YOU PUT A THONG INTO MY HEART (CHAPTER 1)


I was fascinated by the headline in the local
English-speaking newspaper that our family receives
each Saturday.  “School head bans thongs,” it read.

I had just turned 12 and I had just started at high
school.  Thongs were not as common then as they are
today, but I was vaguely aware that they were a form
of tiny underwear for girls.  I did remember my
girlfriend Saskia, just before her family returned to
England when her father’s contract expired, furious
with her mother who told her she was too young to wear
one.  Her older sister Katarina wore them, and it was
a matter of great regret to me that I never actually
saw one on her, although I had enjoyed previous
acquaintance with that promiscuous girl’s slightly
more conventional underwear.  It was also the general
view that girls who wore thongs were young hussies of
dubious morals – and with those two, that certainly
fitted.

I must have read that article a hundred times, I was
so fascinated.  The school concerned was the
English-speaking Catholic junior school on the other
side of town.  According to the article, the
headmistress had gone into the swimming pool changing
room to interrogate an 11-year-old pupil while a class
was changing after swimming, and found three of the
girls wearing thongs instead of the normal ‘civilised’
panties worn by the others.

She was outraged, but not so much with the girls
concerned as with the parents who allowed their
daughters to wear such garments at such a tender age. 
As there was no school rule against it, she did not
punish the girls, but made one.  She sent a circular
letter to parents of all the girls at the school,
forbidding the wearing of thongs as being totally
unsuitable, and likely to cause trouble if they were
seen by boys or (what horrors!) male members of staff.
 Presumably including priests.

One of the mothers was furious and contacted the
paper.  They duly sent a reporter round to her house,
where she made some statements saying how ridiculous
it was that the school should now even try to
legislate as to what kind of underwear the girls were
to wear, and how did the headmistress dare to do so,
and was she going to check each girl every morning to
see what sort of panties she was wearing?  My
imagination quickly got to work here.

Then there was the reply from the school saying no,
they were not going to check underwear, but were just
trying to avoid what could be an unfortunate
situation.  The suggestion was that the girls were too
young to wear thongs and that parents should make sure
they wore something ‘more appropriate’ at school.

To make things even more interesting, the paper
published a photo of the girls who had been caught,
along with their names.  The three of them were
standing there, presumably in this woman’s garden, in
their school dresses with no hint of what lay
underneath.  I felt so frustrated that they hadn’t
satisfied everybody’s curiosity by showing exactly
what garment was forbidden (preferably with the girls
as models), and to educate everybody as to what was
considered by the school to be ‘inappropriate’.

I spent hours poring over those photos in my childish
fascination.  Apparently the girls didn’t mind having
their names publicised like this, or their photos
shown.  The girl whose mother had exposed the story
was called Carrie, and she was the shortest of the
three.  She had rather close-cropped light ginger hair
and looked pretty arrogant, as if her whole attitude
was, “This is so stupid.”  No doubt she had picked
that up from her mother.

Then there was Stephanie, a nice-looking girl with
light-brown hair tied back, blue eyes and a slightly
hurt expression that seemed to be saying, “I’m being
picked on a little and I don’t think it’s quite fair.”

But it was the third girl who interested me the most. 
Her name was Helen and I thought she was quite
beautiful, in a quiet way.  She was the only one of
the three to be giving a genuine smile, teeth showing.
 She had long black hair tied in a ponytail down her
back, a beautiful soft clear skin and wide, smiling
brown eyes.  I could never imagine Helen being a
naughty little hussy, and not really Stephanie either.
 Carrie looked capable of anything.

I wondered why they did it.  Firstly why they chose
thongs to wear, and secondly why they had their photo
and names published.  If they were in my class, I
would be very keen to know exactly what they were
wearing underneath the next morning at school.  In
fact, with my rapidly developing skill, I would
probably have known they were wearing thongs before
anybody else.  I stared for ages at that photo,
wishing somehow by magic I could acquire X-ray vision.

I spent most of the weekend fantasising about those
girls, imagining meeting them, talking to them,
persuading them to show me their thongs, and then to
remove them for me, while we all played naked together
at the naturist club, and then how a wild cat broke
into the club one day, and everybody else ran away
while it grabbed Helen, and it was about to tear her
to pieces when I grabbed a gun that somebody had
conveniently left lying around and killed it, saving
Helen’s life – well, they were just minor variations
on fantasies I had enjoyed about girls I liked for
years.  There were others about how I took them on
holiday round the country, allowed to drive a car at
the age of 12, and we always had thrilling and
dangerous adventures, and I always ended up saving
their lives, the big hero . . .

On Sunday, when my parents weren’t looking, I borrowed
the telephone directory and set to work finding out
where these girls lived.  I looked up Helen first, as
she was my favourite.  There was only one entry for
her surname in the directory, and English names are in
the minority, so I could be almost sure it was her
family.  My heart thudded as I realised she actually
lived less than two kilometres from me.  It was an
area I knew quite well, and I knew the street she
lived in.  Later I looked up the other two, and found
they lived on the other side of town, in a less
affluent area.

Helen, then, presumably came from a well-to-do family,
and would normally have attended the same English
school that I did.  If her family were Catholics,
though, they might have wanted her to have a Catholic
education, although I didn’t associate the wearing of
thongs with Catholics, who always sounded pretty stiff
and old-fashioned to me, bound by all sorts of rules
and regulations.  The Catholic school was famous for
it.  Children on the other side of town would be
better able to afford the cheaper Catholic school,
although there was clearly at least one parent who
didn’t appreciate their rules.

I hardly slept on Sunday night for wondering how I
could meet this gorgeous Helen and put the first part
of my fantasies into operation.  I couldn’t just turn
up at the house and say hello, or “Your house is on
fire and I’m going to put it out for you,” as I would
fantasise.  Gradually I began to work out a plan.

I did know that children from the Catholic school
often travelled to and from school in a dark blue
school bus that had several stopping places where it
picked up pupils in the morning and dropped off what
was left of them in the evening.  I had occasionally
seen it doing the rounds at about half-past four in
the afternoon.  Locally it stopped at our big shopping
centre that was almost halfway between our house and
Helen’s.

Frustratingly, there was nothing I could do the next
day, Monday, as I stayed an hour later at school with
sports.  But on my way home I cycled back via the
shopping centre, found the school bus stop, and then
traced my way to Helen’s address.  She would already
be inside but, as I expected, her house was like most
of the others on our side of town, surrounded by a
wall so I could see nothing but the roof from the
road.  There was a barred metal gate that did give me
a view down the drive.  I rode past several times,
hoping nobody would wonder what I was doing, hoping to
see her at the end of it.  All I saw was a closed
double garage door and no sign of life.

Next day I was ready.  Heart thumping wildly, I raced
on my bike to the bus stop, afraid I would be late.  I
chained my bike and wandered around the shops, keeping
within sight of the bus stop and scared stiff that it
might already have been.  I had to wait at least 20
long minutes before, to my great relief, I saw that
dark blue bus pull up at the traffic lights opposite.

I had my plan worked out.  Without looking at the bus
again, as I didn’t want Helen to see me yet, however
unlikely that might be, I wandered self-consciously
into the stationery store next to the bus stop.  As
the bus drew up, I peered through the window at it
while pretending to study some files.

The bus drew up and the children, in school uniforms,
began to climb out.  I would feel devastated if Helen
was not among them.  One small girl, aged about eight,
dropped her hat and crouched down to pick it up,
making it clear that she was obeying the directive not
to wear thongs.

My heart was thumping wildly as I watched them
dismount.  I slipped a hand into my pocket to feel my
penis, hard with anticipation, and stole a quick
glance down to make sure it wasn’t making my shorts
bulge.  The smaller girls seemed to be getting out
first.

There were perhaps about 12 children emerging from the
bus altogether.  Then, with the bus nearly empty and a
feeling of terror about to swamp me, I saw her. 
Talking with a pretty-looking fair-haired girl, she
climbed down the steps and on to the pavement.  It was
Helen all right, with her long black hair tied in a
bush behind her, but no smile at the moment.  I stared
fiercely at her light blue skirt but, much to my
chagrin, was unable to see through it however hard I
tried.

The children split up to go their separate ways, most
of the younger ones peeling off to waiting cars.  I
hadn’t anticipated this, and had a sudden fear that
Helen might go home this way, wrecking all my plans. 
But she didn’t.  With a couple of her friends, she set
off along the road towards her house.

Once she had almost disappeared from sight, I strolled
out of the shop, unchained my bike and set off in
pursuit, keeping my distance.  I was hoping the girls
would split up to go their separate ways before Helen
reached home so I could speak to her by herself.  I
would feel very embarrassed to approach her and try to
carry out my plan with other girls present.

I was in luck, as I could probably have hoped for had
I been thinking straight.  The three girls were
walking along the main road, but Helen’s house was to
the right.  At the first junction she turned right,
saying her goodbyes to the other two, and proceeded
along the road by herself.

I followed slowly, telling myself I was working out
the best time and place to accost her, but in reality
plucking up the courage to try.  There were a few
other people walking, cycling or driving by, so if she
turned round and saw me cycling slowly about 50 metres
back she wouldn’t be suspicious.  I tried to look
casual, edging slowly closer and watching this small
girl walking slowly along on the grass verge carrying
her suitcase.  I sensed she wasn’t too happy this day,
and wondered if she had been teased about the thongs
at school.  I wouldn’t have been surprised.

About one block away from her home, I knew I had to go
for it.  Hoping my face wasn’t burning too brightly
and with my heart hammering wildly, I put on speed
and, as I had planned, cycled past her on the road. 
As I passed her, I turned and looked at her.  She
glanced at me and then away again, just as she would
do any cyclist who did that.  But I deliberately
turned, glanced again, swung across the road and
stopped about ten metres in front of her.

She continued walking, but was now looking at me
curiously, probably wondering if she knew me.  I
smiled as best I could in my overexcited state and
choked out my usual insoluble tongue-twister when
meeting girls I liked: “H – h – hello.”

She stared at me, decided she didn’t know me, quietly
replied, “Hello,” to be on the safe side, and
continued walking.

I cycled slowly level with her and tried again,
“Hello.  I’m sure I’ve seen you before.”

She looked slightly nervous, as most Year Six girls
might if spoken to by a strange boy wearing a
high-school uniform.  “I don’t know,” she said,
continuing to walk.

“Aren’t you the girl with her picture in the paper?” I
asked daringly, wondering what her response would be.

She began to nod, and then went red and suddenly
looked very nervous.

“I thought I recognised you!” I exclaimed, trying to
sound happy and surprised, while at the same time
desperately trying to remember my prepared speech,
which I had rehearsed hundreds of times but had now
totally gone from my head.  Events in real life never
remotely resembled my fantasies, and however excited I
got in my fantasies, I always felt nervous and
stuttering and stupid in real life.

“I – I saw your photo, and thought you looked so
pretty,” I blurted out.  “You were – so pretty, the
prettiest of the three.  So I remembered you.  And now
I – we bump into each other on the road.  Isn’t that
strange?”

She nodded rather nervously, edging away from me,
trying to smile but shy.  Then suddenly she turned the
corner and headed down the side street, almost home. 
I hadn’t noticed we had got so far.  I had a quick
decision to make.  I could try in a big hurry to
finish my speech, which I didn’t remember, and
probably make a fool of myself – an even bigger fool
than I had already done.  Or I could leave the rest
until the next day.

I’m not sure whether it was cowardice or common sense
that made me decide to wait.  Feeling slightly
sickened all the same, I called out after her, “Bye.” 
And then, “Bye, Helen!”  There was a pause, and I
thought she said, “Bye,” without turning round.

I watched her as she continued walking.  She reached
the gate of her house, and crouched down to open her
suitcase.  A surge of adrenalin flooded through me. 
If only I had been in the right position, I could have
discovered whether she was wearing a thong today!  But
she was facing the gate, taking a key out of her
pocket and letting herself in at the little side gate.

As she was about to enter, she stole a quick glance in
my direction.  I was taken by surprise.  Finally I
raised my hand to wave at her, but she had already
turned back and was walking through the gate.  She
disappeared from my sight.  Feeling a total fool and a
failure, I stayed there for two or three minutes,
cursing myself, before turning for home.

I had to make my plans again for the next day, and
again I spent hours in bed that night turning over in
my mind everything I thought might happen and
preparing the speech that I was always doomed to
forget.  I also pondered on the mystery of why I, a
prefect at our junior school only three months before
and so confident in dealing with the other kids,
should find myself such a bundle of nerves in this
situation.  I hadn’t even told her my name.  I think
all of us revert somewhat to immaturity when we
suddenly find ourselves at the bottom of the pile in
high school.  But I resolved to conduct myself on the
morrow in such a way that the junior school would be
proud of me.

I repeated my procedure of the previous day, waiting
inside the stationery shop for the bus while realising
I had better not use the same refuge a third time. 
>From my hideout I watched the children come off the
bus, scared stiff that somehow Helen might not be
there.  But there she was, and again she followed the
same route home, parting from her friends at the same
corner.

