MR SAUSAGE MAN (CHAPTER 1) In ‘When I was Young’, I promised to devote a full story to my experiences with my friend Ernst, who influenced me so much during the two years I knew him, and who in the end unintentionally taught me a serious lesson that I have never forgotten. Ernst was a German boy who joined our class at the English school when I was nine. He spoke very little English at first, so I, considered to be the one of the most responsible boys in the class, was assigned to look after him. Ernst’s parents, on temporary contract in the country, wanted him to learn to speak English fluently, so they found a place for him at our English school. The headmaster, though, was concerned by Ernst’s lack of English, so he put him down a year. Ernst therefore was almost eleven when he arrived, a good year older than most of us. He was quite a strange chap, about average height for his age although bigger than the rest of us. He had greyish-blue eyes and I could never be sure whether to say he had fair or light brown hair. He had an open freckled face and was a boy of some strange moods, as we were to discover. Most of the time he was very mild and even vague, although he showed a fearful temper when pressed really hard. Ernst’s parents did not seem to bother too much about him. He seemed to survive on a diet of junk food and his clothes were not well maintained. He wore a new school shirt, but still wore the same pairs of shorts that he had worn at his previous school, in Germany, as they were similar to ours, except they had longer legs, almost like Bermuda shorts. Whether they had buttons or zips at the front, Ernst always seemed to be having problems with them. His zips were forever getting stuck when he went to the toilet, or there never seemed to be a full set of buttons. The front of his shorts usually held together all right when he was walking around, which is why the teachers did not often notice, but when he sat down they tended to gape open, revealing a usually ragged pair of stern white underpants beneath. Some of the boys teased him about it, as did some of the girls. Some girls were embarrassed while one or two tried to tell him, breaking into giggles as they did so. Whoever it was, or whatever their reaction, Ernst never seemed to care at all. There was also something else highly unusual about him, as we were soon to discover. Only a few days after Ernst arrived at the school at the start of the term, we had our first swimming lesson. We boys were changing into our swimming costumes, and although Ernst was changing next to me I didn’t notice anything by myself. Since I became a naturist, I do not pay much attention to nudity under normal circumstances. When others, especially girls, try to hide it, that is different. But here in the changing room it was business as usual, as nine-year-old boys as a group are not yet sexually conscious. This was to change. I was just pulling up my swimming costume when I heard a boy behind me murmur, “Wow!” He turned to the boy next to him, whispered, and they looked and pointed at Ernst, who was about to put on his swimming costume. They giggled, and passed on the message, whatever it was, leaving me quite puzzled. We did have one boy in our class who had already developed a dirty mind, and his name was Nick. He came over, naked himself, and stared at Ernst, looking him up and down. It only then occurred to me what the interest was all about. At our naturist club I had long since become used to seeing adults naked and thought nothing of it. I am used to penises and breasts of all sizes and shapes, and this was why I hadn’t noticed what Ernst’s penis was like when he undressed. It was about the largest penis I had ever seen on a prepubescent boy. It was then hairless, but over the two years I knew him he grew quite a bit of gingerish pubic hair. There was nothing unusual about the shape, only the size. Its width was in the normal proportion to its length, which made it quite thick, and at the end were the thick lips formed by the foreskin. It seemed to hang down more than halfway to his knees, although that’s a bit of an exaggeration, I suppose. Below it drooped an unusually long, loose, wrinkled scrotum. Nick was already revealing his mind to Ernst, whose understanding of English was still very limited. “Hey, what a piss!” he exclaimed. “Where did you get such a big knob from, Ernst?” Ernst, whose English was still very sketchy, stared at him blankly, aware that he was being challenged about something but uncertain what. “This thing,” Nick informed him, giving his penis a prod in the middle with his finger. “Not touch!” Ernst replied uncertainly, moving back and glaring at Nick. “What do you call it in German?” Nick wanted to know. “It looks like a hosepipe.” “It *is* a hosepipe!” chortled one of his friends, bringing silly laughter from his mates. He demonstrated how a boy might use his penis to water the garden. “Why is your knob so big?” demanded Nick again, pointing at it without touching this time. Ernst looked bewildered as to what all the fuss was about. “All my family are big,” he replied eventually. “What, even your mother?” chortled Nick rudely. I thought I was overdue for stepping in. “Cut it out, guys,” I urged them. “Ernst, don’t worry, they think it’s good,” I encouraged him, seeing that behind much of the talk was admiration and envy. “You see, Nick hasn’t much of one himself.” This was true, as Nick was wearing a fairly small penis, curled up against his testicles, the end hidden by a tapered little foreskin. Now that things were getting personal to him, he quietly backed off. Actually it turned out to be a mistake to tell Ernst that the others thought it was good. He had a rather goofy grin on his face as he wriggled into his swimming costume, which was rather a struggle. His parents had not bought him a school swimming costume yet, and he only had his old one, which was certainly too small for him and had a small hole in one buttock. It was with great difficulty that he managed to squeeze his penis in at the top. When he finally got it on, there was a massive bulge in the front that left little to the imagination. He grinned at me, patted the bulge and said, “It is goot.” We went outside to the pool, where the lesson was taken by the physical education teacher, Miss Winrow, an athletic-looking blonde probably younger than 25. She did not notice Ernst at first, but some of the girls did. I heard a few horrified gasps or muted squeals, and most of them stared at Ernst’s bulge with big startled eyes. It was an interesting exercise to see which of them looked shocked and which looked fascinated. At that age, the majority registered shock and turned away quickly. Miss Winrow lined us up next to the pool and we did a practice length to warm up. As we scrambled out the far side, I heard more female gasps and exclamations of “Gross!” and, with shocked reproof, “Ernst!” I quickly and quietly pointed out to the bewildered Ernst what all the fuss was about. During the quick swim, the material had become disarranged. With a grin he pushed the tip of the offending member under cover again, but it was not easy to keep it there. Now that it was wet, his tiny swimming costume looked more revealing than ever, with every hidden shape revealed. But it was too late to stop Miriam, the class telltale, from skittering down the side of the pool, shouting, “Miss Winrow! Miss Winrow! Ernst’s pinkie is sticking out of his swimming costume!” That lady did most definitely not want to get involved. I could see her look of embarrassment, and she merely patted Miriam on the head and said hurriedly, “I’m sure it was an accident, dear, and you shouldn’t be running down the side of the pool. Now line up with the others.” She came up to continue the lesson with deliberately averted eyes. The tip of Ernst’s penis, no doubt attracted by the light, made a couple more appearances before the lesson was over, but at least he had the sense to tuck it in again quickly. I don’t know if Miss Winrow actually saw the object herself, but she certainly seemed aware of the shape inside the swimming costume as, when she sent us off at the end of the lesson, she called me over and instructed me to tell Ernst that he was to get a proper school swimming costume and would not be allowed to wear that one again. I presume she was too embarrassed to speak to him herself. I arrived back in the changing room to find Ernst naked and drying himself between his legs. As he used the towel, his penis was waving up and down madly and he was grinning, obviously putting on a display for the rest of the class, who were laughing at him and enjoying the porn show. I gave him a nudge and told him not to be silly and to get dressed. He did so, but as he grew more confident he did not so readily obey me like that. It was only a week later when we had a major incident. We were in the changing rooms again, this time taking showers after our physical education lesson. I finished mine quickly and was drying myself when I saw everything happen. Ernst was in the showers when Nick, opposite him and fooling around, reached out, cheekily took hold of Ernst’s penis and shook it up and down, saying, “Ding dong, ding dong.” Ernst backed away, looking rather shocked. He didn’t mind people seeing his assets but did not like anybody to touch them. “No touch,” he insisted, looking most apprehensive. He still didn’t understand much of what was going on. With a silly grin, Nick reached out again and repeated his action. In fearful desperation, I think, Ernst shot out his fist, hitting Nick in the face and knocking him backwards. Nick struck the back of his head on one of the taps sticking out of the wall and crashed straight to the floor on his back. There was a moment’s silence. Nick’s legs kicked. Then he screamed hideously, and kept on screaming. It was the most appalling sound I have ever heard, and I think we all thought he was dying. The water on the floor began to turn red with blood. The other boys stood back and gazed helplessly in horror. Seconds later, Miss Winrow rushed in, face white, obviously aware that it was a real emergency. Nothing else, I think, would have brought her into the boys’ changing room while we were changing. She raced straight for the shower area, to see Nick kicking on the floor and still screaming at the top of his voice. The other boys backed away quickly as she bent her knees and crouched down over Nick for a second. She was facing me and I caught a glimpse of the crotch of white panties under the white pleated gym skirt she always wore. Many boys of that age still do not mind unduly if a grown woman sees them naked. But girls of their own age are a different matter. Within seconds the changing room doorway was filled with inquisitive girls from our class, desperate to know what horror was being enacted – and so desperate was Nick’s screaming that I don’t blame them. They