Dominic and the Special Birthday Present

 

It was the day of Dominic’s fourteenth birthday. The big open-plan living room was festooned with birthday bunting and balloons for his birthday party, to which Dominic’s friends, some of his classmates and family members had been invited. The party was to take place that very afternoon.

Although Dominic was, like any young boy, looking forward to the party to be held in his honour, he hated having to dress up for it. Unlike most of the boys he knew, Dominic had been kept in short trousers and his ‘Sunday best’ suit, which he was to wear for the party, comprised the shortest of all his exiguous short trousers. Now Dominic knew it wasn’t so bad wearing short trousers when he was out playing with his friends, since all of the other boys wore shorts in which to play, but for other occasions, such as outings, visits, church and school, Dominic was always the only boy over the age of about ten wearing thigh-baringly short short trousers. Needless to say, the older Dominic became, the more embarrassing he found it to be the only boy still wearing short trousers. There was nothing he could do about it since he possessed no ‘longs’, so it was simply shorts or nothing at all.

Dominic’s friends and relatives arrived and soon the party was in full swing. It wasn’t long before Dominic noticed two of his younger cousins who were three years his junior wearing longs. Dominic resolved to ask his mum again if he could have some longs to wear. So far his pleading had been brushed aside by both his parents as if such matters as long trousers were of no concern for a boy of Dominic’s age, but no matter how much he argued that all his friends had them, his words fell on deaf ears. However Dominic hadn’t completely given up hope since he had overheard mummy and daddy talking about a ‘special birthday present’. To Dominic’s ears this could surely mean only one thing - long trousers!

Dominic, dressed in his Sunday best suit with its cute bolero-style jacket, ankle socks and his T-bar sandals, along with his super short short trousers, felt more the centre of attention even though it was his own birthday party when his aunts told him how cute he looked wearing his Sunday suit.

Of course there were presents to be opened, games to be played, sandwiches and jellies to be consumed, but there was still no sign of the ‘special’ present that Dominic had heard his parents taking about. But when finally, after the last present had been opened as Dominic stood among a veritable sea of discarded wrapping paper, he was presented with a long, oblong box that had been carefully wrapped in birthday paper. Dominic was puzzled and with brow furrowed, he set about unwrapping this curious present. Dominic knew it couldn’t be his eagerly wished for long trousers - that was obvious. So what was it, the present his parents had waited until last to give him?

Everyone watched as Dominic pulled at the paper, tearing it as he unwrapped the present, until, horror of horrors, he realised what this ‘special’ present was. Dominic’s eyes were wide and his mouth fell open as he gazed at the transparent box and what it contained. He saw a printed label on the box, but he didn’t need to read it to know what was in the box. Dominic was aware that two of his cousins had leant over his shoulders to see what had been unwrapped. They both fell about giggling when they saw what it was.

Dominic looked up at his mum and dad, his eyes still wide as he held the special gift in both hands. It was difficult to gauge what he felt… a sort of gut-churning anguish, coupled with disbelief would be a good guess and about as near as makes no difference as to how Dominic actually felt at that precise moment.

“We thought it was about time we got you a new one,” mummy said smiling, “You’re a big boy now after all… I hope you like it…”

Dominic looked down at his present again and read the label: ‘Junior Rectal Thermometer - for Boys aged 14 years and upwards’ His stomach knotted up as he gazed at the pear-shaped bulbous tip of the thermometer with its ribbed tube noticeably thicker than the rectal thermometer he had been used to. The clinical instrument was longer too. Instinctively Dominic’s sphincter tightened as he thought of this new thermometer being pressed deep into his rectum.

Of course it was no secret among Dominic’s adult relatives that mummy continued to take his temperature with a rectal thermometer, but to have what some might consider a private matter made so public on his birthday in front of Dominic’s friends and cousins, this was something else entirely. Now everyone in the room knew Dominic still had his temperature taken rectally and, with this new thermometer it looked certain that Dominic was to continue to have his temperature taken in this manner for a good long while yet.

“Well, what do you say, Dominic?” his mother prompted.

Dominic looked up. He held his new thermometer in front of him, displaying it as if it were a fragile relic. Dominic knew what he was expected to say: “Um… thank you, mummy… er, thank you for my p-present…”

Mummy’s next words shook Dominic to his core: “I expect you’d like to try it out, wouldn’t you, darling?”

“W-what… now?!” Dominic blurted before he realised what he was saying.

“I wasn’t thinking of right this minute,” his mother replied airily, “but if that’s what you want…”

“I-I didn’t mean…” Dominic stammered.

“There’s no need to be shy, darling… I’m sure everyone would like to see you trying out your new present,” she looked around the room at the friends and relatives, many of whom nodded and expressed their wishes to see the thermometer being put to good use straightaway.

“B-but, mummy… it’s b-bigger than… than…”

“Of course it is, darling! You’re nearly a big boy now and big boys need a larger thermometer if mummy’s going to get an accurate temperature… Now take it out of its box and ask your cousin Clare if she will look after it while we get you undressed…”

There was no room for argument as mummy had already stepped forwards to start unbuttoning Dominic’s short trousers. Before he knew what was happening Clare, his twelve year old cousin, had taken possession of the new rectal thermometer and mummy had his shorts unzipped and down to his ankles. There was nothing for Dominic to do but to comply with mummy’s order to step out of his trousers and lift his feet one after the other so that mummy could take off his sandals and ankle socks. Having been taught from an early age to never make a fuss, or heaven forbid to make a ‘scene’ that would embarrass mummy or daddy, Dominic kept as still as he could while his friends and relatives watched him being undressed. Dominic glanced to one side and shivered when saw the glass-topped coffee table being cleared and moved to the centre of the room where it could be seen by everyone.

It wasn’t long before mummy had Dominic completely undressed and he stood naked surrounded by his relatives and friends, the birthday boy in his birthday suit, as someone pointed out to gales of laughter.

“It is Dominic’s birthday after all and he’ll be wanting his birthday spanks,” another of Dominic’s relatives observed, “and you know you can’t give a boy proper birthday spanks unless they’re on his bare bottom, now can you?”

Of course everyone agreed as they looked forward to help celebrate Dominic’s birthday with some birthday spanks. In the meantime though, there was the demonstration of the new rectal thermometer to entertain Dominic’s birthday guests.

Mummy turned to Clare: “There’s something I’ve forgotten… would you be an angel and pop up to Dominic’s bedroom and fetch me the gel for Dominic’s bottom… It’s on the shelf by his bedside… oh, and don’t forget the applicator… bring that as well.”

Clare rushed off to collect the items and Dominic realised that his humiliation was going to be worse than ever. The fact that mummy needed the BoyGel™ meant that she intended to take his rectal temperature properly, not to merely demonstrate the new thermometer.

