WHEN I WAS YOUNG (CHAPTER 1) I have had several requests for information about what I got up to when I was very young, so I think it is about time I satisfied some curiosity on that score. Although I have not had the privilege of growing up in a naturist family, I did have some very interesting experiences. I suppose I have something of a dual nationality, without really feeling I belong to either. I am a British boy who has been lucky enough to live all his life in a Mediterranean country with an easygoing way of life and a beautiful climate. There is quite a large British community in the capital city here, but unfortunately few families stay for longer than two or three years as they are mostly embassy staff or business people on contracts who are always moving on. My parents both have permanent jobs in the city, and it is difficult to make lasting friends when those we mix with are here only for a year or two. There is a rather old-fashioned English school in the city that we children and teenagers all attend. We do have friends from the local population, but most of our families tend to yield to the temptation to live and socialise as a British colony in a foreign country. Most British families here are lucky enough to live on enormous properties, in an area where half a hectare seems small. These are mostly embassy properties, but we also have a house with grounds almost a hectare in size, due to my parents’ both working and earning enough money to live the good life. This meant that I, and my sister Jenny when she came along seven years after me, did not have perhaps as much parental attention during the day as we might have had, but we survived. My parents are not naturists, so I had an upbringing that is disappointingly normal in our unenlightened Western culture. My sister Jenny is more fortunate. I learned naturist ways at the age of eight, while she had a dual upbringing, with textile parents and a brother, aunt and cousin who helped her enjoy the freedom of naturism. Because there is such a regular turnover of British people in the city, we have had numerous friends over the years with whom we have lost touch as they moved away. I can remember many children I used to play with who have disappeared from my life now. After I became a naturist, we usually enjoyed most playing with the naturist friends we made at the club because we could play naked all the time, free and happy. But few lived near us and most of our companions were normal `textile’ people to whom we could only teach naturist ways in private – if they were willing. As both our parents work, we were often fixed up with other families during the school holidays until I was considered old enough to look after myself and Jenny as well. We had quite a number of playmates, both boys and girls, and my most interesting encounters were usually those where there were just two of us. When I was about five or six, we had some embassy people living next door to us. They had a daughter named Alison who was nearly two years older than I was, a rather bossy girl with shortish dark hair and brown eyes. The parents employed a local woman as a maid to look after Alison during the day. Local women have a reputation for slackness as child-minders and gave us virtually no supervision, although there was someone on the property if one of us got hurt or needed something important. So regularly during the school holidays I was round next door playing with Alison. She was quite small for her age and so was only a little taller than I was. She could be very bossy and tried to take advantage of me for a while. We had a few fights, and despite being younger I usually came off better, as she was armed only with a slap while I could hit with a fist. She had no support from the maid as male violence against women is considered acceptable in this country, as in some other Mediterranean countries, I gather. After I had given her a thump in the stomach, which kept her doubled up, gasping and crying for a few minutes, she treated me with more respect – physically, at least. I can remember the very first day I went round to play at her house. There were just the two of us, as Jenny had not yet been born and Alison only had an older sister who was usually out with her friends. Alison was wearing a light cotton dress with a printed front and a little red skirt. We went to play on her climbing frame. As Alison swung herself up, I had a two-second flash just in front of my eyes of a big expanse of white panties with little blue patterns on them – at least, it looked a big expanse to my young eyes, up close as well. I may well have enjoyed such visions at an earlier stage of my life, but this was the first time it made any real impression on me. At that very young age I had never before been aware of seeing underwear this way up a skirt. It aroused my curiosity. As Alison hung with her arms hooked over the top bar, legs swinging down, I moved my head underneath her so that I could stare up her skirt. I got an even clearer view of those attractive little panties, with a tiny edging of lace around the edges at the tops of her legs. I was also close enough to notice a faint but clear smell of manure. Alison quickly saw what I was doing. “Don’t you dare look at my panties, you rude little boy,” she scolded, aiming a slap at me. She struck my head a glancing blow, but I was too fascinated to respond. They were called panties, were they? I wasn’t even aware of what my mother wore underneath and Shelley was still very much in nappies at that time. I was very surprised that Alison should take offence at my interest and curiosity, and naturally that aroused my interest and curiosity even more. Within a minute Alison was swinging herself hand by hand along the top bar, legs dangling underneath. As her arms were fully extended above her head, it pulled her dress up, and I could see her panties sticking well out underneath the bottom of the skirt – a little round bottom, pink buttocks peeping out at the edge of her panties and the material stretched across the crack in her bottom. I stared, but this time she couldn’t see me as she had her back to me. I was about to inform her helpfully that I could see her panties again, but changed my mind just in time. I had learned that this caused trouble and I think it also occurred to me that the more I mentioned them, the less likely I was to be given the chance to see more of them. Fascinated, I kept looking for views of Alison’s panties. I saw quite a lot of them on the climbing frame. Once she hooked her legs over the top bar and swung underneath, upside down. Her skirt obeyed the law of gravity and her panties were so fully revealed that I could see down past her belly button. She must have felt it flop down, because she tried to reach up with her hands to push her skirt over her panties again. When she failed, she quickly swung up, probably realising that I would be able to see them. At the same moment I slid off the bar, so fascinated by the sight that I was not concentrating, and almost landed on the ground with a thump. Perhaps that stopped my eyes from giving away my interest. After about an hour we had a drink of orange squash and some biscuits together. We sat facing each other outside the back door, Alison with one knee up under her chin and her panties revealed again. I stared at them, seeing a little black opening in the elastic of one of the legs and wondering what was inside it, if I could only see. I had seen baby Shelley naked before, of course, but that was not forbidden, and I couldn’t recall seeing a girl my own age naked – or even being curious. If Alison had been a naturist, I would have had no interest whatever in her panties or her vagina, but the novelty and the fact that she considered it to be forbidden territory to me instead made me fascinated. Alison must have seen the intent look or the gleam in my eye because she suddenly put her knee down, cutting off my view, and ordered me sharply, “Stop looking up my dress, Roy!” I had the presence of mind to point to her plastic cup, which she had put down just in front of her, and say, “Your cup has a crack in it.” She looked and saw that it was true, and there was a little pool of orange squash next to it to prove it. This had the value of distracting her straight away and I hoped, probably in vain, causing her to think I had not after all been spying. So that day I learned a valuable lesson I have never forgotten: to keep a girl’s underwear (or nakedness, I later deduced) open for viewing, never say anything and never let her catch you looking. Alison treated me with a bit of suspicion for a while but, since I never allowed her to see my interest again, soon forgot and I was able to feast my eyes on her panties for much of the time we played. In her little skirt, every time she bent over or jumped or lifted a leg for some reason, I had a chance to indulge my eyes. About half an hour later, we were down at the far end of the garden when I decided I needed to go to the toilet. Quite unaware that I was doing anything unusual, as my parents had not yet thought me old enough to stop me doing that, I just went over to a nearby tree, reached inside my shorts, pulled out my little penis and began to urinate. As I did so, Alison came over to one side and stared at what I was doing, fascinated – displaying exactly the sort of behaviour she had disliked in me on the climbing frame. I felt a bit puzzled and uncomfortable, but emptied my bladder, shook my penis dry and returned it to my shorts. “Stick your wee out again,” ordered Alison, staring after it with wide eyes. Naively I obliged, though I do remember feeling a little uncomfortable about it. She bent over and studied it carefully. Then she said, “It looks funny.” After a pause again she asked, “Do all boys look like that?” “Yes,” I answered, puzzled. It sounded as if she had never seen the opposite sex naked before, either. Alison studied it carefully for a few seconds longer, then said, “Show me your underpants.” Helpfully but still puzzled and rather comfortable, I put my penis back inside and pulled down my shorts a little way to show her my white underpants. She studied them seriously for a few seconds, and then suddenly decided to continue with our game. So I pulled my shorts up again, forgot the incident and enjoyed my regular flashes of panties. After a while, though, I noticed that every so often Alison would clutch herself for a moment between her legs. I guessed that she too now wanted to go to the toilet, and I wondered if she would use a tree like me. I wasn’t even aware then that girls normally sit down to urinate. I wondered if I would see her private parts, but it was at that stage no more than mild curiosity. But she was not prepared to share anything with me. After a few minutes, while we were playing with sticks on the ground, she suddenly pressed herself between the legs again, stood up and said commandingly, “Stay here. I’m coming back.” I was for a moment completely bewildered as to why she wanted me to stay. Then it began to occur to me that something private and forbidden was about to happen and I did not want to be left out. I scrambled up too and said, “Wait for me, I’m coming too.” She turned on her heel and shouted at me, “No, you’re not! You stay here until I tell you.” She stomped off towards the large garden shed, about twenty metres away in the back corner, while I trotted after her, with the feeling that if she was so eager that I shouldn’t be there, I wanted to be. “I said stay here!” she shouted at me, turning round and stamping her foot. Obstinately I kept trying to follow her, convinced that she wanted to urinate, and to do it without my presence. I was filled with a strange excitement, the lure of the forbidden once again. If Alison was so insistent that I should not see her do it, it must be something very special. She was getting frustrated with me, but she seemed to realise that her attitude was only increasing my interest. She thought for a moment, and then said, “We’ll play hide and seek. You close your eyes and I’ll hide. Then I’ll shout when I’m ready and you come and find me.” I could see that the stalemate was getting us nowhere, so I agreed. I squatted down and put my hands over my face. “No peeping,” warned Alison foolishly. I could just see through my fingers as she scampered quickly towards the shed, glanced back at me and then disappeared round the side. Immediately I threw caution to the winds and ran after her. By the time I reached the corner she had disappeared round the far side. That did not bother me. I knew her back garden very well, although I had never told her. There was a high wall and a hedge dividing our properties, but I had long since discovered that right under the hedge there was a place in the wall where the cement had crumbled and by moving a few bricks I could squeeze through. Naturally I had often crept through unobserved by anybody and explored the back of Alison’s garden long before she had ever moved there. On the other side of the shed from the one taken by Alison was a thick hedge. I scampered down the far side of this hedge and plunged to the ground at the far end. Underneath the branches and dead leaves I could just see the shed. Alison’s red skirt showed her position straight away, and with a quick wriggle I managed to find a space for my eye to get a clear view. Alison was obviously very worried that I would be following her, but it never occurred to her that I might come down the other side of the shed. Clutching her red skirt at the front with both hands, revealing her panties up the front, she quickly sneaked back to the corner and peeped round. She still wasn’t satisfied at not seeing me there. There was an old wheelbarrow standing there, so she upended the barrow between herself and the corner so that if I did come round it would obstruct my view – or so she obviously hoped. As I was on the other side, I was able to see everything. I didn’t give a thought as to how strange it was that she should go to all this trouble when she could just have gone up to the main house and locked herself in the toilet there. I held my breath as she gave a final glance at the corner and then quickly put her hands under her skirt and pulled off her panties, squatting at the same time. I felt a warm thrill well up in my stomach and I suddenly wanted to urinate again myself. I couldn’t see clearly under her skirt, but then there was a sudden splashing of urine on the grass under her bottom for a few seconds. Then she stopped and very quickly straightened her legs, wiped underneath with her hand and put on her panties under her dress, most of the way. Then she stood upright and flicked her skirt up at the front to finish pulling up her panties. I thought I had a quick flash of a something before she pulled her panties right up again, but frustratingly I could not make out any detail. Hurriedly she kicked a bit of sand over the urine and then ran to the corner again, looking round to see if I was there. I wriggled, amazed to find that my penis was quite stiff and felt as if I had put sherbet on it, as I later described it to myself. I had forgotten that she would be resuming our hide-and-seek once she had finished. She turned round and ran straight for the hedge, only a few metres up from where I was hiding. She wriggled inside and then called out loudly, “Ready!” If she had crawled right through to the other side she would surely have seen my bottom and legs sticking out, but she didn’t. I kept as quiet and still as I could, despite my throbbing penis, terrified she would see me. When she did not hear an answering call from where she had left me, she shouted again, louder, “Ready!” I still kept quiet, not daring to move. After a few seconds I heard her mutter to herself, “Where is that stupid boy?” and then shout louder still, “Ready! Roy!” When she still received no reply, I heard her say, “Bother him!” and scrambled out of the hedge. Through the leaves I could see her stalking crossly back towards the place where she had left me to find out what had happened to me. As soon as she disappeared from sight I slipped out of the hedge and sneaked after her. She spent some time searching for me in that area, so I quietly slipped round near the back wall until I came to the fishpond, and decided to play in that for a while. I thought I would get into trouble if I got my clothes wet, so in my youthful innocence I just took them off and left them by the side of the pond. Alison must have given up searching for me, because it was quite a long time later that she finally came and found me there, searching with limited success for fish among the reeds. “You’re naked!” she exploded when she first saw me, more from shock than indignation, and staring unashamedly at my penis. “I don’t want to get my clothes dirty,” I explained, continuing my search. “This is fun.” “You were supposed to be looking for me,” she complained. “We were playing hide and seek.” “You didn’t ask me if I wanted to play,” I replied logically. “Have you found any fish?” she asked curiously. “I keep seeing them sometimes,” I answered. “There’s a big silver one in here sometimes.” “How big?” she wanted to know. “Like this,” I answered, stretching my hands quite wide and more than doubling the real size of the fish. Quickly she sat down, whipped off her shoes and socks, revealing those panties again. I had a sudden burst of excitement as the thought struck me that she was going to take off all her clothes as well. But I was not going to be so lucky. To keep her skirt from getting wet, she tucked it into her panties, leaving quite a large area of the gusset visible to my eyes, but she seemed unaware of that. I took care not to stare until I could see that she wasn’t looking at me. She stared into the green waters looking for the fish. “Let’s see if I can get him to come up again,” I said, mischievously stirring the water hard with my feet and making waves that splashed against Alison’s clothes. “Don’t, you’ll wet my dress,” she ordered me, backing away just at the moment when I overbalanced and sat down with a splash. She immediately let out a squeal of laughter, took a step backwards, caught her foot on something and sat down herself. I was roaring with laughter, seated on my bottom, but as I looked at Alison, sitting there with her dress on and almost up to her neck in muddy water, I could see her face beginning to crumple. She was going to cry, I was sure, and then she would blame me and we would have a fight, and it might end up with my getting into trouble. I did what I now consider to be remarkably quick thinking for someone so young, by distracting Alison from her own plight and getting her to laugh at me. I sprang to my feet, muddy water pouring off me, and stuck my tummy out at her, spreading my arms wide. “Look at me!” I laughed. Alison thought for a second, and then she did start to laugh at me. “I’m all muddy and wet!” I exclaimed, laughing again, picking up some water in my hands and letting it splash down over my head. Then I took a deliberate step backwards and sat down again, with another splash. I sprang to my feet quickly, yelling, “Ow! That fish bit me on the bottom!” I turned round and stuck my bottom out towards Alison to show her, but of course it was not true. She was now in fits of laughter, and aimed a slap at my bottom. “There’s no bite there, silly!” she told me in between giggles. Then she scrambled to her feet and looked down at herself. “My clothes are all wet,” she said, much more seriously, probably wondering what degree of trouble she was likely to get into. “That’s why I took mine off,” I told her, adding without subtlety, “Take yours off and then we can play properly.” “I’m not having you looking at my fanny,” she retorted indignantly, scrambling out of the pool and uncertain of what to do. I was busy working out what a fanny was, not having heard that term before. Then she started unbuttoning her dress. “You must promise not to say anything rude about my panties,” she insisted just before slipping her dress off. “Or I’ll hit you.” “Never, never, never,” I promised, and then added, “But I think they’re very pretty.” As soon as I had said it I realised I may have made an awful mistake, but strangely it turned out to be just the right thing. As unpredictable as any female, she smiled. “These are new ones,” she told me. “They’ve got baby rabbits on them.” So that was what the blue patterns were, as I saw when I looked closely as she showed me, with no inhibitions this time. Not for the last time, I found the behaviour of girls very puzzling. She wasn’t about to take her panties off, though. “Now we can play,” she said, stepping back into the pond wearing only her panties. I noticed the convex curve of the front of her body, her flat chest and her tummy, and thought it a thing of beauty. She was not fat, but she did arch her body so that her tummy stuck out, with a matching curve the far side, as little girls often do. Her panties curved tightly under her legs, puzzling me. My underpants bulged slightly there, and it looked as if Alison really had nothing under there at all. Why then was she so worried in case I saw? “You’ll get your new panties wet,” I warned her, hoping she would take them off. “It doesn’t matter, Maria [the maid] can wash them,” she replied gaily, splashing around. We had about ten minutes in the pond, which must have scared the fish, if there were any. As Alison’s panties grew wetter, they stuck to her body, and although I couldn’t actually see her vagina through the material, I could see a strange indentation down the middle as the wet material stuck to the outlines of the flesh very clearly. Then Maria arrived and scolded us both, probably afraid she might get into trouble if we were playing in the pond, for she rarely took much notice of us otherwise. I washed myself clean under the tap, but Alison had to go inside for a shower. I waited outside the bathroom for her, not daring to try to enter but very curious about her forbidden area. But when she finally came out with a towel round her waist, I heard her unlock the door first, and then she went into her bedroom to change, ignoring me – I heard the door lock again. She came out wearing an old blue dress this time and, I soon discovered, plain white cotton panties. (To be continued) WHEN I WAS YOUNG (CHAPTER 2) That afternoon we were allowed to swim for an hour, as that was all the time Maria was prepared, and probably on instruction from Alison’s parents, to watch us while we did so. “Look, Maria, Roy’s changing outside,” giggled Alison, as I stripped off at the poolside as I always did at home in those days, when there was only family around. I suddenly remembered that I had been instructed by my parents to use the changing rooms, and I had forgotten. “It’s all right,” said Maria, not even bothering to look up from her sewing. The local population is very casual about changing in public, although nude bathing above the age of about five is not normally done. I knew I had to wear my swimming costume, though. Alison shrugged, and disappeared inside the changing room while I jumped into the pool with my costume on the wrong way round, I think. She emerged a few minutes later in a frilly yellow bikini bottom, without a top, as is customary in this country for girls before puberty. Alison never did expose herself knowingly in my presence, even though we played together on and off for another two years. Despite the episode in the fishpond, she was not generally too happy about my seeing her panties again either, although I always kept my mouth shut. I soon learned that if she did not want me to see her naked, it was perhaps wrong for her to see me naked, and I quickly became shy about that. When I needed to urinate while at her house, I