Junior boys were expected to change without the use of such facilities accorded to the older boys.

With a heavy heart Julian undressed and then squeezed himself into his tiny black speedo-style swimming trunks, trunks that had been bought for him three years ago. He felt uncomfortable in the cubicle wearing so little, but that was as nothing to how he felt when  he stepped out and saw his fellow competitors. Not one of them was wearing swimming trunks as Julian had been led to believe! Indeed none of them wore anything even remotely as brief and revealing as Julian’s ludicrously brief speedo trunks. What was going on?! The words whizzed around Julian’s head and made him almost faint with anxiety. Why weren’t any of the other boys wearing swimming trunks? The buzz of boys’ voices that had echoed in the room suddenly died away. There was a short pause while heads turned towards Julian and a few of the older boys sniggered at the sight of the almost naked sixteen year old in their midst. One or two younger boys began to giggle before the room was filled with the sound of laughter. Boys in their cricketing whites, boys dressed in rugby kit or football kit, boys carrying bow and arrows… but no other boy was to be seen wearing anything as embarrassing as a pair of speedo-style trunks that were so small as to make it plain the wearer had no pubic hair.

One of the cricketers came forward. He was a boy of about Julian’s age.

He spoke to a bewildered Julian: “Rather you than me, chum… you saw how many were in the audience… hundreds. I wouldn’t be seen dead in those trunks… Blimey, just the thought of standing in front of them in… in nothing but that… makes me shiver just to think of it.” He whistled and repeated, “Rather you than me… any day.”

“But… but I thought everyone had to wear trunks…”

“Only if that was your favourite sport at school… Crumbs, even if swimming was my favourite sport I wouldn’t have chosen to wear…” the boy could hardly keep a straight face anymore and burst out laughing as he blurted out the word “... those!”

Another boy stepped up. He was dressed in his school’s archery club uniform and wearing a rather dandy green felt hunter hat complete with a pheasant feather pinned through one side of the crown. He offered his advice to Julian.

“If I was you I’d change into something else… anything… you can’t go on stage in front of hundreds of people in that little thing… they’ll all be staring at you.”

Julian was about to turn and go back into the changing booth when one the the competition officials strode into the room and announced the start of the next round. All boys, junior and senior, were due on stage dressed in the kit of their designated school sport. There was no chance for Julian to change his mind as he was hustled along with all the other boys.

One by one boys were called to be interviewed by the judges. Julian could hear the audience applause as each boy walked out onto the stage and then the murmuring of voices as the boy was questioned. It was a stressful, not to say nerve-racking time for Julian as he waited, knowing that the time would come when he too would have to walk out in front of everyone. Then suddenly it was his turn.

“Can we have the next contestant please… Master Julian Raft!”

Julian felt as if his legs were about to turn to jelly. He’d never felt so nervous and embarrassed in his life as he slowly made his way towards the stage wearing nothing more than a tiny pair of swimming trunks to face the judges and the audience.

The Smartest Schoolboy

 

Julian was horrified. How on earth had it come to this? More than a little flurried, Julian could feel his heart thumping as he stepped out from the wings and onto the stage to be presented with the ‘Smartest Schoolboy of the Year Award (Senior)’ in front of parents and teachers along with the sponsors. Cameras flashed as Julian walked forward. This was the worst nightmare he could possibly imagine for a boy of sixteen such as himself… well for any boy over the age of about ten come to that, as Julian felt a cool current of air tickle the backs of his thighs and was again made aware that his legs were quite bare.

After a final consultation the awards were made and the judges had decided by a majority that Julian was the smartest boy in the senior schoolboy category. There had been no other boys wearing short trousers in this group and there had been a certain amount of debate among the judges as to whether boys were allowed to wear short school trousers in the senior schoolboy group. But in the end the view of the senior judge, Miss Prism, prevailed and short trousers were officially deemed acceptable as worn by older boys taking part in the competition.

Julian, in his super short school trousers was therefore called forward to stand next to the winner of the junior schoolboy category, a fresh-faced eager young twelve year old who, much to Julian’s chagrin, was wearing a pair of crisply ironed long trousers.

Julian clutched his trophy to his waist in an unconscious effort to hide behind it, before calls came from the photographers to hold up the silver cup.

“Hold it up! That’s it!” one of them called out, “Lift it higher… c’mon smile… show us how pleased you are to win the award… go on… that’s it… good…”

Feeling like a complete idiot, Julian obliged. As he grinned from ear to ear, his rosy red cheeks turned redder as he blushed in front of the cameras.

Another photographer urged Julian to lift the trophy above his head. Not thinking, Julian did as he was asked, but with a sudden realisation that was truly sickening, Julian felt his short trousers being pulled upwards as he raised his arms. The photographers snapped away as Julian’s extreme upper thighs were slowly revealed in all their smooth, unblemished glory. Nervously Julian held the trophy aloft, very much aware of what was on view to the audience in front of him. His smile became closer to a rictus grin as he prayed no one was paying attention to what was happening to the back of his short school trousers.

But just as these thoughts were passing through his mind he heard another photographer call out: “Julian! Julian! Turn round and show your trophy to the other competitors...”

Julian hesitated. He could already feel the slight tickle of a breeze on the lower curves of his bottom cheeks, so he had a pretty good idea of how far his extremely short school shorts had risen. To turn round now would mean more photographs taken and the record of his humiliation would be complete. Julian knew how popular the Smartest Schoolboy Awards were. There was no getting away from it, pictures of Julian accepting the award would be soon be appearing everywhere. Out of the corner of his eye Julian could see the twelve year old standing next to him was already looking at his fully exposed bare thighs and sniggering.

Julian thought that he must have been a fool to let himself be persuaded to get involved in the competition and he began to wonder whether his reward for doing so had been worth the price he was now so shamefully paying. 

*****

“Julian…” his mum called from the sitting-room, “Julian… I think you should enter. There’s a category for older boys this year… You nearly made the finals when you entered the last time…”

Julian’s heart sank. He was sat at the kitchen table trying to get on with a particularly tricky part of some model-making on which he was working.

“That was nearly four years ago mum…” Julian called back as he removed a burr from the side of a crucial piece of the model. “... and besides I’m sixteen now, mum, in case you’d forgotten…” Then he added a remark to himself  sotto voce: “Blast! Parts twenty-two and twenty-three are supposed to fit together and be joined to part nine… exactly how I'd like to know?!”

“What was that, dear?”

“I said I’m too old for that sort of thing,” Julian replied as he wrestled with the fiddly pieces in an attempt to get them to fit together. Why were these plans made so difficult, he wondered? I reckon you could fit twenty-three to nine before you attach twenty-two, that’d make more sense. Do the people who write these instructions ever build the models, he wondered?

“To old for what, dear? Playing with your models?” Julian’s mum enquired with a smile.

“No, not that… You know what I mean, the smart schoolboy thing… I’m too old for that and besides my uniform won’t do… it could hardly be called smart, as you keep telling me every morning…”

“Yes it is looking a bit frayed and worn... your trousers don’t fit you very well either…”

“Don’t fit me! Crikey! …the bottom of the legs are flapping about near the top of my ankles… makes me look a right berk, but you said I’d have to make do with them until I left school…”

“It didn’t seem seem worth it darling… buying you a new pair of school trousers when you’ll be leaving at the end of the year.”

“... the sooner the better… now can I please get on with my model?”

“I still think you should enter the competition, Julian. I told you, there’s a special category just for older boys like you this year and this will be your last chance to take part… why don’t you? Just for me, darling,” mum paused to let this sink in before she added, “If you bothered to get a proper haircut you’d be halfway there…”

Julian was beginning to sense trouble. When his mum started to talk about haircuts… proper haircuts, Julian knew he’d best be on his guard.

“What’s the point when I haven’t got a decent uniform to wear?”

Mum was of quite the opposite opinion, although she wasn’t about to show her hand just yet.

An adroit change of subject was required.

“Julian?”

“Yes, mum…”

“That model you were telling me about the other day…”

“What? Oh, the Sopwith Camel kit…”

“Yes, that’s the one… are you going to buy that one next?”

“Nah… Chance’d be a fine thing. It’s an amazing model, but it’s far too expensive… way out of my league.”

There was silence for a few moments before Julian spoke again and wistfully sighed to himself as he thought of the Sopwith Camel specs: “What wouldn't I do to get my hands on that kit…”

“What’s that you said, dear?”

“Nothing, mum… just dreaming.”

Silence followed as Julian got on with his model and mum continued reading. Nothing further was said about the Smartest Schoolboy Awards and Julian naturally assumed it had been forgotten and thought of it no more.

The following morning Julian set off to school after breakfast as usual. As usual the bottom of his trouser legs flapped embarrassingly about his ankles, the cause of matutinal jocularities at Julian’s expense among his fellow classmates as they lined up for morning assembly. Julian’s apple-cheeked face, still smooth and unblemished, was partially obscured by the long fringe of hair that he was constantly flicking from his eyes, much, it has to be said, to his mother’s annoyance. But this was the fashion among young boys of Julian’s age when hair was allowed to grow long enough to touch, and even in some cases grow over, the collar of a boy’s school blazer. For these things alone it was clear that Julian would stand little chance of passing even the basic entry requirements of the Smartest Schoolboy Awards.

The little bell jingled as Julian’s mother entered the shop. She glanced about the unfamiliar surroundings. The proprietor, a middle-aged gentleman wearing a brown storeman’s coat, appeared from the back of the premises.

“Can I be of assistance, madam?”

“Er, yes… I hope so. You see my son, he’s sixteen, is a keen model-maker and I wanted to… well, it’s to be a surprise, you see…”

“Sixteen, eh? What sort of surprise? Something special?”

Julian’s mother nodded: “Yes, it will have to be something very special…”

“Do you know what he’s interested in? Ships? Cars? Historical planes?”

“Yes, planes… that’s it… he was talking about a Sopforth something or other…”

“A plane, you say?” the proprietor was puzzled for a moment, “Do you mean Sopwith? A Sopwith Camel?”

“Yes… that’s it, the Sopwith Camel kit, he called it.”

“Well that would be a very special surprise for any sixteen year old boy, madam… It’s one of the most complex and er, well I have to say expensive kits we sell. I’m not in the habit of turning away custom you understand, but are you sure your son would be capable of assembling this model? There’s over forty pages of instructions, never mind the sheets of plans…”

“I’m sure he’ll be capable and it sounds as if it will keep Julian occupied and out of mischief for quite some time.”

“Julian? Julian Raft? Julian’s your son? Why, I know Julian, madam, he’s one of my regular customers and  he’s an excellent young modeller… he’ll certainly do the Sopwith Camel kit full justice… and when it’s finished you can tell him that I’d consider it an honour to display it in my shop.” The proprietor paused before continuing, “May I ask what this surprise is in connection with?”

“I don’t mind telling you, but it must remain a secret for the time being,” Julian’s mother replied, “You see I hoping to persuade Julian to enter a competition soon, but I’m afraid, well to be honest, he’s not very keen to do so and he’s going to need a little, er shall we say... inducement.”

“I quite understand and the Sopwith kit will be the bait, as it were,” the proprietor said as he smiled and nodded his head in agreement with Julian’s mother’s strategy, “Hmm… if I know Julian, he’d do anything to get his hands on this kit. Would you like me to put a reserved sticker on the kit?”

“Yes, please do… No, actually I’ll pay for it now, since you’ve convinced me that Julian is unlikely to refuse my offer…”

“Perhaps I should keep the kit until you are satisfied that you have Julian’s agreement to enter the competition, although I’m sure he will when he finds out that you’ve bought the Sopwith Camel kit.”

