Friday, 9 March 2018

Francis & His Sisters - Part 2

The eyes of Francis, brown and nervously darting from right to left, were taking on a melancholy air. He felt like a prisoner in his own home; a prisoner guarded by predatory females, his mother and two younger sisters, Sam and Sarah.

Francis stood in the hallway of his home. His sisters had brought him back after a game of Cowboys and Indians, a game organised by Mrs Harper’s young son Terry and his friend Ben. Francis was presented, still dressed in his flimsy loincloth, by his cheeky sisters to his bemused mother, who was seeing her son dressed in his Red Indian outfit for the first time. The girls had joined in the fun and dressed up as Cowgirls. Their costumes were considerably more modest than Francis’ skimpy outfit.

“Here we are, mum… what do you think of Francis in his new Red Indian costume?” Sarah asked and then announced, “Behold! Our big strong brother, the courageous Indian brave!”

“... and we watched him play his first game,” Sam added breathlessly, “... with all the other boys... just as you wanted, mum, out in the sunshine.”

Francis stood there. He caught the faintest hint of a smile in the corners of his mother's lips.

“Well, that is good news,” Mrs Park replied. Her eyes were drawn to the tiny loincloth her son was wearing, “But whatever has happened to your pubic hair, Francis?”

Sam laughed, a big hearty belly laugh that made her brother tremble: “Francis was scalped!”

Scalped… whatever do you mean, scalped?”

“You see, mum, after Francis had been captured,” Sarah explained, not giving Francis chance to tell his side of the story, “he was tied up along with the other Red Indians…”

“Tied up?” mum asked, “My these Cowboys do take their games seriously by the sound of it… but, I’m sorry darling, you were saying?”

“Yes, Francis had his hands tied and then his arms were stretched right above his head…”

“... Francis was pulled up by this rope that was thrown over the branch of a tree… right up, until he was almost on tiptoes!” Sam added enthusiastically, “... ready to be scalped!”

“We’ll tell mum about that in a minute, Sam,” Sarah intervened, as she felt it was only right to relate events in the proper order, “First, we really ought to tell mum what happened when we took Francis to get his Red Indian costume at the outfitters.”

Sarah… do you have to?” Francis said interrupting his sister.

“Francis… be quiet!” mum snapped in a voice Francis knew was best obeyed. Then mum turned back to Sarah and in a much calmer voice asked her to please continue.

“For a start Francis didn’t want to take off his clothes and try on his Red Indian outfit so it could be fitted properly,” Sarah explained, “I could hear him making such a fuss and causing so much trouble for the lady who was with him in the changing cubicle that I had to pull the curtain open and ask her what the matter was. She told me that Francis was refusing to get undressed, so I had to remind him that we hadn’t got all day and that you, mum, would be very annoyed if you were told we were too late to join in the game with all the other boys…”

“Quite right too, Sarah,” mum said before turning to Francis: “What on earth did you think you were doing?” she admonished him, “Here we are, trying to get you to take an interest in something worthwhile… Sam and Sarah doing their very best to help… you know full well that I’ve been busy organising the Mothers’ Group and you seem to want to take advantage that I’m not around all the time to make sure you behave…”

“... but, mum… it’s not fair… the lady in the clothes shop made me take all my clothes off and stand on a stool while she fiddled about with the loincloth flaps,” Francis protested, “... and then, when I was standing on the stool with nothing on, Sarah burst in again and left the curtain open so everyone could see me… in the nude!”

“Oh, fiddlesticks!” mum replied, “Who on earth do think wants to see a boy like you with no clothes on? Do grow up, Francis… really!”

This didn’t prevent Francis from dwelling upon what he’d called his ‘Day of Humiliation’. He hung his head as Sarah told their mother about events in the clothes shop and he recalled the terrible moment when he was forced to peel his underpants down to his ankles and take them right off. Francis shuddered as he remembered what the lady had said:

“I am pleased to see you’re wearing proper boy’s white cotton underpants… So many boys nowadays seem to think they should be bought brightly-coloured boxer-shorts.”

Francis had begun to mumble something about how he ought to have boxers, but his mum wouldn’t buy him any; it was yet another bone of contention between Francis and his mother. But before he could explain this to the lady, his was told to step up onto the stool. He did so and there he stood, completely naked, in the booth in front of the lady assistant.

