THE ENGLISH EXPERIENCE (CHAPTER 1)


I have just returned from a visit to England.  It was
a novel experience for me in many ways.  I had visited
the country of my parents before, but only in their
company.  This time I travelled by myself, mainly on
what might be called ‘business’ but also found time
for what can certainly be called ‘pleasure’.

The business part of it came about because I am just
entering my final year of high school and my parents
were wondering if I would like to attend a British
university.  Knowing the English climate in summer and
able to imagine how much worse it would be in winter,
compared to the wonderful dry Mediterranean climate of
our adopted land, I had little desire to stay
long-term in the Land of the Falling Drizzle. 
Besides, I am considering a career in teaching and
there is an English-speaking teachers’ college in this
country I can attend.

But when my parents offered to send me over for the
month of August, during our long school holidays, I
was not about to decline, although my mind was
virtually made up before the start.  My parents had a
number of contacts in England who could show me round
several of the leading universities, including Oxford,
and my first two to three weeks were to be spent in
their company.  I suppose it was fairly interesting
and I met some good people, but my mind was in no way
changed, especially as the weather was mostly grey and
gloomy.  That is all I shall say about that part of my
visit.

The final ten days were to be spent much more
excitingly.  About twelve years ago, my parents
befriended a young couple out here on a two-year
contract as business consultants.  They had a small
baby then, but I was five at the time and had no
memory of that baby.  The friendship continued when
they returned to England, and their family grew over
the years.  We did meet one or other of the parents
once or twice in the meantime as they came out on
business occasionally, but not the children.  There
were now four of them, all girls, aged between five
and, of course, twelve.

These parents, whom I came to know as Frank and Pam,
invited me, through my own parents, to stay with them
at the end of my England trip.  They live not far from
the sea, in a small town in Dorset in the south,
commuting to work in the city of Poole every day where
they now run their own business.  So, on a cold, grey
Sunday morning, with rain on and off, I travelled by
train from Oxford to Southampton, where they promised
to meet me at about twelve noon.

We found each other quite easily on the platform.  My
parents had sent them a recent photo of me, and I
remembered Frank vaguely from his last visit to the
Mediterranean.  He is a small, rather thin and vague
sort of man with thinning fair hair, while I soon
found Pam warm and friendly.  They had brought all
four girls to meet me.

They shook hands with me and then introduced me to
their daughters.  I was quite disappointed at first. 
I appreciate good looks in girls, but that is only a
small part of the whole.  I like warm, vulnerable
personalities, shown most readily in their smiles, and
I am a great admirer of girls in beautiful clothes. 
These girls, at first glance, did not seem to have
many of these positive attributes.

Suzanne, aged twelve, was the baby I did not remember.
 She looked a little small for her age and rather
scrawny, with shortish light brown hair coming down in
a fringe, hazel eyes and quite large dark freckles
over much of her face - not unattractive.  She was
dressed warmly because of the weather, but I later
discovered that she has very thin arms and legs, and a
thin neck as well.  At times she looked almost like a
wooden puppet.  She was definitely female, though,
very prone to the typical delicate feminine gestures
with her hands when she walks and talks, and a quiet
gentle voice.

Next is Tara, aged ten.  She also was small for her
age, with a wide, rather boyish face, green eyes and
sandy-coloured curls tumbling over her forehead and
ears.  Like so many girls who think they are not
really pretty to look at, she seemed to have decided
that the best option was to stop trying to compete and
be a tomboy, giving her an excuse for her supposed
lack of beauty.  She too had a freckled face, but with
lighter coloured freckles than Suzanne.

Then came Joy, aged nine, perhaps the most naturally
attractive of the girls.  She had fairly dark brown
hair, cut in a fringe, and a ponytail, the only one of
the four to have hair longer than shoulder-length. 
She had a smooth oval face with few freckles on a
clear skin and blue eyes.  She was perhaps also taller
for her age than the others, being almost the same
height as Tara.

Finally there was Michelle, aged five.  While Suzanne
was thin, Tara average and Joy slim, Michelle was
chubby, especially in the face.  She had the fairest
hair of the four, cut just above the shoulders, big
blue eyes and a round, lightly freckled and seemingly
always sticky face.  I rarely saw her when she did not
have some traces of her last meal or snack around her
mouth.

They all had a family likeness but were different in
various ways.  That is, as far as their looks were
concerned.  They were all the same in that they did
not look pleased to see me.  Suzanne looked annoyed,
Tara looked bored, Joy looked reluctant and Michelle
looked apprehensive.

Their apparel I also found disappointing, but the
weather was partly to blame, at least.  After all, I
was having to wear long trousers, which I hate doing
and rarely do at all back home.  I was disappointed
right from the start of my trip to find that most
English girls seem to prefer jeans or slacks or
trouser suits or, in better weather, shorts to the
beautiful colourful dresses that they wear in my land.
 Those in skirts were in a definite minority, but I
did appreciate those short black skirts that most of
the ‘real’ girls wore.

Michelle was the only one of the four to be wearing a
dress, and even then she was wearing tights
underneath, no doubt because of the weather.  Suzanne
was wearing what I think are called ski pants, black
and tight trousers down almost to the knee.  Tara was
wearing a tracksuit and Joy those hideous blue jeans,
the least feminine item of apparel ever invented, in
my opinion.  At least Pam, the mother, was wearing a
black knee-length skirt, but she was a little old for
my taste!

Pam introduced the girls to me one by one, and I
smiled and said, “Hello, Suzanne,” or whoever it was,
right down the line.  Suzanne muttered hello in
return, but the others all had to be prompted by their
mother to make any sound at all.  Clearly two-thirds
of the household did not want me to stay with them. 
At first I felt disappointed, but then I decided I
would look on them as a challenge.

We went to the station car park just as the drizzle
started again, and piled into their large family car. 
Michelle sat in the front with Pam, while the three
older girls and I had to squash into the back seat
together.  There was a slightly undignified scramble
by the girls to avoid sitting next to me, with Joy
losing, and I sat wedged rather tightly between her
and the side door.

As the car inched through the traffic, with Pam
helping Frank with directions – apparently they didn’t
come this way often – I tried to talk to the girls,
asking them questions about themselves, but they would
not look me in the eye and made their answers as terse
as possible.  “Don’t worry, Roy, they’re real
chatterboxes when you get used to them,” Pam called
over her shoulder to me.  “They’re just not used to
having boys around the house.”

I gave up trying to talk to them, as it was plainly no
use at that time, but after about half a minute of
silence from the four of us in the back, Michelle
turned her sticky face round and asked me, “Do you
remember Suzanne when she was a baby?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” I answered.  “I was only five
then.”

“I’m five,” announced Michelle proudly.  Then she
said, “Did you see her having her nappy changed?”

“Shut up, Michelle,” came an angry hiss from Suzanne,
by the far door of the car.  I immediately surmised
that the parents had told the children that I had seen
Suzanne as a baby (though I have no memory of it) and
this particular question had been a topic of
conversation among the girls, to the embarrassment of
Suzanne.

“No, I didn’t,” I answered firmly.  “Far more likely
your mum and dad saw me running round the garden
without my clothes on!”  This was just about the time
when my parents seemed to decide I was too old for
acceptable nudity.

This as I had hoped brought a muffled titter from the
girls.  Joy, smiling for the first time, leaned
forward and asked, “Did you, Mummy?”

“Well, we did, but we didn’t think it was polite to
say so,” her mother replied with a slightly
embarrassed smile.

“Why didn’t you have your clothes on?” Michelle wanted
to know.

“Oh, Michelle, it’s hot out there and small children
don’t really need to wear clothes to keep warm,” her
mother answered rather hastily in my stead.  Then,
changing the subject immediately, she asked, “Tell me,
Roy, did you meet Professor Nilstrand when you were in
Oxford?”

I didn’t attempt to restart any conversation in the
back of the car in the trip to their family home,
altogether a few whispers and giggles from the girls
seemed to indicate that the ice was chipping, if not
breaking.  After negotiating heavy traffic in and
around Southampton and winding country roads, we
finally entered a small town, did a couple of turns
and stopped outside one of a row of fairly modern
double-storey houses.

“Welcome to Kingdean,” Pam smiled at me as the car
drew up on a short, narrow driveway, just long enough
for the car to fit and very unlike the long wide
driveways of the houses back home.  The far door at
the back burst open and the girls poured out, relieved
to escape being cooped up there with me.

While Frank opened the boot to retrieve my bags, Pam
called the girls over and spoke to them quietly.  It
was obvious what it was all about, and I tactfully
ignored it.  We went inside and Pam sent the girls off
to prepare for lunch, which was hot and ready and
waiting to be served.

Pam went into the kitchen while Frank showed me my
room.  I already knew I would have to rough it a bit. 
They had three bedrooms, all upstairs, and with two
girls in each (Tara and Joy shared, as did the oldest
and youngest) there was no spare room for me.  The
best they could offer me was the second lounge, where
there was a large old comfy sofa that I could fold
back and sleep on.  Actually, when I tried it, I
agreed it would make an excellent bed.

It was also the children’s playroom, and I soon
surmised that they had been very annoyed to have to
clear most of their belongings out to make room for
me.  The one significant item remaining was the second
television set.

“I hope that won’t be a problem,” Frank told me
apologetically.  “Pam and I watch the programmes we
like in the main lounge, and of course the girls have
very different tastes from us.  We – we would like
them to have a short time in the evening to watch in
your room, but only if you are not wanting the room to
yourself.  You can choose to watch with us or with
them or do whatever else you like.”

“That will be fine – I don’t mind,” I agreed.

“We do insist that you have every right to that room,
though,” Frank continued.  “You may throw them out
whenever you like, but we’d be grateful if you would
let them use the television when you don’t want to be
alone in there, then.”

I was very happy to agree, while thinking that it
would cause an awful lot more hostility from them if I
were to curtail their viewing significantly.  Not that
I minded the prospect of their presence.  I still
enjoy children’s programmes and I wanted the chance to
get to know the girls better, to take up my challenge.

It was warmer inside the house, so I changed into my
usual shorts.  Then Frank and I sat in the lounge and
talked for about five minutes before Pam announced
that lunch was ready and called the girls.  We sat
round a large table in the dining room that divided
the two lounges, which were at either end of the
house.  Pam placed me on her right and next to
Suzanne, who accepted her lot with undisguised
resignation.  Outside the rain stopped, and then
started again, the typical English weather pattern.

We had a rather strained afternoon.  Pam wasn’t
feeling her best, so she went to lie down while Frank
tried to organise family games for the rest of us. 
They would have been enjoyable except that the girls
obviously did not want to play with me.  I thought it
pretty pointless, but Frank was trying his best and I
thought it would be rude to suggest something else. 
The English, I found, tend to be very keen on indoor
games of one kind or another, hardly surprising in
view of their climate.

Finally, at about four o’clock Michelle, who had taken
off her tights as it was so much warmer inside the
house, pushed back her chair, lifted one knee to her
chin, revealing loose white panties that hung open
slightly at the leg, and wailed, “Oh, Daddy, please
may we watch cartoons now?”

The other girls perked up, willing their father with
big eyes to agree.  But instead he said, “Well, soon,
maybe, but I thought we might have a game of Ludo
next.  And remember, that is Roy’s room where the
television is.”

“Oh, that’s fine by me, if they want to watch
television now,” I broke in.  “My mind is actually
boggling a bit after the train journey, so I think I’m
ready for a change.”

“Bogga-ling,” repeated Michelle thoughtfully. 
“Boggaly-woggaly.”

“Oh, certainly, I’m sorry, I should have asked you,”
apologised Frank.  “You don’t mind if the girls use
your room . . ?”

“Not at all,” I smiled at the girls, but still got no
smiles in return.  After prompting from their father,
they thanked me very dutifully and then skittered off
through the appropriate door.

“Well, what shall we do now?” asked Frank, forcing a
smile and battling a bit.  “Would you perhaps like a
drive in the car?  I’ll show you round the
neighbourhood.”

I did not think the girls would be anxious for my
company immediately – if at all – so I agreed.  Frank
popped in to tell the girls what we were going to do,
and reminded them to keep quiet so Pam could rest. 
Then we went out for a drive.

It was quite a pleasant drive.  Just behind their
house was the open countryside, and in other
directions it was pleasant, small-sized suburbia.  It
was not easy for me to get used to the smaller sized
homes and gardens, but England is a very overcrowded
country in comparison to mine.  Occasionally when my
parents considered the possibility of returning to
England, they reminded themselves about the climate
and the tiny houses and gardens – and thought about
the possibility no longer.  I did find the English
countryside attractive, though – on odd occasions when
the weather was good and it was not dull and sodden. 
It is so much greener and fresher than my own country.

We returned to find Pam up, feeling rather better and
preparing the evening meal.  I wandered into my room
to find the girls on the sofa, with the television on,
but giggling and playing together rather more than
watching it.

“Oh, please can we stay!” pleaded Michelle when she
saw me, afraid I was going to tell them to leave. 
“It’s such an inter-sting film!”

“You don’t seem to be watching it much,” I commented
with a smile, dropping myself into a huge ancient
armchair, surprisingly comfortable, near the sofa.

“We were just – acting out part of the story,” Joy
explained with considerable presence of mind.  “Please
may we stay a bit longer?”

“Of course,” I smiled at them.  “As far as I’m
concerned, you can play and watch television and do
whatever you like in this room as much as you want.  I
know it must feel horrible for you to think that a
strange boy has come and he is going to stop you from
playing where you want to and all that sort of thing. 
So I’m not going to do that.  I like having you in
here.  I always like company.”

They stared at me in surprise, and I could see the
oldest two at least calculating in their minds how
sincere I really was.  Then Suzanne forced a smile and
said quietly, “Thank you, Roy,” and the others
murmured something as well.

I sat for a while and watched the film, which was some
sort of adventure about teenagers trying to solve a
mystery.  I had missed the start of it and I never did
find out exactly what it was all about, so I wasn’t
surprised they weren’t really interested.

The girls sat rather still and silent now, inhibited
by my presence.  I just waited and let them get used
to me, ready to contribute if the opportunity arose. 
After about twenty minutes, during which Michelle
roamed about the room fidgeting with things but the
others remained pretty quiet and still, Pam called us
for dinner.  It was not actually dinner this time,
though, as she had just prepared some sandwiches and
cake – more what many of the English still call ‘tea’.

After the meal the girls returned to my room, asking
me politely as they had been instructed.  Frank and
Pam invited me to watch television with them if I
wished, other alternatives being television with the
girls or doing my own thing.  Judging by the noise and
laughter coming from my room, they weren’t doing much
watching.  Frank explained that they often sat in the
garden or took a walk at this time of day, but the
prevailing weather conditions did not encourage that.

I thought I had better not inflict myself on the girls
too much until they had got used to me or invited me,
so I settled for television in the main lounge.  I was
pretty bored.  Television in our country is not very
good quality and the climate lends itself so much to
an outdoor life, so children there do not tend to
become couch potatoes so easily.  I find it difficult
to watch television unless I was really interested,
and the soap operas Frank and Pam seemed to prefer
were not for me.  

After one finished, I excused myself and went and had
a bath.  There was a large bathroom upstairs, and a
shower and toilet downstairs.  I went upstairs,
wanting a long soak and some privacy.  This family had
their baths and showers in the morning, which suited
me fine.  In my country we bath in the evening
usually, after the hot day.  After my bath, I came
down and found myself watching the next soap opera.

At seven o’clock Pam went to tell the girls to get
ready for bed.  Frank explained that they could then
come down and watch television for a while as long as
they were quiet and went to bed by certain times laid
out for them.  But, of course, the television-watching
was entirely at my discretion.

I said it was quite all right and that I would go and
find some good programmes for them to watch.  As I
heard their footsteps pattering upstairs, I went over
to my room and quickly found the programme guide. 
There seemed very little suitable for them at this
time, but I chose what I thought was the least boring
option.  It was my plan to get into my room when it
was empty and so put the onus on to the girls as to
whether to join me or not.

After about ten minutes I heard their voices, so I
settled back in the armchair and waited for them. 
They appeared in the doorway, all dressed in their
nighties, pink, white and blue.  They were very brief
garments that just covered their bottoms.  A slight
undulation in Suzanne’s chest region told me that
there was some extension work going on there.

I smiled as they stood uncertainly in the doorway. 
“Hello, come in if you like,” I said.  “I’m trying
this programme, unless you know a better one?”

“Thank you,” said Suzanne, with a dutiful smile. 
Shyly and silently, they walked over to the sofa and
sat on it.

“You know, I like those nighties,” I smiled at them. 
“That’s the first time I’ve seen most of you dressed
like real girls.”

“What do you mean, dressed like real girls?” Tara
asked, sounding rather annoyed.

“Well, in my country the girls dress so beautifully,”
I explained, preparing to exaggerate a bit.  “They
hate wearing the sort of jeans and shorts and other
things that a lot of girls over here wear – they think
of those as boys’ clothes.  I’m so used to seeing
girls in pretty dresses that I wasn’t quite sure when
I first saw you that you really were girls at all. 
Except for Michelle, in her nice dress.”

“I’ve got lots of nice dresses,” Michelle informed me
proudly.

“Of course we’re girls,” Suzanne answered me, starting
off by sounding cross and then moderating her voice
quickly.  “But it’s too cold for dresses at the
moment.”

“I don’t like wearing dresses,” Tara told me.  “I’m a
tomboy, you see.”

“That’s a pity,” I said.  “I think you’d look so
lovely in a nice dress.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” muttered Tara, but she wriggled her
shoulders and did seem slightly flattered.  This, I
have learned, is often a typical response of girls who
have subconsciously decided to give up on their looks.

“What sort of dresses do they wear in your country?”
asked the more feminine Joy.

“Well, a lot of girls wear miniskirts because the
weather is so warm,” I told them.  “But the local
people often still wear these longer dresses with wide
skirts and bright colours.  I do like these black
skirts a lot of English girls wear, though.  My sister
Jenny has one and she looks really good in it.  It’s
the sort of skirt that suits most girls.”

“I’ve got a black skirt,” put in Joy, sounding quite
eager.  “We all have.”

“I’ve got a red one and a green one . . .” Michelle
started telling me, standing up and getting excited.

“How old is Jenny?” Suzanne wanted to know.

“She’s ten, like Tara,” I answered.  “She wanted to
come over here as well, but she’s a bit too young to
travel without our parents.”

“That’s not too young,” protested Tara.

“Well, my parents think so,” I answered.  “That’s why
I had to come over by myself.”

“Do you have a photo of Jenny?” asked Joy, interested.
 None of the girls were taking any notice of the
television.

“Yes, I do,” I answered, getting up and opening one of
my bags.  It didn’t take long to find my batch of
photos that I had brought to show family friends in
England.  I had one of Jenny and several others
sitting on a stone wall on a friend’s farm.

I knelt down in front of the girls with the photo, and
they crowded round to look, losing their shyness now. 
“This is Jenny,” I pointed out.  “This is my cousin
Shelley – and my girlfriend Marina – and her brother
Scott.”  I was pleased that the girls in the photo
were all wearing colourful dresses, to emphasize my
point.

“You can see her knickers,” Tara informed us, pointing
at Shelley.  Shelley, always careless about her
clothes, had one leg on the ground and the other
resting on a protruding stone, and a fair line of her
soft white panties was easily visible.  I had learned
long ago that panties were usually called knickers in
England.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” I replied.

“Yes, it does,” argued Suzanne.

“People are rude if they see your knickers,” Joy told
me.  “They’ll say, ‘Oh, nice knickers’ and things like
that.”

“And if you have patterns on them, the boys will say,
‘Saw your knickers – covered in stickers,’” Tara
added.

I was pleased how chatty the girls were getting with
me now, and there was obviously some trust in our
conversation.  Michelle had quite a bit to say all the
time, but I am omitting most of her comments to halve
the amount of space this story takes up.

“Well, people told me England was an old-fashioned
country,” I shrugged.  “Fancy people still being
worried about things like that.”

“It’s not old-fashioned,” argued Tara crossly.

“Well, that sort of silliness doesn’t happen so much
in Europe,” I said.  “People don’t worry so much about
underwear and things like that nowadays.”  I was on
the point of mentioning nudity as well, but thought I
should keep that for another time.

“Do you like seeing girls’ knickers?” Michelle asked
me.

Trust a five-year-old to be uninhibited enough to ask
the most difficult questions!  I had to think quickly
how to answer.

“Well, I don’t think it’s important,” I answered,
speaking idealistically rather than truthfully.  I
knew I had to choose my words carefully to achieve my
aim with these girls.  “The thing that is important to
me is to be able to trust people.”

I pointed to Shelley in the photo.  “Shelley doesn’t
worry if I see her panties because she knows she can
trust me.  She knows I’ll never do anything or say
anything rude or silly to hurt her feelings.  And I
trust her in the same way.  That feeling of trust I
have with her – and my other friends – is very special
to me.  So it gives me a very good feeling about them
when they’re free to things sometimes that might show
their panties, but they don’t worry because they trust
me.”

“How old is your girlfriend – Marina?” Suzanne asked
me.

“She’s thirteen,” I answered.

“And Mum says you’re seventeen,” said Suzanne.  “So
you’re four years older than she is?”

“Yes, but age doesn’t matter,” I told her, smiling at
her.  “She’s just such a lovely, sensible, trusting
person and we get on so well together.”

“Do you see her knickers?” Michelle broke in.

“Oh, Michelle, stop talking about knickers,” scolded
Suzanne, who seemed a bit embarrassed by the subject.

“Well, I do sometimes, and she sees my underpants
sometimes,” I answered Michelle, causing Tara to look
down at my shorts as if she could see my underpants
through them.  “But we don’t mind.  It’s all part of
trusting each other.”

“Show me your underpants,” demanded Michelle, standing
in front of me with unbridled curiosity all over her
sticky face.

“Michelle, it’s rude to say things like that to
people,” Suzanne scolded her again, sounding genuinely
shocked, but she didn’t try to stop me.

“That’s all right, I don’t mind,” I said, pulling up
the leg of my shorts to reveal my white underpants. 
Michelle bent over to stare hard, while the other
girls all looked, not wanting to pass up an
opportunity like this.

“You can see my knickers,” Michelle responded, lifting
the front of her nightie right above her navel to show
white print panties, different from those she had been
wearing earlier.

“That’s enough, Michelle,” Joy broke in, reaching out
and pulling Michelle’s nightie down.  “Don’t be rude.”

“I don’t think she’s being rude,” I said.  “But
Michelle, your sisters don’t feel good when you do
things like that, so you should stop.”  All the time I
was working out my plan to win over the girls’ trust
and confidence, with everything I said.

“No more talking about knickers,” Suzanne said.  She
then started asking me about Marina, Jenny and
Shelley, looking at the photo.  I also had a few other
photos to show them of Jenny.  Then after a few
minutes a new film on television caught their interest
and most of the conversation stopped.  It was a bit
old for Michelle, and Suzanne took her off to bed
fairly soon.

After the film Tara and Joy went off to bed together,
saying goodnight to me with shy smiles that told me I
was beginning to be accepted.  As I watched them go, I
could see the outlines of their panties through their
thin nighties at the back.  “I’m allowed to stay up
for another half an hour,” Suzanne told me, sounding
quite shy now that she was alone with me.

I was quite interested in the next film, so I didn’t
have much to say.  After about two minutes Suzanne
suddenly rose from the sofa and went over to the
television set.  “I’ll put the sound down a bit,” she
said.  “The young ones always have it on too loud.”

So saying, she bent over to press the knobs on the
set.  The back of her nightie went up, giving me a
good view of her white cotton panties, with a trimming
of lace around the edge, half tucked up the crack in
her bottom.  She went back to her seat, and from the
half-smile that she could not help and the fact that
she was looking hard at her sofa told me that it had
been quite deliberate.  My heart warmed towards her, a
precious sign of trust and sharing.

I waited for her to speak next, but she was quiet for
about two or three minutes.  Then, probably too
embarrassed by what she had done, she said to me,
“Actually I feel a bit tired tonight.  I think I’ll go
to bed now.”

“Sorry about that – I really enjoy your company,” I
smiled at her.  She gave me a rather artificial smile,
said an awkward goodnight and walked out of the room. 
I watched her go, her nightie just covering her rear,
her thin legs walking in her graceful feminine fashion
and her hands spread out a little by her sides.  At
the door she glanced over her shoulder at me rather
nervously.  I waved a hand.  She hesitated, forced
another smile, half-raised a hand and then slipped
through the doorway.

I was sorry to lose her, but felt I had made really
good progress with the girls that day.  Certainly I
felt more encouraged that I had on first seeing them. 
It remained to be seen how far I could succeed in
winning their trust.

I stayed up quite late watching television before
turning in.  The sofa was very comfortable and I slept
like a log.  I was half-awake in the light of the next
morning when I heard noises at my door, which I had
left open.

I opened my eyes to see, down beyond my feet,
Michelle’s face peeping round the door.  When she saw
me looking at her, she disappeared, but I could hear
her calling out, “He’s awake!  Come and see.”

She reappeared in the doorway, dressed this time in
faded crimson dungarees.  Tara and Joy appeared, Tara
in faded pink shorts and Joy in some rather smart dark
blue slacks.  They stood there smiling awkwardly and
not knowing what to say.

“Hello, everybody,” I smiled, wishing I could
compliment them on their clothing.  “Nice to see you. 
Come in.”

“No, we won’t come in, we just came to see if you were
awake,” replied Tara, but Michelle was already
bouncing in, chattering to me.

“Did you sleep well?” Joy remembered to ask politely. 
I replied in the affirmative and returned the question
before Michelle demanded my attention.  I don’t know
what she had been eating before breakfast, but her
face was sticky already.

I was lying on my back with my bare shoulders and arms
out over the sheet and thin blanket I had.  “Where are
your pyjamas?” Michelle wanted to know.

“I don’t wear pyjamas to sleep,” I told her, just as
Suzanne arrived in the doorway.

Michelle looked amazed.  “What do you wear when you
sleep?” she asked.

“Just my skin,” I smiled at her.  Her mouth fell open
in surprise and she was temporarily dumbfounded.  I
was glad she didn’t ask for proof – not that I had any
objection to showing her, but just that I didn’t think
it was the right time.

Suzanne came into the room, smiling self-consciously
wearing a white T-shirt and a dark grey skirt that
came halfway down her thighs.

“Hey, Suzanne, you look great today,” I smiled at her,
effusive in my praise.  “That’s just the kind of skirt
I think English girls look so good in – I think I even
told you yesterday.”  Of course, I knew I had, and was
sure that Suzanne had responded to what I had said.

“Thank you,” she said with a shy smile, as Michelle
burst out, “Don’t I look great today?”

“Well, you have a lovely smile but Suzanne’s wearing
pretty clothes,” I explained.

“I’ve got pretty clothes,” claimed Michelle, but at
that moment Suzanne, no doubt wanting an excuse for
coming into my room, took her by the hand and said,
“Michelle, Mummy says you must wash for breakfast.” 
She led Michelle out of the room and called back over
her shoulder, “Breakfast will be ready in about ten
minutes if you want, Roy.”

“I’ll be there, thanks,” I said.  Tara and Joy hung
around in the doorway, struggling for something to say
but no doubt keen to discover whether I really was
wearing anything in bed.

Then Pam appeared in the doorway, still not looking
too good but not complaining when I asked after her
health.  “Come along, girls, while Roy gets dressed,”
she told them, and they reluctantly dragged themselves
away.  I dressed, went to the downstairs toilet and
then went to the breakfast table.

The weather was wetter than ever, with a steady
drizzle floating down from a dull grey sky.  Frank and
Pam were off to work afterwards, and I already knew,
and had agreed, that I would be left to my own devices
during the day.  Once Suzanne had reached high school
the parents felt confident enough to leave the girls
in the house by themselves, but with neighbours close
by if any help were ever needed.

So I wasn’t tied to the girls, but was quite happy to
stay with them most of the time as long as they wanted
me.  There wasn’t too much else I could do, anyway,
without a car, altogether there were buses on the main
road not far away.  But in this sort of weather, there
wasn’t much pleasure in going anywhere.

After breakfast the parents departed, while the girls
stacked the dishwasher, turned it on and disappeared
upstairs to the bedrooms.  They didn’t invite me, so I
was rather at a loose end and retired to my room to
read, since there was nothing I wanted to watch on
television.  I figured that sooner or later they would
want to use their playroom, but I thought it would be
counterproductive if I chased them around.

I was beginning to feel rather discouraged and
wondering if I had really made much progress at all
when after an hour I was still alone, with no sign of
the girls apart from almost constant thumpings on the
wooden floor above my head, signs that there was a
great deal of activity of some sort.  It looked as if
it was going to be a pretty awful ten days for me if
the girls ignored me and the weather kept me indoors.

Then at last I thought I could hear some bumping on
the stairs at the far end of the house from me.  Sure
enough, Joy and Michelle appeared at my door with big
grins on their faces.  “Roy, would you like to come up
to the bedroom, please?” Joy invited me.  “We’ve made
up a concert for you.”

Delighted to find I had been particularly remembered
instead of forgotten, I responded enthusiastically.  I
was led to the bedroom Suzanne shared with Michelle,
where the beds had been pushed back and a rough stage
set up, with a couple of sheets tied together and
suspended over a rope across the middle of the room. 
I guessed that more time had been spent setting up the
room than in the preparation of the acts, which were
very improvised.

But it was good fun, and I laughed and clapped in all
the right places, and their delight was obvious. 
There was an acting out of fairy stories and jokes,
most of them pretty corny but unfamiliar to me as a
‘foreigner’, and a choir performance that was terribly
out of sync.  I often had to wait quite a few minutes
between acts as the girls ran to the other bedroom to
change into different costumes.

There was an interval, when I was supplied with some
weak lemonade and crumbly biscuits.  Then came some
more acts, the less organised the further it went, and
finally a gymnastics display when the girls all
departed, leaving me alone while they changed into
their swimming costumes.  After that they all lined up
at the front of the ‘stage’ and bowed, while I
applauded and cheered and whistled and threw a dead
flower I had found on the floor.

“Now, Roy, please go downstairs and wait for us,”
Suzanne requested.  “We’ve got another surprise for
you.”

Wondering what it could be, I agreed.  I waited for
about five minutes, and then heard their stealthy
approach.  They were obviously trying to approach me
unheard, but in a house with wooden floorboards, as
most of those I had been to in England seemed to be,
it wasn’t easy.  Besides, I could always rely on
Michelle making some noise.

So I was expecting company, but pretended to see
nothing as, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a head
pop quickly round the door.  Then I heard Suzanne’s
voice whisper, “Now!”, and they burst into the room.

I stared at them.  They were dressed almost alike – in
white shirts or blouses with black or dark grey
skirts.  They stood in a line in front of the door,
grinning at me and stifling giggles.

“Hey, that’s brilliant!” I enthused, jumping up, going
over to them and pumping their hands in delight,
adding further words of flattery.  They all beamed at
my enthusiasm.  “As soon as we can go outdoors, I want
to take some photos of you,” I told them.  “You really
are the best-dressed girls I’ve seen in England.”

