Jack at the Swimming Gala

I attended a school in which a talent for sports was a definite plus. Not essential mind, since the school had also set great store by academic ability along with what these days might be viewed as a bias towards an old fashioned, more traditional ethos of education. Standards were therefore high and none more so than in the appearance of our school uniform, the outward most visible indication of these traditions. The rule that every old boy never forgot was that short trousers had to be worn until the end of the school year in which the boy had his sixteenth birthday. The rule was particularly embarrassing for boys who had the misfortune to be born in September, or indeed any boy whose birthday fell early in the school year, since they would be fast approaching their seventeenth birthday and still required to wear short trousers just like those worn by young, prepubertal First Year boys. Older boys often found themselves kept in short trousers out of school as well, since this is what their parents were encouraged to do. However, be that as it may, discussing the enforced wearing of extremely short trousers, however humiliating, was not what I had in mind when I started writing about my trip down memory lane. No, I wanted to talk about what happened when a boy found himself the star performer in the school swimming team.

I was pretty hopeless at athletics and sport in general, but although I was a fairly good swimmer, I was nowhere near as good as some of the other boys at school and so I was never picked to represent the school at swimming galas. When you read the rest of my tale you will no doubt understand how thankful I was to remain unnoticed.

As I said the school was proud of its traditions and of course that extended into the belief that there was no need for boy swimmers to wear bathing suits, trunks, or any other item of swimming apparel. In other words, boys swam as naked as nature intended. This wasn’t so bad for swimming lessons taken as part of our school timetables. It was an all-boys school and there was only one female teacher who never quite succeeded in getting boys to speak even passable French; her’s was a lost cause and she finally ran up the white flag and left before I finished my period of education at that school.

Of course the fact that this was a boys’ school for which nude swimming lessons were the norm did tend to attract a certain type of male teacher. It was therefore not unusual to see teachers, who had a gap in their timetable, who would come and watch us naked boys as we splashed about. In hindsight I think most of us were fairly naive and didn’t understand why these teachers would come and sit on the benches to watch young boys of twelve, thirteen, or fourteen and older, as we ran about along the poolside with our willies flapping about between our wet thighs. Maybe some of the older boys twigged what was going on, but nothing was ever said, although it may explain the sudden disappearance of one or two of our teachers… maybe they just couldn’t keep their chalk covered fingers to themselves, who knows? One thing that does spring to mind as I write this was the equally odd and unexplained absence of a boy in my class. His name was Paul and even I could see how cute he was and would shamelessly do my best to position myself in the changing-room and showers so that I could get the best possible view of Paul naked without appearing too interested in sizing him up for a fantasy I would concoct later in bed as I masturbated to the sort of intense climax that nowadays would require the sort of stamina needed to conquer a fair sized Munro.

One day Paul didn’t turn up for school and weeks went by before our English teacher (one of the ‘watchers’) announced that Paul would not be returning. No explanation was given and of course, boys being boys, we speculated on all sort of reasons why Paul was not to return, the most popular being he had been taken to an Approved School (a sort of last chance saloon before Borstal. Boys sent to Approved Schools didn’t necessarily have to have committed an offence, they could be sent there simply because they were deemed to be beyond parental control). Whatever the reason I for one never found out why Paul was absent, even after he rejoined our class a week or so after we’d all been told we wouldn’t see him again at school. However, it wasn’t long after that episode that the English teacher himself, one of those portly, ruddy-faced, moustachioed, far-too-jolly-with-the-boys-for-his-own-good type of teachers, suddenly disappeared and in his place a young man fresh from college arrived to do his best in an attempt to interest us in Shakespeare by pointing out the all dirty jokes in the text of Twelfth Night. He didn’t last more than a term and I failed my English Literature ‘O’ Level.

Where was I? Oh, yes, nude swimming lessons… As I said I was never even considered to be picked to be part of the school team for my butterfly stroke (totally uncoordinated), backstroke (couldn’t get my breathing synchronised), or breaststroke (frankly pathetic). The best I could manage to keep me afloat and across the swimming pool was a sort of cross between a doggie paddle and the crawl… very effective if rather lacking in style. No, there was never any question about which boys would be chosen to represent my school. Honestly, it always amazed me how sleek they were in the pool, it was as if they had found their natural element was not air after all, it was in water they were somehow destined to be supreme performers. I just didn’t know how they did it, but they did and there was a price to be paid for their excellence that made me glad I was so hopeless in the water.

Jack was our great hope in the Inter-Schools Swimming Gala. Jack was sixteen, but looked more like a tall, slim fourteen year old, no doubt due to his late entry into the all-boys’ puberty stakes. Even at sixteen Jack had little more than a light dusting of what we boys somewhat cruelly called his ‘wispies’. Of course the fact that Jack was still required to wear short trousers (and his mum always made sure her son wore the shortest of short trousers) as part of his school uniform didn’t help matters. Something else that made Jack look younger were his rose-blushed cheeks making him seem as if he was permanently embarrassed about everything. Nevertheless, as I said, Jack was the best swimmer the school had seen in a very long time and it was a forgone conclusion that he would be chosen to lead our school’s team in swimming galas.

