Sunday, 29 March 2015

The Sleepover: Part 4

"Yes, I quite understand Felicity, you can count on me," Joan Benson said quite emphatically.

Felicity Wilding had phoned Miss Benson the morning after her visit. Joan Benson was surprised by her friend's unexpected call, but once matters were explained to her she promised to do all she could to help: "I understand," she repeated, "... of course not... it's most aggravating. I get a touch of lumbago occasionally, can be quite painful... I put it down to all the time I've spent in the saddle over the years... out in all weathers… some of those fields frightful damp... always... what's that?"

Felicity Wilding was obliged to halt Joan in mid-flow. It was always difficult to stop her when she'd a full head of steam, but the fact of the matter was that she urgently required her friend’s assistance and the sooner she could call round the better. Mrs Wilding told Joan Benson what had happened after her visit the previous evening when Oliver and Stephen had sung their songs. Rachel, she explained, took the boys upstairs for their bathtime…


"Now it’s about time we got you both up to the bathroom," Mrs Wilding said after Joan Benson had left, "Rachel, would you go upstairs as well and keep an eye on Oliver and Stephen for me?"

"I don't mind helping at all…” Rachel said and then turned to Oliver who stood waiting, “I expect mummy washes you at bathtime Oliver, doesn’t she?"

Oliver confirmed that even though he was now seventeen years old, mummy was always in charge at bathtimes.

"Is that because you can't be trusted?" Rachel asked.

"Mummy says that boys shouldn't be left alone when they haven't got any clothes on," Oliver answered rather sheepishly.

"That's perfectly correct," Felicity Wilding confirmed, "Boys should never be left unattended when undressed. There should always be a babysitter available to supervise... that's why I'm so grateful to have you here to help me Rachel."

"I'm going to have to ask you to take a more active role than usual, Rachel," Mrs Wilding said to her niece, "You see my shoulder is giving me a bit of gyp... a trapped nerve or something. It's been aching all day and I think it's time to give it a bit of a rest..."

"Oh aunty... you should have said something earlier," Rachel replied. "Of course I'll help wash the boys."

"Thank you, you’re an angel."

So it was that the boys were placed under the watchful eye of Rachel.

Oliver and Stephen were taken upstairs to the bathroom while Mrs Wilding sorted out the boys’ pyjamas and placed them over the hall radiator to warm.

Although Oliver was used to being bathed by his mum, he felt distinctly uneasy about being washed by Rachel. Stephen felt even more upset at the prospect of being bathed by his cousin and thought it was unfair for a girl her age (older than he was, but younger than Oliver) should be left in charge.

Nevertheless, Rachel took the long rubberised-cotton apron from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and put it on as the boys watched.

“I know what boys are like at bathtime,” Rachel explained as she tied the apron on, “I don’t want my clothes to get wet when you two start splashing about.”

The bath was run and when Rachel was satisfied the temperature was right she told the boys to get in. Stephen, being the younger, sat with his back to the taps. In spite of being bare-nude since tea-time Oliver felt very strange when he climbed in to join Stephen. Oliver’s long legs stretched down the bath and rubbed against Stephen under the water. For himself Stephen was thrilled to be in the bath with the older boy.

Rachel leaned over Oliver to reach a shelf above the bath. The apron brushed against the boy’s head. Rachel turned and spoke: "Now who wants the boat and who wants the frogman? You can have one toy each to play with... which is it to be? As you're the oldest, you can have first choice Oliver."

Oliver blushed. He deeply resented being treated like a little boy at the best of times, but being talked down to by Rachel was galling. For heaven's sake he was seventeen and Rachel was a year younger than he was. But Oliver knew that to argue or to act up would not only be rude, it could also mean at the very least a smacked bottom. He had no desire to be punished by anyone, least of all by Rachel,  who he was pretty sure had been given spanking rights over both himself and Stephen.

"Please may I play with the boat please miss?" Oliver asked.

"Certainly Oliver... I'm going  to wash Stephen's hair, so I want you to play quietly and try not to wriggle."

Oliver thanked Rachel for giving him the boat to play with in the bath while Rachel set about shampooing Stephen's hair. She had watched Aunty Felicity bath Stephen on a number of occasions and even helped out few times, so she knew what she was doing. It came as no surprise when Stephen suddenly started twisting about and yelling noisily.

"Stephen, I told you to keep your eyes tight shut while I washed your hair," Rachel said sharply.

"... but… y-aw… it stings!"

"Stephen... I'm warning you!" Rachel said as she continued to work the lather over Stephen's head, "Now keep still... I'll soon be finished and you can play with the frogman while I wash Oliver's hair."

Stephen continued to whine, but it was clear who was in control. Wisely Oliver continued playing with the toy boat, lying as flat as he could in the bath and beaching the boat on his tummy. He tried to ignore Stephen's whingeing and prayed he wouldn't push Rachel's patience too far.

Oliver’s prayers remained unanswered as Stephen continued to act up. It became apparent Rachel had been very wise to put on the apron as Stephen floundered about and managed to splash water over the side of the bath. Then, with a suddenness and strength that astonished Oliver as he lay playing with his boat, Rachel pushed her soapy hands under Stephen’s armpits and hoisted him upright. Rachel had clearly had enough of Stephen’s tomfoolery and before the boy knew what was happening, she had landed several sharp hand-smacks on his wet bottom. Oliver was lying in the bath right under Stephen as the smacks landed and from this position he watched as Stephen’s hips jerked forward in response to the spanking. Oliver was treated to the sight of the inevitable display of jiggling boy-bits.

