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.