Now, I’ve told you of our school’s tradition of nude swimming and you are probably wondering whether boys representing our school taking part in swimming galas were allowed to wear swim-suits in competition with other schools. Not a bit of it. St Ignatius boys never wore swimming costumes. It was a tradition that was upheld no matter where the boys were, or what the competition was. The boys in our team were representing our school and therefore they were expected to swim naked. No questions asked. It was never a problem with the organisers. St Ignatius boys had been seen naked at every swimming gala since time immemorial when boys from other schools also swam totally nude. Over the years the number of schools sending their boys to compete in competitions naked had declined, until about five years previously when the last remaining bare competitors, other than those from St Ignatius of course, were finally allowed to wear trunks in events.

We boys who went along to support our school’s swimming team thought it was a big laugh to see that every one of our team was walking around the pool totally naked, whereas boys in the teams from every other school were all wearing speedo-style competition trunks. It occurred to me a few years later how well attended the galas were and to wonder whether this was due to the guaranteed appearance of naked boys from our school. No wonder there was never any problem from the event organisers about letting our boys swim nude!

Anyway, if you thought it was humiliating enough for boys like Jack and his pals to be the only boys to be seen naked at the swimming galas in front of a capacity crowd of spectators (most of them armed with cameras, both still and cine), just wait until I tell you what happened when they won!

I found out later that Jack’s mum had trimmed his wispies especially for the competition… no wonder his penis looked totally bald when he was stood on the starting block. How embarrassing was that?! And how embarrassing for him when we discovered that Jack’s mum was the one responsible for ‘smartening him up’... I mean, being seen naked at the swimming pool by everyone was one thing, but letting your mother near your boy-hairs ready to trim them with a pair of sharp scissors was something else entirely.

So, back to the competition. Well, our school team emerged totally naked from the locker room along with the boys from other teams wearing their swim-suits in various school colours. There was the usual cheering and shouts of encouragement from the spectators when the teams appeared and lined up by the poolside facing the bleachers upon which the large audience were sat.

The PA crackled into life and the school teams were announced. As each team was introduced the boys stepped forwards and waved in response to the roars of encouragement from their families and their friends. When our school, St Ignatius, was announced six naked, blushing boys moved to stand in full view of the bleachers. None of the boys made any attempt to cover up. I often wondered about this. Wouldn’t you naturally cup your hands between your legs if you were standing naked in front of a crowd of people? I know I would, but then I’ve never been foolish enough to be caught in that position, so I can’t be absolutely sure of my facts here. The only thing that made any sense as to why these boys stepped forward, completely exposing their boyhoods to the gaze of the spectators, was that to cover up would have been considered weak in some way… you know the sort of way boys think… you shouldn’t be concerned, you should be brave, you’re a boy. It’s character building and anyway if your mates next to you can stand there naked in front of everyone, so can you… besides, they’d tease you forevermore if they saw you chickening out and cupping your hands between your legs. So you just stand there, grinning like an idiot and waving to the crowd while you tell yourself that it doesn’t matter.

Nevertheless, no matter how the boys tried to handle it, it must have been hugely embarrassing to be the only ones naked among all the officials and the other schoolboy teams, never mind being on display in front of the many spectators which of course included the boys’ parents and siblings. There were plenty of girls there too what with sisters and cousins, never mind the girls who came along to support their favourite school’s team.

Nor was photography ever an issue and many of the spectators brought along cameras to the event. Some of the parents even had cine cameras. While the swimming heats were being held all spectators were asked to stay in their seats, as they were reminded there would be plenty of opportunity during the day long event to photograph the boys during the intervals in the programme. There was of course an official photographer who had ‘access all areas’ and they were very experienced in covering sporting events and knew just how to get stunning action shots of the boys as they competed in the various events.

Of the six naked boys in our team, Jack seemed to attract the most attention. Whether this was due to his undoubted cute good looks or his unquestionable ability in the pool, who knows. Either way he was certainly the hot favourite to win the coveted Gala Gold Medal awarded at the end of the competition, a special event, the last one of the day, for eight of the boys who had accumulated the most points during the day’s events. It was difficult to tell whether Jack was ever aware of other attribute of his that attracted attention. You see there was a certain naive quality about Jack and I always wondered whether it occurred to him that he possessed such a beautiful penis. Yes, there was no other way to describe the appendage that hung between Jack’s smooth thighs. It wasn’t that his penis was particularly large. I guess some would say that it was perfectly proportioned, but personally I thought it was the way it swung so nonchalantly from side-to-side as Jack moved about, as if it was perfectly happy to be attached to such an unassuming young boy. But Jack’s penis had always been like that. As far back as I can remember, Jack’s cock had always a thing of never-ending fascination. It didn’t take me long to realise I wasn’t the only boy who endeavoured to stand close to Jack in the communal school showers as I attempted to strike up a conversation with him while sneaking a quick glance downwards between his legs.