The sound of the spanks echoed around the bathroom, made even louder since Rachel’s hand was striking wet bottom. Lather from the shampoo slithered down Stephen face as he begged Rachel to stop, but all that got him was a mouth full of soap bubbles. Even so Stephen carried on pleading that he’d be good, along with all the usual nonsense from a boy having his bare bottom spanked.

Oliver was shocked at Rachel’s practiced efficiency. It was clear she knew exactly what she was doing and Oliver resolved to be as cooperative as a boy could be, or should be, during bathtime.

“Now Stephen Wilding, are you going to behave yourself?” Rachel demanded once she’d finished smacking the naughty fourteen year old.

Stephen nodded and spluttered his apologies through the soap bubbles. Rachel told him to sit back down the while she rinsed his hair. After she'd done this Rachel turned to Oliver and told him to kneel up in the bath to make it easier for her to wash his hair.

“Be a good boy and keep your eyes tight shut for me… I don’t want to have to spank your bottom as well… You don’t want a spanked bottom like Stephen, do you?”

“No miss,” Oliver said politely as he shifted his position. He turned to Rachel and asked whether Stephen could be allowed to play with his boat while Rachel washed his hair.

“That’s very considerate of you Oliver, but I’m not sure that after Stephen’s performance just now, whether I should allow him any toys to play with in the bath.”

Oliver was now kneeling in the bath facing Stephen who had stretched his legs out either side of the older boy. He held the frogman in the bathwater between his thighs. Stephen’s bottom felt sore on the hard surface of the bath.

“Don’t want to play with the boat,” Stephen said petulantly.

“And you shan’t play with the frogman either…!” Rachel was in no mood for any further naughtiness from her cousin and took the frogman from Stephen and replaced it on the shelf. “You can have it back when you behave yourself properly.”

“Oh! That’s not fair... ”

As he knelt in the bath, Oliver began to wonder if this wasn’t going to turn out to be the strictest bathtime he’d ever experienced.

“You can have your frogman back to play with when you apologise, Stephen,” Rachel told her cousin.

Stephen did as he was told: “I’m sorry… Please can I have the frogman back?”

“You may…” Rachel replied and stood up once more. Her apron rustled as she turned her back to the boys. Oliver saw a mischievous grin on Stephen’s face and in the brief moment when Rachel reached for the frogman, Stephen reached out and slapped the side of Oliver’s penis. Oliver was too shocked to do anything and besides he didn’t want to make a fuss and get either one of them into any more trouble, so he left his penis to wobble and come to rest. However the inevitable happened and Stephen snickered to himself when he saw that Oliver’s penis was pointing straight out towards him.

Rachel saw that Oliver’s penis was slightly aroused and pursed her lips: “Oliver Evans… what is the meaning if this?!” she snapped, leaving Oliver in no doubt what she thought. “I expected you to set an example to Stephen… not to show off in front of him. Were you playing with your willy behind my back?”

“No, miss… I’m sorry, miss… I didn’t mean to, miss…” Oliver said meekly. He glanced at Stephen who, behind Rachel’s back, made a sign with his curled fingers and thumb which Oliver couldn’t fail to recognise. Oliver penis twitched, Stephen grinned wickedly and signaled again.

“Oliver Evans! Stop that this instant!” Rachel was very annoyed and when Oliver failed to behave himself she ordered him to stand up in the bath. “Put your hands on top of your head, Oliver… Really, I haven’t even begun to wash you boys and you’re playing up… well we’ll just have to see about that…”

On the bathroom toy-shelf Felicity Wilding also kept a very useful six inch plastic ruler and this is what Rachel showed to Oliver. She waved it in front of the naughty boy whose penis was pointing straight out, seemingly in defiance of the young girl, and told him what she’d do if he didn’t behave himself straightaway.

“I’m waiting, Oliver…” Rachel said and tapped the little plastic ruler on the palm of her left hand. “... and you can stop sniggering, Stephen… Oliver is only trying to be clever and it’s not funny.”

Oliver’s penis continued to defy Rachel and so she was forced to take matters a stage further and tapped the ruler on the side of the penis. When Oliver still refused to behave, Rachel had no choice but to teach the older boy a lesson in self-control.

Oliver jerked backwards, pushing his bottom out, as he felt the stinging thwip! of the ruler make contact with his penis. Three - four times and each time Oliver straightened himself back up again, before his naughty penis behaved properly.

Rachel replaced the ruler on the toy-shelf and gave Oliver permission to kneel down again in the bath. Oliver chewed his lower lip in an effort not to blub in front of Rachel or Stephen. Later Stephen would apologise to Oliver. Stephen was no stranger to the little plastic ruler as his penis often misbehaved at bathtime, but as he said to Oliver, he didn’t think Rachel would ever use it and besides, he said, “your nob wasn’t even… y’know... I mean you didn’t have a proper hard-on”. All Oliver said in reply was, “Your cousin is very strict…”

After one spanked bottom and a one smacked penis the two boys were very compliant for the remainder of their bathtime. Rachel lathered up the boys’ flannels and lifted up arms; soaped ears and faces; pushed them this way and that. She lathered their fronts and soaped their backs; lifted legs and washed feet to the constant accompaniment of her rustling apron.  All the while both boys were thinking about what would happen when Rachel got to the very tops of their legs and you can be sure both Oliver and Stephen were getting very nervous indeed.