BoyGel™ was, according to the promotional literature, especially formulated to lubricate the sphincter and rectum of boys before the insertion of a rectal thermometer. It contained, so it was claimed, ingredients that helped insure the cooperation of boys for whom having their temperatures taken rectally had been a struggle for many exasperated mothers. Among the ingredients was a mild irritant that once the gel was applied caused what many boys described as an ‘itchy’ feeling in the rectum which was subsequently relieved by the insertion of a thermometer. So successful was this formulation that many boys who had hitherto been decidedly stubborn when it was needed to take their temperature, now even asked mummy to have their temperature checked even when it would appear unnecessary to do so.

Dominic hadn’t quite reached this stage of cooperation, he still felt deeply embarrassed when it was time to present his bottom hole ready for the insertion of his rectal thermometer. One can imagine his horror at being expected to adopt this same posture in front of everyone on his fourteenth birthday! So it was a very nervous young Dominic who was told to climb up onto the coffee table so he was at the right height for mummy to insert his new rectal thermometer into his bottom.

“Up you get, dear,” mummy encouraged Dominic when her son hesitated before he got onto the table on all fours, “You’ve done this often enough, Dominic, so show everyone how a good boy gets into the proper position so that mummy can take his temperature…”

Dominic obediently did as he was told and despite his acute embarrassment he bent down and placing his head sideways on the glass top of the coffee table, spread his thighs wide while pushing his bottom right up in the air. Dominic could see from his position that everyone in the room was looking at his raised bare bottom, the cheeks spread wide enough for his tight, puckered anus to be completely exposed. It was truly a mortifying moment in Dominic’s young life. Here he was just fourteen years old, naked on the coffee table in his parent’s living room, surrounded by relatives and family friends all looking at his bare bottom as he waited for his cousin Clare to bring the special lubricating gel so that mummy could demonstrate the use of Dominic’s new junior rectal thermometer in front of everyone. 

It was his birthday and one that Dominic would never be able to forget, as mummy insisted on telling and retelling the events of that day whenever she had the opportunity. Mummy never seemed to understand how awful it was for Dominic to sit and listen to her discussing and explaining in great detail how Dominic had ‘insisted’ he try his new thermometer right then and there on his fourteenth birthday. No matter how much Dominic tried to be brave, it was utterly shaming for him to listen to mummy as each time the story was told, new embellishments were added to the tale of his fourteenth birthday party.

Those humiliating events were in the future and the present was for Dominic quite enough to cope with for now as he waited for cousin Clare to return. While they waited Dominic watched as mummy folded his clothes neatly before taking them through to the hall. Could there be anything worse for a boy than to see his mother disappear with his clothes, knowing he was the only one naked in the room? It certainly looked as if Dominic was going to be deprived of his clothes for some little while. But of course it occurred to Dominic that birthday spanks had been talked about and he knew from past experience that family traditions meant that he would receive his spanks on his bare bottom, but whereas on previous years only Dominic’s bottom had been bared, this year he would be totally naked! 

Mummy met Clare as Dominic’s cousin came back down the stairs with the gel and its specially designed applicator. The applicator was a long thin plastic tube, at one end of which was a bulbous nozzle which had a series of small holes through which the lubricant was dispensed directly into the boy’s rectum by pressing a plunger at the opposite end of the tubular applicator. The device was extremely efficient at lubricating the boy prior to the insertion of the thermometer.

From his position Dominic watched anxiously as he saw mummy approaching with Clare. Instinctively Dominic’s sphincter puckered in anticipation of his forthcoming ordeal in front of his assembled birthday party guests.

“Now, Dominic, are you going to be a good boy and not make a fuss because that would embarrass mummy in front of everyone, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, mummy,” Dominic replied from his position with his head turned sideways looking up at his mother.

“Yes, mummy, what?” his mother prompted her son as she prepared the applicator. Dominic couldn’t take his eyes off the device which he knew would soon be inserted in his bottom.

“Yes, mummy… I’ll be a good boy and… and I won’t make a fuss…” Dominic responded, his eyes still fixed on his mother’s preparations.

“Promise?”

“Yes, mummy, I promise…”

It was an all too familiar dialogue between Dominic and his mother, but sometimes it was really difficult for Dominic to keep still and not to wriggle as the thermometer was inserted deep into his bottom. Dominic had been told on so many occasions that he had to keep still while his temperature was taken, otherwise, as mummy explained, the reading wouldn’t be accurate and they would have to start the procedure “all over again”. Dominic knew it was in his best interests to keep perfectly still and to accept that his temperature needed to be taken, but sometimes it was so difficult for him not to squirm as he felt the instrument being twisted, pushed and pulled as mummy made sure the device was correctly positioned in Dominic’s bottom.

There was something else that was worrying Dominic. For a while now he had been having erections when having his temperature taken. He couldn’t understand why this was happening and it shamed him terribly and what was worse was that on occasion he thought he might even have what he knew was called an ‘emission’. To have an erection now, on his fourteenth birthday, at his birthday party in front of all the guests would be utterly mortifying, but the fear he might have an emission made him tremble in his anxiety. There was simply nothing he could do. Dominic had to remain in this humiliating position so that everyone could watch mummy helping him try out his new rectal thermometer.

There was one more humiliation that Dominic had to endure.

“Come along, darling… open your bottom for mummy.”

This was the order for Dominic to reach back with his hands, take hold of his bottom cheeks and to spread them wide for mummy. It wasn’t as if his boy-hole wasn’t already fully exposed since his knees were more than shoulder-width apart, but mummy insisted on Dominic’s full cooperation and having him pull his own bottom cheeks further apart than they already were was the perfect way to achieve this in her opinion.

Dominic moved his hands back and reached up to his raised bottom. Deeply embarrassed, he squeezed each of his pert cheeks in his hands and slowly eased them apart. Dominic sucked in his lips and closed his eyes as he felt a slight breeze tickling his anus as mummy moved behind him in readiness to perform the all too familiar procedure.

When Dominic opened his eyes again it was to see that a helpful party guest had moved a mirror into the perfect position for him to be able to see what mummy was doing. It was awful for him to have such a perfect view of his own humiliating position in front of everyone, but it also meant that Dominic could see exactly what was happening. He watched as mummy prepared to insert the gel applicator. Even though he could see the tip of the device nearing his bottom, Dominic still jerked forward as he felt the cold gel at the tip of the applicator press against his sphincter.

