Bathtime for Basil - Part One

 I was sat chatting to Mrs Ward in what she called her ‘family room’. Between us, sitting on the floor, was her son Basil. Basil was dressed in his school uniform. I knew Basil to be fourteen, almost fifteen years old, but he had the appearance of a younger, much younger, boy since he was wearing traditional, extremely brief, grey short trousers along with somewhat juvenile looking light-brown leather, T-bar school sandals. Although he wore long grey socks complete with Basil’s school colours of red and gold incorporated into the turnover tops, there was more than enough smooth, unblemished thigh to question whether or not Basil had yet to reach puberty. Simply looking at Basil’s smooth, boyish, rosy-cheeked face would be enough for some to conclude that he couldn’t possibly be as old as he claimed and when Basil stood up they would have little doubt they were correct in their assumption since Basil was not very tall for his age. On the sideboard was a school photograph in which he could be seen standing next to his classmates, some of them noticeably taller than Basil. Indeed it looked for all the world that Basil had wandered in from the junior school across the road dressed, as he was, in very short, thigh-baring short school trousers. But what would have puzzled the observer who thought him to be a junior boy, was that Basil, in spite of his lack of height, was nevertheless clearly a young teen.

I realise this must be confusing. To say that a boy looked as if he was in the wrong class, but at the same time appeared to be in the right one is not an image that is easy to describe. Perhaps it was in the way that Basil behaved. His mannerisms were clearly that of a boy of nearly fifteen, it’s just that nothing else about his physical presence appeared to confirm this.

Basil sat on the floor between his mother and myself. He was reading a comic having, it was to be hoped, finished his homework. He was wearing his sleeveless school pullover, trimmed like his socks with his school’s colours, the same colours naturally of Basil’s school tie, still neatly knotted at his neck. A short-sleeved grey school shirt completed Basil’s school uniform which I was to find out he wore for visiting and trips out as well as when he was taken shopping with his mother.  I noticed a pair of boy’s traditional blue-striped winceyette pyjamas warming by the fire and of course I assumed these to be Basil’s. I looked from the pyjamas to Basil engrossed in his comic and I paused to take note of his delightfully short haircut. It was, I concluded, the haircut of a junior boy; a model short-back-and-sides complete with floppy fringe, very unfashionable for a fourteen year old, I thought. Nevertheless it suited Basil and was in keeping with his junior schoolboy look.

There was a pause in my conversation with Mrs Ward during which she suddenly declared: “Dear me… just look at the time!”

She turned to look down at her son and spoke to him with the following words:

“Basil… put your comic away, it’s well past your bathtime… take off your sandals and come over here and let’s get you ready for your bath…” she trilled.

Basil sighed, “Yes, mummy…” and pulled his feet towards himself so that he could unbuckle his T-bar school sandals. In doing so I had a perfect view of the inside of his smooth thighs as his short trousers rucked up baring his legs even further.

I naturally assumed this meant Mrs Ward would take Basil up to the bathroom, although it seemed a little odd to me that this would imply her presence in the room as Basil bathed. Still I was merely a guest in Mrs Ward’s house and whatever was the customary procedure in her home was really none of my business. But imagine my shock when she started to undress Basil right there in the middle of the family room! Mrs Ward was clearly quite unconcerned with my being there… unlike Basil, who I could see was unhappy to be made ready for his bathtime in full view of mummy’s visitor.

“Can’t we go upstairs now, mummy?” he pleaded, which confirmed to me mummy that would indeed be in charge throughout the whole of Basil’s bathtime.

“Don’t be silly, darling… you know how your school uniform gets all rumpled if we leave it in your bedroom…”

“... but I do try and look after it, mummy…”

“I know you do, darling, but mummy has to make sure her little boy is nice and smart when he sets off to school in the morning and for that your school trousers have to be properly pressed…”

As she was saying these words, mummy’s fingers were busy at work on Basil’s short trousers. With a deftness born of much experience, she had the little metal clasp and the zip quickly undone and in the blink of an eye Basil’s school shorts were opened to reveal a pair of crisp white schoolboy underpants. Mummy soon had the shorts tugged down to Basil’s feet and to his credit he helped mummy by stepping out of them. I could see that Mrs Ward liked to keep Basil’s school uniform nice and neat as she took great care to fold and smooth the little grey school shorts before placing them in her lap. Next mummy pulled down Basil’s long grey school socks. Basil lifted each leg in turn so that mummy could pull the socks right off before folding them and placing them on top of the school shorts on her lap. Basil’s smooth legs were now completely bared all the way up to his neat little white underpants.