Plucking up my courage, I acted almost immediately
this time, cycling up and swinging across the road to
meet her.  She looked at me while I beamed at her, and
I could tell her natural friendliness was struggling
with suspicion and a bit of puzzlement.  I suppose it
must be hard for a girl of her age, unless she were a
bumptious flirt like Saskia, to know what to do with a
boy from the high school who took such an interest in
her.  I resolved not to wear my uniform again.

“Hello, Helen,” I greeted her, forcing a big smile. 
“I – just thought I’d come and see you again.  My
name’s Roy.”

“Hello,” she replied quietly, again looking at me
nervously but keeping on walking.  I had to pedal my
bike along slowly on the wrong side of the road to
keep up with her.

“Helen, I’m sure I’ve seen you before,” I said. 
“Wasn’t that you in the supermarket about two weeks
ago, wearing that beautiful blue dress?”  This was
total invention on my part.

She shook her head with a smile.  “I don’t think so,”
she answered.  Still she kept walking, carrying her
little suitcase, her skirt swinging slightly around
her legs as she walked, and giving no indication
whatever of what might lie underneath.  Being the
Catholic school, of course, skirts were knee-length,
and they were lucky at that.  It could have been
ankles.

“I think you look so pretty in that uniform,” I told
her.  “But you’d look pretty in anything.  Any dress,
that is,” I added, suddenly worried that I might be
inadvertently encouraging her to wear jeans or
something hideous like that.  This time she forced a
smile but said nothing, and I suspected I was
embarrassing her a little and she didn’t know how to
respond.

“Listen, I’d like to talk to you sometime,” I told
her, feeling a bit desperate.

She looked a bit nervous.  “What about?” she asked,
still walking.

“Nothing.  Well, about you, I mean,” I stammered. 
“It’s just – I’d like us to be friends.  Is that all
right?”

She looked uncertain, and then said, “I – I don’t know
you properly.”

“Well, if we can – talk to each other then we can know
each other better,” I suggested.  “Can we talk
sometime?”

“Maybe.  I don’t know,” she said shyly.

“Well – when can we talk?” I asked her.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, can we – can you – just stop now and we can
talk?  Just for five minutes?” I pleaded.

She looked uncertain again and eventually said, “I’ve
got to get home.”

This scintillating conversation had taken us to the
corner of her road by now.  “Well – tomorrow then,
maybe,” I suggested.  “Just for five minutes.  If you
want to.  But I – I’ll never do anything you don’t
want me to.  I promise,” I assured her.  “But I – I’d
love to talk to you for just five minutes tomorrow.”

I had stopped on the corner while she walked on and I
was talking to her back.  But now, for the first time,
she stopped and turned round.  “Why?” she asked, with
a shy smile.  I sensed I was making just a little
progress.

“Because I – I think you’re so pretty,” I told her. 
“And – you’re a nice person.  And – “ I gulped and
made about the most daring confession a preteen boy
can ever make to any girl.  “And – I – I like you.”

She looked at me for a second with a shy smile.  Then
she said nothing more than, “Bye,” turned and walked
off to her house.

I stared after her, hoping and wondering if she would
look at me again.  I saw her crouch down by her gate,
as she had done before, to find her key in her case. 
It seems she kept it in her lunchbox.  She unlocked
the gate, stepped forward, and just as I was about to
seize up with the feeling that she wasn’t going to
look at me, she did.  She turned her head for a
moment.  I was ready and shot my hand up to wave to
her.  She hesitated, gave a quick shy wave in return,
and then was gone.

I cycled home slowly, panting for breath all the way. 
I thought I had put up a slightly better performance
this time and made some progress, though I was still
very uncertain that she was doing anything more than
being polite.  And would she really make time to talk
to me the next day, or would she make another excuse?

I felt I needed some help.  That evening, while we
were having dinner together, I casually asked my dad a
question.  “Dad,” I began.  “When you – first got
interested in Mum, how did you – get her to like you?”

“I didn’t need to,” my dad replied promptly.  “She was
the one who was interested in me.  She chased me all
over the college until I gave in.”

“Oh, no, that’s just not true,” laughed my mum.  “We
first met at a dance, like we’ve told you.  He got my
phone number and phoned me once or twice.”  My mind
was working overtime.  Did I dare phone Helen?  But
somebody else might easily answer the phone.  If I
asked for Helen, they might want to know who it was. 
Would her parents approve of a boy they didn‘t know
phoning her?  I didn’t think I could do that.

“I rather liked him, but I thought I should play a bit
hard to get,” my mum was continuing.  “So I kept
saying ‘Maybe’ whenever he invited me to go out with
him again.  And then one day he showed up on my
doorstep with an enormous bouquet of flowers.  And
after that I had to do everything he said!”

Flowers.  Good idea, I thought.  Then my dad’s voice
broke in on me teasingly.  “So who are you wanting to
be interested in you, Roy?”

“Oh, nobody, I just wondered,” I replied casually,
blushing furiously at the same time to prove to them
that there really was nobody I had in mind.  They
laughed, but had the good sense not to ask any more
questions.

The next day was Thursday.  I had to rush after
school.  I cycled home as fast as I could.  My parents
of course were not home from work yet.  I changed at
full speed into my best long trousers and shirt,
grabbed my pocket money and raced back to the shopping
centre.  I dashed into the florists and spent a large
amount on a beautiful bouquet of brilliantly coloured
flowers, explaining to the lady behind the counter
that it was my mum’s birthday.  Fortunately my parents
have always been very generous with my pocket money. 
I didn’t want to show off, but I did want something to
dazzle Helen.

I dashed out again with perhaps two minutes according
to my watch before the school bus might arrive – it
was usually pretty punctual to within five or ten
minutes and I had just beaten the earliest time. 
Leaving my bicycle chained up as I could not carry the
flowers on it, I headed up the main road.

I stood at the corner looking down towards the
shopping centre.  After three or four minutes, I saw
the blue school bus reach the traffic lights.  Heart
thumping vigorously again, I took off up the road
where Helen turned off to go home.  I hurried up it
and took the first corner, under the wall of a house. 
I stood there, stomach churning and hoping none of the
passers-by would ask me what I was doing.  Every 20
seconds or so I edged my head around the corner to see
if Helen was on her way.

I seemed to be waiting there for an age, scared stiff
that she might be sick or something had gone wrong. 
But at last not one but two blue-uniformed figures
turned the corner down by the main road and started to
walk up the grass verge.

I popped my head back and probably went white through
horror.  I had never thought of that.  She didn’t want
to talk to me, so she had brought a friend with her! 
That was my immediate thought.  Later, I realised that
probably it was because she was nervous of me and
would feel more comfortable to have a friend with her.

I sneaked my head round again, under cover of an
overhanging plant.  It was definitely Helen, and with
her was that pretty fair-haired girl I had seen her
with on the first day.  As I looked, they both turned
and glanced over their shoulders.  I guessed they were
looking for me, and probably that was correct.

I didn’t know what to do.  I wasn’t expecting a friend
and wasn’t sure how to handle things.  Part of me
wanted to disappear and try again another day, but
what could I do with the flowers?  No, I’d have to
stay there and try to ignore the friend.

The friend’s name, I soon discovered, was Julie, a
slim pretty girl with bright blue eyes, a long fair
fringe and a long straight ponytail reaching to the
small of her back.

I waited just round the corner for them.  I heard
their voices for a moment and then they came into
view, walking side by side and looking as they talked
in case of cars while they crossed the road.

I immediate stepped forward, thrusting out the flowers
in front of me.  “Surprise, Helen!” I laughed as both
girls came to a startled halt and gave a squeal
apiece.  “These are for you.”  I pushed them into her
arms.

The girls squealed again and laughed with
astonishment.  I was thrilled to see Helen’s face
light up as she dropped her suitcase and clutched the
huge bouquet in her arms.  Her eyes were wide and her
mouth dropped open as she held the huge, beautifully
coloured flowers only centimetres from her face.  “Are
these – really for me?” she gasped faintly.

“Yes, they’re all for you,” I assured her with a huge
smile, feeling much more confident now she was looking
surprised and delightfully vulnerable.

My heart flooded with love for her as she gazed down
at the blossoms, still wide-eyed and open-mouthed. 
“Oh, they’re so – beautiful!” she exclaimed.

“So are you,” I assured her gallantly.  “I couldn’t
find any flowers as beautiful as you, but I did my
best.”

“Oh, Helen!” squealed Julie, laughing with pleasure
for her friend, no doubt tinged with envy.  “And
there’s a card!”

“What does it say?” asked Helen eagerly, arms full of
flowers and unable to look at the card, attached to
the bottom.  It was one I had found at home, with a
picture of flowers on the front but no message inside,
so I had added one.

I would rather have Helen read it for herself, but
Julie opened it instead.  “There’s a poem inside,” she
exclaimed excitedly.  “Shall I read it for you?”

“Yes, all right,” agreed Helen.  “Oh, Julie, you must
smell these flowers.  They’re gorgeous!”

I still shudder when I think of that awful poem I
wrote, and even then I felt embarrassed to have Julie
read it when I expected it to be private.  “It says,
‘To beautiful Helen,” she said.  “‘Roses are red, and
filled with pollen.  They’re beautiful too, And remind
me of Helen.’”

I was scared stiff they might laugh aloud at my
efforts, but when they did laugh and squeal it was
with the thrill of it all.  “It says at the bottom,
‘From your admirer, Roy’,” went on Julie.  “And
there’s a kiss.”

Helen looked up at me, with delight written all over
her lovely face.  “Oh, Roy, they’re so beautiful I
could cry,” she said.  “Thank you so, so much, I just
love them.  I must get them home and put them in some
water straight away.”

She reached a hand down for her suitcase and then
thought of something.  “Here, Julie, take these for a
moment,” she said, pushing the bouquet into her
friend’s arms.  She looked at me for a moment, smiling
into my eyes, and I thought she was about to throw her
arms around my neck.  Then suddenly a wary look came
into her eyes, as if she thought better of it. 
Instead she crouched down to open her suitcase.

Quickly I manoeuvred myself round in front of her,
hoping as she crouched to get a longed-for glimpse of
her thong – if she was wearing one still.  But in her
haste the case slipped back, and she moved forward on
to her knees to find what she wanted.  She opened her
lunchbox, where I could see the key to her gate, and
took out a rather sticky lunch bar.

“Here,” she said, thrusting it into my hand.  “That’s
to say thank you.  Thank you so, so much, they’re so
beautiful.”  She smiled up at me.  “Please take it,”
she urged me, as now I was the one taken by surprise
and uncertain what to do.  “It’s all I’ve got, but I
want to give you something.”

“Well, thank you,” I grinned, opening it to please
her.  “Share it with you?”

“No, it’s all yours,” she replied, fastening her
suitcase again and standing up without satisfying my
curiosity about the thong.

“I’ll have a bite,” volunteered Julie, handing the
bouquet back to Helen, screwing up her eyes and
thrusting her mouth forward with teeth parted. 
Grinning, I pushed the end of the lunch bar in quite
far.  Julie gave a strangled squeal, moved back a
couple of centimetres and then bit off the end.  I was
left with a wet lunch bar as well as a sticky one, but
I suppose it was no less hygienic than a kiss from
Julie would have been.  That was quite an attractive
idea as well, though Helen was the one who really
thrilled me.

“Thank you so much, Roy,” beamed Helen again,
struggling to hold the bouquet and pick up her
suitcase at the same time.

“I’ll carry it for you,” I offered, reaching out for
it, but Julie had already grabbed it.

“It’s all right, Roy, we can manage,” put in Helen
hurriedly.  “And thank you – so much.  I just love
these flowers.  Bye.”  Before I knew what was
happening, she and Julie hurried off across the road
and down the street, leaving me standing there amazed.

After they had gone about 20 metres, Helen suddenly
stopped, turned, smiled and waved to me, calling out,
“See you tomorrow.”  Then she turned her back and the
two of them hurried off again.  I could hear them
giggling and thought with shock they were making fun
of me.

Feeling shocked and upset at such treatment, I watched
them disappear down the street.  They only turned
once, when they were far away at Helen’s corner, but
didn’t wave, and then they disappeared out of my
sight.  Sadly I wandered back to my bike, empty-handed
apart from the lunch bar, and quite bewildered.

Fortunately by that age I had worked out quite a bit
about girls and slowly I thought I could begin to
understand it.  If I felt awkward and embarrassed, I
realised, the girls did far more, because I had
planned the situation.  They were in a totally
unexpected situation that probably they had never
experienced before and had no idea how to respond in
it.  The easiest way for them to handle that, I
suppose, was to shoot off as quickly as possible,
however appreciative they might be of my gift.

But I couldn’t be sure.  Had they made a fool of me? 
At least Helen had said, “See you tomorrow,” so that
at least did seem to show I had made a positive
impact.  I tried to concentrate on Helen’s face when
she saw the flowers and how she obviously enjoyed them
so much, and logically I could only conclude that it
was embarrassment that had caused them to run off and
leave me standing.