“Keep still, darling… you know we’ve got to get you ready for your new thermometer…”

“Sorry, mummy,” Dominic apologised and pushed his bottom back into position pressing against the tip of the applicator. He let out a barely audible little gasp as mummy eased the device into his bottom, sliding it through his anus. Dominic felt the cool slippery gel being spread right up inside his rectum which made him involuntarily squeeze his bottom cheeks together. He gasped again, a little louder this time, as he felt the applicator being moved around inside ensuring he was well lubricated. When mummy finally drew the device from his bottom, Dominic began to feel the itchy sensation building up inside his bottom. He clenched and relaxed to the amusement of those watching him and indeed he saw his own performance reflected in the mirror. It was so embarrassing, but the itchy feeling simply wouldn’t go away.

Dominic could see his own boy-hole as it puckered, smeared with the glistening gel, irritated by the special ingredient, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself from the display. Worse still was the fact that his penis, up until then hanging limply between his widely stretched thighs, was becoming noticeably excited. Dominic could see just as well as everyone what was happening and was suitably ashamed that he was unable to display any self-control. Of course what fourteen year old boy in Dominic’s precise position would be able to stop his penis becoming erect?

Twelve year old Clare had been holding the rectal thermometer once more. Dominic looked up at it as Clare handed it over to mummy. From his position the new thermometer looked even more threatening than before as mummy smeared some more BoyGel™ over the pear-shaped head of the device.

Mummy smiled down at Dominic, “Now, are you going to be a good boy for mummy? I don’t want you showing me up in front of everyone, darling, so let’s be a brave little boy… are you ready?”

“Yes, mummy… I’m ready,” Dominic felt the tip of his new rectal thermometer as it was gently pressed against his anus. Mummy rubbed the bulbous tip around Dominic’s exposed boy-hole making sure the BoyGel™ was spread evenly. Dominic braced himself for the intrusion.

“Relax, darling… you’re all tensed up… don’t you want mummy to take your temperature? I’m sure you do, don’t you? Everyone wants to see you trying out your new thermometer…”

As she spoke these words, mummy pressed the tip of the thermometer against Dominic’s anus until the sphincter slowly eased open around the pear-shaped head of the device.

The tip of the thermometer was much larger than Dominic was used to and he struggled to keep his bottom pushed back in the correct position. Mummy too had difficulty inserting such a sphincter-stretching device into her son’s bottom, but she persisted, knowing it was for Dominic’s benefit alone as she twisted the thermometer until it was eased past the muscle. Satisfied with her persistence, she watched as Dominic’s anus closed around the top of the main shaft, trapping the bulbous head of the device inside his bottom.

Dominic felt the thermometer probing deep into his rectum. He felt the shaft moving inwards, trying ever so hard not to wriggle in case he embarrassed mummy in front of everyone watching him having his temperature taken. The shaft of the thermometer was specially ribbed to ensure positive contact with a boy’s rectum and as each of the ribs was pushed past his anus Dominic’s sphincter was forced to expand as the muscle tightened around the shaft. Dominic tried not to gasp at the intrusion before the muscle suddenly relaxed after each rib was inserted. But Dominic didn’t have time to relax before he felt the next rib press against his boy-hole.

In the mirror Dominic could see the thermometer was still only about halfway into his bottom. He must have looked to be in some distress as mummy glanced at him to say a few calming words: “My, you are being a brave little boy… mummy will soon have your new thermometer all the way into your bottom, darling… chin up, it won’t be long now… there we are… nearly there… oh, what a good boy!”

Dominic wasn’t fully aware of what others could clearly see happening between his widely stretched thighs. During the insertion of his new rectal thermometer Dominic’s penis had become fully erect and it wasn’t until he heard his cousin Clare point this fact out that he even knew what had happened. Dominic twisted his head so that he could look down on himself. He was horrified at this new indignity. His penis was actually nail-hard! How utterly humiliating for this to happen right there in the family room where everyone could see! And as he looked at himself he was dismayed to see his penis jerk as mummy eased yet another rib past his tight sphincter.

What happened next was truly mortifying. The thermometer was now fully inserted and Dominic felt as if his bottom was as full as it could possibly be, but worse was to come as mummy announced that as this was the first time Dominic had used his new thermometer, they would have to take special care to ensure an accurate reading was obtained. She explained the thermometer would have to be turned every thirty seconds during the ten minutes it was in Dominic’s bottom.

This was news to Dominic: “B-but, mummy… not that long! Please… it’s twice as long as normal!”

One or two of Dominic’s birthday party guest chuckled at this information. Even five minutes to take a boy’s temperature sounded like a long time to be forced to bend over with a thermometer inserted into his bottom… but ten minutes?!

“The instructions are perfectly clear, darling… It’s a new thermometer so we have to make sure it works properly… and we have to make sure it fits properly…”

Everyone in the room could see that Dominic’s new thermometer fitted perfectly. Even Dominic himself could see that was the case. He could also feel the thermometer embedded in his bottom, although dreadfully uncomfortable, was doing the job it was designed to do. He winced as mummy twisted the thermometer, turning it as per the instructions to ensure a valid reading.

“Keep your knees apart, Dominic,” mummy told him when she saw that he was clenching his bottom.

“Sorry, mummy… it’s, it’s a lot b-bigger…” Dominic replied as he spread his thighs as wide as he could manage with the new, thicker thermometer tube deep inside his bottom.

Mummy turned the instrument again and this time Dominic jerked and his stiff penis bounced against his tummy making a slapping noise that everyone could hear.

“What was that?!” someone asked.

Clare piped up and announced that it was Dominic’s ‘winky’. She proudly told everybody that she’s seen it wobble and smack Dominic’s tummy. Dominic was mortified. To think that his twelve year old cousin had been watching his erect boyhood was more than he could bear, but what choice did he have? Dominic was totally naked, kneeling on the coffee-table in the middle of the family-room, in front of his birthday party guests, family and friends, with a new, larger rectal thermometer in his bottom. He was going to have to stay in that position for ten whole minutes, or at least until mummy was satisfied the new thermometer was working properly. Dominic closed his eyes. Waves of shame rolled over the fourteen year old as he began to realise that everyone now knew how mummy took his temperature. How could it possibly get any worse? He was soon to find out that it most definitely could.

Mummy gave the thermometer  two more twists and turns as she carefully followed the instructions that came with the instrument. She had also pushed the device back and forth to make sure it was settled in properly when Clare gasped and covered her mouth as she saw something dribble from the tip Dominic’s penis. Clare, who was a very observant girl, had already noticed how Dominic’s foreskin had retracted all by itself to expose the pink head of her cousin’s fully erect penis. More of the clear goo dribbled onto the glass top of the coffee-table and Clare tugged the arm of Dominic’s mother to drew her attention to what was happening. Others moved their heads to see what was Clare was pointing at. There were a few good-natured chuckles from those grown-ups who understood the signs. But the older boys who recognised thin watery boy-cum when they saw it, were simply too embarrassed to admit they knew what it was. They didn’t want any awkward questions asked and end up having to admit they produced the same sort of glistening goo when they masturbated. That, the boys tacitly agreed, would never do and boyhood omerta was observed.