Finally the time came: “Stand up Stephen,” Rachal ordered in a brusque, no-nonsense manner, “Turn around so I can wash your bottom…”

Stephen did as he was told, all the time praying that Rachel wouldn’t need to reach for the plastic ruler. Rachel lathered up Stephen’s flannel once more and soaped his bottom. She pushed her hand between her cousin’s bottom cheeks, causing Stephen to wriggle as he felt the flannel being rubbed over a very sensitive spot... Rachel was very thorough!

Finally Stephen was told to turn round and face Rachel. He watched as his flannel was soaped and made ready for cleaning his boy-bits. Rachel rubbed the flannel all around the base of Stephen’s hairless penis before taking hold of it with the flannel. Then she slowly eased back Stephen’s foreskin and squeezed warm soapy water over the exposed head of the penis.

Although Rachel had had no hesitation in smacking Oliver’s naughty penis with the plastic ruler, she clearly understood how sensitive the exposed tip of a boy’s penis is when the foreskin is fully retracted. She was extremely gentle when washing underneath Stephen’s foreskin and was equally gentle when it came to dealing with Oliver’s larger penis.

The boys behaved themselves and before along Rachel was drying them off with fresh, fluffy bath-towels. She kept her apron on as first Oliver and then Stephen was allowed to climb out of the bath to be rubbed down. Then it was time to go back downstairs to be put into their pyjamas that had been all the while warming over the radiator in the hall.

Oliver and Stephen were in for a surprise when they arrived downstairs for their pyjama-time. They could hear voices coming from the front-room and it transpired that Stephen’s Aunt Jennifer (Rachel’s mother) and her daughter, Rachel’s younger sister, Freda, had called round, along with Miss Reeves, a family friend. Miss Reeves was a spinster in her early forties with seemingly permanently pursed lips, who wore horn-rimmed spectacles and had never been seen without her hair scooped up into the tightest bun anyone had ever seen. Unlike Miss Benson, Miss Reeves was devoid of all humour.

The boys stopped in the hall and looked at each other. They were of course still bare-nude. Oliver glanced towards the radiator across from the doorway where their pyjamas were hanging. The boys knew better than to touch them without permission, so they waited and listened…

“... yes, Rachel has been absolutely wonderful,” Felicity Wilding gushed, “I don’t know what I’d have done without her to help… It won’t be long before Freda’s old enough to help look after the boys…”

“I’m almost thirteen, aunty,” Freda said, slightly indignantly.

“”Personally I don’t think girls are ever too young for babysitting duties,” Miss Reeves chipped in, “I remember when I was Freda’s age babysitting for a couple of boys… one of them was nearly nineteen, but behaved like twelve year old, so he was dressed and treated like one. His mother gave me her full approval to use my discretion when he was in my care. She was so impressed…”

Back in the hall Stephen whispered: “It’s Miss Reeves…”

Oliver shrugged and shook his head to signal that he didn't know who she was.

“Just watch out, that’s all,” Stephen warned.

Felicity called out from the front-room: “Boys! Are you in the hall? Has Rachel finished with you in the bathroom? Then don’t stand about in that draughty hallway… come in here and say ‘hello’ to everyone…”

Two very nervous nude boys moved to stand in the open doorway.

“Come right in…”

“Err, Rachel’s upstairs still…” Stephen explained.

“Yes, she’d probably cleaning up after you two, no doubt,” mum said, then added for the benefit of her guests, “I don’t know what it is, but boys seem to be quite unable to take a bath without leaving a trail of destruction behind… then they expect us to clean up!”

“Boys wouldn’t take baths unless were forced to,” Freda observed.

Miss Reeves said she couldn’t agree more. “Filthy creatures,” was her verdict. She was devoid of all sympathy towards the male of the species in general and the young male in particular.

“Well,” Felicity Wilding said, “I’m sure Rachel has seen to it these two boys have had a jolly good scrub…”

Rachel’s voice was heard outside the door: “I’m sorry I took so long aunty. I was just getting Oliver’s… Oh! Hello mummy, Miss Reeves…” she said when she entered the room, “I didn’t realise,” she looked at the two nude boys standing in the middle of the room, “I was just getting Oliver’s pyjama-pants…”

Rachel, still wearing the bathroom apron, held up the pair of DryNites pyjama pants with the motorbike pattern.

“Pyjama pants?” Miss Reeves queried, “He looks a bit old to still need pyjama pants… How old are you?”

“Um, seventeen, er, Miss Reeves,” Oliver replied.

Rachel explained: “Oliver’s mum didn’t want to spend all her time worrying about him having a little, you know... accident. Although apparently Oliver hasn’t wet his bed in a long time… have you, Oliver?”

Oliver was so ashamed to have to answer Rachel’s question in front of everyone, but he managed to say: “No… I haven’t…”

“We called in at the chemist’s earlier, so that Oliver could choose the design of his pyjama-pants… didn’t we, Oliver?”

Oliver was almost crippled with embarrassment but managed to croak: “Y-yes…”

“And that was after we took you for a nice haircut… wasn’t it, Oliver?”

Oliver agreed and prayed to himself that this torment would soon be over and he would be tucked up in bed at a safe distance from any further humiliation.

“And very smart it looks too,” Miss Reeves said, “Nice and short, unlike some young boys these days who wander around with long, floppy fringes… it’s a wonder they can see where they’re going… thinking themselves all grown up, wearing long trousers at ridiculously early ages… Does your mother permit you to wear long trousers, Oliver?”

“No, Miss Reeves…”

Felicity Wilding interjected: “That’s not quite true, is it Oliver?”