Mrs Raft nodded: “Please do…”

“In that case the sticker shall read ‘Paid In Full - To Be Collected - Master Julian Raft’”

“Perfect, but not to be handed to Julian unless he has my written permission.”

“Why, of course, Madam… er, Mrs Raft.”

Julian’s mother was brought up never to discard anything that might come in useful in the future. Although her son didn’t have any even passably smart long school trousers, she remembered that she’d kept Julian’s last two pairs of short school trousers, one pair hardly used, since they’d been bought in the same year her son was allowed to graduate into ‘longs’.

Mrs Raft reasoned that although Julian had shot up in the past eighteen months, she knew from her visit with Julian to the school outfitters, that his waist measurement was unchanged and was the same as it had been when he was fourteen when his last pair of short school trousers had been bought.

Mrs Raft looked at Julian’s short trousers and she could see straightaway there might be a problem. In the last two years styles had changed and boy’s short school trousers now had longer legs… some much longer, almost reaching the boy’s knees. The inseam of Julian’s short school trousers was almost non-existent. Mrs Raft would need to check if there were any rules concerning the minimum length of short trousers that could be worn in the competition.

Next out of the drawer were Julian’s school regulation swimming trunks. Since swimming was no longer a compulsory lesson in the upper forms of Julian’s school, he had insisted on the purchase of swim-shorts for when he went swimming at the local pool. Mum knew that in the swimwear section of the Smartest Schoolboy competition, school regulation trunks had to be worn. She held up the flimsy speedo-style trunks. Twisted them this way and that and decided that there would be no need to incur the expense of another pair.

A couple of days went by before Mrs Raft broached the subject of the Smartest Schoolboy competition once more. Julian had not given the matter any thought at all and so was somewhat unnerved when his mother, in a roundabout way, raised the subject again.

“I was looking through some of your old clothes the other day… I can’t think why we kept those school shorts of yours…” Mrs Raft paused for emphasis, “I don’t suppose they’d even fit you now…”

Julian listened to his mother, wondering where this was going. So what did he care about his old school short trousers?

“I mean, you’ve grown a bit in the last year or so, haven’t you?” his mother continued, “I expect you’d have a hard time getting them up over your bottom… even if you could I don’t suppose you’d be able to do them up properly... ”

Now, if there’s one strategy that might get a result, Mrs Raft knew, and that was to appeal to her son’s vanity. If anything was going to work, that would. Teenage boys, she knew, could be exceptionally vane.

She was right.

“I bet you I could get them on…” Julian said without thinking.

“Well, I don’t think so… I don’t think you could get them on… not without a struggle.”

There was a pause. Understandably Mrs Raft was loath to push her son too hard, but she needn’t have worried, Julian rose to the bait.

Julian put down his copy of ‘Practical ModelMaker’. Honestly, he thought, a boy can’t get a moments peace: “Alright… I’ll show you… I’ll prove it… Where are they?”

“Upstairs… I left them on the end of your bed just in case you wanted to keep them,” his mum replied.

Why would I want to keep them? Julian wondered as he went up the stairs to his bedroom. Short trousers are for kids, he thought, forgetting that it wasn’t that long ago that he was going to school in short trousers himself.

Julian walked into his room and there on his bed were the two pairs of school uniform short trousers that his mother had dug out. He picked up a pair.

“Blimey… they’re shorter than I remember… Crikey-O-Mikey… these are even shorter!” he exclaimed as he fingered the legs of the second pair.

Still, Julian wasn’t to be put off. After all, only his mother would see him wearing them, so he bent down to unlace his shoes. Shoes off, Julian unzipped his trousers, pushed them down and pulled them off. Julian was wearing white boy’s briefs. He folded his ‘longs’ and picked up one of the pairs of short trousers. Looked at them. Sneered and put them back down again and in an act of boyish bravado, picked up the second pair of short trousers, the pair with the shorter legs.

“I’ll show her,” Julian said to himself as he stepped into the shorts. He pulled them up without any difficulty and didn’t even have to alter the button side adjusters at the waist. They were surprisingly comfortable.

Julian couldn’t believe that he’d worn such short short trousers to school. He’d totally forgotten what it felt like to have his thighs bare to the very tops of his legs. It was a feeling that made him glad he no longer had to wear short trousers to school any more.

He bent down to slip on his shoes again and felt the trousers ride up at the back. When he stood up again, Julian was shocked to see himself in his bedroom mirror with the lower curves of his bottom perfectly visible, uncovered by the rising legs of the shorts. He reached back and plucked at the hems of the short legs of his brief school trousers and pulled them back down as much as he could.

Back downstairs Julian stood in front of his mother.

“There… I told you they’d fit,” Julian said proudly, “I didn’t even have to adjust the waist…”

“They look very smart, Julian and I apologise… you were right and I was wrong,” mum admitted, “They still fit you perfectly… and you’ve such lovely legs, Julian, it’s a shame you keep them covered up…”

“Mum…” Julian blushed. He was very self-conscious when it came to his legs, embarrassed that they were still as smooth and unblemished as a twelve year old.

“But you have, Julian…” his mother said and after a pause added wistfully, “Do you know if you had a proper haircut I’d bet you could win that award wearing those smart school trousers of yours…”

It took Julian a moment or two before he realised what award his mother was talking about.

“What me?! Enter that competition! Wear these short trousers! Not likely!”

“Why not? If you went and got yourself a proper haircut at Mr Fenner’s you’d be more than halfway there…”

“But, mum, Mr Fenner is so old-fashioned. He’d give me one of those awful short-back-and-sides haircuts that were out of fashion when they built the Ark. I’d look a right dork.”

“You wouldn’t, darling… you’ve got the right shaped head to carry it off… Still if you don’t want to…”

“Too right I don’t want to.”

“Well it’s up to you, Julian… if you don’t want to, that’s all there is to it…”

It was late in the evening and Julian didn’t see the point in changing out of his short trousers and so resumed his study of ‘Practical ModelMaker’. Mum went into the kitchen to set the table for breakfast. As she took a cereal packet down from one of the cupboards she called through to the living-room: “Julian…”

“Yes, mum…”

“I was in that model shop of yours the other day… the man there was very helpful…”

“Mr Handley?”

“Yes, Mr Handley… He told me that you were an excellent modeller…”

Julian was puzzled. What was his mother doing in the model shop? She never showed the slightest interest in going there before.

“Mum, why did you want to go into Mr Handley's shop?” he asked.

“I wanted to ask him about a particular model you’d mentioned… as I say, Mr Handley was extremely helpful and knew right away what I was talking about…”

Julian sensed a quickening of his pulse. His thoughts raced as he tried not to get too excited.

“You asked Mr Handley about the Sopwith Camel kit?” Julian gasped, “Oh mum… you didn’t?!”

“Yes, that was it the Sopwith Camel kit, but at first he tried to put me off buying it…”

“Buying it! Buying the Sopwith Camel kit! Please mum… please tell me you ignored him!”

Julian was beside himself with excitement. The Sopwith Camel kit was what he dreamed about before he fell asleep at night. He thought about the kit during boring English lessons. He talked about the Sopwith Camel with his fellow modellers incessantly. In short Julian was obsessed with the kit.

“Mr Handley was insistent that I should only buy the kit for a boy who was capable of doing it full justice. He told me how very complex the instructions are and how only a very experienced boy could hope to assemble it properly…”

Julian was on the edge of his seat, desperate to know whether mum had bought the kit.

“Then, when I mentioned your name and Mr Handley told me how he knew you and that he was confident the kit would be within your capabilities, I told him it was to be a very special treat for…”

“But, did you buy it, mum?!” Julian couldn’t help himself… he had to know.

“Yes, of course I bought it, Julian, but that’s not the point…”

“But… I don’t understand, mum, what do you mean it’s not the point?”

“The point is, Julian, that I made Mr Handley promise that he was only to hand you the model kit when he knew you’d agreed to enter the competition…”

Julian didn’t speak. He was too busy trying to take all this in. Did mum seriously mean that competition… the schoolboy award thing? He shook his head in disbelief.

The penny dropped: “MUM!… you’re not seriously suggesting I enter the Smartest Schoolboy competition?!”

“Why ever not? I keep telling you how you could easily win one of the awards if you set your mind to it…”

“But, mum…”

“And now you’ve got the Sopwith Camel kit to look forward to… provided Mr Handley knows you’ve agreed to be in the competition…”

“But, mum…”

“He could easily give that model to some other boy who’s more deserving…”

Poor Julian was on the horns of a dilemma. He really wanted the Sopwith Camel kit, but was the price, entering the blasted Smartest Schoolboy Awards, too high? He’d never get the chance to buy the Sopwith kit himself, at least not for a very long time, and the thought of letting this opportunity go was headachingly awful. He simply couldn’t let this pass by and yet he was overwhelmed by what he knew would be involved.

Julian rubbed his hands along his bare thighs as he thought some more.

“If I agree…” he said haltingly, “Do I have to wear these short trousers, mum… can’t I have a new pair of longs?”

“But, darling, I made it clear ages ago that your school longs would have to see you through to the end of the year… and you can’t wear those in the competition. It simply wouldn’t make sense to buy a brand new pair of school trousers that you were only going to have the use of for a few months. Besides, you’ve proved to me that those short trousers fit you perfectly… and they haven’t had much wear at all. You’ll look very smart wearing those…”

“But, mum…”

“It’s only a competition, darling… and just think how thrilled you’ll be when Mr Handley hands over that model to you… He must think a lot of you, Julian, you know he even said that he would be proud to display the Sopwith Camel in his shop when you’d finished building it…” 

Julian sighed a heartfelt sigh: “Okay, mum, I’ll do it.”

“I am pleased, Julian… and you will go to Mr Fenner’s for a proper haircut, won’t you?”

“Yes, mum…”

“Just one other thing, Julian…”

“Yes, mum,” Julian replied nervously. What else could there be?

“We’ll have to sort you out with some more suitable underpants. The ones you’re wearing… I can just see a little bit of white when you were sitting down. We don’t want you to lose points because your underpants are showing, do we?”

“Er, no… no, mum.”

“Good… that’s settled. Now, shall I make you a cocoa drink to take up to bed?”

“Please… yes... thanks, mum.”

And so the evening drew to a close and Julian carried his bedtime drink upstairs to undress and put on his pyjamas, ready for bed. Before he climbed into bed, Julian had a look through his collection of model-making magazines until he found what he was after, an issue in which the Sopwith Camel kit was reviewed. The review was exceptionally detailed. Julian pulled the bedclothes back and got into bed. He lay on his side sipping his cocoa and turned the pages of his magazine as he read through the review and marvelled at the photographs of the model in various stages of construction. The close-up pictures showed the precision with which details of the aircraft had been reproduced in fine scale. Julian was awestruck.

He finally closed the magazine and put it on  his bedside table. Julian finished his drink, rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. To think that mum had already bought the Sopwith Camel kit! All he had to do was enter the Smartest Schoolboy competition and it would be his to build. Julian frowned. He pictured the article he’d just read. Having a haircut and putting on a pair of short school trousers had to be a price worth paying… surely? And with that thought, Julian drifted off to sleep.

The next morning nothing was said about the model or the competition and Julian set off for school. However, the Sopwith Camel and thoughts of wearing short school trousers remained uppermost in his mind. When he returned home after school, doubts he’d been having during the day were close to the surface. There were only one or two boys in the First Year that he’d seen wearing short trousers and their shorts were far longer than the ones he’d put on last night, something he’d not noticed before and clearly a factor to be considered.