Quite unable to stop himself, Dominic felt his sphincter tighten around the shaft of the thermometer as the itching sensation he felt became more intense. It was almost as if he was willing the instrument to probe deeper into this bottom. With each contraction of his boy-hole more fluid was dribbling from his penis. Dominic squinted between his legs and saw the expanding pool of boy-cum on the glass-topped table getting more and more noticeable until his mother spoke to explain to Clare what was happening.

“It’s called an ‘emission’, Clare… boys start to have them when they begin to grow up,” she said, “Dominic often makes a mess now when he’s having his temperature taken, it’s because the thermometer rubs a special little place in his bottom… it doesn’t hurt him, sweetie, so you mustn’t be worried… it’s perfectly natural for boys to have emissions when the fluid builds up…”

Clare was fascinated and wanted to be told more about what happened to boys as they got older.

“Sometimes there’s so much of it that boys have what’s called a ‘nocturnal emission’ when they’re fast asleep… I always know when Dominic has had one because his pyjama-bottoms are all damp and sticky in the morning when I wake him up.” Mummy smiled, “If that happens I have to take off Dominic’s jim-jams straightaway to be washed and he has to have his breakfast with a bare bottom! Isn’t that so, darling,” she added addressing her red-faced son.

It was time for mummy to give the thermometer another little twist and turn. More boy-cum dribbled down onto the table-top as one of Dominic’s aunties asked a very embarrassing and very personal question.

“How do you know Dominic hasn’t simply been playing with himself?”

Again mummy smiled as she explained: “You mean how can I tell he hasn’t been masturbating? We had a little family conference about that very subject a few months ago… didn’t we, darling?”

Dominic was by now on the verge of tears. He said ‘yes’, but begged mummy not to say any more. Needless to say he was wasting his breath.

“But, darling, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about… you know daddy and I told you all about playing with willy-winky, didn’t we?” Mummy then went on to explain in great detail what the family paediatrician had said when Dominic was taken for his regular physical. Much to Dominic’s acute embarrassment the paediatrician had told his mother that it was common for boys of her son’s age to play with themselves and that after examining Dominic’s penis she wasn’t at all surprised to find signs that he had begun masturbating. He’d probably been shown how to do it by another boy, the paediatrician explained, adding the all too familiar words ‘boys will be boys…’ 

Dominic had stood silently at the paediatrician’s as he wondered what mummy’s response would be. He was quite naked as his clothes were all folded and neatly piled up on a table on the far side of the room. But it wasn’t until the ‘family conference’ that Dominic was told that although masturbating in secret was naughty, mummy and daddy had decided that if he behaved himself, did his chores and was a good boy, he would be allowed to masturbate in the family-room where he could be properly supervised… but only when Dominic had shown he deserved such a reward for his good behaviour.

This news was greeted with interest by the birthday party guests. Now everybody in the room knew that Dominic was only ever allowed to masturbate when he was given permission by his parents. Understandably Dominic by now was simply praying that his ordeal would be soon over, but mummy took her time and didn’t seem to be in the least aware of the effect her family revelations were having on her son as he kelt naked on the coffee-table with the new rectal thermometer fully inserted into his bottom. After all mummy was simply explaining how the family controlled Dominic’s ‘naughty little-boy habits’ and who could possibly see anything unusual in that?

Eventually, and after what must have seemed like an eternity to Dominic, mummy started to ease the thermometer out of her son’s bottom. Dominic gasped, audibly this time, as the pear-shaped head of the instrument was finally withdrawn and the tight muscle of his sphincter closed. Dominic clenched his bottom cheeks in relief, only this action made him more aware of the lasting itchy feeling in his rectum caused by the special lubricating gel.

Dominic eased himself up and leant back on his haunches before carefully climbing off the coffee table. He glanced down at the mess he’d made on the glass table-top and just as he did so Conner, a boy Dominic’s age who was rather too full of himself Dominic thought, piped up.

“You going to clean that up?” he said pointing to the puddle of boy-goo, much to the amusement of the other guests. Conner grinned, thinking he’d scored one over on his classmate. 

Dominic was not pleased. Conner was in serious need of taking down a peg or two in Dominic’s opinion. But Dominic was naked and Conner was fully dressed which made him feel even more vulnerable than he already was as he faced Conner across the coffee table. However, Conner’s nemesis was at hand and came from the unlikely direction of Clare who came up with the answer to his question.

Mummy was puzzled to see twelve year old Clare go and fetch a couple of drinking straws from the table where all the party food had been laid out. Clare gave one of the straws to Conner who looked at it with a puzzled expression on his face.

“What do you want me to do with this?” he asked as he held the straw out in front of him.

Clare had already given the other straw to Dominic and she glanced back over her shoulder: “To help Dominic of course…”

Conner held the straw up, looking at it still not understanding what Clare was on about: “What d’you mean?”

Clare sighed and rolled her eyes upward. Really, she thought, boys can be so slow at times.

“You don’t expect Dominic to suck up all that mess on his own, do you?”

Conner’s eyes very nearly popped out of his head when he heard these words.

“You… you’re joking… right?” he spluttered as he forced himself to smile. “Big joke…” Conner looked round as if for support from the boys and girls, expecting them to think it was all a joke too, but from the look on their faces, Conner could see he was on his own. He realised, far too late, that he should have kept his trap shut and not tried to be so clever. Now what was he to do?

It was the usual silly mistake boys make when they think they are so smart. How could he possibly get out of this now?! For Conner to plead and beg with a twelve year old girl would be unthinkable. He’d already lost any scintilla of support from the other boys and girls in the room and the adults there didn’t look as if they’d be any help either. Conner was left with no other option than to employ boyish bravado rather than lose face, but when he looked down at the puddle of goo glistening on the table in front of him, his resolve crumbled.

Shame-faced he looked at Clare: “You’re not serious, are you? I mean… that’s Dominic’s mess… he ought to… y’know… with… with this…” He looked down at the straw in his hand.

It was Dominic’s big chance to humiliate Conner and he knew it. Holding up his straw he looked straight at his adversary: “Not scared, are you?”

How could any boy answer that accusation with anything other than complete denial?

“‘Course not…”

“Yes you are… you’re scared…”

Clare was pleased as punch. She’d thought she would have difficulty ‘persuading’ Conner to help, but Dominic was doing her work for her. It was thrilling to see two fourteen year old boys arguing and goading each other.