“Mummy… er, that is… er, for school,” Oliver mumbled feeling more and more embarrassed to be standing, still bare-nude in front of everyone as he waited to be put into his pyjamas and now having to explain for the benefit of Miss Reeves, a woman he’d never met before, what clothes he was allowed to wear.

“Try starting again and tell Miss Reeves properly, Oliver,” Mrs Wilding suggested.

“I have to wear longs to school because I am in the sixth form, but mummy says I have to change out of my long trousers when I get home, because longs are for school only…”

Miss Reeves interrupted: “But why doesn’t mummy simply send you to school in short trousers?”

“Mummy wanted to, but the school rules say that in the sixth form all boys have to wear longs. Mummy spoke to the school to ask if I could continue to wear short trousers to school, but they couldn’t change the rules…”

“Such a shame,” Miss Reeves said, “Were there any other boys in your class who still wore short trousers for school?”

“No, Miss Reeves, there was only one other boy who wore short trousers for school and he went into longs during the third form. Most of the other boys stopped wearing short trousers at the end of the first year. There were only a few wearing short trousers during the second year.”

“What about now? Do many boys wear short trousers to your school?”

“Hardly any, Miss Benson… There are only a couple of boys in the first form who wear short trousers to school,” Oliver paused for a moment before adding, “These days boys think short trousers are old fashioned…”

Oliver thought Miss Reeves was about to explode as she made her views known: “Old fashioned!! Old fashioned!! Why the very idea! Isn’t this just what I was saying… no wonder boys get such high and mighty ideas… behave as if the world owes them a living… Well I thank heaven Stephen’s school is not so lax about upholding standards of school uniform… I gather Stephen is to remain in short trousers for school?”

“Yes, indeed,” Mrs Wilding explained, “We had a family meeting about it when the school wrote to explain that Stephen could remain in short trousers should his family so wish… and we decided that he would continue to go to school in short trousers… you see short trousers are compulsory at Stephen’s school for boys in the first two years, but from the third form onwards boys are only allowed to wear longs at the discretion of their parents, who are obliged to notify the school whether their boy will continue to attend school in short trousers and that decision remains valid for the whole of that school year.”

Miss Reeves sighed: “Why are school uniform rules so complex…? Surely it should be enough to insist that all boys wear shorts trousers to school, whatever their age, and leave it at that… dear me, life’s complicated enough as it is…”

“I think we ought to be getting these boys into their pyjamas,” Felicity Wilding said. She could see Miss Reeves would happily continue to discuss the question of school uniforms and the wearing of short trousers, but it was already past Oliver and Stephen’s bedtime.

“Freda, why don’t you help your sister with Oliver’s pyjama-pants?” Felicity Wilding suggested, “That would be alright, wouldn’t it Jennifer?”

“Oh, mummy please, can I?!” Freda was thrilled with the idea of helping her older sister put pyjama-pants on the even older boy. Mum nodded her consent and Freda jumped out of her chair.

Oliver was horrified. It was awful, just awful to be put into pajama-pants in the first place, but to be put into them in front of everyone, including Miss Reeves who he’d never even met before… but to be put into them with the eager assistance of twelve year old Freda, left Oliver nearly crying with shame.

Rachel’s rubberised-cotton apron rustled as she walked across to where Oliver was standing in the middle of the room. Freda stood ready to assist her older sister. Oliver was told to lift up one of his legs and Freda helped by pushing the boy’s foot into the pyjama-pants. This was repeated with the other leg. Then together the girls pulled the pyjama-pants right up until they were resting at the top of Oliver’s thighs. Freda watched as Rachel calmly cupped one hand over Oliver’s boy-bits and with the other, pull up the front of the pyjama-pants. Freda was told to pull the back of the pyjama-pants up over Oliver’s bottom.

Oliver stood in his DryNite pyjama-pants with the motorbike patten feeling about as humiliated as he’d ever been. Rachel wasn’t quite finished as she smoothed the pyjama-pants and made sure they were, in her words, “nice and snug”. She slipped her fingertips underneath the leg-elastic and around the waist to make sure there were no crinkles. Satisfied, Rachel finally stood back and asked Freda to fetch the boys’ pyjamas.

Freda came back from the hall and held up the first pair of boy’s pyjamas: “Whose are the Bob the Builder pyjamas…?”

There was a pause. Rachel knew whose pyjamas they belonged to and so to did Mrs Wilding, but both Miss Reeves and Aunty Jennifer were puzzled. Naturally they thought Bob the Builder pyjamas, being rather childish nightwear, would belong to Stephen, though even Miss Reeves considered a fourteen year old boy like Stephen a little too old to be wearing them. Miss Reeves was old-fashioned enough to think boys of Stephen’s age should be wearing sensible striped winceyette pyjamas.

It therefore came as a bit of a shock to Miss Reeves when Oliver spoke up and announced to everyone in the room that they were his Bob the Builder pyjamas.

“Well I never did,” Miss Reeves said, “First pyjama-pants and now Bob the Builder pyjamas… whatever next?”

Stephen’s rocket ship/outer-space themed pyjamas at least passed muster in Miss Reeves eyes, as she deemed them to be at least a little more suitable to Stephen’s age than Oliver’s hideously infantile pyjamas were to his.

While Oliver,  dressed in his DryNites pyjama-pants, stood and watched, Stephen was put into his pyjamas by Freda and Rachel. Then finally Oliver was put into his pyjamas… his Bob the Builder pyjamas and the boys were ready to be taken upstairs and put to bed.

… but not before a ‘goodnight’ cuddle and a kiss from Aunty Jennifer and Miss Reeves!