would either go to the toilet in the house or do it when she was not with me. But she still continued her habit of telling me to wait, sometimes when we were in the middle of a game, and disappeared off behind the shed for a few minutes. I did not ask to follow her again but pretended I would wait for her, so there was never any need to invent another hide-and-seek game. As far as she knew, I was passively accepting these regular absences without even wondering what they were all about. I soon found a way of watching her from under the hedge and then, the moment after she had pulled up her panties, slipping out and racing back so as to be found in the same spot when she returned. She never squatted directly facing me, so I was never able to get a clear view of her vagina under her dress. This only increased my frustration and my curiosity about seeing girls naked. I could just see the curve of her bottom and see the stream of urine splashing on the grass underneath it. Once or twice when Alison was not around, I sneaked there myself and uncovered the latest damp patch under the sand, smelling it with a strange fascination. In the winter it was different. That is the Mediterranean rainy season, and we often have cool, damp days when even I do not want to go naked outside. Alison often wore dungarees then, and if it rained we played indoors and used the toilet there, Alison always locking herself in. I learned to do so as well, after she burst in once, deliberately I think, while I was urinating. Embarrassed, I quickly slipped my penis back inside, but wet my leg as I did so. If the weather was just cold, we still often went outside, well wrapped up. One cold morning while we were out there, Alison as usual told me to wait, and I followed her to hide in my usual place in the hedge. With dungarees there was no skirt to hang down over the essentials, so I held my breath and felt my penis swell as she put her hands to the waist of her dungarees and pulled them down to her ankles. Her panties came down over her round bottom, and she pulled them down and bent over in a quick movement that allowed me to see nothing. But she had a bit of a problem, as with her clothes around her ankles she was unable to spread her legs wide enough to keep her balance in such a position where she could urinate properly. During the summer we usually walked around in bare feet, but she was wearing shoes and socks now in the cooler weather. After struggling for a moment she had to sit down on her bottom and remove her shoes and socks, then pull her panties and dungarees off completely. I caught a glorious view of something that looked like a long extension of her bottom between her legs as she did so, a sweet little slit, and my penis throbbed mercilessly as I stared desperately, eager to see more. She squatted to urinate, then sat down again to pull on her panties and dungarees. As she stood up, bare from the waist down, and pulled her panties up, I had my best view ever of her smooth little loins and a little line at the bottom. Then she had to sit down again and put on her shoes and socks, giving me plenty of time to slip silently out of the hedge back to where she had left me, my heart throbbing wildly. In one sense, though, I was too late. Alison had the cheek to come back, look at the wet patch at my crotch, giggle and say, “Roy, you’ve pissed in your trousers.” I often wore long trousers in the colder weather, and one or two pairs had really difficult zips. After visiting the toilet, I often found myself going round with the fly open and my white underpants in view. Alison teased me in a silly way at times about this, but I never responded with any remarks about her panties or any veiled references to what she may do from time to time behind the shed. I did not want my source of supply cut off. Anything from me, and security would have been tightened very quickly. One day early on in our time together, Alison was playing with her dolls on the back lawn. I wasn’t very interested but I had nothing else to do, so I watched and obeyed her instructions occasionally. This particular time she was bathing them, undressing them one by one. I picked up one doll and looked at it, puzzled. “Is this one a boy or a girl?” I asked. “A girl. Now put her down,” ordered Alison. “How do you know it’s a girl?” I asked daringly. “It’s got nothing between its legs.” “It doesn’t have to have. It’s a girl,” she retorted. “But everybody has something between their legs,” I reasoned provocatively. “These dolls aren’t made properly.” “Of course they are,” snapped Alison. “They just don’t make the rude bits between their legs, that’s all.” I was amazed. That was the first I had ever heard somebody say that any part of the human body was actually rude, although I suppose the attitude of my parents had suggested something of the sort. I knew that people might think I was rude if I displayed my penis and that some people could do rude things with their genitals, just as they can with their tongues. But nobody ever said the tongue was a rude part of the body, as Alison was now implying that the genitals were. “It’s not rude,” I protested weakly. “Of course it’s rude,” scolded Alison. “And I’ve seen that rude thing you’ve got between your legs.” I resisted the temptation to inform her that I had also seen hers. “Are girls’ wees also rude, then?” I asked. “Girls don’t have any rude parts, only boys,” she retorted, quite indignant that I should even mention anything private about girls. “Because boys are ugly there.” “If yours isn’t rude, why don’t you want people to see it, then?” I asked logically. “Because boys aren’t meant to see,” she retorted. “It’s private and girls don’t let boys see, ever.” I was bursting to enlighten her, but I was afraid that if I did I would never get the pleasure of seeing it again. So I just said, “I’ve seen my cousin’s wee.” Alison stared at me in disgust. She knew Shelley was still a baby. “I’ve seen her wee, so I don’t care if I don’t see yours,” I told her untruthfully. “It looks very pretty, too,” I added. I could be sneaky even at that age. Alison refused to respond to my subtle encouragement. “So you see, girls aren’t rude, they’re pretty,” she concluded. “Boys are only ugly.” Early the following summer, though, I enjoyed my best sightings of Alison. It was time for our afternoon swim, and we were discussing very excitedly a film on sharks we had both seen on television the previous night. We were very keen to get into the pool and play sharks, and we were talking about how we would do it. I was so enthusiastic I decided to take a risk. By the side of the pool I slipped down my shorts and underpants as I talked, confident that she would not be able to see my penis under my long shirt. Whether she actually did or not, I don’t know, but at least she didn’t say anything. I slipped on my swimming costume under my shirt, removed my shirt and then lowered myself into the pool, not diving in as we were in very animated conversation that I didn’t want to interrupt. As we talked, Alison sat on the bench by the pool, just above the level of my head as I stood in the water, and began to take off her sandals and socks, which she had been wearing for some reason. Her feet could barely reach the ground, so she lifted up one leg, placed it on the edge of the bench and undid her sandal, dropping it on the ground, and then pulling off her sock. She did the same to the other leg. Of course, both times I got a magnificent view of the lacy pink panties she was wearing that day. Then, as we kept talking excitedly, instead of going to the changing room as she had always done before, she stood up, reached her hands under her dress and pulled down her panties, just as I had done. Her enthusiasm for our game obviously overcame her usual reluctance to let me see her underwear. Leaning her bottom against the bench, she lifted up first one leg and then the other to remove her panties, and as she did so, from my low vantage point in the pool I could easily see up her dress the slit of her vagina, although I still did not know the name at that time. Then she picked up her little bikini bottom, sat on the bench, talking all the time, and lifted up first one leg and then the other to place them through the leg-holes in the costume. Right in front of my eyes, as she lifted those legs, I had the most brilliant view of her, all the way from her plump little bottom up to her bellybutton. Her vagina was really quite small, no doubt, as I can visualise every detail now, but to me at the time it looked like the Grand Canyon. Each time her legs went right up the fleshy lips parted and I could just glimpse something like a little white knob sticking down from the top. My penis exploded, and I pumped some liquid into the water of the pool. If anybody had been watching me closely, they would no doubt have observed my staring eyes and drooling mouth, but Alison was too talkative to notice. With her bikini bottom in place, she then slipped off the bench and pulled her dress off over her head. I presume we had a very enjoyable game, but I found it difficult to keep my mind on it. I had just had my first clear view of female genitalia – I did not count babies – and I was wildly excited about it, while at the same time trying desperately and often unsuccessfully to remember what it actually did look like. All the same, when Maria finally ordered us out, I made one or two suggestions about tomorrow’s game to keep Alison talking. It worked, to an extent, although the end result frustrated me. The good news was that Alison, continually talking, dried herself, put her dress on over her head, pulled off her costume, dried herself between her legs under her skirt with the towel and then put on her panties. The bad news was that I was unable to get in a position to see. I could no longer get below skirt level in the pool, and there was not enough room for me to sit between the bench and the pool without making it obvious what I was doing. So I did not get to see a repeat performance, in reverse. I spent the whole night fantasising and thinking up new ideas for our game, ready to broach them at just the right time. I was completely obsessed with Alison’s vagina, the lure of the forbidden. It worked in exactly the same way the next day, with myself standing in the water at the side of the pool, enjoying a ringside seat of Alison’s secret place while she put on her costume and talked. When our swim was over, I made a new suggestion, that we play crocodiles and mermaids the following day. Then, when I had aroused her interest, I walked over into the shade of a nearby tree, sat down with my back against the trunk, side on to Alison so she should not see my penis, and changed there. “Come over here where we can talk,” ordered Alison from the bench. “It’s too hot in the sun,” I complained. “Come and talk over here.” Heaving an exaggerated sigh of exasperation, Alison brought her clothes over to change next to me where we could talk. I had hoped she would sit down to change, where I would have had a brilliant view, but perhaps she realised that I would see up her dress if I did that, or maybe she decided it was just too awkward to do it that way. Anyway, she stayed standing as she pulled down her bikini bottom, stepped out of them, pushed the towel under her skirt and did some drying. Then she put her panties on the grass, stepped into them carefully lest she overbalance while standing on one leg, and pulled them up. Her legs were still slightly damp, so she pulled them up over her knees with a little difficulty, and then flicked her dress up while she took a better grip. I had a quick flash of a cute little vagina, and then it was gone. I realised later that I tended to do the same thing when pulling on my underpants under damp skin, and wondered if she had seen my penis. Probably not, as she would no doubt have commented if she had. Soon I didn’t need to think up a thrilling topic of conversation every day, because Alison seemed to decide that this was an easier way to change rather than go into the changing room, and from then on changed this way all the time. One morning we had another boy playing with us as well, and he was obviously highly stimulated by the sight of Alison pulling down her panties under her dress. He minced straight up to her, holding his hand out ready to pull up her skirt and have a look himself. Alison shouted “No! Stop it!” and backed away, holding her skirt down. Maria took no notice, as she rarely troubled to intervene in anything. I was very agitated, because I could see that if he succeeded, Alison would never again change outside and all my excitement would be gone. I yelled out, “Don’t you do that! You’re rude!” and splashed water at him from my position in the pool, very angrily. He was astonished to see me respond like this and immediately backed away, leaving Alison in peace. But she went straight into the changing room, and changed there after swimming as well, and I was afraid my entertainment was finished. The next day, when we were together, Alison asked me, “Roy, why did you get cross with that boy at the pool yesterday?” “He was being rude to you,” I explained, an answer I had already planned were it required. “He wanted to lift your dress up so I stopped him.” Alison never actually thanked me, but I suppose she realised that had this boy successfully exposed her, I would also have seen her vagina (which I did anyway, but without her knowledge). And when we swam that afternoon, she changed outside again, obviously sure she could trust me, although she never went so far as to let me see her vagina – not intentionally. I still got to see very little when we changed after swimming, though, and I couldn’t think of anything to do about it – not regularly, that is. There were no other benches or anything like that where she could sit, and she was not prepared to sit on the grass to change. An occasional brief glimpse was all I got, but I did once get something better. One day she was wearing an old purple skirt that had once been very pretty, but was now too small, and I noticed how it flounced up at the back whenever she bent over. I waited until she was poised to take off her costume, avoiding conversation until then, and then I pointed out all the different colours of flowers in the bed on the other side of the pool. Alison was very interested in flowers, so she turned round to look. I cunningly kept her talking about the flowers with some observations and questions, with her back to me to look at the flowers. After a few seconds, she casually reached under her skirt and pulled down her costume. As she pulled it down to her ankles, her skirt went up at the back, giving me a glorious full-moon picture of her bottom. With her legs slightly apart, a little bulge of flesh, with a line down the middle, was visible under her legs, looking in that position I always thought just like a zip fastener stretching under her body. I could almost have stretched forward and tickled her there. She dried herself between her legs under her skirt while I kept her talking, and then the show was repeated as she bent down to put on her panties. I was very pleased with my cunning, but it was not the sort of thing I could do regularly. Not that I tried - after a while I grew rather bored even with watching her urinating and so did not always follow her on her secret expeditions, by any means. After about two years Alison’s parents’ contracts came to an end and the family was due to return to England. During the last few days before they left, Alison became almost unbearable in her attitude towards me, more bossy and domineering than ever and very argumentative. This was probably her reaction to the insecurity of being uprooted, I now think. However, it did lead to my doing something in revenge that I still feel ashamed of and have never done before or since to anyone. On our final afternoon together, we were playing in the sandpit when I needed to use the toilet. Without saying anything and without being questioned, I just stood up and went off behind a nearby wall to urinate, as I often did, in the belief that Alison did not know what I was doing and was not interested anyway. I was right in the middle of it when a movement caught my eye. Alison had part of her head round the corner and was sneakily watching me. Startled, I tried desperately to get rid of the evidence and the exhibit, and again managed to urinate down my leg. She burst into hoots of rude laughter at my discomfort. “You wee’d down your leg!” she hooted. “You’ve wee’d down your leg! And, Roy, I saw your wee sticking out of your shorts. It’s so tiny, you know. My cousin has a much bigger wee than yours. And I’m sure you know that only babies wee out in the garden.” This for me was the last straw, especially when I knew that she also urinated outside and thought I didn’t know about it. In my embarrassment and anger I tried to hit her, but she could run more quickly than I could and didn’t let me catch her. I sat down under a tree and looked at her with contempt as she stood ten metres away from me in safety and told me how much she had hated my company over the past two years and how pleased she was that she would never have to see me again in her whole life. Typically, soon afterwards she decided she wanted to play with me again, but I had had enough. I refused, and continued to sit under the tree. This only caused her to jeer at me more than ever. Normally I would have reviled her in return, but I had planned my revenge and was content to wait. It was late winter, meaning we were well wrapped up, both of us wearing jeans. That meant I would get a better view of her, and also that we both needed to urinate more often in the cool weather. Finally the time came. “I’m leaving you, you’re so stupid,” sniffed Alison, turning on her heel and walking away. I watched her from the corner of my eye while building a pile of pebbles. From about twenty metres away she glanced back at me to make sure I was still there, and then walked on towards that familiar garden shed. I knew where she was going. Now was my chance for revenge. As soon as she had disappeared round the corner, I sprang to my feet and slipped round the other side, behind the hedge. Even now Alison always took a little care to make sure I wasn’t following her when she went round the back. I arrived in my usual position under the hedge, heart panting and penis swelling, just in time to see her sit down on the soft green grass and slip off the shoes she was wearing. I could hardly wait to gain my revenge as she out her hands up to unzip her jeans. Then, still sitting, she slid out of her jeans, pulling them off over her feet. Her white panties followed, and I could see clearly the slit of her vagina on her bulging mound under her legs as she lifted her knees. Naked from the waist downwards, she then squatted and I could see the familiar steam of urine splashing down from between her legs. Now, excited, I took my revenge. I let out a deep roar, as near to a lion’s roar as I could manage. Alison gave a scream and sprang to her feet, urine dribbling down her own legs this time as she was unable to stop. Mouth wide in shock and horror, she stared in my direction for the source of the noise and scrambled wildly for her jeans. She thrust them down to cover her groin and crouched there, face white, staring towards me. The roar had not fooled her, though. “Roy, go away! Leave me!” she screeched, although I’m sure she still hadn’t seen me. I roared again and, with horror written all over her face, she blurted out again, “Roy, go away or I’ll kill you!” With a big grin on my face, I wriggled out of the hedge towards her. She scrambled to her feet and then shrank back against the wall of the shed, still clutching her jeans to her groin. “Leave me alone!” she wailed. “I hate you!” “You’ve been so horrible to me today,” I accused her, coming closer to her as she shrank back again, terrified I would now rip away her jeans. “So it serves you right. I’ve been hiding behind that hedge and watching you do a wee every single day, because you wanted to keep it such a secret.” “I’ll tell my mum,” sobbed Alison. “Tell her, then,” I mocked her. “If you tell her, she’ll know you do a wee out here and I’ll tell her you do it every day. Then you’ll be in trouble. Only babies wee out in the garden, I’m sure you know,” I mimicked her. I wasn’t sure how seriously Alison’s parents would take it, but Alison seemed to think it better if they didn’t know. “Go away and leave me, you – you – you *bloody*!” she wailed, the worst word she knew. “You shouldn’t have been so secret and you shouldn’t have been so horrible,” I told her, looking at her cowering away from me. Then I began to feel ashamed of having abused my power over her. I felt contempt more than anything else now for Alison. I could have stayed for quite a while, exacting every bit of revenge, and she could have done nothing to stop me without exposing her vagina again. But I had had more than enough to satisfy me. “All right, I’ll leave you now, you stinking girl,” I said, my voice filled with contempt, as I turned on my heel and walked off round the corner of the shed without a backward glance. “Bloody, bloody, bloody!” I heard her screaming after me. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! Bloody, bloody, bloody!” Alison didn’t come out for a long time - I’ve no idea what she was doing. When she finally did emerge from behind the shed, fully dressed, she ignored me and went straight into the house. When the time came for the two of us to part for the last time, she had to be told to say goodbye to me. She didn’t look at me and muttered the words very sulkily. I never saw her again. When my parents asked what the problem was between the two of us, I just told them of some of the things Alison had said to me, but not of course about how I got my revenge. I felt very satisfied at first, but slowly a feeling of guilt crept in and took over. I still feel bad about that, provoked as I was. Nowadays, now that I’m older, I would have handled everything differently and feel sure I could have turned Alison quite happily into a naturist. But I did learn a lot from my time with her. I can still picture now, though, that stream of urine spurting on to the grass behind the shed, and that little vagina so visible, so unknowingly to her, up under her dress by the pool. Those were my first real thrills, and I’m sure I would have had little interest had she been willing to share her nudity with me in a spirit of trust, as I did with her. (To be continued) WHEN I WAS YOUNG (CHAPTER 3) After Alison and her family left, a new family from England immediately moved in next door to us. They were an older couple, who had a boy and a girl at university in England, and a twelve-year-old daughter still at home, Emily. Our families soon became friends, and during our next school holidays I again found myself going round next door quite often, to be looked after by Emily. Emily was to my seven-year-old mind a goddess. She had wavy sandy hair and green eyes, and a lovely nose surrounded by light freckles. Since Emily I have always been attracted by girls whose noses are freckled. But what I remember most about her is her laugh. In my memory she was always relaxed and easy-going, with a wide smile and a rich laugh, not the light giggles that so many girls have, but a real laugh, full of the joys of living. The first time I met her was when my parents invited them, as soon as they moved in, to come round to afternoon tea with us. I had no interest beforehand once I knew there were no children my own age, and then when they arrived I was immediately awed by this delightful happy girl who spoke, it seemed to me, with such confidence and charm, and always that big beaming smile with wide, laughing eyes. I could do little more than stare at her and watch all she did. She was very friendly to me, as indeed she seemed to be to everyone, and soon had me outside tossing a football on the lawn, as it was still too cold for swimming. Every time she caught it she would give that rich happy laugh of hers, whether my throw was good or bad, whether she caught it or not. When the Easter holidays came round, arrangements were quickly made for me to go next door again while my parents were working to be looked after by Emily, or for her to come round to our house. Emily was very happy to do it, although she had other friends and was often out with them or entertaining them. I think my parents insisted on paying her for her baby-sitting services, but she would happily have done it for nothing. She was that sort of person, and I was deeply in love for the first time in a childish, hero-worshipping way. It was strange to go round to the next-door house again with a completely different family, and of course they had made changes to the place. The weather was now warmer, so from the start I was keen to spend a lot of my time in the swimming pool. On the first morning I was there I dutifully changed into my swimming costume under my shirt by the side of the pool as I had always done with Alison. “Roy, don’t you think you’re old enough to use the changing rooms?” Emily asked me with a smile. I took it as a reproof, though, and fled, quite upset, into the changing room. After that I always changed in there whenever Emily was with me, desperately anxious always to please her – which was easy. Emily herself dressed more conservatively than other girls. She wore modest skirts of almost knee length and in the pool a two-piece costume with about twice the amount of material that the average bikini contained. But I so worshipped her that it never occurred to me to wonder what she wore underneath. She and Alison were completely different types of being from each other in my estimation then. If Emily had any minor hang-ups at all, it was about nudity, but that is almost universal among people who are not naturists, to a greater or lesser degree. I remember on one occasion we were at my house one morning and for some reason I decided to show her our family photo albums. I snuggled up next to her on the sofa, feeling as comfortable as I did with my own mother with her soft warm body next to mine. My parents are not such prudes as to object to photos of small children naked, along with many other textile families. As I have mentioned in some of my stories, girls sometimes want to show boys they particularly like their panties as a gift, or sometimes even their vaginas. I felt like that with Emily. There were a few nude photos of myself in that album and I felt a kind of excited warmth as I prepared to show them to Emily. There was my favourite photo of myself just coming out of the swimming pool, grinning and naked, at the age of about two, with water dripping off every part of me, penis included. There was another of me aged about three, wearing shorts but urinating in the garden, concentrating intently on putting my fountain as high as I could. And there was a glorious one of me smearing my naked body with mud and my white penis standing out brilliantly in the sunshine because for some reason at the moment the photo was taken it was the only part of my lower body I had not yet coated. I thought Emily would be as delighted with the photo albums as she was with everything else I showed her, but I soon sensed she was uncomfortable with it. “I don’t really want to see pictures of you without your clothes on, Roy,” she said uncomfortably. “I don’t mind,” I answered in surprise, feeling I was being rejected. “There’s another one here.” And I began looking for it. “Well, I don’t think I want to see it, really,” she answered, although kindly, getting up and leaving me. I felt quite hurt at having offended her. I had the idea, at that age, that there were two different kinds of people, naturists and what we naturists often call `textiles’ – those unenlightened people who insist on wearing clothes when they don’t have to. My kind of people were naturists and I actually found it difficult to relate to them with clothes on, expect for my family, as I was used to them in both situations. I often failed to recognise people from our club when I met them in town or anywhere else with clothes on, and felt embarrassed speaking to them. Textiles seem to find it even more embarrassing meeting anybody at all without their clothes on, and they don’t grow out of it, as I did. During the time that I knew Emily, I became a naturist, as I described in my first story, and that changed my entire outlook on life. Soon I viewed textiles rather as if they were a race of aliens who were somehow inhabiting the same planet, but with whom we had to coexist peacefully. I met them every day at school, and I was at first amazed to find that they looked just like me when naked. I knew that they viewed nudity, and to an extent even the display of underwear, as something almost shameful and bad, except in certain designated areas like swimming pool changing rooms. Unfortunately these aliens ruled the world, but they did at least allow my minority race to be as naked as we liked, just as long as they never found out about it. Emily was now an alien, a textile, and I viewed her differently. If she had been a naturist and I had seen her naked from the start, I would never have noticed her body any more than I noticed her toes, for example. Clothes were a bit of an unfortunate barrier between us, although not a great one. Once I had discovered the joys of nudity, I wanted to share it with her. Our clothing prevented me from enjoying the special intimacy I now had with fellow naturists. When I excitedly told her about my first visit to the club, I fully expected her to realise how mistaken she had been all her life and to be eager to join in. Instead, she seemed rather shocked by it all and actually didn’t want me to talk to her about it. I begged her to come with Aunt Sue and myself to the club, but she just laughingly shook her head and said it was not for her. It may be hard to understand, but at the age of eight I never thought of or visualised her naked at all, even though I wanted her to be one of us, and wished I could swim and play with her while I was naked myself. We had different lifestyles, and while I was with her I had to adhere to the foreign lifestyle, all the time wishing she could share mine. But she was a different being, and I just had to accept that. Which I did, until the day when a minor incident changed everything. As I said earlier, Emily wore quite long dresses, almost down to her knees, and they were made of quite solid material, so they didn’t flap around in the wind like many skirts do. If I had ever seen her panties before the day in question, I was never aware of it. I can recall sitting opposite her on the grass many times while we talked or played, with her skirt over her crossed legs, but could never remember her revealing her panties when she sat down or rose, as so many girls did. Nor did she ever push it down to make sure she was hiding them, or anything like that, or I would have noticed. She was completely natural with her skirt, and it just so happened with the type of skirts or dresses she wore and the way she moved, I had never noticed anything. At the naïve age of eight, I had also never for a moment thought about her underwear at all. After all, she was of an alien race, even though I adored her so much – and at the same time she was a superior being, totally worthy of my worship. One day, after we had known each other for the best part of a year, I was in her family’s swimming pool early in the morning, just after our parents had left for work. I now resented having to wear a swimming costume, but realised that with Emily being so unenlightened I had to. Emily did not swim, as it was now the autumn and she said the water was too cold for her until later in the day. But I was swimming, doing tricks and saying, “Watch this, Emily,” all the time as children of that age do, while she applauded. She was such a positive person, always interested in everything that concerned me, and very encouraging, which made me love her all the more. Suddenly I noticed a little brown frog floating around in the pool. I thought it was dead at first, but when I touched it, it wriggled. “Emily, look at this frog,” I said, picking it up and wading over to the side of the pool towards her. I put it down on the side of the pool to see if it would hop away, but it just sat there, sides pulsating. Interested, as she always was in everything in her joyous life, Emily came over to look. Her normal way of looking at anything on the ground was to kneel down, knees on the ground, and look at it that way, a method that reveals nothing. As she came to look at the frog, she was about to do that, but saw that the cement around the pool was soaked with water. In fact, there was a slight depression there and the water had formed a shallow pool. Not wanting to deposit her knees and possibly some of her skirt as well – she was wearing a heavy-duty fawn-coloured skirt that day – in the water, she quite unselfconsciously squatted on her heels instead, knees spread apart to give her a better view of the little frog just in front of her as she lowered her head between her knees to look. I suddenly realised, from my position in the pool, that for the very first time I could see right up her skirt, just as I had with Alison. She was looking at the frog, but I felt as if I had been turned to stone. I had just been presented with the most glorious vision, one that came out of a completely different dimension, one that was so far beyond my experience that I had never imagined it. Emily to me was a goddess, a completely different kind of creature. In a naturist camp I would never have thought anything of it had we been naked together. Here, completely out of context and completely beyond my powers of thought or imagination at my age, it was earth-shattering. It was as if I had opened the door of our gloomy garden shed and walked straight into heaven itself. At first I just saw her bent knees, with her slim calves spread out on either side. Then, without consciously meaning to, I looked in between them. It was in shadow underneath her skirt, which I saw hanging down in the middle, between her knees, but not very far. Then my eyes dropped to see the sunshine sparkling on the cement and behind it the grass, between her heels and under the back of her skirt. In between, in shadow, I could see the smooth curve of her bottom, with an indentation in the middle. It was encased in plain white panties, the smooth hems, no lace or frills, curving round her thighs and meeting in the middle, with a slight bulge, just as I had noticed my underpants did when they came up against my then tiny testicles. Her thighs were beautifully curved right up to the edge of her panties and I could see they were covered with tiny fair hairs. I can still remember every minute detail as if I were seeing it now, even the slight creases in the material of her panties where her bottom stopped and her mound began, and the slight parting of the material at the sides by the crotch between the tendons, but with only black inside. For the first time I realised that Emily was actually human after all. I stared at those gloriously plain smooth white panties, mouth wide open I’m sure, and it was too much for me. My penis spurted long and hard into my swimming costume, and I instinctively grabbed it. “Poor little thing,” I heard Emily say smilingly, as if from a distance – talking about the frog, not my penis. She reached down her cupped hands and picked the frog up gently. Then she stood, her fawn-coloured skirt dropping down over her thighs again, and the vision was gone. Once again she was the beautiful if well-clad Emily, but inside me all was different. She took the frog over and placed it gently on the grass, then turned back to me. I must have looked like a complete zombie, because she looked at me, laughed and said, “What’s up with you, Roy?” I shook myself metaphorically to my senses. Then I said, “Uh – I’ve gotta go to the toilet.” “I thought you went before you swam,” she smiled at me, puzzled, as I hauled myself out of the pool. “I need to go again,” I said, grabbing my towel, clutching my penis with one hand and drying myself cursorily with the other. Then I hobbled off inside. I spent quite some time in the toilet, suffering an attack of diarrhoea as well, quite overcome as I was with the splendour I had just so unexpectedly seen. Emily was human after all! I loved her all the more for it, and was almost overcome with the desire to see more. I was in there so long that Emily came to check that I was all right. She stood outside the door and called to me, with unnecessary caution. “I’ve got diarrhoea,” I told her. “You can come in,” I added, suddenly desiring strongly again for her to see me naked. That was hardly an exciting invitation under the circumstances, and she said she would wait for me outside, since I needed no help. Having just had a share of intimacy with her, unbeknown to herself, I wanted to share myself with her, to let her see me naked. When I had finally finished, I decided to take the bull by the horns. I walked outside again stark naked, carrying my swimming costume. Emily gasped when she saw me, and I held it out to her, saying, “I got some diarrhoea on my swimming costume. Where can I wash it?” “Roy, don’t come outside - naked!” exclaimed Emily, with a reproving smile. “I had to because I had nothing to wear,” I explained. “But I don’t mind you seeing me,” I hastened to assure her. As she led me to a garden tap, I added, “Please may I swim naked? It’s such fun!” This was the first time I had dared to ask, but my passion for intimacy led me to risk her disapproval. “No, you mustn’t swim naked,” Emily replied, turning the tap on for me. “It’s my parents’ pool and they wouldn’t allow it.” “Then let’s go and use our pool,” I suggested, scrubbing out my swimming costume. “I can always swim naked in there when my parents are out. Please, Emily. Let’s do it! You’ll see! It’s such fun and my parents will let us.” I looked at her pleadingly. “What do you mean, `we’?” she laughed. “I don’t want to swim naked!” “Well, I do, and I’m allowed in our own pool,” I begged. “Please, Emily.” “Oh, all right, I suppose,” she laughed. “Let’s do it now!” I urged. And within ten minutes I was swimming naked again in our own swimming pool. Although I had now persuaded Emily to let me swim naked, and I felt a sense of special intimacy in allowing her to see all she wanted of my nudity, she would not be persuaded to swim naked herself. In fact, she wouldn’t even swim with me at all as long as I was naked, for reasons she wouldn’t explain. I think she just felt too awkward about it. If I wanted her to swim with me, I had to be wearing my swimming costume. I did once try to trick her, as we went into the pool together and I removed my swimming costume when she wasn’t looking. But as soon as she saw what I had done, she got out of the pool and laughingly reproved me. In my longing for intimacy with her, which at that age virtually began and ended with the sight of nudity, I kept my eyes eagerly open for another sight of her panties. I tried what I had done with Alison, talking to her from the pool while she was at the side, which happened whenever I decided to swim naked. But Emily’s skirts were long enough to hide anything secret, and when I tried a repeat of the frog incident she disappointingly knelt down so I could not see. I kept alert whenever we sat down opposite each other on the grass, but so neatly did she sit that I got nothing more than a very occasional flash of white, so quick I was never sure I had seen anything. She was too old to indulge in the revealing kind of activities that younger girls often do, such as playing on the climbing frames or doing handstands or cartwheels or things like that. I was feeling very frustrated when suddenly, at the start of the new school year, things changed. I was going into fourth grade at school, which meant longer school hours, so that I finished school at the same time as Emily in the high school. Before, my mother had made a special journey to fetch me at the end of school, since I was not yet considered old enough to walk or cycle home. Now, since it was so much more convenient, it was decided that Emily should collect me every day and go home with me. Soon it was January, the coldest month, although in this Mediterranean climate only December to February can really be classified as cold months, months when the weather was often cloudy and rainy and it is not pleasant to swim. Emily and I often had sport in the afternoons when the weather was suitable, and since it was generally cold we wore our blue school tracksuits to go home. Then, in about the third week of term, we had a warmer, sunnier day and I didn’t bother or need to put my tracksuit on. It didn’t occur to me that Emily might feel the same way, and I was standing by the school gate looking among the crowds for Emily in her familiar blue tracksuit when suddenly I heard her voice next to me, “Hello, Roy.” I looked up in surprise, and realised that I hadn’t recognised her. Instead of her tracksuit, she was wearing a short white dress, with a wide dark blue stripe around the bottom. It looked a good forty centimetres shorter than I had seen her wearing before, although obviously it couldn’t have been that much, and I must have gaped at the large expanse of slim white thigh that rarely made a daylight appearance. Yes, there was a definite steady lightening of shade on her legs from her knees upwards. Right now there were only a few centimetres of material hanging down from her bottom. “Didn’t recognise me?” Emily laughed at me. “I usually have my tracksuit on over my tennis dress.” “No,” I gasped in answer to her question. “I mean, yes.” I stared at her dress, and suddenly wondered if this could be the day for some more intimacy. “Why, it’s – I mean, it’s short,” I blurted out. Emily seemed quite unembarrassed. “Well, I can’t run around the tennis court in my ordinary dresses because they’re too long and heavy. They get in the way,” she explained. “So we need to wear shorter ones for tennis.” I felt rather lost for words as we walked home together, Emily pushing her bicycle, which she was quite happy to do. She cycled to school in the morning while one of my parents would drop me off in the car on their way to work. I felt my heart thumping within me as I realised that the gates of paradise were only a short skirt-length away. I had another astounding discovery when I found out that, from the back, it was possible to see the outline of her bra under her white dress. It had never before occurred to my eight-year-old mind to wonder whether she wore one at all, and in my naivety I had never wondered or noticed what stage her breasts had reached. We reached home without anything exciting happening. Emily’s skirt remained obstinately covering her upper thighs and there were no helpful gusts of wind. In desperation I said, “Emily, it’s warmer today, so may we play a bit before it gets dark, please?” “Oh, Roy, I wish I could, but I have a whole lot of homework to do, I’m afraid,” she replied. “But it would be great on Friday afternoon.” The school closes at lunchtime on Fridays, but we had no sport then, so Emily would not be wearing that dress. In desperation I said, “Well, please – could I come in with you for just two minutes? I – I’ve got some work I want to show you. And ask you about.” It was fortunate that I did have some good work to show her and we were also starting some British history about which I could ask her. “Sure, all right,” Emily laughed light-heartedly. “Just a few minutes, though.” Hoping desperately that something would happen before I was forced to leave, I turned in at her gate with her. Emily first took her bicycle to the shed. I stood behind her as she used her foot to put the stand down. Then it happened. One of the pedals got in the way of the stand, and after a fruitless nudge at it with her foot, Emily bent down for a moment to push it out of the way. She had her back to me, and as she bent I had a heavenly view of a couple of centimetres of panties emerging beneath the hem of her dress. They were plain, thin and white, showing the rounded shape of her lovely slim bottom. Then, all too quickly, she stood up again and we left the shed, Emily completely unaware of the thrill that she had shot through me and was in danger of affecting my bowels again. Her parents were seated around a garden table, enjoying a drink after just arriving home from work. Emily greeted them, and they also greeted me. Then Emily sat down on one of the chairs, and as she did so, for a split second, the side of her skirt caught on the chair arm and there was an instantaneous flash of white panties, from the side this time, before she brushed it down. My heart felt as if it was going to burst as I sat down next to her and my fumbling fingers struggled to open my satchel. “Roy, are you all right today?” Emily’s mother asked me. “You’re looking rather flushed.” “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” I gasped out, adding, “Maybe it’s just the hot sun today.” This led to some comments on the weather, and I showed Emily my books but could not think of too much to ask her about William the Conqueror. I tried to spin it out in the hope of more visions of delight, but after about five minutes Emily said, “I’m sorry, Roy, but I really have to be getting on with my work now.” I thanked her and left slowly, glancing back a couple of times to see if I could see anything more, but to my intense frustration Emily was leaning towards me as she bent over to pick up her suitcase and so I could see nothing. Her father was perfectly placed had he been interested. It was just my luck, I thought, while admitting I had not come away empty-handed. When I arrived home I headed straight for the toilet and more diarrhoea as my bowels again failed to handle the strain. My homework was a disaster as I was unable to concentrate on it in the slightest, and I broke a tumbler at the table that night. I never knew when I might have another chance with Emily in that dress. Then, as I lay in bed that night, I hatched a cunning plan. (To be continued) WHEN I WAS YOUNG (CHAPTER 4) The next day was gloomy and damp, and to my disappointment Emily was wearing her tracksuit again as she picked me up after school. On the way home I asked her, “Do you play tennis in your tracksuit when it’s cold like this?” “Oh, no,” she laughed. “We soon warm up when we start playing. But I put my tracksuit on as soon as I’ve finished.” On the way home I deliberately asked Emily questions about tennis, pretending to show a keen interest in the game. I waited until we were almost home before I put my plan into operation. “Emily,” I said. “I want to learn how to play tennis properly. Will you teach me, please?” “Oh, Roy, I think you’ll have to learn a bit at school first,” she answered. “I don’t know how to teach beginners.” “I’m not quite a beginner,” I protested. “I’ve played a bit with my dad, and I can hit the ball over the net. Please, Emily. I’d love you to teach me.” One of the nice things about Emily was that she hardly ever said no when pressed. Nude bathing was a rare and regrettable exception. So she said slowly, “Well, I do go to extra tennis lessons at school on Saturday mornings. If you come along with me and wait until we finish, the school courts will still be open and we can try.” I could hardly wait until Saturday morning. Again it was gloomy, but it wasn’t