“Tara didn’t want to do it because she’s a tomboy,”
Michelle told me.

“Well, I’m so glad you did, Tara, because you look
just delightful,” I told her, stepping back and
looking her up and down.  “The colours suit you so
well.”  Tara tried hard to disguise her pleasure, and
her surprise at being complimented, but couldn’t.

“What can we do next?” asked Joy after a while,
looking wistfully out of the window at the steady
drizzle.

“Tell us some stories about – your country, whatever
it’s called,” Michelle demanded.

“All right,” I agreed, sitting down in the big
armchair.  The girls flopped down on the sofa as I
began.

That wasn’t a very satisfactory arrangement for
story-telling, though, as the girls and I weren’t
facing each other.  Michelle quickly hopped off the
sofa and came to sit on the floor in front of me, her
soft white panties gaping out from under her black
skirt as she did so.  I addressed most of what I said
to her, hoping the others would join her.

Joy was next to come, sitting down next to Michelle
and showing smooth pale pink panties as she did so.  I
got off the chair and sat on the floor with my back to
it to get closer to them.  Tara was next, giving a
glimpse of creased creamy panties, and Suzanne was
left alone for about ten seconds before she decided
she was being left out.  She sat behind Joy so I could
not see any panties as she lowered herself on to the
floor.

I was hesitant to say anything about the naturist
lifestyle which forms such an important part of my
existence, until the girls got to know me better.  But
they obviously hadn’t forgotten.  I was right in the
middle of a story about my getting into trouble at
school when Michelle suddenly burst out, “Why were you
running around the garden without your clothes when
Mummy and Daddy saw you?”

“Quiet, Michelle,” Tara reproved her.  “Mummy told you
– it’s very hot out there and people don’t need
clothes.”

Joy looked startled.  “Does that mean – people walk
round in town – naked?” she asked me.

“Oh, no, if we take our clothes off we do it in
private,” I assured her.  “Usually, anyway.”

“But your neighbours would see you if you ran round
your garden without your clothes,” Tara protested.

“That wouldn’t matter, but not in our garden,” I
replied, reminding them of what I had already told
them about how our garden, and most others, were many
times larger than English gardens and well hedged or
walled.  “We can’t see into our neighbours’ houses or
gardens like you can in England.”

“You can’t see into our back garden,” Suzanne said. 
“We’ve got hedges round there.  Come and look.”

They stood up and led me to the window overlooking the
back garden.  Of course I had had a good look the
previous day but been unable to go outside because of
the rain.  The back garden was very narrow, hardly any
wider than the house, but it was about twenty metres
long.  There was a line of little apple trees along
one hedgerow, and the rest was rather long, unkempt
lawn, covered with dandelions, that couldn’t be cut as
long as it rained.

“When we were small we had our baths out there on
sunny days,” Joy told me with a shy smile.

“Would you get into trouble if somebody saw you in
your garden without any clothes on?” Michelle asked,
still pursuing the subject.

“No, I don’t think so,” I answered.  “I think a lot of
people do it in our country, but most of them only do
it in private.”

“Most of them?” asked Suzanne.  “Where do the other
ones do it?”

“Well, if you go to the seaside you’ll find in a lot
of towns they have special beaches where people can go
naked if they want,” I answered.  “Some towns have
parks with a naturist area, as they call them.  And
there’s a naturist club near our city that people can
join if they want to have fun with their friends and
not bother with clothes.  Or nudist, they’re sometimes
called.”

The girls’ eyes grew big.  “New – dish,” repeated
Michelle.  “What’s new – dish?  Are they people who
always have new dishes?”

Her sisters laughed uproariously.  “Don’t be so
stupid, Michelle,” laughed Tara.  “It’s not new-dish,
it’s nudist – or naturist.  They’re just people who go
round naked.”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted sternly.  “Tara, we’ve
been talking about trusting people.  Could you trust
somebody who talked to you like that when you make a
mistake?  You also made a mistake about what naturists
are.”

Tara looked ashamed and shook her head.  “Sorry,” she
muttered.

“Who have you got to say sorry to?” I asked.

“Sorry, Michelle,” Tara muttered.

“Awright, Tara,” replied Michelle, and gave her a
sticky kiss.

“But what was wrong about naturists going round
naked?” Tara wanted to know.

“Naturists are just ordinary people who enjoy being
naked, and sometimes do things in private without any
clothes on, by themselves, or with their families or
friends,” I improvised as best I could.  “We don’t go
round naked, we only go naked in private with other
people who like doing that as well.”

The girls thought about it.  “That sounds – all
right,” was Suzanne’s thoughtful verdict, altogether
she gave no indication that she would like to do the
same.

“Do you go to the new-dish place?” Michelle persisted.

I couldn’t avoid the question, right time or not, but
I suppose I had led up to it.  “Yes, my family are
members,” I answered, mentally counting Aunt Sue and
Shelley as family.

“And Shelley?  And Marina?” asked Joy.

“Shelley’s family does,” I replied.  “Marina’s family
doesn’t, but she joins in sometimes when we’re naked
in the garden or somewhere like that.”

“Isn’t it rude?” asked Suzanne, backtracking on her
previous statement that it sounded all right.  “It’s
all right in families – if they’re all boys or all
girls, I mean – but to let other people who aren’t in
your family see you . . . and boys . . .”

“Well, it’s just like what I said yesterday about
trust,” I replied, as Michelle threw herself back on
the sofa and kicked her legs in the air.  “People
trust each other more in my country than the people in
England, I think.”

“We do trust each other in England,” claimed Joy,
nodding vigorously.

“Did you trust me when I first came yesterday
morning?” I grinned at her.

The girls giggled, a bit embarrassed, and some of them
shook their heads with rueful grins.  Then Tara said,
“We just thought you’d be a bully and stop us from
playing or watching television in this room.”

“We’ve never had a boy staying here before,” put in
Joy.  “Especially a big one.”

“But we like you much better now,” Tara assured me.

I laughed, wondering how long it would be before they
would trust me with their nakedness.  In the meantime
the girls seemed fascinated with the idea of a
naturist club, asking questions about what we did
there in a tone of voice that suggested we were mad.

“Are there boys there as well?” asked Joy, as I
settled back in the armchair and the girls sat or
knelt around me.  It was a big armchair, and Michelle
fitted herself on the seat next to me and rested her
arm on my knee.

“Yes, lots of boys and lots of girls,” I answered.

“And they see – each other naked?” asked Tara,
crinkling up her nose in a way that suggested it was
too preposterous an idea altogether.

“Yes, and nobody minds, because we’re all used to it
and we all trust each other,” I told them.

The conversation was about to continue when Suzanne
suddenly shouted out, “Cartoons on television! 
They’ve started!”  She raced to the set and found the
programme already on.  Michelle still sat next to me
with her elbow digging into my thigh, while the others
sat on the sofa to watch.

(To be continued)



THE ENGLISH EXPERIENCE (CHAPTER 2)


The hours did tend to drag, as we were stuck by
ourselves in the house with the constant drizzle
outside, but the girls’ imaginations used up a great
deal of the time.  We got to know each other better by
the hour, although the girls began to get irritable in
the afternoon and there were some tears and tempers.

I was feeling rather tired by the time Frank and Pam
arrived home at about six o’clock.  Once they had got
themselves in, they always had half an hour’s family
time, as they called it, to which I was invited.  But
I wasn’t really part of it as the girls chattered away
and told what we had done all day (whatever that was),
although the parents were very pleased with the way I
had looked after them.  I slipped out of the room and
decided to take a long soak in the bath to relax.

I lay on my back, soaking in the beautifully warm
water.  It was a very large old-fashioned bath with
plenty of room that Frank told me he had bought and
installed especially.  “We used to bath all the girls
in it together when they were small,” he told me. 
“They still have their baths all together at times.”

Suddenly I heard a thumping and scuffling on the
wooden floorboards outside and Michelle burst through
the door, which I had never thought to lock, as I
never do at home.  She headed for the toilet, lifting
her skirt up in preparation, and then suddenly saw me
lying in the bath.  “Ooh!” she squealed, looking
shocked.

“Hello, Michelle,” I smiled, not a bit concerned.  I
usually feel it is an advantage for ‘textile’ children
to see me naked in natural situations as it reinforces
the message that I trust them and that they therefore
can trust me.

Michelle looked very startled still.  “I didn’t know
you were here,” she said, staring at me.  “I just have
to do a wee.”  She leaned against the tall side of the
bath, arms resting on the edge and stared at me,
uncertain whether to proceed or not.

“That’s all right, I don’t mind,” I answered.  Then
her gaze shifted, her eyes moved down and along my
body, and then came to rest on my penis, which was
floating in the water.  Her mouth fell open and she
stared at it, probably the first time she had seen one
of any size.  She just stood there, quite immobile and
staring.  It was not a particularly shocking sight, in
my opinion, as I keep my pubic hair cut quite short.

I picked up the soap from the tray, rubbed it between
my thumb and forefinger, and then formed them into a
little ring with a little bubble inside.  I blew
gently, and the bubble floated towards Michelle,
bursting just before it reached her nose.  She gave a
little startled squeal and then giggled.  “How did you
do that?” she asked.

“Like this,” I said, showing her again.

“Ooh, I want to do that,” she enthused, reaching down
to wet her hand.  I gave her the soap and she splashed
a bit, getting her dress wet.

“I think you can only do that when you’re inside the
bath,” I told her.  “Or you’ll get all your clothes
wet.”

“May I get in?” she asked me eagerly.  I nodded, and
she dragged off her T-shirt, showing a well-padded
chest that was not as plump as I expected.  Most of
the chubbiness was in her face.  Then she pulled down
her skirt and tried to take off her panties.  She
almost fell over and I reached over to grab her
shoulder while she stepped out of them.  She was not
wearing anything on her feet in the house.

“Have your wee first,” I reminded her as she was about
to climb in, not wanting her urine in my bathwater. 
Obediently she dumped herself on the toilet and there
was a quick splashing of liquid.  She hopped off and
then scrambled over the side and into the bath near my
feet.  I had a perfect view of her chubby little
bottom and the lowest part of her mound swelling into
that loose skin between her legs, broad little vagina
in the middle, as she swung over the edge.

I moved my legs up as she sat down facing me,
splashing her hands in the water and laughing happily.
 I reached down to take her hand, rub a little soap
between her thumb and forefinger, and make a ring out
of them.  “There’s the bubble!” she exclaimed, but the
moment I let go her hand she opened her fingers and
burst it.  It took two or three attempts before she
learned how to make a ring very carefully and keep the
bubble intact.

Then she tried to blow it, blew too hard and popped
it.  I showed her how to do it, with long slow blows,
and eventually she managed a bubble that just escaped
her fingers before bursting.  She shrieked with
delight and kept trying it.  Slowly she grew more
successful.

She was very noisy and she had left the door open, so
it was inevitable that someone would hear us.  I heard
the creaking of floorboards and Joy looked in. 
“Michelle, what are you doing?!” she exclaimed in
tones of horror and outrage.

“It’s all right,” I smiled at her.  “Michelle wanted
to learn how to blow bubbles with her fingers, so I
said she could join me.”

Joy walked over to the bath and grabbed Michelle’s
arm, causing her to shout in protest.  I saw Joy’s
eyes straying towards my body, but the water was now
so soapy that my penis was invisible.  “Michelle, you
must come out or I’ll tell Daddy and you’ll be in
trouble,” she scolded.

This put enough fear into Michelle to cause her to
stand up and allow Joy to half-pull her out of the
bath.  “Come with me,” ordered Joy, dragging her
towards the door and stooping to pick up her scattered
clothes on the way.  Michelle moaned with dismay and
tried to protest quietly, but Joy had her way.

>From the sounds I gathered that Joy was leading
Michelle straight into the bedroom she shared with
Tara, which was almost opposite.  “Michelle, you must
*not* have a bath with a boy,” she scolded.

“He’s a man, nearly,” objected Michelle.  “And he said
I could.  I saw his wee.”

“You couldn’t have because the water was dirty,”
argued Joy.

“I did, I did,” insisted Michelle.  “The water was
clean when I started and I saw it.”

Further treads on the floorboards, along with voices,
showed that Suzanne and Tara had come up to see what
all the noise was about.  I heard their footsteps
recede as they entered the bedroom.  It was easy to
hear what they were saying as Joy had left the door
half-open.

“It’s Michelle,” I heard Joy’s voice, in some
agitation.  “I found her having a bath with Roy.”

“And I saw his wee!” exclaimed Michelle triumphantly.

“Shh, he’ll hear you,” came Suzanne’s warning voice.

“She said she saw his wee, but I don’t believe her,”
came from Joy.

“I did, I promise I did,” gloated Michelle.  “It was
down here” - presumably she was pointing - “between
his legs, only it was sticking out in the water.”

“All right, what did it look like, then?” asked Tara.

There was a pause.  Then came Michelle’s uncertain
voice, “I don’t know.”  I suppose my penis by itself
would be easy enough to describe, but with the
testicles as well, I suppose an inexperienced girl
wouldn’t realise they were two different parts and
would just see a strange mass that she couldn’t begin
to describe.

“Can you draw a picture of it?” challenged Tara.  I
couldn’t hear an answer, but I guessed that she shook
her head or something.

“Well, if you don’t know, you didn’t see it then,”
crowed Joy triumphantly.

“I did, I did,” wailed Michelle.  “He had some hairs
on it.”

“What do you mean, hairs on it?” snorted Tara with
contempt.

“There were little brown hairs just up here,” Michelle
explained, no doubt gesturing again.  “And they were
floating on the water a bit when he moved.”

It sounded as if it was going to be a long
conversation, so I slipped out of the bath, put the
plug partly on edge so the water would trickle out
quietly instead of gurgling noisily, and positioned
myself behind the half-open door.  I couldn’t see into
their room through the crack, but I could hear almost
every word.

“Michelle, stop telling lies.  That’s wicked and
dirty,” Joy exclaimed.

“No, I think she’s telling the truth,” came Suzanne’s
quiet voice.  “When people grow up, they start growing
hairs there, so Michelle’s right.”

“I told you,” came Michelle’s self-righteous voice. 
“I did see his wee.”

“Was it big?” came Tara’s curious question.

“Well, it was – rather big, but not very big,” came
Michelle’s profound reply.  She paused and said, “I
don’t know.”

“I wish I could see it,” admitted Joy wistfully. 
“I’ve never seen a boy’s wee.  Not properly, only
little boys.  Have you, Tara?”

There was a pause, with Tara perhaps thinking about
whether to tell the truth or not.  I heard an
indecipherable noise that sounded negative in turn.

“Suzanne, you have,” came Joy’s voice again.

“Well – not really,” I heard Suzanne reply, so quietly
I hardly heard her.  “Only little boys’.  And its real
name is penis.”

“Pee – nus,” I heard Michelle repeat, as she so often
did.  “I saw his pee – nus.”

“You’re so lucky, Michelle,” said Tara enviously.

“Well, we’ll probably all see it sometime while he’s
with us,” said Suzanne.  “He’s a naturist, remember,
and he doesn’t mind people seeing him bare.  We’ll
probably see him take his clothes off or something
before he goes.”

“Only him, though,” insisted Tara.  “I don’t want him
to see *my* wee.  That’s private.  If he wants people
to see his wee, it’s all right for him, but other
people don’t like it.”

“Hey, let’s have a competition,” I heard Joy’s voice
say mischievously.  “Let’s see who will be the first
of us to see Roy’s wee.  And the second, and the
last.”

“I was first,” claimed Michelle loudly, and I heard
her sisters shushing her, just in case I might have
heard.

“All right, you were first, but it’s a competition to
see who’s first out of the rest of us,” said Joy
again, and I heard giggles from Suzanne and Tara. 
“And the last one to see him has to undress in front
of him.”

“Oh, no, Joy, that’s a silly rule,” Tara objected
straight away.  “No forfeits or anything.  Besides, it
might be you.  It’s just a competition to see who
wins.”

I couldn’t help laughing quietly to myself.  What a
competition!  Then I decided how I would respond.  All
right, I was quite happy for them to see me naked –
but if any of them were to be successful, they would
have to show me themselves naked first.  Fair was
fair, after all.

There was a brief pause for thought in the bedroom,
and then I heard Joy ask, “Is he still in there?”  I
presume she meant the bathroom and, anticipating what
was to come, I grabbed my underpants.

“I don’t know, I didn’t see him,” I heard Suzanne
reply.

I heard a creaking of bedsprings and Joy’s giggly
voice, “I’m going to see.”  I heard the floorboards
creak sharply as she shot out of the room at some
speed.  I just had time to turn my back and start
pulling up my underpants when she burst in behind me.

She gave a stifled giggle just as I completed the job
and turned round.  She was standing there with her
hands in her mouth, and said, “Oh, sorry – er – Roy. 
I was just – going to wash my hands.”  Then she turned
and fled.

“It’s quite all right,” I called after her.  Through
the crack in the door I saw her head back into her
bedroom, and from the accompanying noises I guessed
the others were standing in the doorway to see what
was happening.

I could just hear Tara’s voice ask, “Did you see him?”
from deep within the bedroom.  They spoke more quietly
now, aware of my presence, but I could still hear most
of the words and had to guess the rest.

I guess Joy nodded her head or something because I
heard Tara’s voice again, “You lie!  You never!”,
together with a murmur of agreement, presumably from
Suzanne.

“Well, I nearly did,” came Joy’s voice faintly.  She
said something like, “I saw his underpants and his
bottom, and, you know, his bottom is *brown*!”

“Brown?  How can it be brown?” exclaimed Tara.

“No, I mean brown because it’s sun-tanned,” came Joy’s
reply, forgetting to whisper now.  “We’re all white
there because we wear our swimming costumes in the
sun, but Roy’s is brown!  He’s got it brown in the
sun!”

There were murmurs of surprise from the others.  It
didn’t seem to have occurred to them.  Then Tara said
challengingly, “But you didn’t see his wee, did you? 
So you haven’t won yet!”

“I won because I saw his wee, and I’m the only one who
did!” boasted Michelle.

“Well, we’re all going to see it soon, so there!” Tara
retorted.

“And Michelle, just don’t tell Mummy or Daddy or
anybody at all about this,” Joy warned her.  “Or I’ll
tell them that you went into Roy’s bath and you’ll get
into big trouble.”

“I won’t but I still won, didn’t I?” came Michelle’s
voice again.

“Yes, all right, you won your competition, but now
we’ve got ours, just for the three of us,” said Tara. 
“So you must keep quiet and don’t tell, or we’ll tell
about you.”

“And you must never have a bath with Roy again, or
else we’ll also tell about you,” ordered Joy
jealously.  “And don’t even talk to him about it
again.”

Michelle began to shout in protest, and the girls had
to quieten her quickly.  I heard some frenetic
whispering going on, and the gist of it seemed to be
that the other three were united in their
determination that Michelle should not bath with me
again, and she was forced to agree, after much
protesting.

“Girls, Mummy told us to hurry down for dinner, so we
had better go,” said Suzanne.  “But remember what we
agreed.”

I was just brushing my hair in the mirror, fully
clothed, as I heard their footsteps on the
floorboards.  Suzanne led the way, and she stopped
outside.  The others gathered behind her and stared
into the bathroom with awestruck expressions on their
faces, not realising that I could see them in the
mirror.  I had to try very hard not to laugh.

“Hello, everybody,” I smiled at them, turning round. 
They giggled and fell back, with Michelle, now dressed
again, hiding a red and mournful face behind Suzanne. 
“What’s the matter?” I asked, as they were obviously
behaving abnormally.

“Nothing,” answered Joy, assuming innocence with no
success at all.

“I think your hair looks nice,” added Tara
artificially.

“We’re just going down for dinner, Roy, if you’d like
to come,” Suzanne smiled at me quietly, but still not
cleverly enough to pass as being guileless.

“All right, thank you,” I accepted, following them
downstairs.  They could not stop giggling on the way,
so if I had not known what it was all about I could
not have failed to be deeply suspicious.  I almost
asked them what was funny, but decided not to
embarrass them.

After the meal, events followed pretty much the same
pattern as the previous night, except when I agreed to
Suzanne’s request that they watch television in my
room, a recovered Michelle burst out, “Roy, come and
watch with us.”

 “All right,” I smiled, and the parents dutifully
assured me that I should take no notice if I preferred
to stay in the lounge with them.  I pretended to
consider it, asking them what they were watching, and
after being given a list of soap operas politely said
I preferred the children’s programmes.

I waited in my armchair while the girls changed into
their nighties upstairs.  It took them a long time and
they were giggly when they arrived, so I assumed that
they had been spending some time in a conversation
about a subject I could very well guess.  I was aware
that they could very well try to spy on me, so I
resolved to do what I had not done for years, and that
was to take steps to ensure that they did not see me
naked.

The three older girls settled down on the sofa again,
but Michelle toddled over to the armchair and, without
asking, settled herself in the space next to me. 
“Michelle!” came the chorus of mild objections from
the other girls.  “Leave Roy in peace,” Tara added.

“It’s all right, I love friendly girls,” I smiled at
them.  I put an arm over Michelle’s shoulder, just
lightly to see what her reaction would be.  She turned
her head, smiled up at me with big blue eyes and
snuggled up against my side with a happy sigh.  I put
my arm more firmly round her and she gave a murmur of
appreciation.

Again the girls and I talked a lot while the
television was on, but on the more mundane topics
completely unconnected with nudity.  Although Tara did
ask me if the girls in my life back home ever wore
shorts.

“Well, Shelley and Marina never do,” I answered. 
“Jenny does sometimes, but she never wears any panties
underneath.  She says it makes her feel too tight. 
She really prefers dresses, because the girls in our
country just like dressing like real girls.”

“I’m a real girl, but I often wear shorts,” objected
Joy, sounding annoyed.

“I like wearing shorts *all* the time – when it’s warm
enough,” put in Tara firmly.

“Maybe, but didn’t you look at yourself in the mirror
when you were wearing your white shirt and black skirt
today?” I asked her.  “I thought you looked so
attractive.”

“I don’t,” muttered Tara, the answer I had been
anticipating.

“I said *I* thought you did,” I smiled at her.  “If
you don’t think so, I do.”

“Yes, Tara, you looked really good, you know,” Suzanne
said in support.

By this time Michelle had leaned over so far that her
head was on my thighs and she had fallen fast asleep. 
“I’d better take her up to bed,” I said to the others,
gently putting my arms under Michelle’s limp body and
lifting her.  She didn’t stir.

“I’ll come with you and show you how she sleeps,”
offered Suzanne.  I followed her up the stairs,
carrying Michelle in my arms all the time.  Suzanne
led me into their bedroom and pulled back the
bedclothes.  I slipped Michelle inside and tucked her
up, giving her a light kiss on the forehead as I did
so.  I sensed a certain wistfulness in Suzanne’s look
as I lifted my head and wondered if she would like
similar treatment.  But at the age of twelve she would
not, I knew, ask me outright in a hurry, but more
likely drop a few hints here and there – the subtle
rules by which girls of her age seem to abide.

Instead of leading me downstairs, Suzanne talked to me
quietly about her bedroom for a few minutes.  She had
put it back together after the concert so it looked
quite different.  There were her posters on the walls
and her dressing table very neatly laid out with
feminine stuff.  Suzanne pointed to a large poster of
the Spice Girls and asked me if I liked them.

I thought I had better be tactful rather than blunt. 
“Don’t you think they look a bit weird?” I asked her,
perhaps still not tactfully, and she didn’t answer. 
“They’ve changed themselves so much they don’t look
like real people to me.  And I don’t think I like
those expressions on their faces a lot of the time
when they sing.  I’d far rather know people like you
who are so natural and who dress nicely.  You looked
so good in that skirt and top today – I know they’re
not your prettiest clothes, but they are so tasteful. 
They make you look such an attractive person.”

“Thank you,” murmured Suzanne, looking away from me
with a rather embarrassed smile.  “Don’t you like
their music, though?” she asked after a pause.

“Well, I suppose it can be good if you want to make a
noise and have a big dance or something,” I replied,
still trying to be tactful and truthful at the same
time.  “But do you think it’s good, some of the things
they say?”

“Well – not really, not all of it,” muttered Suzanne
rather awkwardly.  “But I do like dancing to their
music.”

“Maybe we can do that sometime,” I suggested.

She brightened.  “Yes, we can do that tomorrow,” she
smiled.  We sat together on her bed, about half a
metre apart, and I waited for her to make the next
move.  Then she said, “Would you like to see my
dresses?”

I expressed interest, so she opened the cupboard.  On
the right were some shelves containing items like
shirts, pairs of shorts, socks and panties, mostly
white, and the larger items were hanging down in the
middle.  I stood behind her as she reached up to take
down a white dress, and I suddenly realised that as
she stretched out the front of her nightie opened up
and I could see down the front.  I just caught a
glimpse of a little pointed nipple before she removed
the dress from its hanger and introduced it as her
bridesmaid’s dress.

“That’s lovely,” I exclaimed.  “Will you put it on for
me sometime, please?”

“Yes,” she answered in her soft gentle voice.  “Only
I’m not allowed to play in it or wear it for long
because it’s very special and expensive.”

I was shown the rest of her dresses, not very many as
I presume she often wore less feminine garments,
before we finally went downstairs.  “Where have you
been?” demanded Joy, as if we had insulted her. 
“You’ve been gone such a long time.  We didn’t know
where you were.”

“Maybe they were kissing,” suggested Tara naughtily.

“Of course we weren’t,” retorted Suzanne crossly. 
“Don’t be so stupid, Tara.  And rude.”

“That’s silly talk, Tara,” I told her gently.  “We
weren’t, but kissing is nothing to laugh about anyway.
 You know, I’ve found the people who make jokes about
kissing are usually scared of it, so they try and
cover it up.”  Tara looked uncomfortable.  “It’s just
a special way of showing you like somebody very much.”

“Maybe in *your* country,” said Tara.

“Do you kiss Marina?” Joy wanted to know.

“Yes, I do sometimes,” I answered.  “But I always do
it very gently because she’s a very gentle person. 
We’re never silly about it.”

“Some of the films on television show people kissing
each other on the mouth and staying like that for
hours,” exaggerated Joy.  “That’s gross!  It should be
just a short one, and I don’t like it on the mouth.”

“Well, where would you like me to kiss you, then?” I
teased her gently, smiling into her face.

“Nowhere!” she giggled, tucking her knees up under her
chin to show her white cotton panties and burying her
face in her folded arms, pretending I was going to
try.

“Come on, Roy, kiss her!” Tara urged me.

“No fear!” I exclaimed, pretending to be cross with
much exaggeration.  “I’ll never kiss anyone who
doesn’t want me to!”

“Kiss Suzanne, then – she wants you to,” urged Joy
provocatively, looking up.

“I think that’s enough silly talk,” I smiled, sitting
down again in my armchair.

Shortly afterwards it was time for Tara and Joy to go
off to bed, leaving Suzanne and me alone again.  “I
hope you’re going to stay a bit longer tonight,” I
smiled at her after they had gone.

“Maybe,” she conceded.  “Last night I thought you
might want to be alone and go to bed.”

“No, I prefer talking to you,” I replied.  “So you’re
welcome to stay as long as you’re allowed.”

There was a short pause, and then I suddenly sensed
Suzanne becoming a bit tense.  She moved once as if to
get up, then changed her mind.  Then she did get up
and walked over to the television again.  “I’ll just
turn the sound down a bit,” she said, and I had a
repeat performance of the previous night.  She bent
over to fix the controls and gave me a brief view of
her soft white panties at the back.

To stop the embarrassment she had obviously felt the
night before that caused her to leave, I asked her a
question about what we could do when the weather
cleared up, and she stood there next to the television
and told me very briefly about the town centre and the
nearby countryside.  She didn’t sit down, and it was
obvious to me she wanted to say something else.  I
wondered if she had some plan to win their
competition.  Nobody had made a move that evening so
far.

I paused and waited.  Then she said, “That’s a nice
comfy chair you’re sitting in.”  She paused. “I always
sat in it before you came but I’m very happy for you
to have it.”

Reading her thoughts, I answered, “Well, there’s
plenty of room, so you can come and sit where Michelle
sat if you like.”  I patted the seat of the armchair
next to me.

She gave a shy smile, hesitated, and said, “Well,
thank you.”  She walked over and sat down, rather on
the edge, without touching me.  I was tempted to put
my arm round her, but thought it best for her to make
the first move.

We pretended to watch the film for two or three
minutes.  Then she asked, “Are you sure you don’t mind
me sitting here?”

“I’m very pleased,” I assured her.  A little fantasy –
I didn’t even want to call it a white lie – might
help, I decided.  I would use Shelley’s name rather
than Marina’s, I thought, as a cousin was less
threatening than a girlfriend.  “Shelley has a big
chair like this at her house,” I told her.  “We often
snuggle up together or she sits on my lap when we
watch television, just like this.”

Suzanne murmured something, but didn’t move.  Then her
hand went back, on the side nearest to me, and she
scratched her back through the nightie.  She did this
two or three times, and then said, “There’s something
itchy on my back.”

“Do you want me to scratch it for you?” I asked.

“Yes, please,” she nodded, showing me where to
scratch.  Very gently I scratched there on the
material of her nightie and felt her squirm very
gently with, I presume, pleasure, as I did so.

“Is that better?” I asked, playing along with whatever
her real motive was in inventing an itch that I knew
wasn’t there.

“It’s nice, but it itches again when you stop,” she
said.

“Maybe you could just go to your mum and ask her to
look at it for you,” I suggested cunningly.

“Well, I don’t want to disturb her when she’s watching
television.”  There was a pregnant pause.  “Roy, could
– you look at it for me, please?”

“Certainly, if you want me to,” I answered, wondering
if she really would dare to do what I thought she
wanted to do.

With her face turned away from me, she raised her
bottom slightly and lifted the back of her nightie,
revealing in full her white silky panties, elasticised
round her waist.

I put my hand in the appropriate place on her bare,
freckled back and rubbed gently.  “I can’t see
anything except it’s just a little red from rubbing
it,” I said.

She shivered slightly as I continued rubbing.  After a
few seconds I stopped and asked, “How does it feel
now?”

“I think it’s all right now,” she said, turning and
smiling shyly at me for the first time.  She pulled
her nightie down, added “Thank you,” wriggled her back
and settled down, gently leaning her body against my
arm.

Playing along and obeying the unwritten rules, never
to give the real explanation for what you are doing, I
said, “My arm’s a bit sore there, Suzanne.  May I move
it a bit?”  I moved my arm round so that my shoulder
was behind hers and my arm down the far side of her
body and resting against it.  “Is that all right?” I
asked.

“That’s fine,” she murmured, leaning against me. 
Thrilled by her love, however disguised it was, I sat
there watching television in silence without retaining
a thing.  A few minutes later Suzanne leaned her head
back hesitantly against my chest.  I rubbed her side
gently with my hand that was round her, and could feel
the waistline of her panties underneath.