 Basil looked on nervously as mummy patted her hands on the folded socks and I noticed him suck in and chew on his lower lip which made him look like a boy of ten rather than one of almost fifteen. Basil obviously knew the order of his undressing and by the way he glanced in my direction I too could guess what item of Basil’s school uniform mummy would remove next.

Mrs Ward leant forwards and reached out, placing her hands on Basil’s waist. The short-sleeved grey school shirt was square cut where longer shirt-tails would normally be expected to be seen. This style of tailoring always puzzled me since there was never enough shirt-tail for boys to tuck into their trousers and the reason so many boys ended the school day looking scruffy with their shirts hanging out of their trousers. It must have driven some teachers to distraction having to tell boys to tuck their shirts in properly.  I watched, not quite believing what I was about to see, as mummy’s fingers were wriggled into the waistband of what I now recognised as a pair of regulation white cotton junior schoolboy underpants. Mummy started to pull the little underpants down, first over Basil’s bottom before bringing her fingers round to the front and tucking them further into the underpants so she could pull them forward. Stretching the elastic waistband towards her, Basil’s mummy at last eased the front of the underpants over Basil’s boy-bits, a manoeuvre of which she clearly had lots of experience.

It was my turn to suck in my lips as I tried to stop myself from chuckling. Basil, fourteen, nearly fifteen years old, was not only completely bald ‘down there’, but he had the dinkiest little tiddler of a willy that I’d ever seen on a boy of any age! If you’d just seen Basil for the first time, you’d have thought he was nearer nine than fourteen. True, Basil’s marbles were just visible still held high in their tight little scrotum and I wondered if he was able to squirt when he played with himself, or whether he was still a dry cummer, or even if he had started masturbating at all.

Now he was bare from the waist down it was time for mummy to take off Basil’s sleeveless school pullover, trimmed in the school colours of red and gold. Of course Basil grey school shirt was also pulled upwards as his head disappeared into the woollen pullover, but mummy turned and asked me to help her. Would I mind just holding onto Basil’s shirt for a moment while she took off his pullover?

“Why of course,” I replied as I crossed the room to assist in Basil’s disrobing. As I gripped the bottom of the grey school shirt to hold it in place, it gave me the opportunity to see the label on Basil’s schoolboy underpants as they lay on mummy’s lap. I suppressed a smile when I saw the words: “Suitable for Boys aged 10 - 11 years” printed clearly on the small tag secured to the waistband. So Basil was sent to school every morning wearing underpants normally only ever worn by little boys. But, as I had seen, they fitted him flawlessly and since the underpants were intended to be worn by junior boys it meant they were a perfect fit for Basil’s exquisitely short grey school trousers.

Basil’s head popped out of his pullover, his face redder than ever. As I held his grey school shirt in place my fingers were pressed against the soft skin of his hips. Mummy folded the pullover and added it to the growing pile of Basil’s clothes in her lap. I let go of Basil’s shirt and gave his bare bottom a playful smack when mummy reached up to undo his shirt buttons. Naturally Basil jerked forwards as my hand made contact with his pert bottom cheeks and I saw his little tiddler waggle between his legs as mummy told him to keep still, ignoring the cause of his sudden movement.

“Do try and behave, Basil… how do you expect me to undress you if you keep jumping about all over the place?”

Basil gave me a quick glance before he apologised to his mother who was busy unbuttoning his grey sleeveless school shirt.

“Shall I undo Basil’s school tie?” I offered.

Mrs Ward was pleased to have my assistance and spoke to Basil: “There now, Basil… say ‘thank you for helping mummy to get me ready for my bathtime’.”

Now Basil’s face got even redder than ever as he looked up at me with his big brown eyes. I had to tell myself again that Basil was nearly fifteen years old. That a boy his age would be so compliant beggared belief, yet he repeated the words his mother had told him to say without question. It seemed only right and proper that I should reward Basil by a friendly pat on the head.

I smiled: “Don’t mention it…” I loosened the knot of Basil’s school tie and pulled it apart before sliding the tie from the shirt collar.