Julian sat down to tea.

“Mum… are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

“What idea’s that, darling?”

“You know… the smartest schoolboy thing,” Julian replied, “I mean hardly any boys wear short trousers to school these days. I only saw two First Year boys wearing them and their shorts were miles longer than the ones I’ll have to wear.”

Mum thought for a moment. It seemed to her that her son had accepted that he would be wearing short trousers for the competition, but he needed a mother’s reassurance that everything would be for the best. She knew Julian wanted the Sopwith Camel kit more than anything. The fact that it was sitting in Mr Handley's shop fully paid for, was a strong enough incentive for Julian to enter the competition. Julian simply needed mum’s encouragement, she concluded.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Julian... besides short trousers always look longer on little boys. I don’t suppose your trousers were that much shorter than theirs,” Julian’s mother said, although she knew full well how short trousers had indeed become longer-legged and she had checked to see if there were any rules regarding the length of short trousers that were permissible when worn for the Smartest Schoolboy competition. There were none, so Julian’s thigh-baring ultra-short school trousers were perfectly acceptable.

“You know, darling, I think you’ve just got out of the habit of wearing short trousers. I’m sure if you wore them a bit more often, you’d soon build up your confidence,” Julian’s mum paused as if in thought, then added, “The competition is still a few weeks away, Julian… why don’t you use that time to practice wearing your short trousers…”

“What do you mean ‘practice’, mum...”

“Well, for instance, you could go and change into them the minute you come home from school and wear them around the house… you’d soon get used to wearing short trousers again.”

This didn’t seem at all unreasonable to Julian. However, he still had doubts: “But, mum, it’s the thought of all those people seeing me in short trousers… I mean they’re really very short. I'm sure they’re much shorter than the ones I saw those First Formers wearing…”

“Hmm..” mum thought for a moment, “What if I asked a couple of my friends over when you’re wearing them and when you’re used to them seeing you in short trousers we could just go for a little walk…”

“A little walk… outside?!” Julian was horrified at the thought.

“It’s just an idea, darling… but the sooner you get used to wearing your short trousers in front of other people, the sooner you’ll feel confident when the time comes and you’re standing in front of the judges.”

The biggest test for Julian came exactly a week before the competition when, in full short trouser uniform,  tenue impeccable, he went to Mr Fenner’s for his special, pre-competition haircut.

“Well, well, well… Master Julian Raft,” Mr Fenner beamed, “Your mum’s told me all about the competition and if you want my opinion, you’ll walk away with First Prize… no trouble at all.”

Julian was blushing fit to burst as Mr Fenner went on to tell him how smart… how very smart he looked in short trousers.

“Mum says I’ve to ask for…” Julian gulped, it was now or never, he thought, “... for a traditional short back and sides, Mr Fenner.”

“Certainly, Master Julian… if you’ll take a seat,” Mr Fenner said as he directed Julian to his barber’s chair, “Of course normally a boy wearing short trousers would be seated on the plank, but I can’t remember the last time a boy your age in short trousers needed to use the plank, so I’ll make an exception for you today…”

“Thank you, Mr Fenner,” Julian said as he sat down on the vinyl-covered barber’s chair. Although it was a privilege for a short-trousered boy to forgo having to sit on the infantile plank placed across the arms of the chair, Julian sensed that within a few minutes the backs of his bare legs would be sticking uncomfortably to the plastic chair-covering. He looked up at the mirror and at his full head of hair for the last time before Mr Fenner set to work with his scissors, comb and the electric clippers.

Mr Fenner swished a cape over Julian’s head and as it settled down Julian could see his bare legs sticking out from under the cape, just like a little schoolboy. The cape was secured in place around Julian’s neck and Mr Fenner got quickly to work on his haircut. Julian’s head was moved backwards and forwards, from side to side, this way and that while Mr Fenner, in complete control, snipped and combed, thinning Julian’s hair ready for the clippers. Julian’s cut hair cascaded down the cape as Julian looked on, horrified at the amount of his hair tumbling down onto the lino flooring of Mr Fenner’s shop.

“Time for the cold steel,” Mr Fenner joked as he reached for the electric clippers. He placed his hand firmly on the crown of Julian’s head and pushed forward and down as he exposed the nape of Julian’s neck. Mr Fenner flicked a switch, the clippers buzzed into life and Julian felt the vibrating teeth of the clippers on the back of his neck. Mr Fenner believed a short back and sides should be just that, short, and that is precisely what Julian received.

As was his habit when he’d finished a boy’s haircut, Mr Fenner reached for his big tub of Brylcreem. Boys were never asked if they would like any on their hair. Mr Fenner was of the view that a haircut was not complete without a good dollop of  Brylcreem worked into the boy’s hair. So, taking a good-sized scoop from the tub with his fingers, he spent a few minutes rubbing the hair cream into the crown of Julian’s head, making sure the hair was well slicked with the product.  Finally, Julian’s hair was combed and given a razor sharp parting.

Julian looked at his reflection in the big mirror on the wall opposite the chair on which he sat. Julian gawped for a few seconds quite unable to believe he was looking at himself. He looked like… Julian couldn’t even be sure if any boy had ever looked like he did as he stepped out of Mr Fenner’s chair. Presumably they must have done… but when? Mr Fenner was old. Julian thought he must have been at least fifty something, so maybe boys did have haircuts like this when he was younger.

Julian was in a daze as he went to pay. “No charge,” said Mr Fenner, “When you win the contest, just you bring the cup back here to show me and I’ll put a photo of you with it in my window. How’s that sound?”

“Thank you very much, Mr Fenner.”

And with that, Julian went home. He was so shocked by the severe haircut Mr Fenner had given him that he didn’t even notice a couple of boys as they whistled and shouted rude comments in his direction.

Compared with his experience at Mr Fenner’s, Julian meetings with his mother’s friends had been much less traumatic… up to a point, that is. Julian had rather liked the compliments he was given, being told how smart, how very smart he looked… and, yes, although it caused him to blush, Julian accepted with good grace when he was told that short trousers suited boys with such smooth, unblemished legs like his. Julian even felt relaxed enough to talk about his models and how his mum had promised him a very special model for entering the Smartest Schoolboy Awards. The ladies listened politely as they sipped their teas. They too were mothers of boys who had similar interests as Julian and they knew how boys loved to talk enthusiastically about these things. Julian needed little encouragement before he was even telling them how nervous he felt about appearing in front of lots of people in his short trousers. But his mum’s friends had been briefed sufficiently enough to know what to say. Julian was being very brave. It wasn’t every sixteen year old boy who would be willing to show up his contemporaries.

“What do you mean?” Julian asked.

“The other boys in your age group… they’ll probably be wearing long trousers, you know,” one of the ladies informed him. “Won’t they be in for a surprise when they see you wearing your school shorts… I’ll bet they’ll be ever so jealous when they realise they could have worn short trousers as well.”

Julian gulped. He was pretty sure the other boys his age taking part in the competition wouldn’t be in the least bit envious… come to that, Julian hadn’t even considered what the other boys would be wearing. All he’d been concerned about up to that point was appearing in short trousers in front of the judges and the audience at the awards competition.

At one of these meetings with his mother’s friends Mrs Stevens, a close neighbour with two sons a few years younger than Julian, said to his mum: “I’ve brought some spare pairs of underpants you were asking me about the other day.”

She produced a couple of packs from her handbag. The underpants were still in their cellophane packaging which crinkled as Mrs Stevens placed the packs on the coffee table in front of her. Both packs made it clear the contents had the approval of various Schools Associations for wearing with regulation school uniforms. The underpants, it was stated on the packs, were made to be worn by boys of ages twelve to thirteen years.

“I brought some of these because, as you see, they’re specially designed to be worn with short school trousers,” Mrs Stevens said as she pointed to the information panel on the little packs, “Albert and Adam both wear longs to school now, so they don’t need these type of underpants anymore… Oh, and I’ve brought some junior schoolboy vests as well… just in case.”

“Let’s have a look at these underpants then,” Julian’s mother said and she took out one of the pairs from its crinkly cellophane wrapping. “Gosh! But they are brief…”

“Yes, but I’m sure Julian will have no trouble with them… after all, Julian’s not that much older than the boys these underpants are made for and, besides, you don’t want him to lose points just because he’s let down by his underpants, do you?”

“You’re quite right… best be on the safe side,” Julian’s mother agreed.

“Right then, shall we see how they look on Julian?” Mrs Stevens asked quite straightforwardly.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Julian’s mum admitted, “Best we make sure they fit properly… Julian, come over here and you can try on these underpants…”

Julian, who hadn’t been consulted during the discussion about schoolboy underpants, simply froze and whined: “Mum… not here…”

“Of course here, darling… how else are we going to see if these underpants fit you… we have to make sure they don’t show when you’re wearing your school shorts…”

“But, mum…”

“Oh, don’t make such a fuss, Julian… Mrs Stevens has got two boys of her own and Mrs Bridges used to help me out… it wasn’t that long ago when she used to help out at your bathtime…”

Julian realised there was no call for any modesty in front of his mother’s friends. Yes, all of them were experienced  in looking after boys and, yes Mrs Bridges and Mrs Atwell had even seen him with no clothes on, but that was a few years ago and things had changed…

“Please, mum…” Julian begged.

“I really don’t see why you’re making such a fuss about this, Julian,” his mother responded. She wasn’t going to put up with Julian’s silly behaviour in front of her friends, “There’s no need to be shy. I don’t think anyone else is at all bothered, so I don’t see why you should be… now come over here and let’s get those trousers off…”

Nervously Julian stepped forward towards his mother. It was the matter of a few seconds before Julian felt his short school trousers slipping down his long smooth legs. Without another word spoken Julian lifted his right foot as his mother’s hand touched the back of his calf and stepped out of his short trousers. The procedure was repeated for his other foot and Mrs Stevens helpfully moved to pick up Julian’s school shorts.

Mum’s hands came up to the waistband of Julian’s white cotton schoolboy underpants. Julian held his breath as his underpants were pulled down. First his bottom was uncovered, then mum’s fingers slipped round to the front of the underpants and the moment that all boys dread was upon him. Mum wasn’t in the least concerned and tugged Julian’s underpants down, over his private parts just as if she did this and undressed him in front of her friends in the living-room every day of the week.

As the underpants were removed Julian’s penis wobbled and came to rest. Now bare from the waist down, Julian avoided eye-contact with any of the ladies in the room, instead fixing his gaze on a picture hanging on the far wall of the room. He felt desperately embarrassed.

The new junior schoolboy underpants were drawn up Julian’s legs. Without a moments hesitation mum took hold of Julian’s penis before pulling up the front of the underpants.

Julian was shocked: “Mum…” 

“Well, you’d better do it…” his mum conceded.

More embarrassed than ever, Julian arranged his penis and testicles within the tight confines of the junior underpants designed for boys up the the age thirteen. He fixed his eyes back on the wall opposite.

It was true the little white underpants were cut in such a way to facilitate the wearing of extremely brief short trousers, but before the ladies could assess the effect of them on Julian’s particular pair of short trousers, there was another matter of concern that had become apparent.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” It was Mrs Stevens who first drew attention to the problem. “I hadn’t thought… but that will never do… do you see?”

“Hmm… yes, we’ll have to do something… we certainly can’t leave it like that…” Julian’s mother agreed.

Mrs Stevens shook her head: “I’d not thought about that… you see Albert’s still too young and Adam’s only just started to… well, you can only just about see them, but he’s very proud nonetheless…”

“What are we going to do?” Julian’s mum asked.

“There’s only one thing we can do...” Mrs Stevens replied.