Suzanne said nothing else, and I half-sat, half-lay
there, warm with pleasure, while the clock slowly
ticked round to her bedtime.  Afraid that her parents
might check she went to bed on time, I whispered her
name, but got no response.  I looked at her.  She
appeared to be asleep, but I didn’t believe it.  An
occasional flutter of her eyelids helped to confirm my
suspicions.

However, I was quite willing to play the game her way.
 I called her name again and got no response. 
Guessing she wanted me to do the same as I had done to
Michelle, I put my other hand gently under her knees
and lifted her into my arms as I stood.  She was quite
light for her age, and I sensed a smile on her lips as
she let her head loll to the side, but not too limply.

I carried her out, and cunningly pretended to stumble
on the stairs.  I felt her body tense and her arm
jerked out, and then flopped down again.  Still, I
would play her game.  I carried her into her bedroom,
switching on the light which showed Michelle fast
asleep with her thumb in her mouth.  Then I slid her
into her bed, taking care not to let her nightie slide
up, just in case she might suspect me of trying to spy
on her panties.  I tucked her into bed, just as I had
done with Michelle.

I looked down at her again, noticing those eyelids
flicker.  Then I knelt down next to her and whispered,
“Goodnight, Suzanne.”  I added, “I love you,” and then
suddenly thought it might be too soon.  I pushed back
her fringe gently with one hand and gave her my
tenderest kiss on her forehead.  Maybe that was too
soon as well.  I hoped I hadn’t blown it.

As I lifted my head, I saw her face redden.  She made
a noise as if she were stirring in her sleep, and then
rolled her head and shoulders over to bury her face in
her pillow.  I was quite sure that this was what she
had wanted, yet of course doubts plagued me that I had
perhaps been presumptuous.  But I felt a real warmth
in my heart as I tiptoed out of the bedroom, switching
off the light and leaving the door ajar as she had
done when we put Michelle to bed.

Next morning I awoke quite early and lay in bed,
thinking and smiling about the competition they had
set themselves.  For the first time since I became a
naturist I was deliberately going to hide my genitals,
so as to tease a bunch of girls – unless, of course,
they were willing to trade.

After a while I heard footsteps and Tara and Joy
looked round the door, giggling.  I waved to them and
they came in, rather giggly and not their natural
selves at all.  I would have been very puzzled if I
had not known what it was all about.  I was
disappointed to see that Tara was wearing shorts this
time and Joy cut-off jeans.

“You still in bed, Roy?” asked Joy.  “You are a
lazybones!”

“I’ll get up when I need to, for breakfast,” I
answered.

Tara went to the window and drew back the curtains for
me.  “The rain’s stopped now,” she said.  “Come and
see, Roy.”

“I can see from here,” I smiled at her, lying back in
bed with my bare shoulders out and my arms folded
behind my head.

“And there are lots of birds,” added Joy.  “Roy, you
must come and have a look at them.”

“I will do soon,” I teased them.

Suzanne and Michelle came in now, and I was pleased to
see that they at least were wearing dresses.  Suzanne
was wearing a dark blue dress with white patterns and
Michelle a green and yellow dress.  Michelle bounced
in and over to the bed, chattering away as usual,
while Suzanne greeted me with a shy smile.  There was
an air of expectation among them.  I found it hard to
stop a smile, as I knew they would be disappointed.

They tried several tricks to get me out of bed, mostly
by telling me the interesting things I could see out
of the window.  They got rather frustrated as I
quietly refused to do so, and quite dismayed when Pam
called to them to come to breakfast and allow me to
get up in peace.

“You’re a lazybones,” Joy scolded as she prepared to
leave the room.  Then suddenly, on impulse, she turned
back.  “I’ll get you out of bed!” she shouted
excitedly, as she grabbed hold of my sheet and blanket
and pulled them right off me.  At that moment all the
girls squealed, anticipating what would happen.

The way it should have happened, I guess, according to
her plan, which I’m sure was quite spontaneous, was
that she would uncover my naked body, stare at my
penis, and then pretend to be shocked and upset,
saying how sorry she was and that she had forgotten I
slept naked.  It was an excellent plan and there was
only one small detail that went wrong for them.  I was
wearing my underpants.

Joy backed away in confusion, eyes big and hand over
her mouth.  The apology she had no doubt intended to
give never came out.  Her face went red.  Her plan had
failed.  Like rats turning on a wounded colleague, the
other girls were on to her straight away.

“Joy, what are you doing?!” Tara shouted at her.

“Joy, you can’t – that’s . . ,” began Suzanne, who
didn’t know what to say.

“Joy, Joy, Joy!” squealed Michelle, bouncing up and
down.  Joy burst into tears and fled from the room. 
Tara slipped out after her.

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed,
highly amused but not showing it.  Michelle blurted
out, “You said you went to bed when you were bare.”

“Yes, but I got up early to go to the toilet,” I
explained.  “I didn’t think I could walk around the
house when I was bare.”

“Roy, I’m sorry – about Joy,” said Suzanne.  “I think
she must have forgotten – but she shouldn’t have done
it.”

“That’s all right,” I smiled, reaching for my clothes.

“Come on, Michelle, we’ll leave Roy in peace,” Suzanne
said, taking her sister by the hand and leading her
towards the door.

“You may stay, I don’t mind,” I assured her.

“No, we’ll wait for you at breakfast,” Suzanne called
back.

We had breakfast, with Joy very silent, but if the
parents noticed they didn’t comment.  Then they left
for work.  I wondered what other tricks would follow.

After breakfast Joy came to me with Suzanne, no doubt
prompted by her, and said she was sorry.  “I’d
forgotten you – didn’t wear pyjamas,” she said.

“That’s fine, I don’t know what all the fuss was
about,” I said.  But then I added, “Joy, you have been
a bit silly sometimes in your behaviour with me
recently, so you need to be a bit more sensible.”  I
didn’t want to risk having her doing something else
openly like that in order to win her competition.  She
nodded, biting her lip.  “But I like you all the
same,” I added with a smile.

The rain had begun again and the girls were rather
sulky at being stuck inside the house once more.  The
previous day they had organised a concert, among other
things, but this time they just did as they pleased as
individuals, which led to some quarrels at times. 
Tara decided to watch television in the main lounge,
while Joy shut herself in their bedroom and, I found
out later, did some painting.  Michelle asked me for
permission to bring her toys to play with in my room,
and she did that quite quietly.

I went to the toilet downstairs, shutting the door but
not locking it.  I was in the middle when suddenly the
door burst open and Tara plunged through.  “Oh, sorry,
Roy, I just want to wash my hands,” she giggled, red
in the face and so completely unnatural that even if I
hadn’t overheard about the competition I would have
known what her aim was.

She started washing her hands at the basin next to me,
chattering away in a very silly fashion about nothing
at all while I continued to urinate.  However, I made
sure my penis did not stick out far and that it was
well covered by the leg of my shorts and my hand.  I
could sense Joy looking down as she washed.  When I
finished I gently shook it dry and replaced it inside
my shorts, while she finished washing and departed. 
Her air of frustration told me that indeed she had
been unable to see anything.  I heard her scurrying
upstairs and shutting her bedroom door rather firmly.

I then went to get myself a drink in the kitchen when
Suzanne came in.  “Roy, I want to show you something,”
she told me.  After the incident with Joy, I was very
wary as she led me up the stairs to her bedroom.

She shut the door after us, so I felt really on guard.
 I was sure she was going to do something to try to
win that competition, and I was going to insist on a
trade.  Then she said, “You asked me to wear my
bridesmaid’s dress for you, so I thought it would be a
good time now.”

“Yes, I’d love that,” I answered, anticipating with
pleasure what was coming next.

She already had it laid out on her bed ready to use. 
She took off the dress she was wearing, talking to me
all the time about the occasions when she had been a
bridesmaid.  “It’s getting a bit small for me now, so
I’ll need you to help me put it on,” she said as she
put down one dress and picked up another, wearing only
a small pair of smooth white panties and a half-vest
that was slightly rounded at the front.  Her arms and
legs were really very thin.

“Come behind me and help me pull it on,” she asked, so
I stood behind while she lifted the dress above her
head, slipped her arms up the middle and felt around
for the armholes.  Her head disappeared inside and I
saw her hands appearing out of the little sleeves.

“Actually it’s more difficult taking it off than
putting it on,” came her muffled voice.  All I had to
do was pull the skirt down for her, and as I did so,
with a lot of difficulty, her arms and head emerged in
the right place.  It was indeed very small for her and
the waist was about level with her navel, but the
flowing skirt went down to her knees.  “It used to go
down to my ankles,” she told me.  I did up three or
four buttons down the back.

“Hey, that’s great.  That’s really beautiful,” I told
her truthfully, standing back to gaze at her.  She
glowed with pleasure and did a couple of poses.  “I
wish I could take a photo of you dressed like that,” I
exclaimed.

“I’ve got lots in my photo album,” Suzanne told me. 
“I’ll ask Mummy if you can have one.”

“That would be great.  May I see it?” I asked.

Suzanne took out a large album from the bookcase and
opened it.  The first page fell open with a photo of a
naked baby lying on its back, legs apart.  Hurriedly
Suzanne opened it near the back and searched around
for the photos she wanted, edging away so I couldn’t
see the photos clearly.  Then she said, “Here,” and
showed me a page of photos of herself, rather smaller
and looking more than ever like a wooden puppet with a
round head, wearing that dress.

“I’m at Uncle Brian’s wedding, like I told you,” she
said.

“That’s a lovely album,” I said.  “And all photos of
you?  May I look at it, please?”

“Sometime,” she said shyly, shutting it and putting it
back in the bookcase.  “I want to do other things this
morning.  Please help me out of this dress so I don’t
get it dirty.”

I undid the buttons at the back for her.  Then she
lifted her arms high and asked me to pull it off over
her head.  I took hold of the collar and pulled, but
could only move it upwards as far as her nose.  I
pulled at the sleeves, but could only budge them a few
centimetres.  It was too tight on her body.

“Could you – get hold of the waist and push?” she
asked hesitantly.  I did so and managed to shift it up
a bit further.  Then I returned to the top and pulled
some more.  The collar went over her head so that only
the top of her head, with its shortish brown hair,
stuck out.  Then I couldn’t move it any more.

“I think you’ll – have to put your hands up the skirt
and push that way,” came Suzanne’s muffled voice from
inside, after we had struggled for several minutes.

“All right, if you want me to,” I answered.  I was
afraid I would have to touch her in private places,
and while I was all too eager to do so, I did not want
it at the expense of her trust or if it would cause
embarrassment.

“Please,” she said, folding her thin arms, with the
short sleeves stuck over the elbows, over the top of
her head.

I lifted the skirt and moved my hands up as high as I
could reach, which was just on the elastic waistline
of her panties.  Then I slipped my hands up under the
tight waistline of the dress, unable to avoid placing
the palms of my hands on those soft white panties, and
began to ease it upwards.  I had to put the long skirt
over the back of my head so as to be out of the way of
my hands, and all I could see was the smooth, flat,
soft, white material of her panties in front of my
eyes, with little creases in the groin area and little
rows of stitches around the hems and the waist.

I have done plenty of things with my girls back home,
especially with Shelley, but I don’t think I had ever
had my head right up a girl’s skirt before.  My penis
began to respond as I realised her vagina was only
centimetres from my nose but I couldn’t see it.

As I worked at it, Suzanne asked in a muffled voice,
“Roy, did you carry me to bed last night?”

“Yes, I did,” I replied.  “You were pretending to be
asleep, so I thought you needed some help.”  I gave an
audible chuckle and patted her tummy playfully,
feeling her ribs close to the surface.

She giggled.  “I was sort of – half-asleep,” was as
far as she would go towards a confession.  “Was I
heavy?”

“No,” I answered, working some more upwards and
feeling Suzanne pull the dress up another few
centimetres.  “You were beautifully light and slim.” 
The ends of my fingers were touching her half-vest
now, so I carried on working round the sides rather
than the front.

“And I dreamed you kissed me goodnight,” she
continued, the shyness evident in her voice.

“Did that make it a good dream or a bad dream?” I
asked.

“It was a nightmare!” she giggled.  “No, really, it
was a very good dream.”

“Maybe one day it will come true in real life,” I
suggested.  “I can’t get this waistline over your
chest.”

“Well, it’s – growing a bit there,” Suzanne replied. 
“Maybe my – my bra’s in the way.  Can you pull it over
the top now?  The dress, I mean” – just in case I
thought she meant the bra, which was really a half
vest.

“I’ll try,” I said, standing up and pulling the dress
gently from the bottom so that it was turning inside
out.  Suzanne straightened her arms and the waistline
pulled upwards, taking the half-vest partway with it. 
The bottom part peeled upwards, revealing two little
circular pyramids peeping out underneath, soft-looking
and white, with two tiny pink nipples on top.

“Ooh!” Suzanne gasped in genuine shock as I finally
managed to pull the collar, inside out, over her head
without hurting her ears too much.  As I began the
final task of freeing her arms, she glanced down to
see her little breasts protruding from under the vest.
 She gave a gasp but her hands were helpless to do
anything at that moment.  She glanced up at me
fearfully, but I made sure my eyes were elsewhere.

As soon as her hands were freed, she pulled her vest
down quickly to cover her maiden breasts.  “Ooh, my
bra came up,” she murmured nervously.  “Did you –
see?”

I sat down on her bed and smiled at her.  “I didn’t
want to look because I never want to do anything that
will make you feel bad,” I told her gently, not
answering her question directly.  “I hope I didn’t
touch you anywhere that made you feel bad.”

“Oh, no, you were – very good,” she smiled with a
little blush.  She reached out to pick up her dress on
the bed, then put it down and put her hands up to
adjust the shoulder straps of her vest.  She tugged
them so the vest slipped upwards and her little
breasts reappeared for a split second, so tender and
white.  Then she pulled it down again at the bottom
and picked up her dress without looking at me.

It was a deliberate gift, the sort of precious gift
that girls often give to boys they really like and
trust.  My heart warmed and so did my loins.  I wanted
to give something back.  “Is this a good time for
dreams to come true?” I asked her as she slipped her
dress over her head.

“Er – yes,” she smiled quizzically as her head
emerged.  I stood up, leaned forward and kissed her
ever so gently but ever so slowly on the cheek.  The
cheek reddened and her mouth smiled.  Then she wrapped
her arms round my neck and kissed me just under my
ear.

“You are so precious,” I whispered in her ear.  “I
love you, Suzanne.”

“Me too,” she whispered back, as we unwrapped
ourselves.  Then she looked at me with a glint of
apprehension and said, “Don’t tell the others.”

“No, I won’t,” I promised her.  We paused, enjoying
each other’s company.  Then I said, “We’d better do
something with the door open, though, or they’ll get
suspicious.  We don’t want them telling those dreadful
lies about us kissing, do we?”

Suzanne giggled.  Then she said, “I know what we can
do.  We can dance.”

(To be continued)



THE ENGLISH EXPERIENCE (CHAPTER 3)


I quietly opened the bedroom door as Suzanne chose a
Spice Girls disk to play.  I didn’t really like them,
but I was willing to put up with it for Suzanne’s
sake.

In a moment the music - or noise, depending on your
interpretation – of the Spice Girls filled the room. 
“I can’t put it on loudly because Mummy – my mum –
says it will annoy the neighbours,” Suzanne bellowed
in my ear.  I was very glad she didn’t.

We started dancing, facing each other.  Since Suzanne
knew more about it than I did, I let her show me how
to do it and copied her as she flung her arms and legs
about gaily.  Within moments Joy had burst out of her
room and was staring inside to see what was going on.

“Come and join us,” I invited her.  Rather nervously,
perhaps still remembering the mild scolding I had
given her earlier, she came in and started trying to
copy us.  Then Michelle burst in and immediately
started bouncing around most amusingly, tugging the
front of her dress up and down as she did so.

Finally Tara appeared, lured from the television set. 
She stared inside the room and watched us for quite a
while before she could be persuaded to join in.  By
now the room was too small, and it wasn’t long before
Suzanne had to switch off the music.  “There’s not
enough room in here for all of us,” she said.

“Let’s do ballet,” suggested Michelle noisily, trying
to kick up her legs and swing round like a ballerina.

“Yes, we could do that,” agreed Suzanne, with a
positive response from Joy too.  “We’d have to do it
two at a time, though.  And it really needs a boy, so
will you join in, Roy?”

“I’m no use at ballet,” I protested.  “I’ll just watch
you.”

“Oh, please, Roy,” begged Joy, coming up to me,
clasping her hands and resting them on my shoulder. 
“We’ve always had to do without a boy before, and it
would be so good if you’d join in.”

“I don’t know how to do it,” I protested.

“It’s easy, and we’ll teach you,” Joy urged me. 
“Please try it.”  Tara joined in the pleading, both of
them urging me with their big soulful blue eyes.

“Suzanne, you don’t really need me in this, do you?” I
asked her, in a final appeal for help.  “I don’t know
how to do it and I’d rather just watch.”

“Well, will you try it?” Suzanne smiled appealingly at
me.  “Tara and Joy always have plans and I think they
want you to join in.”

Well, they certainly had plans, and I innocently, if
reluctantly, agreed to join in their ballet.

“Oh, goody!” exulted Joy.  “Now we need to get changed
– you as well, Roy.  We all change into our swimming
costumes for ballet because we can’t do them in our
clothes.”

So that was it!  I had to change into my swimming
costume, to give the girls another chance to spy on
me.  I had walked straight into the trap.  Tara and
Joy had presumably planned it between themselves.  I
had mentioned my swimming costume before to them, so I
couldn’t pretend I didn’t have one.

I tried to throw out a red herring.  “Well, I’ll just
use my underpants,” I told them.  “They’re smoother
and much more suitable for ballet than my old swimming
costume.”

“Oh, we always do it in swimming costumes,” said Joy. 
“So you need to wear your swimming costume so you’re
the same as us.”

“Well, you can wear your panties – your knickers – as
well,” I suggested, teasing them gently because I knew
this wasn’t what they wanted.  “It’s a pity we can’t
all do it naked.  Ballet is really a celebration of
the human body, so it’s best done naked.  The trouble
is that there are some people watching who are fussy
and wouldn’t agree to nude dancing, so they have to
wear something.  So they use the thinnest, smoothest
clothes they can to try and keep the body shape.”  I
wondered if I wasn’t making my desire a little
obvious.

“We’re not going to dance naked!” exclaimed Joy. 
“We’re not your naturist club!”

“And we’re not going to use our knickers in front of
you either,” Tara told me.  “So you must change into
your swimming costume like we do.”

“And may we use your room, Roy?” Tara asked brightly. 
“This one’s too small for us.”  After what Suzanne had
said about having to do it two at a time, I realised
that she was not part of the plot, which was a relief.
 After the closeness that had developed between us, I
would have felt, if not betrayed, then very
disappointed in her had she set a trap for me.

I couldn’t very well refuse the request to use my
room.  “Good,” said Joy briskly, and added, with
minimal subtlety, “We’ll come and arrange it while you
change into your swimming costume.”

“Let’s get changed first, then we can go down and
arrange the room,” suggested Suzanne.  Was she just
trying to stop her sisters from winning the
competition, or was she saying that for my sake?

“You can change, and we’ll get it ready for you,” Tara
said, as they led me out of the room and downstairs. 
I gave Suzanne the benefit of the doubt, as she could
have come down with us as well.  In the meantime I was
trying to work out how I could get out of this
situation without giving the appearance of hiding from
them.

Joy in particular was chattering away rather
unnaturally as we went downstairs and into my room. 
“Roy, you get your swimming costume on while we fix up
the room for you,” she repeated, no doubt thinking
that as a naturist I would live up to my claims and do
so without a thought.

“I’ll help you,” I volunteered, and we spent several
minutes moving the furniture to the side of the room,
despite the unsubtle urging of the girls for me not to
worry because they knew how to do it.

When we finished, they did not depart but stood there
talking about the ballet they planned to do.  I sat
down to listen to them.

“Don’t sit down, Roy, you can change now,” Joy told
me.

“I’ll just change at the same time as you do,” I told
her.  “I’m interested in what you’re telling me.”

The girls pretty soon stopped talking and waited
expectantly.  “What are you waiting for?” I asked
them.

“Nothing,” said Joy, looking innocent and sitting down
at the other end of the sofa.

“I thought you were going to change,” I said.  I
thought it would be best if I gave her a hint that I
was suspicious.  “Why are you behaving in such a
strange way today, Joy?  I think you’re trying to play
some sort of trick on me.”

“No,” she answered, looking somewhat disconcerted. 
Then, realising that I was not going to change in
their presence and afraid of my suspicions, she stood
up, looked at Tara and said with resignation, “We’d
better change into our swimming costumes now.”

They both left, promising to be back.  I suspected
they might be back sooner than I was supposed to
expect, so I kept an eye on the door as I rummaged in
my suitcase for my swimming costume.  I had just found
it when I saw Tara’s head pop round the door, near
ground level, for an instant and then disappear again.

“Hello, Tara, what do you want?” I called out, with a
slight edge to my voice.

There was a brief silence, then came her sheepish
voice, “I – just thought I had left my bag in there.” 
I heard her pattering away, no doubt feeling
frustrated.

I waited a short while, half-hidden behind a table. 
Sure enough, Joy appeared at the doorway with an
artificial smile that diminished when she saw I was
still clothed.  “Roy, I – just thought we might need
to move the furniture a bit more,” she said.

“Joy, what’s the silly game?” I asked her.

She looked very guilty now and quickly turned her back
on me, muttering something that sounded like,
“Nothing,” and then slunk out again.  I thought after
all that neither of them would dare come back again
until they had changed, so I kept behind the table and
slipped out of my clothes, watching the door all the
while.

As I did so, I heard voices, some distance away near
the stairs.  I recognised Suzanne’s voice, sounding
rather cross, and then Joy’s, not very happy.  Then I
heard light footsteps coming towards my open door.  I
was in my underpants and wondered who it was this
time.

I heard Suzanne’s voice.  “Roy, may I – come in?” she
asked, out of sight.

“Yes, sure,” I answered.  On a sudden impulse, I
decided to make Suzanne the winner of the competition.
 I slipped my underpants off and moved out from behind
the table as she appeared in the doorway, wearing her
swimming costume.

For a second she looked apologetic, and then as she
saw me standing there naked she gave a sudden gasp.  I
smiled at her.  “It’s all right, you can come in,” I
told her.

She stood there speechless for a few seconds, leaning
against the doorpost and looking quite uncomfortable. 
Then she said, so quietly I could hardly hear her, “I
just wanted to say – sorry Tara and Joy are being so
silly.  I . . .”  She paused, went slightly red and
then went back out again.

“It’s all right, Suzanne,” I called after her.  “It
doesn’t matter.”

She said something I couldn’t catch and I heard her
footsteps departing.  I wondered what she would do
next.  Quickly I slipped on my swimming costume and
followed her as quietly as I could.  I had discovered
that if I walked at the extreme side of the stairs and
right up next to the walls, the floorboards hardly
creaked at all.

I leapt nimbly up the stairs and along the passage,
where I could hear agitated voices coming from the
bedroom shared by Tara and Joy.  I crept nearer, ready
to call out, “Is everybody ready?” if one of them came
out and saw me.

“It’s so rude,” I heard Suzanne’s voice.  “Roy’s good
to us, isn’t he, and you two are just treating him so
rudely.  We must stop this silly competition and treat
him properly, because he knows you two are up
something, and it’s not good.”

“Oh, Suzanne, you’re just saying that because you know
we’ll win,” retorted Tara.

“No, I’m not,” argued Suzanne.  “I thought – but I can
see now how rude it is.  If he tells Mummy and Daddy,
we’ll all be in big trouble.”

“He says he’s a naturist but he isn’t because he’s
shy,” put in Joy.  “I know because he wouldn’t change
in front of us and he told us to go away and get
changed, and wouldn’t let us see him.  So he won’t let
you see him either.”

“You’re just saying it because you know you won’t
win,” repeated Tara.

“Look, I . . . it’s not a competition and if it was, I
would have won,” Suzanne told them.  “I went in to
tell him I was sorry about your behaviour – well, I
called out to him and he told me to come in and – he
was changing then.”

“Did you see his wee?” asked Joy, in a mixture of
eagerness and apprehension.

“Well, yes, but I feel so bad about it,” confessed
Suzanne.  “He – he let me, he trusted me.  And it’s
awful that we should treat him like this.”

“I don’t believe you,” Tara said loudly.  “He wouldn’t
let us see it.”

“All right, if you saw it, what did it look like?”
demanded Joy.

“I’m not telling you because it would be rude, and I
don’t care if you don’t believe me,” said Suzanne. 
“I’m not in the competition any more and you should
both stop it.”

Their voices grew louder and I thought it time to put
a stop to it.  Actually, I found it most amusing, and
I also felt warm towards Suzanne, who obviously liked
and respected me and was no longer prepared to put up
with her sisters’ nonsense.  “Is everybody ready?” I
called out.

There were gasps from inside the room, and then
Suzanne called out in a rather shaky voice, “Er - yes,
Roy, we’re just coming.”

A moment later they all trooped out, wearing their
swimming costumes.  Suzanne was looking rather
embarrassed, Tara defiant, Joy subdued after I had
rebuked her, and Michelle was grinning broadly.  She
had of course contributed to the conversation in the
room, mainly to remind everybody that “I was first.”

As we descended the stairs, Tara asked me boldly,
“Roy, did Suzanne see you – when you were bare?”

“Stop it, Tara, don’t be rude again,” Suzanne broke in
urgently.  She looked more embarrassed than ever.

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter,” I answered Tara lightly.
 “I trust Suzanne.”

“Don’t you trust me?” asked Tara, almost indignantly.

“I don’t think I can yet – you or Joy,” I answered. 
“You’ve been behaving in such a silly way since last
night that I can see you’re up to some trick or
other.”

“No, we’re not, honestly we’re not,” blurted out Joy
dishonestly.

“You’ll have to show me you can trust me by being
sensible and friendly, then,” I told them both.  Of
course Michelle wanted to know whether I trusted her,
and I replied in the positive.

After all that, nobody was really feeling in the mood
for ballet.  Tara suggested we had something to drink
in the kitchen, and then suggested we all went
outside, as the rain had stopped for the present.  Joy
agreed, perhaps glad to escape the embarrassment of my
presence, and so did Michelle, no doubt for the
excitement.  Suzanne kept quiet and looked very
unhappy.

The three younger girls had their drinks and then made
for the cupboard where they kept their ‘wellies’ – the
Wellington boots for walking in water or mud that I
had already learned were such a vital part of any
English household.  It took them the best part of ten
minutes to get shod properly and help Michelle to do
the same, and then they opened the back door to go out
into the slippery, slimy back garden.  None of them
asked me to join them, although I’m sure Michelle
would have if she had been less excited.

During that time Suzanne had quietly disappeared
without my noticing her.  I watched the other girls
slushing out on to the muddy back lawn, wearing
swimming costumes and ‘wellies’, and then went
upstairs to look for Suzanne.  Her bedroom door was
closed.

I knocked gently and called out, “Suzanne, may I come
in, please?”  After a few seconds of silence, I heard
her reluctant voice answering in the affirmative.

She was sitting on her bed leaning against her bed
head, with tears on her cheeks.  I went and sat beside
her, smiling at her and waiting for her to speak.

Eventually she said, “Roy, I’m so sorry.  I really
didn’t mean to tell the others – I saw you.  But they
. . .”  She came to a halt, not knowing what to say
next.

“It’s all right,” I told her.  “I know you weren’t
trying to be rude.  You see, some of your voices are
louder than you think at times, and I heard something
about a competition that Tara and Joy wanted
yesterday.  That’s why I didn’t let them see me
changing.  But I knew I could trust you more than
that.  And I know you didn’t mean to tell them about
it.”

Suzanne sat still, then said, “Thank you,” in a broken
voice and reached out towards me.  I held out my arms
to her and she wrapped her arms round my neck, to bury
her face in my shoulder with a sob.  I held her and
stroked her back at the top of her swimming costume,
feeling her bony shoulder blades that were sticking
out prominently.  When she eventually looked up with a
tearful smile, I kissed her gently on the cheek.  She
returned it gratefully.

We went downstairs to find the others already back
inside and rather cold in their swimming costumes. 
Nobody was in the mood for ballet, and they went
upstairs to change back into their clothes.  I did the
same downstairs, warily, but I was left in privacy
this time.

The girls didn’t come downstairs again, so I left them
to their own devices and tried to keep myself amused. 
I was reading a book when, about an hour later, I
heard footsteps on the floorboard and wondered who it
was.  Then I heard Tara’s voice calling me, “Roy?  May
I come in?”

It seemed the silliness was over, but I thought I
would be wary all the same.  “Yes, Tara, when the
door’s open you can always come in,” I replied, and
then thought perhaps that might be asking for trouble.

“Thank you,” she said, and came in, smiling rather
awkwardly.  She seated herself on the sofa, which was
now opposite me as I had not yet put the furniture
back in place in case the girls decided they wanted to
do ballet again.  She put her knees up, rested her
arms on them and looked at me from over the top.  A
sliver of white panties showed at the bottom of her
shorts.

“Roy,” she said, still sounding rather ill at ease and
not looking directly at me.  “I’ve got a problem.”

“Well, maybe I can help,” I encouraged her, wondering
what was coming.  “What’s it about?”

She gulped and went white rather than blushing. 
“Well, you see, we – we’re going to do sex education
at school next term,” she began.  “I hope you don’t
mind me asking you.  And I’m getting teased a lot at
school because I’ve never seen – I mean, I don’t know
what a boy’s wee looks like.  Apart from small babies,
but they don’t count.  So the other girls tease me
because all our family are girls.  So I was wondering
– if you could tell me.”

She was trying to look innocent, but it was hard to
keep myself from smiling.  So Tara at least was still
at it!  I knew where this conversation was going – if
she thought she was being subtle, she was way off
course - and tried to plan ahead.  I answered, “Well,
I’m sure I can do better than that.  I saw a set of
encyclopedias in your dad’s bookcase, and I’m sure
they’ll have pictures to show you.  Shall we have a
look?”

“No, I – my dad doesn’t want us looking at them
because we might get them dirty,” was Tara’s unguarded
reply.

“That’s all right,” I said, stringing her along. 
“Your dad said I could look at any of his books, so I
can show you without you touching them at all.  Come
with me.”  I stood up and walked out.

Tara looked alarmed and confused.  She started to say
something but then stopped, and finally followed me as
she was unable to think of an excuse not to.

To my surprise, though, the encyclopedias did not
actually show any proper pictures of that elusive
organ, although there were diagrams to show the
urinary system and the reproductive system and so on. 
Tara looked quite bewildered when I showed them to
her, and I couldn’t tell whether it was genuine or
not.

“Well, can you tell me, please?” she asked as we sat
on the floor together in front of the bookcase.  “The
other girls laugh at me and ask me to tell them what
it looks like, but I can’t.  It’s harder being a
tomboy because they say I’m a tomboy who doesn’t even
know what a proper boy looks like.”