Mummy soon had all the shirt buttons undone working up from the bottom. Without more ado she pulled open the shirt. It being summer term at school, Basil was not allowed to wear a school vest, so his chest and tummy were now fully bared exposing his cute little pale-pink boy-nipples. Once more I volunteered my assistance and, as I was already on my feet, I offered to remove Basil’s shirt to save mummy from getting up from her chair.

I moved behind Basil and, resting my hands on his shoulders, I took hold of his grey school shirt and pulled it back: “Arms up!” I ordered. Basil obeyed straightaway and I lifted the short-sleeved shirt upwards slipping it from his hands, but not before I’d glimpsed his smooth boyish armpits which of course were quite free of any trace of hair.

I handed the shirt to Mrs Ward, She carefully folded it before placing it on top of the other clothes and Basil was left completely nude as he stood red-faced in the family room. Mrs Ward then picked up Basil’s school uniform from her lap, got up and took it into the hall.

Basil stood rather shyly, obviously very embarrassed to be seen in the nude by one of mummy’s visitors and his hands hovered nervously over his little boy-bits… not touching, but clearly ashamed, wanting to hide them from view. But when mummy came back into the room and saw what he was doing, she took one look at Basil, tutted, “... there’s no need for that…” before taking a firm hold of her son’s wrists and, lifting them right up, she put his hands smartly on his head. Of course once Basil had his hands on his head there was nothing he could do to prevent anyone from seeing everything. Mummy merely shook her head and tutted once more before sitting down again which surprised me as I was under the impression that as Basil was now ready for his bathtime he would be taken upstairs to the bathroom. But mummy appeared to be in no rush.

Mrs Ward asked me something, I forget what, but we started chatting again leaving Basil on full display standing naked in the middle of the room. Her earlier observation about the time seemed to have been forgotten. Either way it didn’t appear to concern her anymore, although it did occur to me that it might be part of Basil’s bathtime ritual that he to be undressed in plenty of time for his bath, but of course this was none of my business. For whatever reason Mrs Ward was clearly in no rush to get Basil upstairs to the bathroom and it was another quarter of an hour before she finally got up and took Basil’s hands from his head. She held onto one of his hands and turned to me.

“Why don’t you come upstairs with us and we can talk some more?” She said as she led Basil towards the door of the room like a little boy, which I suppose he was. I had to keep reminding myself that Basil was fourteen years old, a teenager, which was rather difficult when you saw his tiny, thin little boy penis jiggling about as he was led by mummy’s hand into the hallway.

I need hardly add that I took Mrs Ward up on her kind offer. My afternoon thus far had been most entertaining and the prospect of possibly seeing Basil further humiliated intrigued me to say the least.

Upstairs we entered the bathroom and mummy once more took Basil by his wrists to put his hands firmly back on his head, once more displaying his perfectly smooth, hairless armpits.

“Now stay there while I run your bath for you,” she told him… as if Basil was likely to wander off. He was completely naked… where would he go without any clothes on?

I sat down on a bathroom chair and fished into a side pocket of the jacket I was wearing. Mrs Ward was facing me to operate the bath taps and I caught her eye as I pulled out my mobile phone. I waved it in the direction of Basil and gave her a quizzical look. She understood me completely.

“Why, yes, of course… that’s a lovely idea!”

“M-U-M!!!” Basil was shocked when he saw what I was holding in my hand. His reaction was certainly that of a fourteen year old boy, since I hardly think a boy of nine would have been at all bothered about seeing my mobile phone with its inbuilt camera. Yes, Basil’s reaction showed his true age, that of a teen boy horrified when he saw that he was about to have a video of him taken as he was bathed by his mummy.

While I was adjusting the settings of my phone to record video, Mrs Ward opened one of the bathroom cupboards and took out an apron to wear while she bathed Basil. I looked up when I heard the distinctive crinkle-crackle as she pulled the white polythene apron over her head and secured the ties around her waist. Having given me her permission to use the video recording facility on my phone in the bathroom, she simply let me video whatever, and as much, as I liked. Needless to say this did not go down at all well with Basil and he whinged in that tiresome way boys do when something doesn’t go their way, until he was told to behave himself. Mummy then told Basil to thank me for taking an interest in him. I could tell Basil didn’t want to risk upsetting his mother with a silly tantrum, so he did as he was told and thanked me. However his struggle to come to terms with a camera phone held in his direction was made all too apparent by the expression on his face, which was of course recorded for posterity.