Back to the Inter-Schools Swimming Gala where Jack, as expected, performed exceedingly well. Actually he wasn’t the only boy from St Ignatius to be awarded a place in the special final event. This consisted of a medley of styles; one length backstroke, one length butterfly, one length sidestroke and so on, culminating in a freestyle final length dash to the finish. As you can imagine this race was pretty exhausting for boys who had taken part in other events during the day, so our school swimming coach was thrilled to see two of our boys get through.

Jack and Simon, the other boy from our team, stood naked on the starting blocks separated by two other boys wearing speedos in their respective school colours. There were eight lanes occupied for this final event which was delayed a couple of times for some technical hitch with the timing equipment. This kept the boys standing on the blocks far longer than was usual and I couldn’t help but wonder what Jack and Simon must have felt like to be so prominently displayed. Surely there was no way a boy could more exposed than to be forced to stand naked, high above the pool edge… well, as it happens there was, but more of that in a minute.

Finally the boys were put under starter’s orders. The whistle blew and eight boys dived into the pool. Jack led from the start. His turns were so accomplished that he increased his lead effortlessly as he pushed away from each end of the pool. Simon, no mean swimmer himself, followed in Jack’s wake, an arm’s length ahead of the boy in third place. It almost seemed as if swimming naked had given the two St Ignatius boys an edge over their swim-suited rivals. But on the turn into the penultimate length Simon somehow pulled out behind the boy he’d been leading throughout the entire race. Then, about a quarter way down the final length, the boy who’d been in fourth place overtook Simon, pushing him further back and out of a podium position. Simon just didn’t seem to be trying and despite all our encouragement, appeared to be holding back. Suddenly the penny dropped and I realised the reason; Simon would rather sabotage his performance than end up standing naked next to Jack on the podium. You couldn’t really blame him. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have done the same myself, but then I would never have been selected to be in our school’s swimming team in the first place anyway.

When you saw what happened to Jack after he won the Gala Gold Medal, you’d probably understand why Simon did what he did. As the exhausted boys climbed out of the pool at the end of the race, hair matted, skin glistening from the water streaming from their bodies, the spectators cheered. The boys in the spirit of sportsmanship shook hands and embraced one another. It had been an exciting event and now all eyes were on the winner, Jack. I saw Simon as he slipped away at the earliest opportunity, no doubt eager to avoid any recriminations from our school’s swimming coach, but also, I guessed, to get showered and dressed as quickly as he possibly could, just as his other teammates from St Ignatius had done earlier.

Meanwhile Jack, still totally naked, wet and with his hair plastered to his scalp, was the centre of attention, surrounded by officials and many of the spectators who had come down from the bleachers now the competition events had all ended. The other boys who had been in the final drifted away in the direction of the changing room, keen to shower down and get dressed. I could see how Jack had become increasingly red-faced and embarrassed to be trapped in the middle of all the fully dressed people surrounding him, but there was little he could do. Even the two boys placed second and third had been given dry robes, but not Jack who was forced to stand and pose for group photos. Jack smiled bravely, but I could see it was fast becoming an effort as everyone seemed to want to take his picture. Jack’s family were thrilled at all the attention their naked sixteen year old son was getting and their pride was palpable when the official photographer suggested they pose with Jack. So Jack stood there with his sisters each side of him, with mum and dad just behind beaming their approval.

Eventually, after about half an hour, and when I was certain Jack thought it couldn’t get any worse, the medal ceremony was announced. No one, not the organisers, nor his family, thought to give Jack anything to put on, so he was left, still naked, as the remaining boys who had taken part in the various competitions and all now fully dressed rejoined the throng of people to watch as nervously Jack mounted the podium.

Whereas he’d been surrounded by people before, Jack, having climbed onto the top step of the podium, was now a good three feet above the floor. Fully displayed, now everyone had a perfect view of Jack’s naked body. I saw at least two people with cine cameras who appeared to be filming Jack from all angles. No one seemed at all bothered, although I saw the look in Jack’s eyes which made it clear how desperately uncomfortable he was about all the attention he was getting. He was glancing at the cameras and must have been so embarrassed to think that his swimmer’s bare body was being recorded for an even greater audience than the one he was facing at the pool.

I have to say that I did admire the way that Jack managed to maintain his self control… not that he had much choice in the matter as there were far too many people surrounding him to make escape impossible. Besides I could see the event sponsors would have been most annoyed if Jack had failed to display anything other than complete acceptance of his humiliating display. So Jack stood on the top of the raised podium naked for all to see. Bravely he held his hands behind his back as the boys in second and third places climbed onto their positions below Jack. As I said before, by this time both these boys, although wearing speedo trunks, had been wrapped in dry robes and had been given towels to dry their hair. You would have thought these boys might have offered their towels to Jack, but I could see by the smirks on their faces, and by the way they glanced up at Jack, that they were more than happy to deny Jack anything with which to cover himself. Well, after all Jack was from another school, so why help him out? It was much more fun to make sure he stayed totally exposed in front of everyone. You know what boys are like at that age… and it was fun to watch Jack as he began to squirm as he stood on the podium waiting to be presented with his medal by the guest of honour, which I need hardly add turned out to be the lady mayoress of the town.