Julian took his eyes from the wall and looked down to try and see what the problem was. For the life of him, Julian couldn’t make out what it was… until his mum reached out to the few feathery hairs that could just be seen curling out from under the elastic of the tight little junior underpants. The light-coloured hairs were barely visible, but they were noticeable enough to the eagle-eyed ladies.

“... scissors will have to for now,” Mrs Stevens continued, “but I think you’d be better off with shaving foam and a razor on the day…”

“Yes… I think you’re right…”

“MUM!! YOU CAN’T!!” Julian was understandably upset. His pubic hair had been a long time coming and he wasn’t best pleased at the thought of losing it so soon after its appearance. Julian had been one of the last boys in his class at school to sprout hairs at the base of his penis. One or two boys had got their hairs when they were in the First Form; Julian had had to wait until he was almost fifteen before his appeared. When Julian was fourteen he suffered agonies of humiliation each time he went into the obligatory communal showers after PE and games at school. The good-natured joshing, calling him ‘baldy’ and such like, soon wore thin on the sensitive boy. And now his mum was seriously considering following the advice of a neighbour and removing his precious pubic hair just for this silly competition. I mean, thought Julian, who’s even going to see my underpants?

But mum wasn’t concerned: “Oh, don’t be such fuss-pot, darling… you know it’ll all grow back again…”

“But… but… mum,” Julian wanted to plead that it had taken long enough for his hairs to grow in the first place, he didn’t want to wait for them to grow a second time and in the meantime have to put up with all the gibes from his classmates calling him ‘baldy’ and taunting him all over again. However, Julian was not about to divulge his inner feelings and how anxious he was in front of a roomful of his mother’s friends. So, with a heartfelt sigh he had to settle for the underwhelming words: “But, mum, it’s not fair…”

“Your mum’s right, Julian… it’ll will soon grow back,” Mrs Stevens said in an effort to console Julian, “And it’s all in a good cause, so let’s give them a little trim just to smarten you up, eh?”

Julian couldn’t begin to understand what the ‘good cause’ might be, unless it was to give everyone a laugh at his expense. First it was the short school trousers that he hadn’t worn for years, then the haircut… not just any old haircut, but one of Mr Fenner’s special short-back-and-sides haircuts, then these stupid junior schoolboy underpants… and now they want to cut off my hairs! Where will it all end, Julian wondered.

Faced with superior odds Julian stood still while he suffered the indignity of having his junior schoolboy underpants taken down by Mrs Stevens, while his mum went off in search of a suitable pair of scissors. It was of course a huge embarrassment to have his boyhood on show once more, a situation made worse by the complete indifference shown by his mum’s friends. While Julian blushed hotly to the roots of his hair, the ladies continued to chat as if it was a matter of no concern to have a boy of sixteen standing in their midst with his penis on display.

Julian’s mother returned with a small pair of scissors and handed them to Mrs Stevens: “Will these do?” she asked.

“Perfect… shall I make a start?” Mrs Stevens replied.

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind… the sooner it’s done, the sooner we’ll know if the junior underpants are going to be suitable for Julian to wear with his school shorts.”

Julian was shocked when Mrs Stevens took hold of his penis and pulled it to one side and set to work with the little scissors. He couldn’t bring himself to look down at what she was doing at first, but when he heard the snippy-snip-snip of the scissors and felt the cold metal touch his bare flesh, he just had to look and was horrified to see his cut boy-hairs tumbling down his legs as Mrs Stevens worked the little scissors around the base of his penis. One side denuded of pubic hair, Mrs Stevens pulled Julian’s penis so that she could get to the other side with the scissors. Once more Julian suffered the heartbreak of seeing his precious boy-hairs snipped off and watching as they floated to the floor of the living-room.

“There, that’s much better,” Mrs Stevens said with some satisfaction, “Julian won’t have any problems wearing junior underpants now…”

Julian was horror-struck. Looking down, there was absolutely no sign that he’d ever had any pubic hair! Mrs Stevens had certainly been very thorough and since Julian’s pubic hair was very light in colour, the little that remained was almost invisible when viewed from even just a few inches away. No wonder Julian thought he was completely bald.

Needless to say after Julian had been helped on with the junior schoolboy underpants for a second time, there was absolutely no sign of his unsightly pubic hair. Mum and Mrs Stevens were both pleased with the result and felt confident that Julian would be in with a chance to win the Smartest Schoolboy of the Year Award. Julian was given his short school trousers back and told to put them back on. Once mum had straightened his tie and brushed away a couple of specks of fluff, the ladies stepped back to examine the blushing boy. Mrs Atwell stepped forward and made sure that everything was ‘just so’ by fiddling with the hem of Julian’s shorts. Meanwhile Mrs Bridges brushed her hand over his hair and wiped a mote of dust from his face. 

“If Julian doesn’t win the Smartest Schoolboy Award, I’ll want to know the reason why,” his mum said emphatically and with a degree of pride that so touched Julian that he unexpectedly found himself hoping he could live up to it.

The Book Club - Part 3

 

Hugh (just 18) was angry with himself. How could he have let a pompous little twit like Simon (19 - nearly 20) trick him into that game of strip table-tennis? He stared at Simon’s woefully small, almost hairless genitals. If it wasn’t for the fact that Hugh was dressed in his old school uniform complete with eye-wateringly brief short trousers, he might have been tempted to take matters into his own hands and give Simon what for… well, that and the fact they were both facing their respective mothers and the other members of the Bunbury Ladies Reading Circle, as well as Abigail and Heather, the young daughters of one of the members of said circle.

Hugh had to be content with watching Simon’s mother deal with her son. She was clearly mortified by Simon’s behaviour in front of her guests and was in no doubt that she had to show them how naughty boys were dealt with in her house. It was a simple case that her dignity demanded she did so.

Everyone sensed this and remained respectfully quiet. The only sounds were of Simon whimpering and pleading and promising his mother that he wouldn’t do it again, that he would behave himself in future, if only please, please, please, she wouldn't, not in front of everyone.

“Wouldn’t what, Simon?” Amanda stopped and asked her son.

Hugh had to smirk as he saw Simon realise what he’d just implied by his miserable pleading.

“Come along, Simon… what wouldn’t mummy do if you behaved yourself?” Amanda insisted.

Simon, still standing on the coffee table with his hands firmly on his head and his little schoolboy underpants at his feet, screwed up his face. Hugh thought Simon was about to burst into tears, but Simon was merely stealing himself to tell everyone in the room what he knew mummy would do.

“Spank my bottom…” he blurted out. It was hardly the behaviour of a boy of almost twenty summers and when he realised he’d made a mistake Simon corrected himself and actually apologised! This was done under the watchful gaze of the Bunbury Ladies Reading Circle and their junior members the sisters Heather and Abigail… and of course Hugh. 

“Um, I’m sorry, I meant bare bottom, mummy… you’d spank my bare bottom.”

“That’s correct,” Amanda confirmed, “You know as well as I do that a spanking does a boy absolutely no good unless it’s administered to his bare bottom.”

“Yes, mummy,” Simon agreed.

“Now get down from the coffee table and let’s show the ladies how we deal with naughty boys in this house.”

It was obvious to everyone what a struggle it was for Simon to comply. The ladies now knew and of course Simon knew what awaited him. Abigail stepped forward and offered to assist by helping Simon untangle his underpants from his feet which she did showing remarkable efficiency and addressing Simon as if he was nearer twelve than twenty.

“Oh you have got your little underpants into a tangle,” Abigail admonished the blushing boy, “What have you been up to? Come along let’s lift up this little footy… that’s right… now the other one… what a clever boy!”

Hugh could barely contain himself as he watched Simon being assisted by Abigail who now handed Simon’s junior schoolboy underpants to her sister, Heather.

Hugh stepped forward with his arm held out. “Here… let me help you off the coffee table, Simon.”

Simon glared at Hugh.

Amanda smiled and praised Hugh for being so helpful and setting such a fine example for her badly behaved son. However, Margret, Hugh’s mother, couldn’t help wondering what her son was up to, but decided to wait and see and soak up some of the reflected glory of Hugh’s so far exemplary, gentlemanly behaviour.

So, somewhat reluctantly, Simon took hold of Hugh’s hand and stepped down from the coffee table. Left wearing just his school shirt and tie, together with his ankle socks and T-bar school sandals, Simon looked quite ridiculous standing in front of the Bunbury Ladies Reading Circle. As Simon turned to face his mother, Hugh saw the pale cheeks of Simon’s bottom. Hugh glanced around the room whilst wondering whether Simon’s mum would just give him a hand spanking on his bare bottom, or was there a paddle or and hair brush lying about ready to be employed on a naughty bottom?

Then Hugh spotted it… pay dirt! He grinned. Perfect. There, on the sideboard across the room where it had been casually discarded, was a  Palio SuperXpress Master table tennis bat. No wonder Simon had won those table tennis games so easily, Hugh thought. If he was playing with one of those he must have known I didn’t stand a chance. He took me for a sucker alright.

It was Hugh’s turn to glare at Simon. His eyes travelled down to look at Simon’s pale bottom once more and Hugh wondered just how red they would turn after a really good spanking with the Palio bat. ‘Dream on,’ Hugh thought, ‘do you seriously expect he’ll be spanked with that bat?’ he told himself… but, you never know. Hugh was nothing if not an optimist.

Simon continued to plead with his mother not to spank him in front of everyone, but it hardly needs to be recorded that his words were in vain. Amanda stood to one side of her son and then took hold of the back tail of Simon’s grey school shirt and with one practiced tug, yanked it up and pushed it firmly into the collar, thus effectively baring Simon’s front from chest to ankle and from ankle to shoulder at the back.

Simon’s penis had by this time deflated somewhat. Abigail, with her comprehensive knowledge of puberty in boys, can’t have been the only person in the room to wonder why Simon had such a boyish-looking penis. Why, it was much smaller and thinner than those Abigail saw in her school books. From where she was sitting Abigail could see that Simon’s foreskin was noticeably longer than the ones she’d seen in the book about how boys develop during their teen years. Could it be that Simon’s penis is even smaller than it looks, she wondered? No wonder he didn’t want his trousers taken down to be measured properly.

“Hands back up on your head, Simon,” his mothered ordered, “... and keep them there,” she added menacingly, expecting her son to behave himself and do what he was told.

Hugh wished he could have seen Simon’s face as Amanda put her left hand on Simon’s shoulder and then raised her right arm. She swung her hand sharply downwards and cracked it squarely across Simon’s left buttock. Simon jolted forward and in the process his penis was seen to slap up against his pubis, much to the amusement of Heather and Abigail. More spanks followed as Amanda swatted her son’s bottom cheeks and in the process turning them a light pink colour. Each time her hand made contact, Simon’s hips pushed out and an incoherent noise was heard to leave his lips. Gradually the noises turned to barely comprehensible pleading, but mum’s hand continued to spank Simon’s bottom turning it from light pink to bright red in colour.

It was only with extreme difficulty that Simon managed to keep his hands on his head. But when mum’s hand finally stopped warming up his bottom, Simon performed a sort of jig for the obvious amusement of ladies of the book club, hopping from one foot to the other in an attempt to ease the stinging sensation left by his mother’s practiced hand upon his bare bottom.

“Well done, Amanda!” Betty Crabbe said as she expressed her wholehearted support for the book club member.

“I’ll go along with that,” Margret, Hugh’s mother, chipped in before adding, “I’d not thought of spanking Hugh standing up… it looked very effective.” Margret looked meaningfully at Hugh, but before Hugh could say anything, Amanda spoke:

“If you think that was effective, Margret, you should see what happens when I use my hairbrush…”

Simon’s head twisted round to face his mother. The shocked look on his face said it all.