stopped in the doorway initially, some still in wet swimming costumes, some wearing costumes but folded down to the waist, but some wearing only panties and others panties partly covered by towels. Normally they would have been more modest, but such was the noise that curiosity overcame all embarrassment. Then others came up behind them and pushed to see, so that the girls in front were steadily pushed inside our changing room. Many of those pushed inside squealed and tried to push their way out again as they were confronted with a large number of naked boys, also too shocked by the crisis to worry about over-exposure. It was absolute chaos in the doorway and quite a few were to get hurt before it was all over. Miriam was so inquisitive that she arrived very wet, obviously straight from the shower, quite naked except for a towel hung loosely around her body. By the time her curiosity had finally been satisfied as to what had happened, she found herself inside our changing room with only her little towel to cover her modesty. She suddenly became embarrassed and tried to fight her way out again, her towel slipping and her bare bottom exposed to all those boys who were paying attention as she tried to do so, scrambling and pushing and finally dropping her towel. In the end she desperately got down on all fours and had to crawl out among the legs, her towel now uselessly draped over her back. Several boys teased her for ever afterwards, calling out to her in silly voices, “Miss Winrow, Miss Winrow, Miriam’s bum is sticking out of her towel!” The arrival of the girls caused more panic among many of the boys than anything else, although some were still so overcome with the crisis that they quite forgot their nudity. Almost all of us were naked, but so inquisitive were the girls about Nick’s screams that I doubt if any of them even noticed. Some of the boys dived desperately for towels or underpants to cover themselves, while a few caught at the far end just stood there with their hands covering the place between their legs and shouting at them to go away. I was by my clothes to start with and quickly slipped on my shorts without underpants, wet though I was. I didn’t really mind if the girls had seen my penis, but I certainly would have minded being talked about as one of those whom ‘the girls saw’, especially as that had happened once before. I did still have memories of that incident in the swimming pool back in second grade, mentioned in my first story. Miss Winrow, white as a sheet, looked up and saw Ernst standing there in the shower still, similarly white. He was leaning against the wall, bandy-legged, and standing like that it really did look as if his penis was dangling down to his knees. I’m sure Miss Winrow must have seen a few in her time, including mine on that famous occasion, however much she may have tried to avoid it, but this size on so young a boy was clearly a very new experience for her. She turned away, her face suddenly brilliant red. Then she stood up and shouted above all the hubbub, “Quickly, somebody who’s dressed! Roy! Quickly! Tell the headmaster to call an ambulance! Run, as fast as you can!” Obediently I charged for the door, with some of the girls trying to move aside for me, but in the main it was a case of barging through with my shoulder, and I know I knocked two or three of them over in the process. But I too felt panic-stricken in the belief that Nick was dying and nothing else mattered at that moment. As I raced through the school towards the office wearing only my shorts but with my shirt dragged over my shoulders, I caught glimpses of children staring at me through classroom windows and heard a couple of teachers’ voices shouting at me to walk. But I took no notice. When I arrived at the administration block, I raced straight into the secretary’s office without knocking. Fortunately the headmaster was there talking to her, so I just blurted out, “Sir, Miss Winrow says you must phone the ambulance. Nick Purdon’s bashed his head open in the showers! It’s serious! He’s bleeding everywhere.” Immediately the headmaster told his secretary to do that and then took off himself for the changing rooms, at as fast a pace as his dignity would allow, ordering me to come with him. I ran alongside him as he demanded to know what had happened. I started to gather my thoughts as I blurted things out, trying not to get anybody into trouble, especially Ernst. Panting for breath, I said something like, “We were in the showers and Nick pulled Ernst’s penis, just in fun.” I noticed the head stopped looking at me the moment I mentioned the word `penis’, but I was too proud to use baby words or rude words for body parts. “Ernst told him not to, but he did it again, just for fun, I think. Ernst is new to the school and he can’t speak English, and he’s not used to everything, and I think it frightened him and he panicked. He pushed Nick away, and Nick hit his head on the taps and then hit it on the ground when he fell. He’s bleeding badly.” The screams had still not stopped, although they now had a rather hoarse note. We arrived to find the doorway still blocked by curious, half-naked girls, some of whom squealed in their semi-dressed state at the headmaster’s arrival. Miriam was there too, but now in her dress, unbuttoned at the front. “You girls go back to your changing room,” ordered the head, and they melted away in a hurry. Later on, when the ambulance had arrived and Nick, wrapped modestly in a towel, was taken off to hospital, the head called me in to hear my story again. The first thing he said to me was, “Pull your zip up.” Looking down, I suddenly realised that I had forgotten to do that when I put on my shorts and had been everywhere with my zip open and no underpants on. Fortunately it was not gaping enough to show my penis but only a considerable area of flesh just to the north of it. I repeated the story, trying to exonerate both Ernst and Nick as far as possible. Other boys were asked for their versions but, while the basic details were generally the same, their apportionment of blame would depend on whether they liked Nick or not. Ernst was eventually found, sitting on the toilet and crying his eyes out with fear. I think the head realised that he had reacted out of fear or anger, probably both, but in such a serious matter he had to do something about it. Ernst was suspended for a week. He and Nick returned to school on the same day. Nick’s injury had not been very serious, although it had obviously been highly painful. He left Ernst strictly alone after that and was very subdued for two or three weeks. (To be continued) MR SAUSAGE MAN (CHAPTER 2) Ernst gradually gained his confidence as his use of English improved, and the incident in the showers did not seem to have cured him of the idea that his penis made him a celebrity. Curious boys from other classes would come up to him in the playground, asking to see the item, and he would happily sneak off with them into the toilets or some more isolated corner to satisfy their curiosity. Whenever Ernst went to the toilet himself, there would be a group of curious boys of all ages lining up next to him to view what came out of his shorts. This distracted them from their own business, and it was not uncommon to hear voices upraised in anger from boys whose legs had been watered by those standing next to them at the urinals. The third-grade class called him ‘Mr Sausage Man’, which I thought was very creative of them, but naturally we were too proud to adopt the invention of a younger class. Our boys preferred to know him as ‘Superknob’ or ‘Dangleballs’, which they sang to the tune of ‘Jingle Bells’. Ernst lapped it all up, and I’m afraid in my immaturity I found it funny. He considered me to be his best friend, and I must say he was forever grateful to me for sticking up for him after that incident in the showers, or his punishment might have been far worse. Unfortunately I fell in with him all too easily, and the two years during which I knew him are years that I feel rather ashamed of. Ernst had another special talent that impressed the third-grade boys in particular. I never knew anybody who could break wind as loudly and as often as Ernst. He seemed able almost to do it at will – or at anybody else within range! One of his favourite foods was baked beans, and I suppose that accounted for it. When I stayed at his house, I had a large portion cooked for my breakfast along with the rest of the family, and with this regular type of fuel it was no surprise that Erich was stoked up for the day. He seemed well able to choose the right time for his musical demonstrations as it did not often happen when there were girls around or the teacher in the classroom. Usually it was before school or at the morning break or when we were lining up. The third-graders used to gather round and plead, “Come on, Mr Sausage Man, give us a fart.” More often than not, Ernst would turn round, point his posterior at them and his rear end would produce an explosion, which always caused gales of laughter and feigned disgust, sending the delighted boys scattering with coughs and chokes into their handkerchiefs. Sometimes it was short and sharp, sometimes long and inclined to change to a lower key. The boys swore the long ones were the most lethal. He learned his lesson about girls early on. We were in assembly one morning, and the headmaster told us all to bow our heads in prayer. There was therefore complete silence for a moment before a long, loud explosion came from right next to me. It was one of Ernst’s best. It was followed by a gale of stifled laughter as half the school tried unsuccessfully to keep silence, and then a wave of spontaneous movement, in which I joined, from those of us nearby to escape the `poison gas’, as the third-graders called it. The head was furious, probably caused by embarrassment, but at the school in general for their response to it. He gave us a real roasting for our ‘noise’ – he was not more explicit than that and he avoided any mention of the cause of the noise, which he had obviously heard, but clearly assumed to be an accident. He did not attempt to find the perpetrator. He finished by ordering us back to the assembly hall at the start of our morning break when we could practise ‘sitting quietly’. Ernst found himself most unpopular as we returned to our classroom after assembly. The girls in particular wasted no opportunity to tell him how disgusting he was and how angry they were that we would lose part of our break time. Ernst appeared to be very upset, on the point of tears, and apologised profusely until many of them felt sorry for him and tried to make him feel better again. I was quite taken in by this until I saw him at morning break, after we had been released from our detention, grinning and boasting about it with the third-grade boys, who had been so awestruck by his feat that they bore him no ill will