Up to this point Jack was probably consoling himself with the thought that all the photographs being taken of him would at least only be seen by the spectators and their families, bad as that though that was, but when the lady mayoress strode purposefully towards the podium on which Jack stood, his hands flew up to the sides of his face. His anguish must have been intense and for a brief moment Jack looked just like the proverbial rabbit caught in the headlights of an on-coming car, as well he might, since the lady mayoress was renowned for her publicity seeking ways. It was said, only half-jokingly, that she would go to the opening of a paper bag as long as the event was guaranteed press coverage.

I managed to get a bit closer as I could see Jack was in some distress and I didn’t want to miss a thing. As it was I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at the sight of him… and I wasn’t alone as I saw a few of my schoolfriends convulsed with fits of giggles as they watched our school’s red-faced hero squirm with embarrassment atop the podium. I saw Coach and Jack’s mother lean forward and say something to him… and it looked for all the world that he was being told to behave himself and not let the school down. The two other boys on the podium were smiling at each other, no doubt like all boys they were enjoying the sight of someone else getting told off for a change. Fancy being ticked off like that, I thought, which is what I’m sure was the message being exchanged in the smiles of those two boys standing below Jack.

The lady mayoress was accompanied by two officials, one of whom was carrying the medal sashes on a tray, along with the sponsors. Following the mayoress as always were the tame members of her seemingly ever present press corps… actually a cub reporter and a seasoned press photographer sporting an unlit fag hanging from one corner of his lower lip.

The PA system burst into life again to thank the lady mayoress for generously giving of her time to present medals to the winners of the final event. The sponsors were also thanked at length for their support of the Inter-Schools Swimming Gala. How Jack managed to stand there naked on the top of the podium with his hands once more clasped meekly behind his back as announcer droned on I’ll never know. Honestly, his face was so red I swear if you had broken an egg on his head at that moment it would have cooked within seconds. Finally Jack’s name was announced as the winner of the Gold Medal along with his age and the name of his school, which got a big cheer from us boys, causing Jack’s face to get even more red than it already was. And it got worse for Jack as the lady mayoress was in no hurry and appeared to relish the opportunity of talking to him before making him bend right down so that she could place the medal sash over his neck. This was accompanied by raucous laughter and a few catcalls from those boys and girls standing behind the podium as they saw Jack’s taut swimmer’s bare bottom presented in way that almost begged to be spanked. I couldn’t help  noticing how their mums and dads laughed along with their noisy children as if to reinforce the idea that however much Jack must have been humiliated, it was all just good clean fun to be enjoyed by all the family.

After the medals had been presented Jack and the other two boys were encouraged to hold up their medals, showing them to the crowd, as they turned around on the podium. The sight of Jack, naked and with his arms raised high above his head as he displayed his Gold Medal, is one that I shall never forget. That beautiful penis of his wobbled delightfully and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who was looking at Jack’s stunning appendage rather than the proudly displayed medal he was holding high in the air.

Still no one thought to offer Jack anything with which to cover himself. I think he was at that point beyond embarrassment and clinging to the hope that his naked humiliation would soon end, but to wasn’t to be. Jack must have been aware that no matter how uncomfortable it was to be the only person naked and surrounded by everyone fully dressed, the presence of the press, however local, could mean only one thing, a report and photographs in the daily paper the following day. Soon everyone would see pictures of Jack standing naked on the podium being presented with his Gold Medal by the mayoress. Which is precisely what happened… well it was actually even worse than that, since the paper decided to print a special souvenir supplement which included an order form that could be filled out by readers keen to obtain high quality prints of the Swimming Gala. I’m sure the photographs of Jack were the most popular, but just to encourage their sales the paper generously added that it would be donating part of the price charged for the photos to the Boys’ Swimming Gala funds. I felt pretty certain there would soon be plenty of girls’ bedrooms adorned with pictures of Jack… and possibly a few boys would have prints too.

However, there was more embarrassment in store for the unfortunate Jack. After the rest of the St Ignatius swimming team had finished showering and getting dressed while Jack was being interviewed and photographed for the local paper, some bright spark thought it would be great fun to raid Jack’s locker. Yes, you’ve guessed it, Jack’s teammates decided it was time for a prank to be played on our school's swimming star. The boys were in fits of laughter as they rifled the locker. They took everything; Jack’s clothes, his towel, everything leaving the locker completely empty.