But logic has little effect on emotions, and I spent
the next 24 hours in turmoil, afraid that all my
efforts to get to know this girl were in vain.  Sure,
I wanted to solve the question of her thongs, but more
than that I felt I loved her as a person.  Sure I
wanted to see her naked – but more than that, I longed
to talk to her, sit next to her, cuddle her, kiss her,
rescue her from wildcats . . .  Now my fantasies were
coming into operation again.

So what was I to do the next day?  I was getting to
sleep so late at nights and having to be woken in the
mornings because of my infatuation with Helen. 
Finally I thought I would risk some more flowers, as
they had certainly appeared to be a roaring success. 
And I would also try to take a photo of her.  I hoped
she would like that.

But where would things go after that?  If Julie was
there again, I didn’t feel I could ask her to talk to
her or meet her sometime.  The weekend was coming up,
and I didn’t feel I could stand two whole days without
a chance of meeting her.  Even if she was by herself,
would she be willing to meet me sometime?  Maybe I
should give the flowers a miss if it embarrassed the
girls so much?  But maybe Helen could handle it better
the next time and would know what to do.

I decided I would try just a small bunch of flowers. 
Maybe the big one had been too much for her and she
could handle a small one better.  And my camera might
help to get some conversation going, but I wouldn’t
try to persuade her to have her photo taken if she
didn’t want to.

Again, after school the following day, Friday, I raced
home after school to change, grab my camera and money,
and buy a smaller bunch of flowers, the cheapest in
the shop this time.  “Your mum’s birthday again?” the
lady behind the counter asked with what I suspected
was a knowing smile.

“My auntie’s,” I lied, scooting out.  I followed the
same pattern as before, waiting on the corner until I
saw the dark blue bus, and disappearing round it the
moment I saw it in case Helen was looking for me – and
I was sure she would be.

This time I did not hide round the same corner, but
the one on the opposite side of the road.  There was a
reasonably sized bush there that would hide me quite
well.  There was an annoying smell of urine, though,
to show that bushes in our country serve a double
purpose.

It was situated exactly on the corner, which meant I
could see both down and across the street and remain
reasonably hidden.  It was not a main road, so there
was not a constant flow of traffic, but I did worry
that somebody might see me acting suspiciously there
and want to investigate.  So I stood there looking
uncomfortable, with one hand on my shorts, as if I was
waiting for the street to clear so I could help to
irrigate the bush.  I knew nobody in our country would
take any notice of that!

My heart leapt as eventually Helen and Julie turned
the corner below me.  Peering through the leaves, I
saw they were talking and giggling together, perhaps
rather nervously, and no doubt thinking of me.  They
looked behind them a couple of times to see if I was
following.  When they approached the opposite corner
where I had hidden the day before, they slowed down,
looked at each other and whispered, clearly expecting
me to be there again.

Helen put her case down, grinned at Julie, and crept
forward to peer round the corner.  Seeing I wasn’t
there, she turned back to her friend and I fancied she
looked a little puzzled, perhaps even disappointed. 
They looked behind them again, and then up and down
and across the road, no longer smiling, but they
didn’t see me when they glanced in my direction.

I saw Julie shrug her shoulders and spread out her
hands.  They had another look around and behind them
and then carried on up the road.  I felt encouraged. 
It looked as if they had been expecting me and wanting
to find me.

I checked for cars, and then, while their backs were
turned, scurried across the road with my luggage.  I
was hoping to get right up behind them before they saw
me, but I was about ten metres behind when they heard
me and turned round quickly.  They immediately
squealed and laughed, though backing away slightly as
I trotted up to them.

“Hello, Helen,” I greeted her, smiling quickly at
Julie as well.  “These are for you as well.”

She was not as effusive as the day before, but she
still smiled broadly and put her case down to take my
small bunch with both hands.  I made a point of
bringing my hand gently in contact with hers as I
handed them over.  “Oh, these are lovely,” she
exclaimed, putting them to her nose and smelling them.
 “Here, Julie, smell,” she invited her friend.

“There’s another card,” pointed out Julie.  This time
Helen was able to pull it open and read it for
herself.  She began to read it aloud, but probably
felt embarrassed in the middle, so Julie finished it
for her.

“To beautiful Helen,” it read.  I had not embarrassed
myself with another poem but still tried some flowery
language that makes me cringe today.  “You are like
the prettiest of flowers to me and your eyes are like
warm pools of rich chocolate.”  Julie giggled.

“I hope I can see you a lot more often.”  I had
originally started to write “I hope I can see a lot
more of you,” but realised in the middle that there
was a double meaning to that and decided I had better
rub it out and change it – however true it was, in
both meanings.  “From Roy.”  I wanted very much to put
“Love from”, but that is virtually taboo among
12-year-olds, and besides I suddenly thought I didn’t
want to embarrass her.

The girls, heads together, pored over the card and the
flowers, making little sighing and murmuring noises
that I took to mean approval.  “Sorry I couldn’t give
you a big one like yesterday, but I haven’t much more
money yet,” I apologised.

“Oh, I didn’t want you to spend all your money on me,”
beamed Helen, but her face showed that she did.  Then
she added, “Julie’s pretty too, so you can buy her
flowers.”

“I didn’t know if Julie would be coming again,” I
excused myself.  Then I smiled at Julie, who giggled
shyly, and said, “Yes, Julie’s pretty too.”

“You’re in love with Helen, though,” giggled Julie.

“No, he isn’t,” Helen contradicted her, pretending to
be slightly cross but still smiling.

I didn’t know whether to admit it or not, worried of
embarrassing her with an admission and I could hardly
say it wasn’t so.  So, stammering a bit, I just said,
“I – just – I’d like to be friends with Helen.  If she
– wants to be friends with me.”  I looked at her
enquiringly.

Helen hesitated, and then nodded shyly, smiling all
the time and trying not to.  There was an awkward
pause, and then I said, “Will you – let me take your
photograph?  Please?  With the flowers?”  I started
taking my camera from the bag.

Helen hesitated again, looked shy, and then whispered,
“All right – as long as Julie can be in it.”

“Sure, yes,” I agreed.  “Shall we do it here or at
your house?”

“Oh, we’d – better do it here,” said Helen.  “My mum
isn’t home and I can’t let you come in without her
permission.”

I felt disappointed but had really expected something
like that.  Julie put in, “You know what Helen told
her mum yesterday?  Her mum asked her where she got
the flowers from, and Helen said a boy in her class
had given them to her.  A new boy.”

“She might not have believed me if I said it was a boy
from high school,” added Helen.

“Well, I’m – only in the first form,” I told her,
trying to play down the problem.  “I’ve only just
started, so that’s only one year that I’m ahead of
you, that’s all.”

“I don’t know if my mum would think so, so I thought
I’d better be safe,” grinned Helen shyly.  “Nobody’s
ever bought me flowers before.”  She beamed with
pleasure.  Then she started chattering away freely for
the first time.  “You should have seen my mum when she
came in.  She said, ‘Ooh, Helen, what on *earth* are
all those flowers?  Are they for me?’  And then I told
her it was a boy in my class, and she was very
surprised.”

They both added bits and pieces excitedly to this
story, Helen telling me in excited detail how she put
the flowers on her dressing table and so on, and I
felt thrilled.  I was on my way to a relationship.  I
could imagine her in my arms already, her soft warm
cheek against mine.  Who knew, it might end up with my
saving her from a wildcat after all . . ?

Finally, as they finished all the details, I got them
ready for the photo.  I had them stand side by side,
Helen holding the flowers against her chest and the
girls’ arms around each other.  They both grinned
massively for the camera as I took the photo.

Then I said, “I don’t know if that’s come out right. 
It’s very difficult to get you in properly and close
enough when you’re standing up.  Can you sit down and
let me take a photo of you sitting with the flowers?”

Obligingly, as I had planned, they sat down on the
grass verge.  Julie gave a wide flash of shiny white
panties as she sat and crossed her legs, but it was
Helen I was really excited about.  I held my breath as
she sat.  Would this answer my question?  Was she
still wearing thongs to school, since the headmistress
would not be inspecting the girls?

Helen was perhaps more ladylike in her movements than
Julie.  I just saw a quick sliver of white as she sat,
crossing her legs with her loose skirt dropping down
into her lap.  I couldn’t be quite sure, but I
suspected that these were ordinary panties I was
seeing – and for the first time in my life I was
disappointed.

To tell the truth, I didn’t really know what thongs
were like.  I thought they might well be all string,
with a string down the front as well as down the back.
 But surely, logic told me, there must be some sort of
covering for the vaginal area, or else what was the
point of wearing them at all?  They might as well be
naked.  I didn’t really know what to expect, but
certainly Helen’s panties seemed to contain more
material than I would have expected from a thong.

I clicked the shutter and smiled at them. They got to
their feet, Julie again helpfully revealing her
panties, but this time Helen showed nothing, as she
pushed herself upwards and her skirt stayed
obstinately down.

“That’s great,” I told them.  “If I get them in
tonight, I can probably show them to you tomorrow.”  I
looked hopefully at Helen.  “Will I – be able to see
you tomorrow?”

Helen looked rather nervous and uncertain, but I felt
she did want to see me.  “I don’t know,” she faltered.
 “I’ll have to ask my mum.”

“Then – how can you tell me?” I asked her.  As we
spoke, without their realising it, they were picking
up their cases and continuing their journey towards
Helen’s house, as I walked with them.  Helen held her
flowers in one hand and her case in the other, but she
wouldn’t let me carry the case for her.  Again, it was
probably a degree of embarrassment.

We tried hesitantly to come up with solutions, most of
them improbable.  Then Helen said, “My mum usually
lets me go to the shops in the evening if I want to. 
Roy, can I – ask her and see if I can meet you at the
shops later?”

This was October and there was only about an hour left
until dusk, so I asked her, “What time?”

“I’ll ask her about half-past five,” replied Helen. 
She gave a sudden big smile as if she was as excited
about it as I was.

It was now about five minutes to five, as we reached
the gate of her house.  Her mother would be home in
about five or ten minutes, she told me.  I wondered
whether I should ask to stay and meet her, but since
Helen didn’t suggest it I decided not to.  Besides, I
was very nervous!

After the girls went inside, I wondered back to the
shops, feeling very tight inside.  Half an hour to
kill – and even then, would Helen be allowed to come? 
And what would her mother’s reaction be?

I paced up and down outside the shopping centre,
stomach churning and desperately afraid Helen would
not come.  With such tension, I soon felt the need to
go to the toilet.

That shopping centre is one of the few places to have
a public toilet.  But it stinks so much that I never
knew anyone who used it.  So I did what all my friends
do, and slipped off behind a bush round the back. 
There was a faint stale smell of urine but it was far
better than the toilets.

I was in the middle of my personal business when a
small girl of four whom I knew from down the road came
bursting round the corner.  She stopped when she saw
me, gave a squeal of excitement, and then raced back
again.  I heard her loud piercing voice from afar. 
“Mummy, Mummy, Roy’s round the back and he’s doing a
wee-wee.”  As soon as I finished I crept back round
the far side, keeping the lowest of low profiles. 
There are some things that even daunt a naturist,
especially one aged 12.

When half-past five came and still Helen had not
arrived, I decided I would go and meet her – just
hoping I really would meet her on the way and prolong
the encounter between us.

I felt so relieved as I turned off the main road and
saw her walking towards me, alone, about a block away.
 I waved, and she gave a big smile and waved back
shyly.  She was wearing a white top with her midriff
showing and a denim skirt about halfway down her
thighs – not my favourite female clothing, but could
be worse.

“What does your mum say?” I asked straight away when
we met.

“I haven’t asked her yet,” Helen replied with a
giggle.  “I just asked if I could go to the shops for
a magazine and she said yes.  But I have to be back
before five to six for dinner.”

I felt disappointed.  “What can we do – about tomorrow
then?” I asked anxiously.

“You can come back with me,” she answered.  “I’ll say
I met you at the shops.  Then if she likes you she may
say you can come tomorrow.”

So, the onus was on me to make a good impression.  I
felt nervous at that, but then remembered that the
previous year, as a prefect in the junior school, I
had often been charged with meeting parents and
visitors to the school and knew I could make a good
impression on them.

“Shall we go back – now?” I suggested.

“No, I’d better get my magazine,” she said.  “And
remember, when my mum talks to you, you’re a new boy
in my class.  I told her you had just come out from
England.  And I said you’re quite big so she won’t
think you’re older.”

I didn’t feel comfortable about that.  It might be too
easy to make a mistake.  “Well, if she asks me any
questions about the school, you’d better answer
quickly for me, because I won’t know what to say,” I
muttered.

“All right,” she agreed.  For a few moments we walked
along in silence together, and my heart sang.  I had
this lovely attractive girl, just a little taller than
my shoulder, bouncing along beside me on the road,
smiling, happy and comfortable in my company.  I was
thrilled to think of what might happen between us – if
everything went right with her parents.

We crossed the road and entered the newsagents.  Helen
crouched down to select her magazine, and my heart
thumped harder as again I wished I were in a position
to check what underwear she really was wearing.  Now
that she had changed out of uniform, would she have
changed into a thong?