at all and appeared to regard him as more of a hero than ever. Then at hometime he laughed about it to me, so much that I became rather annoyed with him. It was clear he was proud rather than sorry for his feat, although he never actually did it again in assembly. His `nuclear bombs’, as the boys in our class called them, remained famous and I doubt whether a day went by without Ernst letting fire in one place or another. I can remember once staying with Ernst over the weekend and, after a very late night – his parents did not concern themselves with insane restrictions such as bedtime – sleeping late the following morning. I literally fell out of bed in shock as I was rudely awoken by an explosion right next to my ear, followed by the usual pungent odour. Ernst laughed himself silly at the success of his personal ‘alarm clock’, as he called it. Ernst soon found out that I was a naturist and, quickly showing a lively interest in the observation of female anatomy, he was eager to come with me when I visited the naturist club with Aunt Sue at weekends. His parents didn’t mind, so I instructed him carefully in the sort of behaviour expected of naturists, but it didn’t work. Just before we left on our second visit with him, the club secretary called us aside and told us that a number of women and girls had been offended by what he called `Ernst leering at them’. We had a word with Ernst, but on our next visit he was caught showing an awestruck six-year-old girl how he made his penis hard, and that was the end of that. Ernst was very disappointed but Aunt Sue was quite firm about it and refused to ask for him to be given another chance. In retrospect, I’m sure she was right. >From what I have written so far, you may have got the impression that Ernst was a hardened, dirty-minded boy, a thoroughly bad companion for any child. Well, I suppose he eventually became that, but he didn’t appear like that at the time. He had a certain childish charm about him so that even when he was showing off his appendage or indulging in any of his other tricks, he gave the impression he was just having a bit of light-hearted, innocent fun. I think his `leering’ at the naturist-club women was just his inability to handle the situation and we were mistaken to take him in the first place. I was always repelled by openly `dirty’ behaviour by anybody, but Ernst’s kind of ‘fun’ was all too easy for me to fall in with. Once he had picked up enough English, he became quite well liked by the teachers. He *looked* innocent, which was a big help, and had a wide toothy grin that girls especially found attractive. Although they must have heard rumours about his major asset, and had evidence to that effect during swimming lessons – even a school swimming costume could not hide the monstrous bulge – many seemed to like him. Inside school I never knew him to misbehave with any girl, in public at least – I did suspect at times he may have retired to a secret corner with one or two of the sillier girls to introduce her to Superknob. But if he did, it never came out. (Perhaps I should rephrase that somewhat ambiguous sentence!) I sat next to him for a few weeks in class, until he was quite fluent in English, before I was reassigned to another new boy. When he became bored in class, Ernst grew into the habit of masturbating. I would see his hands inside his shorts, while his eyes were fixed vacantly on the teacher so as to divert suspicion. Then he would look at me and give a big toothy grin, and pat or stroke his crotch gently with his other hand, or reach inside his shorts and do a bit of a juggling act, all with a big smirk on his face as he knew he was entertaining the other boys. Or once or twice he would sit there with his limp penis hanging out of his trouser leg. “Just giving him some air,” he would explain, when his English had developed enough. Fortunately he did not let any of the girls see him performing like this. Miriam would have been only too happy to make sure the rest of the world heard about it before evening. Ernst seemed obsessed by nudity at times, beyond his years, although he was a year older than the rest of us to start with. He was good at art, and had a private little book that he very readily shared with me, full of nude pictures he had drawn. There were several pages of penis pictures, dominated by his own, which was perhaps the most poorly drawn of all. He would ask me, “Whose is this? Whose is this?”, asking me to guess whose penis in the class he had drawn. I never knew the answer and never even recognised my own, but later in the changing rooms I would find myself looking at the other boys and seeing how accurate his drawings were. Then he would draw complete pictures of naked people. He drew well enough for me to recognise them by their faces. He drew nude pictures of many the girls in the class, imagining what they looked like underneath. He always had a special dislike for Miss Winrow, who ignored him as far as possible during swimming and physical education lessons, probably through embarrassment at her first encounters with him, the too-small swimming costume and the affair with Nick in the showers. He drew a lampooned picture of her, with a big beard between her legs and long pointed drooping breasts. He was very proud of it. Just before he left he had suddenly started drawing sex pictures, one of which was of a tiny Nick having sex with an enormous Miss Winrow. I had usually giggled foolishly at his nude pictures, but this new development I thought was too obscene. In those early days, though, his interests were very mild and pretty harmless – or so I thought. He was not able to see the girls in the class naked, but he did enjoy seeing their panties. I warned him early on about the lesson I had learned with my early playmate Alison, that it is counter-productive to show any interest, and he learned it well. He would even go so far as to keep score of how many sets of panties he had seen that day. He seemed obsessed by it and noticed much more than I did at first. I had never before thought that much in the way of panties was available at a school where all skirts had to be able to touch the knee, and I was amazed at what Ernst seemed to see. He would tell me things like, “Susan has pink panties today,” and before long I would be noticing when girls knelt down or sat down in the playground as much as he did without even trying. I have never lost this ‘art’, and even today I am always conscious of a flash of panties. One day I missed him during school dinner. Afterwards, on our way to prep, he found me and gleefully told me that he had been hiding under the senior girls’ table in the dining hall. From that position he had seen all the girls as they sat down, and assuming themselves to be under the cover of the table they had left their skirts unguarded. He had presumably been helped to hide safely by the extra width of that table and the tablecloth hanging down over the sides, but I told him he had been taking a terrible risk. “What if one of the girls dropped something on the floor and reached down to pick it up?” I asked him. “She did. It was Lorraine,” he grinned, naming a rather aloof prefect. “But she didn’t see me. She opened her legs wide and she was wearing such beautiful white panties. They were so smooth and round over her pussy.” He juggled something inside his shorts and went on to give graphic descriptions of the current underwear worn by many of the senior girls and even the prefects. This was completely new territory for me. I had never imagined the underwear of any of the high and mighty senior girls, apart from Sharon on my early visits to our naturist club. With their dignity and long skirts, they seemed a race apart. They did wear shorter skirts for physical education and sport but we never had any direct contact with them then. Suddenly I started looking at them with new eyes, remembering the kind of panties favoured by a great many of them, according to Ernst, and visualising them through their clothes. I noticed for the first time that I could often dimly see the bras of many of the older girls through their white blouses, especially from the back. There were even very occasional flashes of panties when they sat down in groups on the playground or on the floor during school assembly, but these were rare. These girls had been trained, or had trained each other, to be very careful. Except under tables. I deeply envied Ernst, but did not have the courage, or the folly, to try it myself, however much time I fantasised about it. Expulsion would be a very real probability if I was discovered and people guessed why I was there. After I had spoken to him I think he realised too the risk he had taken, as he never tried it again. I still shudder when I think how foolhardy it was and wonder how he escaped being caught. There were other risks we were both prepared to take, though. There is in the far corner of the school grounds an old tool shed that is supposed to be out of bounds. In any school there are always those who disregard such rulings when areas are not regularly policed. As soon as you went behind the shed and smelt the faint odour of urine you guessed one of its main purposes. On occasions you could also smell stale cigarettes. One lunch hour we were down the far end of the field when Ernst was taken short. So we nipped round behind the shed, to find a startled seven-year-old boy who dribbled down his leg with shock when he saw us. He ran off quickly, followed by the sound of Ernst’s mocking laughter. Then Ernst pulled out his penis and relieved himself, and so did I to keep him company. Then Ernst said, “You know, if we hide in those bushes, we may see others coming for a piss as well. Even girls!” After being brought up in a naturist culture, the prospect of seeing children urinating did not excite me much, but the lure of the forbidden attracted me. We hid in the bushes for about twenty minutes before the bell rang for afternoon school, but our only success that day was a couple of boys in our own class who watered the back wall of the shed, backs to us. We spent a week hidden in those bushes at lunchtime with little success. There were some regulars, boys who always came every day to exercise their penises there. The only females were two little six-year-olds who came once, very nervously, to pull down their panties and urinate facing each other, giggling naughtily in their teeth as they did so, so we were unable to see under their skirts through the bushes. Ernst wasn’t particularly interested in them, or younger girls in general. He had met my cousin Shelley, four years old then, and seen plenty of her prancing around naked, and showed little interest. He was frustrated also that she showed little interest in him or appreciation of his assets. Having grown up with nudity, Shelley never seemed even to notice the remarkable qualities of Ernst’s penis. Ernst had