I had no objection to telling her.  I simply explained
that a penis was like a little tube about as long as
my finger and twice as wide, and even drew her a very
simple picture on some scrap paper.  It was impossible
not to understand that.

“And – what about the things they call balls?” she
asked after that, with a furrowed brow.  “What are
they?”

That was harder to explain, and even with my diagrams
she still looked quite puzzled.  “Well, just tell them
it’s a little bag with two round things called
testicles inside,” I told her, getting to my feet and
preparing to return to my room.

“But I . . .” she tried to protest, afraid that her
sex lesson was at an end without any proper visual
aids.  Then, awkwardly, she came out with her real
purpose all along, as I had anticipated.  “Roy, I
can’t understand,” she said.  “You’re a naturist and
you don’t mind so – please, can you show me just for
one moment?  Just so I can understand properly.  I
promise not to tell anybody.”

I had been preparing for that request mentally all the
time, and came out with the best reply I could think
of.  “Well, Tara, I don’t mind, but that would be
against the law in this country,” I told her, sure
that was not completely correct.  “You see, I’m over
sixteen and you’re not, so if I just showed you my
penis and testicles like that I could be put in
prison.”  I was just making this up but was sure she
wouldn’t know that.

“But I won’t tell,” she protested, looking round
furtively.  The other girls were upstairs but somebody
might just see us through the front window.  “We can
go to your room and do it there, and nobody will see
us.”

“I can’t go breaking the law just because nobody will
see us,” I told her, smiling at her from the moral
high ground and hoping she would suggest a trade that
I could find it possible to accept.

“But – Michelle saw you in the bath and Suzanne says
she saw you when you were changing into your swimming
costume,” Tara protested.

“That’s different because it’s natural,” I told her. 
“I count as a grown-up under the law, and for a
grown-up to expose himself, as they call it, to a
child is a serious crime.  You’re welcome to have a
bath with me tonight if you like, though, because
that’s natural.”

Tara stared past me with her brow furrowed.  Then she
said, “But my friend Melissa’s brother is sixteen, and
they show their wees to each other, and they haven’t
got into trouble.”

I thought I could gain a bit of ground here, so I
replied, “Well, they’re not breaking the law as long
as she does it first, because it’s not his fault then.
 But if the older person, over sixteen, does it first,
then that’s serious.”  I knew my argument was
transparently dodgy here, but Tara wasn’t to see that.

I could see the possibilities ticking over in her
mind.  I thought I had basically left her with only
one, unless she was silly enough to try and spy again:
she had to make the first move.

“Please, Roy, just let me see quickly and – and I’ll
love you for ever and I won’t tell anybody, I
promise,” she begged me.

I gave her a hard stare.  “It looks like you’re being
silly again,” I told her sternly.  “What do you think
your parents will say if I tell them you’re trying to
get me to break the law?”

She looked quite frightened now.  “Oh, please, Roy,
I’m sorry, please don’t tell them!  You won’t tell
them, will you?” she begged.

“Well, you had better not be silly or rude with me
again, then,” I told her, marching back to my room. 
“I can’t do it first, do you understand?”  It sounded
very clumsy to me but I hoped she wouldn’t be
suspicious.

“Oh, thank you, no, I won’t,” she called after me. 
But she didn’t follow me, so she was clearly too
afraid or not yet ready to meet my conditions.  I
resolved to be especially kind to her next time I saw
her to help her overcome the fear I had to arouse.

The rain did not return, although it was still heavily
overcast, so after eating the cold lunch Pam had left
for us the girls decided to take me to the village
centre at last.  “Let’s all put on some nice dresses,”
suggested Suzanne, shooting me a glance to tell me
that it was for my benefit.

“That would be great,” I encouraged them.  “I’ll be so
proud to go around with such beautifully dressed
girls.”  Even Tara, who was quite silent, did not
complain and put on a blue and white dress, perhaps
eager to get into my good books again.  I told her how
nice she looked, a compliment she refused to accept.

The village centre was about half a kilometre away, a
single main street with perhaps about ten shops in it.
 We took our raincoats and an umbrella with us, a
usual habit for the girls, and a wise one.  We went
from one to the other, and the girls were all known by
the shopkeepers and they introduced me each time.

As we went into the stationer’s shop, I saw a girl of
about Tara’s age with her back to us, looking at the
comics.  Tara immediately called out, “Hey, Samantha,
I didn’t know you were back!”

The girl turned round with a broad smile, the sort of
smile my family has always called a ‘creamy’ one, for
some reason.  I suppose it’s because it’s the sort of
smile you would expect from a Cheshire cat that had
just got the cream, broad, but without showing any
teeth.  This Samantha had hair of a sort of muddy
blonde colour, tied in a ponytail down her back, and
half-closed blue eyes.  She had a pretty face with an
almost cheeky expression and looked quite a confident
little madam.  She was disappointingly dressed in a
scruffy T-shirt and black track-suit bottoms.

“Tara!” she exclaimed.  Then she stared at her in
surprise.  “You’re wearing a dress!”  Obviously that
was considered an unusual event for Tara in the
village, and I wondered if it would make headlines in
the district gazette.

Tara looked rather embarrassed and said, “Well – we’ve
got Roy staying with us” – she introduced me and I
smiled warmly at Samantha and she smiled sweetly back.
 “So we . . . in his country the girls all wear
dresses, so we’re just – er – helping him.  To feel at
home.  It’s like a special occasion.  But I thought
you weren’t coming back till Sunday?”

I later learned that Samantha’s family had gone to
Cornwall for a seaside holiday.  “We weren’t going to,
but my dad got so sick of the rain we came back
early,” she explained.  “Hey, are you doing anything? 
Why don’t you all come round to my house?”

“Can Roy come?” asked Michelle, a vital question.

Samantha smiled up at me confidently.  “Yes, if he
wants to,” she said.  She turned back to Tara and
giggled.  “Gina will like him, anyway.  She likes
boys!”

“Who’s Gina?” I asked, visualising a fellow teenager I
could talk to, although I realised that my chances of
getting very far weren’t great.

“She’s Samantha’s sister,” Suzanne told me, which I
had guessed already.  “She’s eleven but she’s started
chasing boys already.”

That made me a little wary.  Eleven-year-old girls are
great, but they can be dangerous if they are overly
interested in boys at that age.  I had suffered a
harsh lesson or two myself when I was also that age,
as I have related in my story, Mr Sausage Man.  On the
other hand, very interesting things could happen if I
kept my wits about me.

Samantha bought her comic, counting out the money in
front of her rounded tummy and flat chest.  Not that
she was fat at all – it is just a common pose for so
many little girls who have not yet learned teenage
posture, the stance with the flat front out and the
back curved in.  Yet I sensed in Samantha too that she
might also be very interested in boys before too long.

Then I went with a giggly, chatty group to Samantha’s
house, which was actually in just the next road to the
house where I was staying.  As we went in at the front
gate, I glanced up at the house and had a quick
glimpse of a young female face looking out at us from
behind the curtains.  Then it immediately disappeared.

We went in at the front door, to find Samantha’s
mother home and the house still in some disarray after
the family’s early return from holiday.  Her mother
was still tidying up, so most of the time we were by
ourselves.  Samantha sat herself down in the lounge,
still chattering about the holiday and anything else
that came up, and the other girls all joined in.

I was sitting opposite the hallway, and I suddenly saw
an elegant pair of legs in high heels descending the
stairs directly opposite.  A short, tight, black skirt
was revealed at the top of it, then a lacy white
low-cut blouse, and finally the face of, obviously,
Samantha’s sister Gina.  She had shoulder-length fair
hair, a smooth oval face, a smooth pale skin, a tiny
mouth with painted lips, and big blue eyes, as opposed
to Samantha’s half-closed ones.

She walked daintily into the room and said in an
artificially refined way, “Hello, Samantha, you’re
home early.”  Then she pretended surprise at seeing
me.  It was obvious that she was trying to put on a
performance to attract my attention.  She was quite
tall for her age and looked older than eleven, older
than Suzanne in fact.  Suzanne has a natural,
unaffected femininity, but with this girl it appeared
to be rather artificial.  And yet she did have a
definite sex appeal that somehow attracted me, much as
I disliked her style.

Samantha laughed and said, to Gina’s displeasure, “I
knew you’d come down with a boy here.”  Suzanne
introduced me to Gina.

“And you’ve changed your clothes because there’s a boy
here,” Samantha continued.

“I’m going out later, aren’t I, then?” retorted Gina
snootily.

The only available seat left was a small wooden chair
almost opposite me.  Gina sat down on it with her
knees close together and a hand elegantly drooped over
her thighs, just enough to prevent me from glimpsing
her panties.  She then began an artificial
conversation, asking me questions about my country, my
holiday and everything else.   This girl had it all
worked out by the age of eleven, I realised – or she
thought she did.  I could imagine her, before she was
very much older, sitting behind a bar with a
cigarette, plastered in make-up (as a naturist I’m not
keen on any make-up), drinking gin and tonic and
chatting up the boys – an awful picture!  She actually
had a lovely voice, though – soft and gentle.  A
strange mixture of a girl.

Samantha’s mother brought us some orangeade for us to
drink, with small pieces of ice in it, which I wasn’t
sure was appropriate for this weather.  With her wide
smile, Samantha took a little piece of ice out of her
drink, held it in her hand and crept round behind
Gina, who was too busy concentrating on me to notice.

Gina gave a squeal and jumped convulsively as Samantha
dropped the ice down her neck, to laughter from the
other girls.  Her hand shot up to her neck and she
leapt to her feet, but not before I had enjoyed a very
quick glimpse of shiny white between her legs. 
“Sammy, don’t you dare,” she spat at her, taking a
step round the chair towards Samantha, who was dancing
away and giggling.  The other girls were all laughing
with glee.

Then Gina apparently remembered that she was supposed
to be presenting me with a ‘cool’ image of herself. 
“Roy, shall we leave these children and go outside?”
she suggested rather scornfully.

Rather reluctantly I rose and followed her, not having
a reasonable excuse to refuse, although Suzanne urged
me to stay.  We passed through the kitchen and through
the back door into a small back garden very similar to
that of the house where I was staying.  There was a
garden table out there under a tree with chairs around
it.  Gina had to go back into the kitchen to fetch a
cloth to dry the chairs before we sat down.

As she dried them, she looked at me and commented,
“You didn’t laugh at me like the others did.”

“No, I don’t do that sort of thing,” I told her.  “I
never say or do anything that might hurt somebody
else’s feelings.”

“Oh, it didn’t hurt my feelings,” she replied,
probably untruthfully.  “It was just very silly, but I
could see you weren’t laughing.”

We sat down and continued our conversation, with Gina
dominating.  She did not seem very bossy, a fault I
really dislike in a girl, but she certainly had
confidence in her ability to win over a boy, even one
six years older than herself.  And although I realised
what she was doing and scorned her artificial tones, I
actually found her pleasant company and I enjoyed
listening to her gentle voice.  She smiled a lot,
looked me in the eyes and seemed genuinely interested
in me.  And she sat with her legs crossed, one hand
drooped elegantly over the front of her skirt,
obviously knowing just how much flesh she could show
before it gave way to underwear.  I did notice,
though, that in the brighter light it was possible to
see a little bra through her white blouse now and
then.

It was not the weather to sit outside for long without
a jersey, though.  I was still in my tracksuit, having
learned I could not get away with my usual shorts and
T-shirt outside in this sort of weather, but Gina had
on only a thin blouse and a short skirt.  So after
about ten minutes she led me inside again.

“Let me show you something,” she said, pulling gently
at my arm to guide me towards the stairs.  We
ascended, Gina in front and hands on her skirt at the
hem just in case I managed a glimpse of the forbidden
and sacred as I followed behind her.  Then Samantha’s
voice called out, “Gina, you’re not allowed to take
boys up to your bedroom.”

“I’ll leave the door open, stupid,” Gina replied as
her mother appeared in the hall to investigate.  Her
mother stood for a moment, and then apparently decided
not to intervene.

“We’d better keep off the bed while Mum’s here,” said
Gina as we entered a very elegant bedroom with pink
everywhere.  So we sat on chairs and Gina continued to
get to know me.  She had a lot of exquisite photos to
show me of herself, too, and I presume this was her
excuse for bringing me upstairs.  She had kept
dropping hints that she did some modelling, and she
had plenty of pictorial evidence to prove it.  On the
wall were photos of teenage or adult British models,
whom she no doubt admired.

Among the questions she asked me, I let slip that my
family belonged to a certain club in our home city. 
She pressed for details, and so I told her it was a
naturist club.

I sensed a certain tension now.  “I suppose a lot of
boys would think you are very lucky,” she commented,
with a slight edge to her voice.  “Going to a club
where you can watch girls undressing all the time.” 
She gave a rather artificial giggle.

“Naturist clubs aren’t like that,” I told her.  “We’re
just so used to seeing each other’s bodies that we
really don’t think anything more of seeing a girl’s
breasts or a guy’s penis” - I saw her eyelids flutter
here and she glanced away at my brazen use of such
forbidden terms – “than their noses or arms or any
other parts of their bodies.”  That’s the ideal,
anyway, even if yours truly does not always live up to
it.  “I mean, you and Samantha see each other naked
often enough, I’m sure” – she blinked rapidly – “and
so I bet you don’t even notice each other’s bodies or
think anything of it.”

“I’ll notice when she grows boobies,” commented Gina. 
“But we’re both girls.  I’d never let a brother see
me.”

“Wouldn’t you like a brother you could trust, so you’d
never have to worry about hiding anything from him?” I
asked her.  I paused, but she gave no answer.  Again I
knew I was pushing it a bit, but I wasn’t sure how
much time I would have to try to draw in my fish by
more subtle means.

“That’s just how we all feel at the naturist club,” I
told her.  “It really is like the best kind of family
where we all respect each other’s bodies and nobody
thinks anything silly or bad about it at all.  And
nobody says or does anything silly or bad either,” I
added, remembering the main fears of most girls.

“But what’s the point of a naturist club if you don’t
want to – to spy on other people’s bodies?” she asked,
trying to make it sound as if it were so stupid it was
worthy only of contempt.

“Well, there are two very special things about it to
me,” I answered.  At that point Gina hushed me as we
heard her mother coming up the stairs, either to do
some task or to check on us – or probably both.  A
minute or two later she departed downstairs again and
I continued.

“First of all, you feel so free,” I told her.  “You
really feel your body is free, and also your mind is
free because you don’t have to worry about anybody
spying on you or saying anything you don’t like.  And
the second thing is you get a very special feeling for
the people you’re with, a special feeling of closeness
and trust – and even love.  That’s why it’s like a
family, and even more so.  It’s so much easier for
boys and girls to build really good, close
relationships, too, because there’s nothing to hide
and nothing to show off.”  I cunningly thought this
side of it would especially appeal to Gina.  But
perhaps it would take away what she relied on the
most.

She looked very thoughtful, and then turned to
questions about what we did at the naturist club. 
Then she suddenly said, “I suppose you’ve seen Suzanne
and the other girls – all naked?”

I smiled and shook my head, to signify I wasn’t
telling.  “I think that sort of thing is private,” I
told her.  “I mean, if we were two naturists together,
I would never tell anybody else about you.  So I won’t
answer that sort of question.”  I suspected, though,
she thought I had.

“What do you think of Suzanne’s body?” she asked. 
“She’s so thin.”  There was a note of contempt here.

“Who cares?” I answered.  “Girls round about her age
have the most beautiful bodies of all, I think, when
they’re just beginning to grow and look like a woman.”
 I was implying, of course, that Gina was included in
this, as she was ‘round about’ Suzanne’s age.

We talked for quite a long time, and the other girls
came upstairs after a while to Samantha’s bedroom. 
They put their heads round the open door and Samantha
made a few comments and veiled hints about the two of
us, to which Gina told her coldly to get lost.  I
thought Suzanne looked quite envious.

Finally I knew it was time to take the girls back
before their parents arrived home and didn’t know
where we had gone.

“Samantha, you must come round to our house tomorrow
morning,” Tara told her.

“We can’t tomorrow,” put in Suzanne.  “We’re going to
visit Gran.”  I knew that the girls’ parents had
organised visits for the girls on Wednesday and Friday
– to give me a break, they said – and it was to their
grandmother in Bournemouth the next day.

“Well, Thursday, then,” said Tara, immediately calling
for Samantha’s mother for approval, which was given. 
Now Gina was looking envious, but was apparently too
proud to beg for an invitation as well.  She glanced
at me a few times, no doubt hoping I would take the
initiative and invite her, but I kept her in suspense.

As we were leaving, Gina said to me, “Roy, the village
youth group is having a dance this Thursday evening,
and we can all go with partners.  Would you like to be
my partner?”

Suzanne turned round as if scalded.  “No, you – he
can’t,” she burst out immediately, unable to hide the
crossness in her voice.  “Roy said he’s coming with
me, didn’t you, Roy?”

This put me in a difficult position, as I had known
nothing about the dance and didn’t want to commit
myself to anything on speculation.  I hesitated, and
Gina broke in cattily, “Well, he didn’t tell me
anything about taking *you*.  Roy, you see Suzanne
every day but I don’t get the same chance, so I’d like
you to be my partner.  My guest.”

“No, Gina, it’s too late,” argued Suzanne heatedly. 
“It’s arranged already, but you can have one of the
dances with him if you want.”

Gina argued back, so I finally contributed by saying,
“Look, I haven’t decided anything yet, so stop arguing
about it.”

The argument continued, with Suzanne looking quite
desperate at the thought of Gina gaining my favour
over her head.  Then Gina’s mother came along, wanting
to know what it was all about, and they kept quiet.

As soon as we were out of their gate, Suzanne burst
out, “Roy, Gina isn’t fair.  You’re staying with us,
and I want you to be my partner.”

“Well, you hadn’t asked me yet,” I told her.  “I’ll
need to know more about it before I decide whether I’m
going at all.  And to see if your parents agree.”

Suzanne then gave me the details.  The village had a
youth group, for all those still at school from age
eleven upwards, which made her the only one eligible
in her family.  They had regular holiday activities
for those who were not away, and this week it was a
dance, held on Thursday night to suit those who were
going away for the weekend.  There would be a band and
they were encouraged to come with partners.  Suzanne
said she had already had some boys phone her, but she
hadn’t agreed yet because she wanted to take me.  She
hadn’t mentioned it before, though, so I presume she
was hedging her bets until Gina had forced her to a
decision earlier than she had planned.

Suzanne pleaded with me, but I just told her I would
decide later.  No harm in keeping her in suspense, in
an attitude of wanting to please me!

“Gina’s a real flirt,” Suzanne told me, eager to do
down her rival.  “She always boasts about her
boyfriends.  I don’t want her gloating because you
chose her instead of me.”

I didn’t know how much of this was true, but I did
know that Gina was a girl to be careful with.  I
didn’t tell Suzanne that, though, as I didn’t want her
to be able to go to Gina at any time and tell her,
“Roy says . . .”  But if two girls were trying to
outdo each other to win my affection, I could sit back
and enjoy it.

We arrived back a few minutes before Frank and Pam
did.  The girls enjoyed their usual family time with
their parents while I went upstairs again for my bath.
 Again I shut the door but left it unlocked, fully
aware of course that I might have unexpected visitors.

I was about halfway through my bath when I heard
footsteps along the passage.  “What took you so long?”
I thought.

At least there was no silliness this time, no bursting
in and pretending to be surprised to see me.  There
was a gentle knock on the door and I heard Joy’s
voice: “Roy!  May I come in?”

“Yes, certainly,” I replied, washing my outside
upraised knee, with my penis tucked firmly down
between my thighs so that even if she did manage to
manoeuvre herself around the barrier of my knee
somehow, she would not be able to see it.

The door opened slowly and Joy entered, with a rather
embarrassed smile on her face.  “Roy,” she said.  “You
know how you taught Michelle to blow bubbles
yesterday.  Would you teach me as well, please?”

“Yes, certainly,” I smiled.  “Are you coming in the
bath or staying out of it?”

“Well – I had a bath this morning so I don’t want
another,” Joy smiled sheepishly.  She stood as close
to the bath as she reasonably could, but my knee was
right in her line of vision.

I told her to take some soap from the basin and showed
her how to do it.  She tried it a few times, without
being very successful as the soap and her hands were
both rather too dry.  I continued to demonstrate until
my bathwater was soapy and opaque.

“May I try your soap?” asked Joy, coming closer to the
bath.  “It’s more slippery and the bubbles might be
better.”

“Sure, yes,” I agreed, putting my knee down and
handing over the soap.  I saw Joy’s face fall as she
looked into the soapy water and could see nothing. 
She didn’t stay long after that.  I smiled, but felt a
bit of a heel for teasing her and Tara.  But the
answer was with them – they must be prepared to trade!

(To be continued)



THE ENGLISH EXPERIENCE (CHAPTER 4)


Wednesday was the day the girls were going to visit
their grandmother.  Thinking I would welcome a break,
Frank and Pam had organised a visit that did not
include me.  I was pleased to see how disappointed the
girls were on Wednesday morning that I was not joining
them.  They begged their parents to allow me to come
as well, but Pam told them that it was quite out of
the question as it was a family visit.

I was not too disappointed.  I would have preferred
just a morning off, but I had learned that a short
break from young girls would usually benefit our
relationship and make them appreciate me more.  And if
I accepted the break, it also kept them from thinking
they could control me.

The girls went off with their parents in the car, all
wearing shorts of one kind or another as the weather
was slightly warmer, if still very cloudy.  They would
be driven back at about four o’clock by a friend of
their grandmother.  I left the house soon afterwards
and took a bus into Poole.  I did quite a lot there
that would not interest readers in the slightest, but
I did make one interesting discovery.

In one bookshop I found a naturist magazine that
listed the naturist beaches in Britain, with a few
paragraphs about five of them.  I found that Studland
was labelled as Britain’s ‘premier naturist beach’ and
it was not too far from Poole!

That article made me feel more homesick than anything
else.  For three weeks now I had been forced to wear
clothes all the time except for bed, and that was the
longest period I could remember since I first became a
naturist at eight.  My mind was filled with longings
for a warm sun and a beach where I was free to enjoy
the liberty of nakedness with my family and friends.

I did read about Studland, but did not expect a visit
would be possible.  There is no railway to Studland or
to the nearby town of Swanage, and it might well take
a few hours to get there and back by bus, as I would
probably have to change buses several times.  There
was a ferry from Poole, which might be possible, but
the article was no help about transport.  Without a
car, it sounded very difficult.  Besides, I had the
family I was staying with to consider, as I could
hardly ask them, as non-naturists, to come with me or
take the girls.  There was also the foul weather,
which was still cloudy with occasional rain, although
the notoriously unreliable weather forecast predicted
an improvement within the next few days.

I arrived back home just after three o’clock, and so
was at home when the girls returned only a few minutes
later.  I guessed they had exhausted their grandmother
who obviously enjoyed having them but perhaps for
shorter periods of time.

They were very pleased to see me.  “Did you have a
nice time in the pool?” Michelle asked me, while her
sisters chuckled, and I jokingly told her that I had,
but it was too cold for me to swim in it.  We had an
hour or two of games and talking before they gradually
split up and decided to do other things.

I went to the downstairs toilet while Suzanne and
Michelle were watching television in my room, and was
undisturbed there, so I presumed the girls no longer
dared to try to spy on me there.  When I returned, I
found Suzanne and Michelle had disappeared, no doubt
to their bedroom.

I sat down to read a book I had bought in Poole, and
after about five minutes Tara appeared in the doorway,
looking very nervous.  I guessed this might be a
continuation of the previous day’s conversation, and I
was right.

“Roy – I – er – did you have a nice time in Poole?”
she asked me.  We spent two or three minutes
discussing completely irrelevant matters before she
plucked up the courage to say what she had come for.

“Did you like Gina?” came slightly closer to the
point, and after I had replied as non-commitally as I
could, she said, “I like Samantha very much – usually
– but I don’t like her teasing me.”

“What does she tease you about?” I asked, thinking I
knew what was coming.

I was right.  “Well – yesterday, while you were with
Gina, Samantha was talking about these sex education
lessons at school that I told you about.  And she
started teasing me again because I’d never seen a
boy’s wee.  I don’t like it.”  I doubted there was any
truth in this, but I played along.

“Didn’t she tease the others as well?” I asked.

“Well, it was mainly just me, because we’re in the
same class,” she said.  “She was laughing at me
because she’s seen her cousins bare.  It’s just me
that gets teased.”

“That’s wrong,” I agreed.  Then, grinning to myself, I
said, “I’ll talk to Samantha quietly when she comes
tomorrow morning and tell her to stop it.”

“Oh, no, that – wouldn’t work,” broke in Tara quickly.
 “She’ll only do it more than ever when you’ve left,
and she may get the other girls to do it as well.  Do
it more, that is.  Please don’t say anything to her. 
And if our teacher asks us who has never seen a boy’s
wee, I’ll be the only one, and they’ll all tell her
about me in front of everybody.”

“No, teachers don’t ask pupils questions like that,” I
told her.  “You’ll be all right.”

“I won’t unless – you can help me,” replied Tara. 
“You said you’d think about it.”  I hadn’t, but Tara
was no doubt hoping I had forgotten.

“I told you I couldn’t, because it would be breaking
the law for somebody older than sixteen to show his
penis to somebody under sixteen,” I replied.  “Well,
if he starts it, of course,” I added cunningly.

Tara thought hard.  I guess she was thinking, “Well,
if there’s no other way I’m going to have to sacrifice
myself.”  Then she said, with plenty of hesitations,
“You did say – if the – the girl – the girl – did it
first, then – they wouldn’t get into trouble?”

“Yes, that’s true, because it wouldn’t be his fault
then,” I agreed.  It was true that I had said that,
even if the statement itself may have been false.  I
suppose something about ‘consent’ would come into it
then, if it could be proved.

Tara was quite red in the face now and wriggling
rather uncomfortably as she faced me on the sofa.  “I
mean – may I – if I – if a girl showed you her wee,
would you show her yours?”

“I don’t like this talk of showing wees,” I replied. 
“It’s so much better at our naturist club, where we’re
always naked and nobody thinks anything strange or bad
about it at all.”

“Well, we can’t do that here so that’s why I’m asking
you,” answered Tara, the words all coming out quickly
now.  “I just need some help from you, so – if I do
show you – mine - please, could you show me yours
because you’re a naturist and I hope you won’t mind? 
Then you won’t get into trouble.”

“Yes, that’s fine by me, I don’t mind,” I finally said
casually, putting her out of her misery.  “I just
thought you’d be too shy to do it and I didn’t want to
make you feel bad.”

“Well, I don’t feel bad with you – not too bad,”
mumbled Tara, still red in the face and looking at me
out of the corner of her frightened-looking eyes.

“Good, that’s fine, and I’m very happy to help you,” I
answered.  “I just had to be sure I could do it
without breaking the law and getting put in prison. 
Well, if you want to, you can do it when you’re
ready.”

Tara looked down at the yellow shorts she was wearing,
and I saw that her hands were clenched tightly on her
knees and her knuckles were white.  Then she said,
“Will you – shut your eyes while I do it, please?  I
promise I’ll really do it.”

Years of experience by trial and error and careful
planning have taught me the best way to deal with
girls in most circumstances, although as they have the
disadvantage of being female they still surprise me at
times.  So I leaned forward and said, “Listen, Tara, I
think we must forget about it.  I will never, ever do
anything to make you feel bad, and I can see you feel
really shy about this.  You’re still not really
grown-up enough to do it properly and you don’t really
trust me, so I think it’s better not to do it at all. 
All right?”

“No.  I . . .” began Tara, looking shocked.  Here she
was, with her careful plans to manipulate me, and all
the time I was outmanoeuvring her!  She made a quick
decision.  “Look, it’s here.”  So saying, she quickly
pulled aside her yellow shorts, the pale yellow
panties underneath, and I saw her little vagina, with
a slight crease in the middle, for a moment before she
slipped it back inside.

“All right, Tara, I’m sorry I misjudged you,” I
apologised insincerely.  “Here’s mine, then.”  I
pulled aside my clothing to push out my penis and
testicles to show her.  “Ask me whatever questions you
like and I’ll help you.”

Tara stared at it in awe and fascination for a few
seconds and seemed tongue-tied.  After a long pause
she pointed at my scrotum and asked, “What’s that?”

“That’s my scrotum,” I told her.  “It’s got my
testicles inside.”  I pulled the bag out so she could
see it better.

“What’s it *for*?” she asked, wrinkling up her nose in
puzzlement.

“They make the stuff that go from the man to make
babies,” I told her, assuming she knew something about
sex.

“Do you mean if we sleep in the same bed together
you’ll make me have a baby?” she asked, looking
astonished.  Obviously her knowledge was a little
faulty.

“No, we have to have sex together and put our – our
wees inside each other (I do dislike using baby words
but it’s often safer and less embarrassing for the
girl!) like married people do,” I told her.  “But I’d
never do that to you.”  She looked aghast, as if I had
rejected her, so I elaborated.  “Nobody is allowed to
do that to you until you get married, that’s why.”  I
thought I should put a moral slant on it.

This seemed to satisfy her, and I could see her brain
ticking over again.  Then she suddenly smiled and said
with more confidence than she had used so far, “I
might just marry you!  If I do ever get married,
because I’m a tomboy.”

“You’re far too nice-looking and charming to be a
tomboy, really,” I smiled at her, putting my visual
aids away as the lesson appeared to be over.  “I
really like those dresses you wear.”

I could see her smiling to herself, and then she
looked up again and said, “Thank you.  Thank – you’re
very kind.”  She stood up, gave me a quick kiss on the
cheek and turned her back to walk out.

“Hey, wait a minute!  Aren’t I allowed a turn?” I
called after her.  She turned, and I held out my arms
to her.  With a shy smile, she came back, gave me a
tight hug as I gave her a kiss on the back of her
neck, the only part of her skin available to me in
that position, and then she left me.  “Please – don’t
tell anybody,” she called back over her shoulder, and
I agreed.

I could hear her scampering across the wooden
floorboards and then up the stairs.  Then I heard her
call excitedly, “Joy!  Joy!”

I must confess I was disappointed.  I had enjoyed the
intimacy, but the first thing she wanted to do was to
tell Joy that she had beaten her in the competition. 
But I have learned never to expect too much from most
girls, though some are deeper and more faithful than
others.  Actually, probably deeper and more faithful
than most boys.  Or perhaps she just wanted to boast
about the kiss.  But probably not.  I wondered if she
would also tell Joy she had been required to trade. 
Still, if she stirred Joy into action, then that would
be a good thing.

Only a few minutes later Frank and Pam arrived home,
and as usual I sneaked off to have my bath, expecting
a visitor.  I was not to be disappointed.

After about five minutes there was a knock on the door
and, as I anticipated, Joy’s voice requested entry,
which was granted.  Again I put my genitals behind
their defences.

“Roy,” she said with an awkward smile.  “I just
thought I’d try blowing bubbles again and see if I can
get them better this time.”