Then I looked down and noticed that, as she crouched,
the waistline of her skirt was pulled down slightly
under her belt, revealing the top of her panties.  At
the rear of a pair of jeans or a skirt was the only
sight I had ever had of a thong before.  Occasionally
a girl wearing a skirt or jeans would bend and I would
see a string with a little triangular patch stretching
down the back.  But Helen’s wasn’t like that.  It was
just the ordinary patterned waistline of a plain pair
of white panties, the sort I was very familiar with. 
So at least I knew she was not wearing a thong at this
moment.

We walked back to her house together, Helen chattering
away happily as she told me all about her house, her
family and two dogs.  I grew progressively more
nervous as we approached the house.  My future with
Helen depended on whether I could impress her parents.

She let us in with the key and we walked down the
hedge-lined drive together.  “We’ll go in the back way
so you can meet my mum first,” she said, whispering as
we approached the kitchen door.

She opened it and I nervously followed her in.  A
dark-haired woman was working by the oven, and I could
see immediately the family resemblance, where Helen
got her beauty from.  The woman turned as we entered.

“Mum, this is Roy,” announced Helen, beaming.

Her mother stared for a moment, and then her face
burst into a big smile.  “Oh, *this* is Roy!” she
exclaimed, much to my astonishment.  She stepped
forward and took my hands in hers.  “Oh, Roy, I just
want to say thank you so much for those *beautiful*
flowers you bought Helen,” she beamed.  “She was just
so thrilled.  She said, ‘Mum, he even touched my hand
today!’  And of course all your kindness to her all
through this week – she’s been telling me all about
you.”

I tried not to look too startled, and stammered out
some sort of thanks.

“No, Roy, we should be thanking you,” she insisted. 
“Helen was so upset on Monday she came home crying. 
This whole stupid business has been quite ridiculous.”
 My mind whirled.  Did she mean the story about the
thongs, or was she talking about something else?

“The other children were just so silly and rude,” her
mother went on.  “Helen tells me they never stopped
all morning.  And then it continued the next day and
we thought we’d never hear the end of it.  I do wish
Carrie’s mother had kept quiet about it all.  It was
the worst possible thing for poor Helen to have it all
put in the papers.

“But then she came home yesterday with your flowers
and she was really beaming.  And some more flowers
today – but it was only then, since I got home today,
that she really told me how kind you had been to her
all week.  Roy, we really are so delighted to meet you
and to say thank you.  You’ve been such a wonderful
help in a very difficult time for her.  And all those
flowers – that was just *so* thoughtful.  Did you do
that for Carrie and Steffi as well?”

“Er, no, just – er – just Helen,” I stammered, hoping
I wouldn’t mess it all up.  “I – I thought she needed
cheering up.”

“Yes, I think the other two could handle all the
ridicule better than Helen,” her mother replied. 
“She’s always been a bit of a sensitive little soul.” 
She turned to Helen and rubbed her cheek
affectionately.  “You little monkey,” she teased her. 
“I bet you didn’t really want a magazine after all,
you had it all fixed up to bring Roy to meet us.”

Helen grinned sheepishly.  Then she asked shyly, “Mum,
please could Roy come round and play tomorrow?”

“Oh, dear, I wish we could say yes, but we have such a
busy weekend,” her mother answered.  “Remember,
tomorrow afternoon we’re all going to Deborah’s hockey
match, and on Sunday the Thurstons have invited us
round.  We’ll have to think about next weekend.”  She
turned to me.  “I’m sorry, Roy, we’d love to have you
sometime when we’re less busy.”

“Can he stay for dinner, then?” persisted Helen.

“You know, Helen, that might have been possible if you
had only told us earlier you were hoping to bring him
round,” her mother said.  “I haven’t cooked enough
food now, and besides, it’s getting dark.  His mother
will be worrying about him.”

“I only need to be back by seven,” I assured her.

She turned to me.  “Roy, we’ll have you round here
very soon, I promise.  And we’d like to meet your
parents as well.  All right?  But you can stay for
five minutes or so, and then we must eat and you must
go, as it’s getting dark and we don’t want your mother
worrying, do we?”  Typical Mumspeak!

Helen looked very disappointed.  She gave a sigh and
said, “Roy, come and see my room.”

Her mother came in again.  “Helen, I’m sorry, but you
know the rule we make with Deborah, and we need to do
the same with you.  Remember, a lady does not ask a
gentleman to her bedroom.  Now how about taking Roy
outside and show him round the garden until dinner is
ready?”

I followed Helen into the back garden.  She was
looking rather disgruntled, but sighed rather than
make the major fuss that many girls would.  Certainly
her mother did not seem like the liberal, permissive
mother who I would have expected to let her daughter
wear thongs.

“My mum is so fussy,” she snorted when we were out of
earshot, but not too violently.  “A whole week now
till you can come round here.”

“She didn’t say anything about tomorrow morning,” I
reminded her urgently, desperate to get together with
Helen.

“Saturday morning’s never any good because they both
go to town,” Helen frowned.  “We can go with them if
we want, but we often don’t.  We can visit friends,
but only if Mum known their parents, so I wouldn’t be
allowed to visit you.  And we can’t have friends round
unless she or my dad is at home.  Unless it’s just
one, and it has to be a girl – we’re not allowed
boys.”

Then she brightened.  “Come,” she told me, taking my
arm and leading me away from the house, past the
swimming pool.  She was now smiling brightly.  “They
go out at half-past nine and never come back until
after twelve.  You can come round then and I’ll let
you in.”

I felt excited, but needed to be cautious.  “Does she
leave you at home – alone?” I asked, finding that
difficult to believe in a mother who seemed over-fussy
in my 12-year-old mind.  Certainly she was more
particular than my pleasant but usually undemanding
parents.

“Oh, no, the maid comes in to baby-sit us,” Helen
replied.  “But she’s so lazy, she never does it!  We
have an agreement with her.  If she doesn’t tell about
anything naughty we do, then we don’t tell Mum or Dad
that she lets her boyfriend come in and they go down
to the shed and do whatever they want to do.”  This
was spoken in complete innocence and an apparent
unconcern or unawareness of whatever it might be that
they wanted to do in the shed.

“Who’s ‘we’?” I asked her, suspecting a troublesome
brother or sister – her mother had mentioned a
Deborah.

“That’s Debbie, my sister.  She’s 13,” answered Helen.
 “But she’s nice, she won’t tell if you come round. 
She probably won’t know, because she sometimes has
friends round too, and they go into her room and watch
videos or listen to music.  Mostly music.”

My heart was thumping.  I could be patient and develop
a relationship with Helen slowly.  Or I could take a
risk by coming round when I shouldn’t, seize the prize
immediately, and gamble on getting into trouble and
losing everything.  What would a normal 12-year-old
do?  So would I.

“What time shall I come?” I asked eagerly.  Visions of
thongs and a naked Helen floated in and out of my
mind, and I could feel my penis misbehaving.

“I’ll phone you when they go, shall I?” Helen grinned.
 “Then you can come round straight away.  What’s your
number?”

I hesitated, and then decided I was capable of making
sure I was on hand to answer that phone call instead
of my parents.  Besides, they too went shopping around
that time on Saturdays.  I told her.  She repeated it
and promised to remember it.

“Helen, Roy,” I heard her mother calling.  “Time for
dinner, Helen.  Come inside and wash your hands.”

We returned to the house.  Helen’s mum ushered us in
and said, “Let me introduce you to the family, Roy.” 
I met her father, a quiet man who seemed pleasant
enough as he shook hands with me and thanked me for
the help he thought I had given his daughter.

Then I heard a noisy cheerful, if slightly surprised,
“Hello,” as big sister Debbie burst into the room,
pretty and smiling.  She was no taller than I, with
the black hair and happy smile that all the females of
the family seemed to have.  She was wearing a
close-fitting white top that gave hints of a little
white bra underneath and a gently undulating body, and
a short black skirt.  If I had met her first, I might
well have fallen for her instead of Helen.

I glanced wistfully at the skirt.  Not quite short
enough.  Did Debbie wear a thong?  If Helen did,
surely Debbie did as well.

“Deborah, this is Roy, the boy who helped Helen so
much at school this week and brought her all those
lovely flowers,” said her mother.  Debbie obviously
didn’t know who I was, but was friendly enough to
greet anybody who turned up in their home.  Smile
first and ask questions later.  Or was it just because
I was a boy?

“Oh, Helen was so lucky to have you sending her
flowers,” laughed Debbie.  “Helen, I’m so jealous of
you!  Roy, are you staying to dinner?”  She had such a
lovely gentle voice, rather high-pitched but soft and
warm.  Presumably like her body.

“No, Roy has to go tonight as it’s getting dark and
his mother will be worrying about him,” her mother put
in.

Debbie, I should explain, was at the high school and
used a different bus at different times to travel each
day from Helen, who was in the top year at the junior
school.  So I never saw them together on the bus.

I said goodbye to the family, Helen in particular. 
“See you tomo – see you Monday, Helen,” I called out,
changing the words just in time as I left.

I puzzled briefly over Helen’s mother.  It was unusual
for me to find parents who worried, but I had
encountered quite a few, mostly among girls.  My
parents never seemed to worry about anything, and I
soon learned that if I did what they said, came in and
out when I said and kept out of trouble, they would
allow me almost as much freedom as I wanted.  But I
supposed not all parents were like that.  How could
such a protective mother let her Year Six daughter
wear thongs?

And then I fantasised about Helen as I cycled home –
and all evening, and all night.  I was so afraid
something might go wrong on the one hand, but on the
other I dreamed of all that might happen, about
thongs, about our being naked together, but most of
all about holding her in my arms, cuddling her,
kissing her, wiping away her tears (I had to invent a
reason for that – a huge bully was teasing her and I
beat him up, even though he was twice my size) and
enjoying her soft, warm skin against mine.  And surely
– she loved me too?  I couldn’t wait.

(To be continued)



YOU PUT A THONG INTO MY HEART (CHAPTER 2)


Next morning I told my parents I was expecting a call
from my friend Gary to see if I could visit him this
morning.  They hardly knew Gary, so there was no
chance of their accidentally finding I had given them
the wrong name.  I knew I didn’t have to ask
permission.  Again, they trusted me and they never
worried.

It was just after half-past nine when the phone
finally rang and I grabbed it, heart hammering in my
chest.  “Hello, Roy,” I heard a nervous but excited
whisper.  “It’s all right.  You can come now.  They’ve
gone.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right over,” I said, remembering not
to use her name in case my parents overheard.

I was there very quickly, in about ten minutes.  On
the way I wondered if Julie or Debbie would be there. 
I wanted time alone with Helen – but these girls had
their attractions too.  Panting for breath still, I
stood at the gate and rang the bell, holding in my
hand the bunch of flowers I had secretly plucked from
my own garden.

Almost immediately the small side gate opened to
reveal Helen.  She gave me a beautiful smile, blushing
slightly, and invited me in.  She was alone, and
dressed rather like Debbie had been the previous
evening, with a little white top that just showed her
midriff, and a small tight black skirt.  Her top had
thin shoulder straps but there were two straps over
each shoulder.  She was wearing a bra!  I never
thought of her as needing one.  My stomach churned
again and I couldn’t help but wonder what secrets lay
beneath that skirt.  Her hair was tied loosely in two
black bundles down either side of her back.

She was alone.  It wasn’t until several years later
that I realised what a major step of trust this was
for a girl.  A boy prefers to meet a girl alone, but
most girls – at first, anyway – like the support of a
friend when they go anywhere, even if it’s only to the
toilet.  So for Helen to meet me, bigger and older, at
home completely by herself was a very flattering
expression of trust.

As usual, she was delighted with the flowers.  “Elvira
(the maid) is still here, so we’ll go up to my room
until her boyfriend comes,” she whispered.

“Is Debbie here?” I asked, with mixed feelings,
putting my bicycle behind the hedge as she showed me.

“No, she’s gone out with a friend,” replied Helen. 
She giggled.  “I didn’t tell her you were coming or
she might have wanted to stay.  I think she likes
you.”

We passed Elvira on the way into the house, and she
and Helen exchanged conspiratorial grins.  It was
clearly an arrangement that suited them both.

As we reached the stairs, my excitement became almost
unbearable.  Helen was chattering away, and I let her
lead the way up the stairs.  My eyes were fixed on the
hem of her skirt, and as she climbed I could just see
the elastic hem of her white panties.  So she was not
wearing the thong today.

She led me along the passage, past an open door that
had a poster proclaiming ‘Debbie’s Room’ on it. 
Curiously I glanced inside.  The walls were covered in
posters of pop stars and the room was mildly messy. 
There were some clothes on the floor, and I spotted a
little piece of dark purple cloth.  Could that be a
thong?

Helen was now leading me into her room.  Again there
were posters on the wall, and the room gave the
impression of having been rather half-heartedly
tidied.  The floor was clear but the bookcase was
rather untidy and there were a few fluffy toy animals
scattered around.  No clothes were visible, apart from
the sleeve of a jersey sticking out of a drawer.  But
the dominant feature was my enormous bouquet of
flowers on the chest of drawers.  In front of them
were my cards.  I suddenly felt very embarrassed that
my cards were there where anybody could read them, and
probably the whole family had done.