Although I’d love to have been a fly on the wall when Jack returned to the changing-room to find his locker as bare as he was, the upshot was that he ended up sat in the back of his parent’s car wearing nothing but his Gold Medal and sash as they stopped at a local drive-thru for a celebratory meal. Apparently Jack’s parents, far from being angry at his teammates prank, thought it hugely funny… unlike their son who, much against his will, was forced to take it all in a good spirit. I don’t know exactly what happened at the drive-thru, but I heard from a friend who heard from one of Jack’s sisters that when the family drew up in their car at the order window Jack’s mum turned to him and said: “Don't be shy, Jack... show your medal to the nice young lady…”

The following day Jack opened his desk at school to find his missing clothes. This was after he had been called on stage at morning assembly to be congratulated on his achievement in front of the whole school. He had worn his Gold Medal and in place of his missing clothes, his mum must have dug out an old school uniform for Jack to wear as everyone could see that his short trousers were so ridiculously short that almost the whole of the lower half of his bare swimmer's bottom was exposed as he stood next to the headmaster. Of course Jack’s naked display was known to everyone in the school hall and just in case they needed any reminder of his performance a week later a framed photo of Jack, standing naked on the podium holding his Gold Medal aloft, was to be found, given pride of place hung on the school’s Wall of Honour in the reception area for visitors to be able to see and admire at their leisure.

Donald and the School Shorts

 “What is it dear…? You look worried… Is it Donald again?”

Joan looked at her mother-in-law Mabel and nodded.

“What’s he been up to?” Mabel asked.

“I don’t know what to think… You know how secretive Donald can be… I thought I might have been mistaken at first… but… well, I thought he’d have grown out of it by now...”

“Why don’t we sit down and you can tell me all about it, Joan? Come on, we’ll have a nice cup of tea and I’m sure we’ll be able to sort things out together,” Mabel said.

As well as being Joan’s mother-in-law, Mabel was also her closest friend. Joan’s mother Laura had, until her untimely passing, been a dear friend of Mabel. Their children, Donald and Joan, had known each other since they were little. Donald was a few years younger than Joan.

“I really don’t know what I’d do without you, Mabel,” Joan said as she started to explain what had happened, “You see, sometimes I find that Donald can be very difficult to understand. It’s usually nothing serious… petty things mostly… behaving like a silly boy. You know what he can be like... but occasionally I just don’t know what to make of him…” Joan paused.

“Best out with it and tell me what happened,” Mabel said. 

“A couple of days ago I was in town,” Joan said as she started to explain what happened, “Donald was doing some shopping for me... and getting a couple of things for you, as I remember, Mabel. I hadn’t intended to go into town myself, but I did go to the shops a bit later because I’d forgotten to put something on Donald’s list,” Joan paused, took a sip of tea and steeled herself to tell Mabel what happened next, “I was just passing Dunne’s, the boyswear shop… you know it,” There was another short pause during which Mabel nodded and signalled Joan to carry on. “Well, I happened to look in their window when I saw Donald in the shop. It quite took me by surprise…”

“I should think it did, Joan… What was he doing in Dunne’s of all places, I wonder?” Mabel asked, clearly puzzled by her daughter-in-law’s revelation.

“Looking at school uniforms… that’s what he was doing!” Joan answered firmly, “Donald was looking at school uniforms... boys’ school uniforms.”

“Boys’ uniforms…” Mabel repeated, “What on earth…?”

“Yes… I could see quite clearly through the shop window,” Joan added, “The assistant was holding up a pair of boy’s short school trousers and Donald was… examining them.”

“Examining them? I wonder what he was doing that for?” Mabel asked, not for one moment expecting an explanation.

“I’ve no idea… but I do know that I’ve been far too lax with Donald and it’s high time I did something about it…”

“I couldn’t agree more Joan and I mean no criticism, because I often found when Donald reached that difficult age he needed a firm hand… you probably remember what he was like, Joan, all full of himself just because he’d reached the grand old age of thirteen… a teenager who thought he was the bee’s knees!” Mabel paused for a moment as she reflected on the trouble Donald had caused her during his teenage years; of the sacrifices she’d made to keep her son from straying off the straight and narrow. She sighed, “Maybe we’ve both been too lenient with him lately, Joan… Perhaps we should ask Father Benedict to have a word with him. He’s known Donald for a very long time, indeed I should think he knows him as well as anyone,” Mabel continued, “I’d speak to Father myself if you thought it would do any good…”

“Would you?” Joan interrupted, “Would you really, Mabel? I’m sure Father Benedict would listen to you if it was explained to him how concerned we are for Donald… I’d hate to think where this… this behaviour of Donald’s might lead.”

Donald had been waiting for an opportunity to visit Dunne’s for a long time. He had often looked through the window of the boys’ outfitters and gazed at the displays. Quite often in the weeks leading up to a new term, mannequins dressed in local prep school uniforms would appear in the shop window. At least two of the mannequins would be dressed to display the short trousers that were available. On one unforgettable occasion Donald saw a mannequin wearing school trousers that were so short the accompanying blazer had been pinned up on one side so that the little trousers could be seen. A note attached to the model explained that these particular short trousers were also available with a one half inch inside leg length and a fully elasticated waist. Donald had almost fainted at the thought of being made to wear short trousers of such brevity. ‘Half an inch!’ he said to himself under his breath as his fingers instinctively felt for the back of his legs. Donald knew from experience that short trousers had a habit of riding up. A leg length of only half an inch would undoubtedly mean the exposure of the unfortunate boy’s lower bottom cheeks.