“Maybe you have to use soapier water,” I suggested. 
“The water in the bath is much soapier than the tap
water you were using.”

“May I – use the bath water?” asked Joy.  I agreed, so
she bent over the side of the bath to wet her hands
with the bathwater.  I curled up my legs more and
moved them aside to give her room, and also to block
her view even more effectively.

I could see her tight lips as her plot was foiled yet
again.  She took the soap from the basin in a resigned
manner, hesitated, and then finally came to the one
decision she had refused to make all the time.  “Roy,”
she faltered.  “May I – get in the bath to do it like
Michelle did?”

“Yes, certainly,” I smiled at her, keeping my knee up
and blowing a few bubbles so as I was not watching
her.  First she shut the door firmly and turned the
key.  From the corner of my eye I saw her remove her
shirt and vest, revealing a pale flat chest with tiny
nipples that had scarcely started to grow.  She
hesitated, and then down came her shorts and finally
her white panties.  I glanced up as her smooth, slim,
beautiful body stepped over the side of the bath.

She faced me, as she had to in order to sit in the
bath, and then sat down quickly, enabling me to see a
long, thin, curved vagina between her legs.  At the
same moment I kept my part of the unspoken bargain and
opened my legs so she could now see that sight she had
been longing to see for so long.  I saw her eyes widen
as they fixed on my penis and testicles before she
took the soap I held out to her and began to blow
bubbles, with quite a bit of success.

After only a minute or so, we heard footsteps coming
quickly up the stairs and along the passage.  Joy
turned pale and lifted her knees to curl into a little
ball.  The water was still clear enough for me to see
the bottom of her vagina amid the loose pink skin
under her crotch.  “That’s Mummy!” she gasped,
obviously recognizing the step and going white.  “I’m
in trouble if she catches me!”

I had no chance to reply before I heard a sharp knock
on the door and Pam’s voice, “Roy, are you in there?”

“Yes, Pam, just having a bath,” I replied.

“Roy, it’s Gina on the phone,” she called out.  “She
wants to know if you will take her to the dance
tomorrow night.”

“Oh!”  I thought quickly, then said, “Well, Suzanne
actually asked me, but I wanted to check it was all
right with you before I agreed.”

“Yes, of course it’s all right, we’d be very pleased
to have you looking after her,” replied Pam.  “So
shall I tell Gina you can’t?”

“Yes, please give her my apologies,” I said, feeling
regret I had to disappoint her, wary though I still
was of Gina.

Pam’s footsteps receded and Joy uncurled her legs,
heaving a sigh of relief.  Her eyes were still big,
though, and she whispered, “I’d better go before I get
into trouble.”

“Why should you get into trouble when I said you
could?” I asked her, as she climbed out over the side
of her bath, spreading that delightful little vagina
for a moment as she did so.

“She may be cross with me for having a bath with a
boy,” she answered, pulling her towel off the rail and
drying herself quickly.  She was now completely
unselfconscious in my presence as she quickly squatted
slightly to dry between her legs, still facing me.

She was just slipping into her panties when suddenly
we again heard Pam’s footsteps hurrying up the stairs
and along the passage.  Joy froze, with her panties
still around her knees.  Pam knocked again and called
out, “Roy, Gina asks if she can come round and see you
when Samantha comes to play with Tara tomorrow. 
Suzanne says no, but I thought I should ask you, since
it’s you she wants to see, it seems.”

I gathered from the tone that Pam didn’t altogether
approve of Gina, so I thought I had better qualify my
agreement.  I deliberately hesitated, and then said
slowly, “Well, I said no to the dance, so it really
would be unkind to say no to this as well.  So please
tell her yes, then.”

“All right, Roy,” she answered.  “And Roy, is Joy in
there?  We can’t find her anywhere.”

I looked at Joy and reluctantly signalled to her to
answer.  Joy, pulling up her panties hurriedly,
realised the game was up.  She looked extremely
guilty, but called out tremulously, “Yes, Mummy, I’m
sorry, Roy said I could come in.  I – I needed the
toilet desperately and someone was in the one
downstairs.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then, we just wondered where on
earth you had gone,” relied Pam, and her footsteps
receded down the passage.

Joy looked at me with an expression of astonished
relief on her face, her smooth white bottom still
sticking out of the back of her panties.  “She –
doesn’t mind?” she said.

“Parents aren’t always spoiling things,” I smiled at
her.

“But you could have just told her I wasn’t here,” Joy
protested.

“I couldn’t tell her a lie,” I replied.  Naturists I
found seem to be more truthful than the average
person, perhaps because we are used to and comfortable
with having nothing to hide.  I can’t say I always
keep to that, though, but then I wasn’t really brought
up a naturist.  (That’s my story and I’m sticking to
it!)  “Besides, if I had said no and she had found out
I was telling a lie, we really would be in trouble. 
She’d think we were doing something wrong if we told
lies about it.”

Murmuring her thanks, Joy finished dressing and left
me with a smile.  I suspected Tara hadn’t told her
about the kiss, as she didn’t offer me one herself.

After my bath I went down for dinner, to be waylaid by
Suzanne.  She wrapped her forearm round my arm above
the elbow, smiled at me and said, “Thank you for
coming to the dance with me tomorrow.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” I smiled back, working my
hand round under her rather pointed shoulder blade. 
“You’ll have to show me how you dance in this country,
though.”

“But, Roy, why did you invite Gina round tomorrow
morning?” she continued.  “She’ll only cause trouble
because she wanted you to go with her.”

“Well, I didn’t invite her – she asked me if she could
come,” I replied.  “And I’d just told her I was going
with you, so it would have been very unkind to tell
her she couldn’t come tomorrow.  But don’t worry –
she’s not going to change my mind.”

The rest of the day went pretty much as usual until
after Tara and Joy went to bed, apart from a first
kiss, a very sticky one, from Michelle.  I made the
older girls laugh by wiping my face ostentatiously
with a towel after Michelle had left the room, then
regretted it in case it inhibited the others from
kissing me as well, in case I responded in the same
way.

After the two middle girls had departed, Suzanne did
not do her usual of turning down the sound on the
television and coming to sit on my chair with me as
she had done the previous two nights.  Instead she
stayed on the sofa in a rather tense silence for three
or four minutes.  Then she rose awkwardly and said,
“I’m a bit tired after going to Gran’s today, Roy, so
I – I’ll go to bed now, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, I do mind, but if you’re tired you must go,” I
smiled at her, hiding my disappointment.

Again she hesitated, making me wonder what the problem
was.  But, of course, it’s a waste of time asking
girls questions like that.  They won’t tell you unless
they want to, and then they will either say or drop
hints requiring wise questioning to help them explain
the matter obliquely.  Then she said, “I’ll just turn
the television down for you before I go.”

So saying, she walked over towards the television, and
I could sense the tension in her walk.  I was puzzled,
until as usual she bent over to adjust the set.  Then
there was a difference.  Instead of the usual view of
her panties, my heart almost leapt out of my mouth as
I saw her white bottom, with thin but definite cheeks
and her narrow crack down the middle, under the hem of
her nightie.

Then she rose, turned and walked off to the door,
whispering, “Goodnight, Roy,” as she went, without
looking at me.

I choked out something and watched her as she walked
towards the door without looking back.  Just as she
was about to disappear through it, I called out,
“Suzanne!”

She jumped, stopped and looked round sharply, with a
rather guilty, apprehensive look on her face, afraid
probably that I would either rebuke her or say
something rude.  I smiled broadly at her.  She must
have known I had seen her bottom, and I wanted to let
her know I appreciated it, but by the unwritten rules
of girlhood I was not allowed to mention it directly. 
“Suzanne,” I repeated, still beaming.  “I love you.”

Now she broke into a wide smile, looking embarrassed
as well.  She murmured something that was presumably
thanks, and then hurried off through the door, leaving
me with a warm heart and an equally warm, and also
wet, pair of shorts.

I took some time to get to sleep.  For some reason the
sight of Suzanne’s bottom, deliberately gifted to me,
thrilled me to the core of my penis.  As I lay in bed
I could think of nothing else but the hope that soon
she would gift me a view of that secret place that, at
the age of twelve, she was so programmed to protect.

Thursday would be a big day.  Perhaps that would be
the day Suzanne would entrust me with what, for a
preteen, was the equivalent of her virginity.  Then
there was Gina coming round, and she obviously had
designs on me.  My male ego was flattered by the
thought of healthy competition for my favours between
Suzanne and Gina, but I didn’t want it to turn nasty. 
And finally, there was the dance with Suzanne.

As usual the girls visited me first thing the
following morning.  I think the climate had a lot to
do with why I was so slow getting up in the mornings. 
Back home I am up and active as soon as it gets light,
with the warm but fresh weather before the heat of the
day.  I am much slower during the miserable days we
have for a couple of months in our winter, though.

I assumed the competition between the girls was now
over, as they had all enjoyed the privilege of viewing
my penis at close quarters, so I did not trouble to
wear my underpants.  In return I had seen three of
them naked, but had not quite seen all that I wished
of Suzanne.  I was rather regretting my generosity
with her, as now she had no external incentive to show
me any more, but I thought her change in attitude and
conscience towards the competition deserved rewarding.

As I lay there, a sudden bright light shone outside,
lighting up the curtains.  It was gone in a moment,
but I wondered what it was.  A minute or two later, it
happened again, lasting for about five seconds before
it disappeared.  It took me a few seconds to work out
exactly what it might be, but I found it hard to
believe after so long.  Curious, I got out of bed and
drew back the curtains.

My suspicions were confirmed, much to my surprise.  In
the sky there were a couple of blue patches and it
really had been the sun I had seen shining on the
curtains.  Most of the sky was still cloudy, but the
wind was blowing quite strongly and they were scudding
across the sky pretty quickly.  Perhaps there really
was an improvement in the weather coming up.

At that moment I heard voices of greeting, mixed with
embarrassment, behind me.  The girls had arrived and
from the uncertain smiles on their faces it was clear
they were rather uncomfortable with my nakedness. 
They were all wearing nice-looking dresses or skirts
again, I was glad to see, even Tara.

Michelle was not put out at all by my nakedness.  “I
saw it first,” she reminded her sisters, who turned on
her and hissed at her to keep quiet.

“We’ll just go away while you dress,” said Suzanne
with an embarrassed smile.

“Oh, no, please stay, I don’t mind,” I told them. 
Normally I would have stayed naked for a while as we
talked, but I didn’t want them feeling uncomfortable,
so I began to dress.

“Have you seen the sun?” Joy asked me.  “The weather’s
getting better.”

“I’ll see how long it lasts,” I smiled cynically.  I
had soon learned never to trust the British weather.

“We’ll have another surprise show for you this morning
when Samantha comes,” Tara broke in.

“You’ll like it.  We’re going to . . .” began Joy
eagerly, but Suzanne quickly interrupted her with
“Ssssh!”

“It won’t be a surprise if we tell you,” Suzanne
explained to me.  “But we’ll need a time to practise. 
May we do it in this room, please?”  Naturally I gave
permission.

The visitors were due to arrive at about nine o’clock.
 There would be one extra, as Michelle had a little
friend called Paula whom she was allowed to invite. 
Paula turned out to be an amusing little girl with
short dark hair, brown eyes and an almost pert manner,
except that it wasn’t offensive at all.  She reminded
me of a friendly parrot sitting up straight on its
perch.

Her normal stance was feet together, hands clasped
behind her back, smile on her face and a perky,
confident tone of voice.  She was wearing a little
brown dress without a waist, hanging straight down
apart from two little pleats in the skirt.  She also
wore very nice simple white cotton panties, as I soon
discovered.  Little girls in short dresses rarely take
long to reveal their underwear.

Paula was on time, but Gina and Samantha were not. 
The girls grew rather impatient, sitting by the lounge
window waiting, and it was about twenty minutes before
the missing girls were seen approaching.  Gina was
wearing a white blouse again and a rather
thick-looking brown skirt, a little longer than
yesterday’s black one.  Samantha also wore a white
T-shirt and a very attractive coloured checked skirt,
with lines mainly in pink, sky blue, yellow and white.

The girls met them on the doorstep impatiently.  “Why
were you so late?” demanded Tara.

Samantha gave her big smile and said, “It was Gina’s
fault.  She was wearing her little itty-bitty
miniskirt to please Roy and the wind kept lifting it
up.  So she got shy of showing the neighbours her
knickers and had to go back and change.”

“Shut up, Samantha,” frowned Gina as they came inside.
 I could see she was wearing a glossy lipstick and
some green eyeshadow, all for my benefit, no doubt. 
Except that I never appreciate make-up on a girl.  As
the Americans say, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. 
Good looks need no disguises.  If it is broke, usually
all it needs is a genuine smile, anyway.

“The wind was lifting it up like this,” giggled
Samantha, seizing the hem of Gina’s skirt and lifting
it.  Gina gave a squeal of anger and pulled it down
again quickly, but not before I had had a glimpse of
black panties this time.  I can’t explain why, but I
have never found dark or brightly coloured underwear
on girls attractive.

I had an image of myself to maintain, so I could not
keep quiet.  “Samantha, I didn’t know you were so
badly mannered,” I broke in.

Samantha looked rather stunned.  She stared at me,
looking hurt.  “I was only – having fun,” she
stammered in reply.  All the girls were quiet now,
listening to what I had to say.

“Does Gina think it’s fun?” I asked her.  “Would you
think it was fun if Gina did that to you?”

Unfortunately that proved to be the wrong thing to
say.  Samantha brightened suddenly as I had provided
her with a way of escape.  “Gina’s always doing that
to me,” she replied brightly.  “That’s why I hate
wearing dresses.  I’m only wearing this skirt because
Tara phoned me yesterday and told me we were all to
wear them.”

“No, I don’t!” Gina had exclaimed while Samantha was
still talking, but her tone of voice showed me that
Samantha had told the truth.

“It’s only fun,” grinned Joy, pulling the hem of
Tara’s skirt to give a quick flash of white panties. 
Tara in turn squealed and pulled down at the elastic
waist of Joy’s skirt, revealing in turn her pale blue
panties underneath.

“Hey, that’s enough,” I called out strongly, as Gina
and Samantha both grabbed the hems of their own skirts
and held them tightly, and the others either held
their skirts or giggled as they prepared to pull up
somebody else’s skirt – except for Suzanne, who had
discreetly backed away.

“Listen a minute,” I told them all.  “I know pulling
up skirts is a fun game for a lot of girls, and that’s
all right, as long as everybody there enjoys it.  But
there are a lot of girls who don’t like it, and it is
really bad manners to do that to them when they don’t
want it.”

“It’s not bad manners,” protested Gina, still trying
to protect herself against Samantha’s accusation.

“Was it all right for Samantha to pull up your skirt?”
I asked her, bringing a flush to her cheeks.  “Would
you do that to your mum?”

The girls looked shocked at the very idea of pulling
up their mum’s skirt.  “See what I mean?” I followed
up.  “I think you all need to respect other people
more.  I would never, ever do that to any of you
because I respect you too much.”

The girls all looked subdued, apart from Michelle, who
lifted the front of her skirt to show her thin white
panties and boasted, “I don’t mind.  I think it’s
fun.”

Rather quietly, we went through to my room.  On the
way I could see Samantha next to me, looking up at me
anxiously and wanting to say something.  As I bent
down, she whispered in my ear, “Sorry, Roy.”

I bent down next to her and slipped my arm round her
waist, feeling the crumpled material of her
elasticised skirt waistband under my hand.  “All
right, Samantha,” I whispered back, smiling at her. 
“And there’s something I want to tell you.  That
really is a lovely skirt you’re wearing.  It suits you
beautifully.”

She put her head on one side and gave me her creamy
smile through half-closed eyes.  For a second she put
an arm across my back and said, “Tara told me you were
nice.”

As we entered my room, Tara suddenly stopped.  “Roy,
you can’t come in now,” she told me.

Suzanne, politer, put in, “Roy, please could you wait
in the lounge for a while so we can get our show ready
for you.”

“All right,” I agreed, turning back.  Gina turned with
me.

“Gina, you can join in with us,” added Suzanne, in a
tone of voice that showed she did not really approve
of Gina’s presence but was prepared to make the best
of a bad job.

“No, thanks, I’ll stay with Roy,” replied Gina.

“No, you can join us,” repeated Suzanne.  “We’ll put
you in our show.”

“Roy would rather wait with me to talk to, wouldn’t
you, Roy?” said Gina sweetly, calling on me as
referee.

I didn’t want to be seen to agree, as I could sense
Suzanne was getting jealous.  So I said, “Well,
Suzanne says she wants you to join in, so I think it
would be friendly if you did.”

“No, I don’t want to be in their show,” said Gina. 
She spoke in a mild voice, not as aggressively as the
words sound.  “Come, Roy, let’s go into the lounge.” 
She took my arm and tried to guide me in that
direction.

“Look, Gina, we’ve got a place for you, so just try
and be friendly and come and join us,” came from
Suzanne, sounding annoyed.  The other girls added
their encouragement.

“It’s going to be ballet,” added Michelle, to be
instantly shushed by the others, cross that she had
given away their secret.

“Well, you didn’t invite me, but Roy said I could
come,” retorted Gina, with a bit of aggression in her
voice for the first time.  “So I’m going with the one
who invited me.”

“He didn’t invite you – you made him say you could
come,” said Suzanne.  “Roy, make her come with us.”

“Well, I think that would be best, but nobody can
force her,” I replied.  “Gina, please will you join
with the others?”

“No, Roy, I came because I wanted to see you,” said
Gina, quietly and sweetly.  “Please don’t force me.”

I shrugged my shoulders in apology to Suzanne.  “It’ll
be all right,” I told her.  “Well, see you when you’re
ready.”

Suzanne did not appear happy as I went through to the
lounge after Gina, who had already gone.  I sat down
opposite her, in case she involuntarily gave me
another view of her panties, black or not.  She was
sitting there with her long legs elegantly crossed and
a hand drooped casually over the little triangle
formed between shirt and thighs.  Again I had a
surprisingly interesting conversation with her as she
was such a charming and interesting talker.  I could
certainly understand why she was supposedly so popular
with the boys.  In the other room we could hear the
other girls moving furniture around and in a minute
music from their tape recorder.

She started off by saying, with sorrow rather than
anger, “Roy, I was so disappointed you won’t take me
to the dance tonight.”  She looked at me appealingly
with her big blue eyes and I felt a real heel, despite
my knowledge that she was putting it on.  “I did ask
you before Suzanne did.”

“I wish I could have,” I answered.  “But I’m staying
with Suzanne’s family, so really I owe it to her.  And
I do like her very much,” I added, remembering that
anything I said could be taken down and used in
evidence against me.  “Have you found anybody else to
go with?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve had lots of invitations, and I’ve
chosen Derek,” she answered.  “But he’s not very
mature.  I’d so much rather have had you.  I – I’d
have been really proud if you’d gone with me.”  Again
those appealing blue eyes made me feel I had let her
down.

“Sorry I couldn’t,” I apologised again.  “But Suzanne
trusts me so much,” I added cunningly.  “We share
special things in a way I don’t have with anybody else
here.  It’s very personal and I could never let her
down.”

Gina moved her hand.  I could see black, but wasn’t
sure it was panties or shadow.  “Roy, I trust you
too,” she said, leaning forward earnestly.  “That’s
one reason why I’d rather have you take me than Derek
or anybody else.”  She uncrossed her legs and leaned
back a little.  I could now definitely see black
panties, edged with black lace.  I couldn’t quite
believe it was a coincidence.

“But, Roy, please do me a favour.”  A wistful,
helpless–female look came into her eyes.  “Please –
could you stay quite close to me tonight.  I don’t
think Derek will try anything – but other boys might. 
A lot of them wanted me to go with them and I had to
say no, so they could be – well, jealous, and say or
do – things.  I’d feel safer if you were just there
and we could talk or dance sometimes so they would
know – you were just there and would protect me if I
needed it.”

I almost believed her, but I did say I’d keep an eye
open for her.  To agree outright might cause a problem
with Suzanne.  Our conversation continued.

After about twenty minutes Suzanne came in without
warning, no doubt wondering if she would catch Gina
sitting on my lap or something.  “We’re ready now,
Roy,” she announced, ignoring Gina.

We followed her into my room, where a big stage had
been made in the middle of the floor, with a corner of
the room hidden by two big sheets that had been fixed
on to two tall lamp stands that were in the room.  We
sat on the sofa on the opposite site of the room while
Suzanne disappeared behind the sheets.

We heard muffled voices from behind the sheets, and
then three figures emerged.  They belonged to Joy,
Michelle and Paula, and Gina gave a gasp as we saw
they were wearing only their panties and half-vests. 
They stood in front of us, with Joy in the middle,
looking very self-conscious, the smoothness of the
material curving down between their legs at the front.

Paula looked very self-possessed as usual, while
Michelle was trying not to giggle.  Joy too was
smiling self-consciously, but she began the
announcement.  “Dancing is a celebration of – er – the
human body,” she began.  “It is best done naked, but
some people . . .”

Gina rose to her feet in her quite but determined way.
 “Wait a minute,” she said, walking past the girls and
over to the sheets.  The three girls turned and gaped
at her as she looked behind the sheet.

“Samantha!” came Gina’s cross voice.  “You can’t dance
like that.  It’s rude.  Come on, you must stop this. 
Put your clothes on.”

Voices of protest came from behind the sheet, mainly
from Suzanne.  “Hey, wait a minute!” I called quickly.
 “Gina, what’s your problem?”

“Roy, you can’t let these girls do ballet in their
underwear,” Gina appealed to me with a frown.  “It’s
not – decent.”

“Who’s going to be offended by it?” I asked her.

“Well – me,” Gina replied. “I just don’t think it’s
decent.”

“Gina, you know we often dance in your room without
even any clothes on,” contributed Samantha, coming out
from behind the screen.  Unlike the others, her white
panties and half-vest were covered in little blue
patterns and had wide cream-coloured hems and
waistband.  The crotch bulged with an obviously
prominent pubic mound.

“That’s private,” argued Gina.  “This isn’t.”

Suzanne now came out from behind the sheet, wearing
pale sky-blue panties with a little white lace around
the hems.  “Yes, it is,” she confronted Gina.  “It’s
just girls here doing it together, except you wouldn’t
join us, and we know we can trust Roy so it doesn’t
matter if he sees us.”

Gina didn’t have an answer to that, so she just said,
“Samantha, get your clothes on.  I don’t want you
taking part in this.”

There were exclamations of protest and indignation
from the other girls and I intervened again.  “Gina,
just come for a minute so we can talk about it,” I
said.  The other girls watched in silence as she came
out with me, quite red in the cheeks.

She didn’t look at me as we entered the lounge, so I
couldn’t tell if she was angry or ashamed or
frightened.  I shut the door after us, aware that
there were certain to me large numbers of wildly
flapping ears on the other side of it.  So I led her
through to the porch.

“Gina, I think it would be best if you went home,” I
told her, aiming for shock treatment.  “The other
girls all trust me and they want to put on an exciting
show.”

“I do trust you,” she protested in a whisper, looking
up at me appealingly with her big blue eyes, tarnished
with eyeshadow.

“So what’s the problem, then?” I asked her.  “Samantha
says you dance naked with her in your bedroom.”  She
blushed and looked away, but didn’t answer.

“I think that’s a lovely thing to do,” I told her. 
“It’s great that you feel so free and it’s exciting. 
The other girls here are going to keep their panties
on.”

“It’s – not in private,” muttered Gina awkwardly.

“Well, who is there here that you don’t trust?” I
asked her.

There was silence, and then she muttered, “No one.”

I stepped over and opened the front door.  “Goodbye,
Gina, I may see you tonight,” I said.

She looked alarmed and backed away from the door. 
“No, I – I don’t want to go.  I just thought – the
others were going to be rude.  Will you stop them if
they do anything rude?”

“Yes, of course,” I answered.

“Well, I’ll stay, then,” she assured me, edging back
towards my room and hoping I wasn’t going to force her
to leave now.

“All right – good, then,” I replied, shutting the
front door and heading back.

Before I reached my bedroom door, it opened and
several curious faces stared out.  “Is Gina going?”
asked Suzanne, obviously hoping the answer would be
yes.

I left it to Gina to shake her head, and then Samantha
cried out, “Oh, please, Gina, come and join our
ballet.  We still need one part and you’d do it so
well.”

The girls were now gathered around us, all in vests
and panties and all having forgotten their reticence. 
Gina immediately seemed to go pale and I saw her
clench her fists until they were white.  She opened
her mouth, shut it again and then said, “I’ll think
about it.”  She glanced up at me to see what my
reaction would be.

“As long as you don’t mind not doing it naked here,” I
grinned.

She flushed again.  “I don’t mind,” she said, moving
over to join Samantha.  Suzanne looked most put out,
and most of the other girls appeared unenthusiastic. 
Gina was not very popular, it appeared.

“Sorry, you’ll have to go out again, Roy,” Joy called
out cheerily, giving me a push.  “We’ll have to
practise it all over again.”

I left, shutting the door behind me.  About twenty
seconds later I heard that peculiar noise, something
between a gasp and a whoop, that girls so often make
when they see something that is both mildly shocking
and exciting, such as a boy and a girl kissing.  I
recognised Joy’s voice as the loudest, and wondered
what it was all about.  Later I guessed that this was
probably the moment Gina took off her outer garments
and the others saw her underwear for the first time.

This time it only took about five minutes for the
girls to prepare, as no doubt they were impatient. 
Again I was led in to sit on the sofa, this time by
myself.  Again Joy, Michelle and Paula came out to the
front, to stand in a grinning line while Joy made her
announcement.

“Dancing is a celebration of the human bottom,” she
began, and then burst into giggles along with the
others, as she realised she had fluffed her lines. 
Heads poked out from behind the sheets as all the
girls laughed helplessly.  Joy and her helpers fled
the stage, immersed in laughter.  They disappeared
behind the sheets, and then emerged ten seconds later
to try again.  On the way Paula giggled, the other two
caught the infection and they had to return again.

There was one more false start, and then the three
stood in front of me again.  “Dancing is a celebration
of the human body,” Joy announced.  Paula gave a
stifled giggle and Joy looked for a moment as if she
was about to dissolve as well.  But she pulled herself
together and continued, “It is best done naked, but
some people don’t like that so – “ she searched for
forgotten words “ – we won’t do that here.  The first
dance is called Swan Lake.”  She looked over to where
Suzanne was ready with the tape recorder.

I don’t actually like ballet.  Some people find little
girls’ ballet costumes cute, but to me they are just a
nuisance.  How can the girls celebrate the human body
when most of it is under cover?  At least this time
the vests and panties gave the dances a greater air of
intimacy.  I have never seen Swan Lake, but I suspect
that the girls had taken one or two liberties with the
original.

Suzanne was the swan, anyway.  She really put her
heart into it, but I can’t truly say she was
particularly good.  Her ribs all showed on her thin
little body as she raised and swung her arms.  She
didn’t really look the part in blue panties with a
white half-vest, which didn’t match at all.

I couldn’t quite figure out what Gina was supposed to
be.  She was late for her cue, perhaps due to nerves
in performing in front of me.  I could see her head,
face rather taut and flushed, peering over the top of
the sheet as she was ready to go on, but it took a
push from Tara and a couple of urgent whispers before
she emerged.

Face set and flushed, she burst out into the open and
stumbled before recovering herself.  I could sense all
the other girls watching me to note my reaction.  I
smiled broadly and applauded.  Gina was wearing a tiny
white bra that looked almost flat at the front, and
those black panties I had glimpsed earlier.  They were
tight and tiny.  I tried not to stare, but the
patterned panties were mostly semi-transparent.  I
could see her skin through them, but in places there
were black flowers embroidered on the material, and I
couldn’t see through those.  One of them was
strategically embroidered over the crotch.  When she
spun round, I could see the outline of the crack in
her bottom and, with the low waist on those tiny
panties, the depression in her skin that started the
crack at the top.

Actually, she was an excellent dancer, light and
graceful on her feet, although she was obviously
showing off a bit.  Despite myself, I felt my heart
beating a bit faster as she sensuously twisted and
leapt, once landing right in front of me, when she had
gained a bit of confidence, and staring at me for a
moment with a flirtatious smile.  I could not help
smiling back broadly, and clapped my hands for her.

The others all did their part, although Michelle was
definitely clumsy and didn’t know where to put her
feet.  Little Paula looked quite nimble and
co-ordinated, but Samantha didn’t have much of her
sister’s grace.  Joy was quite good, but I think Tara
may have been trying to make the point that tomboys
aren’t really good at ballet.

At the end, they all stood in a giggly line in front
of me in their underwear and bowed, while I applauded.
 “Did you like it, Roy?” Michelle immediately
demanded.

“Yes, it was great,” I began, while Paula burst out,
“Who did you like the best?”

“Well, I don’t think it would be fair to name anybody
as best,” I hedged.  “It was just so good, and such
fun too.”

“Now for our next dance,” Joy broke in immediately. 
“This is our own production and it’s called The
Rainbow.”

If there was any story line to it, I couldn’t follow
it, but they certainly had a good time.  I think they
just took some music they liked from a tape and
improvised, sometimes dancing around by themselves,
each dancing something completely different, and
sometimes trying to get it together in rather muddled
groups.

Then came what sounded like Spice Girls music.  All of
a sudden the ballet stopped and the actions took on a
much more violent appearance, with arms and legs
thrust out and aggressive or painful facial
expressions.  There was nothing graceful about this
and at one stage they appeared to be engaged in a mock
fight.  I noticed Joy mischievously pulling Gina’s bra
at the back, causing the owner to spin round angrily.

The whole show lasted about half an hour.  Finally,
panting heavily for breath, the girls lined up again
to take their bow.  I noticed some of the underwear
looked damp in places as they had been sweating a lot.

I performed the usual credits as expected.  Then Tara
gave a giggle and asked boldly, “What do you think of
the costumes?”

I pulled a face and smiled.  “Well, they’re better
than swimming costumes,” I said, hoping they wouldn’t
ask me to give a reason for that.  “Some of them don’t
match terribly well, but that can’t be helped.”

“Mine matches,” smiled Samantha proudly, displaying
her matching panties and vest.

“They’ve got blue on them,” Michelle pointed out.

“White is the best,” was Tara’s opinion, smiling with
satisfaction in her baggy white panties, but her white
vest was of different material.  “Isn’t it, Roy?”

“Well, if you’re going to wear clothes, skin colour is
really best, but you don’t have that,” I answered. 
“Then it looks more natural.”

“Gina’s got see-through black and white,” put in
Suzanne cattily.  “That doesn’t match at all.”

Gina had been keeping to the edge of the group in
front of me, keeping a low profile, no doubt
embarrassed to be wearing only her underwear, although
I felt she only agreed to join in to win my approval
in the first place.  She glared at Suzanne and was
trying to find a similarly cutting reply when I said,
“She didn’t know what you were going to do today, did
she?”

“I’ve never seen black knickers before,” Joy joined in
with a hint of mockery.  “Especially ones you can see
through.”