raining and the school had all-weather courts. Emily and I walked together to the high school in our tracksuits, her lessons due to last from ten until eleven. There were six girls in Emily’s group, and her tennis coach, a rather elderly woman, readily agreed to Emily’s request that we stay for a while afterwards and play on another court, and suggested I might make myself useful during the lessons as a ball-boy rather than simply watch. I agreed, and followed the girls into the little pavilion. There we all took off our tracksuits and put on our tennis shoes. I had not been anticipating this, and was already seated next to Emily before I realised what she was doing. She removed her tracksuit top, and then stood momentarily to pull down her bottoms. Sitting, she lifted her legs one by one to pull it off over her feet. Then she did the same to change from her street shoes into her tennis shoes. Being girls, they were chattering all the time, and I was frustratedly aware that if I had been standing in front of Emily I would have seen a great deal. But I could not move without making my intentions obvious. I had to grit my teeth and change as they were doing. I did have some good views of the other girls, who for the most part completely ignored me. On one of the side benches a tall dark-haired girl showed me some attractive white panties at the crotch as she lifted her legs to change out of her tracksuit and also to put on her tennis shoes. There was a squeal and a giggle from a plump girl called Lucy, whose tight tracksuit apparently pulled her panties halfway down over her bottom as she removed them, and she had to pull them up again quickly. I did not see that bottom, but only her hands grabbing the waistline through her skirt and pulling them up. Then it was out on to the courts, and I found myself in the handy position of being behind the girls to collect the balls as they were hit past them. I positioned myself behind Emily, and was soon rewarded as she stretched for a high ball and her skirt went up with her arms, allowing me to see the hem of those same sort of plain white panties – in fact, I never knew her wear another kind. My best views came when she had to go and pick up a ball by the net, and her skirt slid up at the back every time she bent down to do so. Some of the other girls were even more revealing. The bigger girls tend to move their dresses more when they bend or stretch, and virtually every time the plump Lucy hit a ball she flashed her pink panties behind. A black-haired local girl called Maria wore a particularly short skirt, and it was often possible, even when she was standing still, to see her frilly panties peeping out from under her hem. Once she fell over as she went for a ball, amid laughter from everyone including her, and I could see well-frilled panties right up to the waistline and even her navel. Local girls are much less fussy about underwear, and for a moment she even lifted her skirt and pulled the hem of those panties up at the side to see if she had grazed herself. At last the practice was over, and Emily took me to a nearby court for our game. This extra practice, which we continued every Saturday when it wasn’t raining, turned out to be a mere accessory to Emily’s lessons, as she spent most of our extra time facing me and hitting balls to me, and I saw very little compared to the glorious views I had of all the girls from behind. I think I was pretty good for my age and soon managed to hit all the gentle balls, at least, back over the net. After an hour or so it was time to go home. We returned to the pavilion, and as Emily sat down on the bench I immediately sat on the ground in front of her, the better to ask all the questions I could think of about how I was doing and how to improve. She saw nothing at all unusual in my sitting there taking off my tennis shoes, although this time she bent forward to undo her laces and pull her shoes off, and only lifted her legs to place them in her street shoes. I enjoyed these glimpses, and the best came when she lifted her legs, talking to me as she did so, to pull up her tracksuit bottoms. I had two beautiful views, one for each leg, of the gusset of her panties. I felt very warm inside as we walked home, and she must have thought I was strangely silent all of a sudden. This Saturday routine was something we continued throughout that term, and I made the most of my only chances to enjoy a degree of intimacy with the unsuspecting Emily, as well as the other girls in her group. One Saturday morning it was raining, tennis was cancelled and I was bitterly disappointed. It was strange. After that I knew two Emilys. One was non-sexual, delightful, worshipful and divine, in her long skirts that aroused no passions. The other, wearing a tennis dress, was just as delightful, but somehow vulnerable and certainly capable of arousing my passions. I felt completely different when I was with one from when I was with the other. And for the first time I started wondering what she looked like underneath. I never expected to see her naked, although when she was in her tennis dress I fantasised in my childish way about what she did look like underneath. Did she have hair growing like other girls her age? She wouldn’t come to our naturist club, and even if she had agreed I’m sure her parents wouldn’t have let her. Every now and then Aunt Sue with little Shelley would go visiting naturist friends, and I kept asking if Emily could come too, in the hope of converting her. But Aunt Sue said it would not be right to ask her anywhere where we were going to be naked because she was completely unused to that sort of lifestyle and would be embarrassed, and her parents would be likely to disapprove anyway. Things were different during the winter. It was too cold for nudity and the naturist club was rarely visited, although we did have an occasional party or singsong indoors in front of a big log fire. The skies were usually grey and it often rained. It was February, about a month after I had started my tennis lessons with Emily on Saturdays. One Sunday Aunt Sue was due to visit some naturist friends from the club who lived on a small farm and the weather was poor, and I was included in the invitation. “Please may Emily come with us,” I begged Aunt Sue, as always. “The weather is too cold for us to be naked, and she’d like playing with Kim.” The couple had two children. Kim was aged eleven, tall, quite dark and sensible and mature in behaviour, so I was sure she would get on well with Emily. The other was Kevin, who was slightly older than I, but he was small with light brown hair and grey eyes. I got on very well with them both, and they were of course members of our club. Aunt Sue thought for a moment, and then said, “Well, I suppose so, but we can’t decide until Saturday. If the weather is good, then we will want to take our clothes off, and it wouldn’t be right for Emily to come then.” I felt I was in a sort of win-win situation. If the weather was bad, Emily would at least come, and if it was good, I could at least enjoy playing in the nude with my two good friends. Then I remembered I had better prepare Emily in case she made other arrangements. So I told her we *might* be going out on Sunday and got her to ask permission to come with us if, as I put it, we decided to go. Her parents usually agreed when she was invited to go anywhere with us, and this was no exception. I told her I would let her know early on Sunday morning what we decided to do. Sunday dawned damp and gloomy. Having phoned Aunt Sue for approval, I raced round to Emily’s house to tell her. The family were actually having a lie-in, and it took several minutes for somebody to answer the doorbell. Eventually Emily came to the door, wearing a long pink dressing gown that I hadn’t seen before – I had never seen her in any sleepwear before and it hadn’t occurred to my seven-year-old mind to wonder what she did wear to sleep in. I never actually found out, but I was sure she wasn’t naked like me. I told Emily the trip was on, trembling with fear in case she had made other arrangements after all, and asked her to come round to our house at nine-thirty, where Aunt Sue would pick us up. “Yes, thanks, Roy,” she smiled at me. “I hope this weather clears up later on. I’m surprised you’re going with the weather like this.” The thought came to me: what if the weather did clear up? Would we be able to go naked, Emily as well? Then common sense told me that it was more likely that Emily’s presence was more likely to stop us all from stripping off, and in any case she was hardly likely to strip off in front of strangers when she wouldn’t even swim naked in the swimming pool. Still, I allowed myself to fantasise excitedly. The dull weather seemed so set that neither Aunt Sue nor myself had considered it would clear up. We drove out of town in a steady drizzle. Emily was wearing a longer skirt than usual in the cooler weather, as it covered her knees, and we were all wearing jerseys. Emily and I sat in the back seat, along with three-year-old Shelley, and we talked as usual, as I told Emily all about the farm we were visiting, without mentioning the nude swimming we so often enjoyed in the pool or the nude tennis we played – oh, no! I then realised I had forgotten to tell her we played tennis there, or she might have come in her little tennis dress . . . But no, thinking again, she would have worn her tracksuit instead in the car, and the courts would be too wet to play anyway. It took us over an hour to drive to the farm, and to our surprise the weather did show signs of clearing up. A blustery wind blew up, and every now and then there were patches of blue sky, quickly blown away by the scudding low clouds. But there was still a cool wind blowing when we arrived at the farm, although by now the sky was half-clear. Aunt Sue must have been wondering if she made the right decision in allowing Emily to join us. When we arrived, Emily and Kim soon got on well, as I had expected, while I was soon enjoying Kevin’s company as usual. Having spent most of the day so far in the cool outdoors, both farm children were wearing jeans. As we went inside, the grown-ups were as usual talking about the weather. “We’ve had a lot of rain here in the last month,” Uncle Bob, the farmer, was saying. “Almost more than we need. We haven’t seen the sun much, but in the last two or three days the weather has been clearing up nicely in the afternoon and it’s been quite hot. So we’ve been able to get back to nature again at last.” Emily was talking to Kim, and so didn’t hear this last part. I could tell Aunt Sue was rather regretting inviting her, though, and she said, “Why don’t you children go off and play, and we’ll call you when we’re ready for morning tea?” With hindsight, I suspect she wanted to explain the situation about Emily to our hosts. Kim led us along the passage to her bedroom, as it was still not very pleasant outside, mainly due to the wind. We talked and played there for a while before we were called for morning tea, which was quite a feast. After that, Kim and Kevin showed us round the farm buildings that were close to the house, and we had a bit of fun in the hayloft especially. It was while we were eating lunch that the weather really started to improve. The wind dropped and most of the clouds disappeared. It was soon becoming pleasantly warm. After lunch Uncle Bob said to us, “Well, we grown-ups would like the afternoon to ourselves, so we suggest you children would like to take a picnic to the hill.” There was a very interesting hill on the farm, about which I had already told Emily, where there were a lot of rocks and fascinating places to explore, along with quite a bit of wildlife, none of it dangerous. “I want to swim,” put in Kevin. “Not just yet,” Uncle Bob said, and I suspected the adults had made a plan to swim and sunbathe naked themselves, perhaps even play nude tennis if the courts were dry enough, and thought it best to have Emily out of the way. “Don’t come back before four o’clock, all right? That gives you three hours. We can talk about swimming then.” Kevin grumbled a bit, but the rest of us were happy enough. “Change into some more suitable clothes, you two,” Aunt Bessie advised Kim and Kevin. She whispered something into Kim’s ear, and I was sure she was instructing her that we were not to take our clothes off on this occasion. We went off to the bedrooms, Kevin chattering excitedly to Emily about the hill, telling her just what I had already told her. Then he nipped into his bedroom to grab a pair of shorts from the drawer, and I followed him. He quickly whipped off his jeans and then, still carrying his shorts, he marched into Kim’s bedroom to continue informing Emily about their hill. Kim was wearing only her snowy white panties, taking a dress out of the wardrobe to wear. Emily turned round and said, “Roy, maybe you should go with Kevin to his bedroom until Kim has changed.” “Oh, no, I don’t mind,” Kim said in a rather surprised tone as she shut the wardrobe door. “Roy and I are used to each other.” “My underpants are brown because I get them dirty on the farm and my mum says the dirt won’t show so much if they’re brown,” Kevin told Emily, showing her his little briefs before continuing to talk about the hill and putting his shorts on at the same time. Here was a clash of cultures that Emily found rather uncomfortable. In her world, boys and girls did not change in each other’s presence – not when they were her age anyway, and she had taken a while to get used to my willingness to change clothes or strip off in her presence, even at my younger age. When the farm children had changed, we left the house, with the sun now shining warmly, warmly enough to go naked had we the choice. There was a well-defined path to the hill. First we wound our way through the farm buildings and the path, mainly through non-arable land, was before us, stretching through the scrubby bush. Kevin raced on ahead, calling me to keep up with him. I would rather have stayed with Emily, but she and Kim were so busy talking I didn’t have too much chance, so I ran on after Kevin. The path led gradually downhill, into a little valley, before sloping upwards on the far side. The last time we had visited them there had been a dry riverbed running through it, but I was surprised to see there was quite a strong stream flowing now. I had forgotten it was a seasonal stream that usually ran between about January and May. “Come and see,” Kevin urged me, pointing downstream, to our left. He turned and waved at Kim and Emily, quite a distance behind now. “We’re going down to the pool!” he shouted, jumping up and down and pointing. Kim shouted something back, but we couldn’t hear her. I followed Kevin down the bank of the stream. We scrambled over rocks and along the bank, with the water only about ten centimetres below it at the lowest points, the highest I had ever seen it. We rounded a corner and the stream took a sudden downward path, splashing and rushing over the rocks and forming a wide pool at the bottom. I had been there when it was dry, but hadn’t thought what it would be like with water in it. “Our water hole!” shouted Kevin. “Let’s swim!” He went to a clear place by the bank and began throwing off his clothes. I found myself in a dilemma. I very much wanted to swim as well, but knew Aunt Sue might disapprove if I did so in Emily’s presence. She didn’t know about my swimming naked in our own pool when Emily was there. Or was her reluctance only concerned with adults? Would they mind if just we children swam together? Surely not, I convinced myself. I decided I would make that my excuse if any trouble arose, so I quickly threw off my clothes and joined Kevin in the pool. We swam and splashed, but very quickly heard an urgent call from Kim. She was standing above us at the top of the rapids. Emily came up behind her, handicapped for speed with her longer skirt. Her face registered surprise as she looked down on us two naked boys. “Kevin!” Kim called with some agitation. “Mum said we mustn’t swim here today!” Kevin looked surprised. “She didn’t tell me,” he replied, with a ring of truth. “Why not?” “Well – Emily’s a visitor,” explained Kim rather uncomfortably. She didn’t know what else to say. “It doesn’t matter with Emily,” I put in cunningly. “She doesn’t mind. She lets me swim naked at my home. She won’t tell about us, will you, Emily?” Kim looked uncertainly at Emily, who was still looking rather startled. I added hopefully, “Emily’s a good sport. She won’t mind.” “Is it – all right, Emily?” Kim asked hesitantly. “Sure it’s all right, isn’t it, Emily?” I urged her, climbing out of the water towards her and adding to the pressure on her. Emily’s expressive face registered uncertainty, but in the end she said, “I guess so. If you all want to.” And she gave her familiar big smile. Kim started undressing, and then turned to Emily, as she still stood there rather awkwardly. “You can join us if you like,” she assured her. “Well, no, I don’t really like swimming – naked,” Emily smiled awkwardly at her. “But you don’t mind us swimming naked, then?” asked Kim. “We always do it here, and we’re quite private.” “No, it’s all right. You go ahead,” smiled Emily, gradually coming to accept it. “I guess your parents didn’t want you to swim here because of me. But I won’t tell anyone.” “Thanks, Emily,” Kim smiled at her, stepping out of her panties now and preparing to jump in. “But I feel bad about having you not being able to swim.” “No, I’m all right,” Emily assured her. “I’ll just sit here and watch.” She sat down carefully on the uneven rocks, her skirt hanging down under her legs. I was at a lower level, and I remember thinking that even if she had her normal length skirt on, I might have been able to see those panties I lusted after. Kim joined us in the pool and we had a great time splashing around and playing with each other. Then, after a few minutes, Kevin called up to Emily, “Aw, Emily, come and join us. It’s such fun!” I looked up at Emily. She had moved down and was now sitting on the bank, trailing her feet in the water. She certainly looked hot. She smiled, and then said, “Well, I suppose I can swim in my underwear.” That was more like Emily, game for anything. Rather nervously she stood up and started to unbutton her blouse. Suddenly my heart started pumping uncontrollably and my bladder felt tight. “Ooh,” I exclaimed and sat down suddenly on a rock in shallow water on the far side of the pool. “I’ve hurt my foot on something,” I lied. I pretended to examine it, but all the time I was keeping an eye on Emily. As Emily unbuttoned her blouse, I could see her flesh underneath, and some white material across the middle. I was seeing her bra directly for the first time, though I had often seen it less clearly through the white top of her tennis dress. She glanced nervously in my direction and I quickly switched my eyes to my foot. When I thought it was safe, I glanced up again and saw her peel off her blouse, revealing a small plain white bra underneath. I noticed her face was slightly flushed as she went through what to her was the embarrassment of removing her skirt. She undid the buttons at the side and then slipped it off, giving me a full view of her panties, also plain white, for the first time. Kim and Kevin were taking no notice at all. Suddenly Emily looked at me again, and I couldn’t turn away in time on this occasion. So I quickly blurted out, “Emily, my foot hurts and I can’t see anything wrong with it.” Emily seemed to accept my complaint as genuine, and replied, “Well, bring it here and I’ll have a look at it for you.” I waded through the pool towards her, remembering to limp. She sat down on the side and I sat next to her, my supposedly injured foot on her lap, which was bare for the first time. She stared at the area of my foot I pointed out to her, while I feasted my eyes on my goddess in her underwear. “I can’t see anything, Roy,” she said after a minute. “Maybe you just bruised it.” “It feels a bit better now,” I said. Then I smiled up at her. “I’m so glad you’re coming to play with us. Come.” I pulled at her hand and she stood up and waded after me. “Emily, if you get your underwear wet, you’ll give us all away,” warned Kim, who was lying at the bottom of the rapids and letting the water splash all over her naked body. The beauty of her wet rounded almost hairless vagina was lovely. “Oh, yes, you’re right,” agreed Emily. “My parents would soon wonder why they were wet. I’d better not go in properly, then.” “Ah, Emily,” I groaned, looking up at her with disappointment, and Kevin joined in. Emily looked around at us all having fun and looking at her with disappointment and an expression came over her face that I couldn’t identify. There was a pregnant pause, and then she suddenly laughed and said, “Oh, I suppose I really am being a bit silly about it. I’m sure it doesn’t really matter.” My heart suddenly pounded fit to burst as she put up her arms and began to pull off her bra. Once Emily had decided on it, she was going through with it. Suddenly the hang-up she had grown up with fell away. She was smiling as she removed her bra, revealing half-grown breasts that were a little larger than the chest of a muscular boy, and firm-looking nipples close to normal boy size. The breasts looked firm and white, beautifully shaped and gently rounded. I gazed with my mouth open, but she now seemed quite oblivious of anybody looking at her. Then she sat down on the bank to remove her panties. As she lifted one leg and then the other, I stared in awe at her long slender vagina, half-covered with a lining of darkish hair all the way up, sprouting into a slightly larger patch at the top. During the next year I was to see it thicken until her vagina was hardly visible any longer, and her breasts deepen. Then she came in to join us, and it was heaven as for the first time I was able to play in the freedom of complete nudity with my goddess. We splashed and laughed and frolicked together until we were exhausted. Then when we were tired we lay down together side by side in the flowing water and let it wash over our bodies, cold though it was. I suddenly realised that, although every contour of Emily’s beautiful naked body was now stored inside my memory bank, I really had little idea of what Kim and Kevin looked like when naked. I had been so used to them, as fellow-naturists, that it had never meant anything to me. Thinking unlike a naturist for the first time with them, I visually examined their bodies as we all lay there. Kim had quite a lovely body, still largely undeveloped, with her little nipples just protruding slightly in little points from her almost flat chest. Her vagina was long and slim, and there were little fair hairs at the top that would soon lengthen, darken and spread. Kevin of course showed no signs of puberty, and in the cold water his scrotum had shrivelled up into a tiny little bag under a cold-looking pale pink penis, with the foreskin rolled back and the tiny prepuce visible. I had never consciously noticed any of this before. I leaned against Emily in the water, feeling her strong firm half-grown breast under my shoulder as I laid my head on her shoulder. I turned my head to plant a delicate kiss on her soft warm cheek. “Thanks for joining us, Emily,” I whispered. “This is great.” Emily laughed gently. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” she smiled. “Funny how I was scared of it for so long, thought it would be wrong. Just the way I’ve grown up, I suppose.” After that, Emily and I swam and played naked together in the swimming pool at my house, though she never wanted to do so at her own house. I was heartbroken when the family returned to England a year later. We kept in touch now and then, and I now hear she is likely to be engaged soon. I can still recognise her happy smiling face on the photos we get occasionally. I’m not jealous. I never thought seriously of marrying her. To me she was always a goddess, and I loved her all the more when my goddess became human. (To be continued) WHEN I WAS YOUNG (CHAPTER 5) When I was nine years old my family made some new friends. An expatriate family came out from England for the father to take up a temporary post at the same company where my father was working. They bought an old rambling house on the other side of town and immediately decided that it needed renovation. Both of my parents are actually very interested in reconstruction and interior decorating, and my father offered to help them with their plans and perhaps even some of the work. So it was for this reason that we started visiting their house very regularly for a while. I was encouraged by the news that the family had twins, a boy and a girl, about a year younger than myself. I got on well with most other children and was eager to make new friends. My immediate impression of them, the first time we arrived at their house and I met them, was what a strange family they were, although that was probably the last word they would have used to describe themselves. Our community in this country is usually very modern, very relaxed and informal in the way we behave and the way we dress – although not liberated enough to embrace naturism in large numbers. For most of the year we wear shorts, even to work for many adults, or short summer dresses and skirts, although this first visit took place in January. January in this country is the coldest and wettest month, although because of its position by the Mediterranean Sea I am told it is no worse than a typical May in Britain. Most days we need to wear jerseys and long trousers out of doors, and we get quite a few drizzly days. For most of the rest of the year the rainfall, when we get it, comes in storms. It is only a short period of cooler weather, and by the middle of February we can usually put the jerseys away almost completely until December. So we were less casually dressed than usual on that particular day, as both my dad and I wore long trousers and jerseys and my mother a thicker calf-length dress with stockings, which she rarely wears. My sister Jenny, still little more than a baby then, was with us, and I can’t remember what she was wearing. So when we first saw the Fothergay family I thought they were just dressed up for the cold. It was an old house and did not yet have the electronic security gates that are so common in our community. We arrived to find that the ordinary gates there were open and the family were all actually waiting for us formally at the end of the drive. We were a few minutes late and I presume they had been waiting for us since the time arranged, as we discovered how much store they set by timekeeping. They were all immaculately dressed, the boy and his father in jackets with ties, and the girl and her mother in longer dresses, also with stockings. They were much more smartly dressed than we were, though, and my mother later said she felt embarrassed by it. On subsequent trips she dug out some of her best clothes, rarely worn, and tried to persuade my father and me to do the same. Fortunately my father resisted and persuaded my mother not to doll me up too much either. “Good afternoon, Mr Smith,” he greeted my father, very formally, instead of the usual `Pete’ that everybody else uses. (`Smith’ is not our real name but I must preserve my anonymity!) It was quite a while before my dad managed to get him on first-name terms. He introduced his wife and, when we got out of the car, the twins, Andrew and Catherine. There didn’t seem any likelihood that they would be called Andy and Cathy for short. They were as formal as their father, but I must say all four were pleasant, and so very polite. They were standing there beside their parents, immaculately dressed, Andrew’s hair parted neatly and Catherine’s cropped quite short and very smooth. Their feet were together and their hands by their sides. Andrew stepped forward and put out his hand, smiling. “Good morning, Roy. We’re pleased to meet you,” he greeted me. “How do you do?” “Hello,” I grinned back, shaking his hand after a moment’s hesitation. In our community adults are so informal that they rarely shake hands, and children virtually never. Then Catherine stepped forward to do the same thing, saying, “How do you do?” I wasn’t sure if it was a real question or a rhetorical one, so I didn’t know how to reply. How did I do what They didn’t look very much alike. Andrew was perhaps rather short and stocky, with light brown hair. Catherine was a little taller, as girls often are at the age we were then, and slimmer, with a sort of fairish-coloured hair, a few shades lighter than Andrew’s. They both had big light brown eyes. Their mother invited us all into her lounge for afternoon tea. The house may have been rather shabby at that early stage in their renovations, but the furniture was pretty grand and old-fashioned. The children manoeuvred me to a large grand floral-patterned sofa and sat me in the middle of it, while they sat down one on each side and began to ask me polite questions about myself, my school and my home. This was a new experience for me. I usually found when visiting another home for the first time, the children would be too shy to do anything but ignore me at first, or else, as I would myself when host, immediately involve me in a game or activity. But these two were like little grown-ups – formal little grown-ups - perfectly mannered and polite. We had tea and cake, and it was a new experience for me to eat cake with a fork, when it wasn’t even sticky. Andrew and Catherine kept talking to me ever so politely all the time, while I was too unused to this situation to do much more than give brief replies. Our parents were of course making adult talk in the background all the time, with my mother busy trying to keep Jenny quiet and still, in the absence of any realistic suggestions from the hosts as to what to do with her. Afterwards their father suggested he showed us around the garden while it was not raining. He was obviously quite distressed that the garden was so overgrown, and there was even a ramshackle old cottage down at the far end of it. It looked a most exciting place to me, but the children told me they didn’t play outside, except on a small patch of proper lawn by the house, because it was too overgrown and `dangerous’. No doubt their parents had fed them the common British stories of how dangerous Mediterranean lands could be, where everything was not small and cultivated like Britain. There might be snakes and scorpions, although these are almost unheard of in the city. Worst of all, it might be dirty. The discussion as to what was best to do with the property developed between our respective sets of parents as we strolled back into the house. I had no interest in it whatsoever and was longing to explore the overgrown garden. Finally their father suggested that the twins might like to take me away and play a game or something with me. This sounded rather better. The two smiled politely and Catherine asked me, “Would you like to see our rooms?” I agreed, hoping we could go on into the garden after that. Catherine was perhaps more often than not the leader of the two, but they both seemed to get on very well together all the time. They had separate bedrooms and, as I might have suspected, they were immaculate. My own was quite a mess, and I had my doubts about allowing them in if they were ever to visit us, without a government health warning. Everything was in place, the furniture was beautiful and even the colours seemed to blend perfectly. “Would you like to play a game of Scrabble?” Catherine asked politely. That was always the way with them. I would say, “Come on, let’s do this or that,” or ask for ideas, but it seemed they had worked out a programme to follow. “Well, first maybe we can play a bit in your garden,” I suggested. “It looks great for adventures.” They looked rather shocked. Then Andrew explained, “Daddy doesn’t allow us to play there. He says it’s too dangerous.” To cut a long story short, I couldn’t get them even to want to try it. Most of my time with them, for the first three visits anyway, was, “Would you like to do a jigsaw?” or “Would you like to play chess?” or “Would you like to read a book?” or “Would you like to do a painting?” and things like that. And everything was said in such a posh plummy accent, straight from the south of England and sounding very snobbish. They were certainly far too formal, but I don’t really think they intended to be snobbish on the whole. I did enjoy those quieter sorts of activities at times, but I’ve always been quite an active person and felt frustrated that we couldn’t have physical fun together. Even when we did these things and I made a few jokes, they would laugh politely but never joined in – as long as they recognized them as jokes. And they always did these things exactly by the book, and when I pretended to cheat or occasionally got a bit cross when things didn’t work out as I wanted, they seemed quite shocked. If they did badly in a game and lost, they never grumbled or complained or got cross, as I did at times, but just smiled quietly and accepted it. I did persuade them to a bit of physical activity at times. But whenever we wanted even to go outside, they would have to go to the lounge and stand by the door until their parents paused in their conversation and asked them, ever so kindly, what they wanted. Then we had to get permission to go outside. “Be careful and don’t get dirty, dears,” their mother would always say. Once I followed that comment, after we had gone out of earshot, by telling them about how I often played with my friends in the mud at home. They stared at me as if I had confessed to robbing the bank, and were quite embarrassed by my revelation. They had only one ball in the house and it was a beach ball. I was a keen football player, and still am, but it was hopeless trying to play football with them. Even with the two of them against me by myself, I couldn’t help winning. It was obvious they were only playing out of politeness. They would go weakly for the ball and back off as soon as I had possession. We tried some chasing games, but they ran feebly and were all too easy to catch. Games like cowboys and Indians were completely out of the question, and hike and seek was not possible as they were not allowed in the wild part of the garden and they might get their clothes dirty while hiding. As a naturist I had an answer for that problem, but did not venture it. They had no swimming pool there, but as it was winter we could not have used it anyway. I soon found out that neither of them could even swim, a very rare shortcoming for anybody over the age of six in this country. Even when I did persuade them, when the sun was shining, to play Scrabble or whatever outside, we could not sit on the grass to play. Oh, no, we had to ask permission to borrow some small wooden chairs or mats they had to sit on. When I asked to go to the toilet, they looked at me, rather shocked that I should use such a rude word. It was always `the bathroom’ or `Please may I be excused’. The bathroom itself was so perfect I felt I would dirty it just by breathing in there, and the toilet itself was well hidden under a woolly seat cover. And when, on our second visit, Jenny wet her panties, there were two very embarrassed Fothergay parents, but they seemed to be embarrassed *for* us – afraid that *we* might feel humiliated by such a happening when with our lifestyle we weren’t in the slightest bit bothered. The only problem was that my mother had never thought to bring a spare pair of panties for Jenny, as when with any other family we knew she would have let her run around naked. After three visits I had had enough. I wanted to be rude to them and tell them how bored I was, but they were just too polite. I would have felt a real heel. Instead I just got irritable and they tried, ever so politely, to make other suggestions, and we even tried some more football and running games, but they were just hopeless. It was no fun catching people who smiled and ran at half pace and said, “Well done, Roy,” when I caught them, or “Good shot, Roy,” when they feebly tried to take the ball off me and I burst through to score my umpteenth goal. They didn’t even shout because their parents didn’t like it. It was impossible to dislike them because they were always so pleasant, so kind and thoughtful. But it was impossible to enjoy being with them, if that makes sense. When my parents told me we were about to make a fourth visit, I complained. They thought I was too young to be left on my own, but I begged to be allowed to go to my friends’ houses, as I often did while they were working. But they did not think it fair to their friends to inflict me on them at weekends as well as during the week. So off we went for the fourth time. Fortunately we had missed a week, as the previous weekend had been warm and sunny and it was warm enough then, even during the winter, to go on a picnic out in the countryside. At least my parents did – I went with Aunt Sue and Shelley to our naturist club. I think my parents too had been glad of an excuse to take a break from their friends, although they found some of their formal ways rather amusing. But the weather was unsettled again the following weekend, so when the invitation came, they couldn’t very well turn it down. The cold spell had put Aunt Sue into bed with flu, or I might have been able to spend the day with her instead of at the Fothergays’. We went dressed warmly in the cool weather. I was wearing my long trousers and the Fothergays dressed as usual. Andrew at least had given up wearing his tie now, but he wore a smart green shirt and long trousers, while Catherine wore a pink dress long enough to cover her knees. Things started off as usual. Catherine asked me in that smooth, distinct, plummy voice of hers, “Would you like to play Scrabble?” That seemed to be their favourite game. And we went as usual to the family room at the other side of the house from the lounge to play, while the adults talked and studied plans. Andrew said in his usual polite way, “We’re sorry you couldn’t come last weekend.” Catherine asked, “What did you do instead?” “The weather was good so I went out to our club with my aunt and cousin,” I explained. “What club is this?” Catherine asked. “It’s a – a family club,” I explained, and then stopped without offering any more detail. “A family club?” She looked interested. “What sort of things do you do there?” “Well, we – play games together and swim and have competitions and – just have fun,” I answered. “It’s just such a great place, with trees and a pool and a river and so much to do.” I was perhaps deliberately emphasising that in contrast to the little we had to do at their house. “Are there other children there?” asked Andrew. “Yes, plenty,” I answered. “I wonder if our family could join,” suggested Catherine. “We’d love to go out at the weekend sometimes and we want to meet more people. We still don’t know many people in this country.” I suddenly realised that the little I had said was probably too much. I was afraid they might be offended at the idea of a naturist club, and even though they were boring they were also so polite that I didn’t want to do that. “I don’t – really think your family would like it,” I said. “Why not?” asked Catherine, puzzled and perhaps a little disappointed. I thought hard, but could think of no way to avoid telling them the truth. “Well, it’s – it’s actually a naturist club,” I told them. They stared at me. “What’s a naturist club?” they asked. “Well, I – it’s a – a place where people don’t have to wear clothes,” I stammered. “But please don’t tell your parents because they might think badly of us.” They both stared at me in astonishment. Then Catherine asked, “Do *you* go round naked – without clothes – too?” I suddenly decided I had nothing to be ashamed of. “Yes,” I replied defiantly. “We all do – at the club. We like it that way.” Andrew and Catherine stared at me again and then at each other. They gave each other a sort of a nod, as if passing a secret signal between them. I couldn’t read their thoughts at all. Then Catherine said to me, “Please excuse us for a minute. We just need to talk about something in private.” I nodded, and they slid off their chairs and slipped quietly out of their room and along the passage. I waited about two or three minutes, completely puzzled as to what they were talking about. Obviously it was something to do with what I had told them. I couldn’t imagine it was anything good. Were they deciding whether to tell their parents and see if they could have this horrible, rude boy removed from their house and their company? I couldn’t hear their voices at all. Then I heard their footsteps and they returned to the room. Catherine smiled politely at me and said, “Roy, instead of playing cards, would you like to play with us in the old cottage?” I was surprised and suspicious. “I thought you weren’t allowed down there?” I asked. “We’re allowed to go to the cottage now, but not to play in the overgrown part of the garden,” Catherine told me. “Daddy has made it all clean for us. Would you like to come?” This was obviously a departure from their prepared programme, and seemed to have come as a result of my startling revelation to them. It was most mysterious, and I wondered if they were playing some trick on me. Were they going to murder me down there? But they seemed so pure and innocent, and in any case, based on experience in other fields I’m sure I could have beaten them both up together if we had any problem, that I felt I could trust them a little bit. Something different and mysterious here would be far better than the normal boring programme they had for me. So I said, “Yes, all right,” but didn’t expect anything interesting. I could only wonder what they were up to as we went to the lounge and they waited in the doorway for their parents’ attention to ask permission. It was granted with the usual, “Be careful, then, and don’t get dirty, dears,” from their mother. “Do you want to take your jerseys off?” The sun was beginning to come out and warm everything up. They led me across the cultivated portion of lawn and along an old gravel path towards the cottage, which couldn’t be seen from the house. “We have a special game we play there and we thought you might like to play it as well,” said Catherine as we trudged down the path. I still could figure out no connection between what I had told them and their game at the cottage. “What game is this?” I asked, unable to restrain my curiosity. “We’ll show you when we get there,” Catherine replied with a quiet smile. I began to feel rather wary. It was actually a cottage with two floors. I hadn’t been inside before, but had seen it from the outside when Mr Fothergay had shown us around the property. We went in through the old front door. It was dark and gloomy inside, with the walls dull and the windows small. But the single large room had been made into a tool shed. “Daddy keeps all his tools in here,” Catherine explained. Needless to say, it was clean, swept and tidy, with everything exactly in place, or I’m sure the children wouldn’t have been allowed within twenty metres of it. Andrew shut the door behind us and bolted it. “That’s in case Mummy and Daddy come,” he told me. “But they never come in. They just call when they want us.” My suspicions began to solidify just very vaguely. At the back was a flight of stone steps leading up to the top floor. “Mummy and Daddy let us use it as a playroom,” Andrew explained as I followed them up the steps. “But we don’t usually take visitors here. Only special visitors.” To be classified as a `special’ visitor made me completely uncertain as to whether to feel honoured or more suspicious. At the top of the steps we came out in their playroom. It was much lighter upstairs, as it was also above the level of most of the trees. There was a bed by the window with a clean mattress on it, but no bedding. There were shelves built into the walls, which had been old but had now apparently been mended by Mr Fothergay. There were books and toys, best quality only of course, on those shelves. I looked around. The twins stood there, looking as if they were waiting for something to happen. So I asked, “What game are we playing?” Catherine took the lead again. “We like to come here sometimes and play with our toys,” she told me. “One of our games is called Doctors and Nurses.” She went over to a shelf and took a large Barbie doll. Then she took a clothed teddy bear and gave it to Andrew. “You can take one if you like,” she offered me. I didn’t, having grown out of teddy bears. “I’ll show you how we play,” she said. She sat down on a chair next to the bed and changed her voice to sound more like a grown-ups. “Good morning, Miss Zizzingi,” she said. “How are you today?” She looked up at me and explained in her normal voice, “I’m the doctor, you see.” Then she went on, in a different voice for the doll, “I’m not very well today, doctor. I have a pain.” The dialogue continued something like this. Doctor: Where is your pain? Doll: I don’t know. Doctor: Well, you must take off your clothes so I can examine you. (Doctor removes doll’s clothes and lays the naked doll, naturally without genitals, on the bed and examines her all over with fingers.) Doll, as doctor probes between legs: It hurts there, doctor. Doctor: I’m afraid it’s very serious. We’ll have to operate. At the same time Andrew was conducting a similar dialogue with his teddy bear, undressing it and examining it. He was less thorough than Catherine and finished first, if the talk of an operation was the end. Then he looked up at me and said, “Would you like to play, Roy?” “Well, I don’t play with toys any more,” I mumbled. The twins looked at each other. Then Catherine said rather hesitantly, “Sometimes we just play it with people.” She looked again at her brother, who gave a slight nod. Then she said to me, “Would you like us to show you?” “Yes, all right,” I said. My heart started fluttering a bit, as I began to get an idea of what this would involve. Yet common sense told me it was unbelievable with these two. When they still hesitated, I added, “It sounds good. Will you show me?” (To be continued) WHEN I WAS YOUNG (CHAPTER 6) Andrew and Catherine looked encouraged. Then Catherine said, “I’ll be the doctor first and Andrew will be the patient. Would you like to be the nurse? You can get boy nurses because I saw one at the hospital in England. It’s better when we have a nurse as well.” Nursing was considered very much a female job in this country, but I gathered England was different. “All right,” I said. “But you’ll have to tell me what to do.” “Just stand over here to start with,” instructed Catherine, pointing to a spot about two metres from the bed. “Now I’m the doctor and I’m sitting at my desk.” She sat on her chair again and pretended to be writing. Andrew shot me a slightly embarrassed look and went round the bed head. He knocked on the wall with a couple of dull thumps. “Come in,” instructed Catherine in her doctor’s voice. Andrew came round and stood in front of her. “Good morning, Mr Guildford,” Catherine greeted him. “What can I do for you today? I mean, how are you today, Mr Guildford?” “Doctor, I have a pain,” mumbled Andrew, looking uncomfortable. “Where is your pain?” came Catherine’s doctor’s voice. “I don’t know, it’s too sore,” replied Andrew. “Well, take your clothes off and I’ll have to examine you,” Catherine told him. “I can’t, it’s too sore,” answered Andrew. “Well, we’ll