been hoping for some girls in our own class, or older, I came to realise. I could not imagine any of the senior girls urinating out of doors, and nor did they. We had a pretty fruitless time. As we lay there, bored, waiting for something to happen, Ernst would lie on his back with his usual goofy, toothy grin, stick his penis out of his trouser leg and masturbate. It was not a very pretty sight to see him lying there with his long hard penis sticking up like a post pointing at the sky. But he encouraged me to do the same, and like a fool I did, just for fun. I would make my own penis hard and lie with it pointing upward, although it was only half the size of his. This led to quite a bit of obscene behaviour by the two of us as we did things I am ashamed of now. We would make all sorts of shapes out of our penises, soft or hard. We would fondle each other like a couple of homosexuals, or occasionally slap each other in the testicles, and watch ourselves urinate and defecate. We would hold urinating contests against the wall of the shed, wildly promising each other the earth if we managed to urinate high enough to get our stream through a little knothole in the wooden wall at about shoulder height. However much we filled ourselves to increase the internal pressure, we never quite managed it. Ernst always enjoyed showing off the size of his penis. Whenever we were together with friends who were unacquainted with it, I knew that before long Ernst would find a desire to urinate, and deliberately stick out the entire length of his penis in full view of the others, waiting for their shock or admiration. If they weren’t paying attention, he would say, “Watch this,” and try to hit something with his spray. And he would manage to produce a few explosive farts, always with a very expressive facial expression of mock embarrassment. He was most annoyed if the others present did not comment or show due shock or appreciation. It was not a pretty sight. Even when he started to wear looser shorts, his penis was too long to pull easily out of the open leg like the rest of us did. He would have to pull down his shorts at the front, pull down his underpants at the front and then dangle his penis out over the tops of them. It really did look like a sausage, too – a long, thick, bloated German sausage that either fascinated or repelled those introduced to it for the first time. That is, except for its rather sickly white colour, although he did manage to get it sunburnt more than once when we swam naked at my pool. Our class then adapted the third-graders’ name for him and called him `Mr Hot Dog Man’ for the next few weeks. These, of course, were always boys, as we did not mix much with girls in public at that age before the hormones take over. He was more civilised with girls around, fortunately, and quite a number seemed to like him. I know it sounds pretty disgusting behaviour, but Ernst had a natural charm, rather like my present girlfriend’s younger brother Scott, and a slow goofy, rather vague grin. It just seemed to me at the time like rather naughty fun, and only after Ernst had gone from my life did I realise the depths of corruption he had led me into. We would go into the woods not far from the school at weekends and strip off there. Running around naked in the woods, with penises flapping wildly, was much more fun than doing it in my back yard, where it was perfectly permissible. Climbing trees naked was exciting, if painful at times. We took care never to go too far from our clothes in case we met somebody there. We usually heard them coming and dragged on our shorts quickly. Only once were we surprised. A couple of girls from the high school took a walk through the woods, talking so quietly we didn’t see them until the moment before they saw us. We turned and fled, hearing their startled laughter behind us, no doubt at the unexpected sight of our bare bottoms as we ran through the wood. I do wonder nowadays, though, if anybody else did see us and spy on us secretly, as we often made quite a noise in our naked frolics. Still, we were never challenged about it and what I didn’t know didn’t hurt me. We also played an obscene game together, mainly in the woods. We called it fencing. The object of the duel was to grab the opponent’s penis before he grabbed yours. The one rule was that you were not allowed to touch your own genitals and thereby protect them manually. Although Ernst was almost a head taller than I and his arms were longer, I usually won the duels because my target was so much larger. He had far more difficulty grabbing my smaller member, though if he did it could be painful, as his hand tended to grab my testicles as well. I had little problem, once I got an opening, of seizing his large heavy-duty penis, as it was larger than my hand while my penis was smaller than his. We must have looked a rare sight, dancing round each other stark naked, yelling our war cries, feinting and dodging as we looked for an opening. It was usually just the two of us, as like I mentioned most of the other boys did not take too well to Ernst, although they considered him a source of amusement like an adult peep show at the arcade. Had we been a couple of years older we might have had more takers, but ours were the sort of activities teenagers rather than preteens engage in. So it was that we both grew rotten together. (To be continued) MR SAUSAGE MAN (CHAPTER 3) One day, during the morning break a couple of weeks before the end of the school year, Ernst had a secret plan to share with me. “You know the senior girls are having a ballet performance on Friday night?” he told me in an excited whisper. “They’ll be changing in the changing rooms by the pool.” “So what?” I asked him. “I bet we can see into those changing rooms from up in that big tree outside,” he continued. I suddenly understood his idea. The changing rooms were fully enclosed, but at the top of the two-metre walls there was an open gap of another metre or so before the roof. We were familiar with the tree because on the boys’ side a couple of branches were actually finding their way through that gap. Yes, if we climbed that tree we would certainly be able to see into either changing room. It could not be done during the day because we would be seen, but at night that was a different matter! If we dared! That lunchtime we wandered casually over towards the swimming pool area to survey the land. Ernst had already done so. We could not get in as the gate was locked, but we could see easily enough through the wire netting. The tree would not be too difficult to climb, and there was a huge leafy limb just above roof level. We should be able to get an excellent view inside the changing rooms from there. We did realise that the girls would no doubt be wearing their underwear beneath their ballet costumes, but the prospect of seeing large numbers of senior girls in their underwear was deeply thrilling. Unless, of course, they took showers afterwards . . . The ballet was from seven until nine on Friday evening. It would not be fully dark by seven, and in any case the girls would be in well before then, so it would have to be afterwards. The only worry was whether anybody would be left to guard the place during the ballet itself, with all the girls’ clothes inside. I didn’t want any problems with my parents wondering where I was, so Ernst got his parents to invite me round to stay with them overnight. They never bothered or asked questions if we were out late, and we could just tell them we were required to help on the stage. We went out to the park before seven and waited there with tremendous impatience until it was fully dark, at about eight o’clock. We were eager to go earlier, but were so worried about the consequences of being caught that we held back. Just after eight we sneaked into the school grounds, through a secret hole in the hedge as we did not want the security guard or anybody else to see us there at all. There was just enough light for us to find our way to the swimming pool enclosure round the perimeter of the school, where there were fewer outside lights. The gate was locked, but that was good news because it meant that there was not likely to be a guard on duty. There was also too much light there and anybody nearby could have seen us entering. We sneaked around the place and concluded that there was nobody there at all. I felt scared stiff, but thrilled at the prospect of what might be to come. We climbed the wire netting at the far side and headed towards the changing rooms, keeping close to the ground because the lights were on inside and somebody might have seen our shadows against the light. It was darker around the back, where the tree was, the only light coming from the gap between the walls and the roof. Hearts thumping wildly, we climbed the tree, which was not so easy when it was almost dark. We realised the danger of being seen against the light when we reached the height of the gap, but decided there was good leaf covering and we would keep as far as possible on the inside, between the main trunk and the changing rooms. Panting for breath and with excitement, we found ourselves on the big limb just above the level of the roof. Sure enough, when we moved along it, we had a brilliant view inside the changing rooms. As there were a lot of girls taking part, they were using the boys’ side as well, and we could see virtually everything inside except for the benches around the wall nearest us. And since we were less than two metres from that wall, there was not much we would miss. We both found a reasonably comfortable perch in a fork in the limb, about two metres apart from each other, and sat to wait. This was the first time I had seen inside the girls’ changing rooms and they seemed very much like ours apart from the absence of urinals, replaced by some extra toilet cubicles. The lights inside seemed brilliant after I had spent so much time in the dark. There were benches all around the outside walls, and these were packed with discarded school dresses, most of them neatly folded, with shoes and socks and a few loose pairs of panties – and towels! So it seemed they were going to take showers afterwards! All we had to do was wait, and we did so with great excitement, hearts pounding. With all our excitement, we both needed to use the toilet badly. With no sign of anybody around, we urinated from off the limb, hearing the splashing on the ground four or five metres below us. We had agreed not to talk, for reasons of safety, but we were too excited to stay quiet and kept communicating in whispers. We talked about the girls we hoped to see naked, the girls we had held in awe and those who had often bossed us around. There was Jane Rutherford, the head girl, tall and dark, clever, sporting, the darling of the staff, and inclined to lord it over the rest of the pupils. There was Lorraine, whose panties Ernst had already seen, and