“Right,” the lady said, “I’m just going to take one or two measurements to make sure we get your loincloth fitted properly…”

Francis glimpsed himself in the full-length mirror mounted on the cubicle wall, totally nude and miserable as sin. He tried to keep still as the lady fussed about taking various measurements; waist, hips and the top of each thigh. The lady skilfully avoided contact with Francis’ large penis, but when she reached for the tiny loincloth and it became apparent it was to sit at the base of his substantial appendage, thus putting his patch of curly pubic hair on full display, Francis nearly exploded:

It's too small… it’s too small! he’d protested loudly as the lady held up the front flap against him, checking the fit. It was this noisy protest that brought Sarah, for a second time, to the little changing-cubicle to see what the commotion was all about.

“Oh, do get a move on, Francis… we haven’t got all day… and mummy will be very annoyed if I have to tell her that you’ve been unhelpful,” Sarah had said impatiently, completely ignoring her older brother’s evident distress.

Francis had implored his young sister to close the curtain: “Please, Sarahpeople can see me!”

But Sarah didn’t appear to hear her brother as he stood naked and exposed on the stool. As Francis cupped his boyhood with both hands, Sarah took the opportunity to inspect more closely the little flaps of buckskin the assistant was holding. Between them Sarah and the lady decided the Red Indian outfit would be perfect for Francis who was now cringing helplessly on the stool.

In the end Francis found himself begging Sarah to leave so the assistant could carry on with the fitting of his loincloth. It was a few seconds before Francis realised what he’d said, by which time Sarah, with a nod to the assistant, “... better do what my brother asks…”, had let the curtain drop back.

Back with her sister, Sarah had to stifle a giggle as she told Sam how Francis had actually pleaded for her to leave the changing cubicle so the assistant could fit him with his loincloth!

“Was Francis bare?!” Sam asked breathlessly.

Totally!” Sarah answered, “… he was actually standing right up on a stool!”

Awesome!!” Sam excitedly asked for more details, “Did you see it… his thingy?”

“You mean his penis?” Sarah said teasing her sister, “Did I see his penis as he stood on the stool stripped completely nude… in his birthday suit?”

“Well… did you?”

“No…” Sarah replied bluntly, “Francis was covering himself up… but I reckon the lady in there with him has seen it alright!” Sarah put a finger to her lips and whispered, “Listen, Sam...”

The assistant’s raised voice, coming from behind the closed curtain of the cubicle, could be heard clearly: “... well if you don’t want anyone to see it, you shouldn’t let it do that…” The lady sounded exasperated, “I’ve told you… there is nothing wrong with your loincloth… it fits perfectly… I’m afraid it’s your own fault if you can’t control yourself properly.”

The girls listened intently and their feverish imaginations worked overtime as they both tried to stifle their giggling.

The lady spoke again: “Now keep still while I…”

Oh, please I don’t want to wear that…” his sisters heard Francis say as he pleaded with the assistant.

“It won’t take a moment and we’ll have you looking like a proper Red Indian… it’s the finishing touches that make all the difference...”

“... but I don’t want toI can’t go out like thisplease don’t...” It sounded for all the world as if Francis was close to tears as he continued to beg as if his life depended upon it.

“Now don’t be silly,” the lady said, “... and crying about it won’t get you anywhere…”

Sarah and Sam distinctly heard a snuffle come from the cubicle followed by the sound of a nose being blown. The girls looked at each other. Was Francis actually crying?!

“Come along now… let’s see a smile… I’m sure mummy doesn’t want to see you frowning when your sisters take you home to show her your lovely new costume…”

The thought had not occurred to Francis what might happen after his visit to the outfitters. He opened and closed his mouth, but no words came and he stood mute as he allowed the assistant to put the final touches to his Red Indian outfit.

“Let’s put your moccasins on… that’s it, on with one foot… now the other foot… and we’re nearly ready to show your sisters your lovely Red Indian outfit…”

Outside the cubicle Sarah and Sam were on tenterhooks as they tried to visualise what was happening inside.

 “You can get down from the stool now…” Sam and Sarah heard the lady say to Francis and the sisters knew they didn’t have much longer to wait before they saw their brother... their seventeen year old, older brother, dressed as a Red Indian…

 There were some last minute rustling noises before, finally, the lady assistant pushed the curtain of the changing-cubicle open with a certain amount of relief that she had almost finished with a difficult customer. She took Francis by the hand, just as she would a shy little boy half his age: “Come along now and let’s show your costume to your sisters… I’m sure they’re dying to see you...”