“... it’s just a pity I left it upstairs…”

Heather leapt up: “I’ll fetch it, Mrs Waters…” she offered enthusiastically.

Hugh was on the alert. He’d never get another chance like this… do it now, say something, he told himself, before Heather goes for the hairbrush.

Simon looked over to Hugh when he heard him cough politely:

“Ahem… Mrs Waters… um, why don’t you use that ping-pong bat instead?” Hugh said as he indicated the table tennis bat lying on the sideboard.

Everyone turned their heads to see the bat Hugh had drawn their attention to, but before their eyes had properly focused and they’d realised the the use to which it could be put, Simon let out a blood-curdling shriek as he lunged at Hugh.

“YOU BASTARD!!… YOU… YOU LITTLE SHIT!!”

Wisely Hugh, for once in his life, did nothing and simply watched and let Simon dig himself into a hole. It took little more than a second before Simon realised how deep that hole was.

“Simon Waters!!” Amanda snapped, “What do you think you are doing?! And what do you mean by using language like that?! You’re a disgrace! Showing me up like that! Who do you think you are to behave like that in front of my guests! And as for attacking Hugh for absolutely no reason…” Amanda paused and turned to speak to Hugh in a somewhat less vigorous voice: “Yes, that table-tennis bat will be a perfect substitute, Hugh. Thank you for your suggestion.”

The contrast between the two boys was not lost on the ladies. Red-faced and red-bottomed, Simon was on the verge of tears as he was brought down to earth by his mother’s words. With his shirt pulled up and tucked into its collar, and in the absence of both short trousers and underpants, Simon was, for all practical purposes, nude. Hugh, on the other hand, stood smartly and fully dressed. Fighting the urge to look smug, Hugh had the satisfaction of knowing that Simon was getting his just reward.

“But, mum… mummy… it’s my Palio SuperXpress… please… don’t use it… it’ll ruin it for play…” Simon implored his mother.

“Well you shouldn’t have left it lying about, should you… I’ve told you enough times to put your things away… It will be a lesson for you to look after your table-tennis bat... and you can think about that lesson while Hugh uses it to spank your bottom…”

It was hard to know which boy was more shocked, Hugh or Simon. Certainly Simon’s mouth fell open as he finally cottoned on to the circumstances under which he’d met Hugh before.

“Now go and fetch your bat and hand it over to Hugh,” Amanda instructed her disgraced son, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the shameful language you used…”

Simon knew that meant an unpleasant trip to the kitchen sink for a mouth-soaping before the day was out.

Amanda turned towards Hugh as Simon crossed the room to fetch the table-tennis bat: “What position would you like Simon to adopt? I leave it down to you… Simon will do whatever you require...” There was no need for her to say anything else. Simon knew by the tone of his mother’s voice that he was in enough trouble already to risk upsetting her further.

Hugh looked thoughtfully at the coffee table: “Any position, Mrs Waters?”

Amanda nodded.

Over on the other side of the room Simon picked up his Palio bat. He looked at it and ran his fingers over the red sponge. It was hard, perfect for fast loops and chops, but he trembled to think what it would feel like smacking his already tender bare bottom. He walked back and nervously held out the bat for Hugh to take while looking down and  refusing to make eye contact.

Hugh couldn’t resist a sly smile as he told Simon to get back up onto the coffee table… and this time he was instructed to kneel. Reluctantly Simon did as he was told, but baulked when Hugh explained that he was to lean forward over the edge of the table and put his hands flat on the carpet, even though he knew what sort of mood his mother was in.

Simon’s obstinacy did not go down at all well with Amanda and there followed the usual exchange of views: “... but, mum… do I have to? It’s not fair…” “Simon you’re only making things worse for yourself… now do what Hugh says...” “Please, mummy…” before the final “That’s enough!” from Amanda brought the exchange of words to a halt.

All the while Hugh stood patiently to one side and watched as Simon made a fuss and annoyed his mother even further. Never mind, Hugh thought, it gives me the perfect excuse to really put Simon’s Palio bat through its paces.

Finally Simon stretched out and, leaning forward, placed his hands on the carpeted floor. He’d never before felt quite this vulnerable and as Hugh tapped the table tennis bat on his perfectly positioned bare bottom, Simon realised he was left utterly defenceless. Having to support his whole upper body weight on his hands meant he had no choice but to stay in position and take every swat of the bat that Hugh delivered no matter how much they stung.

“How many shall I give him, Mrs Waters?” Hugh asked politely.

“Oh, you carry on, Hugh and I’ll let you know when I think he’s had enough,” Simon’s mother replied. Hugh was delighted to oblige.

Needless to say this news did not go down well with Simon as he waited anxiously for the spanking to begin. He was already visibly tense and, with bottom cheeks clenched, braced himself for the first strike of his own table tennis bat on his own bare bottom. But Hugh simply swished the bat to-and-fro a few times to get the feel of it before he was ready to start. And even then, when the bat first touched Simon’s bottom, it was only for a few taps before Hugh pressed it firmly against the right buttock and teased the increasingly nervous Simon. Although this tactic used up valuable time, Hugh knew from personal experience how it raised the levels of nervous anticipation to stratospheric levels. He could see the effect it was having on Simon whose eyes were squeezed tightly shut in expectation of the first sting of the bat.

A few more taps on Simon’s left buttock and then suddenly Hugh swung the bat down hard on each bare cheek in turn, as if returning some of the strokes he’d received during the game he’d been hoodwinked into playing against Simon. After four rapid swats, Hugh paused and waited for the full effect of the first swats to make themselves felt. Simon twisted his hips and jiggled his bottom as best as he could much to the amusement, it has to be said, of the ladies. Heather couldn’t stop herself from giggling as she watched, while Abigail was astonished at the powerful effect the simple table tennis bat had when applied to a boy’s bare bottom. Even after the first few strokes Abigail couldn’t help noticing how the colour of Simon’s bottom almost matched that of the bright red bat held in Hugh’s capable hand.

Simon tried not not debase himself any further by making a noise, but after another series of taps followed by some truly inspired strokes from Hugh wielding the bat, Simon begged for him to stop, pleading shamelessly as his knees slowly parted on the coffee table and his bottom sagged as he attempted to ease the awful stinging sensation that now beset his neither regions.

Hugh didn’t need to say anything, as Simon’s mother told her son, in no uncertain terms, to push his bottom out properly and to stop whining… it was only a table tennis bat after all, she added.

Throughout these proceedings it should be noted that Hugh’s mother, Margret couldn’t help wondering why Simon reacted so violently to Hugh’s mention of the table tennis bat. It was quite a puzzle. She, like everyone else in the room, could see the remarkable effect of the bat as an instrument of punishment was having on Simon’s bottom. But the curious thing about it was that Hugh, as far as she was aware, had never been beaten with a table tennis bat, so why did he suggest using it to Mrs Waters? If Hugh hadn’t been on the receiving end of a bat, how did he know of its undoubted effectiveness?

In the meantime Simon was struggling to stay in position as Hugh returned every one of the whacks with the table tennis bat that he had received from Simon during the after-school table tennis club… with interest.

As the final wallop of the bat landed on Simon’s sizzling, red-hot bottom, he was left with tears and snot running down his face as he tried to catch his breath. Simon had never known a spanking to sting so much. Even his mother’s hairbrush didn’t sting quite as bad as the table tennis bat. But just as he was managing to get control of himself again, Abigail spoke:

“Please, Mrs Waters, can I have a go?”

“Well, I’m not sure, dear. Hugh’s given Simon quite a spanking… you can see how red his bottom is,” Amanda replied.

But then Abigail’s mother Cynthia chipped in: “Oh, go on Amanda. Let Abigail have ago if she wants to… I don’t think she’ll be able to spank Simon’s bottom as hard as a big strong boy like Hugh…”

Amanda looked down at her son’s bright red bottom and thought about it for a moment before replying: “All right then… but just six strokes,” she said.

Hugh handed the bat to Abigail and told her where to stand for the best swing.

Simon’s head shot up when he felt the first of Abigail’s half dozen stokes of the bat, all of which fell square across the lower curves of his bottom cheeks. Abigail had consciously aimed for this area as she could see it was a paler red than the rest of Simon’s bare bottom and therefore obviously in need of her attention.

After her allotted six strokes which had left Simon wailing like a banshee, Cynthia turned to Amanda: “It sounds as if I was wrong… seems as if Abigail can swing that bat as well as a boy!”

Of course no one was surprised when Heather wanted a go with the table tennis bat as well, to which Simon pleaded that his bottom was on fire and please, please, please no more thwacks with the bat on his bottom. So Amanda ruled that Simon’s bottom had had enough, but Heather looked so disappointed that she suggested Heather might like to try the bat out on Simon’s thighs which Amanda could see were quite untouched and still pale.

“Is that alright with you, Simon?” his mother asked sarcastically.

Inwardly Simon groaned, but accepted the compromise: “Yes, mummy…”

Simon’s face was now a real mess covered in tears, drool and snot, made worse when he tried to wipe his nose as he supported himself with one hand on the carpet. His mother told him helpfully that it wouldn’t be possible for Heather to be able to spank him very hard with the bat and that she wasn’t even going to hit his bottom just as he’d asked.

Once more Hugh’s expertise was called upon to show Heather the best way to grip the handle of the table tennis bat. Unprompted he also told Heather whereabouts to aim for on the back of Simon’s so far unblemished thighs. Heather nodded and set about her task with vim and vigour. She landed the bat on exactly the right spot on Simon’s left thigh… well, it must have been the right spot as Simon reared up and yelped, much to the surprise of everyone watching. Was Simon such a softie, they wondered, that he could react in such a way to a spanking given by a young girl like Heather?

Heather smacked the bat down on Simon’s right thigh which brought a similar reaction. Simon started begging Heather to stop.

Heather paused and looked at Simon’s mother for advice.

“Simon… what do you think you are doing?” his mother scolded him, “I can’t see what all the fuss is about. You asked for Heather not to spank your bottom, which I agreed  to, and now you’re making a great big fuss because she’s spanking the backs of your thighs which you agreed she could do… I just don’t know what’s got into you, I really don’t. Now get your head down and let Heather get on with her turn…”

Hugh looked down as Simon steadied himself and waited for Heather to resume spanking his thighs. Hugh felt magnanimous and was almost ready to offer to shake hands with Simon and to call it quits, although Hugh thought it somehow unlikely Simon would be willing to oblige having been utterly humiliated in front of his mother’s guests and spanked with the very same table tennis bat that Simon had used on Hugh’s bare bottom. Simon had been spanked by himself, Abigail and Heather, who had the distinction of warming Simon’s thighs. There really wasn’t much more that Hugh could think of that might add to Simon’s shame… unless, unless he could think of a way to draw some more attention to that pathetic little penis Hugh could just about glimpse dangling between Simon’s legs as he knelt on the coffee table. Every time Heather hit his legs with the bat Simon’s penis would flick up out of sight, his erection long gone.

The last stroke of the bat from Heather finally came and Simon was told he could stand up and climb down off the table. It was clear to Amanda that he was desperate to sooth his stinging bottom and thighs.

“All right, Simon, you can have two minutes…” Amanda didn’t need to tell Simon what to do as he went straight up on tiptoes, pushed his hips forward and reached back with his hands to rub his sore bottom. The spanking dance that followed was perhaps the most entertaining part of the book club meeting. Everyone watched as Simon, bereft of any sense of shame, leapt, squirmed and wriggled about frantically trying to ease the stinging, burning sensation left by the application of his very own table tennis bat to his neither regions. In short, Simon made a complete spectacle of himself before he was told to put his hands on his head and stand facing the room and to watch while his short trousers were measured by the girls.