“Come along, Basil… bathtime,” his mother said, calling him over to the bath. To steady him she held Basil with her hands each side of his waist as he climbed over the edge of the bath. He gingerly placed a couple of toes in the water and as he did so his thighs were stretched wide. I couldn’t resist zooming in for a few seconds on his pointy-out, little-boy willy and wondered if there would be an opportunity, or an excuse, to measure Basil’s tiny tiddler properly. I reckoned that it couldn’t be much more than an inch, or an inch and a half at most as it waggled about in front of my camera phone.

“Can’t I have it a bit hotter, mummy?” Basil said as he pulled his foot back up and rested it on the edge of the bath to give me another opportunity to video what was between his widely parted thighs.

I decided to speak and draw Basil’s attention, as if any was needed, that I was in the bathroom with them and videoing the proceedings: “Now, Basil, I’m sure mummy knows what the correct temperature of bathwater should be for junior boys…”

Mrs Ward smiled in my direction, clearly enjoying my input to the proceedings. Basil looked at me rather sulkily before saying the words I hoped he would say: “I’m not a junior boy… I’m fourteen… nearly fifteen… aren’t I, mummy?” It was difficult for me not to chuckle, since Basil obviously didn’t understand how he had multiplied his humiliation a hundredfold by admitting that he was a teenage boy by announcing his age, and having it recorded on video.

With that, and as if to prove a point, Basil stepped into the bath and slowly eased himself into the lukewarm water. I moved over, still videoing, and stood by the side of Mrs Ward to record in more detail Basil’s bathtime.

“How do you go about bathing a fourteen year old boy like Basil?” I asked. I couldn’t resist referring to Basil’s age since he had so graciously announced it just a few seconds ago.

Mum smiled, clearly understanding my lighthearted teasing of her son: “Much the same as I’ve always bathed him since he was a little boy…”

“So it’s no different now that he’s a teenager?” I replied playfully.

Basil looked up at us clearly impatient to get his bathtime over and done with and no wonder, as he could see that I was going to be videoing every aspect of his bathtime with mummy.

“No, not all all,” mum said in answer to my question, “First I wash Basil’s hair…”

“I must just interrupt you there and say that it’s worth noting how you keep Basil’s hair trimmed nice and short… as it should be kept on a boy his age. So many other fourteen year old schoolboys these days are allowed to grow their hair to shoulder-length, or even longer until it becomes untidy and makes the boy look scruffy… that’s why it’s so important to keep boy’s hair neat and tidy, just like Basil’s smart haircut. Do you take Basil to a traditional barber?”

Mrs Ward was clearly enjoying the ‘interview’ style that I was adopting to record Basil’s bathtime as she leant down to examine Basil’s ears: “Oh yes… I take Basil once a fortnight to Mr Fenner. He’s a very old fashioned boy’s barber… he knows just what type of haircut Basil needs. There’s usually one or two other mothers there so I can catch up on the latest gossip while our boys have their haircuts…”

“... and what ages are these other boys?”

“Oh, they’re generally a lot younger than Basil… little Declan, for instance… he lives two doors away, he’s only nine… as you say, it’s a shame, but so few boys of Basil’s age go to Mr Fenner’s these days.”

“Well, don’t let me hold you up… but perhaps you would explain what you’re doing at each stage of Basil’s bathtime? Just so that anyone who sees the video will understand Basil’s bathtime procedure…”

Basil looked directly at me. This was another shock for him as it was obvious he hadn’t considered who would see his bathtime video. Basil opened his mouth to speak, but his mother spoke before he could get a word out.

“Why of course… I’d be delighted, for instance I’m just having a look at Basil’s ears… you know some days I swear you could grow potatoes in there, Basil’s ears that mucky… I don’t know what he gets up to.” Basil’s face puckered up as mummy twisted his head sideways and pulled his ear closer to my phone. “Just look at that,” she exclaimed as she pointed to a tiny speck just inside his ear.

Mrs Ward was a natural.

She picked up a flannel and wetted it before wiping Basil’s ear to get rid of the offending particle of dirt: “... and the back of his neck always seems to get missed when he washes himself in the morning… so that often needs a good scrub with the flannel… just look…”

I moved in closer and zoomed in to see a small fleck of grime on the nape of Basil’s neck. It became obvious that Mrs Ward demanded exceptionally high standards of cleanliness from her son.