“There are your flowers,” Helen showed me
unnecessarily as I followed her in.  She turned and
smiled, very shakily all of a sudden, and I suspect
she was suddenly feeling very nervous having me to
herself without the support of Julie or anybody else.

I saw her visibly pull herself together.  “Come sit
here,” she invited, patting the side of the bed.  I
sat.  “Elvira’s boyfriend should be here soon, and
he’ll ring the bell and they’ll go off to the shed
again, I suppose, and then we’ll be all by ourselves,”
she said, smiling brightly at me and clearly innocent
in her intentions.  “While we’re waiting, I can show
you my stick-ons or my photos.  Which would you like?”

I chose the photos.  She bent over to draw an album
out of the bookcase, momentarily displaying the seat
of her little cotton panties, and then came to sit
next to me on the bed.  She was close, but not quite
touching.  As she opened the album, I moved my arm so
it brushed hers, on the fleshy part of the forearm
near the elbow.  She glanced at me and smiled shyly.

Her family were not as avid photographers as some, and
there were perhaps 20 pages of photos taken since she
was seven.  One of the early ones showed a girl on the
beach, mouth anxiously open and clutching at a towel
that hung down the middle of her body, bare skin
showing all down her right-hand side.

Helen giggled with a bit of embarrassment.  “We were
on the beach and it was a windy day,” she explained. 
“I kept trying to change with a towel but the wind
kept blowing it, and my dad took a photo of me to
tease me.  That’s me saying, ‘No, Daddy!’”

I smiled but didn’t comment.  She showed me through
the album, during which the bell at the gate rang. 
“Elvira’s boyfriend,” Helen sang out.  I tensed,
hoping she was right but just afraid her parents might
be coming back.  But then, they had no need to ring.

I kept an eye on the photos, wondering if there would
be one that would show a thong.  There were a couple
that gave a glimpse of white panties, but no thong
photos.  Still, that was probably a recent
development.  Helen didn’t yet suggest doing anything
else and I was just happy to be close to her, close
enough to touch but as yet we were both shy about
that.  She wasn’t wearing perfume, but perhaps had put
on some sort of powder that gave a pleasant fresh
atmosphere rather than smell.

“Here’s my class photo from last year,” Helen told me
as we turned to the last page.  She leaned over to
point out where she was, at the same time edging
closer to me.  Her bare leg, just below the hem of her
skirt, touched mine about mid-thigh and her arm
brushed against mine.  A long ponytail dangled on to
my chest.  She darted a glance at me out of the corner
of her eye, and we smiled at each other, she giving a
giggle.

She pointed out Julie in the class photo, then Carrie
and Steffi, whose photos I had of course seen before
in the paper.  Underneath the class photo of the four
of them all wearing skimpy bikinis, standing on the
edge of a swimming pool with their arms round each
other.  I wondered why it was that Julie had
apparently not been wearing a thong along with the
others when they were caught.  Perhaps her parents
were stricter about that sort of thing.

We finished the album.  Helen shut it and sat there
looking at me.  Again we weren’t quite touching.  Then
she asked, “What would you like to do now?”

“Have you – any more photo albums?” I asked.  “I like
looking at pictures of you.”

She giggled and looked shy.  “I’ve got one of when I
was small – but I’m naked in some of them so I don’t
want you to see them.”

“I’ve got photos of me naked, even this year,” I told
her, eager to jump in.  “I’m a naturist, you see, and
we don’t mind.”

“What’s a naturalist?” she asked, looking puzzled.

“A naturist,” I corrected her gently.  “We just like
to do things without clothes on when it’s warm and
we’re with other naturists.  We have a club in the
countryside where we take our clothes off when we’re
there, and we swim and play and eat and do everything
naked.  Even the grown-ups.”

She stared at me in surprise.  She looked so cute with
her nose wrinkled up.  Then she asked, “Don’t you feel
– shy?”

“Well, it felt strange the first time I did it, but
when I got used to it, it was the most wonderful
thing,” I told her.  “You feel so free, so fresh.  And
the greatest thing is that you’re all trusting each
other, you know nobody is going to laugh at you or
judge your body or even notice.”  This was my usual
blurb to promote the experience of nudity, but it’s
true.  “But when you talk about being shy, don’t you
feel shy wearing a thong?”

I had deliberately restrained myself from mentioning
thongs to Helen, afraid that if I did it before the
right time it might be counter-productive.  I still
wasn’t sure it was the right time, but I couldn’t stop
myself any longer.  I had to find out all I wanted to
know.

Helen bit her lip and nodded, at the same time getting
up to put the album back.  This time she crouched down
to push it in, so I saw nothing.  Then she said, “I’ll
show you my stick-ons now,” and took out another
album.

She settled on the bed next to me again, as close as
she could get without touching me, and opened the
album to the first page.  I can’t even remember what
was on it.  Very nervously, but trying to be casual, I
moved my arm back and leaned on it slightly.  Then I
moved it again so it was just touching the middle of
her back.  She turned her head and smiled at me.  I
chickened out.  I looked sharply down at the stickers
and moved my arm back a little so it was no longer in
contact,

I felt I could wait no longer.  I had to try.  So I
asked her nervously, “Helen, what really happened
about those thongs at school?”

She looked down, blushing.  “I don’t want to talk
about it,” she muttered.  She turned over to the next
page in the album.  And then she talked about it.

“It was Carrie’s fault,” she began.  “And her
mother’s.  I don’t like her very much.  They’re both
bossy.  And Carrie has two big sisters who just think
they’re so cool.  They go drinking and smoking and
chasing boys and wearing weird clothes and whatever.

“So last year they got Carrie wearing thongs instead
of proper panties, and she thought she was so great. 
So some of the other girls wanted to wear thongs as
well, but most of their mothers wouldn’t let them,
especially at school.  And then we got caught, and
that’s when all the trouble started, and Carrie’s mum
made a big fuss.”

“Where did you get your thong from?” I asked.

“Well, Mum wouldn’t let me get one,” she answered. 
“She said I wasn’t old enough.  But Debbie buys her
own clothes, and she bought some thongs, so Mum let
her wear those.  And then she bought me two for my
birthday, so Mum said I could wear them sometimes as
long as it was at home.”

“Why did you wear them at school, then?” I asked.

“All because of Carrie,” she replied crossly.  “There
are four of us in our group, and when Carrie started
wearing thongs, their mothers said they could as well.
 And Carrie started teasing me because I was the only
one not to wear a thong.  The other girls were doing
it, so I thought I’d do the same, only I didn’t tell
Mum.”

“And the headmistress caught you?” I prompted.

“Yes, it was the last lesson on the day, in PE, and
we’d been swimming, so we were changing afterwards. 
Sister O’Halloran had an important message for one of
the girls, so she came in while we were changing to
pass it on before we went home.  And we didn’t think
we’d be in trouble, but she saw us and told us to go
to her office before we went home.  Julie was lucky –
she was still naked so Sister O’Halloran didn’t see
her thong.”  Julie naked!  The thought made me shiver
with excitement.

“We were so scared, and we didn’t really know what
we’d done wrong.  Sister O’Halloran told us we weren’t
breaking any rules, but she didn’t think it was right
to wear thongs to school.  She said she’d write to our
parents about it, and then she made a rule that no
girls were to wear thongs.”

“Were your mum and dad cross with you when they found
out?” I asked.

“A bit,” answered Helen, who was gradually relaxing
and talking more readily now.  “But I told them Carrie
had been nasty about – me not wearing a thong at
school, and I think they understood.  I don’t wear
them at all now.  But Carrie does.  Sister O’Halloran
said she wasn’t going to do any checking, so Carrie
says she’s safe and she’s going to do it whatever
anybody says.”

“How did you get your photo in the paper?” I asked.

“That was Carrie’s mum,” explained Helen bitterly. 
“It sounded so exciting, but I never knew how it would
turn out.  She complained to the newspaper and they
sent a reporter round to her house.  She got Carrie to
phone Steffi and me and invite us round as well, and
we didn’t know the reporter would be there.  He didn’t
talk much, but Carrie was complaining, and the
photographer took two photos and told us we’d be in
the newspaper.  He didn’t tell us till afterwards, and
that’s when I was worried, because my mum and dad
would see it.”

“Were they cross?” I asked.

“They were at first,” she answered, her pretty face
now unhappy.  “But I told them I was sorry and they
hadn’t told me the photo would be in the paper. 
Debbie was good, and she told me how lucky I was to
have my picture in the paper, and I felt a bit better.
 But Monday at school was horrible.”  She came to a
halt.

I just murmured I was sorry and waited, while she kept
her head turned away, and eventually she continued in
a rather strained voice.  “Some of the boys – were
teasing us and asking if we were still wearing thongs
and asking to see them.  Some of them pretended they
were looking up our skirts.  Carrie just seemed to –
love it all.  But – they didn’t touch us.  The girls
were worse.”

She gulped and paused.  “They – made a ring round us
at morning break.  Julie and me, because they knew
Julie wore them too, but she never has done again
after – Sister O’Halloran caught us.  They – said they
wanted to see our thongs but we told them we weren’t
wearing any.  And they started laughing and pulling
our skirts up.”  She suddenly looked round at me and
her eyes were full of tears.

My instinct told me she wanted me to do something. 
Clumsily I put out my arm again and pressed it very
lightly against her back, and moved my other arm round
over her knees, but without touching them.  She leaned
her head forward and rested her forehead for a moment
on my shoulder and gave a kind of sob.  Everything in
me told me to put my arms round her and give her a
squeeze, at least.  Instead, I froze, apart from
pressing my arm just a little more firmly against her
back.

It seems laughable to look back on it now.  But we
were just young, and almost the same age.  If I had
been 18, as I am now with my greater experience, and
she was still 10 going on 11, I would have taken her
in my arms so easily.  And she would have accepted it
so readily because I was older, instead of being a
mere 12.

She lifted her head again and looked down hard at her
album, her back moving forward as her head went down
so it was no longer touching my arm.  I whispered that
I was sorry again, and waited.  At least I had the
sense even in those days to wait until she was ready
instead of pushing her with questions.

“Then some of the girl prefects came up and rescued
us.  At least, we thought they were rescuing us, but
they took us to an empty classroom.  They said they
were checking us for Sister O’Halloran, and we told
them Sister O’Halloran said there wouldn’t be any
checks, but they – they made us show them.”

A tear dropped on to her bare leg and she wiped it off
and then wiped her eyes.  Greatly daring, I put my
open hand on the middle of her back, as nervously as
if I expected an electric shock.  I just held it
there, trembling, feeling it shake slightly under me,
feeling the firm skin under her shirt and realising
too late that if I had put it a bit higher I could
have felt her bra.

She lifted her head and gave me a rather watery smile.
 Cowardly, I let my hand drop from her back, but then
decided I couldn’t stop there.  So I put out my other
hand, found hers, and let mine rest lightly on the top
of hers.

She smiled again, bobbing her head on one side as she
did so, and turned her hand over, palm upwards,
wrapping her fingers around mine.  She gave my fingers
a squeeze and then suddenly let go.  I thought I had
felt them trembling.  The startling idea came to me
that just possibly she was shy and nervous as well.  I
thought that only happened to me.

“Did you tell your mum what they did to you?” I asked
gently.

“No, I just told them the – girls had been horrible to
me and teased me,” she said.  “You’re the first person
I’ve ever told this to.”  I felt joyously proud.

She went on, “Two of the prefects had gone to find
Carrie and Steffi.  They brought them in and told them
to lift up their skirts so they could see.  But Carrie
was very cheeky and told them that she wasn’t going
to, and if any of them touched her, then her mother
would sue them and sue them.  And then the prefects
let us go.  So Carrie got out of it.”

I nodded and waited, wondering if it was the right
time to launch my next burning question.  After a
while Helen said, “Things – haven’t been quite so bad
since then, but there are still – some who – who tease
us.  But Julie and I stick together.  Carrie seems to
like it, though.”  She sounded rather bitter.

There was another pause and I couldn’t restrain myself
any longer.  I finally said, “You know – it may sound
silly, but I’ve never even seen a thong.  Do you think
– you could just show me one, please?  So I can just
see what it looks like?”

She shot me a nervous glance and then shook her head. 
“I – I feel too shy to do that,” she blurted out,
going slightly red, and I felt ashamed.

“No, it’s all right, I didn’t mean to – er,” I
replied, and then trailed off.

She looked down at the album for a moment and then
turned the page.  I thought she was going to tell me
or ask me something about the stick-ons.  Instead she
kept looking down, giggled and said, “Debbie says if a
boy wants to see her thongs, he has to give her a kiss
first.”

I gave a chuckle too.  “How much do *you* charge?” I
asked, grinning as if it were all a game.