 Sam was speechless. Her eyes popped out on stalks.

 Sarah, after two or three seconds taking in the sight of her brother, managed just three words:


 Her eyes, too, were out on stalks.

 Sarah quickly composed herself. She looked Francis up and down, taking in as much as she could. She realised it wasn’t just the loincloth, that silly little flap that could never hope to cover the genitals of a boy as old as Francis... that was mind-bogglingly stupendous… it was also the patterned headband with its single feather pointing up from the back of Francis’ head and the beaded collar around Francis’ neck that had attached to it a sort of thin decorative oblong that hung down between his nipples. Then there were the armlets and anklets, attached to which were little pom-poms. There were moccasins on his feet. Francis was left without a single item of clothing he had worn to the shop.

 Finally Sam got her breath back and uttered a single word: “AWESOME…”

 Francis had had ample opportunity to see in the big mirror of the cubicle exactly what his sisters were now seeing. He knew how revealing his ridiculously small loincloth flap was, so apart from any glimpse Sarah and Sam might have got when they saw him spanked in the bathroom, this was the first time they would have the opportunity to see what he hoped he’d so far managed to kept hidden from their prying eyes.

 But try as he might to keep his private parts private, Francis knew it was an impossible task. The triangular flap that formed the front of his Red Indian loincloth was far too small, so small that his modest crop of pubic hair was actually wider than the top edge of the buckskin flap!

 Then there was his penis. Now Francis was blessed with a moderately large member, a fact he enjoyed showing it off in the showers at school, but now, wearing his ‘costume’, he would rather have had something less noticeable hanging between his legs.

 For Sarah and Sam the sight of their brother dressed in his Red Indian outfit was breathtaking. The sight of Francis’ pubic hair fully exposed in all its glory above the loincloth string; the fleshly sides of his thick penis revealed on either side of the triangular flap; the glimpse of his wrinkled scrotal-sac; the bulbous head of Francis’ penis scarcely covered by the flap as it narrowed towards it apex. The wrinkled tip of Francis’ foreskin was plain to see.

 The lady hadn’t quite finished with Francis: “Come along... over here, dear… and we’ll sort out some playthings for you to go with your outfit…”

 This involved Francis turning and walking to the other side of the shop to where the bows and arrows and other suitable toys for playing Cowboys and Indians were kept.

 Since the lady was still firmly holding Francis’ hand, he had little choice but to follow. His sisters then saw Francis from the other side as he turned and faced away from them.

 They stared enraptured.

 “Oh, aren’t you lucky, Francis,” cooed Sam, talking to her brother as if he were a little boy, “Your costume has a flap at the rear.”

 “Oh yes,” said Sarah, as if she hadn’t noticed, “Isn’t that's nice for you! That younger boy who was in here earlier had his flap taken off because he’s a tenderfoot. His bottom was completely uncovered... it made him very bashful. But you’re a big, brave Injun of seventeen years, Francis, so you get to keep your bottom covered.”

 The girls giggled. Francis peered into a mirror and saw how disingenuous their remarks really were. In fact there was little coverage at all! The tiny triangular flap rode so high on his pert bottom cheeks that it had actually wedged high in his intergluteal cleft. Francis’ bottom was just as bare as the tenderfoot boy’s had been!

 At that moment Francis wouldn’t have objected, on the contrary he’d have been relieved, had the floor suddenly opened up and swallowed him whole. He had never felt so humiliated in his entire life. The only thing that kept him going was his belief that, bad as this was, things couldn’t possibly get any worse.

 The lady assistant held Francis’ hand tightly and he was forced to keep up with her as they crossed the busy store. Not that Francis was keen to get to the toy section of the shop, but it was the only way to keep his loincloth flap from swinging about and uncovering his boyhood.

 “This boy wants a bow and arrow set to go with his new Red Indian costume,” the assistant said as she presented Francis to her colleague.

 As Francis stood by the counter waiting he couldn’t help but overhear the buzz of conversation between some of the ladies in the shop.

 “Does that big boy really want a bow and arrow set?” Francis heard one lady say to another.

 “He looks a bit old for that sort of thing…” the other replied.

