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) ___________________________________________________________ALL-NEW Yahoo! Messenger - all new features - even more fun! http://uk.messenger.yahoo.com