made me eager for the same treat. Most of all, perhaps, there was Ramona. She came from a fabulously wealthy family, or so she encouraged everyone to believe, and she seemed to have everything. She had a tall, slim build, long blonde hair and a remarkably well-developed figure for her age. She was regarded as the beauty of the school and was well aware of that. She was one of the very few senior girls whose panties I could remember seeing. A few months earlier we had held our annual School Fayre, and she was walking round with her friends, strutting as if she were on stage as usual, and wearing a yellow miniskirt. As she adjusted her ostentatious earrings, one fell to the ground. She bent to pick it up hurriedly before it was trodden underfoot in the crowd, and from behind I had a sudden vision as her skirt flounced up of silky white panties, edged with lace. Hours later she was being crowned queen of the fayre. It’s not often you get to see a queen’s panties. In the far distance, so it seemed, we could hear the ballet music from the school hall and applause from time to time. A gentle breeze cooled us as we sat there, and I often shivered, from excitement rather than cold. I could even feel my half-hard penis throbbing as well and I squashed it between my thighs in anticipation of what was to come. Finally we heard a long, long burst of applause from the distant hall, and the change in the music indicated that the performance was coming to an end. This final part lasted about five minutes, no doubt with curtain calls, acknowledgements and all the rest of it. Then finally the music stopped and the applause died away. “They’ll be coming back any minute now,” hissed Ernst excitedly. “Look at this!” His hardened penis, just visible in the reflection from the changing rooms, was out of his shorts and he was massaging it in excitement. Falling in too easily with his antics, as I usually did in those bad days for me, I did the same with my smaller member. A minute or two later we could hear the distant murmur of large numbers of adults emerging from the school hall. It seemed to be a whole long frustrating hour before anything else finally happened, although our watches showed it to be only about ten minutes. It was about the longest and most frustrating ten minutes of my life, and no doubt Ernst’s as well. Then finally our ears began to pick up the noise of high-pitched and excited female voices approaching in the distance. We knew we had to keep as still as possible, but we craned our heads backwards to try to see. But it was another frustratingly long wait before we could finally see them, by then about twenty metres away and approaching the gate to the pool area. As the first girls walked through the gate, still wearing their ballet costumes, I heard a woman’s voice call out from somewhere further back, “Just wait for me before you go into the changing rooms, please, girls.” I recognised the voice of Mrs Ashcroft, the parent who had taken charge of the ballet. This was more frustration. Every second wasted was agonising. The front of the line of girls disappeared round the far side of the changing rooms and obediently waited there, out of sight but with their excited voices still audible. Time went on as we waited for them all to arrive, and finally the last group arrived, with Mrs Ashcroft in the middle. Then they too disappeared round the corner. A few seconds later we heard Mrs Ashcroft speaking to the girls. She was a very popular and respected woman, always keen to see the girls’ point of view, as we soon found out. She began with a few obligatory sentences, telling them how well they had performed, how proud she was of them, and all that stuff. “Now you will need to shower quickly and get back to your parents as quickly as you can,” I heard her telling them. “Please, Mrs Ashcroft – er – do you think we could have a swim instead of the showers?” came a girl’s voice, all out of sight. “We can switch on the pool lights, so it will be quite safe,” came from another girl. A couple of seconds later it seemed she had proved her point as a dull glow came from the far side of the changing rooms. The roof of the building prevented us from seeing the pool itself. “Please, Mrs Ashcroft,” came a chorus of begging voices. “Well . . .” I could hear her wavering. “I don’t really know if you’d be allowed to . . .” “We are if you say so, Mrs Ashcroft,” came the voice above another chorus of pleas. “Nobody will mind because you’re in charge.” “But you have nothing to swim in,” we heard Mrs Ashcroft reply apologetically. “You can be seen from outside, you know, with the lights on, so you can’t go naked or in your underwear.” A round of shocked giggles came at the fearsome word ‘naked’. “We can swim in our ballet costumes,” came the voice of one bright spark, backed up by an excited and approving chorus. “They’ll have to be washed anyway.” “Yes, please, Mrs Ashcroft . . .” came the usual murmur, accompanied no doubt by pleading looks, clasped hands and big eyes. There was a long pregnant pause. Then finally we heard Mrs Ashcroft say, “Well - wait until I give the word before you do anything. All right, but you’ll have to be very quick . . .” A subdued babble of excitement could be heard in the background. “Wait, I said - you must be very quiet, because it could cause trouble if anybody hears you, do you understand that? And we haven’t much time, so I can only give you three minutes . . .” There was a muffled explosion of glee, followed a second later by a splash, and hot on its tail many more splashes. Girls being girls, they could not be absolutely quiet, and there were muffled cries and squeals and laughter, but they did their best. We could see nothing but the glow of the lights from behind the roof, but we could hear it all. My heart pounded faster than ever. There was a muffled groan from Ernst and a wriggle that I took to mean he was adjusting his penis. “We can’t see a bloody thing!” he hissed desperately. “They’re still in their ballet costumes. Wait till they come inside,” I hissed back, although I didn’t know how I could wait. Three minutes seemed like an eternity, and I’m sure Mrs Ashcroft gave them some extra time before we finally heard her clapping her hands and calling quietly to the girls to get out. The splashing became more subdued, and we tensed. We heard grateful murmurs of “Thank you, Mrs Ashcroft.” “That’s all right, girls,” we heard her reply. “Please change quickly and quietly, and try not to tell anybody about our swim, will you? Goodnight, everybody.” “Goodnight, Mrs Ashcroft,” came the chorus, and then we heard one girl call out, “Er – Mrs Ashcroft. Our underwear’s all wet now after we’ve been in the pool.” “Oh, dear, we didn’t think of that, did we?” she replied. Well, I bet some of them did. I certainly did! But I suppose they didn’t want to shorten their already brief swim by removing it first. Mrs Ashcroft paused, giggled and continued, “Well, you’ll just have to be very naughty and go home without any underwear tonight, won’t you?” I grabbed my penis in desperation. “But try not to let anybody know! Goodnight, girls.” There were more goodnights, and then we both drew in our breath in excitement as the moment we had been awaiting arrived. Girls poured in through the doors of the changing rooms in soaking wet ballet costumes, sixth-graders into the girls’ side and fifth-graders into the side normally used by the boys. There was a sudden hubbub as the necessity for quiet was relaxed and they all began talking away nineteen to the dozen. We were just a few metres above their heads, scared stiff of being seen on the one hand even though we were in the dark, and on the other hand throbbing with excitement as the action was under way at an overwhelming speed. Girls in great numbers reached up for the shoulder straps of their wet ballet costumes and began peeling them off. Chests were coming into view all over the place, most of them pretty flat, even among the sixth-graders, but some with interesting undulations. All the sixth-graders wore bras, it seemed, even though most of them did not really need one, but I suppose those without might get teased. Then came the push to remove the costumes over the bottoms and down the legs. Within seconds hundreds of girls, so it seemed, were wearing nothing but soggy white panties, and were in the process of removing them, too. Although we could see everything clearly, it was surprisingly difficult to recognise most of the girls, a problem we hadn’t expected. This was mainly because their hair had for most of them been tied up altogether or greatly altered for the ballet, and it was also completely wet. Some of the girls let their hair down first, so it hung loose and dripping over their shoulders, adding to their anonymity, as school rules stated that long hair should be tied. I scanned the lines urgently, trying to recognise the naked bodies I was about to see. The nearest girls must have been less than five metres away from me, but most of them had their backs to me, facing the rest of their group, and the first things I could see were their sleek, curved bottoms, their slim bare white backs and their bony shoulder-blades. Once they had their panties off they would turn for their towels and dry their bare bodies, some staying facing the wall and therefore towards us, while others turned round to socialise with their friends. The first girl I recognised naked was Sally, a short lively girl with close-cropped curly blonde hair. She was on the far side of the room, and I could see her plump little vagina for the first time as she stepped out of her panties. I kept searching for the girls we had named earlier as those who excited our curiosity the most. Then I heard a hiss from Ernst that I was sure was much too loud. “Ramona!” he hissed, and I could see his arm pointing downwards, outlined against the lights within. “She’s going for a piss!” I looked almost directly beneath us, and my heart almost stopped as I saw Ramona, still in ballet costume but carrying some stuff, step into one of the toilets and bolt the door shut behind her. I felt so excited I was on the verge of vomiting at the prospect of seeing her on the toilet, especially as she would have to remove her ballet costume first. But she had not come inside to urinate, but for another purpose. She put down the lid of the toilet and placed on top what we could now see were her school uniform and towel. Then, while I desperately clasped my hands over my bounding penis, she reached up and began to pull down her ballet costume. As expected, there was a swollen white bra underneath and, as she went further down, she peeled the costume off over her silky white panties and down her legs, stepping out of them. I felt if she looked up she would be certain to see us, but I couldn’t take my eyes away as I gasped for breath. Then she reached up and began to remove her bra. I craned my neck