“I don’t know,” she smiled, still looking down, and I
realised I had made a wrong response, putting the onus
on her.  I had to lead her now, as she was too shy to
do it herself.  I hated to do it on a matter as daring
as a kiss, a matter even more serious for a
12-year-old to suggest than it is for an 18-year-old
to suggest sex.  I wanted it, I was sure she wanted
it, but neither of us wanted to admit it to the other.
 But such things can be hinted at as long as it is
kept light-hearted and the participants pretend they
are only joking.

Eventually I managed, going red myself, “If – I give
you a kiss, will you show me too?”  I laughed to try
and pretend I wasn’t serious.

I could only see her hair and her ears, but the latter
were bright red.  There was a pregnant pause, and then
I could just hear her whisper, “All right.  I don’t -
really mind.”

I didn’t really mind either.  Since that made two of
us who didn’t really mind, the urgent dream of the
last few days could finally become reality.  Scared
out my mind, I leaned forward and kissed her gently
just in front of her ear, which was about as far as I
could reach.  Her skin felt very hot to my lips.  A
thrill spread through me like an electric shock.  I
had finally done it!

“There, I’ve paid, so now you must show me your
thongs,” I said light-heartedly, still just pretending
it was a joke.

“That wasn’t a proper kiss,” she complained, turning
towards me, trying unsuccessfully to hide a massive
smile and no doubt the flush in her cheeks as well. 
“That was only my ear.”

“Where do you want me to do it, then?” I asked. 
Nowadays if a girl says that to me, I reply, “If you
don’t like it, you can always give it back.”

She hesitated, and then said, “You’re supposed to do
it on my cheek.”

“All right,” I agreed, leaning forward with a little
more confidence to give her a bigger kiss full on her
cheek.  It felt so soft and warm under my lips, and I
could just smell the soft, fresh smell of the powder
or whatever it was she had put on.

She turned away to hide a big smile and another flush.
 “Is that as good as your boyfriend’s?” I asked, and
then realised it was a stupid thing to say.

She didn’t answer, but sat there staring at the
flowers for a moment.  Then she said, “I haven’t got
one,” stood up and went over to her dressing table. 
She pulled open the second drawer, and I could see a
lot of pairs of panties inside, mostly white, but with
occasional ones in pale pastel colours such as pink
and light blue.  She reached in the back and then
pulled out a tiny piece of white cloth.

“Here,” she said, not looking at me and holding it out
where I could see it rather than giving it to me. 
“I’ve only got two pairs and I haven’t worn them since
that day at school.  They’re not very comfortable
anyway.”

I stared at it with interest.  It looked smaller than
a handkerchief.  There was a string waist with a
triangle of cloth at the back and a broad string down
to the crotch.  There was more material at the front,
quite wide at the top but tapering down to the crotch,
narrower at the bottom but still wide enough to cover
the vagina.

I didn’t think it would be very easy to see from the
front that it was a thong rather than ordinary
panties, but from the back it would be easy.  I would
see a bare bottom with a string down the middle and a
triangle of material at the top.  The lacy material
looked as if it were made up of white whorls that
looked as if they might be slightly transparent.

“What about the other one?” I asked.

Helen blushed slightly and put the first thong away. 
Reluctantly she rummaged around for the other one.  “I
don’t like this one very much,” she told me, pulling
it out and showing me.  “But of course Carrie thinks
it’s great.”  This was said with some contempt.

It was even skimpier than the first one, with bright
red material and little white hearts all over it,
although you almost needed a microscope to see them. 
Or indeed the whole thing.  It had little frills
around the edges of the material, and the top parts
were semi-transparent.  Helen grinned very awkwardly
as she held it up for me, and then quickly whipped it
back into the drawer.  “Debbie has lots more than I
do,” she said.

“What do Debbie’s look like?” I asked, trying to
disguise my interest.

“Do you want to see?” she grinned at me, and,
affecting casualness as usual, I answered, “All
right.”

“Come,” she told me, and led the way to Debbie’s
bedroom.

“Should we – go in without her permission?” I asked
hesitantly as we entered.

“She won’t mind,” Helen assured me.  “If she takes her
friends into my room when I’m out, I wouldn’t mind
either.”  I did feel a bit guilty, though, as I
wondered what Debbie would say about my entering her
room for the purpose of inspecting her underwear.

“Here’s one,” said Helen, picking up the piece of
purple material I had noticed earlier on the floor,
and this time giving it to me.  I held it between my
fingers and let it dangle down.  The waist was a thin
purple cord, there was a small triangular purple patch
at the back which gave way to another cord, and a thin
tapering piece at the front stretching down to the
crotch.  Quite a bit of Debbie’s groin, I thought,
would be visible when she wore this.  I held it up to
the window and could see light through it, but it
probably wouldn’t be transparent when worn.

Helen gaily jumped backwards on to Debbie’s bed, which
was wider than hers, swinging her legs in the air for
e moment so I could see the rear of her white panties.
 I felt sure it was a deliberate gift to me, but
naturally one I could not directly acknowledge.  Some
girls do it to flirt, but others do it to show trust
and a desire for intimacy.  I’m sure with Helen it was
the latter.

Then she swung off the bed, opened one of Debbie’s
drawers and said, “You can look in here.”

Inside were plenty of thongs, all colours, some
skimpier than others.  “She has some panties, too, but
she hardly wears them these days,” said Helen, holding
up a pair of white panties very like the ones she had
shown me only moments before.

“I like that kind,” I told her deliberately.  “It
makes a girl look – sexy without being rude.”

“That’s the sort I wear,” she told me unnecessarily. 
Then she giggled and held up a thong I hadn’t noticed
before.  “Do you like this one?” she asked me.

I stared at it.  My heart was already thumping faster
than normal, but this one really speeded things up. 
The thong had a little more material than some I had
seen, but it was a very pale pink and almost
completely transparent.  The only opaque feature I
could see was a small patch under the crotch, where it
met the string coming down the back.  I imagined
Debbie wearing it, and almost wet myself.

The next best thing might be Helen wearing it.  Hoping
I did not look too flushed, I put on a teasing tone of
voice and said, “I bet you wouldn’t wear this one if I
gave you another kiss.”

Helen looked rather startled and uncertain, and I
thought I had been too eager.  Then she smiled
nervously and said, “No, I – I could never wear
*that*,” took it from me, put it back in the drawer,
shut it and led me back to her bedroom, feeling
disappointed.

We were just entering her room again when her steps
slowed and she almost came to a stop.  Then she
stepped forward again, turned round and looked at me
with a shy gleam in her eye.  She put her face up with
a nervous smile and whispered, trying to sound
playful, “What about two kisses?  For that?”

“Oh, all right,” I agreed, shrugging my shoulders as
if I wasn’t really that concerned.  Sensing she might
change her mind, I bent my head and gave her a big
kiss on her right cheek and another on her left.

She turned away, but not before I had seen her big
beam of pleasure that she couldn’t stop.  Then she
said, “And – and you must take your shorts off.  Then
we’ll be equal.”

“Then you must give me a kiss for that,” I grinned,
still trying to sound as if I were teasing her.

She turned, smiled at me for a moment as I bent my
head towards her, and then gave me a big kiss right on
the lips.  Immediately she turned, said in a muffled
voice, “I’ll fetch it now,” and walked quickly from
the room.

I sat down on her bed, unable to stop myself from
grinning either.  I felt almost weak with the
excitement of it all.  It was as if we were on a
roller coaster, heading downhill more rapidly than
either of us expected, one thing happening after
another so quickly I couldn’t take it in, and I didn’t
know how long it would go on for, but I just wanted to
keep on going and going . . .

I suddenly remembered I was to take my shorts off, so
I did that, hoping Helen would like my plain white
briefs underneath.  There was rather a bulge at the
front and it kept changing shape, so I hoped that
wouldn’t be a problem.  I visualised us taking our
clothes off together, and my only worry was that my
penis might be in a state that would embarrass her.

I took my shirt off as well, and she still hadn’t come
back.  I had somehow taken it for granted that she
would come back and change into the thong, but she
hadn’t.  I went out of the door to look for her,
wearing only my underpants, and at almost the same
moment she came out of Debbie’s bedroom, carrying her
own white panties in her hand.

She gave a little start and a giggle when she saw me. 
“Ooh, are you – ready?” she asked me unnecessarily.  I
affirmed I was, and went ahead of her back into her
room.  She followed me in and tossed her panties into
a corner.  I sat on her bed and waited while she stood
in front of me, not knowing quite what to do.

She smiled and said, “I like your underpants.”  Then
she asked, “Do you want – to see?”

I nodded.  Face bright red, she shyly lifted the hem
of her dress and I caught my breath as I stared.  I
could see fairly clearly all the flesh on her front
from the string waistline down, the white groove of
her groin, right down almost to the crotch.  Then,
infuriatingly, that little opaque pad got in the way. 
Staring hard, I thought I could make out a tiny darker
patch – something – just where the transparent
material began, but I couldn’t be sure.  I assumed it
was the top of her vagina.

I think I stared too hard.  She looked a bit
uncomfortable and turned around, revealing her almost
totally naked bottom.  The only part covered was that
tiny triangular piece, and even that was just above
where the crack began.

I didn’t get long to look at it because she dropped
her skirt and turned round again, still red-cheeked. 
“I don’t know how Debbie can wear this,” she said. 
“In public.”

“We’re not equal yet,” I reminded her.  “You’ve still
got your skirt on.”

She hesitated, and I wondered what she would do.  She
took the easy way out.  “Shall I – take it off?” she
asked me.

“Yes, all right,” I approved.  Looking rather nervy,
she slipped out of her skirt and I feasted my eyes
again on that thong.

She stood there nervously for a moment, one hand
lurking near her crotch as if to shield it from view,
made as if to sit next to me and then stood again. 
“Would you – like to see my boobies?” she asked,
clutching her shirt.

I was sure she had nothing to show there, but I asked,
“How much are you charging this time?”

“Three kisses,” she said firmly, and giggled.  It took
her attention off her thong and I kept stealing
glances.  I nodded, and she came closer and put her
face near mine.  I gave her one each side and one on
the chin, and loved the way she flushed, beamed with
pleasure and then tried to hide it every time.  Her
pleasure and shyness gave me confidence and I scarcely
felt myself blushing this time, although my heart was
racing.

“We’ll both be nearly naked then,” she said in awe as
she slipped her top off, slowing a plain little white
bra underneath.  It seemed to embarrass her a bit.  “I
– don’t really need a bra,” she explained.  “I only
wear one because Carrie does.  And so do Julie and
Steffi now.”

She slipped it off over her head, and sure enough her
chest was pretty flat.  It looked little different
from that of a fairly muscular boy of her age, except
that the little nipples and areolas were slightly
larger.  She looked at me and smiled sheepishly,
wearing nothing at all now but that transparent thong.
 The uneven tan lines on her chest showed that she did
quite a bit of swimming in bikini tops of perhaps
varying sizes.  I could see every part of her body
except her vagina, and one movement of my hand could
solve that.  But, however desirous I might be, I would
never do that to any girl without her approval.

As if moved by an invisible force, I stood up.  As if
affected by that same force, she shyly took half a
step towards me.  She was looking into my eyes, and
breathing presumably with excitement so I could feel
her warm breath on my chin.

I spread out my arms, just from the elbows out, to see
what would happen.  I knew what I wanted to happen,
but didn’t know whether she did.  She first reached
out her hands and meshed her fingers with mine, and
then leaned forward and came into my arms.  Thrilled,
I loosed my hands and wrapped them gently round her
back, below her hair.

She gave a deep sigh of apparent satisfaction, closed
her eyes and laid her head on my shoulder.  I could
feel her warm cheek, her hair hanging down my chest. 
I could feel her soft warm body pressed against mine,
her rapidly moving chest against my ribs.  Bare flesh
against bare flesh – it was wonderful and here she
was, trusting me.

I wrapped my arms round her warm, smooth back, my
hands touching the string of her thong – or Debbie’s
thong, rather – as I hugged her.  I kept her pressed
slightly to one side in case my penis should make a
nuisance of itself – or, worse, explode.  Helen was
too young to wear a thong and she was too young to see
a penis spurting.  I didn’t feel ready to spurt yet,
but I might do if tormented by her thong.  Once she
was naked, I wouldn’t have a problem.

I kissed her gently on her forehead and her cheek, so
hot, no doubt with all the excitement.  I wondered if
I dared tell her I loved her.  The very thought of
such an awesome step made me feel dizzy.  And then I
felt something damp on my shoulder.  Looking down, I
saw a couple of tears slowly rolling from her eyes on
to my skin.

I quickly sat on the bed and pulled her on to my lap. 
She was not very heavy.  Still I saw the tears welling
in her eyes and felt alarmed.  What had I done wrong?

“Helen, Helen, what’s the matter?  Don’t cry,” I
whispered urgently into her ear, wiping the tears from
her face.  “What’s wrong?”

At first she tried to turn away from me to hide her
tears, but then, as I kept asking her what was wrong,
she said, “I – I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to stop?  I’ll stop if you want,” I
assured her, feeling quite panicky.  I was terrified
that I might have done something to offend this lovely
trusting girl.