There could be no other explanation for Donald’s interest in short trousers other than his singular upbringing. By the time his classmates at school had long since permanently graduated into long trousers, Donald could still be seen attending school in short trousers of the briefest, most thigh-baring cut. His mother, Mabel, had kept Donald in short trousers throughout his third year at school and it wasn’t until his fifth year, when Donald was almost sixteen, that he was at last measured for a pair of long trousers. The long trousers were to be a present for Donald’s sixteenth birthday, but did not mean Donald could wave goodbye to short trousers forever… far from it.

The annual school photographs bore witness to the changing of boys’ school uniforms in Donald’s class as each year more long trousers were seen to be worn. By the Third Form only Donald was left in short trousers, a fact that nobody could miss as the school photographer had placed bare-legged Donald in the middle of the front row.

Right up into the Sixth Form Donald was not allowed to wear long trousers every day. That was for mum to decide. Donald remembered vividly how every school morning through the rest of his fifth year and all of his sixth year, mum would enter his bedroom and throw open the curtains.

“What a lovely sunny day it is, Donald,” she would say, “I think we’ll have you in short trousers for school today… It’s about time you got some healthy fresh air on those pale legs of yours, isn’t it Donald?” Although Donald’s ‘pale legs’ were due more to the weather, which had been consistently wet every day for the previous fortnight, than the wearing of long trousers, besides which mum had sent him off to school in short trousers for many of those wet days anyway.

Donald, who was in the habit of praying each night before he fell asleep to be allowed to wear his long trousers to school the next day, knew it would be foolhardy to be in anything but complete agreement and even enthusiastic about wearing his short trousers.

Simply saying, “Yes, mummy,” wouldn’t be sufficient. That would almost certainly elicit mum’s response along the lines of:

“You don’t sound very keen to wear your short trousers to school today, Donald,” mum might say and, for good measure, add sternly, “I hope you’re not going to be difficult, because if you are…”

These words would be warning enough and Donald would be forced to plead that he did want to wear short trousers to school, even though he was by then in the Fifth Form. Donald only needed to remember previous occasions when he had not been sufficiently enthusiastic in his response to mummy’s announcement. On one such occasion Donald found himself sent to school in an old pair of his short trousers every day for two weeks in the depths of a very cold winter when, in spite of the bright sunshine, it had been bitterly cold outside. This kept him on his toes, as it was designed to, because Donald knew he would have to be on his very best behaviour if he was to avoid an extension to his short trouser penance and be allowed to wear his longs to school once more after the two weeks were up

On those special days throughout his mid to late teenage years when Donald was allowed to wear longs to school, it was always straight back into short trousers when he arrived home. Weekends and school holidays would find Donald wearing the shortest of short trousers, since these were always shorts bought when he was younger, but with ‘plenty of wear still left in them,’ as Mabel would say. Donald was just as likely to be wearing hand-me-downs, given to his mother by those who knew how she liked her son to be dressed.

As he grew up the disparity between Donald’s life and that of his contemporaries became more and more apparent. There was, for instance, the day he wanted to go to a football match with a group of boys from school. As it happened the game was an important one and as such was being televised. The only problem for Donald was that kick-off was 7 o'clock in the evening on a Wednesday during a school term. Donald was desperate to join his pals at the match; to show them that he too, was old enough to be allowed out to watch the important match. Donald was seventeen at the time, but it didn’t matter how much he begged, mum was adamant that Donald would not be allowed the unheard of dispensation of joining his school chums for the evening match. However, mum was not bereft of all feeling and despite not understanding why football was so important to teenage boys, she offered Donald a compromise.

It was part of Donald’s weekday, term-time routine, now he was seventeen, to be put into his pyjamas at the latest by seven-thirty and to be safely tucked up into bed by eight-thirty. As the match was clearly going to end much later than Donald’s regular pyjama-time, mum told Donald that if he promised not to make a fuss and was put into pyjamas in good time before kick-off and that he also promised to run upstairs to bed as soon as the final whistle went, then he would be allowed to watch the match on television. Donald also had to agree to be put to bed the following weekend at 'school bedtimes' to make up for his mid-week bed-time extension (Donald’s weekend bedtimes at age seventeen were 9 o’clock).

Practically all Donald’s friends were actually at the football ground, while he was stuck at home watching the match after having been given his midweek bath by mum and dressed in fresh pyjamas. Whilst Donald was furious at being kept at home like a little boy, he was also grateful to be allowed at least to watch the game on television so as to be able to discuss the match with his school chums the following day.