 “Oh, look at that, you can see he’s got a bit of hair… down there… yes... you can see it quite clearly… I can’t think why he wants to dress up in such a flimsy costume...”

 “Boys get such funny ideas…”

 “Showing off…”

 “... you must have seen that boy who was in here earlier…”

 “The one who had the rear flap of his costume unstitched and taken off?”

 “Yes, that’s the one… These Cowboy and Indian games boys like to play are becoming very authentic…”

 “... something about tenderfoot braves, wasn’t it?”

 “Yes that’s right… Oh, I can see that bit of hair now... just above that boy’s loincloth… I must say that flap of his doesn’t cover much at all… Well I never!”

 “What is it, Jean?”

 “You can see his little man peeking out!” the woman said with a giggle.

 “Boys!” her friend replied.

 Francis, his ears burning from listening to all these comments, was finally presented with a childish bow and arrow set and released from the hands of the lady assistant only to find his sisters by the side of him once more, ready to take him to the meadow and to join in one of Terry’s games of Cowboys and Indians. Sarah took her big brother by his left hand. In his right Francis clung to the bow and arrows.

 “Don’t forget to pick up the bag before we leave, Sam,” Sarah said to her sister.

 “Shall I ask them to put Francis’ clothes in there as well?” Sam replied.

 “May as well…”

 Francis was horrified: “You’re not expecting me to go outside like this!”

 “Of course we are…”

 “But… Sarah… please…” Francis pleaded.

 It didn’t matter to Sarah how much her big brother pleaded, she held the trump card and wasn’t slow to use it: “Mummy said you’re to do as you’re told… You don’t want mummy to think you aren’t being co-operative, do you?”

 Francis was trapped: “No, Sarah.”

 “Right then… let’s get a move on…”

 Francis was unable to put his hands in front of himself in order to stop the tiny flap from moving about. The three of them walked through the store, past ladies and girls who all gawked at Francis’ skimpy costume. Sam was given a bag by one of the assistants and they left the shop. An extremely nervous Francis found himself standing in the High Street.

 “Where are you taking me?” he asked anxiously.

 “Where do you think?” Sam said teasingly, “I should think you’d have guessed… Shouldn’t Francis have guessed by now, Sarah? After all he is dressed up like a Red Indian on the warpath…”

 As they walked along Sarah swung her arms to and fro. But, because she was holding her brother’s hand so tightly, Francis was made to swing his arm too, which had the unfortunate effect of causing his loincloth flap to, er, flap. Francis could do nothing to stop the flapping flap as the hand not being help by his sister was clutching the childish bow and arrow set. All he could do was to plead with his sister not to swing her arms about so violently.

 Francis was distracted from pursuing his wish to know where he was being taken, as his sisters kept swivelling their heads and looking down at his penis and scrotum, visible as they rolled from side to side.

 “Oh, my... oh my!” an elderly lady standing at the bus stop exclaimed as she saw the near naked boy and his sisters walk by.

 “Mummy! Look!” A girl in the queue pointed excitedly. “That boy, mummy!”

 “Good heavens!” said her mother, “he must be in some circus or other. I wish… I mean, they should have found a more modest costume for him…”

 Francis kept stumbling forward, resolutely fixing his eyes straight ahead. But, to his horror, Francis’ penis started to engorge. To his sisters barely contained excitement, Francis’ boyhood was now poking out from the side of the buckskin flap and pointing towards the pavement. As it swung from side-to-side, the penis looked for all the world like the fleshy rod of a metal detector sweeping the ground.

 Twisting sideways as they walked both sisters beamed as they saw the full rounded glans of Francis’ penis poking beyond the retracted foreskin. The sight excited both of them.

 Francis was close to tears and begged to be allowed to sit on a bench.

 “Oh, but why, Francis?” asked Sarah sweetly, all the time looking at his organ as it continued to lengthen.

 They were stopped outside the Copper Kettle Tearooms, a favourite haunt of ladies of a certain age, who would meet there to catch up on all the local gossip. From behind its bow-window several seated ladies were peering at the curiously dressed boy being escorted by the two younger girls. It might have been considered unbecoming for them to point, but point at Francis and his sisters they did in order to draw the attention of other customers to the extraordinary sight outside.

 “Because… because this is so embarrassing!” Francis gushed as he gestured to his flimsy costume, which simply drew greater attention to his penis.

