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)




	
	
		
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