Sunday, 22 March 2015


There has been a glitch of some sort which meant that one of your comments went missing. I only know of this since the writer sent me an email to ask what had happened... had I deleted it for some reason? I hadn't, since for some bizarre technical reason beyond my comprehension, I never even saw their post. The commenter was kind enough to re-post and the situation has been resolved.

But what worries me, and the reason for this short post, is that others might have experienced the same problem and concluded that I'd deleted their comment and thought... well I know what I'd have thought!

Please be assured that I never delete comments. I am fortunate that all your posts have been exceptionally kind and positive and for that I am deeply grateful. It's the icing on the cake that makes writing my stories so enjoyable.


Thursday, 19 March 2015

Christopher's Story: Part 4

Christopher could hear Mrs Harper talking to his mum on the phone in the hall. Thoughts flashed through Christopher’s mind, foremost of these was why was his mum calling? Then Christopher asked himself where she was calling from? Then he asked himself why was she calling now? Was something wrong? Had she come home early? Then Christopher thought of the pile of clothes, his clothes, left on the kitchen table when he’d been stupid enough to take up Terry’s challenge. A sense of guilt swept over Christopher as he thought of the house key he’d left behind as well when he’d locked himself out, or rather Terry had managed to lock them both out. Whichever way it was, the result had been the same, he'd ended up bare-nude without a stitch of clothing to his name. There was no way round it, Christopher knew it was his own fault. Much as he would liked to have blamed Terry, Christopher was magnanimous enough to know the younger boy could not have realised what he was doing when the back-door slammed shut behind him. How could Terry have possibly have foreseen the consequences?

Christopher was left feeling a profound sense of his own stupidity and it was of no comfort that his mum had called. What would mum say when she found out he’d no clothes to wear and that he’d been running about bare-nude since the day she left? Christopher shuddered at the thought of what she’d say. He knew for certain he’d get no sympathy when it was clear his lack of clothing was all his own fault. He strained to hear any indication from Mrs Harper what the call was about.

“Yes, fine… oh we’ve been having some lovely weather,” Janet Harper said.

Of course Christopher could only hear half the conversation and he was on tenterhooks to find out if Mrs Harper mentioned his nudity. From the first few words he heard Christopher could at least surmise his mum was still away on her trip.

“Oh I am pleased….”

There was a pause during which Christopher assumed his mum was doing the talking.

“Yes Christopher’s been very well behaved. He’s having a great time… yes… he’s been playing Cowboys and Indians with Terry… Yes, really... lots of fresh air… no, no… more than once. In fact he’s going to be dressing up as an Indian Brave again tomorrow… No, Terry has a spare play-outfit and he lets Christopher borrow it… Yes I’ll remember to thank Terry on your behalf…”

Then it was clear Christopher’s mum was talking again. There was just the occasional “umm” “yes” and “I see”. As Cindy had said when she told her mum who was on the phone, it sounded important.

Then Christopher heard Mrs Harper say: “That’s perfectly alright… I understand… these things can’t be helped.... Yes, I’ll go and get Christopher for you now… yes, yes, I’ll explain.”

As far as Christopher could make out there had been no mention of his lack of clothing, but he was still nervous nonetheless when Mrs Harper came back into the room. She spoke:

“Well Christopher, it looks as though you’re going to staying with us for a bit longer,” Janet Harper explained, “Your mum is going to be away a few more weeks… but I’ve told her that however long she needs to be away, you’re more than welcome to stay with us,” she paused and added, “I’ve not said anything about, you know, locking yourself out and not having any clothes to wear. I thought you might want to tell her that… Now run along and speak to your mum.”

Christopher was stunned. How much longer? Weeks!! Nude?!! How much more could he take? He walked like a zombie as he left the room and into the hall. Nervously he picked up the telephone receiver and spoke to his mum… or rather his mum spoke to him. The connection wasn’t terribly good, but Christopher grunted his responses as his mum told him at length what Mrs Harper had just told him in a couple of dozen words.

Finally his mum asked: “Is there anything the matter darling?”

Here was Christopher’s opportunity, his chance to put an end to his embarrassing nudity!

“... err… it’s… mum I’ve… done something… um… stupid…” he managed to blurt out.

“Well that’s hardly news…”

“Mum…” Christopher whined, offended at mum's slight.

“What is it Christopher? Can’t it wait ‘til I get back?”

“Mum… it’s… just that..." then he stumbled and muttered, "Err... it’s okay...”

In the end Christopher couldn’t bring himself to tell mum what had happened and having to explain everything over the phone, then suffer the inevitable ticking-off. So after exchanging their farewells a very sheepish Christopher returned to the front-room.

The first thing Janet Harper said was “Well...?” Christopher knew what she was referring to. He shook his head and looked at the carpet. Christopher knew he’d missed the one golden opportunity he had to get some clothes to wear and now he’d have to spend the next however many weeks nude… totally and utterly bare-nude! It just wasn’t fair!

Janet Harper stepped forward and put a consoling arm over Christopher's shoulder: "There, there, Christopher, it's not the end of the world... Remember what I was saying a few minutes ago?" Christopher looked up into Janet Harper's face, his eyes damp with tears of frustration once more, "There's that game of Cowboys and Indians to look forward to. Once you start playing with Terry and the other boys, it'll take your mind off other things..."