have to help you,” said Catherine in a businesslike way. “Nurse, can you help the patient take off his shoes and socks, please.” Still feeling bewildered, I obediently knelt down and undid Andrew’s shoelaces, and he stepped out of his shoes one by one. Then I reached up his trouser leg and took off his socks in turn. At the same time Catherine was unbuttoning his shirt. My heart was thumping madly as I realised that what I suspected looked like coming true. But surely – I found it incredible, after suffering the orthodox formality of these two for over a month now. Andrew stood there with a shy grin on his face as Catherine removed his shirt and then his vest. Although he had a rather stocky build, he was not at all muscular, no doubt due to his family’s restrictive lifestyle, and was just well padded rather than fat. His upper torso was a very pale colour, as were his legs, I had noticed when I removed his socks. Probably they had never seen the light of the sun. “Now your trousers, sir,” said Catherine, kneeling down to undo the buckle at the front. Then she undid all the buttons, revealing plain white old-fashioned underpants underneath. She pulled down the trousers and he obediently stepped out of them. The final stripping did not come just yet. “Now please lie down on the bed, sir,” Catherine requested him. With a sheepish grin, Andrew sat down on the side of the bed and swung his legs round and up. Catherine pretended to use a stethoscope to sound out Andrew’s body. She began with his neck and chest, touching a spot and asking, “Is it there?” To which he would grin and reply, “No.” She moved lower and lower until she reached the waistline of his underpants. Then she put her hand right on his genitals and asked, “Is it there? Does this hurt?” “Ow! Yes!” groaned Andrew, still grinning sheepishly and stealing glances at me. “Then we’ll have to take a look at it,” she said. She put her fingers on the crotch of his underpants and started feeling. “Ow, ow!” groaned Andrew in great agony, still with the grin on his face. Then Catherine slipped her hand under the waist of Andrew’s underpants and slid it right in. “I can feel something down here,” she said. “We’ll have to operate. Nurse, please pass me my scalpel.” I pretended to hand it over. “Now we must open you up,” she said. She took hold of Andrew’s underpants by the waist and began to slide them off. Andrew’s penis came into view, lying peacefully on its back. He had just the sort of penis that I would have expected, small and neat, without being too small. Yes, it was larger that that of my present friend Scott, if readers are wondering. It tapered off with his foreskin neatly over the end. A tiny little pink wrinkled bag of testicles lay underneath. Catherine pulled his underpants off over his feet, leaving him lying flat on his back on the bed, stark naked. Half an hour earlier, I would never have imagined I would ever see a sight like this. “Feel this, nurse,” Catherine said, pointing to her brother’s penis, “and tell me what you think.” I looked at Andrew. His big brown eyes were looking back at me and he was still grinning. I reached out hesitantly for his penis, expecting at any moment for him to tell me to stop. But he didn’t, so I took it between my fingers. It was soft and limp and cool. “It feels bad, doctor,” I said. “Good. I mean, we’ll have to take it out,” said Catherine, with almost a giggle at her slip of the tongue. “Let’s see if I can pull it out.” She took hold of his penis and pulled. “It won’t come off,” she said. She kept shaking it, almost kneading it with her hands, and it started to stiffen. “Oh, dear, it’s getting more swollen,” she said. “Now we’ll really have to take it out. Nurse, will you fetch some water from the next room, please.” I went through the door into the next room, where I found a small bathroom. I went to the washbasin, picked up a large bowl, filled it with water and took it back to Catherine. “We must wash the patient first, nurse,” she said. She poured a little water from the bowl on top of Andrew’s penis, the cold making him shudder and chuckle. Then she started washing his genitals while he lay there grinning, even pulling back his foreskin to expose a little pink prepuce. “Would you like to help, nurse?” she asked. With a bit of water on my hands, I moved next to her to help. I lifted those little testicles and washed underneath, feeling the soft wrinkled skin under my fingers, and those two tiny oval objects within. Andrew chuckled and wriggled, indicating a ticklish spot. “Now we’re ready to operate,” announced Catherine. “My scalpel, please, nurse.” For the second time I handed the imaginary implement to her. The mattress was somewhat damp, a remarkable lapse by two such tidy children. But I had now realised that things were not as they seemed to be. Catherine lifted her hands high above her head and brought down her hands on his penis in a dramatic gesture. Her hands worked back and forth in a frenzy and Andrew burst into laughter, kicking his legs up and wriggling from side to side. “I’m ticklish there!” he gasped. “Nurse, we forgot the anesthetic,” Catherine said to me. “I gave him laughing gas, doctor,” I smiled, and they both chuckled. “Nurse, please hold his legs down,” asked Catherine as she resumed operating. I pushed down hard on Andrew’s ankles as he wriggled and giggled and chuckled. “There, that’s opened him up,” said Catherine shortly, standing back to admire her handiwork. Andrew was still chuckling, his stiff little penis standing up almost straight like a stalk, it seemed. From my vantage point at the foot of the bed, I could see the pink skin and scrotum between his legs. “Now we cut it off,” announced Catherine. Andrew was no longer wriggling, so I came round the side, to see that his penis was now pointing almost towards his chin. Catherine took it in one hand and made sawing movements with the other. Andrew cried out in simulated pain. “He needs more laughing gas,” I said, taking the initiative. I put my fingers under his testicles, feeling those little oval balls against my hand, and tickled just as Catherine had done. Andrew broke into chuckles again, but I stopped quickly so as not to spoil Catherine’s work. “There, it’s off now,” Catherine announced, holding up an imaginary penis with her fingers. “Now we wash him again, nurse.” Again the water, the massaging, the tickling and the laughter. When we finished, Catherine imitated stitching him up and then said, “Now we wait and see if it heals.” We watched in fascination as Andrew’s penis slowly shrank and returned to its normal shape. After a minute or two, it was once again flopping back limply on his loins. “Operation successful,” announced Catherine with a smile, reaching out to pull the foreskin back over the prepuce as it was still rolled up. “How do you feel now, Mr Guildford?” Grinning, Andrew sat up, massaging his genitals. “Great, thanks, doctor,” he said, climbing off the bed. My heart was still thumping madly. Of course I had been so familiar over the previous year with the nudity of Aunt Sue, Shelley and other families, children as well as adults, at the club, but this was the first time I had come across any games involving the genitals. I was fascinated and a wild excitement was bubbling within me. The twins turned to me, a little anxiously. “Did you like that?” they asked me. “That’s great!” I replied. “You – your penis is nice, Andrew,” I added, trying awkwardly to be polite. “My what?” he asked, puzzled. Rather presumptuously, I took hold of his penis and explained to him that this was the proper name. Juggling his testicles while they both watched closely, I named those as well. Then I slid back his foreskin for a moment and told him what that was. Those were all the words I knew at that age. Slowly and thoughtfully, they repeated them. “Mummy and Daddy *never* told us *those* words,” said Catherine emphatically. “And I don’t think Rebecca knows them.” “Who’s Rebecca?” I asked. “She’s our biggest friend here,” Catherine answered. “Her parents are very good friends of ours. She taught us how to play this game. We play it every time she comes but this is the first time we’ve ever played it with anyone else.” I felt honoured. Andrew was slipping back into his clothes, the end of his penis getting stuck under the waistline of his underpants before it disappeared from view. Then Catherine asked me, “Would you like a turn now, Roy?” “Yes!” I blurted out, trying unsuccessfully not to sound too enthusiastic. “Please,” I added, in deference to the company. “You can be my patient and Andrew will be the nurse this time,” said Catherine. “Now, Mr – Mr London, what seems to be the trouble?” I was into it as easily as that. “I’ve got a pain,” I said. We went through the usual lines until Catherine told me to take off my clothes for examination and I replied that it was too sore. While Andrew removed my shoes and socks, I put up my arms and let Catherine pull my shirt off over my head. I did not wear a vest and never have, even in cooler weather. “You’ve got big muscles, Roy – I mean, Mr London,” she said, looking at my chest in admiration. “And such a good sun tan.” Then she undid my buckle and pulled down my zip, making visible my white underpants. She pulled down, I stepped out, and there I was before them wearing only my underpants, which were rather scantier than Andrew’s. “Now please lie down on the bed, sir,” said Catherine. Obediently I sat on the bed and swung my legs up, feeling as if my body was tingling all over with the excitement. Then Catherine took her invisible stethoscope and began examining my body, asking all the time if that hurt, to which I always replied, “No.” She took a longer time working her way down my body than she had with Andrew’s, perhaps because she was more shy with me. Finally she put her fingers on my underpants, not quite on my penis but close to it, and asked, “Does this hurt?” “Ow! Yes!” I exclaimed, clutching at my genitals with my hands, and I think for a moment they both thought I really was hurt. After a short pause Catherine said in a nervous voice, “We’ll have to take a look at it.” She held her hands over the area but seemed to lack the courage to pull down my underpants. Andrew came to her rescue. “Doctor, I think I can see a hole here,” he said, pointing at my underpants. As I was wearing long trousers in the cool weather, I was wearing underpants with a slit in the front, to make urination easier when one has to unzip a fly rather than merely stick a penis out through the leg of a pair of shorts. Andrew was wearing the same sort. “Well, we’d better see what’s inside here,” muttered Catherine, not very confidently. She plucked up her courage and opened the hole. “Ooh, that looks nasty,” she said. “Pull it out, doctor,” encouraged Andrew cheekily. After a moment’s pause, Catherine said, “All right,” stretched out her fingers and pulled my penis out through the hole. I shuddered with excitement as I felt her soft fingers pulling it gently. My penis has always been about average size with no unusual features, although it has picked up almost as much of a suntan as the rest of me. At that age it was still quite hairless, of course, a little larger than Andrew’s but very ordinary-looking. This was actually the first time I could remember anyone else touching it deliberately (now and then we get accidental knocks at the naturist club, of course) since my mother used to clean me up at times when I was younger after I had been playing in the mud or the sand. Catherine quickly dropped it, so that it lay half in and half out of the slit in my underpants. “This looks very nasty,” she said, finally managing to revert to her doctor’s voice. “Mr London, I’m afraid we’re going to have to take that out.” Then she stopped, nervous of going any further. “I think we’ll have to open up the patient first, doctor,” prompted Andrew, motioning towards my underpants. “Would you like me to do that?” “Yes, thank you, nurse,” replied Catherine with relief. But she watched with fascination as Andrew slowly pulled off my underpants, causing my penis to slither back through the hole and bob out the other side. Then she plucked up her courage and took hold of my penis, pulling it straight upwards. “It won’t come off,” she said, dropping it again quickly. “We’ll have to cut it out. Water, please, nurse.” Andrew duly obliged with a bowl of water, and between them they washed me. I shivered with a sort of pleasure as I felt their wet hands massaging my penis and testicles, rubbing them gently with their fingers and no doubt also enjoying the sensation. My penis began to stiffen slightly. Andrew tried to tickle me under the scrotum and I wriggled a bit, but I was not as ticklish there as he. Catherine, looking slightly red in the face, dared to pull back my foreskin and wash underneath. I found it very ticklish, and wriggled and laughed, much to their pleasure. The sun came out, pouring in through the window on to the bed and making my wet penis shine in its light. Catherine asked for the scalpel, and then, holding my penis upright with one hand, she pretended to cut with the other. It only took a moment for her to decide that it was off. Then came some more water and some more frisking as she stitched before she finally announced that it was over. “How do you feel now, Mr London?” she asked, turning to look at me. I realised that it was the first time she had actually looked me in the face since she started the operation. I lifted my thighs slightly and pushed my genitals down with my hands. Then I closed my thighs tightly so that they disappeared underneath. “It looks to have all gone, thank you, doctor,” I said, while they both giggled, Catherine hand to mouth. “I wonder if I can do that,” grinned Andrew. He quickly pulled his trousers down to his knees, pulled his underpants down halfway and pushed his penis and testicles down between his thighs, which he pressed together. They promptly disappeared. “Look, I’ve turned into a girlie,” he chuckled. I got off the bed and retrieved my clothes while Andrew replaced his. I was just shaking my underpants straight to put them on again when Andrew said, “Would you like to be doctor now, Roy?” I had anticipated it, but my heart suddenly started thumping wildly. “Yes, please,” I replied, trying to keep calm. “Catherine, it’s your turn to be the patient,” Andrew said. I could sense Catherine was a bit uncertain about this. “Let Roy choose who he wants as a patient,” she said, obviously hoping I would prefer Andrew. “Roy, who would you like as a patient?” “Er . . .” I began, pulling up my underpants, and then, with the thought of examining Catherine, I unexpectedly felt I was going to burst. I had to jab my hand into my underpants and grip my penis hurriedly before I wet my underpants. I doubled over and gasped, “Ooh, I need the toilet.” Still crouched, I headed through the door into the bathroom. “Roy, I’m afraid it doesn’t work in there, the – er – bathroom,” Catherine called after me. “We have to go into the house when we need to be excused.” I couldn’t wait that long. I hobbled out again, still holding my penis inside my underpants as I could feel it trying to pump. I shot down the stairs. “Roy, you can’t go like that, without your clothes on!” exclaimed Catherine. “We’ll get into such trouble!” I heard Andrew shout a warning. I had no intention of going back to the house. On the ground floor I threw open the back door, remembering that there was a hedge behind it and nobody was likely to see me. I burst out, faced the wall, pulled down my underpants and let fly. Andrew and Catherine, with alarm written on their faces, burst out of the door to see me urinating with great relief. “Roy!” Catherine exclaimed in shock, although what I was doing then was less shocking than what we had all been doing a few minutes ago. “You can’t do that – outside!” “I often do,” I assured her. “It doesn’t really matter, as long as you don’t let a grown-up see you who doesn’t like it.” They both looked stunned as I shook my penis dry and stuffed it back into my underpants. “I’m ready now,” I said, leading the way back inside. “Wait a minute,” said Andrew. He looked furtively around. “Let me try,” he breathed nervously. All we could see was the green of the hedges and the trees. It was quite secluded, but Andrew was still not used to it. Standing close to the wall and facing it, he fumbled with the buttons on his trousers. It was awkward and he didn’t want to pull them down any further when out in the open, so he stopped halfway. I could see his little penis poking out, pointing upwards. Nothing happened for a few seconds as he tried to get used to unaccustomed surroundings. Then came a little spurt of urine, describing a graceful arc upwards and then down until it hit the wall about halfway down. As he was shaking his penis dry, Andrew asked me, “Who would you like as your patient, Roy?” “Well, it’s Catherine’s turn now,” I said, smiling at her hopefully. “If she’ll play with me.” She went slightly red and said nothing. “Would you like to be my patient, please, Catherine?” I asked, speaking their language. She hesitated, and then nodded her head nervously. Back upstairs, I soon discovered there was a change of script. “How are you today, Miss Pink?” I asked her, a reference to her pink dress. “I’m having a baby, doctor,” she whispered, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. I was wondering what to say next when she added, “I keep getting pains. She’s ready to be born now.” “Oh,” I said. “Well, we’d – better get you ready then.” As Andrew removed her shoes and socks, I unbuttoned her dress, realising that I didn’t even know what kind of underwear she wore. I had not yet reached the stage of noting flashes of panties regularly but I did notice at times with girls. But I had never noticed Catherine’s panties, probably also because she was so ladylike that I never had a chance. Her skirts always covered the knees and she never did the things like sitting on the lawn or sitting on a chair with her legs apart or jumping around playing games or any of the other things that so often reveal a girl’s panties. I unbuttoned her dress to reveal a white vest underneath. Then, when Andrew had finished, I slipped the dress off her shoulders and down to her feet. She was wearing soft panties, a very pale purple in colour, with the outline of a large white flower embroidered on the front. She stepped out of her dress and then I removed her vest. All the time she was trying to smile but her pink cheeks gave away her embarrassment. Her chest was still flat, although her little nipples were a prominent darkish pink colour. “Now please lie down on the bed, Miss Pink – I mean, Mrs Pink,” I invited her, which she did. I did not waste any time, but immediately ran the stethoscope over her stomach and the front of her panties. Then I put my hand flat on her panties, just below the waist, to see what they felt like. They were smooth and quite tight, and I could feel the stitches that made up the flower and her firm flesh underneath. “I can feel the baby in there,” I announced. “Yes, it’s ready to be born. I can feel it coming.” “She’s a she, not an it,” Catherine corrected me. As if postponing the magic moment, I slid my hand under the waistline of her panties and downwards. I felt her smooth soft skin and then my fingers touched the rounded valley of her vagina. She giggled nervously and wriggled. “The baby’s coming now,” she said. “It’s going to be very sore,” I said. “We’ll have to take a closer look.” So saying, I moved round to level with her knees, put my fingers under the elastic of her panties at either side and pulled. Her loins came into view, flat and smooth. I could see her hipbones making little lumps under her skin on either side. Then came her little flat vagina, slightly rounded and open at the top – buttonhole vaginas I later called them – curving away between her legs. As I pulled her panties down she opened her legs a bit and I could see the soft pink skin underneath her vagina. I wasn’t sure what to do next, but Andrew was ready with his advice. “I’m a midwife – I mean a midhusband,” he chuckled. “So I can help you. We need to get her legs apart so the baby can come.” I pushed Catherine’s knees apart and made her legs straddle the bed. Her vagina opened up and I could see something white coming down from the top. “You must wash her first,” advised Andrew, who had the water ready. “Please don’t pour it on me,” begged Catherine. “You might drown the baby.” So I dipped my hands in the bowl and then placed them on her vagina. “That’s cold,” she giggled, wriggling. “I’ll have to warm you up, then,” I said, working my fingers gently over her vagina as she giggled quietly. I moved them down to the loose skin between her legs. “Ooh, that tickles,” she squealed as I worked my fingers gently backwards and forwards. I could feel the skin moving under my fingers and wobbling as I felt something firmer underneath. Catherine laughed and wriggled so enticingly that I could feel my penis hardening inside my trousers. “Now you have to look inside and see the baby,” said Andrew. He demonstrated briefly. Awed, I did the same. I put my fingers on either side of Catherine’s vagina and spread it apart. It was all pink inside, and looked like one fold of dark pink flesh on top of another. I stared at it, penis throbbing, until I heard Andrew say, “Is it coming, doctor?” “Yes, it’s coming,” I answered. “Now you have to get the baby out,” Andrew instructed me. “How do I do that?” I asked. “I’ll feel it first and then you can get it out,” he said. He stuck his forefinger into the bowl of water and then leaned over his sister. I watched in astonishment as he put his finger between her legs and pushed it into her vagina. I already knew, in general terms, how adults have sex with each other, but it had never occurred to me that someone could put a finger up the same place. “Doesn’t that hurt?” I asked Catherine, using my normal voice in shock. “It did at first, but my skin’s used to it now,” she replied, also in her normal voice. Then she remembered who she was supposed to be and said in Mrs Pink’s voice, “The baby’s coming now, doctor, and I know that will hurt.” “You must get the baby out now,” said Andrew, withdrawing his finger. My heart thumping, I dipped my finger in the water and then pushed it against Catherine’s vagina. I felt very much afraid, sure that even touching that dark pink flesh inside would hurt her. I felt something hard against the top of my finger, and as I touched it Catherine gave a kind of purr and shuddered, smiling. But nothing else happened. “You have to push harder,” Andrew told me. I pushed harder and felt the flesh give under my finger. Then suddenly I was in. My finger suddenly felt very warm, sticky and squeezed. I felt the flesh tightly sucking at my finger, and in a panic, afraid I had done some awful damage to Catherine, I pulled it out again. “No, you must keep it in longer and then pull out the baby,” Andrew said. I tried again, pushing at the right spot and then finding my finger going in as it had done before. I kept it there this time, amazed at the warmth and the suction but terrified at what I was doing. “Can you feel the baby?” Andrew prompted me. “Yes, it’s coming,” I said, feeling almost dizzy with the excitement and the almost dreamlike thing I was doing. “Pull your finger in and out,” Andrew advised, putting his finger next to mine and showing me. So I pulled, and then when I felt it was about to come out I pushed again until I felt my finger stop. I heard Catherine purr again. She had her eyes closed, a gentle smile on her face and she was going “Mmmmm!” She obviously liked it, which I found hard to believe. “It’s coming,” I said, and then pulled my finger out. It still felt almost squashed and it was sticky and moist. “Ow ow ow!” said Catherine, as part of the script. “It’s out now,” Andrew advised me. “Mrs Pink, you have a lovely baby daughter,” I said, as Andrew handed me a naked doll, naturally without genital parts. I handed it to Catherine and she cuddled it to her breast. I sat down, panting for breath. I felt a bit dizzy after all that excitement. “That was great,” I said. “How did you learn this game?” “Rebecca taught us,” Andrew said. And they began to tell me all about Rebecca. (To be continued) WHEN I WAS YOUNG (CHAPTER 7) “We all came over here last year to see what the country was like,” Catherine told me, as she started to get dressed again. “Rebecca’s dad said he could get my dad a very good job here, so we all came over and stayed with them for two weeks.” “Rebecca’s eleven,” Andrew put in. “Well, she’s twelve now. And she has a little brother called Gary who’s – er – he’ll be five now, I think.” “We had to share rooms,” said Catherine. “I shared with Rebecca and Andrew shared with Gary.” “Catherine and I had never even seen each other naked before then,” said Andrew with a chuckle. “Mummy and Daddy are very strict about things like that – and other things as well.” So I’d noticed. “We’d hardly ever seen other children naked either,” Catherine said in a muffled voice as she slipped her dress on over her head. “Rebecca’s family have a swimming pool, but we didn’t swim because we don’t know how, and we don’t like it very much. But Rebecca’s family were all swimming. And Rebecca was wearing a bikini instead of a proper swimming costume.” “And Gary just changed into his swimming costume by the side of the pool there with his mother,” put in Andrew. “We could see – everything, and none of them tried to hide it. We thought it was terribly rude.” “I don’t remember ever seeing a boy bare before,” said Catherine. “Mummy and Daddy didn’t like it either. We felt so bad we went up to our bedrooms. Then after they had finished swimming Rebecca came in wearing her bikini and started taking it off with me right in front of me! I thought this was so rude too. Mummy and Daddy have always told us to go somewhere private if we can when we change. Not even in front of other girls. “So I told her she should go into the bathroom and change,” Catherine continued. “And she got cross and said she didn’t care. We had an argument and I said it was even worse when Gary changed out next to the pool. Then she said, `It doesn’t matter at all. I bet you and Andrew have seen each other’s wees often enough.’ So I told her we had never seen each other naked at all and we always kept very private because that was right. Then she told me we were very silly and it didn’t matter with your family and friends.” “She’d finished changing then and had the bedroom door open to go out,” Andrew butted in. “I heard them arguing, so I went to see what it was all about. The first thing she said to me was, `Andrew, have you ever seen your sister’s wee?’ I thought she was so rude!” “You should have seen Andrew’s face,” smiled Catherine. She hardly ever giggled, except politely at jokes, and neither did Andrew. I suppose their parents had knocked it out of them. “He was so shocked. He just said, `Of course not! I’m not a rude boy!’“ “Then she went and sat on her bed as she talked to us,” said Andrew. “She had one leg up and I could see her panties. Catherine never does that. Mummy always makes her sit straight and keep her legs together. Until then I don’t think I ever saw her panties up her dress or anything because Mummy always made her sit properly. So I thought Rebecca was being very clumsy and careless.” Catherine had finished dressing now and she sat down on the bed on the other side of me, exactly as she had been taught, with her legs neatly together. “So Rebecca asked us if we weren’t ever curious about what each other looked like,” she said. “So we said we weren’t really. But now she said that, we began to wonder.” “I felt a bit excited inside,” admitted Andrew. “But I thought it was very, very naughty. And she said to us, `You two need to find out. Why don’t you have a bath together?’“ “And I told her Mummy and Daddy would never, *never* allow us to do that,” continued Catherine. “So she said, `Well, they can’t see you now, so just show each other quickly. Then at least you’ll know.’“ “Then I got cross, because I wanted to do it, but I was too afraid we would get into trouble,” grinned Andrew. “So I told her that people didn’t like it and she wouldn’t like it either if I wanted to see her naked. And she said, `I don’t mind. I’ll show you mine if you promise to show me yours as well. Do you promise?’ And I was really surprised, so I just said yes without thinking.” “So she showed him,” said Rebecca. She didn’t explain how, but I presume she just pulled her panties aside to reveal her vagina. “But Andrew didn’t want to show her his.” “It felt too bad,” he said, going a little red in the face. “I was so afraid of getting into trouble. But she said to me, `You promised, and if you break your promise I’ll tell your parents.’ So I had to do it.” “So he undid his trousers and showed her,” said Catherine. “But he did it very quickly and he had his hand in my way so I couldn’t see it.” “Then Catherine got jealous because Rebecca had seen it and I hadn’t,” grinned Andrew. “And she told me to show her but I told her I had promised Rebecca but not her. So she told me that if I showed her, then she would show me hers. And so we did. But we both felt really bad about it.” “Rebecca really got excited about seeing Andrew’s wee,” Catherine said. “When we were in bed that night she asked me all sorts of questions – Are you sure you never saw his wee before? Have you ever seen a boy’s wee before? Then she would say it was the most handsome wee she had ever seen, and things like that.” “Next day she invited me into her bedroom with Catherine and locked the door,” said Andrew. “She told me she had this lovely game called Doctors and Nurses. But when we found out we had to take our clothes off, we wouldn’t play because we still felt too bad. And we were so afraid our parents would find out.” “Then she said she would tell about yesterday if we didn’t play it with her,” continued Catherine. “But Catherine thought quickly and said we might play, but not that day, and if she told tales then we’d never be able to play the game,” put in Andrew. “So she didn’t. And we hoped she might forget, but she didn’t. We kept saying another day, but we were afraid she would get tired of it and tell.” “We began to feel better after a few days when our parents didn’t find out,” said Catherine. “And it sounded such an interesting game and Rebecca made it sound so exciting. So we talked about it and decided we would try it. But we were still scared at first, so we told Rebecca we’d play tomorrow. She made us promise. So the next day when our parents were all busy we went up to her room and we played it.” “It was so exciting but we felt so bad,” grinned Andrew. “We were scared again. But nobody found out, and we played it for the last time the day before we left.” “Then when we came here this year Rebecca came round with her family, and straight away she said this cottage would be a perfect place to play our game,” said Catherine. “And Gary is a bit noisy, so Mummy and Daddy are very happy for us to play out here. You’re very quiet, Roy, except when you’re outside on the lawn, and there’s nowhere else for you to play ball or run, so they can’t send you anywhere else. But they did ask us to try and make you stay inside because you’re so quiet.” That’s because I was so bored, I thought. “And when you said you went to this – this club where people don’t wear clothes, we knew we could play this game with you and you wouldn’t tell about us.” “So every time Rebecca comes we come out here and play this game,” smiled Andrew. “She says she’s got a new game to teach us next time.” My heart began to beat rapidly again. “When’s she coming next?” I asked. “Tomorrow afternoon,” answered Catherine. “Would you like to come as well?” “Yes,” I blurted out. “Yes, please,” remembering their language. “If – if she doesn’t mind me coming.” “She won’t mind,” Catherine assured me. “I’ll tell her about your club and that we played the game today, and she won’t mind.” We left the cottage, with my heart pounding furiously. “Race you back!” suddenly called Andrew, in another remarkable character change, and set off down the path at a slow run. In a second I had overtaken him and ran back to the house at full speed. I arrived to see the Fothergay parents staring out from the lounge in startled surprise. Looking back, I saw the twins walking sedately along the path, smiling. As soon as they arrived, Mrs Fothergay was up and talking to them. “Andrew, Catherine, I hope you weren’t running, because I’ve told you before not to run on the path,” she said seriously. “You might fall and cut your knees.” “No, Mummy, we weren’t,” Catherine assured her. Then she said, “Mummy, please may Roy come round tomorrow and meet Rebecca?” Her mother looked rather taken aback. “Well – goodness me, I – we’ll have to talk to Roy’s parents about that,” she said. “That will make five children here,” her father broke in, looking appalled at the prospect. “It will be noisy enough as it is.” “Daddy, we promise we’ll go down to the cottage and stay there all afternoon,” Andrew said pleadingly. His father hesitated, and then said, “Well, we might consider it as long as you keep well away, all of you. We don’t want any noise, especially on Sunday afternoon.” The twins smiled and started to thank him, but my mother, expecting my reluctance and supporting it, broke in with, “I think Roy had something planned for tomorrow afternoon, actually, didn’t you, Roy?” To her surprise I answered, “Not really, Mum. I’d like to come and meet Rebecca.” As soon as we had driven out of their gate on the way home, my parents asked me the reason for my sudden change of heart. “Well, the cottage is quite fun and they hadn’t taken me there before,” I answered. “And Rebecca sounds really exciting. She’s very interested in wild life and she has some great books.” This last part wasn’t true, but I used my own interest in wild life as an excuse. My father kindly brought me back the following afternoon, as close to two o’clock as possible as he knew the Fothergays worshipped punctuality. The morning had been dull but at about lunchtime the sun came out and began to shine warmly. Spring was certainly on the way now. I arrived before Rebecca, by which time the weather was quite hot, certainly warm enough for the naturist club. “Those people are always late,” frowned Mr Fothergay, as if it were as repulsive a habit as spitting. I waited impatiently with the twins for her arrival. Finally, about fifteen minutes late, Rebecca arrived with her mother. There was a small boy and another girl in the car with her. “Sorry – in a rush as usual,” her mother called out cheerfully through the car window as the children scrambled out. “Hope you don’t mind Rebecca’s friend Lauren coming as well – she’s been staying with us this weekend. See you at five!” So saying, she backed the car out at high speed. The Fothergay parents looked at each other in some degree of distaste. “That makes six,” I heard the father say almost in horror. “They could have asked if we minded taking an extra one,” complained her mother. In the meantime I was studying the children. It was obvious which one was Rebecca as she was the one the twins greeted first. Being twelve years old, she was quite a bit taller than the rest of us, slightly plump. She had a broad freckled face with green eyes and shortish hair with quite a bit of ginger in it, cut in what I think is called page-boy style. She was wearing a pink and white checked shirt and a bright red skirt that came down just over halfway to her knees. She caught my eye and gave me a glare. Then she turned and forced a smile for the twins as she greeted them. The twins were as perfectly mannered as ever, especially under their parents’ eyes. They obviously had met Lauren before, but Andrew still put his hand out to shake the surprised girl’s hand and Catherine smiled and said, “We’re very pleased to see you again, Lauren.” Lauren was a little smaller and thinner than Rebecca, and I thought she looked quite pretty, with her smooth quiet face and light brown hair hanging neatly down over her shoulders. She was wearing a sky-blue top with the midriff showing and a short tight skirt in the same colour. I could already sense the disapproval of Mr and Mrs Fothergay at such a lascivious display of flesh. “Come and meet our friend Roy,” Andrew invited them politely, leading them over to where I was standing. He began introducing them all but in the middle the little boy could keep quiet no longer. “My name’s Gary,” he piped up. “I like cars.” I grinned down at him. He was actually much better-looking than his sister, I thought, with light freckles around his nose but a clearer skin. He had fair hair, brushed down in a fringe, and lively greenish-blue eyes. He was wearing a red shirt and loose dark blue shorts. He began talking again loudly before the introductions were finished, and the girls shushed him up good-naturedly. Then Mrs Fothergay, no doubt sensing her husband’s irritation, said, “Teatime is at four o’clock, children. Would you like to go down to the cottage and play there now?” The twins were as eager as ever, and so was Gary, but I sensed a simmering resentment from Rebecca. The twins led the way down the path with Rebecca and Lauren close behind, while Gary skipped along behind next to me. As soon as we were off the lawn he called out, “Are we going to play that game again?” “Quiet, Gary!” Rebecca hushed him, turning around, afraid the Fothergay parents might hear. But they had already gone inside. “No, we’re *not* going to play that game.” She turned back to the twins. “What did you invite a *boy* for?” she demanded crossly, but quite quietly, not wanting me to hear. I could hear every word, though. “It’s our private game, just for us!” “Well, you brought Lauren here, and we don’t mind,” protested Catherine, looking rather upset. “Lauren’s played the game before,” retorted Rebecca. “She’s played with me.” “Roy’s played with us,” answered Catherine anxiously. “He played yesterday and he was very good.” “Rebecca, Roy’s a – a – he goes to a special club,” Andrew put in. “It’s a club where people do everything without any clothes on. When he told us that, we knew he’d be a good person to play our game with. And he was. We can trust him, Rebecca.” “He’s a *boy*!” Rebecca said in a tone of disgust. “We can’t play the game with *boys*, can we, Lauren?” “No,” answered Lauren anxiously, shaking her head. Catherine’s large brown eyes filled with tears. “But Andrew’s a boy! But Rebecca, Roy was so good we thought you’d like having him,” she protested. “Please try. We thought it would be such a good day.” Andrew put in helpfully, “He might tell about us if we don’t let him play.” Rebecca came to a halt, scowled and looked thoughtful. Then she turned back and looked at me. “What sort of club is this you belong to?” she demanded. “It’s a naturist club,” I told her. “I go there almost every weekend, only the weather isn’t good enough at the moment. There are a whole lot of us who just enjoy doing things and having fun without clothes. It’s so free, and nobody worries about people seeing their bodies or anything. That’s why I enjoyed your game so much. I think it’s the most exciting game – like this - I’ve ever played. I think you had a great idea.” A bit of flattery might help, I thought. “Let’s go to the cottage,” interrupted Gary. “I want to play.” He looked up at me. “Do you want to see my wee?” he asked. The others all laughed. “Just wait till we get inside, Gary,” Rebecca smiled at him. Then she turned to me again. “Are there any girls at this naturist place?” she asked. “Of course, plenty of girls,” I told her. “All ages. I know three of them who are twelve, like you. I wish you could all come as well, because you’d enjoy it so much. But your parents wouldn’t let you.” “I wouldn’t want any boys looking at my body,” Rebecca said firmly. “Nobody looks at our bodies in any rude way,” I told her. “Nobody looks much at all. We’re all so used to it. Your game’s so exciting because it’s so unusual for me, and it’s such fun.” I wondered if I had said the right thing. “I was Catherine’s patient last time and she was so much fun. That was the best part,” I added, eager to give the impression that I wasn’t in it just to ogle the girls. “Rebecca, please let him play,” begged Catherine politely. Rebecca stood there in indecision for a few moments. Clearly they could not play without me, under the circumstances. If they did not include me, they would not be able to play at all, and Rebecca was clearly very excited about her game. “I’ll let you play under one condition,” she finally told me, and then paused. “I’m the doctor first, and you’re the patient. All right?” “Sure, that would be great,” I smiled, showing great eagerness to expose myself to her ministries and win her acceptance. “Gee, thanks, Rebecca! I’m having first turn, Gary,” I told him excitedly, as he was jumping up and down and insisting that he should be first. Rebecca looked slightly taken aback, as if that was a response she hadn’t expected, but the deal had been made. “You can be next after Roy,” she told her brother. “Yippee!” exclaimed Gary, jumping up and down and clutching his shorts. “May we start now, Rebecca?” “We’ll start when we get inside,” Rebecca smiled at him, and I got the impression she was normally a very pleasant girl. Her only problem was that she hadn’t trusted me, and I’m sure she still didn’t quite. We entered the door of the cottage and Catherine bolted it behind us. Gary headed for the stairs and shot up. The rest of us followed. I was in the rear and I could see just above me Lauren’s slim, shapely legs as she climbed the stairs. I thought for a second she was wearing no panties, but then I realised that she was wearing a very small pair that had mostly got stuck into the crack of her bottom. The material was very thin, except in the gusset, and I could easily see the colour of her flesh through it. By the time I arrived at the top, Gary was already half undressed, flinging his clothes all over the room. The others smiled indulgently at him and he obviously enjoyed all the attention. Off came his blue shorts and then his sturdy little white underpants. “Roy, look at my wee!” he shouted, jumping to his feet and dancing around the room with his little penis bouncing up and down. The others all laughed louder than ever, causing him to show off all the more. I accepted his invitation. He had, it seemed to me, a slightly longer penis than most boys his age, but it was quite thin and stringy and so did not look out of place. It was smooth and soft-looking, with a little bulge near the end where the foreskin covered the prepuce, and finishing in a little curl as it tapered off over the end. In contrast, his testicles were enclosed in a tiny little pink bag that was hardly visible. “Gary, you have such a cute little wee,” Catherine told him smilingly, and he beamed. “Me first,” insisted Gary, jumping on to the mattress and lying on his back, with his stringy little penis lying back on his loins. “No, Gary, not today,” smiled Rebecca. “Roy must go first today. He’s my patient.” “Gary, have you been excused before we start this time?” Andrew asked him. Gary grinned and shook his head. “Last time he did a wee right in the middle of the operation,” Rebecca smiled at me, her first positive gesture. “It went all over his tummy but it missed my hand. So, Gary, have a wee first and you can have your turn after Roy.” “Aw,” groaned Gary, slithering off the bed. “Where can I do a wee-wee?” He stood there, one hand holding his penis, looking at us. “You’ll have to go back to the house because the toilet is still not working in here,” Catherine told him. “You should have thought of that before, Gary,” Rebecca told him. “Quickly, back into your clothes.” “Oh, he can just do it at the back where nobody can see,” I suggested. “Come, Gary, and I’ll show you where I did it yesterday.” The girls looked uncertain, but he toddled after me, still idly fondling his penis, as I led him down the steps and out of the back door. It only took a short time for him to face the wall and relieve himself, talking nonsense to me non-stop as he did so. We went back upstairs to find the others all waiting for me. Catherine had been appointed as nurse. “Mr London, you’re late for your appointment,” Rebecca scolded me in a very highfalutin voice. “Now, what appears to be the problem?” The usual dialogue followed, and Rebecca indulged in some giggling as she played the leading part in undressing me. She was still not comfortable with me yet, although I was quite a bit younger. Gary was leaning closely on the bed, watching everything with rapt attention. Once I was down to my underpants I lay down on the mattress and the operation began. Within a minute Rebecca was giggling as she dragged my underpants down my legs and having a good look at my penis. “Your wee is bigger than Andrew’s,” commented Gary, whose own penis was probably slightly longer than Andrew’s, although thinner. He put out his hand and gave it a prod with his finger. “Gary, wait for your turn,” Rebecca told him. She then took my penis and testicles and enjoyed herself massaging them, pulling them, prodding them, tickling them and doing everything she could think of while performing the operation. I did not feel quite so aroused by it this time, but with all the activity my penis inevitably began to stiffen a bit, which caused some excitement. Soon it was over and I felt accepted by Rebecca. I had fulfilled her conditions and given her some entertainment. As soon as I slipped off the mattress, Gary jumped on, shouting, “Me now!” He lay on his back, making peculiar noises and wagging his penis up and down while the girls giggled at him. As usual, he played up to their attention. “I want Roy to be doctor!” he shouted. “Boys are the best doctors.” “Roy’s had his turn and he’s busy,” retorted Rebecca, as I was still dressing. “Lauren, would you like to be doctor?” Lauren smiled with some embarrassment and shook her head. I wondered if she was afraid of getting her hands wet. Andrew was offered the job and accepted, while Rebecca took over as nurse. It was a noisy business and it was impossible to get much sense out of Gary, who was full of laughter, especially when anybody put a hand anywhere near his loins. His stringy little penis was soon as hard as a rock and pointing towards his chin, and he howled with laughter as Andrew tickled him under the testicles. I could understand how important it had been to make sure he urinated immediately before the game, as his bladder could not have stood the loss of control. He wanted to share his talents around, and the game rather fell to pieces as, at his invitation, we all put our hands out during the operation and massaged or tickled his genitals, if we could get a turn. All the time I kept an eye on Lauren, admiring her gentle prettiness and hoping she could be my patient. She had ignored me so far, and I wasn’t sure whether this was through shyness or because she did not want me to see her naked. She did not join in the tickling of Gary and seemed quite embarrassed still. In the end Gary lay back red-faced and exhausted, his penis in the same state and lying limply against his loins. He refused to get off the mattress when instructed, and in the end Andrew and Rebecca had to lift him from either end and dump him on the floor. “I’ll help,” smiled Catherine, taking hold of his penis and pretending to help lift him with that. He was very