downwards, my eyes drinking it all in. But, you know, if she had been a member of our naturist club, whatever she was like underneath I would hardly have noticed. But this was the lure of the forbidden, the desperate urge to see what was kept secret. Then we had a shock. As she removed her bra, bending forward to do it so we couldn’t see clearly, a couple of white things fell to the floor. She pulled off her bra, put it on the toilet seat, picked up the white things and did the same with them, and then straightened up. I must have gasped audibly. Her chest was almost flat! I saw Ernst turn his head to me, and in the reflection I could see the horror and disappointment on it. “She’s wearing falsies!” he exclaimed in furious indignation, forgetting the need for silence. Fortunately there was so much chatter in the changing rooms that he went unheard below. Bitterly disappointed but still fascinated, I watched Ramona. She pulled off the wet panties and then dried herself. Most of the time she was facing away from us, but she did keep turning and we had several glimpses of a long, prominent but as far as we could see quite hairless vagina. Then she picked up her school dress and put it on over her head. She didn’t use the toilet at all and nor did most of the other girls, so I presume they had used those in the school hall at the end of their performance. I had been so taken up with Ramona that I had temporarily forgotten my other favourites. Looking back into the sixth-graders’ side I was amazed to see our dignified head girl, Jane Rutherford, pull a pair of white panties off over her feet, leap on to the bench opposite us and give what appeared to be a review of her dance, with a song to go with it. Her arms were above her head, one leg was raised high in the air – and she was stark naked. Again I clutched my penis tightly. Her small smooth breasts with prominent nipples were quite evident, and her vagina, stretched as she raised her leg, was long and slender and with a growing patch of dark hair at the top. I suddenly heard a choking noise close to me. Ernst had his head down and averted, and was clearly vomiting his excitement down to the ground. Fortunately again the noise from the changing rooms was too loud for him to be heard. I was afraid I might be sick myself. Quite a few of the other girls were also dancing naked now, quite a thrill for them I imagine after having to do it in those tight costumes. One of them was Lorraine, whose breasts were small but very well rounded, and she was without any pubic hair as yet. A jolly little plump girl called Laurie, always smiling, had her towel wrapped around her as she danced up and down the middle of the changing room. As she reached the end every time, she would unwrap the towel, spread it out behind her with arms wide, and do a curtsey, her plump little vagina only just visible between her legs. Then I saw Kelly, the nicest and best of the prefects, a girl who was always quietly smiling and helpful to the younger children and who never bossed, a girl we always thought too nice to be a prefect. She was in the far corner, jigging up and down as she dried herself, with a happy smile on her face. Her body was flat and smooth, curving down to her small vagina tucked between her legs. Suddenly I felt very guilty and dirty to be invading her privacy in such scurvy fashion. I heard heavy breathing and gasping next to me. I glanced at Ernst. His rock-hard penis was out of his shorts and seemed to be pumping in and out. Something was spurting out and hitting the tree trunk. In the reflected light I could see something white and damp trickling down the bark. He was grasping his penis and blurting out those excited noises I had heard. Ramona left the toilet and hustled out of the changing rooms, one of the first to leave, holding her towel casually in front of her chest lest any see that her chest was not its usual size. Gradually the numbers inside began to diminish. I could see just as well what the fifth-graders were doing, but they were a bit less developed and tended to look very much the same, with flattish chests and small smooth vaginas. I was surprised to see a small girl called Diane removing her panties to reveal a little mat of light brown pubic hair underneath, while her chest still appeared quite flat. It’s not often the lower region develops before the upper, I’ve found, or pubic hair in the fifth grade. She faced the wall underneath us to do it quickly, no doubt rather self-conscious of her difference from the others. I was feeling very dizzy and emotionally exhausted when the last girls left the changing rooms and Mrs Ashcroft finally switched off the lights. But there was a tremendous warm feeling in the region of my stomach. We heard Mrs Ashcroft talking with the last couple of girls as they wended their way to the gate, and then I heard her lock it. Within a minute we were left again in complete silence. Ernst gave a long sigh, almost a groan. “That was – wonderful,” he choked out. “Ooh! My piss is exploding. I’ve wet my pants. That’s enough cum to poke all those girls one by one, I’m telling you.” I’m sure I would have done the same if I hadn’t held my penis tightly at times, although my emissions would be merely urine at my stage of development, or lack of. Now I had the chance to release it off the branch again. Ernst had already spurted stuff on to the trunk and I would have to avoid it on the way down. We waited for quite a while to make sure the coast was clear before creeping home again, sitting in the tree in silence, replaying the events of the last few minutes in our minds, nursing lifelong images of Ramona, of Jane . . . of so many other naked girls. It was such a rich, warm feeling inside that stayed there for weeks every time I thought about it again. And we might have been left with nothing but delightful memories had not Ernst found the temptation to reveal his knowledge too hard to resist. During the morning break on Monday, Ernst said to me, “Let’s go and see those sixth-grade girls again.” I knew what he was feeling. A look at those girls, although clothed now of course, would help to refresh those great memories of Friday night. So we wandered over towards the area where those older girls generally congregated. We passed Jane Rutherford on the way, off on her duties, chastely clothed, naturally, in her long school dress and blouse. Visions came again of Jane dancing on the benches in the nude, and it was hard to imagine that this was the same person. I must have grinned as I imagined seeing through her clothes, but she paid us no attention at all, as usual. Then we saw Ramona, who I presume was only a prefect because of her father’s influence, because she really was a silly girl. Here she was shrieking with laughter among a group of friends, waving her arms about and throwing her head back as she laughed. We walked past, staring at her bulging chest and grinning as we revelled in the knowledge that it was all artificial. She happened to look towards us, and I immediately wiped the grin off my face and shifted my gaze a couple of metres away. Ernst was not so quick, though, or else he didn’t bother. Ramona stared at him and demanded, “What are *you* grinning at, boy?” Lunacy seemed to overcome Ernst. He did not even bother to remove his grin, but pointed and stated loudly for everyone to hear, “Your boobs aren’t real.” Ramona stared at him, turning a little white, I fancied. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, one of her friends demanded scornfully of Ernst, “How do *you* know?” “They’re just pads,” he said. “Aren’t they, Roy?” “*I* don’t know!” I spluttered, aghast at having been brought into this conversation. “She stuffs them inside her bra,” continued Ernst. “Don’t talk shit!” another of Ramona’s friends spat at Ernst. “It’s true!” he grinned. “Why do you think she always goes to change in private after swimming?” Suddenly uncertain, the friends looked at each other and then at Ramona. She was quite red in the face now with fury. “Get out of here, you horrible little shit!” she spat out, stepping forward and aiming a slap at him. I grabbed Ernst by the shirt and pulled him away. He came, still grinning, while Ramona screeched insults and obscenities after him. The next morning, Ernst was called out of class to see Mrs Horning, the deputy head. I felt sure it was all about the clash with Ramona the previous day, and sat there in class terrified lest I should be implicated. Ernst did not appear during the morning break, and only came in later on, looking rather chastened but not unduly upset. Immediately we got outside at lunchtime, I asked him what had happened. It seemed that Ramona, embarrassed by her friends who had, I guess, been trying to persuade her to produce irrefutable evidence that her breasts were real, had reported Ernst to Mrs Horning, being too embarrassed to see the headmaster, who had the strong disadvantage of being male. With her friends out of the way, Ramona told a slightly different story, claiming that Ernst must have been spying on the girls changing after swimming. It was never clear exactly what she claimed Ernst had said or whether she had mentioned the false breasts issue or explained away the business about changing in private after swimming. Ernst was given a thorough grilling, but the case was unproven since it was deemed impossible for him to spy on the girls in the changing rooms in broad daylight, especially as their swimming was done either during morning lessons or afternoon sports, when Ernst had to be elsewhere. The swimming after the ballet was never mentioned, presumably because it had never entered Ramona’s empty head. No doubt she would not have minded ratting on Mrs Ashworth – if indeed that swim would have caused any trouble – had she thought of using it to get Ernst into trouble. Ernst himself claimed that he had been laughing at a joke and Ramona thought he was laughing at her. He told Mrs Horning that he had heard some girls saying that Ramona wore ‘falsies’ – no, he didn’t know which girls as he was still quite new to the school – and was so angry at Ramona’s rudeness to him that he decided to be rude back. On reflection, he regretted his rudeness to a prefect, if that was expected of him. Ramona was brought in and Ernst was ordered to apologise. “Ramona, I am sorry I was rude about your falsies,” he declared, and got away with merely having to rephrase it because he was still regarded as only a semi-English speaker and nobody quite knew how much he understood and how much he didn’t. He could still get away with talking in pidgin-English and pretending to misunderstand when it suited him. It was quite clear to me that he now understood as much as anybody else. He was no fool intellectually, and the extra year of age was also an advantage that the school authorities often overlooked due to his frequently charming ways. (To be continued) MR