This was simply one example of how Donald was kept on a tight rein by his mother. Another example might be her control of what she deemed suitable nightwear. Donald had no choice in the matter and would stand at mummy’s side as she peered into the drawer that contained his pyjamas. She alone would choose what he was to wear and Donald knew better than to complain if mummy selected one of the more juvenile pyjama-sets. Of course you would not be alone in thinking whether it mattered what Donald wore at bedtime, but that would be to overlook the fact that Donald was always put into his pyjamas in plenty of time before bed. This meant that when he came downstairs it was not uncommon to find some of mummy’s friends visiting. At other times relations might drop by. It didn’t matter who it was, Donald was expected to be helpful and polite… even when he was being teased by younger, fully dressed, cousins. By the time he was in his late teens Donald found being teased by cousins of twelve and thirteen, intolerable and almost unbearable, particularly when being told at eight-thirty, “School tomorrow, Donald… upstairs to bed with you… you can have ten minutes reading-time, then I’ll be up to turn off the light…” These words said in front of cousins who would probably still be up for another couple of hours at least. No wonder they sniggered as Donald left the room in his ‘racing-car’ pyjamas with the top button of his pyjama-jacket properly fastened as mummy insisted it always was.

One of mummy’s oldest and dearest friends, Laura, had a daughter, Joan, who was a few years older than Donald. Joan had witnessed and grown used to Donald’s bedtime routines. She knew that he was kept on a tight rein by his mother, but didn’t think of it as in anyway special treatment, since Donald was only a boy when all was said and done... and boys were supposed to be treated differently. Indeed it is to be doubted the phrase ‘kept on a tight rein’ would have ever occurred to Joan. She believed the way she saw Donald being brought up by his mother was perfectly normal and undoubtedly the only way boys should be brought up.

Joan was, like Donald, an only child. She had never had much time for boys. Educated at a convent school she had been told all a girl needed to know about boys and the trouble they caused the unwary girl. But boys had never held much interest for Joan, nor, for that matter, had boys much interest in her, for Joan was what is sometimes called a plain girl. Not that she was particularly unattractive, more that she was plain in her demeanour, a stickler for routine and with little time for frivolities.

These were qualities sure to impress Mabel Moore and indeed Donald’s mother would regularly state her approval of her friend’s daughter. Never to Joan directly of course, that might give the girl ideas, however unlikely that might have seemed. But by and by the two mothers came to realise they were thinking the same thoughts. A girl like Joan and a boy like Donald would each need their mother’s help to find suitable partners. Why, it seemed to Mabel and Laura, they already had the perfect match on each other’s doorstep.

So it came about that their mothers thought it only natural, when the time was deemed suitable, to encourage the two children to ‘step out’ together.

Of the time and place of which I write it was considered proper that a girl should seek a husband in order to set up and run a home for his benefit. Joan, to be fair, had little interest in either a husband or, perish the thought, running a household for his pleasure. Laura could see that under other circumstances this might have been a problem, even an embarrassment and so she confided her concerns to her dear friend Mabel.

As has already been made clear, Mabel was extremely protective of her son, Donald, treating him as a child even though he was fast approaching the age of his majority… twenty-one in those far off days. Donald was only ever permitted very tightly controlled social interactions which were centred around Church functions where a close eye could be kept on him. As for the opposite sex, mummy only ever allowed Donald to meet carefully vetted girls and this was mainly because Mabel knew that some people might start to talk if her son remained unmarried and it was not intended for him to enter the priesthood.

But Donald was a shy boy, nervous in company generally and even more when girls were concerned. He became clumsy and tongue-tied and it seemed to Mabel that she would never find a suitable girl willing to accompany Donald to a dance or other social event.

Donald’s lack of experience and lack of understanding of girls was hardly his own fault entirely. Like lots of boys who attend single-sex schools, he simply had no opportunity to interact with girls as he grew up. To Donald and many other boys, girls were a different species entirely; they simply didn’t know what made them tick.

Donald was kept constantly busy. Mabel believed the saying ‘the devil makes work for idle hands’ and never allowed Donald a moment’s peace. Three mornings a week he would have to be up to serve at early morning mass before school. If any of her neighbours needed helping with odd jobs around the house or with a spot of gardening, Donald would be sure to find himself ‘volunteered’ for the task. Most bedtimes he would collapse exhausted into bed knowing that he had to be up bright and early the following morning in time for morning mass.

This routine achieved precisely what it was intended to achieve. Donald never had time to get up to mischief, or into any sort of trouble.

Father Benedict  sat back in his study chair and clasped his nicotine-stained fingers together over his midriff having stubbed out a ‘Sweet Afton’, his twenty-sixth cigarette that day: “And what can I do for you, Mrs Moore?” he rasped.

“It’s about Donald, Father…”

“Ah, yes… a fine boy, Mrs Moore, a fine boy,”

“I like to think that I’ve brought my son up as best as any woman can, but Donald’s nearer thirty than thirteen… and married now as you know…”

“You’ve every reason to be proud of him, Mrs Moore… but now you’ve come to see me about him… as his mother, I mean… it’s not a marital problem that you’re concerned about, I hope…”

“No, no… not at all, Father. Joan and Donald are very happily married… Joan and I get along famously, the more so since the passing of Laura…”

“... may she rest in peace…”

“Thank you, Father,” then, for once in her life Donald’s mother found herself at a loss on what to say next. While she gathered her thoughts Father Benedict  took the opportunity to light another cigarette. Mrs Moore decided to come straight to the point:

“You see Father, Joan came to see me in a bit of a state the other day. She’d seen Donald in town and caught him looking at school uniforms in Dunne’s… boy’s school uniforms…”

“Now why would he be doing that?” Father Benedict  speculated, “Was it perhaps an errand for a neighbour?”