quickly up and bouncing around, waving his penis about and ready for what was next. (To be continued) WHEN I WAS YOUNG (CHAPTER 8) “It’s Roy’s turn to be doctor now,” said Andrew. “He’s a very good doctor. He delivered Catherine’s baby last time.” “It’s Catherine’s turn next,” replied Rebecca. “I’ll go after Roy,” she said, and Rebecca couldn’t very well argue. “Roy, who do you want for a patient?” I hesitated, and then asked, “Lauren, will you be my patient? You haven’t played at all yet so you deserve a turn.” Lauren looked shocked and shook her head quickly. “I just want to watch for now,” she whispered. “Oh, come on, Lauren, you must join in,” Rebecca ordered her. “That’s why you came. You said you wanted to play.” “Well, I didn’t know . . .” Lauren began, and I suspected she was thinking of me. “I’ll do it later, but not now.” “Come on, Lauren, you must play properly,” insisted Rebecca. “You wouldn’t be doctor and now you’ve been chosen to be a patient. You can’t keep saying no.” I wondered if Rebecca was being so insistent because she was afraid that if Lauren were able to turn me down, I would choose her. “It’s not fair because you didn’t tell me there would be other boys,” argued Lauren, and the reference to me was now clear. “It was just going to be five of us. If he goes out, then I’ll play.” “We agreed he could play, Lauren,” argued Rebecca. “*I* never agreed,” Lauren protested, frowning anxiously. “You can be my patient, Lauren!” called out Gary, bouncing up and down excitedly, as did his penis. I could see Rebecca hesitating and I was a little worried that she might give in to Lauren and I might be asked to leave, even if only for a while. They might ask me to wait downstairs or something, and I would miss all the fun. So I broke in, “If Lauren’s too scared, maybe I can choose you instead, Rebecca.” Rebecca looked slightly alarmed, and said, “Come on, Lauren. You can have either Gary or Roy for a doctor. Now which do you want?” Lauren, slightly bullied into consenting, looked quite miserable. “Roy, then,” she whispered. I didn’t blame her. There was no telling what indignities Gary might have inflicted on her private parts, through immaturity rather than design. “Good,” said Rebecca firmly. “Now, Lauren, you’re Mrs Sippi” – she giggled at her joke – “and you’re going to have a baby.” I felt rather uncomfortable at taking on an unwilling girl. We began to the usual dialogue, and as the time came for me to undress her, she whispered, “Please, don’t hurt me.” As the others were talking at the time, I don’t think any of them heard. “No,” I whispered back, as I gently slipped her top off over her head, with difficulty as she was a bit taller than I was. She had a little bra on underneath, so that followed. She had tiny delicate pointed breasts, which felt very soft and wobbly as I briefly examined them. Then I slipped off her skirt, leaving her wearing only her tiny thin white panties. Gary stared at her, and she blushed. Soon she was on the mattress and about to have her baby. “Let’s just see if the baby is ready,” I said, putting my hand down her panties and feeling around. I could feel Lauren shivering. I wondered if I would feel any pubic hair down there, but it felt very smooth and soft. I could easily feel her little vagina under my fingers, and she shuddered the first time I touched it. Controlling my eagerness, I said, “The baby’s coming now.” Then I slipped her panties off, revealing her curved vagina underneath, still hairless, apart from a few long hairs at the bottom. I could see all the little fair hairs, still ungrown, around it. Lauren looked most embarrassed as I spread apart her legs, opening up her vagina, and I felt bad about it but didn’t know else to do except play the game according to the rules. I knew now I shouldn’t have chosen her, but it was too late to go back. I looked at her and her eyes were big and scared. I had a girl two or three years older than myself at my mercy, but it bothered me. I really felt for her and didn’t want to hurt her, either in body or feelings. “Please don’t put your finger inside,” she begged me, and again because of the background of talking I don’t think anybody else heard. Actually I lip-read her rather than heard. I nodded. “Don’t worry, Mrs Sippi,” I assured her, going back and stroking her forehead. (This was the name Rebecca told me to call her – Rebecca’s joke, named after the American river.) “I’m not going to hurt you, but the baby may hurt a bit.” “Babies always do,” came Rebecca’s voice of experience. She was the midwife, and she instructed me to wash Lauren, fetching the water. I used as little water as possible, with Lauren so reluctant, as I quickly massaged her pubic area. I could see the darker pink inside her vagina, and the few long hairs down at the bottom began to stick together as they were wet. Again there was that strange white thing just inside at the top that I couldn’t identify. Rebecca had no mercy on her friend and slapped on some more water, causing Lauren to squeal. I felt something tickling my thigh, just above the knee. Looking down, I saw it was Gary’s penis. The little boy himself was still attached to it and pushing at me. “I want to see,” he said. “You’re not part of this operation,” I told him. “So move back and let the doctor and midwife handle it.” “Come down the bottom end and you can see from there,” Rebecca told him, moving him to the foot of the bed. He ogled Lauren from there, his penis resting on the corner of the mattress. I quickly warmed Lauren up after the cold water, rubbing her vagina gently with my fingers. Catherine had wriggled, but Lauren just shivered, and I suddenly thought I would finish it off as quickly as possible. My curiosity was satisfied and I did not like handling an unwilling girl. “It’s coming,” I said. “How do you know? You must look first,” Rebecca told me. So I had a quick look at the glistening pink folds opened within Lauren’s vagina and again announced the baby’s imminent arrival. “Now you must put your fingers in to pull it out,” Rebecca told me. I put both hands to Lauren’s vagina, the upper one to hold her but also to block the vision of the others. I dipped my other hand in the water and then pretended to push hard into her vagina. I bent my finger over as if it had gone in and then announced, “I can feel it! It’s coming!” Then I pulled my finger back as Rebecca reached over to pretend to extract the baby. The doll was soon in evidence again and Rebecca thrust it into her mistreated friend’s arms with due congratulations. Lauren gave a weak smile and slipped thankfully off the mattress. She reached for her clothes, and as her head was near mine, without looking at me, she whispered, “Thank you.” “Now I want to be doctor,” insisted Gary. “You be my patient, Rebecca.” Rebecca gave a self-conscious giggle and threw me a glance, then said, “All right.” I beamed, pleased to see that I was obviously accepted by Rebecca as worthy to view her secret treasure. “Andrew, you can be midwife. My name is Miss Carriage” – she giggled again at her own wit – “and I’m having a baby – if something doesn’t go wrong.” I was surprised Rebecca was willing to let her very young brother loose on her body, but she obviously was, and she put on a great performance. She was very dramatic during the preliminaries, stuffing a teddy bear down her stomach so as to appear pregnant and staggering around, giggling half the time. We all laughed at her dramatics. Then Gary came to undress her. Off came her shirt, revealing a lacy white bra underneath. Gary fumbled with her bra, while she said with a grin and a giggle, “Careful with those boobs, doctor – I need them for feeding the baby.” The bra came off, revealing quite prominent breasts for her age, rounded and with large pink nipples in the middle. All were well freckled. Gary, talking rubbish, had a good fondle at them, standing behind her and putting his arms round her. He pressed his face lovingly against her side from behind, as she was still standing, and wobbled them up and down. “Bobble, bobble, bobble,” he burbled, dribbling from the mouth as he did so, while Rebecca’s laughter showed how much she was enjoying it all. Then came the removal of the red skirt, as Gary slid it off her, she removing the teddy bear quietly at the same time, and I saw her panties for the first time. They were very attractive, a rich white colour with soft material and a prominent band of elastic around her legs. Up she went on to the mattress, lying on her back and grinning broadly. Gary examined her, spending quite a long time cuddling or handling her budding breasts, although once or twice in his enthusiasm he hurt her and she stopped him smartly. Finally, grinning broadly and still talking nonsense all the time, he slipped his fingers down her panties. “Ooh!” he exclaimed. “The baby’s head’s coming out.” “That’s just my hair, doctor,” Rebecca giggled. “The baby hasn’t come yet.” “Then we must make him come,” said Gary, pushing his way round the bed past us to remove her panties more effectively. He grabbed hold of the material rather unceremoniously and pulled. Rebecca’s lightly freckled loins came into view, followed by her vagina, a more mature version than Lauren’s. There was a little patch of dark brown hair at the top and shorter hairs down the lips of the vagina itself. Gary leaned over the bed and rubbed his cheek lovingly against her vagina, humming to himself. “Last time we played that, she was cross with him,” Andrew whispered to me. “He said, `That smells of wee!’“ Gary had either learned to keep his mouth shut since then, or else Rebecca had taken great care to ensure that all such evidence had been eliminated before she came. “Open up,” he commanded, dragging his sister’s legs apart to spread open her vagina. It looked like a gaping wound as the lips parted and a large pink mass almost seemed to fall out. Beneath was the triangular dark pink area of loose skin, stretching down to meet the crack in her bottom, looking very much like an African warrior’s shield, apart from the vagina running down the middle. “Water,” commanded Gary. “Not too much, doctor,” commanded Rebecca, as Gary sloshed water liberally on her pubic area, making the little hairs glisten in the sunlight. Humming to himself, he set about massaging, and Rebecca threw her head back with laughter as he tickled her most sensitive areas. Gary put his face down right between Rebecca’s legs to see if the baby was coming. He smacked his lips and kissed her vagina noisily. Then he announced, “Here it comes!” He turned to me and said, “Look, I can use two fingers. And I don’t need any water because Rebecca’s wee has made it wet.” “It’s not wee!” Rebecca corrected him indignantly. “It’s just my juices. Ready for when somebody pokes me!” She laughed again. “Watch,” Gary commanded, as he took two fingers and pressed them against the middle of that vast opening between his sister’s legs. He pushed hard, and I could actually see his fingers disappearing into the middle of that mass of folds. Rebecca gave a groan of pleasure. “Rebecca says I can pump it in and out,” Gary announced as he demonstrated. “Is the baby coming?” Andrew asked, holding the doll ready. “Not yet,” replied Gary, enjoying the pleasure. Rebecca was laughing, but I couldn’t imagine how any girl could enjoy having anything stuck inside her body like that unless it was for love. Finally Gary decided he had had enough, so he pulled his fingers out, sticky and red as they were, and the baby was duly produced and slipped into Rebecca’s arms. Catherine was the next to have a baby, and she asked for me to be her doctor. “Lauren, please will you be my midwife?” I asked her, hoping to get her involved, and to my slight surprise she nodded. I enjoyed the pleasure again of undressing her, finding her panties this time were a very light green, soft and silky and tight around her body, even with a little crease between her legs where her vagina was. I enjoyed the warm feeling of her body again as I examined her, and the secret delight of pushing my hand down her panties to feel her hidden vagina at the bottom. Again I could wash and massage her, and put my fingers into her to deliver the baby. It was every bit as good as I had remembered it, and I only wished I had a chance to do it to Rebecca as well. But, being younger, I was too shy to ask, and she said there would only be time for one round of patients. After Andrew had had his turn, with Rebecca as doctor again and Gary as an interfering midwife, Catherine asked, “You said you had a new game to play, Rebecca.” “Yes,” replied Rebecca, pleased that she had asked. “I’ve got some playing cards here. We’re going to play Snap.” We all looked a bit surprised, and also, except probably for Lauren, disappointed. We had been expecting some exciting but forbidden game like the one we had just played. “The difference is,” smiled Rebecca, “that the first person to go out every time has to take off a piece of their clothes. Shoes and socks count as one piece for all of them. When one person is out, the game is over and the winner is the person with the most cards.” There was a communal hiss of anticipation. “Now we sit round in a circle,” said Rebecca, sitting down on a large blanket she had spread and crossing her legs, with a sliver of her snowy white panties visible under the fold of her skirt. Lauren immediately sat down next to her, seemingly unaware that she was revealing a lot more under her tight skirt. Her tiny panties hardly seemed to cover her properly, and I could clearly see the creases of her groin with its tendons on both sides. I also thought I could see the dark outline of her vagina through the thin material. I sat opposite them, keen to keep an eye on them. We all sat, with Catherine’s skirt being long enough to hide everything as it covered her knees as well. Rebecca dealt out the two packs of cards and we all put in a card in turn. I missed the first two shouts and then decided I would try and lose first, so as to show willing. I successfully managed to run out of cards first, so after putting down my first card I removed my shorts. “You can take off your shoes and socks first,” Gary reminded me. “I know, but I don’t mind,” I replied, sitting there in my white underpants. Rebecca was next to lose and she removed her shoes and socks, easily displaying her panties as she lifted her feet and legs to do so. One good thing about Snap is that is requires only a small degree of skill, and Gary was just about as capable as the rest of us. I lost again, not intentionally this time, and removed my shirt. Then Gary lost, deliberately I suspect as he wanted a bit of attention, and he copied me by removing his shorts. Then Rebecca lost again, so she removed her shirt and sat there in her bra and skirt. Perhaps I was not fired up with the same excitement as the others, but I lost again, and took off my shoes and socks. Next were Andrew and Catherine, one after the other, and they removed their shoes and socks. Then came Andrew again, and he removed his shirt. Gary was now sitting with his penis deliberately poking out of the side of his underpants. A forerunner of Scott, perhaps. Then I lost again, amid giggles from the others. Rebecca said, “I forgot to tell you a rule. Whoever loses everything has the last part taken off by the winner of the last game.” It sounded like a rule made up on the spur of the moment, especially as Rebecca had won the last game. “All right,” I grinned, lying on my back as Rebecca stood up and walked over towards me. She grabbed my underpants and pulled them off, with my legs in the air. The others giggled, and Gary called out, rather obviously, “I can see your wee now.” “Now you’re out of the game,” Rebecca informed me, as the others returned to their cards. Lauren had all this time been playing with a touch of desperation, trying so hard not to get caught, but this time she failed. Forcing a smile, she removed her shoes and socks, revealing about all there was of those tiny thin white panties that just did their job. I had a view all the way up to her navel. Catherine was next to lose and, not wanting to expose too much yet, she unbuttoned her dress and removed her half-vest, buttoning her dress again afterwards. Then it was Rebecca’s turn and she had to remove her skirt. She looked an attractive sight, sitting there in her lovely white bra and panties, although her freckled skin perhaps spoilt her as a portrait. We were just in the middle of the next game when we heard Mrs Fothergay’s voice outside, calling us for tea. The twins panicked for a second, grabbing for their clothes, although they were half-dressed already. Then they called out, “Coming, Mummy!”, which on Rebecca’s instructions they changed to, “May we come in five minutes, please?” Their mother agreed, so Rebecca said, “Right, let’s finish this game and then when we come back we all take off what we’ve lost. All right?” Catherine, perhaps distracted, lost that game, so she would have to remove her dress when we came back. “That’s not fair,” protested Catherine. “I’ve got a whole dress, but you have a skirt and a top, so you have one more thing to wear.” “Well, I don’t have a vest, so I have one less as well,” I put in. “Oh, all right,” laughed Rebecca. “You have two chances with your dress, but next time you have to take it off.” We dressed quickly and went up to the house. “So what have you been doing, dears?” the twins’ mother asked them conversationally. “Playing with the dolls, and then we played snap with my cards,” Rebecca answered for them, with truth but not the whole truth. None of us ate very much, which no doubt pleased the polite Fothergay parents. I presume the others found their stomachs churning with past excitement and future anticipation as much as I did. We had our drinks and cake (with forks) and a biscuit or two before heading back to the cottage, no doubt to Mr Fothergay’s relief. Gary needed to go to the toilet again, having forgotten or not bothering to go during tea, so he simply pulled out his stringy little penis and watered the wall behind the cottage again. “Be careful,” Catherine warned him. “If you do it too much here, it will smell and give us all away.” Back upstairs, we removed clothing to the state we were in before. I lay naked on the mattress to watch the others play. Lauren lost the first game and decided to take a leaf out of Catherine’s book, slipping her hands under her brief top to slide out her bra. Then Catherine lost again, and this time her dress had to come off. She removed it with a brave smile and sat there in her light green panties, her last remaining garment. Andrew lost next and removed his vest, then Gary, who had been doing remarkably well most of the time, lost and took his shirt off this time. He had no vest, so he was now sitting in only his underpants, penis sticking out at the side again, with shoes and socks still on. He pulled out his underpants at the waist and had a look inside, perhaps just making sure he still had his most definitive part. Then came Catherine’s exit, as she lost all her cards again. “Lauren, you won last time,” grinned Rebecca. “Pull her panties off.” Lauren looked very reluctant, but Catherine smiled and said, “It’s all right, Lauren, you can do it.” Hesitantly Lauren came over and did the job, with Catherine’s lovely little vagina coming into view. Gary picked up the panties that Lauren put on one side and smelt them. “I’m smelling for poo,” he announced, wrinkling up his nose. “Oh, don’t be rude, Gary,” scolded Rebecca, as Catherine looked most offended. “Your underpants smell of everything. Put them down.” Gary, rebuked and subdued, lost the next game and had to take off his shoes and socks. Then he lost again, was out of the game and Andrew was the lucky one to take off his underpants. Still sitting on the ground, he slid them off his legs, his little testicles clutching his body between his legs and his penis wobbling up and down as he did so before flopping over them in a broad curve. Catherine was sitting next to me on the mattress now that she was out of the game, and Gary came and sat on the floor, leaning against my legs. He twitched his penis idly with one hand, quite happily masturbating while he watched, his penis stiffening slowly all the time. Lauren lost next, and thought she could do the same with her panties as she had with her bra. She slipped them off under her skirt, as covertly as possible, but my greedy eyes could still see that long area of darker pink loose skin between her legs, with her little vagina down the middle. She then crossed her legs, taking care to press her skirt down over the gap. But it was impossible to play that way with the next round of Snap, and hard though she tried she could not avoid giving flashes of spread vagina under that short skirt. It must have distracted her, because she lost again, and this time had to remove her bra. She completely forgot that she was supposed to be covering the gap under her skirt at the same time, so her vagina was fully exposed, with that strange white thing I couldn’t identify quite visible at the top. Strands of hair hung down between her legs. She blushed with discomfort as her sweet little pointed breasts were given an airing. The end was now in sight – no pun intended. Andrew’s shorts were next to go, and then Rebecca, giggling, had to remove her bra, quite unconcerned at displaying her budding breasts now that she trusted me. So we had an interesting finale, with all three of them with one item of clothing remaining. Lauren it was who struck out, and was no doubt relieved that it was Rebecca who had to remove her skirt. With one hand shielding her vagina, she came and sat on the far end of the mattress. Then Rebecca erupted with glee as Andrew lost the final game and she dragged off his underpants while he chuckled. This left Rebecca, in her lovely white panties, as the only one left wearing anything. “What about Rebecca?” asked Andrew, sitting on the floor with his exposed penis hanging down between his open legs. “What do we do with the winner?” “We all take her panties off!” shouted Gary, bouncing up and marching over to Rebecca. “Oh, no, you don’t,” giggled Rebecca, backing away. “Oh, yes, we do,” I grinned, sensing that Rebecca would enjoy being stripped in this way. I jumped up and followed Gary. I could tell from Rebecca’s giggles that she was still enjoying it all. “Come on, everybody,” I encouraged them. Andrew and Catherine jumped up, smiling, and joined us as we chased the giggling Rebecca around the room. She ducked and dodged, and then ran over to where Lauren was still sitting as an interested spectator and snuggled up to her. “Lauren, save me!” she laughed. Lauren, joining in the fun, plucked at Rebecca’s panties, but without serious intent. “Ooh, you’re horrible!” squealed Rebecca, between fits of hilarity as we grabbed hold of her and laid her on the floor. I organised everybody. Catherine and Gary held a leg each as we spread-eagled her on the floor, and I persuaded Lauren to help Andrew by holding an arm each. “You can’t pull my panties off when my legs are apart!” squealed Rebecca, spreading her legs. Catherine and Gary weren’t strong enough to hold her legs together as I started to pull down her panties. I pulled at the crotch enough to uncover her wide-open pink vagina, but the panties got stuck before they reached her knees. We were all in a screaming mass of naked humanity as I strove to complete the job on Rebecca. Just then we heard a heavy step on the stair, and Mr Fothergay’s astonished voice: “What on earth is going on in here?” (To be continued) ___________________________________________________________ Yahoo! Messenger - Communicate instantly..."Ping" your friends today! Download Messenger Now http://uk.messenger.yahoo.com/download/index.html