“No I’m not…” Conner responded, but feeling exactly the opposite the longer the verbal jousting went on, backwards and forwards until Dominic threw down the metaphorical gauntlet: “Dare you then…”

In uttering these words, Dominic took matters to a whole new level. The only possible response was for Conner to blurt out: “I double dare you!”

Quite what this meant was a mystery until Dominic took up the extra challenge with the words: “A race then…?”

This wasn’t exactly what Conner had in mind, but he couldn’t back down now: “Yeah… a race…”

“See who can suck up the most?” Dominic was on a roll.

Conner was far from enthusiastic, but what else could a boy say: “Yeah… sure… who gets the most wins…”

No one was in any doubt that Clare would referee this new party game. At her instructions the two boys knelt down on opposite sides of the table.

“Straws at the ready?”

The boys put their straws to their lips and nodded, before bending down so the tip of each straw was almost touching the edge of the glistening pool of boy-goo. Dominic and Conner looked each other… a dare-stare guaranteed to make sure they each knew there was no backing out now.

There were whispers from the party guests hardly able to believe they were about to see the boys use their straws to suck up the puddle of translucent, sticky liquid on the glass-topped table.

“Go!!” Clare called out and the boys pushed their straws into the pool.

The first slug of goo hit the back of Conner’s throat. He quickly realised he’d sucked too hard as it made him cough and splutter. He managed to swallow and it was a distinctly odd feeling as the liquid slithered down towards his tummy. Dominic, on the other hand had used his straw in a sweeping motion, sucking up a mouthful of goo before he swallowed.

The faces of both boys were a picture. Dominic’s puckered up and his eyes closed for a moment as he realised what he was about to do… swallow his own boy-cum. Dominic gulped and down his throat it slithered. Quickly Dominic exhaled before putting the straw back between his lips and zeroing in on the puddle of goo.

Conner lost a few seconds as he coughed, but quickly copied Dominic’s technique, sweeping his straw across the puddle in an effort to catch up. Much as the thought of what he was doing revolted him, Conner nevertheless knew he couldn’t risk losing face in front of everyone at the party and so he too sucked up and swallowed the remains of Dominic’s ‘emission’ from the table in front of him.

It wasn’t very long before the boys’ straws were touching as they battled to suck up the last few drops of boy-cum. By this time everyone was cheering and laughing at the sight of the two boys as they raced to hoover up the goo. Indeed so intense the battle had become that the heads of the boys were almost touching as they leant over the coffee table. Soon the straws were of little use having been bent and squashed during the final stages of the game. However there was, as Clare pointed out, a couple of globs of goo left on the table. The boys looked at each other. Conner burped then winced as the sudden reflux gave him an unwelcome reminder of the taste of what he’d just swallowed. He screwed up his face in disgust at which Dominic saw an opportunity to edge ahead and maybe win the game.

Without a second thought Dominic dropped the now useless straw and reached out with his fingers to the few spots of goo that Clare had pointed to. Conner was amazed to see his rival scoop up the last drops of boy-cum from the table. Dominic quickly stuffed his gooey fingers into his mouth and licked them clean to claim victory!

It was a consolation of sorts for Dominic to win against Conner. Having his temperature taken with his new rectal thermometer had been hugely embarrassing for Dominic, so too was mummy discussing how he could only masturbate in the family room… but to beat his classmate, a boy Dominic had always wanted to get one over on… that was something special.

I wouldn’t say Dominic was on cloud nine… how could he be? He was still naked, the only one bare at his birthday party and with birthday spanks still to come! But then mummy went and dropped a bombshell. She turned to her son and spoke:

“We were going to let you play with yourself this evening before bedtime as a birthday treat, but now you’ve had such a nice big emission I don’t think you’ll need to bother about masturbating for the next week or so…”

Conner sniggered, burped once more and again felt the taste of Dominic’s boy-cum in his mouth.

Alfie is taken to the Clinic - a Story of Boy Scouts

 

A Boy Scout Patrol turned up at Valley Paediatrics one afternoon. Of the boys, 13 year old Alfie, could be seen to have had his hands and arms expertly tied behind his back. Alfie was squirming, rubbing his bare thighs together in a futile effort to alleviate the rash of tiny, itchy red bumps on his inner thighs. The Patrol Leader, 15 year old Malcolm, explained to the friendly nurse how Alfie had been stung by nettles, but he didn’t say how it happened… that Alfie was stripped naked and chased around the Scout Camp, caught and pegged out with his arms and legs spread wide… how Alfie was tickle-tortured before a couple of his fellow Boy Scouts went in search of fresh stinging nettles… how they teased Alfie, dangling the fresh green nettles over him before tickling his extremely sensitive inner thighs with the tips of the stinging nettles. Alfie had to be further restrained by boys trying to hold him still as he twisted and turned, as much as any boy could who has been pegged out spread-eagled naked on the ground, in a futile attempt to avoid the nettles being gently rubbed against his tender, vulnerable flesh by his gleeful tormentors. The boys laughed and cheered as they saw the tiny red bumps appear on Alfie’s bare inner thighs. They all knew how itchy those little red spots were and how they would drive Alfie wild. Tied down as he was, there was no possible way for Alfie to scratch that itch. 

Being quite unaware of all this the nice nurse at Valley Paediatrics simply assumed that silly little 13 year old Alfie had got himself all tangled up in a patch of fresh stinging nettles. How he managed to do that was of no concern to her.

“We had to tie Alfie’s hands behind his back to stop him from scratching himself and making it worse,” Patrol Leader Malcolm told the nurse who immediately praised him for acting so responsibly.

“That was a very sensible precaution, boys… you did the right thing to stop Alfie from touching himself… scratching those tiny red spots wouldn’t stop the itchiness and only aggravate matters making the stinging sensation feel even more intense,” the nurse agreed as she ran her hands up Alfie’s otherwise smooth boyish bare legs. “My… the rash does go up a long way,” she added as she gently lifted one of the legs of Alfie’s exquisitely short Boy Scout shorts, “You were a little silly-billy, weren’t you?”

The Boy Scouts had to stifle their giggles when they realised Alfie was going to get the blame for getting his legs stung with the nettles. Just wait until she sees how far up we tickled Alfie with those fresh green stinging nettles, they each thought.

What the nurse didn’t know and didn’t for one minute suspect, was that Alfie’s bald penis had become fully, painfully erect while being tickled and the boys all thought it would be an interesting experiment to find out what would happen if they brushed the stinging nettles up and down Alfie’s nail-hard 3 inch boner. How the boys whooped with excitement when they saw the tiny red spots appear on Alfie’s stiff rod. One of the boys yelled: “Don’t forget his balls!” and Alfie’s tight pink crinkled scrotum was prodded and brushed with a fresh nettle tip until the whole little boy-sac was covered in red spots. Alfie was yelling his head off, begging the boys to untie him, to stop nettling him, but the boys were having so much fun they weren’t even bothered the Scout Master was videoing the whole proceedings!