“Now I’m going to wash Basil’s hair…” she held up a bottle, “... as you can see I use a ‘no tears’ shampoo because Basil often doesn’t close his eyes properly… so first off we wet Basil’s hair…”

Mummy used the shower hose and by the way Basil shook his shoulders the water wasn’t that much warmer than that in his bath.

“I always like to work up a good, thick lather when I’m washing Basil’s hair…”

The washing and rinsing of Basil’s hair took a little over five minutes and I assumed that mummy would leave Basil sitting in the bath to have his top half washed. I was wrong.

“Stand up, Basil…” Mrs Ward turned to face the camera like a real pro, “I always like to have Basil standing up, it’s so much easier to see what I’m doing…”

So a thoroughly wet, thoroughly nude Basil was made to stand up for mummy… and the camera.

Basil’s mummy picked up and put on her hand a bath mitt in the shape of a bright yellow duck. It was the sort of hand mitt a mother might have used when bathing a toddler, but Mrs Ward obviously found it useful when she was giving fourteen year old Basil his bath. She lathered up the mitt and started rub the resulting suds all over Basil’s upper body, turning him his way and that, pulling his arms up and out, to make sure he was nice and clean. Basil giggled, squirmed and twisted away from the soapy children’s hand mitt as mummy scrubbed his tickle spots. Basil, for a few brief moments, wriggled about and behaved as if he’d forgotten I was there videoing his bathtime.

Mrs Ward turned to face me and the camera phone once more: “Basil’s very ticklish… as you can see, so it’s important to keep a firm grip on him at bathtime to make sure he doesn’t slip in the bath…”

I could tell this was rapidly turning into an instructional video for bathing boys like Basil… not that I had any objection. Having Mrs Ward’s complete cooperation was certainly more than I’d expected.

Basil’s humiliation was intense. Mummy was treating him like a nine year old… perhaps she always did at bathtime, but the big difference today was that Basil not only had an audience, but his bathtime was being videoed with mummy’s full agreement and consent. What must have appalled Basil even more was that mummy was so obviously enjoying herself! How unfair was that?!

“Turn around Basil and push your bottom out for mummy…”

When I heard these words I quickly got into position beside Mrs Ward so that I was ready to video the next stage of Basil’s bathtime.

“That’s it, darling, you know what to do… put your hands on the edge of the opposite side of the bath… bend down… that’s right, now just move your legs apart so mummy can wash you properly… push out your bottom, darling… that’s it… good boy.”

As Basil bent down with his bottom pushed out with cheeks spread before us Mrs Ward turned to me and spoke:

“I’m so grateful you’re taking the time to do this… I do hope you can send me a copy of your video. You see there will come a time when Basil grows up and… well, what more could any mother wish for than to be reminded of their little boy enjoying his bathtime?”

It was so very touching to be allowed to preserve this special occasion for Basil’s mummy that I started to think how I could further assist her. Of course I knew that lots of mums kept special family albums, photographs of their boys growing up. But it wasn’t until recently, with the advent of digital technology, that private moments could be so faithfully recorded.

Years ago mums had to make do with their hand-held Super 8 cameras when filming their preteen or teenage sons at play on the beach. From time to time one might glimpse a younger teen whose mummy had decided there was no reason for him to wear any swim trunks. As the naked boy played and built sandcastles, mummy would have had picked  up her cine camera and made the most of her opportunity to capture this special moment on film.

“Of course,” I replied, “I fully intended this to be for you. I know how important memories are… and when boys grow up so quickly it needs someone to capture these special moments so they can be shared with friends and relatives… and, well anyone you choose to…”

Basil was twisting his neck to look back at us and listening: “M-U-M-M-Y!! You can’t show me all bare… pleease say you won’t…” He did look funny peering over his shoulder while bent over displaying his bottom.

“Don’t be silly, darling…” mummy warned him.

“But, mummy…”

“That’s enough, Basil… mummy will show the video to whoever she likes and whenever she likes… and that’s final.”

Basil had the good sense to acquiesce: “Yes, mummy…” but he wasn’t at all happy.

“I’m sure the video that I’m capturing on my phone will be ok for sharing, but we could do a lot better if I used some proper video cameras…” I said noncommittally.