Abigail and Heather set to work and lay Simon’s short trousers on top of the coffee table.

“Make sure they’re nice and flat to get a proper measurement,” the girls’ mother, Cynthia advised.

“We know what we’re doing, mum” Abigail replied as she smoothed out Simon’s brief schoolboy shorts.

“Gosh, they look even smaller off than on,” Heather said as she laid the measuring tape along the inseam of Simon’s short trousers.

“Hold it tight… that’s it, now let’s have a look,” Abigail said as she peered down at the tape. “You were right, Heather,” she announced, “... one and a quarter inches exactly! Let’s just check the other leg… yes, that’s the same… one and a quarter inches.”

Abigail looked up: “We needn’t have taken down Simon’s short trousers after all…”

“... but if we hadn’t taken them down, you wouldn’t have got to spank his bare bottom,” Heather observed.

“... and you wouldn’t have got to spank his legs either,” Abigail added.

Hugh knew what was next on the agenda and decided to show himself to be a paragon of virtue in the eyes of the ladies by offering to take off his own schoolboy shorts so they could be measured by the girls. The offer accepted, Hugh sidled over towards Simon. He needed to be as close to Simon as could for the simple reason that it would give him opportunity to conclusively humiliate his adversary. Hugh had never felt so reckless. Making sure that everyone would see, Hugh pulled his shirt up out of his short trousers and, with his head down, tucked the tails under his chin. Next he unhooked and unzipped his old prep school shorts and then Hugh ‘accidentally’ caught the waistband of his underpants under his thumbs and pushed sharply downwards. Trousers and underpants together were, in the blink of an eye, rumpled around his ankles before Hugh ‘realised’ what he’d done. He stood up straight so that everyone in the room would at least have a glimpse of his penis which his underpants, until  that moment, had contained.

Hugh immediately apologised for his ‘mistake’: “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

But before Hugh had chance to bend back down again to retrieve his underpants, Betty Crabbe stopped him: “Just a moment, Hugh,” she said, “This looks like an opportunity to test Abigail’s earlier observations about the size of a boy’s penis post puberty. We’ve all seen Simon’s… er, specimen which really doesn’t seem to support Abigail’s theory. Now we have a second… er, specimen which, on the face of it, might prove Abigail to be correct after all...”

Hugh acted as if he was shocked by this suggestion and looked over at his mother.

“Mum…?” he queried, for all the world as if the last thing he wanted was to have his penis compared to that of Simon, “Pleeease… this is so embarrassing.”

Of course Hugh couldn’t wait to be compared to Simon whose pathetic little tiddler... now that it was soft, it looked smaller than ever.

“Don’t be silly, Hugh,” Margret, his mother, replied, “It will be a valuable lesson for the girls… Now finish taking off your trousers and underpants and go and stand next to Simon.”

Hugh, doing his best to look crestfallen and with a hang-dog sigh replied, “Yes, mum…” giving everyone the impression that what he was doing was done under great sufferance.

Hugh slipped off his short trousers and placed them on the coffee table, together with his underpants, next to Simon’s trousers. Turning his back to his audience to walk the couple of paces to stand next to Simon, he caught his adversary’s eyes and grinned. The look on Simon’s face made it all worthwhile… he was supremely, utterly humiliated.

Hugh slipped his arm around Simon’s waist and pulled him close so their thighs were once more touching, only this time both boys were bare from the waist down. Simon struggled, but Hugh held him tight.

“Well, what do you think, Abigail?” her mother, Cynthia asked, “Does the size of Hugh’s penis support your theory?”

“It’s not my theory, mum,” Abigail replied, “It’s what we were told in sex ed. class. Anyway, it was the length of a boy’s erect penis and Hugh’s isn’t erect…”

“Neither is Simon’s… not now,” Heather giggled.

“But even so, from where I’m sitting Hugh’s penis looks to be at least five inches long as it is,” Cynthia observed, “Won’t that do?”

It was Maureen Carter’s suggestion that caused a gasp of astonishment: “Wouldn’t it be possible for Simon and Hugh to… well, after all, Abigail said their lesson was about the length of a boy’s erect penis. I don’t see why we can’t ask the boys to, er… display erect penises for comparison and, perhaps… um, measurement. I mean, the girls have already been using my tape measure… and I’ve no objection should they wish to use it to establish if they are being taught correctly...”

“Well, I for one agree,” Betty Crabbe said in her usual forthright manner, “It’ll give Abigail the undoubted benefit of hands-on experience through the acquisition of empirical data…”

“You mean to say that you think it’s in order for Abigail to measure the length of the boys’ erections?” Margret countered in a tone of voice that was meant to sound as if she was shocked at the very suggestion, but she couldn’t keep a straight face before adding, “Go ahead then… by all means. It looks as though Hugh’s halfway there already as it is…”

“Mumm…” Hugh once more feigned his innocence.

The Book Club - Part 2

 

Simon was bewildered. He was trapped in the hallway and could see there was no escape as the girls’ voices grew louder on the path outside. Simon detected the unmistakable sounds of excitement from the girls as they neared the front door. He was dimly aware of Betty Crabbe telling his mother how much smarter boys looked when dressed in proper short trousers. His mother was saying something, but Simon’s mind was elsewhere.

“Simon…!” she said sharply, “Would you please go to the door and greet our guests and if I have to repeat myself again there’ll be trouble.” Amanda Waters turned to Betty Crabbe, “You see what I have to put up with… Simon’s off in a world of his own half the time.”

Nervously Simon picked at the back of his little school shorts as he went to the front door.

“Now girls, you’re not to make a fuss,” Simon heard the girls’ mother say, “Simon is very shy and will get very upset if you start teasing him…”

Simon stepped forward and stood in the doorway. In front of him were two girls and just behind them their mother, Mrs Cynthia James, a founder member of the Bunbury Ladies Reading Circle. The girls, Abigail and Heather, were in their mid-teens, Abigail, the eldest, being nearly three years younger than Simon. Both girls were dressed modestly, wearing pinafore dresses that Simon saw covered their knees. Instinctively Simon brushed his hands against his bare thighs, feeling the bare flesh made him feel even more exposed than ever.

“Please… er, please, won’t you come in,” Simon said, doing his best to be polite. He certainly didn’t want a repeat of the ear-pulling episode in front of these girls. He saw Abigail nudge her younger sister who in turn stifled a giggle as they stepped into the hallway.

“Thank you, Simon,” Cynthia James said as she too came into the house, “I must say how pleased I am to see you looking so smart… Those short trousers do suit you, Simon.”

Simon knew what he was required to say and through gritted teeth managed to say, “Thank you.”

Mrs James could tell that it was struggle for Simon to reply to her compliment, it hardly mattered whether he meant it or not. It was a sufficient demonstration in her eyes that Simon was a polite, well brought up boy, perhaps a little shy, although that might be expected in a boy wearing such very smart, thigh-revealing short trousers.

The next lady to arrive and join the group was Maureen Carter who made no attempt to disguise her interest in what Simon was wearing and frightened the already nervous boy further by casually observing to no one in in particular: “Oh, I am looking forward to today’s meeting!”

Poor Simon became even more flustered when he heard further footsteps on the footpath and wandered how many more ladies he would have to greet. However, this time he was in for a surprise when Hugh was ushered through the doorway by his mother, Margret Williams.

Hugh and Simon looked at each other and both blushed a deeper red than ever when they saw how they both wore absurdly short short trousers. Hugh had been dressed in his old prep school uniform and had pleaded with his mother not to be taken to her book club meeting, but the threat of an on-the-spot bare bottom spanking soon put an end to his whinging. Though Hugh didn’t escape a few well-placed smacks on the back of his legs when he hesitated before setting off. Faint red marks on Hugh’s bare thighs still visible as he entered Mrs Waters’ house.

“Shake hands with Hugh, Simon,” his mother told her son.

Simon offered his hand to Hugh and red-faced the boys introduced themselves to each other, both wondering what the other had done to deserve the humiliation of being put back into short trousers. Then it suddenly dawned on Hugh that he’d seen Simon before and realised he had an old score to settle. It was clear Simon had no idea that he’d ever met Hugh before, let alone that there was any unfinished business between the two of them. Simon was still wondering why Hugh was in short trousers, although of course that was a whole lot better than having to meet a boy who was wearing longs. Hugh said nothing and decided to bide his time, wondering if today would offer the opportunity for revenge for what happened during the after-school table-tennis club two years ago when Simon had tricked Hugh and another boy into paying forfeits for the loss of each game. Simon was a far more experienced table-tennis player than Hugh who ended up paying dearly for his mistakes since each each game he lost to Simon meant Hugh had to remove one item of clothing. When he had no more clothes to forfeit, Hugh was made to bend over the table-tennis table when he lost yet another game and to accept a bare bottom spanking from Simon brandishing his table-tennis bat. It might not have been quite as bad if Hugh’s nude ordeal was confined to a group of boys, but when a girls’ team arrived to practice and Hugh found his clothes had mysteriously disappeared, well that was humiliation of a different order entirely. So yes, Hugh was hoping that today might be the day when he could settle this old score.

“Now we’re all here, why don’t we go through to the front room and make ourselves comfy?” Amanda announced. She then turned to Hugh and Simon. “You boys can make yourselves useful… I’ve prepared some sandwiches and cakes for our guests. They’re in the kitchen along with the tea things. Tea is already made, so it should be nicely brewed by now, so you can start by bringing the tea through… milk and sugar is on the tea tray.”

As Amanda gave her instructions to the boys the members of the Bunbury Ladies Reading Circle along with Abigail and Heather seated themselves in the comfort of Amanda’s front room.

“Well ladies,” Betty Crabbe said, once more taking her place as chairwoman, “I think the first item of business is to offer a warm welcome to our special guests, Abigail and Heather James…”

The two girls blushed at these unexpected words and the gentle round of applause that followed.

“It’s so heartening to see some young blood at one of our meetings,” Betty continued, “I’m sure there are lots of other activities that Abigail and Heather would rather be be undertaking today, but I’m pleased they have decided to see what we ladies get up to at our Reading Circle meetings. Who knows, perhaps we might even persuade Abigail and Heather to become regular members of our little group, especially if…”

Before Betty Crabbe could say any more Hugh and Simon brought in the tea things. As directed they made their way, somewhat nervously in front of the ladies and young girls, to the low coffee table in the middle of the room. Once there they realised the only way they could safely place the trays on the table was to bend down. As Hugh carefully lowered his tray of Mrs Waters best cups and saucers onto the table, Simon was shocked to see Hugh’s shorts ride up. The lower Hugh bent down, the higher his little short trousers rode up until the smooth pale lower curves of his bottom were exposed for everyone in the room to see.

“Put the cups and saucers out on the table, Hugh,” Amanda Water instructed Hugh, “Then you can take the tray back into the kitchen… Simon, what are you doing?!” she snapped when she saw that her son was trying to avoid bending down and having his short trousers ride up like Hugh’s had done. Simon was attempting a half-kneel-half-crouch manoeuvre which risked upsetting the teapot, milk jug and sugar he was carrying on the tray.