 Both Sarah and Sam watched with undisguised glee as a broad vein asserted itself on the dorsal surface of his penis. Then suddenly it jerked. It took the girls by surprise and came to rest parallel to the pavement. It was such a decisive jerk… it looked like the thing had a mind and life of its own.

 The faces of the ladies peering from inside the tearooms registered shock. One woman could be seen signalling others to come to the window and see the view. Some laughed, others covered their mouths with astonishment.

 Sarah and Sam were trying to stop laughing but close to bursting. The younger girl was fascinated by the head or glans of her brother’s organ, now on full view.

 Pleeease...” Francis begged. “Please, Sarah… I need to sit down… anywhere…”

 As if to reinforce his plea Francis’ penis jerked again, now gesturing like an artillery piece, lifted toward the church steeple at the end of the road.

 Francis was alarmed as one lady bustled from the teahouse. It was Mrs Barton, a friend of their mother’s.

 “Girls! Francis! My goodness! What's going on? You've got the whole tearoom in such a tizzy... they’re all saying there’s a boy out there off to a fancy dress party or a play or something… the Copper Kettle has never known the like!”

 She stood before them eyeing Francis’ all too evident embarrassment with a fixed, unnerving glare.

 In a nervous response Francis’ penis jerked yet again, lifting it to point further skywards. The little flap of buckskin that formed Francis’ only coverage, was left dangling uselessly to one side of his engorged penis.

 The girls cheerfully explained the situation to Mrs Barton. They told her how their mum was fed up with Francis spending so much time on his own in his bedroom and how she thought he needed to get out in the fresh air and get some proper exercise. They explained how they, Sarah and Sam, had found out about a local group of boys who liked to play Cowboys and Indians and that when they had told their mum about this, she gave the girls permission, along with her complete authority... in fact carte blanche to do whatever was required to ensure Francis joined in the boys’ games.

 “That was good of you to help your mother, girls… I just hope Francis is grateful for all your efforts. Well, that explains your brother’s costume,” Mrs Barton said and added, “Now, I don't want to hold you up unnecessarily... playing out in the fresh air is what all boys your brother’s age need, but why don’t you bring him inside… I’m sure the ladies would love to have a closer look at his costume… it won’t take a minute… time enough for a cup tea for you two young ladies and glass of milk for Francis… boys his age need a lot of milk.”

 “Why yes… thank you. I think that's a nice idea,” Sarah replied politely, “Francis was just asking if he could sit down,” She leant forward and in a stage whisper to Mrs Barton added, “I think at the moment Francis is a teensy-weensy bit embarrassed…”

 Francis howled in protest and managed to break away from Sarah, letting his bow and arrows fall with a clatter to the pavement. With little thought to what his loincloth was doing, he sprang across the pavement and sheltered behind a nearby pillar-box.

 “I'm not going in there!” he yelled, “Sarah! Sam! Let’s just go the meadow! That’s where you’re taking me, aren’t you?! Isn’t that what mum wanted?!”

 Mrs Barton giggled at the sight of Francis (‘displaying all his wares’ as she put it later when telling a friend what had happened), “Oh, don’t be so silly, Francis… you’ve got plenty of time to play with your friends… we won’t be more than five minutes… now pick up your bow and arrows… sorry what’s that Sarah…”

 Francis saw Sarah whisper something to Mrs Barton which he couldn’t hear. But Sam understood.

 Mrs Barton nodded: “Yes, yes of course… you girls go on ahead and I’ll go and get Master Francis,” she said firmly.

 “Now, come along Francis!” Mrs Barton called as she walked purposefully towards Francis as he cowered behind the pillar-box, “Honestly, I don’t know what’s got into you! There’s no need for this sort of silly behaviour… don’t you remember I used to bath you when you were little? You weren't so shy then…”

 “But, Mrs Barton… I’m seventeen now…” Francis said as he hastily tried to adjust the little front flap of his loincloth. His penis had softened quite a bit, but the flap still offered little more than scant coverage of his thick penis.

 Francis watched over the top of the pillar-box as Sarah and Sam went into the Copper Kettle Tearooms. Then he turned to look back at Mrs Barton as she advanced towards him. It was as if he was frozen to the spot. He knew what it would mean if he was dragged into the tearooms, but Mrs Barton had Francis transfixed with her Gorgon stare. Mrs Barton reached out her hand and took Francis by the wrist. She was a strong woman and the years she’d spent as captain of the local ladies golf club team meant she was more than a match for the likes of young boys like Francis.