Mrs Ward’s ears pricked up: “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I’m sure this video will be fine if you’re not too bothered about the limitations of the camera phone… but I have a couple of really good quality video cameras that will do the job much better…” I tried not to sound as enthusiastic as I felt. It’s not often that a great subject for a video like Basil’s bathtime comes along and I was keen to make the most of the opportunity. “I mean, if you’re planning to show the video on a big screen TV for instance, you’ll want a much higher quality video than you’ll get from a mobile phone camera…”

Basil, still bent over legs apart, was positively apoplectic: “M-U-M-M-Y Y-O-U C-A-N’-T!!!” Basil’s voice, sounding for all the world like a preteen on the verge of a tantrum, echoed around the bathroom and I thought for a moment he was going to jump up, but he must have thought better of any desire to rebel with two grown-ups in the bathroom with him.

Mummy put Basil in his place: “You are fourteen years old, Basil… I’ve just told you that if mummy wants to show her friends a lovely nice video of her little boy at bathtime, that’s her affair, not yours… is that clear?”

Basil said the only words he knew his mother wanted to hear: “Yes, mummy…”

“I shouldn’t need to remind you, Basil, that you’re not even old enough to do lots of things without mummy’s permission… and you also know not to argue with what mummy says…”

“Yes, mummy… sorry, mummy…” Basil was suitably chastened.

 

While Mrs Ward explained things to her son I took the opportunity to get some great video of Basil bent forward and gripping the far side of the bath. I found that by lowering the angle of my phone I could get Basil’s marbles in their tight little sac, his tiny willy (just!) and his shamefully exposed pink pucker all in the frame at the same time.

Mrs Ward turned to me: “If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble… I mean I’d love to have you video Basil properly…” she blushed when she realised she might have caused offence, “... it’s not that I’m ungrateful… I mean, what you’re doing now… it’s very kind of you…” 

“Not at all… I’m sure we can make a wonderful video that you will treasure and want to show to all your friends…” I replied.

And with that settled Mrs Ward resumed giving Basil his bath while I continued to record it with my phone’s camera. I even managed to capture on video Basil squirming as he felt mummy’s finger probe his sphincter until she was sure it was, as she announced, “squeaky clean”.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a boy blush so much when I noticed that when he stood up straight again his little tiddler was stiff, pointing straight up. I think Basil’s little man was gamely struggling to reach two inches in length and his tiny marbles had all but disappeared under the strain. Of course I couldn’t resist drawing attention this by remarking casually.

“Does Basil’s penis often become fully erect at bathtime?”

“Oh dear… is he doing it again?” Mrs Ward wagged her index finger in Basil’s face just as if she was telling off an eight year old. “Basil, it’s very naughty of you to embarrass me like this… I’ve told you before that it’s not clever…” She turned towards me, almost as if to check that I capturing Basil’s naughtiness on video. “Honestly what mummy has to put up with… little boys can be so naughty at bathtime… showing off like this and thinking it’s clever… it’s best just to ignore it… drawing attention to willy-winky will only encourage him…”

The look of intense shame on Basil’s face as he stood in the bath displaying his tiny bald erection was to be a highlight of the video. As mummy tutted and got on with soaping his upper thighs, Basil squirmed with embarrassment. It was clearly a struggle for him to keep his hands away from his penis. The mantra that there was no place for modesty in the lives of little boys was obviously one that Basil had been taught to follow. However much he wanted to cover up, Basil didn’t want to risk further admonishment being recorded on my camera phone.

Mrs Ward was certainly very thorough, making sure every part of Basil’s smooth, unblemished body received the attentions of her yellow duck hand mitt.

Finally Basil was told to sit down in the bath and lift up one leg at a time so mummy could wash his feet and lower legs. It was quite amusing to see mummy hoisting up one of Basil’s feet so she could wash between his toes properly. Needless to say Basil was as ticklish as ever and started to splash about as mummy rubbed the soles of his feet.

It occurred to me to ask whether Basil had any toys to play with at bathtime.

“Oh, yes… there’s lots of toys in the cupboard under the hand-basin,” Mrs Ward informed me, “Ever since Basil was little he loved playing with his toys in the bath… he still does, don’t you, darling?”

I wasn’t sure that Basil could get more embarrassed than he already was, but his face managed to get noticeably redder when the subject of bathtime toys came up. Basil mumbled a reply which I took to mean that he did indeed still like to play with his toys in the bath.

“... there’s a special tug-boat that’s Basil’s favourite and he’s got a submarine that dives and comes backup to the surface… he plays with that for ages… it was one of last year’s Christmas presents... actually Basil asked for it when he wrote his annual letter to Santa to tell him what a good boy he’d been during the year, didn’t you, darling?”