“Just put the tray down on the table, Simon,” his mother said, “This is not the time to entertain us with your juggling act…”

“I’d have thought that boys wearing short trousers would take more care carrying a tray with a hot tea pot,” Maureen Carter observed and thus drawing everyone’s attention to the extremely short trousers worn by Hugh and Simon. Needless to say the boys couldn’t wait to get back into the kitchen, so Simon gulped and bent forward feeling his tiny short trousers riding up like Hugh’s had done. His embarrassment was enhanced as he heard Heather whisper loud enough for him to hear: “Look, mummy… I can see that boy’s bare bottom.”

Neither boy had the opportunity to adjust their little shorts before the order came to take the trays back to the kitchen and as they left the room, with lower bottom curves still bare, they heard the tinkle of girls’ laughter joined by one or two of the ladies bursting into half-suppressed guffaws.

“This is just so embarrassing,” Simon complained to Hugh as they returned to the kitchen.

“Embarrassing! How do you think I felt having to take a bus then walk the rest of the way here with mum?” Hugh replied indignantly, thinking that Simon hadn’t a clue what being embarrassed was really like.

“So?” Simon replied, “It’s not your mum who’s invited all these ladies to tea…”

“... and girls,” Hugh reminded him.

“Yes… and girls.”

The two boys fell silent for a moment before curiosity got the better of Simon and he asked Hugh where his mum got his uniform from.

“It’s my old prep school uniform… how about you?” Hugh asked, trying his best to be friendly and not let on how he really felt about Simon.

“Mum dug out an old pair of my school shorts I used to wear when I was twelve or thirteen,” Simon paused and looked down at his bare legs. He rubbed the open palm of his left hand across the side of his exposed thigh just below the hem of his short trousers before adding, “Then she had the legs taken up… shortened, as if they weren’t already short enough already… Mum makes me wear them when she thinks I’ve… well, um, y’know…” Simon stopped talking before he revealed too much, little knowing that his mother had already made it plan to the ladies of the reading circle why she’d so often had to resort to putting Simon back into short trousers.

“Me too,” Hugh said, although not twigging what Simon was afraid to say, “I hate wearing them. My kid brother is still in short trousers full time… he’s thirteen… He thinks it’s a big laugh when I have to wear them,” Hugh told Simon, “Starts bossing me about ‘cos my old uniform is for junior boys and that makes Harry more senior… and he never stops telling me. His teasing drives me nuts and gets me into even more trouble with mum.”

“Rotten luck,” Simon commiserated.

In the front room Betty congratulated Amanda and Margret on getting their sons to ‘model’ their short trouser uniforms for the benefit of the reading circle.

“It was inspiring to read ‘A Guide to the Correction of Young Gentlemen’, but of course nothing beats having two real boys, appropriately dressed, standing in front of you,” Betty turned to Abigail and Heather, “What do you two think of our boy models, Simon and Hugh? Do you think they’re embarrassed to wear short trousers like the book says?”

Abigail spoke first and used the word all young boys dread to hear, calling them ‘cute’. “When we read the book… ‘The Guide’, together with mum I don’t think Heather and I believed that teenage boys could be so ashamed to be seen wearing short trousers… proper short trousers, mum called them… but I can see that Simon and Hugh are both really, really embarrassed about wearing them in front of us, but I think they both look awfully cute… Heather and I have been trying to decide which boy...”

Heather had been getting visibly excited and clearly wanted her chance to talk and she interrupted her sister: “... we want to know which boy is wearing the shortest shorts. Abigail thinks it’s Hugh, but I think it’s Simon, because when he bent over,” Heather paused to giggle, “... I saw lots more of his bottom!”

“Well, that’s a very good question, Heather,” Betty responded, “How are we to resolve the matter and satisfy the girls’ curiosity? Yes, Maureen?”

“I have a measuring tape in my handbag, if that will help,” Maureen informed the group.

“Good… then if Margret and Amanda have no objection we’ll have the boys back in so we can see whether Abigail or Heather is the best estimator of the length of a boy’s short trousers,” Betty said with a chuckle.

Of course neither Margret nor Amanda had the slightest objection, so Hugh and Simon were called and told to come and join the ladies and girls in the front room.

The boys looked at each other, both of them nervously wondering ‘what now?’ As they walked through, each boy checked the hem of his grey short trousers. Wishing, desperately wishing they were longer, Simon and Hugh tugged at the material without any effect. Their short trousers were supposed to be short and that’s all there was to it.

“Come in… don’t be shy… that’s it, over there where we can all see you,” Betty told the boys, “Now, the girls… that is Abigail and Heather, want to know which of you is wearing the shortest pair of short trousers…”

Simon brushed his fingertips against his bare thighs. He didn’t like the way this was going. Neither did Hugh, but although horribly embarrassed he managed to croak out the words: “I think mine are.”

“Oh,” Betty said, “Now that is a surprise… Heather rather thought Simon was wearing the shorter pair… after all his mother did have his short trousers specially altered and taken up…”

Hugh hung his head. He definitely didn’t like the way this was going. As usual when he was put into short trousers he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Putting them by his sides his hands touched the bare flesh of his exposed thighs and simply reinforced the fact that he was wearing short trousers. Holding his arms behind his back seemed to him to be the best option, but it made him feel even more like a little boy being scolded. Hugh wasn’t to know that Simon felt just the same.

“Do you think your short trousers are shorter than Hugh’s?” Betty asked Simon.

“I… I don’t know,” Simon replied nervously, unsure whether it was better to know or not.

“Perhaps if you boys stand side by side we might find out which of you has the shortest short trousers,” Betty suggested.

Of course it wasn’t a suggestion. The boys knew that, so they moved as close to each other as they could, which wasn’t close enough. The hems of the short trousers weren’t sufficiently near to positively gauge whether Simon’s or Hugh’s were the shortest pair of short trousers.

“Put your arms round each other’s waist,” Betty said to the boys, “That’s it… squeeze in closer… now let’s have a look…”

Somewhat reluctantly Simon and Hugh did as they were told. As their bare thighs touched both boys flinched as if zapped by a spark of static electricity. Nevertheless Simon pressed his hand into Hugh’s waist just as Hugh pressed his hand into Simon’s waist. The boys felt distinctly uncomfortable standing with their arms around each other in front of their mums’ friends. This was far too close for comfort and the boys, their levels of embarrassment climbing all the time, avoided eye contact with each other and everyone in the room by staring fixedly at the carpet at their feet.

Margret, seemingly unaware of her son’s acute embarrassment, spoke: “Hmm… I’m not sure that helps. You see although Simon’s short trousers do look shorter than Hugh’s, I think you can see that Simon is very slightly taller than Hugh so the hem of his short trousers is higher and so it appears as if he is wearing shorter shorts. I think they each need to be properly measured.”

“I agree, Margret,” Betty concurred, “I believe Maureen said she has a tape measure and it occurs to me that the girls might like to do the measuring since it was they wished to know which boy is wearing the shortest shorts…”

Simon groaned: “Oh, mum, please… do we have to have our shorts measured?”

Hugh chipped in and pleaded with his mum too, using the tired phase of boyhood, “...but it’s not fair.”

“Well girls, would you like to measure the boys’ short trousers?” Betty asked.

The reply was a resounding, “Yes please!” and Maureen handed her tape measure to Abigail.

The boys were ordered to fetch the trays, clear the coffee table and take the tea things back into the kitchen.

Relieved to be at least out of view of the girls and the ladies of the book club, if only for a few moments, the boys started to argue as boys do, purely as a way of putting aside the acute embarrassment they’d undergone in the front room.

Simon started off by telling Hugh that he had ‘girly legs’ and he could feel how smooth they were when they were standing next to each other.

“What do you mean, girly-legs? Your legs are just as smooth… what, does your mummy shave them for you?” Hugh countered.

“No she doesn’t shave my legs, as it happens…” Simon replied trying to sound superior, “Anyone can see your girly legs won’t ever need shaving… girly-legs…”

“Stop calling me girly-legs… you were pressing your thighs against me. Maybe you like feeling up boy’s legs. Is that it? Bet you get into trouble ‘cos you like it when mummy makes you wear short trousers…”

Simon was ready to take a swing at Hugh, who was ready squaring up for a bundle, when they heard the voice of Simon’s mother calling loud and clear from the front room: “What are you boys up to in there? Come along! Get a move on! The girls are waiting.”

Hugh and Simon looked daggers at each other.

“We’ll sort this out later…” Simon threatened.

“Yeah… You bet,” Hugh countered.

“Yeah,” Simon responded.

They looked and sounded for all the world like two squabbling boys squaring up to each other in the school playground… but silently relieved when the bell is rung at the end of playtime, thus being spared from having to actually carry out their threats against each other.

The boys went back into the front room to face the ladies of the book club as well as Abigail and Heather. The coffee table was positioned in the middle of the room. The girls stood by the side of the table. Abigail held the tape measure in her hand.

“Right,” said Betty, “Who wants to have his short trousers measured first?”

Simon and Hugh looked at each other. It was no surprise to find that neither boy volunteered to be the first.

“Alright, girls you choose,” Betty spoke again, “Which boy would you like to measure first?”

Heather stepped forward, took a reluctant Simon by the hand and guided him to the table.

“Up you get, Simon,” his mother, Amanda ordered her son.

Simon clambered up onto the coffee table and immediately felt even more vulnerable than ever. It was only with great difficulty that he avoided the inquisitive eyes of his mother’s friends as they watched and waited for his little short trousers to be measured by the girls.

“Legs apart,” Abigail ordered, “and keep your hands out of the way… put them on your head.”

When she heard this Simon’s mother looked at Cynthia, Abigail’s mother, and nodded to express her approval and to also show how impressed with Abigail she was.

Simon parted his legs enough for his short trousers to be measured, but looked pleadingly at his mother before lifting his arms.

“Do as Abigail has asked, Simon.” The tone of his mother’s voice was enough to make Simon do as he was told.

The tape measure was handed to Heather and she had the honour of taking the first measurement. Abigail seemed to know what she was doing as she told her sister how to place the tip of the measuring tape on the inner seam of Simon’s trouser leg.

“It’s got to be measured from the crotch… isn’t that right mummy?” Abigail said turning to her mother, Cynthia James.

“Yes, darling… make sure that Heather has the tape pressed firmly against Simon’s leg,” Cynthia advised her daughters.

The girls got to work and Simon felt two sets of fingers manoeuvring the tape dangerously close to his boy-bits. The girls prodded the metal tip of the tape and pressed it right up into Simon’s groin causing him to flinch and the tape to slip.

“Keep still, Simon,” his mother snapped, “How do expect the girls to measure your short trousers if you keep fidgeting? Now be still and cooperate.”

“But, mum…” Simon whined, but didn’t say any more when he heard Maureen speak.

“I think the only way you’re going to be able to measure their short trousers properly,” she said, “is if the trousers are taken off and measured when they’re not being worn…”

“An excellent idea, Maureen, but I think we’ll give the girls the opportunity to measure the boys’ short trousers in situ first,” Amanda said and then added for Simon’s benefit, “I’m sure Simon will see sense and cooperate now…”

Simon’s behaviour was fuel to Hugh’s resentment of the older boy. Not only was Simon behaving like a prize plonker, but he’d managed to saddle them with the threat of having their short trousers taken right off! Hugh was sure that he wouldn’t give the girls any excuse to take down his trousers. He wouldn’t dance about on the table like a complete prat like Simon.

Abigail and Heather whispered to each other. They’d make sure Simon’s little trousers would have to come down.

Under strict instructions to keep perfectly still the measurement of Simon’s short trousers began again. This time, in spite of all the girls’ intentions, Simon managed to bravely keep still as he felt the metal tip of the tape measure again being pressed right up into the crutch of his shorts. He also kept still as he felt the girls’ fingers brushing the bare flesh of his inner thighs as they read the tape measure.