SAUSAGE MAN (CHAPTER 4) I had forgotten to mention an earlier adventure I had with Ernst, before the incident after the ballet. There is at the English junior school an old wooden prefabricated building in a secluded corner that can be used as a classroom, and occasionally is. It backs on to the storerooms and there are hedges down either side, so it can be seen only from the door, which fronts on to the playing fields. Our fourth-grade class was doing a nature study project about insects. We had to scour the school grounds for them and answer a series of questions, so Ernst and I paired off together. We were investigating an ants’ nest behind a hedge when, through the leaves, we saw the sixth-grade girls trooping into the prefabricated building, or the doctor’s room, as it was generally called. The only regular use to which it was put, as far as I know, was when the doctor or dentist called at the school and classes were taken to him there. It was not generally used for sewing lessons, but then I remembered that the sixth-grade classroom had developed an electrical fault, which was currently being fixed, so the girls couldn’t sew there as they usually did. An elderly retired teacher called Mrs Lampitt used to take the senior girls for sewing lessons, and we could see her hobble in through the door. We all thought she was about ninety years old, but I suppose she was in her seventies. Plump and rather severe, she waddled from side to side when she walked at a very slow speed, her surprisingly thin legs protruding from under her calf-length skirt. I took little notice of them, but when the girls were all inside Ernst grinned at me and said, “Let’s spy on the girls. Hey, I wish the doctor was there – examining them. I want to be a school doctor.” I had no idea how to spy on the girls, but he beckoned me. We slipped round the hedge at the back, forcing our way between the hedge and the storeroom, and crept up to the back of the sewing room. Being junior school kids, we had investigated every part of the school grounds and I knew that there were quite a number of small holes in the soft wood that made up this building. Only Ernst thought of a good use for them, though. He bent down and put his eye to one of the holes. I found another hole, about a metre away, and did the same thing. I could see quite clearly inside the building. The girls were moving around, finding their seats on chairs that were really the right size for children in about second grade, behind metal tables. Nearest to me was a quiet plump girl by the name of Natasha. She put her bag on the table right opposite my line of vision, perhaps three metres away, and sat down on the chair, pulling it under her until she was positioned correctly at the table. As she did so, she spread her legs and I got a full view of her smooth white panties, with perhaps a tinge of yellow, bulging around the crotch. With her legs still partly open, she took out her sewing from her bag. A murmur of approval and excitement from nearby told me that Ernst had seen the same thing. Natasha glanced over in our direction and it seemed to me that she was looking straight at me. Terrified at the prospect of being caught, I pulled my head away hurriedly and shot off back to the shelter of the hedge. Ernst stayed where he was, impervious to my hissing at him in warning. His occasional big grins, jiggling of the legs and adjustment of his personal sexual apparatus showed that he was seeing some material that brought him immense satisfaction. I waited in frustration for about five minutes until he pulled himself away and joined me. “Hey, why are you scared?” he reproved me. “You missed some great stuff. They don’t know there’s anybody there, so some of them sit with their legs open! And Fiona keeps scratching her pussy! Come and see! Nobody can see us round here.” I glanced around and it appeared to be true. We would be hidden by the building itself from the playing fields, the storerooms behind us had no windows in our direction, and the hedge down our end was so thick that nobody could see us through it. So we crept out of hiding again and scuttled over to the holes in the wall. I found a low hole, thinking I would be less visible from inside that way, and squatted to peer through it. Natasha was still sitting opposite me with her legs apart on her small chair and a large expanse of her rounded white panties very visible. My eye swept the classroom for Fiona, a tall thin dreamy-looking girl with short fair hair. I saw Mrs Lampitt sitting at the desk at the front of the class with her back to me, and the girls were bringing their sewing up to her from time to time for help or for checking. There was a constant low murmur of voices. Then I saw Fiona, over at the side of the classroom. I watched her. She was sitting with her knees together and head bent over her sewing. Nothing happened. I glanced round at the other girls. I could only see those in the front row and a few in the second row on one side of the class. Most of them were sitting with their legs together or crossed, but occasionally one would adjust her legs and I might get a flash of panties, usually white. In our conservative English school, white was the approved colour, although not specifically stated in the dress regulations. I was glad they had at least got beyond the old-fashioned `school panties’, which in the olden days Aunt Sue told me had to be of coarse material in school colours, which would have been an unexciting dark blue. I was feeling disappointed about Fiona when suddenly she did it. She spread her knees apart, revealing white cotton panties, and as she did so put a hand down, still looking at her sewing. I saw her put a finger inside her panties and give something a good scratch. I caught a glimpse of the darker pink of the loose skin between her legs. I heard a chuckle next to me, and pulled my head away in shock before I realised that it was only Ernst, who had seen the same as I. He grinned at me, then pulled aside the leg of his shorts and underpants. Grinning, he showed me his long penis, pressed up against his body, thick and almost horizontal with the excitement. He pumped it up and down, still grinning wickedly, as if he was desperate. My own smaller penis was also stirring. Those few minutes undisturbed had given me a bit of confidence, though. I leaned over to Ernst and joked into his ear, “Don’t put it through the hole or the girls will get a big fright!” Ernst’s face lit up with a wicked grin. “Hey, let’s do that!” he hissed excitedly. “Let’s see what they do. If they notice.” I giggled at the thought. “We’d be in big trouble if we were caught,” I warned him, not taking him seriously. “We’d get expelled.” “Who’s going to catch us?” snorted Ernst, looking around confidently at our private world. “We can run if they see us and they’ll never get us in time. Come on, let’s do it.” He started manoeuvring his penis towards the nearest hole at the right height. I shook my head and started backing away. It was too much for me. But Ernst turned and said, “Come on, Roy, I thought I could trust you to be my friend. We do things together. Come on, I *dare* you to do it!” Then he laughed at me. Suddenly my heart started thumping. It seemed a very daring and exciting thing to do, and we could indeed disappear quickly after doing it before anybody inside could catch us. First of all I checked out my escape route. Then I pulled out my penis, which was a fraction of the size of his, and found a little hole. I also found another hole almost above it, so I could see what was happening inside at the same time if I stood awkwardly. I stared through it. Almost opposite me was the head girl, Jane Rutherford, sewing quietly. Her legs were crossed and her skirt was long enough to cover her knees and tucked in demurely under her thighs at the sides. Not a tinge of excitement there. Might as well try to get a view inside Fort Knox. Remember, that was before the revelation at the swimming pool. Ernst did not have the advantage of an eyehole, and he offered to swap places with me, but I told him it was my turn first. “Okay, I’ll say when we start,” he whispered to me, still holding his extended penis in one hand. “You can see, so you say when we stop. All right?” I agreed, so Ernst whispered, “Ready . . . go!” At the `go’, we both plunged our penises through the holes. I looked through the eyehole at the same time, to see that life was going on inside just as usual. Nobody had noticed. But I suddenly felt afraid that at any moment Jane would look up and see my penis, so I pulled it out quickly, although hiding that fact from Ernst with my hand. I could see from the corner of my eye he was standing there grinning, his penis obviously through the hole. Still nobody inside the room noticed. At about the same moment we looked at each other. I shook my head at him. He grinned, and started working his penis up and down with his hand. Then he thrust it forward so hard that his hips were pushing hard against the wall. I kept watching tensely inside the room. I naturally could not see Ernst’s member protruding through his hole from my position. Instead I saw a queue of about four girls waiting to show Mrs Lampitt their sewing. At the back I saw a girl named Jasmine look over in Ernst’s direction and then suddenly stand stock-still and stare. For about two seconds she gazed as if she couldn’t believe her eyes, mouth gaping. I saw Jane, behind her, look at Jasmine and then follow her eyes. At that moment Jasmine gave a scream of horror. She screamed again and pointed. For a second or two I was too transfixed to pull away or warn Ernst. I had to know what would happen. I saw Shirley, next to Jane, swing her leg round as she stared, showing that she too wore white cotton panties. Then Jane sprang to her feet, shouted out, “Quick! Catch him!” and dashed towards the door, at the far end of the building. I saw Mrs Lampitt say, “Oh!” in surprise and I knew it was time to go. Urgently. “Run!” I hissed to Ernst. I had the presence of mind to run in the opposite direction from him, figuring that Jane would come charging round the side of the building on the side nearest him. I dived for the corner where the hedge met the storeroom and scrambled through it, with Ernst right after me, chortling. Far behind us we could hear squeals and screams from the girls. For all I knew they might be spreading out in all directions in a search party, and I was terrified. We had to get as far away as possible immediately. I had underestimated the danger. We raced in silent terror past the storerooms and headed towards a small archway on the far side, which led to another part of the playing fields. I hurtled through it. Unfortunately – or so I thought at the time – coming the other way was one of the ground staff, a local man whose job it was to clean classrooms and wash windows. He was carrying a bucket of water and a ladder over