Talking of 'other things' reminded Janet Harper of what Christopher had talked about when he'd been tied up the other day. Really, she thought, I must get on and do something about it. I can’t just ignore the matter. A boy of Christopher’s age is quite capable of… well, even if he says he doesn’t masturbate, he’s still going to produce sperm. She thought of the sticky globs of goo bubbling out of Christopher’s penis the other day… yes she was definitely going to have to do something before the poor boy had an accident and made a complete spectacle of himself.


A new day dawned in the Harper household. Christopher had had his usual frustrating time trying to find a few moments to himself to settle down to some ‘boy stuff’. But he was thwarted at every turn. It seemed to Christopher as if there were two Terrys, four Cindys and at least half a dozen Mrs Harpers lurking about the house and garden ready to stop Christopher from enjoying a long overdue and much needed few minutes of solitary pleasure. For a boy of Christopher’s age the urge to masturbate was an extremely powerful one; to be denied the opportunity to satiate that desire was immensely, unbelievably annoying. Every time Christopher thought he was alone, one of them would appear… somehow they would find him just as he was on the verge of some serious penis-play and he would find himself hauled off to help out with something, or do some household chore. It seemed as though Christopher would never get a moments peace.

Nothing had been said, but Mrs Harper knew, and Christopher knew Mrs Harper knew, what it was all about; the reason he was never left alone. But Christopher couldn’t say anything because he had lied to Mrs Harper. He had told her that he didn’t masturbate. Mrs Harper found it difficult to believe a fourteen year old boy didn’t masturbate, but took Christopher’s statement at face value. Once more, Christopher had no one to blame but himself and Mrs Harper took it upon herself to make sure Christopher wasn’t tempted to masturbate.

Not long after breakfast Christopher was helping Cindy clear away the things, prior to helping with the washing-up, Mrs Clarke arrived with her son David. David did not look at all happy, but the moment he saw Christopher standing bare-nude by the sink, he did a double-take…

“Wow!” he said staring at the now red-faced Christopher, “Wow! It is true…”

Seeing the nude fourteen year old cheered David up no end, but his good humour was short lived as his mum announced the reason for their visit. It was, of course, so that David could change into his Red Indian costume ready for Cindy to put some war-paint on him before she took her son to the boys’ outfitters, “... for that special alteration to David’s play-costume we talked about…” as Emily Clarke put it to Janet Harper.

“You can go up to Terry’s room to change David,” Mrs Harper said, “Terry’s up there now sorting out Christopher’s Red Indian outfit so you boys can play together when you get back from the outfitters.”

David was bewildered by this turn of events and very nearly threw a tantrum. It was just as well he managed to control himself; he didn’t want to experience another bare bottom spanking quite so soon…

As it was he simply pouted, whined and clenched his fists as he stomped off towards the staircase.

“I think you’d better go and help, Christopher,” Janet Harper said, “Oh… and take his costume up with you. David seems to have forgotten it… we don’t want to have two bare boys running about the house!”

“No, Mrs Harper,” Christopher said as he took the little bag from Mrs Clarke that contained David's Red Indian outfit.

Once upstairs and out of sight, Christopher peered into the bag and looked at its contents.  To his astonishment he saw that not only was David’s loincloth decorated with beads, but it looked larger than the one Terry had leant him! True it wasn’t that much bigger, but nevertheless… Christopher stopped on the landing and wondered if David would do a swap…

Christopher hadn't been paying much attention to what Mrs Clarke said earlier and so was blissfully unaware of what David's trip to the boys' outfitter was for. David knew of course... only too well, which was the reason he had his bare bottom spanked over his mum's knee the previous evening.

"You want to swap loincloths...?" David said incredulously to Christopher's suggestion and then carried on undressing.

"Yeah... er, why not?" Christopher answered, stumped for a reason. "Um... what do you say, Terry? It's your outfit I’ve worn before… do you mind if David wears it instead?"

"I don't mind who wears it as long as we play Cowboys and Indians," Terry replied as he shrugged his shoulders. He knew that whatever the Red Indians wore wouldn’t be staying on for very long anyway.

David had finished undressing and stood as bare-nude as Christopher by the bed where the play-outfits had been laid out by Terry.

"Please, David... please can I have a go with your loincloth?" Christopher pleaded.

When the two flaps were laid side-by-side it was clear that David's loincloth was slightly longer than the one Christopher had worn before. Perhaps it was the decorative beaded fringe that made it appear to offer more coverage because they both still looked ultra-small to be worn by a boy of fourteen like Christopher.

"Please, David..." Christopher said once more.

David managed to suppress a smile. "Okay... okay, Christopher, swapsies..."

"Swapsies..." Christopher agreed and the nude boys solemnly shook hands on the deal.

As quickly as they could the two boys put on their costumes and returned downstairs. Christopher was still adjusting the beaded loincloth to get maximum coverage as he walked back into the kitchen.

"What on earth...?" Emily Clarke said when she saw that David and Christopher were wearing each other's loincloth. "David you know we've got to go to the outfitters..."

"Yes mum, but Christopher wanted to try on my outfit... so we swapped." David explained.

"... if you're trying to get out of having your costume altered..."

"No mum... no I wasn't... honest... it was Christopher's idea, he wanted to do the swap..."

"Yes Mrs Clarke," Christopher spoke up, "It was my idea. I asked David if we could swap... we shook hands," he added as if to assure David’s mum of the legitimacy of the transaction.

"Well that's as maybe. I'm sure you boys did what you thought best," Emily Clarke conceded, "But the fact of the matter is that I've made an appointment with the boys' outfitter to have David's costume altered..."

"... but we can swap..." Christopher offered, still in the dark about what the trip to the boys' outfitters was for.