Basil’s face got even redder still as he admitted that, yes, he’d asked Santa for a submarine to play with in the bath… and his wish had been granted, bless him!

“But Basil can only play with his toys in the bath if there’s time…” Mrs Ward explained and then added, almost as an afterthought, “Perhaps next time…”

I took this as confirmation that there definitely would be a next time and that Basil would have plenty of time to play with some of his toys in the bath while I captured his innocent, childish fun with my video camera, as mummy supervised another bathtime.

With Basil’s current bathtime almost over I sat down again to watch as mummy helped her fourteen year old son out of the bath. Basil stood on the bath-mat and I aimed my camera phone in his direction for one last time.

“Here… grab a towel,” mummy said to me as she took a couple of fresh towels out of a cupboard. “... quicker if two of us do it…” She tossed a small towel in my direction.

I caught the towel and unfolded it and saw it wasn’t much larger than a hand towel.

“The bath towels are in the laundry… we’ll have to make do with these,” Mrs Ward added by way of explanation. And so we set about drying a very red-faced Basil.

“Arms up!” mummy barked, “Right up, darling!” Then she added for my benefit, “We need to get my little boy nice and dry before we take him back downstairs…”

We took an arm each. I couldn't resist the temptation to tickle one of Basil’s perfectly smooth armpits and as he squirmed I saw his thin little willy bouncing from side to side. Mummy tackled Basil’s head, roughly towelling his hair before wiping his face and neck. In the meantime I set about drying off Basil’s chest and tummy. Mummy, having finished towelling Basil’s head, moved behind her son to dry his neck and back. This left me in a bit of a quandary, whether to tackle Basil’s not-so-private boy-parts, which had softened while we talked about his bathtime toys, or to skip over them and start drying his legs.

I thought it best if I left the drying of Basil’s little tiddler to his mother and knelt on the bathroom floor so I could more easily attend to Basil’s legs and feet. In the end it was left to me to deal with Basil’s boy-bits after all.

As Mrs Ward dried her son’s bottom she looked down at me: “Don’t forget willy-winky,” she said brightly, “Make sure he’s nice and dry…”

I did as I was told and rubbed Basil’s cute little penis with the towel. Then, with the towel in my cupped hand, I dried Basil’s tight nut-sac moving his little marbles around as I did so. I dropped the towel and with my hand bare, felt Basil’s boy-bits to make absolutely sure I had dried them properly. I pulled his super-smooth willy this way and that and even gave the overhang of his foreskin a little tug before I jiggled Basil’s marbles, lifting them up as far as I could so that I could feel along Basil’s perineum. I made sure Basil was properly dry between his legs as Mrs Ward had asked. When I was finished I was amused to see Basil’s little man had stiffened once more.

Mrs Ward took both towels and hung them over a rail to let them dry off. When she spotted what had happened, she sighed: “Oh, Basil…” she sounded exasperated as she looked at Basil’s modest little erection, “What am I to do with you?”

I could almost feel the heat of Basil’s shame as he stood nude showing off his little boner in front of mummy.

I smiled in sympathy: “Teens like Basil never seem to have much control of their little winkies,” I said in mitigation as I looked at Basil’s cute little penis pointing straight up. It was so stiff his little marbles had completely disappeared this time, drawn up by the thick skin of his immature little-boy scrotum.

“It wouldn’t be quite so bad, but he does do it at the most inopportune moments… why just the other day willy-winky decided to show off right in front of Mrs Mowberry and her daughter, April… it was Basil’s pyjama-time and I’d just finished getting him undressed… I turned my back for a second to ask April to pass me Basil’s pyjamas… well, I was so embarrassed when I looked back and saw willy-winky pointing upwards, just like it is now… thankfully Mrs Mowberry wasn’t offended and April, bless her, took it all in her stride, well girls are much more mature than boys and she’s a year younger than Basil as well,” Mrs Ward paused and sighed, “... and Basil used to be such a well-behaved boy…”

Basil’s pyjamas were downstairs and obviously Basil was still in the nude after his bathtime, so I offered to go and collect them.

But mum was having none of it: “Oh, there’s really no need to bother, it’s a little early for bedtime… Basil can come back downstairs as he is and be put into his pyjamas when I’ve made us both a cup of tea… I expect you’re ready for one now…”