“I think we’d better get these little shorts of yours off so I can see the full extent of your nettle-rash,” the nurse said.

Of course the ever helpful Patrol Leader offered the services of his fellow Boy Scouts and the nurse was happy to let the boys get on with it. Alfie struggled, but was held tight. He didn’t want to have his Boy Scout shorts taken off in the waiting area of the clinic where everyone could see. But what Alfie wanted and what happened were two entirely different things and anxious, itchy Alfie had his Boy Scout shorts quickly and expertly removed by two of his best friends in the Boy Scout Patrol. That wasn’t the end of Alfie’s humiliation, far from it as another boy stepped forward and started to undo Alfie’s Boy Scout shirt. Again Alfie struggled, but this time he added to his own humiliation by causing his penis bounce from side to side as he protested and begged his fellow Boy Scouts not to strip him naked in the waiting area of Valley Paediatrics.

Well, Alfie wasn’t stripped completely naked since that would have meant untying his arms and hands, so the boys simply opened Alfie’s Boy Scout shirt and pulled it right up at the back where they pushed it neatly into Alfie’s collar, leaving him as near totally naked as made no difference.

Even though the nurse was quite used to the sort of scrapes boys got into, even she gasped when she saw what she thought was the full extent of the red nettle-rash. She saw the red bumps almost completely covering Alfie’s now flaccid bald penis. She saw that even the tip of Alfie’s foreskin had little red dots on the wrinkled skin. The nurse gently lifted up Alfie’s soft, extremely itchy penis between her thumb and forefinger and gasped again when she saw the state of Alfie’s tight little scrotal sac. Where she had expected to see the pink winkled thick skin of a young boy’s scrotum, the scrotum of a boy on the cusp of puberty, she saw the tiny sac was inflamed, red and so obviously itchy and sore. She might have even guessed that Alfie would have given away all he possessed just to have a few seconds to rub and scratch the awful prickling sensation he felt.

“My, you have been in the wars,” the kindly nurse said as she felt for Alfie’s little baby-balls. She prodded and squeezed Alfie’s nut-sac until she her fingers felt the little round balls, “No harm done… but I think we’d better wait until Dr Miller has had a look at you…”

Had the nurse thought to retract Alfie’s foreskin she would have had yet another surprise when she saw the how glans of Alfie’s penis had also been brushed and tickled by the tips of fresh green nettles.

“... he’s very busy at the moment,” the nurse added as an afterthought.

Alfie was positively apoplectic: “H-how long w-will I have to w-wait?”

“Oh, Dr Miller shouldn’t be much more than an hour or so… he’s a very busy schedule… lots of boys needing their school term check-ups…”

“B-but… it’s ever so itchy… can’t you let them untie me… please?!”

“I think it’s best your friends look after you, but I don’t think it would be a good idea to untie you before Dr Miller gets here… best be on the safe side,” the nurse replied before adding, “Your fellow Boy Scouts have acted very responsibly by bringing you to the clinic… I think it would be a good idea for you to thank them all for taking good care of you… don’t you?”

There was no getting out of it and Alfie knew that he would have to do as the nurse said and so, red-faced and practically naked in the waiting area of the busy clinic, he thanked his Patrol Leader and the rest of the Boy Scout Patrol. They all knew what had really happened, but boys being boys, they kept that secret to themselves. They knew Alfie would too!

Mrs Connelly's Red Indian Summer Camp for Boys: Part 3

 Christopher was thrilled to be back in the back seat of Wendy’s car. He’d been getting really fed up with Terry Harper’s games, the whole point of which seemed to involve getting Christopher and his fellow Red Indians as humiliated as humanly possible. The pow-wow Terry had organised had been the last straw. This forthcoming event had been widely known about throughout the neighbourhood due to Terry and his merry band of cowboys telling everyone they could think of to be in the public park where the Indian Braves would be seen dancing about a totem pole. The pole was actually an old disused telephone pole which had carried a line, long since gone, to a hut sited on the opposite bank of the river which flowed through the park. The pole had been suitably painted and decorated by boys over the years and everyone thought it made a wonderful, colourful addition to the park.

When the day finally arrived the boys donned their Red Indian outfits and set off for the pow-wow. Somehow word got around that Cindy, Terry’s sixteen year old sister, would there at the totem pole wearing a Red Indian outfit! In the fevered imagination of the pubescent redskin boys, they saw Cindy dressed in a costume as flimsy and revealing as the ones they were wearing, little realising that squaws were always very modestly dressed… at least in the tribe to which Cindy professed allegiance. Those of a less generous disposition might think Terry deliberately fanned the flames so that he would be rewarded by a good turnout of Red Indians, but whatever the truth of the matter plenty of boys turned up dressed in their skimpy outfits… many sporting boners barely hidden by the boy’s tiny loincloth. When Cindy did arrive wearing a squaw’s outfit that left only her head, arms and ankles visible, the disappointment of the Red Indian boys was palpable. Cindy’s appearance coincided with the arrival of families, mums and sisters who had come to watch the boys make complete spectacles of themselves as they danced around the totem-pole.

Cindy made short work of ensuring the Red Indians gathered for the pow-wow understood that in this particular tribe, squaws were in charge. Terry and Ben were there too and later on gave a demonstration of their expertise with the lasso for the benefit of everyone who’d gathered to see the Red Indian ceremony. Christopher ended up being lassoed and tied, arms high above his head, to the totem-pole along with David. Both boys quite unable to straighten their loincloth flaps that had become twisted and dislodged during their futile struggles with the cowboys.

Some of the mums had brought picnic baskets with them… all of them had brought cameras and one or two even had Super 8 cinecameras with which to record the event.

“Don’t the boys just look so cute…” “... they’re adorable…” “oh, how charming!” “... they’re having such fun in their Red Indian outfits… I’m so pleased you told me about the pow-wow, Enid…” “Let’s make sure it’s a regular treat for the boys…”

Christopher remembered how he struggled against the bonds that held him taut against the totem pole. He guessed, correctly as it turned out, that the mums and girls watching him were not about to interfere with the game and help release him. Consequently, more than usually red-faced, he could do nothing but watch as the cameras snapped his picture to give the mums a memento of their day out in the park.

When Christopher was told he would be going to Mrs Connelly’s Summer Camp he was overjoyed to finally be getting away from Terry Harper and his pal Ben. Nothing, Christopher reckoned, could be worse than being tied to a totem pole in the public park in front of all the mums and girls with the tiny front flap of his loincloth not even covering his smooth boyhood.