“One and a quarter inches,” Heather announced.

“Are you sure… that looks like one and an eighth to me,” her sister Abigail said.

The girls tried he other leg as Simon struggled to keep still. But not only was Simon, hands still resolutely pressed firmly to the top of his head, trying to keep from flinching, he was also desperately trying to stop another movement from developing inside his underpants.

Hugh had seen the signs. The slight, but to Hugh’s trained eye, noticeable bulge pushing out the front of Simon’s short trousers was a dead giveaway. Hugh wondered how long it would be before someone said something. Then a glorious thought occurred to Hugh, what if they decide to take his trousers down? They’ll all see it then!

Needless to say, the thought that Hugh himself might be soon in that very same position never occurred to him. He just wanted to see Simon humiliated for calling him ‘girly-legs’ and for tricking him into playing strip ping-pong.

“No… it’s definitely one and a quarter,” Heather said firmly, “Look, see…”

“Let me hold the tape,” Abigail said to her sister, “You hold the other end against Simon’s leg…”

The girls’ fingers were all over Simon’s upper thighs, tickling the soft inner flesh which caused Simon to jerk back.

The girls were left holding the tape against thin air.

Abigail turned to her mother: “Mummy, Simon won’t keep still… We can’t measure his trousers properly if he keeps moving…”

Simon’s mother, Amanda took charge: “Simon, you were given the opportunity to let the girls measure your short trousers while you were wearing them… well, that didn’t work. How could it with you jumping about all over the place? As you didn’t want to cooperate and let Abigail and Heather do their measuring with you wearing your short trousers, then I think we’ll take up Maureen’s suggestion and have those trousers of yours right off so they can be measured properly…”

Hugh had a hard job to hide his smile as he watched Simon standing on the coffee table. Hugh could tell that Simon was almost in tears as he pleaded… begged, his mother let him keep his short trousers on. He would stand still. He would let the girls measure all they wanted to, but please… please, he implored, don’t take my trousers down in front of everyone.

Hugh thought this was the most glorious moment ever. In his overactive imagination Hugh saw himself forever taunting Simon in a sing-songy voice with those very words: ‘don’t take my trousers down, mummy... not in front of everyone, mummy’.

Betty, on observing Simon’s behaviour remembered a few words from the book they’d been discussing at their previous meeting: “To experience déculottage…”, she said to herself, “Yes, a most severe humiliation for a boy of Simon’s age and temperament.”

Blimey, if he’s already like this, Hugh thought as he watched Simon pathetically pleading to be spared his disgrace, what’s he going to be like when everyone sees he’s got a hard-on? Hugh very nearly burst out laughing at the thought before he had a brilliant idea.

“Um… excuse me, Mrs Waters,” he said, “but can I help, er with Simon’s trousers? I’m sure I would be easier for me to undo them and, er help Abigail and Heather take them down.”

“That’s very kind of you, Hugh… very thoughtful indeed. Perhaps you could help the girls then. I know that little metal double clasp can be a bit fiddly and stiff,” Amanda replied.

Not the only thing that’s a bit stiff, Hugh thought.

“Mummy… please… he can’t… It’s not fair!” Simon wailed, for all the world like a little boy who’s favourite sweetie has just been given to another child. But Simon was sensible enough to stay put and watched as Hugh stepped up to the coffee table to help Abigail and Heather. Simon’s eyes looked down to watch Hugh’s fingers as they moved towards the front of his grey short trousers. Hugh looked up at Simon with a barely suppressed smile on his face. It didn’t take a genius to decode the look in Simon’s eyes: “I’ll get you for this!” It was as plain as if Simon’s words had been spoken out loud.

As a boy Hugh was of course used to these fiddly clasps and he unclipped the metal hooks with ease. Then he took the little metal flap at the top of the zip between the fingers of his right hand, ready to pull it down over the bump in Simon’s short trousers.

Hugh knew the best way of pulling down the zip-fly was to grab hold of the waistband of the the grey shorts with his other hand, which is exactly what he did and in the process yanked Simon’s shorts upwards sharply.

“OWW!!” Simon yelled as his balls were caught by the crotch seam of his short trousers. He turned to his mother: “Mum, that hurt… Hugh did that deliberately…”

“Oh, don’t make such a fuss, Simon… Act your age… Hugh’s only…”

“But, mum he caught my… my…” Simon interrupted and then stopped abruptly when he realised what he he was about to say in front of everyone.

Hugh’s antics surprisingly had little effect on the bulge in his short trousers.

“Please continue, Hugh,” Amanda said, “And do ignore my son’s theatrics…”

Eagerly Hugh did as he was told and started to pull the zip-fly down… until it reached the bump. Hugh pressed his knuckles against it and felt Simon’s penis through the grey fabric of his short trousers. Well, Hugh had to otherwise how could he manage to pull the zip down any further? Quite whether Hugh needed to do quite so much prodding and poking is perhaps questionable as this only made the situation worse… for Simon, that is. Hugh could easily feel the stiff rod was, well, stiff.

“Get a move on, Hugh… the girls are waiting to measure Simon’s shorts,” Amanda said.

“Sorry, but the zip’s being a bit awkward… something in the way, I think… no, there that’s got it…” With one sharp tug, Hugh pulled the zip all the way down.

The front of Simon’s short trousers fell open to reveal a pair of startlingly white junior schoolboy underpants. Hugh stepped back to give everyone a chance to see Simon’s tight little boy underpants framed by the now open fly of the short trousers. Hugh couldn’t help but grin as he looked at Simon’s balls, clearly defined by the taut white cotton, but what was really thrilling was to see Simon’s penis pressing against the cotton material as well. Not only that, but Hugh could see that Simon’s penis was dangerously close to the sloping fly of the little boy underpants. Any unguarded movement could see Simon’s penis poking out of the open fly… a delicious thought for the vengeful Hugh.

Hugh leant forward again and slipped his fingers underneath the legs of Simon’s short trousers and with a gentle tug watched as they slipped down Simon's smooth legs.

“Thank you, Hugh… that will do for now,” Amanda said, giving Hugh the hope that his involvement in Simon’s humiliation wasn’t quite over. “Abigail… Heather… take Simon’s trousers… you’ll have to lift his feet… yes that’s it… now watch… SIMON!!”

Hugh sniggered. As the girls had lifted Simon’s legs the boy’s hips had twisted and as they did so his penis, so close to the fly gap, pushed its way out and escaped the confines of the tight little schoolboy underpants. What Hugh saw very nearly caused him to burst out laughing. Simon’s penis, despite the unmistakable lump in his underpants, wasn’t that big at all! Hugh reckoned Simon’s little man was no thicker than his had been when he was thirteen or so and it wasn’t even as long as his had been then either. It was Hugh’s considered opinion that Simon’s erect penis was no more than a risible three inches long... if that.

“SIMON!! What do you think you’re doing?!” his mother admonished him for moving his hands and Hugh realised she hadn’t even noticed Simon’s little penis! “Put your hands back where they belong.”

Dutifully Simon did as he was told and placed his hands back on his head. Simon’s grey Trutex school shirt, freed from his short trousers, was pulled up as he lifted his arms and as his shirt was raised upwards Simon’s junior schoolboy underpants with his little penis poking out were slowly revealed.

Hugh could almost feel the heat of Simon’s shame, so intense had it become.

“And what are you smirking at, Hugh?” his mother Margret asked, “You’ve had your short trousers taken down often enough… I’m surprised you find it funny when it happens to another boy…”

Hugh apologised. It was nothing, he told his mum.

Still no one had noticed Simon’s penis, not even Abigail and Heather who were busy measuring the inner seam of his short trousers. Hugh couldn’t believe that no one in the room had seen it… mind you, he thought, it is small. Hugh tried to imagine what Simon must feel like perched on the coffee table, hands on head, in front of his mum and a room full of ladies and the two girls, knowing that any moment someone would at last notice his penis sticking out of the fly of his underpants.

Someone has got to see it sooner or later, thought Hugh, he must know that he can’t stand there forever without someone seeing it… then what? Hugh could barely contain the urge to chivy things along a bit by ‘accidentally’ drawing attention to the little pink soldier standing to attention, sticking out of Simon’s junior schoolboy underpants.

Hugh caught Simon’s eye and while no one was looking managed a wicked smile. Simon knew what was going through Hugh’s mind and, as much as it was possible with his eyes alone, he pleaded for Hugh not to do anything. But Hugh didn’t need to do anything as Heather chose that precise moment to look up and announce the length of Simon’s short trousers. She was just about to do so when she saw what was poking out of Simon’s underpants.

“Mummy look!! I can see Simon’s willy!!” Heather shouted loud enough to rattle the tea cups. “Look! He’s pushed his willy out of his underpants…”

Abigail looked up and grimaced.

Naturally Simon moved to cover himself, but his mother told him sharply not to move before telling him to apologise to her guests for his disgraceful behaviour.

Hugh watched as the ladies present pursed their lips as they peered at Simon’s penis. In so doing they ensured Simon felt fully ashamed of himself.

Finally Abigail spoke: “It’s not very big is it?” she said dismissively while looking fixedly at Simon’s still erect penis.

“And what makes you think that, young miss?” Abigail’s mother asked, “Are you an expert on the penis size of boys all of a sudden?”

“No,” Abigail answered, “but there was some stuff in sex ed. class about how a boy’s penis gets bigger during puberty. I wasn’t really listening much, but I remember we were told how the average length of a boy’s penis after puberty was between five and six inches… erect, that is…”

“I think that’s quite enough, Abigail,” Cynthia interrupted her daughter.

“But, mum… Simon’s is way smaller that that…” Abigail insisted.

“Your daughter does have a point,” Betty Crabbe observed, “Simon’s penis does appear to be on the small side.” She turned to Amanda Waters, “Perhaps this is why he plays… ahem, misbehaves so much… maybe it’s his way of trying to improve on that which nature has seen fit to bestow upon him, thinking it will make it a bit longer,” Betty laughed.

“Well, if that was the case it would be well over a foot long, the amount of times I’ve caught him playing with it…” Amanda chuckled in reply.

It was now perfectly clear to everyone in the room that Simon had been caught masturbating. The ladies of the Bunbury Ladies Reading Circle had been told at an earlier meeting that this was the reason Simon spent so much time in short trousers as a punishment for his behaviour. But now Abigail and Heather, as well as Hugh, were also in the know. Hugh of course had guessed straightaway… what boy wouldn’t? And what boy would not relish seeing his adversary in such a predicament as that in which Simon now found himself? It goes without saying that Hugh was aware of his own guilt, after all he too indulged freely in the same naughty behaviour as Simon... but he wasn’t the one standing on the coffee table with his penis poking out of his underpants for all to see.

‘Glorious’, was the word that rolled silently over Hugh’s tongue as he watched Simon’s humiliation, but even he didn’t expect to see his rival’s complete debasement as Amanda stepped up to her son who quaked nervously as he stood on the coffee table. Without another word spoken, Simon’s mother reached over to the waistband of her son’s junior schoolboy underpants and, gripping hold of it, tugged the underpants downwards. Of course Simon’s penis, remarkably still in an erect state, was caught in the little underpants, but this was of no concern to mum and as she yanked the underpants all the way down to Simon’s ankles, his little penis, freed from its restraint, slapped up against what looked for all the world to Hugh like a totally bald pubis! What Hugh couldn’t see, along with everyone else in the room for that matter, were the few, straggly, immature little hairs hidden behind Simon’s erect penis. Simon had been a very late bloomer indeed.