The Smartest Schoolboy

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

“What was that, dear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An adroit change of subject was required.

“Julian?”

“Yes, mum…”

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

“What? Oh, the Sopwith Camel kit…”

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

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

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

“What’s that you said, dear?”

“Nothing, mum… just dreaming.”

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

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

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

“Can I be of assistance, madam?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mrs Raft nodded: “Please do…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back downstairs Julian stood in front of his mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too right I don’t want to.”

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

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

“Yes, mum…”

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

“Mr Handley?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, mum…”

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

“But, mum…”

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

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

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

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

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

“But, mum…”

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

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

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

“Yes, mum…”

“Just one other thing, Julian…”

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

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

“Er, no… no, mum.”

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

“Please… yes... thanks, mum.”

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

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

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

Julian sat down to tea.

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

“What idea’s that, darling?”

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean ‘practice’, mum...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you very much, Mr Fenner.”

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

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

“What do you mean?” Julian asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, mum…”

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

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

“Please, mum…” Julian begged.

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

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

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

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

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

Julian was shocked: “Mum…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes… I think you’re right…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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