“I can see your skin through your knickers, near your
wee,” announced Michelle.

“She wears a bra but she doesn’t need one,” added
Tara.

“Hey, cut that out!” I broke in.  “I will not allow
anybody to be rude to anyone else!  Your manners are
disgusting.”

“Sorry, Gina,” blurted out Michelle immediately,
trying to get herself into the clear.  The others
appeared shocked at my outburst and I heard Tara and
Joy murmur apologies, sincere or otherwise.  Suzanne
kept quiet.

“I’ve got some skin-coloured knickers,” Gina said,
trying not to look uncomfortable at what had just
happened.  “I’d have worn those if I’d know what you
were doing.”

“I’d just . . .” began Michelle, then stopped.  She
reached up to Suzanne and whispered in her ear. 
Suzanne looked thoughtful.

“What did you like best about the show?” demanded
Paula, distracting me from what Michelle was up to. 
“Who was best?”

I managed somehow to avoid the ‘best’ question. 
Michelle was now whispering excitedly to Samantha and
obviously didn’t want me to hear, but I caught the odd
word and suspected I knew what it was all about.

“It’s time we got dressed again,” said Suzanne,
leading the way over to the screen.  The others
followed her.  “Thanks for watching, Roy,” she called
back.

Gina stayed behind for a moment.  “It wasn’t so bad,
but I’m all sweaty,” she smiled while staring vacantly
over my shoulder.  As she said that, she spread her
legs a little and gave her panties a tug in the
crotch, as if to stop them sticking to her skin.  I
caught a glimpse of her white groin as the waistline
pulled downwards – very close but not quite.  “Thanks,
Roy,” she said, having done what she came to do, and
scuttled over to the screen on her slim shapely legs.

Suddenly there was a loud whoop and Michelle and Paula
came racing out from behind the screen.  Their panties
were pulled down below their little white bottoms at
the back.  Their whoop dissolved into giggles as they
turned round in the middle of the floor and scooted
back again.

“Michelle, that’s rude!” I heard Suzanne reprove them,
popping her head up over the sheet.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s just fun,” I grinned at them.
 “I don’t mind.”

Suzanne looked rather dubious, but the girls finished
dressing, chattering all the time.  Suzanne and
Samantha did quite a bit of whispering to the others
and it looked as if they were planning something
naughty.  Then they emerged from behind the sheet.

Suzanne approached me, looking suspiciously innocent. 
“Roy, we’re just going to play in my bedroom for a
while,” she told me.  “If you don’t mind.  You can
have a break and just do something in here. 
Downstairs.  Okay?”

“We’re going to do another show,” Michelle told me.

Suzanne whipped round quickly.  “No, we’re not,” she
contradicted her.  “We’re just going to play, we won’t
be doing another show.  We’ll come back later, Roy.”

(To be continued)



THE ENGLISH EXPERIENCE (CHAPTER 5)


I didn’t need to be a genius to work out what it was
all about.  I pretended to be blissfully unaware of
anything unusual as the girls trooped out, some with
self-conscious and suspicious grins, and Suzanne
carrying the tape recorder.  It was very clear that
they were trying very hard not to arouse my
suspicions, which of course would have aroused
anybody’s suspicions.

I was a better actor, wandering over to my case and
taking out a magazine.  I flopped down on to the sofa
and pretended to read.  Sure enough, Joy came back
after a couple of minutes just ‘to check something’. 
She seemed satisfied that I was settled in and
departed quietly.

I couldn’t contain my curiosity, and soon sneaked
upstairs quietly.  I avoided all creaking floorboards,
although they probably wouldn’t have been heard in the
babble of hushed but excited chatter going on behind
the closed door to Suzanne’s bedroom.  I was not going
to stoop to spying through keyholes, but waited and
listened in the doorway of the next room, Frank’s
office.

The excitement gradually settled and I could hear
Suzanne’s voice most often as she took charge.  She
was busy telling the others the parts they would be
playing, and they gradually quietened.  Gina, I
presumed, was co-operating because I heard no
unpleasantness between her and Suzanne.

I couldn’t hear all the words, but after a few minutes
it seemed as if they were about to start.  Then I
heard Paula’s voice, “I need a wee first.  I’ll be
quick.”  I heard the door handle rattle and slipped
inside the room, but Suzanne had locked her door.

“Put your knickers on, Roy may see you,” I heard Joy
say.

“He’s downstairs and I can’t wait!” came Paula’s
rather desperate voice.

“Joy, it doesn’t matter if Roy sees her,” came
Suzanne’s voice, and I heard the door unlock.  I
slipped further into hiding.  “Quickly, Paula, so we
can get started,” added Suzanne, and I heard a quick
patter of feet as Paula scuttled into the bathroom.

There was a splashing of urine into the toilet bowl,
which didn’t last long – small girls have small
bladders.  I waited a moment and then slipped back
into the passage.  Paula had not bothered to close the
bathroom door, but I deliberately avoided looking in. 
I knocked softly on the bedroom door and called,
“Hello!”

There were squeals and giggles from inside the room. 
Then Tara called, “Is that Roy?”

“Yes,” I answered.  “I came to ask if you wanted some
squash and biscuits, because I’m getting some.”

“Er – yes,” Suzanne’s voice replied.  “But we just
want to finish what we’re doing first.  We’ll call you
when we’re ready.”

“I’ll get them ready for you,” I offered.  “What sort
of squash and biscuits do everybody want?”

“Orange squash for me,” came a perky voice from behind
me.  I turned round to see Paula, standing there with
a confident smile on her face, arms clasped behind her
back, quite naked and quite uninhibited about it.  She
had a lovely smooth little body, and her vagina was of
course visible between her legs, almost like a natural
extension of the crease between those legs as she
stood with them together, although slightly off
centre.

There were some rather confused noises from inside the
room as the girls there each tried giving their orders
and advising each other.  “I can’t get all that,” I
complained.  “May I come in and see who wants what?”

There were more squeals and giggles, and then Suzanne
called out, “Wait a minute.”  There were sounds of
activity inside, presumably of girls hurriedly
clothing themselves to a greater or lesser extent.

“Don’t open the door yet, Suzanne,” came Gina’s voice
clearly as the scurrying subsided.  Immediately the
door swung open and Suzanne popped her head out, with
a naughty grin on her face.

Behind her I could see Gina.  She was naked, but in
the act of putting on her panties.  She was looking at
me the moment I saw her, but then looked down and
pulled her panties up.  I could see her soft, rather
tight-looking vagina disappearing under the black
material, and as she straightened up I could see two
small soft protuberances from her chest.

Suzanne’s grin hid nothing.  I knew she had
deliberately opened the door when Gina was still naked
out of spite.  I was seeing a not-so-good side of
Suzanne now, a jealous Suzanne.  But was this a double
bluff?  Had Gina told her not to open the door, in the
knowledge that this was exactly what Suzanne was
likely to do?

Anyway, I took orders, acting as if I had seen nothing
of Gina.  Most of the girls wore only their panties,
but Michelle, like Paula, was still naked and
unashamed of it.  Only Suzanne troubled to hide her
chest under her vest, although Gina slipped into her
bra without trying to hide her body from me.

As I left the room, my suspicions seemed to be
confirmed.  “Suzanne, I told you not to open the
door,” came Gina’s aggrieved voice, but she didn’t
sound genuinely upset.

“Well, sor – ree, I didn’t hear you,” came Suzanne’s
unconcerned voice.  “But you shouldn’t have taken so
long.”

“He didn’t say anything, so maybe he didn’t see you,”
Samantha said, trying to reassure her sister.

“Oh, he did, but Roy never says anything,” came Joy’s
satisfied voice, no doubt accompanied by a naughty
smirk.  “I’ll ask him later and tell you.”

“No, don’t,” Gina responded, sounding genuine for the
first time.  That would be in violation of one of the
unwritten laws of girlhood.  Such things just were not
mentioned with boys, and so were admissions that she
didn’t really mind, or even had planned it all along. 
It was a set-up, and I was surprised that I had read
it and Suzanne hadn’t.

“I had a bath with him,” I heard Michelle announce
proudly.

I nipped off downstairs to fix the drinks and
biscuits.  Within a minute I heard the music on
upstairs, accompanied by thumpings on the floorboards
and, if I listened carefully enough, nervous-sounding
laughter.  The naked dancing was going right ahead,
and I was sorry to be left out of it.

I wandered upstairs with the refreshments when they
were ready, but with the music on I couldn’t hear
anything the girls were saying to each other.  After
about twenty minutes, during a gap between tapes, I
knocked on the door and announced that everything was
ready when they were.

There were the anticipated squeals and giggles that
immediately gave away the state of the bodies inside. 
Then Suzanne called out, “We’re nearly ready.  We’ll
come down in a few minutes.”

“I’ve brought them up, so I can bring them in when you
open the door,” I called.

There were a couple more squeals, and Suzanne,
sounding slightly confused, called out, “We’re just –
changing now, so you’ll have to wait a minute or two.”

She was actually quite quick in unlocking and opening
the door.  I brought in the tray, finding myself amid
a giggle of girls (my own collective noun) wearing
panties only, apart from Suzanne who also wore her
vest and Gina in her bra.

“Did you see Gina when you came in last time?”
demanded Joy eagerly.  “Suzanne opened the door when
she was naked.”

Gina, I could sense, was cringing, as Joy intended.  I
glared at Joy.  “Do you want me to tell about you
blowing bubbles yesterday evening?” I asked her.

Joy went bright red and shook her head sharply,
backing away.  Samantha looked interested and asked,
“What happened then, Joy?”

“Nothing,” muttered Joy.  I could sense the relief
from Gina as I avoided even looking at her.

“I blew bubbles in the bath with Roy,” announced
Michelle proudly.

“Were you in the bath as well, Joy?” asked Samantha
brightly, having been given the hint she needed.

“No, I wasn’t,” snapped Joy, but her red face made it
clear that this was a half-truth at best.

I thought it time to step in, and was about to tell
them all to cut out saying things that annoyed others
– although I don’t think Samantha’s intentions had
been too malicious – when Paula broke in.  “Roy, do
you know what we were doing while you were
downstairs?” she asked.

There was a rather tense hush as the girls wanted to
know if I suspected the truth.  I had anticipated the
possibility of this question, and had decided to take
the open approach.  “Well, I guess you were doing your
naked ballet,” I answered casually.

There were a couple of squeals and a few embarrassed
giggles.  “How did you know?” was Samantha’s question.

“Well, you said it wasn’t a show for me and Suzanne
locked the door,” I answered.  “But don’t worry – I
won’t come in if you don’t want me to.”

There were more giggles and Paula declared, “I don’t
mind.”

“We’ll put on a show for you, Roy,” Michelle assured
me eagerly.  She immediately started pulling down her
panties, ready to begin immediately.

“No, it’s – private,” broke in Suzanne.  I suspected
it was the presence of the other girls, especially
Gina, that made her more secretive than usual.  “Roy,
it’s really just for girls only, so I hope you don’t
mind.”

“No, that’s fine,” I assured them, less than
truthfully, I’m afraid.  “But I did enjoy your last
show, so I hope you’re not going to leave me alone all
morning.”

“No, we’re not,” came two or three friendly voices. 
Michelle said, “Ah, Suzanne, let’s do a show for Roy. 
I want to.”

Suzanne remained unwilling, so I said, “Well, maybe
just those who want to do a show for me can do that. 
Then nobody will feel bad.”

Suzanne still looked doubtful, but Paula was very
pleased.  Like Michelle, she slipped off her panties,
urging the other girls to join them.  The older ones
were not keen.

“Me and Paula will do a show for you!” Michelle
assured me.  “Move, everybody, so we can use the
stage.  Suzanne, I want the music.”

The other girls remained dubious as to the morality of
this, but they did move aside.  Suzanne made no move
to start the tape recorder, so Gina stepped over and
made as if to do so.  That brought Suzanne in quickly.
 “It’s my tape recorder,” she informed Gina firmly,
pressing the start button.

I sat on the end of the bed and watched as Michelle
and Paula enjoyed themselves.  It was a delight to see
their little naked bodies dancing so freely to the
music.  Samantha, with a shy creamy smile, came and
leaned against my knee.  I reached out an arm and
slipped it round her waist, my fingers resting on the
waistline of her panties.  She smiled again and
slipped easily on to my knee.  I could see some of the
older girls looking rather annoyed – or jealous – at
her freedom.

One dance came to an end, with the two participants
panting for breath, and another one started.  “Come
on, Joy, we need three for this one,” implored
Michelle, reaching out her arm towards her sister. 
Joy, silent and thoughtful, shook her head.  Despite
the fact that she and Tara had already volunteered
their nakedness to me, although rather unwillingly,
neither of them was inclined to do it in the presence
of their family and friends.

Samantha turned her head to look at me.  “Shall I?”
she asked hesitantly, but with a wide smile.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” I smiled back at her.

She slipped quickly off my knee, whipped off her
panties in one movement and joined the dancers on the
floor, laughing with delight as she did so.  Her
little vagina was almost tucked away under her legs,
her mound prominent, but it became easily visible as
she squatted momentarily to straighten the corner of
the rug, which she had accidentally kicked up.  I
heard Gina call her name in reproof, but she did
nothing to stop her sister this time.

Gina edged towards me, wearing only her black panties
and the little white bra, quite tight because there
was nothing to hold it up.  She leaned forward and put
her hands on my thigh, bending her head to mine as an
excuse to put her head close and speak to me over the
music.  “We sometimes dance to this tune at home,” she
said into my ear.

I smiled up at her.  “Sounds like great fun,” I said
encouragingly, hoping she would decide to join in.

She seemed very hesitant, still standing there with
her hands on my thigh and face next to mine, the
gruesome make-up on it, but otherwise quite pretty. 
She was no doubt trying to think of some excuse to get
closer to me or to join in the dance.

The music came to an end, and the three naked little
girls bowed.  I clapped enthusiastically.  “That was
just beautiful,” I encouraged them, and they glowed
with pleasure.  “You look so free and natural.”

“Roy, you must join us for the next one,” Michelle
instructed me.

I was eager, but worried that this might cause
trouble.  It would have been wrong and maybe futile to
make them all swear secrecy.  It appeared that Frank
and Pam were not unduly fussed if, for example, Joy
used the toilet while I was having a bath, but I
didn’t know what Paula’s parents would say, as she
would probably tell them.  Gina and Samantha were old
enough to have the sense to keep quiet.  It was one
thing to put on a show, without any pressure from me,
but quite another to join in myself.  So I said with
great reluctance, “Well, I’d love to, but your parents
might not like it if I joined in without any clothes
on.”

“We won’t tell,” said Samantha and “They won’t mind,”
Paula assured me.

“Well, there’s also the problem that not everybody
wants to join in,” I said.  “It wouldn’t be good for
some of us to be naked together and others not.  In
fact, I don’t think you three had better do any more
dancing by yourselves.  Unless everybody takes part,
it could cause trouble.”

“Aw, come on, Gina, come on the rest of you,” urged
Samantha, backed up by the two smaller girls.

“I don’t mind,” Gina said surprisingly.  “But I agree
with Roy.  If we’re going to do it, everybody’s got to
do it.  Suzanne as well.”  Again she was clearly
needling.

Suzanne looked quite nonplussed and didn’t answer, but
Tara broke in straight away.  “No, I don’t want to
dance naked, but you can if you want.  We don’t want
to, do we, Joy?”  Joy shook her head firmly.

“Come on, don’t be scared,” taunted Gina.  “If I can
do it, you can.”

“You haven’t done it yet,” Tara pointed out.  “All
right, you show us and we’ll do it.”

“You can take off your little white bra and show Roy
how big your boobies are – if he can see them – and
you can take off your little black knickers and show
Roy your hairstyle, and I’ll lend you some paints so
you can paint it on . . .” Joy joined in with a
mocking tone.

“I’ve more than you have, and I’m not shy,” retorted
Gina.

Quite a slanging match developed, with Gina taunting
them and Tara and Joy shouting back, while Suzanne
kept out of it, but was obviously rather nervous about
dancing naked herself.

“Hey, cut that out!” I yelled at them.  “You don’t
tell anyone else what to do, just decide for yourself.
 I can see none of you want to do it, so just forget
it.  Now I’m going downstairs to get some more squash
and biscuits.”  I checked to make sure they had
stopped arguing and left the room with the tray.

I thought one of two things might happen.  They might
start arguing again.  Or else they might decide they
would avoid being competitive and all strip off
together in time for my return.

Unfortunately, they chose the first course of action. 
Before I reached the bottom of the stairs, I could
hear their voices arguing again.  I heard Suzanne as
well, so obviously she would only argue in my absence,
in an effort to hide her real attitude from me.  I
left them to it, trying to work out how, as usual, I
could manipulate events from here.

After a few minutes the arguing died down.  I waited a
little longer in the kitchen, hoping they had reached
an agreement.  I was idly arranging the biscuits on
the plate when I heard a choked sob behind me.

I turned, to find Gina in the doorway, still in her
underwear.  She looked miserable, and had worked hard
enough at her misery to have a tear trickling down one
cheek.  “Roy, those girls are so horrible to me,” she
sniffed, trying to produce another.  “Especially
Suzanne.”

I knew what she wanted and how she was deliberately
turning on the waterworks to achieve it, but I don’t
let things like that stop me, unless I really do find
a girl unattractive.  I wandered over to her with arms
half-open, and she fell into them, dredging up a few
more sobs to add conviction to her act.  I wrinkled up
my nose as I caught the stench of perfume, which I
hadn’t noticed before.

“Thank you, Roy, I feel better,” she sniffed after a
while, but still staying in my arms.  She turned her
face up to mine, with a loving smile on it and enough
tears forced out to make her mascara run.  “You’re so
kind and strong,” she said.  It was obvious she was
still putting on an act, the sort that worked so well
with boys, and I was not surprised, as underneath it
all she really was pretty attractive.

“You’ve got that painted stuff running all over your
face,” I told her.  “Why do you wear that junk? 
You’re too pretty to need make-up.”

“You think so?” she smiled, a genuine one this time,
even if the voice was artificial.  “Well, thank you.” 
She stood straight and started adjusting her large
showy earrings but didn’t answer my question.  Then
she leaned her head against my chest and gave a long,
contented sigh.

Just at that moment there was a shuffling at the door.
 I turned, to see Suzanne, wearing her dress again,
staring inside.  There was a look of agonized betrayal
on her face.  As our eyes met, she slipped back down
the passage.  I felt rather guilty at obviously having
upset her, but didn’t feel I was doing anything wrong.

Anyway, I thought I should try to put things right
with Suzanne and show her I still loved her.  “Let’s
take the second helpings upstairs,” I said, giving
Gina a jug of orange squash to hold.  She adjusted her
bra in such a way as to give me a glimpse of a little
pink pointed nipple, and followed me.

We arrived back in the bedroom to find the other girls
now dressed and playing another game.  Sadly, it
looked as if they had lost interest in the nude
ballet.  “Where’s Suzanne?” I asked.

“She went downstairs to see you,” answered Michelle.

I waited there a few minutes, but Suzanne did not
appear.  The girls were now talking about games they
could play at Samantha’s house.

“Roy, please may we go and play at Samantha’s house?”
Tara asked me eventually.

“It’s my house too, you know,” broke in Gina coldly.

“That’s all right, but we’d better find Suzanne
first,” I answered.  “Anybody know where she is now?”

“Who cares?” broke in Gina.

“I do,” I answered quietly, staring at her.  She
looked ashamed, but also rather jealous.  So I had two
jealous girls on my hand, never an easy situation.

We had a look round the house and the garden, but
couldn’t find Suzanne at all.  None of the others
could imagine why she had disappeared, but I could. 
They came up with all sorts of imaginative reasons,
some quite gruesome, but they were keen now to go off
with Samantha.

“Come on, leave Suzanne and let’s go,” urged Tara in
the end.  “If she walks off without telling anybody,
that’s her problem if she comes back and can’t find
us.”

“You come as well, Roy,” Samantha invited me, just in
case I was wondering.

“I think I must stay until Suzanne comes back,” I told
them.  “Or she’ll find the house all locked and won’t
know what to do or where to go.  You lot can all go,
and I’ll catch you up later.”

The older girls agreed with that, but Michelle and
Paula wanted to stay with me and I had to order them
to go with the others.  I needed to talk to Suzanne,
when she could be located, and couldn’t do that with
anybody else around.

I didn’t know whether Suzanne, wherever she was, would
return if she knew I was still there, so I packed the
other girls off through the front door and went
quietly to my room.  I hoped she was not in a position
to see them troop off down the road, chattering
loudly, without me or she might not come out.

I sat quietly in my room, listening carefully, as when
Suzanne did decide to return she would probably be as
quiet as possible, in case somebody was still around. 
It was a quiet neighbourhood and there were only a few
occasional distant sounds and the chirruping of birds
outside.

After about ten minutes I thought I heard a tiny noise
from inside the house, although it was so quiet I
could not tell where it was from.  I crept to the door
of my room as quietly as I could.  There was another
noise, rather like a creak, and this time I thought I
could identify it as coming from the hallway.

I tiptoed quickly and quietly through the lounge, and
very carefully put my head round the door to look into
the hall.  For a moment I couldn’t notice anything
different.  And then I saw that something had changed
under the stairs.  I remembered that there was a
cupboard under the stairs where cleaning materials
were kept.  The little door was now partly open. 
Fortunately it opened on the far side, so I could not
see in, but anybody inside would not be able to see me
either.

I waited, and after about ten seconds the door opened
a little further, and then still a little more.  Then,
after another pause, I could see a light-brown head of
hair appear on the far side of the door.  I quickly
whipped my head back inside, knowing that when Suzanne
emerged the first thing she would do would be to check
she was alone.

I heard more sounds, as she decided it was safe and
quietly began to emerge.  I heard her shut the door
again, very softly.  She must have padded across the
floor so silently that I couldn’t hear her, as the
next sound I heard was a slight creak of one of the
stairs.

I wondered where she was going.  If she went into her
bedroom and locked the door, there would be nothing I
could do.  I peered carefully around the door and was
just in time to see her thin legs disappear at the top
of the stairs.  No doubt she would want to check there
was nobody upstairs, although the absence of noise
should have made that plain.

Then I heard the push of a door, and a few seconds
later the splashing of liquid.  She was clearly in the
toilet.  Presumably that was why she had come out of
hiding.  Avoiding the steps that creaked, I nipped
lightly up the stairs and into the passage.  The
toilet door was ajar, but I could nip into her bedroom
before she did without her seeing me.

As I did, I heard her running water into the bowl to
wash her hands.  I slipped into a chair just behind
the door.  A few seconds later Suzanne walked in.

In my position, she didn’t see me immediately.  Her
eyes were very red and her face blotchy.  She looked
utterly miserable.  She turned to shut the door behind
her, and then she saw me.

She screamed and tried to run, but I was too quick for
her.  I stood in the doorway and began, “Suzanne . .
.”

“Go *away*!” she shouted, burying her face in her
hands and throwing herself face-down on her bed.  “I
don’t want to talk to you.  Leave me alone!”  She gave
a choked sob.

“Well, I want to talk to you,” I told her gently.  “I
care about you.”

“No, you don’t.  Nobody does,” came her muffled voice.

I sensed that it would be useless to try to say
anything to her while she was in that mood.  So I just
sat down again in the chair and waited.

After a few minutes she said crossly, face still in
hands, “What do you want?  Leave me alone, will you?”

“I’ve told you, I want to talk to you,” I repeated,
quietly and gently.  She didn’t reply, so we waited
another few minutes.

Then she asked, “Where are the others?”

“They’ve gone to Samantha’s house,” I told her.  “We
can go too, if you like.”

“No,” she said.  There was another pause.  Then she
said, “You go.”

“I don’t want to,” I answered.  “I want to be here
with you.”

After another pause she asked, in an almost sarcastic
tone, “Why?”

“Because I care for you most of all,” I told her.

Suddenly she sat up, stared at me with her red face
and eyes and said accusingly, “I saw you cuddling
Gina.”

“She was upset, that’s all,” I explained.  “Because
you’d been unkind to her.  I want to cuddle you right
now, but I don’t think you’d let me.”

“Don’t touch me,” she warned.  “You’ve been nice to
Gina all morning.”

“Have I been nice to Tara all morning?” I asked. 
“Yes, mostly,” she admitted grudgingly.

“Have I been nice to Joy all morning?” I asked, and
she was forced to admit I had – mostly.  I went
through all the girls’ names and finished with, “Have
I been nice to you all morning?”

“No!” she said firmly, obviously still upset.  “You
let Gina come when I didn’t want her.”

“Who am I going with to the dance tonight?” I asked
quietly.

She looked up at me sharply, red eyes wide.  “Who?”
she blurted out, afraid of the wrong answer.

“You, of course,” I answered.  “You’re the only one I
want to go with.”

“You didn’t say that when I first asked you,” she
accused me.

“That’s because I didn’t know what it was or whether
you really wanted me to go, or whether you were saying
it to make Gina jealous,” I told her.  “When I knew
you really wanted me to come with you, I was so
pleased because you’re the only one I want to go
with.”

She sat on the side of the bed, silent and staring
into space.  Then I asked, “Am I allowed to cuddle you
yet?”

She thought for a moment, and a tear trickled down her
already swollen cheeks.  She looked down, sitting on
the side of the bed and slowly nodded her head.

Since she wasn’t moving, I stood up, came over and sat
next to her.  Then I spread out my arms and gently
wrapped them around her shoulders.  She leaned into
them and put her head on my chest.  Her body heaved as
she sobbed again.  I wrapped my arms warmly round her
bony little body and rocked her gently like a baby.

She gradually became still, and for a minute or two we
sat there, enjoying the feeling of holding each other
so lovingly.  But everything was still not quite
right.  Suzanne looked up at me again and asked
challengingly, “Do you like Gina?”

“She’s a mixture,” I answered honestly.  “There are
some things I like about her and some things I don’t
like.”

“Am I a mixture?” she asked me.

“Yes,” I answered.  “But there are more things about
you that I like.  But you mustn’t ever tell Gina that,
because it would be wrong.  The only thing I don’t
like at the moment is that you’re jealous and you
don’t trust me.”

“I’m not!” she denied indignantly.  “But I just
thought – you liked her better than me.  Couldn’t you
see she was flirting with you all the time and trying
to take you away from me?”

“Yes, that’s one of the things I don’t like,” I
answered.  “But she’s lonely and she doesn’t like
herself very much, so I didn’t want to be horrible to
her.”

“She’s not lonely!” exclaimed Suzanne.  “And she does
like herself, too much.  She’s so proud of herself.”

“No, that’s why she chases boys so much,” I answered. 
“That’s why she puts on an act and plasters make-up
all over herself.  She wants boys to love her, but she
thinks she’s so bad that she has to change from being
her real self, or she thinks they won’t like her.”

Suzanne was quiet as she mulled this over.  Then she
said, “None of the other girls like her.  She always
shows off and makes out that she’s better than they
are.”

“That’s because she knows she isn’t,” I said.  “And
whenever you’re horrible to her, it only makes her
worse.”

There was another pause, and then Suzanne said, “I
don’t want to talk about her any more.  Did she try
and get you to leave me and go to the dance with her?”

“No, she told me she was going with Derek,” I said.  I
felt a certain release of breath and she finally
seemed to feel secure.

“Let’s talk about the dance,” she said after a moment,
and her face suddenly began to look slightly happier
again for the first time.  “Maybe we can practise some
of the dances?”

“Love to,” I said.  I stood up, held out a hand and
slowly lifted her to her feet.  She began at last to
smile from her swollen face.

We never did go to Samantha’s house.  We spent a lot
of time practising our dancing.  Suzanne’s three
sisters arrived home soon after midday for their
lunch, Michelle in particular highly indignant that I
hadn’t joined them.  Fortunately they didn’t spend
much time trying to find out where Suzanne had been. 
They had had a good time and only left when it was
time for Gina and Michelle to have their lunch, and
they weren’t invited.  Samantha’s mother did tell them
they could return after lunch, though; Gina had
ensured I was included in that invitation, and
Suzanne’s sisters had ensured that she was included.

We had our lunch, then Suzanne followed me into the
kitchen.  She said, “Roy, I don’t really want to go to
Samantha’s house, do you?  I think we ought to have a
nap before we go out tonight.  We may not get back
until midnight.  Shall we stay behind and get some
sleep?”

I thought I knew what she was getting at, so I strung
her along a bit.  “Well, I’m not really tired,” I
said.  “But you can stay behind if you like – that’s
quite all right.”

“I – don’t want to be asleep in the house on my own,”
she answered.  “So I was hoping you’d stay as well.”

“That wouldn’t make much difference, because my room
is at the bottom on one side and yours is at the top
on the other,” I said.  “So it would be just like
having nobody else in the house for you.”

“Well, I was hoping – I mean, I know,” she answered. 
“I – I wouldn’t feel too good about that.  So I
thought – if you didn’t mind – I could come and –
well, maybe sleep in your room?”  She looked up at me
appealingly.

“That should be fine,” I replied, my suspicions
confirmed and my own hopes granted.  “I’ll fix things
up for you before I go out.”

“But I’d still be alone in the house then,” she
exclaimed, looking dismayed.  “I did – hope you’d stay
to look after me.”

“Well, I could use a sleep, I suppose.  But that would
be very expensive,” I told her, teasing her.  “I’d
need a few kisses for that, I think.”

“Yes,” she smiled widely, if shyly.  She reached up
and put her thin arms round my neck.  I bent down and
she kissed me beside my mouth, rather than on it.  I
returned it gently on her cheek.  Then, overcome with
shyness, she said, “I’ll tell the others,” and
scuttled out of the kitchen.

I was pleased to see how disappointed the others were
that I was not going with them, but I promised to come
and join them before five o’clock if they had not
returned by then.  At two o’clock, the time arranged,
they were off down the street towards Samantha’s house
again.

Suzanne looked at me with a shy smile.  “Now we can
get some sleep,” she said, but I didn’t really feel
that was her main intention.

We went into my room.  “Don’t you want to get your
nightie?” I asked her.

“It’s too hot during the day.  I’ll just sleep in my
panties,” she said softly, slipping out of her dress. 
“What are you going to sleep in?”

“Well, I don’t know that I’ll be able to sleep at all
as there’s only the sofa to sleep on, and you’ll need
that,” I told her.  “Do you want me to go out while
you sleep so I don’t wake you up?”

“Oh, no, you won’t wake me,” she assured me, looking a
little dismayed again as she stood there in her pale
blue panties.  “But – I didn’t think – you might not
have anywhere to sleep.  You’ll get tired tonight
because there’s so much to do.  Can’t we – share the
sofa, maybe?”  Her eyes pleaded with me to agree.

I stopped playing her along.  “Love to,” I smiled at
her.  “But I don’t know if we’ll get much sleep!”

“That doesn’t matter,” she answered, then realized
that she had given herself away – as if I hadn’t
already guessed.  “I mean, it won’t bother me, I’ll be
able to sleep all right.  And – you needn’t take all
your clothes off to sleep.”  I think she was a bit
embarrassed at the thought of having a naked boy so
close to her.