“No, don’t stop.  I like it,” she whispered, and I
felt reassured.  Slowly the tears stopped and then she
looked up into my eyes.  She smiled, wetly and warmly.

“I – I . . .” I began.  But I just couldn’t take that
massive step of telling a girl I loved her. 
12-year-olds can use the foulest swearwords these days
and cause shock to the more sensitive of the same age,
but those three famous little words are totally
unforgivable.  It just is never done.  I did not want
the skies to fall in, so I changed it to, “I think
you’re so pretty.  And so lovely.”

Even this was treading on dangerous ground.  “I think
you’re cool,” is about the utmost limit of what is
acceptable in public between consenting preteens.  And
what is forbidden in public is also a very real taboo
in private.  If only I could go back today, I would
break those taboos much more readily.  There are a lot
of girls who never really knew that I loved them. 
Almost one for every month of my life, I should think.

Yet I suppose I was breaking taboos all the time
anyway.  It might be just about forgivable to let
somebody from the opposite sex to see your underwear,
but naked, never.  Many girls had been introduced to
my penis, and almost all had shared their secrets with
me in return.  And right now I was eager to add to
their number.

Smiling dreamily now, she sat on my lap, her hot
little cheek pressed against mine, her arm round my
neck, as mine was around her back.  I began the
kissing practice I had learned from one of my previous
girls – I can’t even remember which one right now –
starting off with very gentle little kisses all over
her neck and her cheek and by her ear.  She beamed and
her eyes shone, and occasionally she turned her head
to kiss me on the mouth.  Her warmth, her softness,
her trust, her unstated love were just overwhelming.

After a few minutes she gave a choked giggle and said,
“I’ve never done this before, you know.  Not with a
boy.  And nearly – *naked*!”  She looked at me.  “Have
you ever been – nearly naked – with a girl before?”

“I’ve never – sat like this with a girl before,” I
replied, too shy to be more specific.  Well, not
*quite* like this.  “But often naked.  Remember, I’m a
naturist and we have a naturist club.”

“But we – you’re nearly naked now,” she pointed out. 
“Do you – do it with people outside your club.”

“Only with people I can really trust,” I told her,
cunning as ever.  “And with people who really trust
me.  Then we often play naturists together and have
fun.”

“I trust you,” she smiled at me, pressing her warm
cheek against mine.  Again we kissed tenderly.  “Do
you trust me?”  I nodded.

There was a long pause, and I wondered if I should say
something – and if so, what.  Then she said, “I – I –
how do you play naturists?”

“Well, we just take our clothes off and play the same
way as people with clothes on,” I answered.  “Only
it’s more fun.  Especially swimming.”

She glanced nervously down at my underpants, no doubt
wondering what monster lay underneath.  “Aren’t you
shy?” she asked.

“Not any more,” I told her.  “I was at first.”  I
briefly recounted the story of my first visit to the
naturist club.  “So now it doesn’t bother me at all. 
I’d go naked all the time if I could.”

She looked surprised, but curious.  “You can go naked
now if you like,” she told me.  “I – don’t mind.”

“No, it’s a naturist rule,” I told her untruthfully. 
“We don’t go naked unless everybody else is naked too.
 If you want to play naturists, we can do it together,
but I know you feel shy of doing it with me.”

“I’m not shy,” she murmured sweetly but shyly.  She
swung her body round, facing me with a big smile and
putting her hands on my shoulders.  We hugged each
other tightly, my chest against her warm chest.  My
arms were down round her back, and my fingers resting
on the little transparent triangle round her hips and
on her bare bottom.

Then she began to pull me over sideways.  We rolled on
the bed together, with myself on top and Helen
underneath, laughing.  We wrestled playfully, Helen on
her back, knees up, trying to kick me.  Beneath the
string of the thong I could see the crack in her
bottom and just caught glimpses of the soft pink skin
under her crotch.  I did not use my full strength, of
course, but just let her equal me so we enjoyed the
intimacy.

Soon we were lying on the floor together, hot and
panting and laughing.  Then at last came the words
from Helen I had been waiting for.  Timidly, it
seemed, she glanced sidelong at me and said, “I’d like
to go for a swim.”

“Yes, good idea,” I agreed, trying to hide the
fluttering of my heart.  “Shall we – be naturists? 
Because I’ve nothing to swim in.”  As I said it, I
wondered if I wasn’t risking too much and should have
left it to her.

She nodded her head, but bit her lip at the same time,
and I realised how nervous she was about yielding the
last part of her body to my gaze.  I waited for her,
and she grabbed her towel from the bathroom.  “We can
share,” she said.

I think we were both very tense as I followed her down
the stairs and out of the back door.  The sun was
shining brightly and it was hot out of the shade.  The
water would be cold, as nights in October are chilly,
but the days are still warm until our wet season
starts usually sometime in November.

We reached the side of the pool and Helen put the
towel on a bench at the side, and then hesitated. 
“Shall I go in?” I asked, sensing her fear and
thinking I should take the lead.

She nodded.  Facing her, I pulled off my underpants,
paused a moment to put them on the bench, but also to
show her I trusted her with the sight of my penis, and
then, shouting out, “Let’s go,” but without looking at
her, I leapt in.

The water was cold and rather a shock, but really very
pleasant.  I rolled over to call out to her, and saw
her slipping off her panties quickly.  Perhaps she
tried to do it too quickly, as while removing her
second leg she lost her balance and fell over.

I waited for her to get up, but she didn’t.  She sat
there on the flagstones as if frozen, one knee up and
the other sideways on the ground.  In between was the
length of her vagina, right from top to bottom, with
an apparent bulge in it where it met the soft skin
under her crotch.

“Are you all right?” I asked, concerned, and
scrambling back to climb out of the pool.  She put her
lower leg up and looked at her ankle.  I came to look
as well, but could not keep my eyes off that lovely
vagina in the middle, now half-hidden between her
legs.

There was a slight graze on her ankle.  “I’ll go and
put something on it,” she said, getting to her feet. 
She picked up her towel and the thong from the bench,
which I thought was a bit surprising, and scuttled off
for the back door, limping a little as she went.  Her
head was bowed and her shoulders heaving as if she was
crying.  But it hadn’t been a bad fall and it was a
really tiny graze.

I must have waited more than ten minutes.  It wasn’t
much fun by myself in a small pool, so I came out and
sunbathed.  Still she didn’t return.  In the end I got
up and went back into the house to look for her.

“Helen!” I called, but there was no reply.  I went up
the stairs and found her in her room.  She was
hurriedly getting dressed, wearing her bra and her own
white panties rather than the thong, and just putting
on her top layers.  She looked rather disconcerted and
almost fearful to see me, and her eyes were certainly
wet.

“Is your ankle – all right?” I asked, worried.

She nodded.  “I don’t want to swim any more,” she
said.  Then she went on, “Roy, I – I think you’ll need
to go now, because my mum and dad may be coming back
soon.”

Shocked, I looked at my watch.  “But it’s only just
after eleven!” I exclaimed, unable to hide my anguish.
 “You said they never came back before twelve!”

“They may be early today,” she said, top on now and
reaching for her skirt.  “It – would be big trouble if
they caught you here.”

There was no arguing with that, but I couldn’t
understand it.  I got the impression she suddenly
wanted me out of the house.  I put my clothes on
again, and she almost hurried me down the stairs and
towards the front gate.

I fetched my bicycle as she went to open the small
gate, not even waiting for me.  I felt hurt and
bewildered.  What had I done wrong?  Did she feel I
had forced her to go naked for swimming?

She tried to force a smile as I wheeled my bicycle
through the gate.  “Thanks – for the flowers,” she
whispered.

“I like doing that for you,” I told her, reaching the
other side.  “Thanks for – letting me come this
morning . . .”

I hadn’t even finished speaking as she began to close
the gate, calling out, “Bye,” as she did so.  I caught
a last glimpse of her face before it closed, and was
sure there were tears in her eyes again.  As I stood
there, bewildered, I heard a sound from the other side
that sounded like a choking cough – or a sob.  Then I
heard the pattering of her feet as she ran back down
the drive, and another muffled sob.

“Helen!  Are you all right?” I called, but there was
no reply.

I was totally bewildered and very unhappy about the
way what had seemed like such a wonderful morning had
ended.  What had I done so badly wrong?  I turned it
all over in my mind.  We had had such a wonderful romp
in her bedroom, and I could almost feel all over again
the soft warmth of her bare skin pressing against
mine, the faint essence of whatever powder she had
used that morning, and hear her joyful free laughter
as we rolled and cuddled and kissed.

Then she had been the one who had wanted to swim.  Had
she meant in her underwear?  But she had talked about
playing naturists, she had told me she was not shy of
being naked.  All was going well until that bump at
the pool – and she was hardly hurt.  But that had
changed everything dramatically.  Why?

Now that I’m more experienced, I feel I can understand
what was happening in that lovely 10-year-old mind
that morning.  I had had a hint of it before, when I
first brought her the flowers, and was surprised when
she left me and hurried off home, away from me, so
quickly.  And briefly she had cried in my arms, again
to my astonishment, when we were cuddling in her room.

It seems to me now that she was simply on emotional
overload that morning.  It just took a very small
thing, like falling over and grazing her ankle, to set
it all off.  She was in a totally new situation
emotionally for her and she just didn’t know how to
handle it.  Too much had happened all at once.

So the easiest way for her was to pack me off home,
and she could scarcely keep her tears in as I left. 
Once she had shut the gate on me, I suspect she ran
back to her room crying, and wept her eyes out there
to relieve the pressure.  And hopefully, when she got
over that, she started feeling good about the morning.

But I didn’t realise all that at the age of 12.  All I
could think of as I cycled home on autopilot was my
own hurt and the incomprehensible ways of the female
of the species.  I did wonder if something else was
upsetting her, but felt so afraid that it was
something I had said or done.

When I reached home, my family was still out and I was
thankfully alone.  In private I shed some tears of
disappointment and wondered what to do.  I looked at
my watch.  It was very nearly twelve noon.  I didn’t
believe what Helen had said about her parents perhaps
coming home early.  It was just an excuse to get rid
of me, but I couldn’t then understand why.

So Helen was probably still alone at home, although
her parents no doubt were sure she was with Elvira,
not suspecting that that lady had a more interesting
agenda to pursue.  Did I dare ring her?  If somebody
else answered, I could always put the receiver down
without saying anything.

I felt I couldn’t stand the tension.  I had to try to
find out what was going on.  Heart hammering, I looked
up her number and dialled.

The phone rang for quite a long time before somebody
answered and a nervous little voice whispered,
“Hello?”

“Hello, Helen, it’s me, Roy,” I blurted out.  “I – I
just wanted to phone you and see if you were all
right.”

There was a pause.  Then she said, still in a small
voice, “Yes, I’m all right.”

Not quite knowing what to say, I babbled on, “I had –
such a lovely time with you this morning.”  There was
another pause.  Then I nervously said, “Can I – see
you again on Monday?  After school?  You know, I can –
I can stop if you don’t want me to.”

There was another pause, then she said, “No, don’t
stop.  I – I’ll see you on Monday.”  A brief pause,
then, “Bye.”

“No, wait!” I said desperately.  “Helen, there –
there’s something I need to tell you.  It – it’s
important.”  I gulped.

“What?” she asked.  She sounded very nervous now.

“Helen, it’s this,” I stammered.  “I just want – I
need to tell you.  Helen, I – I love you.  Bye.”  Face
burning red and feeling terrified, I put the receiver
down as quickly as I could.

I felt both elated and appalled at what I had done. 
The bad news was that I had broken one of the greatest
12-year-old taboos by telling a girl I loved her.  The
good news was that nobody would find out about it.

But what did Helen think of my temerity?  The good
news was that she wanted me to meet her again on
Monday.  But that was before I told her – I was too
embarrassed even to repeat what I had told her to
myself – and maybe I had embarrassed her and
frightened her off.  Maybe she would change her mind
and not be pleased to see me after all.  What did she
really think?  Did she love me?  She hadn’t said so. 
But then stupidly I hadn’t given her chance.  But she
might be too shy to say . . .

And I wasn’t too sure I had spoken clearly enough, in
my panic.  Suppose she hadn’t heard what I said, or
thought I said something else?  I wished I had spoken
more clearly.  Had she heard or not?  Had she been
pleased or not?  I wished I knew.

I staggered upstairs, my mind in a whirl.  Feeling
totally confused and uncertain, I threw myself on to
my bed and burst into tears.  And ten minutes later I
began to realise that perhaps this was exactly what
had happened to Helen as well.

(To be continued)



YOU PUT A THONG INTO MY HEART (CHAPTER 3)


I went to the naturist club with my Aunt Sue,
seven-year-old Shelley and five-year-old Jenny on the
Sunday.  For the first time I didn’t want to go.  I
wanted so desperately to be with Helen.

Several times Aunt Sue asked me if I was all right,
and I just told her I was a bit tired.  I wonder if in
the end she guessed what the problem really was, as
she stopped asking and would smile at me instead when
my mind was obviously kilometres away.