In the front seat of Wendy’s car, Francis was having problems with his loincloth. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t cover his penis properly. Francis was sure that when he wore it before, providing he wasn’t ‘boned up’, he could cover up, but now, try as he might, his nob-end poked out from the bottom of the front flap of his loincloth.

“Francis!” Wendy cried after having spotted him out of the corner of her eye as he furtively tried to pull his loincloth down to cover his penis, “Francis, stop playing with it… it really is distracting seeing you fiddling with your penis…”

“I’m not… I’m just trying to get this stupid flap to do its job… I wasn’t playing with it…”

Wendy laughed as she changed gear: “... that’s your story, is it?”

Christopher grabbed hold of the back of Francis’ seat and looked gleefully over his friend’s shoulder: “Is he doing it again?!” he cried enthusiastically.

Wendy laughed once more as Francis jerked his loincloth flap down in an attempt to cover the head of his penis: “No I’m not!” he snapped at Christopher before realising: a) he’d just uncovered the shaved base and first inch and a half of his penis and b) that he’d understood exactly what Christopher meant by ‘it’.

Wendy managed to glance down at Francis: “I’m not sure that making any difference, Francis… do your best because we’re nearly there…”

“Nearly there? What do you mean ‘nearly there’? Surely we’re miles from the camp site. Where’s nearly there?” Francis said as he struggled with the tiny buckskin flap.

“I’m not driving all that way without a break, Francis… besides it’s almost lunchtime and I’m famished… How about you, Christopher… fancy a bit to eat?”

Christopher was game and Wendy pulled in at the next fast food eatery, one of those instantly recognisable, but totally forgettable monuments to post modern dining that litter the highways in both senses of the word. Still, which ever way you looked at it, the building and the food were both undeniably convenient.

“I can’t go in there wearing this!” Francis protested. Having readjusted the front flap of his loincloth, the head of his penis along with the tip of his foreskin was still visible.

“No one will notice,” Wendy said as she and Christopher got out of the car. She looked back at Francis, still sitting with his hands pressed to the front of his loincloth. “Christopher isn’t bothered… and his bottom is bare… no one will even think twice even if they do see anything, Francis… now come along, I’m not leaving you in the car on your own…”

Wendy walked around the car and opened the passenger door. She spoke to Francis in a gentle tone: “Come on… there’s nothing to be frightened of… do it for me,” and she leant down to kiss her boyfriend. “That’s it… just be careful, Francis… I know it’s difficult and there’ll be lots of people in there, but just ignore them and we’ll have a nice bite to eat before we hit the road again…”

Despite these entreaties, Francis hesitated: “But… but, Wendy, mum didn’t pack anything else for me to wear… can’t I just stay here and you could bring me out something to eat?”

Wendy realised she’d have to be firmer with Francis: “Look… as you’ve just so eloquently pointed out, the only thing you have to wear is your Red Indian outfit… to be honest I’m not that bothered about how that makes you feel… but as it is, you’re going to have to get used to wearing it, because that’s all you will be wearing at the summer camp… unless I happen to mention to Mrs Connelly that you have… oh, I don’t know, but for example let’s say, a skin complaint which is exacerbated by contact with... oh, for instance buckskin and as you didn’t bring any other clothes with you… see what I’m getting at, Francis?”

Christopher laughed. He knew what it was like to be a nudie and the thought of Francis being stripped of his costume gave him an idea and he piped up: “Can I have your outfit, Francis… I know it’ll fit me… y’know, if you go nudie at the camp…”

Francis scowled at Christopher and slowly edged out of the car. He knew when he was beaten. Carefully, very carefully, he stood up still clutching his loincloth. Francis couldn’t understand why Christopher, wearing the tenderfoot outfit with no rear flap, was so insouciant, while he was as nervous as hell at the thought of entering the packed diner.

Wendy locked the car, turned to face the boys and sighed: “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Francis, stop fussing about with your loincloth… it won’t get any bigger pulling it about like that…”

Christopher sniggered. Wendy shot him a questioning glance and Christopher shook his head as if to say it was nothing. It appeared to him that girls never seemed to understand smutty double entendres.

Wendy led the way and the three of them walked across the car-park. Christopher leaned over and whispered to Francis: “...the loincloth might not get any bigger, but your nob…” Christopher got no further as Francis slapped the back of his head with an open palm to stop him saying any more.

“Will you boys behave,” Wendy chided them, “I don’t want you showing me up…”

As they neared the entrance Wendy told Francis that if he carried on playing with his loincloth he’d only attract attention to himself, which was a somewhat remarkable thing to say, as if no one was going to notice two boys dressed in the skimpiest of Red Indian outfits they were ever likely to see in a public place.

Christopher very gallantly stepped forward and held the door open for Wendy who strode into the dining area. The place was packed. Wendy turned and called for Francis to get a move on. Some customers had looked up when they saw Christopher standing next to Wendy, but as he was facing the room no one had as yet seen his bare bottom.

There seemed to Francis to be reason for hope as he looked around the room.

“There isn’t any room, Wendy,” he said urgently, “Let’s get a take-out and go back to the car…”

But at that moment a woman got down from a stool. She’d obviously seen Wendy looking for seats.

“You can sit here… we’re just leaving,” she paused looking at Francis and Christopher, “You boys off to play Cowboys and Indians?” The woman looked closer at the outfits. “Girls,” she called to her daughters, “Girls… come and look at these costumes…” She smiled at Wendy, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such authentic looking outfits and these loincloths… so cute… this beadwork… simply divine…”

For Francis it was just as if he was back in the ‘Copper Kettle’ tea-room where the front flap of his loincloth had been closely examined by the ladies before a photograph was taken by Mrs Barton, the keen local amateur photographer. Francis gulped. It was happening all over again, just as it was in the tearoom… only there were many more people in the diner. Francis remembered the words Mrs Barton had spoken as he and his sisters posed in front of the camera. “Francis’ loincloth,” she’d said, “...the flap… it appears to have slipped to one side… Thank you… yes, that’s it... just lay it along the top of Francis’ penis… Yes, I can see the flap doesn’t quite reach the head of the penis, but that will have to do...” Mrs Barton had been asked for copies of that photograph by all the ladies who’d been present… and some who weren’t even there, Francis had been told later by his sisters. It was common knowledge that mounted and framed photographs of Francis in his costume were to seen prominently displayed in many of the lady’s houses.

“Do you mind?” the woman asked Wendy as she leant forward, her arm stretched out almost touching Francis’ loincloth flap.