But Mrs Clarke cut him short: "... there's no time for that... Cindy hasn't even had time to put any war-paint on you boys and I was hoping… well never mind. Christopher, you'll just have to come along instead. David can stay here and have his war-paint done, while you and I go and have the costume alteration seen to..."

Mrs Clarke held out her hand and before Christopher knew what was happening, she had whisked him off to the boys' outfitter.


We need not dwell on events at the outfitter. When it dawned on Christopher exactly what the alteration involved, he nearly fainted. It had been embarrassing enough to be led into the shop wearing the Red Indian outfit; an outfit which Christopher knew from experience any sudden movement would reveal that which any boy would want to keep hidden. Now, he learned, the rear flap was to be removed! Not that the rear flap of the loincloth covered much at all. Christopher's bottom was fully rounded and quite pert, so the flap, whilst it covered the first inch or two of the intergluteal cleft, it hung limp and useless for the rest of its short length from the outer limit of the convex curve of his bottom cheeks.

Mrs Clarke explained to the lady assistant what had happened while Christopher looked around him as if in a daze. Here  he was in a shop... a shop full of clothes... boys' clothes! It was unbelievable! An Aladdin's Cave… a treasure trove of clothes! For days Christopher had been running about bare-nude, yet here were all these boys' clothes. And the irony of it was that he was here to have the only skimpy little costume he'd worn (well, not this exact one, but one very much like it), made even more embarrassing by having its coverage reduced by half!

Christopher longed to have some proper clothes to wear. He knew Mrs Harper was right when she said it was his own fault; that none of Terrys clothes would fit; that she couldn't just go out and spend money on clothes his mum might not want her to buy. If only he'd had the courage to tell his mum about what had happened when she phoned... if only.

Christopher was day-dreaming, looking at the play-shorts and swim-trunks when he was told to stand on a stool in front of a tall full-length mirror over by the counter. Christopher looked around at the other customers. Two or three mums pricing up underpants and vests; a lady with her young son about Christopher's age enquiring about some shortalls. Another woman asking about her son's scout uniform. In all the usual busy trade at the boys' outfitters. The shop bell tinkled and Christopher saw a couple of girls walk in followed by a tall lanky boy of about sixteen or seventeen who turned out to be the girls' older brother. The girls had been sent by their mum to look after the boy while he was at the outfitters.

When the young girls saw Christopher dressed in his Red Indian outfit they both had a fit of the giggles. Christopher had been about to climb (very carefully!) onto the stool, but the girls' giggling attracted the attention of everyone in the shop and when they saw what the girls were giggling about, all eyes were inevitably focussed on Christopher.

"Come on David... up you get," the assistant said as she ran her tape-measure through her fingers, "It won't take a minute and we'll soon have this loincloth sorted out..."

“I’m not David… my name’s Christopher… David and I swapped outfits…”

“Oh yes… Mrs Clarke explained to me just now… well, up you get, Christopher… onto the stool,” the assistant added in a kindly voice.

Christopher glanced at himself in  the big mirror. He was wearing the brightly coloured headdress he'd worn before and the moccasins of course. This time his outfit had been supplemented by armbands, one on each of his upper arms. The bands had attached to them sort of small decorative pom-poms that Christopher thought looked really silly. Apart from the loincloth, that was it as far as his play-costume went.

Although Christopher had swapped loincloths with David, he really was no better off with regard to coverage. It still required nerves of steel when moving about, since the slightest breeze or sudden movement could cause untold embarrassment. Exposure was an ever present threat and now, in the presence of a shop full of people, Christopher was being asked to climb up onto a stool where he would the object of everyone's attention. Even if he managed to get onto the stool without incident Christopher knew that from a certain side angle his boy-bits were perfectly visible and not only that, the rear flap was to be removed as well!

As Christopher lifted a leg up and placed a foot on the on the stool he caught sight of himself. To his horror he saw the front flap of the loincloth had flopped forwards and there his penis and testicles dangled... utterly exposed! As quickly as he could Christopher pulled himself up onto the stool, but not before seeing a few of the shoppers moving towards him under the pretense of looking at items for sale on a nearby counter. It was a nightmare! Everybody in the shop was looking at him. The girls were giggling even louder than before. The only person who wasn't keen to see what Christopher was doing was the girls' older brother and that Christopher reckoned was because he didn't fancy his younger sisters getting any ideas about him dressing up as a Red Indian.

Christopher broke out in a cold sweat as he steadied himself on the stool. Mrs Clarke told him not to be nervous as the assistant lifted up the rear flap of the loincloth. She was clearly quite used to making these sort of adjustments and soon she had the leather flap detached from the back of Christopher’s (or rather, David’s) Red Indian play-costume.

“There we are… all done,” the assistant said, “Turn around and you can look in the mirror and see where I’ve altered the costume.”

Christopher did as he was told and shuffled around on the stool until he was facing away from the big mirror. He looked over his shoulder at his reflection. There was his bottom… completely bare! The loss of the rear flap of his costume felt far worse than Christopher expected. Now all he was wearing (all that really mattered to Christopher anyway!) was a single thin strip of buckskin that hung precariously over his boys-bits and which left the hairless base of his penis visible. If the cord to which the leather flap was attached was pulled any higher, Christopher’s penis would be almost completely exposed and so too would his testicles.

Christopher looked up from the mirror and saw that most of the customers were looking at him. He nervously rubbed his hands over his now fully bare bottom as he saw the lady assistant give the little flap to Mrs Clarke, telling her to keep it safe and that she would be happy to re-attach it to the costume, ‘when the time was right’.