“No, I think it’s good manners when you’re sharing a
room with somebody to sleep in the same way that they
do, so I’ll just sleep in my underpants,” I assured
her, taking off my outer clothes.  She didn’t show any
response.

She sat on the side of the sofa, just wearing her
half-vest and those blue panties that curved smoothly
down under her crotch.  “You’re bigger, so you get on
first and then I’ll get on,” she suggested in her
quiet, almost apologetic voice.

“All right,” I agreed, going round to the other side
and lying down there, on my side facing her.

With an embarrassed smile, she started to get on, but
then thought of something.  “I need a wee first,” she
murmured, standing up and hurriedly walking out of the
room.

I lay back to await her return.  Then I heard the
telephone ringing.  Reluctantly I stood up and went
through the main lounge to answer it.

The person at the other end recognized my voice. 
“Roy, this is Gina,” she said, sounding a little
upset.  “Roy, we invited you to come round this
afternoon but Tara says you’re not coming.”

“Well, Suzanne wants to get some sleep before the
dance tonight and I thought it would be better if I
stayed, so she wouldn’t be alone in the house,” I
answered.

“But – it won’t be all that late,” argued Gina,
sounding more upset.  “I’m not having a sleep.  I – we
wanted you to come because we – we want to put on
another show for you.  Please come.  Suzanne will be
all right by herself.”

“I can’t do that now but I may come round later,” I
replied, aware that the door of the downstairs toilet
was now open and Suzanne would be listening to
everything I said.

At the same time I could hear some background voices
at the other end of the line, and Gina’s cross voice
saying to somebody else, “It’s Derek.”  No doubt the
others had caught her on the phone and asked awkward
questions.  She spoke into the receiver again,
hurriedly and in a different voice, to try to fool her
listeners.  “Look, I’ll see you later, okay?  Don’t
let me down.  Okay, bye.”  The line went dead.

“I’ll think about it, Gina, but remember, Suzanne
always comes first with me,” I said clearly into the
dead phone.  “You need to understand that . . .  Good,
I’m glad you see that.  Bye, then.”  I put down the
receiver and headed back into the lounge without
glancing in the direction of the toilet.

Suzanne was right behind me.  “Who was that?” she
asked, also playing games.

“Just Gina asking me to come round later,” I answered.
 “I might do that, just to keep her quiet or she may
bother us at the dance.  But we must have our sleep
first.”  She smiled quietly and followed me into the
bedroom.

She shut the door firmly behind us and turned the key.
 “Just in case the others come back early,” she
explained.  “I don’t want them waking me up suddenly
when I’m asleep.”

I went and lay back on the bed, waiting for Suzanne to
join me.  Again she seemed suddenly hesitant, standing
by the side of the sofa as if she didn’t know what to
do.  I stretched out my arm and tickled a bare,
protruding rib with my forefinger.  She giggled.  “If
you do that, I’ll tickle you,” she threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare, because I’m not ticklish,” I
teased her.

It provided the release she needed, because she said,
“I would,” and reached out her arms towards my stomach
to prove it.  I grabbed her arms and pulled her on top
of me.  Laughing, she sprawled across my chest.  I
wrapped my arms round her back, pressing her gently to
my chest and said, “Now I’ve caught you!”

She wriggled and giggled and tried to tickle me, while
I bounced her up and down and kissed her by the ear
when it came within range.  Then suddenly I stopped,
stared at her with big eyes, and said, as if we had
been very naughty, “We’re supposed to be sleeping!”

“Yes,” she murmured, smiling with shyness.  She
relaxed and flopped down beside me on the sofa with a
big sigh.  Then she shifted closer until she was
touching me, lying on her stomach with her head facing
me.  I smiled lovingly at her and she smiled back.

“You – you’re very kind,” she whispered.  “I like
being with you.”

“Me too,” I assured her warmly.  “But you haven’t paid
me enough yet.”  I turned on my side to face her. 
With a giggle, she put her head forward and kissed my
cheek, payment which I returned with interest.

Sensing she wanted more but was too shy to take the
initiative, I wrapped my arms round her and rolled her
over on top of me, so that I was lying on my back and
she was sprawled over my chest.  She wrapped her arms
round my neck and put her hot cheek next to mine.  We
lay still together, apart from the occasional kiss,
just enjoying the closeness and intimacy of each
other’s half-naked bodies.

Then she said, “I’m too hot.  Should I take my bra
off?”

The onus and responsibility had therefore been shifted
to me.  “Yes, I’ve taken mine off already,” I answered
with a grin.

She giggled and sat up, putting up her arms to draw
off her half-vest over her head.  Her tiny soft
pyramids came into view.  She then lay down on top of
me again, but said, “Please don’t touch me there,
because they can be very sore sometimes.”

I assured her I wouldn’t, enjoying the feel of her
body again and I thought I could also feel the soft
touch of those delicate tiny breasts against my chest.
 My heart throbbed with warmth as I felt her body
heaving gently as she breathed.

After a while, with her head resting on my shoulder,
she asked dreamily, “Do you like black knickers?”

“Not at all,” I assured her, knowing whom she was
thinking of.

“What colour do you like best?” was her next question.

“I really like white the best,” I whispered back, and
told her about Shelley’s beautiful soft white panties.

“I’ve got some white silk ones,” she responded.  “I’ll
wear them for the dance tonight.  And I’ve got better
make-up than Gina.  Hers is much too showy.”

“Make-up?” I asked.  “Do you *need* make-up?”

She pushed herself up and stared at me.  “All the
girls will be wearing make-up,” she told me
uncertainly.

“Well, I like you best just the way you are, your
natural self,” I told her.  “Didn’t Gina look awful
this morning with all hers?”

She looked disappointed.  “I just want to wear a tiny
bit,” she said in the end.  “All the girls will be
wearing some.”

“Well, it’s your dance,” I said in the end.  I didn’t
want to upset her when the girls were obviously
competing with each other.  She put her face down
against my shoulder again, but I could sense she
wasn’t happy.

“Suzanne, the only make-up you need is your smile,” I
told her.  “I think you should let your natural beauty
shine out.  But it’s your dance.”  She wasn’t a great
beauty and I sensed she disliked all her freckles, but
I’ve never yet seen a girl I felt looked better with
make-up.  But that’s the naturist in me talking!

She gave a quiet sigh and leaned her head against my
shoulder again.  I put up a hand and gently rubbed the
back of her neck, feeling the little round bones of
her vertebra under my fingers.  She closed her eyes
with a blissful smile on her face.

We lay together for a long time, but I don’t think she
slept.  I certainly didn’t; I was much too thrilled
with the love and intimacy that were passing between
us.  I had my hand on her neck and with my thumb
gently rubbed the nape of her neck, just under the
hairline, for what seemed like hours on end. 
Sometimes we talked quietly and sometimes just lay
there, loving the closeness of each other’s bodies. 
Once she said to me, out of the blue, “We can go to
Samantha’s house later, if you like.  I don’t mind.”

Suddenly she turned her head to me and asked the time.
 “Almost four o’clock,” I answered, looking at my
watch in surprise.  Time had just seemed to stand
still.

She gave a long sigh and then said, “I think we’ll
have to start getting ready.  I need a shower.”

“You can have one later,” I began, and no sooner were
the words out of my mouth than I suddenly realized
what she might be implying.

“We’ve been so hot, so I think I need one now,” she
whispered, sitting up on the sofa.

Trying to push her to reveal what she really meant, I
said, “Well, shall I be going off to Samantha’s house
while you’re showering?”

She didn’t look at me, but answered, “Don’t you need a
shower too?”

“Yes, but I can have it later,” I said.  “It might
take too long if we both have showers.”

“Oh, it – it won’t if we go now,” she said shyly.  “We
can be quick.”

“Okay,” I agreed.  “You can go first and you can call
me when you’ve finished.”  Knowing what a difficult
step it was for her – if indeed I had read her right –
I didn’t want to push her at all.

She hesitated, and then said, “All right.”  She stood
up and walked over to the door.  Then she turned and
said, “You can wait for me in my bedroom if you like.”
 So it seemed she was not thinking of a shower
together, or else was backing down a bit.

I agreed, and followed her out, through the lounge and
up the stairs.  She turned right into the bathroom and
I turned left into her bedroom.  Sounding embarrassed,
she came back, pointed to her bookcase and said,
“There are some things to read if you like.”

I took a book, but there was no way I could
concentrate on it.  I could tell she had left the
bathroom door open.  I heard her pull the shower
curtain around the bath and start the water.  My heart
was thumping and I just longed for the extra intimacy,
hoping that her courage would not fail her, as she
obviously had some plan in mind.

After about five minutes I heard her call, “Roy?”  I
answered, and she called, “Roy, please can you hand me
my towel?  I’ve washed my hair and I can’t open my
eyes or the soap will go in them.”

With the warmth of anticipation, I jumped up and
entered the bathroom.  Her blue panties lay on the
bathroom chair.  The shower curtains were closed,
although I could just see a thin strip of flesh
through the tiny gap between them, and the water was
still running.  “Which one is yours?” I asked, looking
at the loaded towel rail.

“The pink one.  I think it’s on the left,” she said.

It was indeed, so I pulled it off the rail and said,
“Got it.”

A thin arm and hand stretched through the gap between
the curtains, opening them lower down.  I could see
the outline of her naked body through it, but no
detail due to the heavy fall of water.  I placed the
towel in the hand.  “Thanks, Roy,” she said.  Her head
came out, bent downwards, and she wiped her face with
the towel, which dangled down to cover the gap.  Then
she dropped the towel and slipped her body behind one
of the curtains at the same time.

“Pleasure.  Give me a yell when you’re ready,” I
answered, hoping for better than that.

I got it.  “I – I’ve nearly finished, so you can stay
if you want,” came her voice from behind the curtains,
sounding nervous.  What a trauma it is for a girl
entering puberty to allow a boy to see her body! 
“Then I can leave the water on and you can get
straight in.”

“All right,” I answered above the hammering noise of
my own heart.  In preparation I pulled off my
underpants and dropped them next to her panties on the
chair.

About half a minute later she finally emerged through
the curtains, stepping over the side of the bath, with
her towel held to wipe her face and dangling
annoyingly down the front of her body.  She grinned at
me nervously, clearly embarrassed but doing her best. 
I took her place inside the shower, which was a bit
hotter than what I was used to, but then I was in a
country that was a bit colder than what I was used to.
 I turned up the cold, all the time looking through
the slight gap I had left in the curtains.

I don’t know whether or not she realized I would be
able to see her through the gap, but now she didn’t
really mind and I suppose it was only years of
inhibition that made her embarrassed at having me see
her naked when she was still able to see me.  In any
event, she quickly put the towel up round her head,
wrapping it around her hair, and allowing me to see
her body, unobstructed, for the first time.

She was thin, and all her ribs were visible.  Her
breasts were just the cute little mounds I had seen
before, but for the first time now I saw her loins,
thin and hipbones prominent.  Her body sloped smoothly
down between her legs, with a little mound at the
bottom, containing the sweetest little vagina.  The
edges at the top looked slightly blurred, indicating
just the very beginnings of pubic hair.

She spent two or three minutes dealing with her hair,
apparently aware that I could have put my head through
the shower curtains, but seemingly unconcerned.  As
she stood there with her arms up over her head, I was
awed with the gentle curve of her body at the front,
stomach rounded as her arms were up, the outward curve
interrupted only by the tiny bulges of her nipples,
flattened somewhat as she stretched upwards.  Neither
of us spoke during that time.

Then she finally unwrapped her head and brought the
towel down to dry her back, leaving her hair matted
and sprayed out in all directions for the present. 
She lifted one leg at a time to dry them, and then
squatted with her legs apart to dry between her legs. 
She gave the rest of her body a rub, then picked up
her panties and called to me through the curtains. 
“Roy, I’m just going to my room to get dressed,” she
said.

I could no longer resist the temptation, so I put my
head through the curtains, opening them wide to reveal
my body were she interested, and asked, “Pardon? – I
can’t hear in the shower.”

Looking nervous but without covering herself, she
repeated what she said, and then disappeared through
the door.  I finished my shower, warm with the
sensuality of what I had seen.  I dried myself and
then, picking up my underpants, I left the bathroom.

Suzanne’s bedroom door was open, so I looked inside. 
She was sitting in front of a mirror, combing her
hair, but she had put on her pair of silky white
panties.  She saw me in the mirror and turned round,
blushing slightly.

“Ah, that was good,” I smiled lovingly at her.  “Shall
we be ready to go in about five minutes?”

“Well – maybe ten,” she replied, continuing to comb. 
I had forgotten how long girls take to dress.  We had
a rather awkward silence, so I went down to my room
and dressed.

It took about twenty minutes before Suzanne was
satisfied she was ready to go round to Samantha’s
house.  She wore her white blouse and grey skirt.  She
was now more confident and talked quietly to me as we
walked.  When we came within sight of Samantha’s
house, she tucked her arm through mine, no doubt eager
for Gina to see the intimacy between us.  I played
along, and we walked up the path to their front door,
laughing and joking loudly.

We stayed less than an hour, and it was rather
uneventful.  Gina was very attentive but took care not
to clash with Suzanne.  She also took care on several
occasions to reveal the shiny white panties she was
now wearing, rounded smoothly around the gusset.  She
promised to see me at the dance.

We returned home in time for Frank and Pam.  Although
the hall where the dance was being held was close
enough, and safe enough even when we returned after
dark, for us to walk, Suzanne had persuaded her mother
to allow me to drive us both there.  Pam had a
battered old Morris, but it would still be a real
source of pride for Suzanne to be driven to the dance
personally by her escort.

I reluctantly dressed myself in a dark suit that Pam
had borrowed for me, and it was quite a good fit.  I
don’t like dressing up and would have preferred to go
casual (since something had to be worn!), but I
realised that it was Suzanne’s evening and it was my
duty to dress so as to please her.

Just before eight o’clock, Suzanne came down to my
room, beaming and ready to go.  She was wearing a
shiny sky-blue dress with thin shoulder straps, which
came down to mid-thigh.  As for make-up, she had
applied only the tiniest bit of rouge to her cheeks
and some reasonably coloured nail varnish, so I
couldn’t complain too much – no doubt some of the
nastier girls might have dropped a few comments had
she worn none at all.

She had presumably found a genuine bra from somewhere,
as I could see a thin shoulder strap lying next to the
dress strap on her shoulder.  I told her it was
visible, in case it embarrassed her, but she just
said, “It doesn’t matter,” and tucked it underneath. 
Then I noticed, the moment she thought I wasn’t
looking, she adjusted her dress slightly so the bra
strap was visible again.

It reminded me of a wise comment Marina once made to
me about the girls in her class.  “They want everybody
to know they wear bras now,” she smiled, “but they
don’t want anybody to see!”  I presume Suzanne just
wanted to drop a slight message to the others at the
dance.

“I’ll be so proud to be with you,” Suzanne whispered
to me, reaching her arms up to put around my neck.  I
lowered my head in case she wanted to exchange kisses,
and she tightened her arms and pressed her cheek
against mine.

I straightened my legs, lifting her off the ground,
and she squealed and wrapped her thighs around mine. 
I put my hands under her bottom to support her weight
better, and as I did so saw in the mirror that her
dress had ridden up as she raised her arms.  Her white
silky panties were quite visible, and those were what
I had my hands on.

There was a whoop from the doorway, and I swung round
to see Tara and Joy standing there watching us. 
Suzanne had already seen them, and she was kicking
urgently to be put down.  I did so.

“Are you two kissing?” Joy wanted to know, with a wide
grin.

“No, we’re practising one of the dances,” retorted
Suzanne, pulling her dress down and looking flustered.

“You’d better not dance like that in the hall
tonight,” Tara warned her with satisfaction.  “Or
everyone will see your panties.”

“Oh, shut up,” Suzanne retorted crossly, and I had to
step in to try and keep the peace.

Pam came in at that stage to give me the car keys. 
“We’re glad she’s with you, Roy,” she told me.  “Can
you be back before twelve?”

I assured her that we could, and we moved together
towards the front door.  I stopped in the hall to
present Suzanne with a corsage that Pam had kindly
arranged for me.  With the younger girls having
decided that watching television was more important
than seeing us off, we took our leave.

Like a gentleman I opened the car door for Suzanne,
who had suddenly become very shy.  Then we were off
down the road with my partner’s face buried deep
inside the flowers.

(To be continued)



THE ENGLISH EXPERIENCE (CHAPTER 6)


It took only about three minutes to drive to the venue
for the dance, which was the hall of the local high
school.  I drove in at the main gate and parked the
car in the large parking lot there.  Since this was
mainly a ‘young teen’ dance, few of them had cars to
drive, so the other traffic was mainly parents
dropping off their youngsters.  Many of them were
walking, though, no doubt living not far away.

Suzanne was obviously very proud to arrive in a car
driven by her partner, and I presume she had tried to
time her arrival so as to be witnessed by the greatest
possible number of people.  When I parked the car, she
began to open the passenger door to get out, and then
shut it again so that I could go round and open it for
her.  As she climbed out, still carrying her corsage,
she waved gaily, if slightly self-consciously, to
friends all around her as she linked her arm with
mine.

We walked towards the hall entrance along with the
others, who were mainly between about eleven and
fifteen.  A woman in her twenties was at the door to
take our tickets, which Pam had bought for us at ten
pounds apiece.  Suzanne proudly introduced me,
informing me that this was Miss Fairclough who taught
at the high school, and remembering to mention to Miss
Fairclough that I had driven us both there.

Inside, at one end, a band of about five hairy-looking
young men was setting up equipment for the disco.  Two
or three girls, and I saw Gina among them – of course
– were with them and chatting them up.  At the other
end there were about twenty or thirty young teens,
mostly standing around looking awkward.  They stared
at me curiously, and Suzanne loved it, taking me over
and introducing me proudly as her partner.  They
seemed for the most part rather put off by the
presence of somebody older whom they didn’t know.

There was a man inside the hall who, along with Miss
Fairclough, was officially in charge of the dance. 
Suzanne quickly introduced me to him – Mr Stocks,
another teacher at the high school.  He struck me as a
rather silly man, trying to be too friendly, flirting
with some of the older girls and willing to do
anything for a cheap laugh.

As soon as Gina saw us, she came over.  She was
wearing a low-cut green dress, low enough to reveal
the top of her bra – as was no doubt intended – and
long enough to cover her bottom, but little else.  She
was heavily painted with make-up and some hideous
blood-red nail varnish that made her look like Lady
Dracula.  She was leaning on the arm of a boy of about
her own age, with black hair, a goofy grin and
wild-looking eyes.  She introduced me to Derek, in
between a bit of flirtation, no doubt to make Derek a
little jealous.

Snacks were appearing on the tables around the side of
the room, and cool drinks and punch at a makeshift bar
down the far end.  I went to get Suzanne and myself a
drink, and she chose to come with me, still obviously
very proud to have the oldest boy in the group as her
partner.  Soon the band began to play an introductory
number, not too unpleasant, and slowly everyone began
to liven up, mainly because we had to shout to make
ourselves heard.

There were quite a few other girls who, like Gina and
to a certain extent Suzanne, were wearing bras and
proud of them.  There were quite a few straps on view,
a number of white blouses through which bras could be
identified, and some low-cut dresses at the front. 
All the girls were wearing dresses, some very
attractive and others too tight or too short or both. 
Most of them were wearing make-up to a greater or
lesser degree.  Suzanne mentioned quietly to me two or
three girls she was sure had padded their bras.

“Look at Tracy,” murmured Suzanne, with mild shock.  I
looked across at the girl she was indicating.  There
was a rather bubbly girl of about 12, with short dark
curly hair.  She was wearing a very flimsy-looking
dark purple dress without a waist that hung loosely
around her and seemed to float when she walked.  It
was quite short, more than halfway up her thighs, but
that was not unusual, so I couldn’t see at first what
had bothered Suzanne.

“Look at her when she’s in front of the light,”
Suzanne told me.  I watched, and a few seconds later
Tracy strolled in front of one of the lights on the
table.  It was then clear that her dress was partly
transparent, and we could clearly see the outline of
tiny little panties and an equally small bra through
her dress against the light.

A number of girls were carrying corsages, and most of
them handbags (as indeed was Suzanne) and very proud
of them.  I noticed on the other side of the room a
couple of young teen boys were tormenting a girl of
about Suzanne’s age.  They had seized her handbag and
were childishly tossing it to each other, while she
tried in vain to get it back, snatching at first one
and then the other as they passed it back and forth.

“Those boys are teasing Fiona,” Suzanne said with
sympathy.  Fiona was getting quite upset, and I
frowned, but didn’t feel it my place to interfere.

Then one of the boys, who I later gathered was
actually her official partner for the evening, tossed
the handbag high in the air, and it came to rest on
top of one of the light-holders halfway up the wall. 
It balanced there but stood firm, and he gave a hoot
of laughter.

Fiona, very embarrassed, stood staring upwards at it
in dismay.  “Roy, can you get it down for her,
please?” Suzanne asked me.

“Yes, I’ll do that,” I agreed, and started walking
over, with Suzanne by my side.

Fiona, however, had seen no alternative but to get it
for herself.  There was a small table, still empty,
against the wall near there, and she pulled hard to
position it underneath the light-holder.  Then she
stood on a chair, stepped nervously on to the slightly
unsteady table and, pressed against the wall, reached
upwards, feeling for her handbag.

As she raised her arms, her red dress inadvertently
rode up as well, revealing her bottom encased in brief
white panties.  There was a hoot of laughter from the
boys and squeals of mild shock from the girls.  Then
the boy who was her partner stepped up to the table,
stretched his hand upwards and tickled her up her
skirt, between her legs.

“Hey, cut that out!” I yelled impulsively, jumping
forward.  The boy, hearing me, leapt backwards.  I was
about to grab hold of him in my anger and teach him
something of a lesson when Fiona slipped.

She never quite reached that handbag.  She gave a
squeal of dismay as the table moved under her and slid
away from the wall.  Grasping desperately at the wall,
Fiona slipped down to one side and landed with quite a
crash on the floor, to the accompaniment of screams of
horror from the girls.

She seemed quite stunned, sitting there with her back
to the wall and her knees up, revealing her panties
quite clearly.  I turned back from my planned
assignment with her escort, but Mr Stocks had arrived
on the scene.

“Hey, hey, cool down a bit,” he said generally but
without real authority.  “Fiona, are you okay?”

Fiona, helped by a couple of other girls, was now
staggering to her feet with a distressed look on her
face, obviously on the verge of tears.  Mr Stocks
awkwardly gave her a pat on the shoulder and then,
trying to make light of it, smiled and said jovially,
“You know, if we knew you were going to show your
knickers like that, we could have charged another five
pounds on the ticket.”  Then, leaving the scene, he
started to walk away.

“That’s no way to speak to a girl either,” I snorted
angrily to Suzanne.

Mr Stocks obviously caught something I said, as he
turned to me and, as if stung by my comment, asked me
rather aggressively, “Did you say something?”

I resisted the temptation to be really rude – after
all, in the school I attended back home, we had to
respect our teachers and call them Sir or Ma’am, or
expect quite a bit of trouble.

“Sir,” I began without meaning to, but from force of
habit, “I don’t think she needs you to say things like
that to girls.”

Mr Stocks looked quite taken aback, but answered after
a moment’s hesitation, “Let me remind you, young man,
that you are a visitor here and I don’t need you to
tell me how to run this dance.”  He immediately turned
his back on me and walked away, perhaps afraid that if
he stayed I might take the matter further.

I was still seething with anger, but naturally
reluctant to let it loose at an adult.  Fiona, in
tears and with her arms round the shoulders of two
other girls, was being helped off in the direction of
the girls’ toilets.  I turned to find Fiona’s partner
standing nearby, grinning foolishly with the
embarrassment of being unable to hide his
embarrassment.

“Haven’t you ever learned how to treat girls
properly?” I demanded of him.

I was quite a bit taller than he, so he stepped back,
bumping into a couple of other boys.  “We were only
having fun,” he protested feebly.

“You don’t have fun with girls that way,” I told him
cuttingly.  I restrained myself from saying any more,
but continued to glare at him, until he turned away in
humiliation.

“Thank you, Roy,” I heard Suzanne’s voice say as she
wrapped her hands round my arm.  Then she added, “Can
you get Fiona’s handbag down?”

It was not difficult for me to reach the handbag, with
one foot on the chair and the other on the table.  I
handed it down to Suzanne, who immediately took it off
towards the toilets.

By myself now, I wandered back to the other side of
the room and retrieved my drink.  I sat down, and
almost immediately Gina came to join me, with Derek
trailing along beside her.  She started off
self-righteously about poor Fiona and how that boy
(Brian by name) had treated her so disgracefully.

As she did so, the disco music proper started, quite a
bit louder than it had been before.  Derek was eager
to get dancing as other pairs moved out on to the
floor.  “Come on, Gina, let’s go,” he urged her,
half-dragging her.

“I want a dance with you later, Roy,” she called out
as she went.

I was by myself for about ten more minutes, with
Suzanne no doubt playing her part in the patching up
of Fiona.  Then at last Suzanne returned.

“Roy, Fiona wants to go home,” she told me anxiously,
putting her head right next to mine so we could hear
each other.  “Can we take her?”

“Where is she?” I asked and, on being told she was
still in the toilets, said I wanted to talk to her
first.

Suzanne disappeared again, and it was another five
minutes or so before I saw a small procession of girls
wending its way towards me.  In the centre was Fiona,
head bowed and still looking in a very distressed
state after being so humiliated.

“Hey, Fiona, can we pay to see your knickers again?” I
heard one boy taunting her in a silly voice.

Immediately I saw red.  I sprang to my feet, strode
over and put my face right up close to his.  “Don’t
you dare speak to a girl like that or I’ll . . .” I
began.  He cringed and vanished so quickly that I
didn’t have chance to finish my sentence – which was
just as well because I wasn’t sure how to finish it.

I turned round, to find a group of about five girls,
led by Suzanne, all staring up at me with evident
admiration – except for Fiona, who still had her face
hidden.

I sat down again and the girls gathered in front of
me, gently pushing Fiona forward, still with her head
bowed.  Gently I reached out and took her by the hand.
 “Tell him, Fiona,” Suzanne urged her.  “Roy will help
you.  He got your handbag back for you.”

Fiona at last looked up shyly, from a tear-stained
face.  “I want to go home,” she whispered.  She looked
a fairly attractive girl, with short brown hair and
wearing a pretty red dress.

“Fiona, that boy treated you very badly and the others
were very thoughtless,” I told her gently.  “But it
would be even worse if they thought they had made you
run away.  I know you feel terrible right now, but I
think you’re strong enough to get over it later.  Do
you like dancing?”

She nodded her head, but said, “Brian was my partner
and I don’t have anyone to dance with now.  I don’t
want to dance with him.”

“I think I’m big enough to have two partners,” I
grinned at her.  “Suzanne, will you let Fiona be my
partner as well, just for a while, as long as she
needs me?”

To her credit, Suzanne nodded and said, “Yes, that’s
all right, Fiona.”

But Fiona just looked at me with big eyes and said,
“Please take me home.”  But she had stopped crying now
and was speaking more clearly.

I took her by the hand again and pulled her gently to
my side, where I put an arm round her waist.  Suzanne
immediately slipped round the other side of me and
leaned against me, so I took the hint and slipped my
other arm round her too.  Then I said, “Fiona, will
you try one thing for me, please?  Will you stay for
half an hour and see how you feel?  Then, if you still
want to go, I’ll take you home.”

Suzanne leaned across me and added, “Yes, Fiona, do
that.”  The other girls around also joined in, and
under this peer pressure Fiona finally nodded her head
and said, “I’ll try.”

“I’ll get her a drink,” volunteered one of the other
girls.  “Would you like to try some punch, Fiona? 
It’s good.”  Fiona nodded, so she sped off to fetch
some.  The other girls gradually melted away, finding
their partners and beginning to get involved in the
disco dancing.

The girl soon came back with some punch for Fiona, and
stayed with us.  Her partner, it seemed, was ignoring
her in favour of other boys, which I noticed a lot of
the boys did when they were not actually dancing.  I
found her quite attractive to look at, and a
delightful personality.  She had dark brown hair down
over her shoulders and wore round, gold-rimmed glasses
over big, enthusiastic brown eyes.  Her name was
Elizabeth, and she was lively and a good talker.  She
was wearing a bright green dress that came down almost
to her knees.

Suzanne was tugging at my arm and urging me to dance
with her.  I was reluctant to leave Fiona, but soon
Elizabeth said, “Don’t worry, you can dance.  I’ll
look after Fiona.”

I slipped on to the dance floor with Suzanne.  It was
the disco-type dancing that did not require touching,
as we faced our partners and danced – in a way I can’t
describe too well, as it was rather different from
what I was used to back home, and I had to look to
Suzanne and follow all her moves.

It was a long dance, and immediately it finished we
were into another.  It must have been about twenty
minutes later when the music finally stopped for us to
have a breather.  I walked back to where Elizabeth and
Fiona were still sitting, with Fiona now looking a bit
brighter and talking to Elizabeth.  Fiona was sitting
with her legs apart a little and a sliver of white
panties showing up her red dress, so it seemed she
wasn’t thinking of Mr Stocks’ tasteless joke, and
probably not even about the boy who had tickled her
between the legs.

I knelt down beside her and asked, “Fiona, will you
take the next dance with me, please?”

She looked at me, startled, and didn’t know what to
say.  But, as the music started up again, Elizabeth
said, “Oh, I know this one.  We don’t need partners
for this – we can do it all together.  Come, Fiona.”

Fiona obediently stood up and Elizabeth led her on to
the dance floor.  This time we clapped and danced to
the music, and there was a fair bit of moving around
the hall by ourselves as well.  Suzanne kept by me,
though, while I kept not too far from Fiona, ready
just in case anybody should try to tease her again.

Being younger teens, they enjoyed a bit of fun and
games as well, and the adults in charge had some
different dances that provided this.  One dance was a
version of musical chairs, and when the music stopped
the girls had to jump into the boys’ arms, the last
one to get her feet off the ground being ‘out’.

It was easy for me, being probably the oldest boy
there and certainly the only one with a partner so
much younger than myself.  With Elizabeth and Fiona
sitting out but looking quite happy together, and with
Elizabeth at least refusing a couple of offers by boys
to partner her, I was sure Suzanne and I could win. 
Whenever the music stopped, she leapt easily into my
arms.

The other boys found it more difficult to hold girls
who were usually around their own size, and several
were disqualified as they fell over trying to do so. 
In more than one case the girl slipped down with the
boy still trying to hold her tightly, but only
succeeded in holding her skirt up, resulting in
considerable revelation of panties as the girl’s body
slipped downwards.  Sometimes, of course, it seemed to
be done deliberately.