Wendy couldn’t help but grin. She was thrilled the woman had asked her rather than Francis if she could inspect the beaded flap: “Go right ahead…” Wendy said generously. She must think I’m taking a couple of young boys out for a treat, she thought… clearly doesn’t realise how old Francis is, Wendy chuckled… or perhaps she does!

“Mum! This boy’s bottom is bare!” one of the daughters squealed when she moved behind Christopher.

“It’s a tenderfoot loincloth,” Christopher explained. He was beginning to take this sort of reaction in his stride and almost proudly added, “It’s an authentic Red Indian outfit… only older Indian Braves have flaps at the back… like Francis… I’m still a tenderfoot you see.”

The girl’s mother heard what Christopher had said. She pointedly looked at Francis’ exposed bald pubis and then peered around him to see the thin rear flap of his loincloth and with a puzzled expression asked Wendy: “How old is this, er boy Francis, then?”

“He’s sixteen going on twelve,” Wendy replied laughing at her own little joke, before correcting herself, “...no, seriously Francis is nearly seventeen, aren’t you, honey?”

The teasing brought a hot flush to Francis’ already rosy-red cheeks, as the woman and her daughters giggled at Wendy’s joke… even Christopher thought it was funny and sniggered.

“Aren’t you, honey?” Wendy repeated a touch more firmly when Francis said nothing.

The woman’s fingertips were barely an inch away from the front flap of Francis’ loincloth when he finally summoned up the courage to reply: “Er… um, yes…”

“My… that does surprise me… somehow you look younger to me…” the woman said.

Wendy effortlessly sized up and took control of the situation: “You mean because Francis doesn’t have any hair down there?” She paused and as the woman appeared to be interested, she continued, “Long story… but when Francis was playing Cowboys and Indians recently he was captured and ‘scalped’ by the cowboys… I say ‘cowboys’... well, they are certainly boys alright… the boys are what?” Wendy glanced at Christopher.

“Terry Harper is ten… he’s the ringleader,” Christopher supplied the answer.

“Thank you, Christopher… yes Terry and his cowboy posse… they, er take souvenirs from the Redskins they capture… that’s if they’ve got anything to take,” Wendy informed the woman. She smiled,  “But, let’s face it, I think Francis looks a lot neater like he is now when he’s wearing his loincloth…”

“... and why is he… why are they I should say, dressed up in their Red Indian costumes now?” the woman asked.

“I’m giving them a lift to their summer camp,” Wendy told her, “The boys all dress up as Red Indians and play all sorts of games… It’s a real treat for them.”

“But isn’t Francis a little old to be running about in a loincloth?”

“I guess so, but I’ve not heard him complaining about it,” Wendy replied being somewhat economical with the truth much to Francis’ annoyance, but Francis thought it safer not to get involved in what could easily turn into a protracted argument. He just wanted to get out of the restaurant as quickly as possible.

“Actually, the summer camp is Christopher’s treat,” Wendy explained, “but he and Francis are such good friends that Francis insisted he went along to the camp as well… to keep Christopher company y’know… isn’t that so, Francis?”

Francis’ heart sank and inwardly he groaned. Why was Wendy drawing this conversation out with this woman? Couldn’t she see how embarrassing it was for him to be standing almost naked in front of them, to say nothing of the rest of the customers?

“Yes… yes… yes,” Francis said urgently in an attempt to get things moving, “C’mon Wendy…” Then like a dork he added, “... we don’t want to be late getting to the summer camp…”

Wendy smiled at the woman, “See what I mean? Francis can’t wait to get there…”

“Well I’d better not hold you up any longer,” the lady said and turned to Francis, “Now you be a good boy, look after Christopher and behave yourself at the Red Indian camp… and I’m sure you’ll have a fun time with all the other boys… come along girls,” she added addressing her daughters who were still enthralled by the sight of the two boys dressed in their ever so flimsy costumes.

Francis felt as if he was a little boy and blushed accordingly.

Christopher raced off ahead and thoughtfully ‘bagged’ the stools vacated by the woman and her daughters. Francis wasn’t quite so enthusiastic since the stools were situated near the centre of the diner around a high table and once perched on them he realised he would been easily seen by almost everyone.

It was bad enough at the counter as Francis had been made to stand by Wendy as she ordered the food and drinks. Since boys in Red Indian costumes have nowhere to keep a wallet, Wendy paid for the snacks. While they waited Francis found himself having to politely apologise as other customers brushed past him touching his very exposed body. Francis didn’t understand how he managed to be in everyone’s way and thought it was all accidental, but Wendy smiled to herself since she was observant enough to realise this was nothing of the sort and people were taking advantage of the opportunities afforded by Francis’s skimpy costume. Who wouldn’t want to brush up against a nearly naked boy like Francis, she thought.

When at last Wendy and Francis returned to the table he spoke to Wendy in urgent, hushed tones: “I don’t know why, but people kept bumping into me… I tried standing out of the way, but it didn’t make any difference.”

“It’s very busy in here, Francis… and I expect they were just surprised to see you in your outfit… I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it, Wendy… it’s just that some of them were… I mean… they were touching me… with their hands… it was dead embarrassing…”

Wendy laughed: “Oh, don’t be silly, Francis… I’m sure you were just imagining it…” She sighed to herself. Francis was so innocent, she thought, a quality she found to be one of his most endearing traits… well, perhaps not that innocent she thought again as she remembered what she’d caught Francis doing among the bamboo in his mother’s garden.

The plastic seats of the stools were most uncomfortable for boys wearing Red Indian costumes, as Francis and Christopher found out when they finally got to sit down with their snacks and fizzy drinks. Christopher wriggled about on the stool making all sorts of squeaking and farting noises as he shifted his bare bottom across the plastic.

Christopher was clearly having fun, but Francis begged him to stop: “Please… everyone’s looking…” He turned to Wendy, “Can’t you make him stop, Wendy?”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Francis… Christopher’s enjoying himself,” she replied.

It came as a huge relief for Francis when Wendy at last announced that they had better finish up and get back to the car and resume their journey. But it was not before she had caused him further embarrassment by telling him in a voice sure to be heard by others that he and Christopher should make sure they went to the toilet before they left because she wasn’t going to stop the car again before they arrived at the Red Indian summer camp.

Back in the car Wendy patted Francis on his thigh: “That wasn’t so bad, was it? I bet you feel a lot better for having something to eat, don’t you?”

Whatever Francis felt about the stopover, he was certainly glad to be back in the car. Whether he felt the same about the prospect of spending the next few weeks at the summer camp surrounded by excited young boys playing Cowboys and Indians, he didn’t say.

As the car sped away Wendy wondered whether or not to tell Francis that she would be staying as a guest of Mrs Connelly at the summer camp.