Mrs Moore was quite firm: “I don’t think so Father… My sister’s two younger boys are still at school, but they wouldn’t be needing short trousers… they’ve been wearing longs since they started secondary school…”

“I’m afraid I’m not quite with you, Mrs Moore… what have short trousers got to do with it?”

“Donald was inspecting a pair of boy’s school trousers… short school trousers, Father.”

It was Father Benedict ’s turn to be at a loss as to what to say. For the life of him he could see no inherent wrong in one of his flock wishing to examine a pair of boy’s school trousers, long or short, but it was clearly upsetting the man’s wife and his mother. Father Benedict  tried to think of something helpful to say.

“Mrs Moore… I wonder if Donald’s just feeling a little… well, you know how some men have little hobbies that many of us would think they would have grown out of as they got older… tinkering with with model railways, stamp collecting and that sort of thing, escapism I suppose… I’m afraid it’s something that many women find difficult to understand…” Father Benedict  paused and smiled, “Let’s face it, a lot of men never seem to want to grow up, but where’s the harm in that? I’ve no doubt Donald’s actions were perfectly innocent, but it might be wise to keep a closer eye on him for a while. Try to find him things to keep him occupied…”

Mrs Moore might have replied that Donald was already kept fully occupied as it was, but she was nonetheless comforted to know that Father Benedict  didn’t think there was anything seriously wrong with Donald.

“... perhaps try to find a way for Donald to get it out of his system,” Father Benedict  concluded as he held the door of his study open for Mrs Moore.

“I’ll certainly bear that in mind, Father,” Mrs Moore said as she inwardly resolved to do just that.

Little Tiddler

 

Little Tiddlers Collection  - TV Marketing Campaign Fall 2030

INT DAY

It’s early morning BRADY is kneeling on the floor playing with his HOT WHEELS trackset alone in the FAMILY ROOM

MEDIUM CLOSE-UP - BRADY’S head and shoulders as he kneels playing

We see his wearing his LITTLE TIDDLERS HOT WHEELS pyjama-top. BRADY is totally focused on his cars and trackset. He is laughing and having a great time at play.

CUT TO - BRADY’S MOM

MEDIUM SHOT

We see BRADY’S MOM enter the FAMILY ROOM. She looks towards BRADY

CUT TO - BRADY

CLOSE-UP - BRADY’S smiling face as he turns towards MOM revealing braces on his front teeth. His hair flops forward almost covering his eyes. He flicks his head to reveal big brown eyes gazing adoringly at MOM

CUT TO - MOM

MEDIUM CLOSE-UP

MOM turns to face camera

MOM: We all know how lively a thirteen year old boy like Brady is, but how can you be sure he’s using that energy the right way?

CLOSE-UP MOM

MOM: The folks at ‘Little Tidders’ have come up with something to help hard-working moms, so they doesn’t have worry what her little cutie-pie is getting up to

CUT TO - MEDIUM SHOT of MOM and BRADY

We see that BRADY is wearing a LITTLE TIDDLER’S SHORTIE PYJAMA-TOP and nothing else

BRADY stands up facing his HOT WHEELS away from the camera. We see his bottom. BRADY is bare from the waist down

MOM motions to BRADY to join her

CUT TO MEDIUM CLOSE-UP of BRADY’s head and chest as he turns back towards MOM.

DOLLY BACK and PAN following BRADY as he walks across to MOM

We see that BRADY is wearing a chastity cage

MOM turns BRADY to face the camera

BRADY turns his head to look up at MOM

MOM stands behind BRADY and places her arms on BRADY’S shoulders

MOM: That’s why Brady wears My Little Chastity Cage

CUT TO CLOSE UP of BRADY’S chastity cage

VOICE-OVER - MOM: I’ve got total peace of mind knowing that Brady’s little tiddler is safe and secure. We bought it for Brady’s twelfth birthday and he’s worn it ever since… haven’t you pumpkin?

CUT TO MEDIUM SHOT of MOM and BRADY looking at each other

BRADY: Yes, mom… it’s great! My best ever birthday prezzie

MOM bends down and kisses BRADY’S forehead

BRADY gasps and blushes: Gee mom… yuck! Not while everyone’s looking!

BRADY is bashful. It is clear that he is embarrassed by his MOM’S kiss

MOM smiles and looks up into camera: Isn’t he just adorable?

MOM winks

VOICE-OVER (speaking very fast): My Little Chastity Cage is designed by expert paediatricians to be worn 24/7/365. Proven benefits include blah, blah, blah… Always read the instructions. My Little Chastity Cage is not a toy. My Little Chastity Cage is designed to be used as part of a complete masturbation control regime for boys aged 11 - 16