his shoulder, and I cannoned straight into him. I hit the ground rolling and immediately saw stars, banging my head hard. The ladder came crashing down on my leg. There was an awful pain. I rolled over, dragged my leg free in panic, amid more pain, and sat on my bottom, dazed. The first thing I was aware of was the cleaner, sitting on the ground next to me with the upended bucket clanging to the ground between us. The front of his uniform was soaked. He was gasping for breath, but not so much that he couldn’t give me a vicious piece of his mind in the local language. Ernst later taught me two new swearwords he had learned from that speech. He said there were many more, but the flow was too rapid for him to take in more than two. I looked the two words up in a large dictionary and found the meanings intriguing. Then the cleaner got to his feet, gave me some more swearwords and stormed off, goodness knows where, still waving his arms and leaving the ladder, the bucket and me lying on the ground with blood dribbling from my grazed knee and a cut on my ankle at the back. Ernst was standing there, trying not to laugh. The next thing I remember was hobbling into the school secretary’s office, leaning on Ernst’s shoulder. Mrs Christoff, the secretary, exclaimed with surprise and demanded an explanation as she began expertly to patch me up. “He bumped into one of the cleaners,” Ernst explained, sure our exploit would be reported by the victim. Then, asked why we were out of the classroom, I told her we were doing a nature study project. “You must have been running,” she scolded, and I felt relieved that the head was not there at that moment. I got a small lecture on running round the school buildings. Then she asked, “What were you doing there when you should have been on the playing field?” “We had to go for a p . . . I mean, we had to go to the shit-hou – I mean the toilet,” Ernst explained for me. He was obviously having trouble fitting the right syllable to the right audience. Mrs Christoff glared at him. “We just wanted to get back to our project quickly.” It must have taken about twenty minutes to patch me up. I limped back towards the classroom, helped by Ernst. To our horror, we saw two sixth-grade girl prefects entering a classroom, evidently making enquiries. “Let’s go back to the office,” I gasped. “Tell her it still hurts.” But as we turned around, we saw two other prefects coming straight towards us. I thanked my lucky stars that they were Kelly and Simone, two of the nicest prefects. “Where have you two been?” Kelly asked, more of a curiosity question with her, while Jane Rutherford would have demanded the information. “I had an accident,” I explained. “Mrs Christoff’s been bandaging me up. You can ask her.” “I think I believe you,” said Kelly, looking at me with a smile. “Were you running on the corridors?” Again, this was asked with curiosity rather than an attempt to incriminate me. We grinned sheepishly, and the two girls laughed, wagged their fingers at us and continued on their mission. We decided to go back to the office anyway, to try to make sure any prefects visiting our class, which by now would have returned after the project, had departed by the time we eventually joined them. After complaints of pain, I was given a pair of crutches to borrow for the day and a couple of painkillers. Then we wandered back to the classroom, to find the prefects had apparently finished their survey and disappeared. When we reached our class, our arrival naturally caused much attention. Discreet enquiries, when we were able to make them, revealed that no prefects had been in the classroom asking awkward questions at all. The ones we saw must have been on other business. We heard various rumours during the lunch hour and were still quite nervous about being caught. Gradually the story solidified, leaked from the sixth-grade girls who wanted to talk about their traumatic experience during sewing – but only in strictest confidence, of course. Those they confided in were so shocked that they too just had to pass it on – again, in strictest confidence. By the end of school that day, virtually the whole school was sworn to strictest confidence. No doubt by six o’clock that evening the parents all were sworn to secrecy as well. The gist of one story was that, while the girls had been sewing, a large penis had been thrust through a hole in the wall. It was such a gigantic one that they automatically assumed it belonged to a man, which was a great relief. It was not really an exaggeration, either, as I’m sure Ernst’s penis was actually larger even then than those of many men, and it did throw everybody off the track. All right, I admit it – I have been exaggerating a bit about the size, too, a bit of poetic licence in a story like this. I’ve made it sound as if Ernst was a freak, which he wasn’t really. I mean, it didn’t quite come down to his knees, as many of the boys liked to make out. I think he probably just had a longer penis than most by nature, and then started his growth spurt earlier than the rest of us because he was a year older. By the time he left the school, his penis was still the longest and strongest but some of the rest of us were catching him up. Jane had led the girls in a quick search of the area after she burst out of the classroom so quickly, but they could find nobody suspicious lurking around – and if they had, I doubt they would have opted to search him for evidence. I don’t think even Jane Robertson would have walked up to a boy, let alone a man, and haughtily demanded to inspect his penis. Mrs Lampitt had not seen the offending object but had gone home in a state of shock at the sudden tumult in her classroom, and she wasn’t sure she would ever come back again. For the benefit of tenderhearted readers, she did. Of course, there were wildly exaggerated versions spread around the school as well. A hooded man burst in at the door and waved his huge penis at the girls. One version claimed that he urinated on a desk. Another said he tried to rape Mrs Lampitt. Still another claimed that he was completely naked and tried to carry off Jane. The children thrilled with horror to hear these fictional stories, all too willing to cast aside their common sense and believe them. The head was informed by a very serious and deeply shocked Jane as soon as he was available again. The ground staff were immediately under suspicion, as Jane insisted the offending member was much too large to belong to a pupil. “It was like an enormous sausage,” we heard one of the girls saying, holding her hands about half a metre apart like a fisherman describing the one that got away. “And it had black hairs all over it.” Actually that perhaps wasn’t too fanciful. “Like a baseball bat,” put in her friend. “And it was waving up and down like a flagpole.” We were all so fascinated we didn’t think to point out that flagpoles didn’t usually wave. All the girls lapped up the horrific fictional details and believed them implicitly, until they heard an even more outrageous version. Nick thought it all very funny. “They’ll have to have an identity parade,” he told us all in the swimming pool changing rooms. “All the ground staff will have to stick their knobs out and Jane will go and identify which one it was. Hey, I bet it was Ernst! Look at his big chop!” And the whole class had a giggle and teased him by saying they were going to tell the head. But they were only joking, as they all knew that Ernst had the perfect alibi, being in the school office with me at the time! Thank goodness for that cleaner! Naturally the third-grade boys knew who the culprit was, or they claimed they did. But they all expected Ernst to be inside the classroom at that time, so it was never more than a joke to them. Of course the head never let us know what happened in the end. We saw a couple of policemen round in the afternoon, but they left us well alone. We heard rumours that the ground staff all had alibis. Nobody could remember seeing a strange man around the school grounds. There was another rumour that the head had accused Jane of making up the story, but this was unlikely, I thought. Jane was the darling of the school staff, though it’s possible the head may simply have tried to check carefully with her that she was absolutely certain about what she saw. Besides, there were too many other witnesses to the incident, even if they all disagreed on the details. It will no doubt go down as one of the great historical mysteries, like Jack the Ripper. Ernst the Stripper! Ernst the Flasher! Ernst and I had a good private laugh together about it all, much later when we were sure we were safe, while in the meantime we were scared stiff. This is the first time I have ever revealed this story to anybody else. And Ernst kept quiet about it too, at least until he left the country just over a year later. Ernst’s father’s contract came to an end after two years, and he was being transferred to England. Ernst told us that he was to go to boarding school there, so no doubt his parents were well pleased that Ernst had learned to speak the language during his stay with us. His vocabulary was perhaps even more extensive than they would have liked, and he knew many English words that I didn’t – not the sort that could be aired in polite society. During that time I learned a great many other things in his company, not much of it good. We masturbated and spied together a great deal, although we never again had anything as good as that night after the ballet. One of the things Ernst liked to do was to walk up just behind a girl, when there were no other girls watching him, or even a young woman teacher, as he did more than once to Miss Winrow, pull out his penis, thrust it forward and wiggle it up and down, even pretending to thrust it up her bottom. He thought it was great fun. I thought it was a bit sick, but weakly played along. Another incident I remember took place once when we were out exploring together – not everything we did was connected with sex or nudity. Ernst decided to urinate when we were in some thick undergrowth near a stream. If he had told me of his intentions in advance, I could have warned him that the plants into which he was about to insert his penis were the local equivalent of stinging nettles. I will leave the rest to the reader’s imagination, except to mention that I am sure the end result provided a lively and fascinating topic of conversation for the nursing sorority in the city for months to come. I can look back on some very good times with him, but on the whole I must admit he was a bad influence on me. Unfortunately Ernst’s parting was most unpleasant for both of us, and it taught me a lesson that has stayed with me ever since. (To be continued) ___________________________________________________________ WIN FREE WORLDWIDE FLIGHTS - nominate a cafe in the Yahoo! 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