Mr Stocks seemed to enjoy these incidents, having a
good laugh as he watched, and my dislike for him grew.
 Maybe I am more of a hypocrite, but I will never
laugh or smile at a girl’s embarrassment, much as I
enjoy seeing what she prefers not to show.  He stood
there with a mug of beer in his hand, which I felt was
a very bad example, grinning or laughing at times in a
way that filled me with contempt.  All the time I took
care not to let Suzanne’s skirt ride up as I didn’t
want Mr Stocks to see her panties or for any of the
boys to make comments, as I heard them do at times
about other girls.

We were down to the last three or four pairs and were
probably the first couple each time to get the girl
off the ground, when Suzanne seemed to slip.  She
jumped, but not quite into my arms, and then hesitated
before jumping again, rather feebly.  It was too late,
and I flushed with anger to hear Mr Stocks’ gloating
voice, “Suzanne and partner, out you go!”

“What happened?” I asked Suzanne, rather annoyed, as
we trailed back to our seats.

“Sorry, I – I slipped,” answered Suzanne, not looking
at me.

As she said it, I sensed something was slightly wrong.
 I puzzled it over, and it occurred to me that
probably she just felt shy at the thought of being the
centre of attention if we had won.  She was quite
happy to show me off to her friends, but this seemed
like a case of stage fright.  This was backed up when
I saw one of the other girls do just the same thing
immediately after us.

Then came another dance, and I did it with Suzanne, as
Fiona and Elizabeth seemed content to watch.  Gina was
not dancing, and she seemed to be having some sort of
argument with Derek.  They were sitting about two
chairs apart, looking angry, and occasionally turning
and arguing.  Then Gina stood up, walked over to the
drinks table and reached over it to find a clean
glass.  Up went her dress at the back, to show that
she was now wearing shiny white panties, but I’m sure
this particular revelation was unintentional.

When that dance finished, Gina quickly put down her
now half-empty glass and came over to me.  “You
promised me a dance, Roy,” she said, fluttering her
eyelashes at me.

Suzanne was rather tired and wanted to sit down, so I
agreed.  As we faced each other to dance, she kept
bending forward, giving me regular views of her little
white bra.  When we had finished, Derek quickly came
up to her, possibly jealous as Gina had no doubt
intended, and she turned her back on him and headed
for the girls’ toilets.

This put ideas into Suzanne’s head, and she decided
she needed to go as well.  With Elizabeth and Fiona
talking happily, I knew I would soon need to go to the
toilet, so I made my way to the boys’.

There were about six boys in there already, talking
excitedly about the girls.  The subject was mainly
about bras, and they were discussing which girls’ bras
they had seen.  Naturally, Gina’s name wasn’t long in
coming up.

“She’s a real show-off,” one of the boys said.  “I bet
I can get her to show me her boobs.  Maybe not
tonight, but sometime.”

I refrained from telling him I knew exactly what he
was missing so far, but felt that if he played his
cards right he would indeed have his wish.

I returned to the hall and danced some more with
Suzanne.  The dances went on almost non-stop, and
often fewer than half those there would take part. 
The others would eat, drink, talk, depart for the
toilets or go through a small door at the back that
led to the playing fields, unhindered by Mr Stocks or
the lady teachers.

I was surprised and pleased when Fiona wanted to
dance, and then Elizabeth.  With three girls to look
after, I was feeling exhausted after an hour.

“Let’s go outside, then,” Suzanne suggested, when I
felt I couldn’t take another step on the dance floor. 
I just wanted to sit for a while, but reluctantly
dragged myself to my feet and followed the other girls
out at the back.

It was not quite dark outside.  There must have been
about twenty boys and girls out there at this time.  A
couple of red glows from behind some bushes indicated
that some were taking the opportunity to show off
their cigarettes.  There was nowhere to hide properly,
but in a couple of quieter places couples could be
seen with their arms tightly round each other.

“Those guys aren’t as lucky as us,” giggled Suzanne,
looking at a nearby couple who were necking it in a
corner.  “We can do that whenever we like at home.”

“Not quite – we have to watch out for your sisters,” I
reminded her with a grin.

I was rather puzzled by a group of about eight boys I
could see together in the far corner of the
playground.  We wandered over towards them with
curiosity.  They saw us coming and some looked
slightly alarmed.

One of the older boys broke away from the group and
came across to me.  “Come and join us if you like,” he
muttered in my ear.  “We’ve got a bit of hooch down
there.”

I shook my head and turned away.  I don’t mind
sneaking a bit of a drink myself sometimes, but this
certainly wasn’t the place for it.

“What was that?” Suzanne wanted to know.  I told her,
and she asked, “Are you going to tell Mr Stocks?”

I knew I should report it, but there was no way I
wanted any dealings with that Mr Stocks.  So, against
my better judgement, I decided I would just ignore it.
 I was sure there would not be much alcohol, anyway.

I’m sure I would have felt I ought to have done
something about it had I known that girls would also
get hold of it.  But I never thought that would
happen.

We went back inside and stocked up on the fruit punch
instead.  We did more dancing, but as the night wore
on the behaviour of some of the teens there grew a bit
wilder.  In the end I reluctantly felt sure that some
of them were growing a little drunk.  For kids not
used to alcohol, it doesn’t take much to affect them,
especially the girls.

I first began to suspect things were going wrong about
an hour later.  Many of the kids had been getting more
excited as the evening progressed, but this was quite
normal.  But the boys seemed to be getting noisier and
more argumentative, while the girls were also getting
noisier and far more giggly than normal.

During some of the wilder dances, I noticed a sexual
element creeping in.  Some of the boys, cavorting
around in a silly way, would often touch their female
partners deliberately, usually in the region of the
breasts.  The girls just became more giggly, and I
noticed quite a number of them swinging their skirts
up and flashing views of their panties as they danced.
 Back home, this may happen by accident but not
generally deliberately, unless you have a girl like my
old childhood friend Saskia – or unless they are
getting tipsy.

One girl, Sally by name I discovered, came bursting
out of the toilets, face flushed and giggling non-stop
for no apparent reason.  She was obviously under the
influence, in my view.  Also the back of her skirt was
tucked into the waistline of her panties, giving a
full view of the white material covering her rear. 
Presumably this had happened by accident when dressing
herself again after using the toilet, and she was
quite unaware of it.

There was laughter from some of the boys, and squeals
and giggles from some of the other girls as Sally
beamed around at everybody and helped herself to some
peanuts from the table, still giggling non-stop and
turning round in the process to reveal her underwear
to anybody looking in that direction.  One of the
other girls reached over and pulled out her skirt so
that it fell down over her bottom again, causing
Sally, still blissfully unaware of what had happened,
to spin round, giggle and aim a slap at her rescuer,
no doubt suspecting she was the victim of a joke.

I glanced over at Mr Stocks, and saw him standing
there, again holding a mug of beer, grinning widely. 
As if by telepathy, he glanced over at me.  Our eyes
met for an instant before he looked away again.  I
wondered if he had been planning another tasteless
comment and had been looking to see if I was in the
vicinity first.

Gina of course became involved in this.  I saw her
walking rather unsteadily over towards me as I sat out
one of the dances.  She placed both her hands on my
knees and leaned forward to press her face close to
mine.  “Roy, come dance with me again,” she urged me,
and I could smell beer on her breath.

“I don’t dance with girls who have been drinking,” I
told her, feeling distinctly off-put.

“Drinking?  I just had some punch,” she insisted.  She
stretched out her arms and put her hands round my
neck, then hopped on to my lap, facing me, legs apart
and panties clearly visible at the crotch.  “Come,
Roy, let’s dance,” she crooned in a pleading
little-girl tone.

“Gina, go away and leave us alone,” Suzanne broke in
angrily, grabbing her by the arms and trying to pull
her off me.  I stood up, forcing her to slide off my
knee, but she clung to me, trying to pull herself up
again.

I was rescued unexpectedly by Derek, who came over and
grabbed her by the arm.  “Stop it, Gina, you’re
supposed to be dancing with me,” he ordered her,
pulling hard.  I suspected he had been drinking a bit,
too.

Gina squealed and fell over, causing the two of them
to land in a giggling heap on the floor, Gina with her
legs up, exposing a large portion of soft white
panties.  Derek scrambled up again and managed to pull
her away, still giggling and allowing herself to be
half-dragged across the floor.

“What’s the matter with everybody?” asked Fiona,
looking rather frightened.  “People are getting so
rough and silly.”

“I think some of them have been drinking some beer,” I
told her.  I thought it might no longer be safe there,
so I suggested, “Do you want to go home now, maybe?”

She thought for a moment, and then shook her head. 
“Not just yet,” she said.  She looked up at me and
smiled shyly.  “I know I’m all right with you here,”
she added.

I swelled with pleasure at this trust in my role of
protector.  I just hoped I could fulfill it properly
if it should become necessary to shield her from the
excesses of others.  It was getting increasingly wild
on the dance floor, so we didn’t do much more dancing.
 Suzanne seemed to want to stay, but those two and
Elizabeth all stayed close to me.

Quarrels between boys and girls proliferated, and at
any given time there was always likely to be at least
one girl sitting on a chair in tears, either by
herself or arguing with a partner, who was usually
laughing at her.

I drank a lot of punch to while away the time, so I
needed to go to the toilet again.  The girls decided
they all wanted to go as well, no doubt so as to avoid
being left without me amid the rather wild behaviour.

Inside there were about five or six young teen boys
and a smell of beer.  They were having a competition
to see who could produce the highest fountain up the
wall of the urinals.  One of them asked me if I had
had some ‘hooch’, and I told him curtly I had not.

They seemed surprised, but invited me to join in their
competition.  I duly obliged, and got my fountain
quite high up the wall while making sure I didn’t
challenge the record.  I didn’t want my name bandied
about in that connection, for the sake of Suzanne at
least.

“I can do better than that,” boasted one boy,
unzipping his fly, pulling down his underpants and
proving his point.  Bare down the front, he was no
doubt keen for us all to notice his small growth of
public hair.

As I zipped myself up, Derek came into the toilets and
headed for the urinals.  The same age as Gina, he was
smaller than the other boys, and they greeted him with
ribald suggestions.  “Come on, Derek, stick your bwop
out and show us how high you can piss,” they urged
him.

Derek’s usual cockiness evaporated in a moment.  He
looked a bit embarrassed to be watched while
urinating.  He stood close to the corner of the urinal
so his genitals could not be seen, unzipping his
trousers and fiddling about inside.  He stood there
uncomfortably, penis hidden as he faced the wall and
evidently unable to urinate while being watched so
closely.

There were bursts of laughter from the other boys. 
“Hey, Derek can’t even piss at all,” one of them
mocked him.

“Come on, Derek, what does your prick look like?”
demanded another.

As I turned away to wash my hands, I saw in the mirror
one boy grab Derek around the waist, urging the others
on.  One of the others ripped down his underpants at
the front, revealing a small hairless penis.

There were hoots of ribald laughter.  “Hoo-hoo, Derek,
how are you going to poke Gina tonight when you’re
bald?” mocked the most drunken of the boys, trying to
grab Derek’s inoffensive penis as he collapsed in a
frightened ball in the corner, hands protectively over
his groin.  “I bet you can’t even get it up.”

This was too much for me.  “Hey, cut that out,” I
snapped at them, while they stopped and stared at me. 
“Leave him alone, you lot.”  Perhaps a gentler
approach might have turned out a little less
confrontational.

They glared at me in some shock, while Derek quickly
stuffed his penis back under cover, looking quite
frightened.  “Just lay off other people – you can do
that to each other if you want,” I glared at them,
raising my fists threateningly.  I was quite a bit
taller than any of them.

They made mocking noises to save their faces, but none
of them was drunk enough to challenge me when I came
over so strongly.  They trickled out of the door,
leaving me to turn my back on Derek, who pushed
himself into a corner and finally, according to the
mirror, managed to empty his bladder.  I waited until
he had finished, in case the others came back, and
then left.  I didn’t think much of him, so I didn’t
speak to him, and he never troubled to thank me for
saving his skin – or his penis.

The girls still hadn’t emerged from their toilets when
I came out, and I had to wait two or three minutes for
them.  Just as they emerged, another incident took
place.

I saw one of the boys who had been in the toilet,
about five metres away and no doubt rather the worse
for drink, trying to drag his partner to her feet to
dance with him.  She was resisting him, and it struck
me as to how white her face was.  He tugged at her arm
and she resisted, one leg stretched out, revealing
salmon-coloured panties under her skirt.  “No – o –
o!” I heard her protest.

I was wondering whether I should intervene again, not
wanting to get a reputation as a busybody, when he
finally succeeded in dragging her off her chair.  He
had one arm round her back and the other still tugging
her arm towards the dance floor, when it happened.

She gave a strangled squeal and vomited all over him. 
She didn’t have much choice, the way he was holding
her.  I saw the white frothy vomit spurt all down his
trousers and on to the floor, and he let go of her in
a hurry, leaping backwards with a curse.  She
collapsed on to the floor, where she vomited again,
and then tried to drag herself back towards her chair,
crying.

There were squeals and exclamations of disgust from
all around.  Other teens leapt back from the vomit on
the floor, which was more white froth than solid,
clutching their noses.  There was a strong beery
stench.  It was obvious what had been upsetting this
girl’s stomach.

The two women teachers came dashing over with great
concern.  One of them set about helping the girl, who
was now crying, while the other, Miss Fairclough,
looked in distaste at the composition of the vomit. 
It didn’t take a genius to identify the problem.  She
turned and marched off to where Mr Stocks was standing
with his own mug of beer.  The game was up for the
drinkers, it seemed.

There was quite a bit of discussion between those two.
 Mr Stocks obviously did not want to know, but it was
something he could not now avoid.  In the meantime, a
couple of helpful girls, with obvious distaste,
fetched a bucket and began trying to organise other
girls to clean up the mess.  Most of the other teens
made themselves scarce, hardly surprisingly
considering the smell.  The teacher had the stricken
girl lying on her back on the floor, sobbing, with
skirt askew, and was trying to comfort her.

After a few minutes, Mr Stocks reluctantly decided on
a course of action, which turned out to be passing the
back.  He headed for me.

“You seem to know something about how these functions
should be run,” he said to me, with clear sarcasm. 
“Some of these kids are drinking alcohol.”  I looked
pointedly at the mug in his hand, but he ignored the
inference.  “Would you like to track it down and put a
stop to it,” he continued, ordering rather than
asking.

“Don’t you think that’s something you’re able to
handle?” I replied, also with sarcasm.  I really
disliked this supercilious man.

“I obviously can’t be everywhere and I need to keep an
eye on things in the hall,” he returned sharply.  “So
I thought you might be capable of taking some
responsibility.  Think you can handle it?”

“I’ll have a try, if you’re sure you can’t,” I
answered, controlling my anger.  Making sure I had the
last word, I turned my back and walked out through the
open door, pushing my way through a horde of teens who
had been outside but had no doubt sensed drama inside.

The three girls who had been with me all evening
followed me out, but I told them to stay while I
sorted out the beer problem.  Then I walked down to
the far corner of the playground, where I could just
make out in the semi-darkness what was now a mixed
group of teens.  Some were drinking, while others, no
doubt having drunk, were heavily wrapped around each
other’s bodies.  Many of them had cigarettes.

One girl had her arms up around a boy’s neck, while
his hands were down her back.  Her skirt was up, no
doubt helped by the raising of her arms, and his hands
were down the back of her panties, while she giggled
non-stop.  Another boy was urinating noisily into some
bushes, showing off and singing gently as he did so,
watched by a couple of sniggering girls.

As I approached, some of them saw me and gave a ragged
cheer.  “Hey there, Roy, you joining us?  What you
having?” came the slurred voice of one of the boys.

“Listen, guys, there’s a girl been sick in the hall,”
I told them.  “And she vomited up beer all over the
place, so the teachers know there’s hooch going
around.  They don’t know where yet, so you had better
not let them find out.”

The boys on the whole did not seem too worried, but
some of the girls were very agitated.  “I told you it
was too dangerous, Miles,” one of the I-told-you-so
types burst out.  “Come on, get it away quickly – they
may send for the police.”

The girls quickly began to grab the crates and tried
to move them in great haste.  One of the boys shrugged
his shoulders and said, “Well, we’d nearly finished. 
Thanks for warning us, hey.”

I left them to it and wandered back towards the hall. 
I saw a figure coming towards me and it turned out to
be Gina.

“Did you stop them, Roy?” she asked, clutching at my
arm and still smelling a little of beer.  We were
under an outside light at that point, and she adjusted
the top of her dress, giving me a brief glimpse of
most of her bra.

“Yes, they’re going,” I told her.  “And you shouldn’t
have drunk any.  It makes you look silly and act
silly.”

“Oh, I don’t,” she denied.  Then she gave a silly
giggle and continued, “I saw Derek go into the toilets
after you.  He told me he needed a piss.”

I didn’t comment, and she continued, “I’ve always
wondered what it’s like for boys – you stand side by
side and all wee together, don’t you?”  She giggled
again, and I muttered an affirmative, wondering where
this was leading.

“Did you *see* Derek in there?” she asked me, giggling
once more in an annoying way.  Again I replied, not
sure what she meant but able to guess by the emphasis
on the word ‘see’.

“What does he look like?” whispered Gina
conspiratorially, with yet another giggle.  “Tell me.”

I decided deliberately to misunderstand.  “Well, he’s
got black hair and he’s about your height . . .” I
began.

She giggled again and half-fell against my arm.  “I
know that,” she told me sweetly.  “But what does he
look like – underneath?”

“Underneath what?” I inquired.

She giggled again, self-incriminatingly.  “Underneath
his clothes, silly,” she said.

“He didn’t take them off,” I told her, deliberately
being awkward.

“No, I mean – between his legs,” she giggled.  “What
does his – his thing look like?  You must have seen it
when you wee’d together.  Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I answered briefly.

“Well, tell me then,” she simpered, sniggling up
against me in the half-darkness.  “I want to know.”

“What do you want to know about it?” I asked her
rather coldly.  “You know what a boy’s penis looks
like, don’t you?”

“Penis,” she repeated with a giggle.  “His penis. 
Yes, tell me what his penis looks like, Roy.”  She
continued to giggle.  “Is it big?  Is it hairy?”

“I’ll tell you on one condition,” I said.

“All right, what?” she asked, tugging at the front of
her dress again.

“On condition you let me tell him what your breasts
and your vagina look like,” I replied.  “After all,
fair’s fair.”

This sobered her up immediately.  She moved away from
me quickly, looking shocked.  “Roy, that’s – private,”
she exclaimed.  “I mean – you can’t tell him that.”

“What you want me to tell you is private too, isn’t
it?” I asked, feeling pretty disgusted with her.  She
didn’t answer, so I walked on towards the hall.  She
didn’t follow me and I didn’t look back.

Over to one side near the hall, I saw Tracy, the girl
with the flimsy dress.  She was surrounded by a group
of about eight boys, one of whom had a powerful torch
he was shining on her.  “Why are you doing this to
me?” I heard her giggle, in her rather high-pitched
voice.

“Just for fun,” replied one of the boys.

“It’s a game,” said one of the others.  “Come on,
quick answers.  What’s your favourite colour?”

“Er – red,” she giggled, and another boy immediately
burst in with, “What flavour ice-cream do you like?” 
It all appeared to be completely in good humour.

I saw two or three curious girls come over to see what
was going on, but a couple of the boys chased them
away quite aggressively.  I went over to have a closer
look myself, suspecting something was up.  The boys
looked at me rather apprehensively, adding to my
suspicions, but didn’t have the courage to try to
chase me away.

It was soon quite clear what was happening.  Tracy was
standing under a strong outside light, and the boy
with the torch was shining it on her body rather than
in her eyes, but she was still shading her eyes and
looking dazzled.

The light shone right through her flimsy dress and
showed every detail underneath.  She was wearing a
tiny pair of white panties, and in the strong light I
could even make out the waistband.  Her belly button
was clearly visible through her dress, and so was her
tiny and slightly rounded white bra.  Apart from the
purple hue caused by her dress, it looked almost as if
she was standing there wearing only her skimpy
underwear, and the boys were loving it.

So was I, actually, although I would never have held
her up to what amounted to public humiliation.  Not
that she was aware of it at all, as she tried to join
in what she thought was the spirit of the ‘game’,
blurting out answers to the questions they fired at
her and totally unaware that her body and underwear
were being examined lustfully.

“Touch your toes,” one of the boys called out to her
brashly.

Tracy giggled and spread her arms wide, causing her
dress to spread as well and making it more transparent
than ever.  “I can’t do that because you’ll see my
knickers,” she protested, laughing.

There was a burst of laughter from the boys, who
slapped their knees and looked at each other, sharing
their delight in the irony of her statement.  She had
no idea of that, though, and she was not allowed to
stop and think for a moment as the boy with the torch
rapped out another question.

The boys continued to look apprehensive at my
presence, no doubt remembering how I had defended
Fiona earlier that evening.  I wondered whether to
intervene, but felt that as Tracy was unaware of what
was really happening and was not in any distress at
present, I should leave things as they were and hope
she wouldn’t find out.  I took care not to show any
approval to the boys, and moved slowly away again, but
still filling my eyes with the wondrous sight.  My
heart went out in affection for this naïve little
girl, among the wolves without knowing it, but doing
her best to play up.

“Roy, what’s going on over there?” Suzanne asked me,
coming out of hiding as some more girls were chased
away from the area.

“Oh, just some of the boys playing a question game
with Tracy,” I told her casually.  “I don’t know how
it works.”

We went back inside the hall, to find most of the
teens there had either gone outside or moved down to
the far end.  There was still a sickly smell of vomit
and stale beer, despite the best efforts of some
helpful girls – you always seem to find them in any
group – to try to clear up the mess.  Nobody was
trying to dance now.  I gathered that the sick girl’s
parents had been summoned and she was awaiting their
arrival to take her home.

We stood there for a couple of minutes, wondering what
to do next and trying to keep away from the smell. 
Then several girls moved in through the doorway, and I
saw Tracy among them, beaming with a self-conscious
smile.  Without the light behind her, it was not easy
to see anything through her dress now.  The other
girls, it seemed, were asking her what had happened.

“Those boys are crazy!” she beamed in her rather
squeaky voice.  “They said they wanted me to play a
game with them, but they never told me what it was all
about.  They put the spotlight on me and kept asking
me all sorts of silly questions that I had to answer
straight away.  In the end they let me go but they
never even told me if I’d won.  I felt so
embarrassed!”  She still had a wide if bewildered
smile on her face.

She would have been even more embarrassed, and no
doubt felt quite humiliated, had she any inkling of
what had really been behind that ‘game’.  I was very
glad she didn’t, and I hoped she would never find out.

I looked over to where Mr Stocks was standing, but he
was not looking in my direction.  Something in his
manner made me suspect that was deliberate, and that
he did not want a report from me in case he had to
take some kind of action.  Well, he already had his
excuse – unable to leave the hall himself, he sent a
responsible older boy to check up, and he did not see
that boy come back, so he didn’t know what had
happened, but there seemed to be no further
problem . . .

Not many of the teens wanted to dance any longer,
mostly no doubt because of the smell and the mess on
part of the dance floor, so there was more interaction
between them and more quarrels.  It was almost eleven
o’clock now, so I asked Suzanne if she wanted to
leave.  She shook her head, and I guessed it was just
because she didn’t want to be one of the first to
leave, as she didn’t seem to be enjoying it any
longer.  I didn’t try to persuade her, wanting to stay
and look after Fiona until she was collected.

The disco kept playing, as they were paid to do, but
nobody seemed interested now.  Many disappeared
outside, and we followed them briefly, just to check
that the alcohol source had dried up, so Mr Stocks
could not blame me.  There was no sign of the
culprits.  I later learned that it had apparently been
started by the older brother of one of the boys at the
dance.  Instead of the alcohol, cuddling and arguing
proliferated, and the girls with me wanted to go back
inside again.

So the dance fizzled out unsatisfactorily, and most of
the parents came for their teens soon after eleven. 
Elizabeth and Fiona were picked up in turn, and they
thanked me with big smiles for looking after them.  I
saw Gina depart, and she kept out of my way.

Finally, when there were only about fifteen left,
Suzanne decided it was time for us to go, although we
had been hanging around doing little but talk to other
girls for the last half-hour.  We thanked the lady
teachers but avoided Mr Stocks, and I think he avoided
me as well.  If there was bad news, he didn’t want to
know it.

Suzanne was obviously tired as I drove her home. 
Frank was waiting up for her, as we expected.  Suzanne
thanked me, but without a hug or kiss as it was in her
father’s presence, and disappeared upstairs, followed
by Frank.

Alone downstairs now, I undressed and sat on my bed,
thinking over the events of the evening.  It had been
a disappointing ending, but there was a lot of good to
remember.  I found my mind wandering over the girls –
a great deal of underwear on display there, and I had
seen that of all the girls I found attractive.

Except for Elizabeth.  I felt a twinge of
disappointment at the lack of intimacy I had been able
to enjoy with her, but she had been wearing a longer
dress than most and had not done anything much to show
what she wore underneath.  Mr Stocks had obviously
enjoyed his views of girls’ underwear, but I couldn’t
help feeling contempt for anyone, especially an adult,
who made comments about it to embarrass girls.  As far
as I was aware, he had not been able to see Suzanne’s
panties, and I was glad for that.

I was still musing when I heard a shuffling noise
outside.  I looked up, and Suzanne appeared in my
doorway with a self-conscious smile.  She was now
wearing her brief little nightie, and I immediately
wondered if she had anything underneath.  “I just
wanted to – say thank you for a lovely evening,” she
murmured.

“Well, come in, if you like,” I invited her, and she
did.  “You already have thanked me.”

“But not properly,” she insisted, walking over
daintily and sitting down next to me on the side of
the bed, but not too close.  Perhaps she was shy at
seeing me naked.  She hesitated, smiling at me.

“How do you do it properly?” I smiled at her.

For answer, she stretched across and wrapped her thin
arms around my neck, but didn’t bring her body with
it.  I was sure she was shy of my nakedness, but I
hadn’t been expecting her.  Ready to stop if she
seemed really uncomfortable, I reached out my arms
under her shoulders and stood up, lifting her off her
feet.

She squealed and giggled as I swung her off her feet. 
I swung her round, deliberately looking in the
direction of the mirror, and my heart thumped as I saw
the reflection of her bare bottom under her nightie. 
Then she tightened her arms and tucked her legs up
around my hips so she was clinging on to me like a
monkey, as smaller children often do.  I lowered my
arms to support her bottom, and felt a thrill as my
hands closed over soft, bare flesh.

Feeling my hands on her bare bottom seemed to
embarrass her.  She slithered down and looked up at me
with her hazel eyes.  She could barely keep them open.
 “Thank you – for a lovely evening,” she repeated.

“My pleasure,” I assured her.  After a pause we sat
down on the edge of the sofa, bodies touching now, and
began to talk, recalling the events of the evening. 
Then she went quiet.  Less than a minute later my arm
around her detected a change in her breathing pattern,
which became slow and regular.  She was asleep.

I decided not to wake her, so I waited a few minutes
to make sure she fell properly asleep.  She was
leaning against me, her head against my chest, and her
mouth had fallen open.  I was certain it was genuine
this time.

After a while, I gently moved her shoulders down until
she was lying on her back on my bed, uncertain whether
to take her up to her room or not.  Her nightie had
ridden up and for the first time her vagina was
exposed to my full view, close up.

Her legs were still on the floor, so her skin was
stretched, making her pubic mound prominent.  Her
vagina was small, slightly rounded at the top, giving
me a glimpse of her clitoris inside.  Looking closely,
I could just see little airy wisps of light-brown hair
growing near the top, with a couple of longer hairs
hanging down between her legs.

I felt so warm inside, yet a little guilty to be
taking advantage of a sleeping girl.  Yet she was the
one who had come to me without many panties on.  I
bent close, and could just catch the faintest smell of
urine at the bottom of her vagina.  Although no longer
chubby and rounded like Michelle’s, for example, her
vagina still looked so smooth and soft.

I was scared of waking her up.  Carefully I put a hand
on her hip, just under the hem of her nightie but well
away from her pubic area.  She did not stir.  I moved
it closer, over her hipbone and down her groin,
lightly but not too lightly in case it tickled her. 
Still her breathing was steady and regular.

My heart beating fast and feeling very guilty, I
placed my fingers lightly on her vagina, feeling
underneath the soft skin of the rounded lips and the
little hairs just beginning to grow.  As she still did
not stir, I massaged the whole area lightly, thrilled
at the sensual touch.  After a few minutes I bent my
head and gave her a little kiss just over the
clitoris.

I gently lifted her legs up on to the bed and smoothed
her nightie down, although not quite far enough to
cover that delightful vagina.  I had decided against
moving her.  Then I climbed in next to her, pulling up
the covers over us both and switching off the bedside
light.  I just hoped I would wake up early enough in
the morning to return her to her bed before anybody
discovered she was missing.

I gently manoeuvred my arms around her and snuggled up
close.  Once she breathed heavily and I was afraid I
was awakening her, but she immediately settled back to
her regular pattern of breathing.  Aroused, I couldn’t
get to sleep properly, however hard I tried.

I did doze off briefly once or twice, and I was
awakened from a doze as she moved in my arms.  I
jerked awake to find it just beginning to get light
outside, as she gave a groan and a gasp.  I felt her
hand brush against my penis by accident, and then
return to it, her fingers grasping it as an unfamiliar
object in bed with her.  She gave another gasp and a
squeal, scared to find she didn’t know where she was
and had somebody else in the same bed and her fingers
on some unknown obnoxious object.

I whispered her name quickly to put her mind at rest. 
Immediately her fingers released my penis and she gave
another gasp of shock.  “Roy!’ she exclaimed.  I
replied gently, and then she said, in a voice of
bewilderment, “Where – where am I?  I don’t remember .
. .”

“You fell asleep on my sofa last night after the
dance,” I whispered to her.  “Do you remember that?”

There was a brief silence, and then she admitted
hesitatingly, “Yes, I – I must have done.”  Then she
added, “But you didn’t carry me up to bed?”

“I was too tired,” I told her.  “But maybe I’d better
do that now.  You don’t want everybody knowing you
slept with a boy after the dance, do you?”

She giggled weakly.  “I’ll tell Gina – she’ll be so
jealous!”  But I knew she was joking.  Then she
remembered something and said, “I’m sorry I – I . . .”

I guessed she was thinking about grasping my penis
when she woke up, so I said, “Don’t worry, that was an
accident.  Let’s get you back now.  Lie still.”

She obeyed, and I gently stood, picked her up in my
arms and carried her quietly up to her own bed. 
Halfway through the journey I realised I was still
naked, but it was too late for that now.  I just hoped
Frank and Pam wouldn’t hear a noise and come out of
their bedroom, suspecting burglars and switching the
lights on.  It might have been hard to explain.

Anyway, I successfully accomplished my mission and
found she had almost fallen asleep again when I laid
her in her bed, with Michelle fortunately staying
sound asleep.  Heart warmed once more, I crept back to
my bed downstairs.

(To be continued)



	
	
		
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