 “Come along, Francis… pick up your bow and arrows and let’s go and meet the ladies…”

 Cowed once more, Francis realised it was probably the wiser course action to allow himself to be led by Mrs Barton towards the tearoom. Doing anything else would involve an undignified scuffle and Francis, with nothing more than a small piece of buckskin to protect his modesty, knew the outcome would not be to his advantage.

 The little brass bell above the door tinkled as Mrs Barton pushed open the door to the Copper Kettle Tearooms.

 “Here he is!” she announced, “Our very own Red Indian Brave!”

 Mrs Barton gently, but firmly, thrust Francis forward towards one of the tables at which three ladies were sat. The empty seat was recently occupied by Mrs Barton herself before she went outside to capture her Redskin. From the other tables some more ladies came to see what all the fuss was about. Soon Francis was surrounded by elderly and some not-so-elderly ladies, all keen to see and appraise his Red Indian costume. The questions came think and fast and they were more than a seriously embarrassed, red-faced Francis could answer.

 What was he dressed up for? Was he taking part in a school play? Wasn’t his little costume just so cute? Isn’t the beading just perfect? One lady recounted how son used to love dressing up to play Cowboys and Indians when he was about ten or eleven… though she’d never heard of a boy as old as Francis obviously was taking part in such games. That led to hugely embarrassing comments about Francis’ exposed curly pubic hair and how, yes, he was without doubt a lot older. More questions followed about why Francis wanted to dress up in such a skimpy, revealing costume to play games that normally only little boys play...

 “Mum, er… wants me to, um… get out of the house more,” Francis stuttered, “Cowboys and Indians was Sarah’s and Sam’s idea… but mum wanted me to spend…”

 “... less time in your bedroom, no doubt,” Mrs Barton said to murmurs of agreement from all the other ladies. “My Richard was just the same at your age, Francis… up to no good in his bedroom…”

 “Yes, up to no good… and we all know what that means…” one of the other mothers muttered.

 “Oh now, Wendy… you’re embarrassing him… look how he’s blushing…” said another.

 “Now look what we’ve done…” said yet another lady, playfully admonishing her friends, “... we’ve got the poor boy all hot and bothered!”

 Francis!” Mrs Barton scolded her friend’s son, “I do think you should be able to control yourself in front of all these ladies… you’re not in your bedroom now, you know,” she added reproaching Francis as his penis stirred and started to move the buckskin flap to one side.

 As if this wasn’t enough, Francis had to contend with two curious ladies behind him who started to comment on his rear flap.

 “Why, I never did… this lucky boy has got a loincloth flap here as well…”

 “Oh, yes… so he has… you know only the other day Janet Harper was telling me about how the younger Red Indian Braves… tenderfoots she called them... aren’t allowed flaps at the rear…”

 “... you mean hey run around with their bottoms bare?”

 “Oh, yes… quite bare apparently…”

 “This is a very small flap… it hardly covers his bottom at all if you ask me…”

 “I shouldn’t embarrass Francis any more,” Mrs Barton told her friend who was investigating the rear flap, the apex of which had disappeared into the intergluteal cleft of Francis’ bottom, “I think Francis knows his bottom is almost as bare as a tenderfoot…”

 Francis was overwhelmed by all the attention from the ladies surrounding him and was almost grateful when the promised glass of milk appeared. At least it gave him a distraction and an excuse not to have to respond to any more comments while he drank his milk as slowly as possible while waiting for his sisters.

 Francis had no idea what they were up to and got a shock when Sarah rushed in from a backroom where she and Sam had changed into their Cowgirl outfits. With her arms held high Sarah gripped cap-guns in each hand over her head. The guns were pointed towards the ceiling and, as she approached the circle of ladies surrounding her brother, Sarah blazed away as if she was Peggy Cummins in the side-show of a travelling fair about to meet John Dall. The ladies applauded; Francis looked terrified.

 “Are... you… playing... as well?” Francis stammered.

 “Yes, of course we are,” Sarah replied beaming at her brother, “Sam and I wouldn’t miss your first game of Cowboys and Indians for the world!”

 In all the excitement nobody, least of all Francis, noticed Sam quietly moving towards them. In her hands Sam held a lasso…

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