With that Christopher, under the watchful eyes of the whole shop, climbed down from the stool. Even with the experience of his recent adventures staying with Mrs Harper fresh in his memory, Christopher was in no doubt his visit to the boys’ outfitters with Mrs Clarke was the most embarrassing thing he’d ever had to do in his young life.

As they made their way back to Mrs Harper’s, Christopher couldn’t stop running his hand over his bottom and along the cord at the back where the little leather flap had been.


When they arrived back Mrs Harper’s house Emily Clarke and Christopher were just in time to witness the arrival of Joseph Collins. For the two Red Indians, David and Christopher, it was an unedifying sight, but Terry thought it hugely funny as Joseph was dragged by his ear into the kitchen by his mum. He was already wearing his Red Indian outfit and judging by the furious look on Mrs Collins’ face, Joseph was wearing it after considerable protest.

Joseph's Red Indian outfit was even more embarrassing than Christopher thought possible… even after his experience in the boys’ outfitters . Like his own (or rather David's) now modified costume, the loincloth was backless, but instead of a cloth or leather piece to cover the boy's genitals, there was nothing more than a narrow ‘flap’ made from lengths of plaited string decorated with a few beads. The plaits were longer than the flaps of either Christopher or David’s outfits, but this made little difference as Joseph's waggling boy-bits were clearly visible as he struggled with his mum.

"I don't want to play!" he kept repeating.

The more he struggled the more it became apparent that Joseph was rather more well-endowed than even Christopher thought possible. David was green with envy as he looked at Joseph's penis poking through the braided loincloth. It was a whopper and no mistake!

"What a lovely outfit Joseph!" Janet Harper exclaimed, ignoring the all too apparent boyhood on show, "Once you get some war-paint on you'll be the envy of every boy and girl who sees you..."

Joseph pouted and repeated: “I don’t want to play…”

“Oh, what nonsense Joseph,” Janet Harper said breezily, “You’ll enjoy playing Cowboys and Indians… why look, Christopher and David are all ready in their Red Indian costumes… and it looks as though Christopher’s going to be playing as a Tenderfoot just like you! Won’t that be nice… Christopher’s fourteen you know and he loves playing Cowboys and Indians, don’t you Christopher?”

Christopher was absolutely stunned by the sight of Joseph’s costume. He never imagined Red Indian outfits could be so embarrassing, but what really made Christopher’s eyes pop  out was how Joseph’s penis was pushing its way through the plaits. There didn’t seem to be any way Joseph’s little costume could offer any sort of coverage. The more Christopher looked, the more of Joseph’s penis became visible. It made Christopher grateful for the little flap of leather that he was wearing.

“Yes, Mrs Harper,” Christopher replied in answer to her question, although in reality the thought of another game of Cowboys and Indians made his heart sink. He knew what he was in for, but as he was a guest in Mrs Harper’s house, Christopher knew it was only polite to to play with her son and join in Terry’s games of Cowboys and Indians.

Cindy appeared with her collection of body-paints and the Red Indians were lined up side-by-side; Christopher, Joseph and David, who because of the costume swap was allowed to be an honorary Indian Brave. That meant Christopher and Joseph were the Tenderfoots. David was quite chuffed. Joseph was still in a sulk and Christopher had been relieved a little to see that his wasn’t quite the most embarrassing costume.

While Cindy applied the war-paint, Terry went off to change into his Cowboy gear.

Even Cindy gasped when she saw what was poking out of Joseph’s Red Indian outfit. As used as she was to Christopher running about the house fully nude and seeing his boy-bits waggling and jiggling about between his legs, Cindy was still taken aback when she saw Joseph. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought Joseph’s penis was a bit thicker than Christopher’s; it certainly looked longer. Through the plaits which formed the ‘loincloth’ Cindy could see Joseph’s scrotum was still fairly tight and kept his balls up higher than Christopher’s, whose own testicles were quite loose and fairly low-hanging.

As before Cindy deliberately didn’t overdo the war-paint so the boys couldn’t hide behind the ‘disguise’. Cindy knew how to give just enough splashes of paint so that if any hint were needed as to what these boys were playing, the war-paint would be enough to provide the answer.

Terry returned to announce that his ‘pardner’ Ben would meet them down at the ‘ole corral’. He also presented David with a single bow and a selection of arrows tipped with rubber suction-cups. Terry explained how Tenderfoots were not allowed bows and arrows, only the Braves had those.

Christopher realised straight away how this would put the Red Indians at a serious disadvantage. Both Terry and Ben had cap-guns, six-shooters capable of far greater accuracy (or so it was claimed by the two young cowboys) than the Redskins feeble arrows. Christopher also noticed that Terry had an awesome amount of rope with him, far more than last time.

One final ceremony had to be performed before the boys set off for their game. Christopher, now that he was officially a Tenderfoot, with great solemnity removed his multi-feathered headdress and turned to face David, who removed his headband with its single feather. The boys swapped headdress for headband. David beamed and turned, smiling towards his mum. All was now forgiven. For the time being, David was happy; happy to have taken up Christopher’s suggestion to swap loincloths; happy to be an Indian Brave and most of all proud to be wearing the tribe’s headdress.

“Well, there’s a turn up,” Emily Clarke whispered to Janet Harper, “It looks as though David’s really going to be enjoying himself today!”

As the boys left the house and walked down the path, David, as if in reply to his mum's observation, put a friendly arm over Joseph’s shoulders and told his fellow Red Indian to cheer up. "It'll be fun..." he said.