On the outward journey my mind went back over the best
things that had happened.  Rolling on the bed and the
floor with Helen, wearing only our underwear, all
those little kisses on her neck and her cheeks,
talking together . . . this progressed to the things I
wanted to say to her, telling her I loved her again
and how beautiful her eyes were and that I loved her
and she had beautiful hair and that I loved her and
she had lovely skin . . . and there she was, telling
me she loved me too and how strong I was and how brave
I was and how she loved me . . . and then we were
kissing again, little kisses on her neck first . . .

“You’re very quiet, Roy, are you all right?” came Aunt
Sue’s voice from far away, at the front of the car.

Then at the club I wished I was showing Helen around. 
I took her hand and we walked naked side by side along
the road and I introduced her to people and everybody
said what a beautiful girl Roy has and she obviously
loves him so much and we went to the pool and I had
her on my shoulders and we beat everybody in piggyback
fights, even the grown-ups, and then we had our sports
day and I won all the races with Helen cheering me on
and winning at the finishing line, even the
cross-country, where I had a tough battle against the
national cross-country champion, but I just pulled
ahead of him in a sprint finish and Helen said how
wonderful I was, and we were just having our barbecue
that evening when suddenly there was a growl and a
wildcat sprang out of the bushes and everybody ran
away, but Helen was too slow and it grabbed her . . .

“Are you all right today, Roy?” came Aunt Sue’s
puzzled voice from next to me on the rug beside the
pool.  “Don’t you want to swim?”

And Helen wasn’t there after all, so I didn’t even
bother to shoot the blasted wildcat anyway.  But at
least it stopped Aunt Sue asking me silly questions.

“Have you got something on your mind today, Roy?”  Not
for long, though.

“Roy, do you know you’ve got bananas sticking out of
your ears?”

“Yes, Aunt Sue.”

“Roy, you’re just not listening to a word I’m saying
today, are you?”

“Sorry, Aunt Sue, I really can’t hear you properly
with these bananas sticking out of my ears.”

I wish I had thought of that punchline at the time
instead of six years later.

I wondered what Helen was doing.  Was she thinking of
me all the time?  Was she wishing I was with her, and
dreaming about saving me from a wildcat?  It wasn’t
until some years later I realised that, as a girl, she
would have been thinking far more of melting into my
arms and talking lovingly with me under the stars and
dancing with me and going out with me and nursing me
while I was ill than saving me from some old wildcat,
a task I could quite easily accomplish by myself.

It was an awfully long day.  When we returned home I
realised that I had another 23 hours and 32 minutes
until I could hope to see Helen again.  I couldn’t
stand it.  I had to do something.

I told my parents I had to be at school early the next
morning because I wanted to do some extra athletics
training.  They didn’t question me.  I knew what time
Helen’s school bus left in the morning and I was there
on the street near her house half an hour before that
time.

My heart was thumping wildly and I was cold in the
October morning, but I was desperate to see her again,
desperate to know if she would be pleased to see me,
desperate to know if she loved me too.  I took a side
road and kept a careful watch from under cover,
painfully aware that I had been lurking in the area
more than once and people might be getting suspicious.
 But this, I thought, whatever happened, would
probably be the last time I would need to hide.

I had to wait about 15 minutes before finally I saw a
figure in school uniform turn from her road and head
in my direction.  She looked so small and vulnerable! 
I loved her all over again.  Hopefully and fearfully,
I drew back and kept out of sight.  She didn’t turn,
except to check for cars, as she walked past me about
20 metres away.

I waited no longer.  I jumped on my bicycle and sped
out on to the road without looking.  Moments later I
realised I hadn’t been looking and felt relieved I
hadn’t had an argument with a car over right of way.

Grinning furiously, I swung over on to the wrong side
of the road and on to the grass verge just behind
Helen and rang the bicycle bell.  Startled, she turned
round.

Then came one of the most wonderful moments of my
life, exactly as I had dared to visualise in my
dreams, except without a hug and kiss to finish with. 
She stared for a moment, open-mouthed, and then gave a
gasp.  Her suitcase clattered to the ground.  Her face
flushed bright red and burst into a beaming smile. 
“Roy!” she shrieked, jerking her arms up as if she
wanted to hug me, but then remembered she couldn’t do
it in public.  So she just stood there, her mouth
still open, gazing at me, eyes shining with delight.

“Hello, Helen,” I blurted out, and then stopped.  I
was so overcome my eyes filled with tears and my voice
choked.  I knew in that moment that she loved me too.

“Roy, what – are you doing here?  I didn’t think I’d
see you – until tonight,” she almost shouted, unable
to stop her pleasure from shining through her face.

“I had to go to school early for athletics practice,”
I told her.  And then I hated myself for my cowardice
and said, “No, not really.  I mean, I couldn’t wait
till this evening.  I just had to see you again before
tonight.  I – I missed you so much yesterday.”

“Me too,” she smiled eagerly at me, unable to take her
lovely brown eyes off me, face still glowing.

Such honest intimate conversation confused us both and
we didn’t know what to say.  She let me take her case
this time, and I briefly wrestled with the problem of
riding a bicycle and carrying a suitcase at the same
time, until she reminded me that I actually had a
carrier that would take both her case and mine.  I
felt desperately afraid I had made a complete fool of
myself in her eyes, but she didn’t seem to think so.

We still didn’t know what to say to each other as I
cycled slowly next to her.  She kept flashing me
smiling glances out of the corner of her eye and still
she kept blushing.  My heart was singing.  My girl was
pleased to see me!  My Helen loved me!  I blinked
furiously to hold back the tears.

“I – I’m sorry I didn’t bring you any flowers, but I –
I knew you wouldn’t have anywhere to put them at
school,” I said eventually.

“That’s all right,” she assured me, with another shy
smile.

We walked in silence until we reached the junction
with the main road.  Julie was waiting there for Helen
and gave me a big smile.  She showed no surprise, but
then she had seen me coming for two or three minutes. 
Then I said, “I – I’d better go now.”

I’m sure Helen understood that I didn’t want the other
girls waiting for the bus to see me, and neither would
she.  “All right,” she smiled.  “Bye!”

“See you tonight.  Bye,” I responded, and sat there on
my bicycle, watching as they walked down the road
together.  They turned at the corner and waved
enthusiastically before continuing their journey.

I rode my bike up the route followed by the bus and
stopped, waiting for the bus to drive past.  Helen and
Julie were sitting together near the back.  I smiled
and they smiled as the bus drove past, but none of us
dared wave, with other children on the bus.  I sat
there and watched until it disappeared from sight.

The teachers made more sarcastic comments to me than
mere queries about bananas in my ears that day.  I
could think of nothing but the fact I was now so sure
was true.  Helen loved me.  Helen loved me.  Helen
loved *me*!  Time crawled until school ended and I
could speed back to the road where I would wait for
Helen again.

Julie came too, but more I’m sure because she liked me
rather than because Helen needed the support of a
friend.  They both beamed with pleasure to see me
waiting for them just off the main road, and as usual
I had some flowers for Helen, from our garden.  I also
brought a rose for Julie, which quite delighted her.

We walked together to Helen’s house, and they had all
sorts of girl chatter about their day.  A couple of
caustic comments about ‘bossy’ Carrie did not miss my
attention.

At the corner where Helen turned off, Julie said she
couldn’t stay, and turned back to retrace her steps. 
Helen and I moved on to her gate together.  As she
crouched down to find her key, I asked, “May I come
inside – just for two minutes?”

Helen looked pleased, and then said, “Just two
minutes.  Mum comes home soon, and she – wouldn’t
allow you in without her there.”

I agreed, and slipped in behind her.  I think she had
some idea of what I wanted, especially as, when she
had pushed the gate closed behind her to lock, I said,
“Let’s get somewhere by ourselves before you go in.” 
I pushed my way through a thin part of the hedge and
we stood on the front lawn on the other side, with
trees between ourselves and the house.  I glanced
quickly around to make sure there was nobody to see
us.  I never gave a thought to spy satellites, so if
we were both on video that night, I didn’t know it.

I had been grappling with a problem.  I knew what I
wanted, and I was sure Helen would want it too.  But I
was too shy to ask directly for what I wanted, and I
was sure Helen would be too.  Therefore we had to
reach the destination we both wanted by a roundabout
route.

“Are you wearing your thong today?” I asked her.  She
smiled a little shyly and shook her head.  “Have you
had a thong inspection at school?” I asked her.

“No,” she said and looked slightly disconcerted.  I
think she was still worrying about the prefects or
other girls in her class.

“Well, I think you should have one now,” I told her
teasingly, grinning down into her lovely eyes.  “How
much do you charge for an inspection?”

She gave a giggle, as she understood how to play the
game.  “Lots and lots of kisses,” she told me.  “Until
I tell you to stop.”

“Suits me,” I told myself.  She took a step back,
reached down for the hem of her skirt and pulled it
up.  She was so generous that she pulled it up far
enough for me to see her navel.  She was wearing white
woollen panties very much like Shelley’s for the cold
mornings, and I loved them.

As she pulled her skirt down again, I thought of
asking if she had a thong hidden under her panties,
but decided not to push it too far.  Yet.  “Now I
think I owe you something,” I smiled, holding wide my
arms for her.

She melted into them, wrapping her arms tightly round
my back.  I began with her soft, cool neck, nibbling
gently and covering it with tiny kisses in between the
two ponytails she was wearing this day.  Then I worked
round to her ear, and then her cheek.  When I reached
her cheek, she turned her head and started kissing me
in return.

It was quiet ecstasy.  Eventually we both stopped and
gazed into each other’s eyes, doing nothing more than
look and love.  Then she gave a sigh and said, “My
mum’s coming soon.  You’d better go.”

“I’ll have to give you another inspection tomorrow,” I
grinned.

“If you dare!” she laughed, wagging a finger at me.

She opened the gate for me.  With still nobody in
sight, I bent my head and gave her a big smacking kiss
on the cheek.  “Helen, I – love you,” I blurted out
again, before turning in embarrassment and stumbling
out of the gate with my bike.

“Me too,” I heard her say rather unsteadily behind me.
 “See you tomorrow, Roy.”

I cycled home in a whirl once again, but a joyful one
this time.  It might have been rather less so had I
succeeded in getting run over.  I was wandering over
to the middle of the road when an angry hoot behind me
brought me to my senses.

I set off early and met Helen on her way to school
again next morning.  As we travelled together, she
said, “My mum wants to meet you again tonight.  At
about a quarter past five.”

My immediate thought was one of panic.  Had she found
out anything – about us?  Did she know I had been
there on Saturday?  Had someone seen us kissing – or
me inspecting for thongs?  “What about?” I asked
hurriedly.

“I think she wants to ask you for a meal,” Helen
replied, to my relief.  “And she wants to meet your
parents.”

That was less of a relief.  “My parents might tell her
that I’m not in your class,” I told her.  “Or that we
don’t come from England either.”

Helen hadn’t thought of that.  “Can you tell them not
to?” she asked.

“I can’t,” I explained.  “They let me do what I want
most of the time because they trust me.  But if I ask
them – well, to tell a lie – they won’t trust me any
more.  And they might stop my freedom.  I think you’ll
have to tell your parents the truth.”

“Then *I’ll* get into trouble,” she protested.  We had
a slight argument, which I soon stopped when her eyes
filled with tears.

That evening I walked her back to her house as usual. 
I was feeling very nervous at the thought of meeting
her parents again, worried that they might suspect
that I was seeing a lot more their daughter than they
imagined – in both senses of the phrase.  But on the
other hand I was interested in meeting Debbie again.

“Does Debbie wear a thong to school?” I asked Helen.

“Yes,” she confirmed.  “My mum and dad don’t know,
though.  She wears a thong whenever she can.  But she
may just wear her panties when you come.”

She gave a giggle.  “Something funny happened last
month.  We had some friends visiting us, and they’ve
got three boys.  Debbie likes the little one, and when
she saw him she bent over to pick him up.  She was
wearing a miniskirt and a thong, and the oldest boy –
he’s five – laughed and shouted out to his mum, ‘I saw
her bum!’  So Mum and Dad say she mustn’t wear a
miniskirt or a thong when we have visitors.”  I
remembered the four-year-old girl down the road from
us.  Small textile children can be lethal.

“How did Debbie feel about – what he said?” I asked.

“Well, she laughed, but I think she felt a little bit
bad,” Helen replied.  “But she doesn’t let things like
that bother her.  I’d never want any boy to see my
bottom.”  I reflected on the irony of that statement,
and it must have occurred to her as well, as a few
seconds later she suddenly giggled and added, “Except
you, of course.”

When we reached her house we had another ‘inspection’,
but I was a little less effusive this time,
remembering I would be meeting her mother very soon. 
Then I had about half an hour to kill before I could
turn up at the house again.

I decided to conceal myself in a side street once
more, this time to see Debbie come home.  Helen told
me she arrived soon after five each evening, so I was
ready at about five o’clock.  I watched as Debbie,
with a couple of friends, walked along the road
without seeing me, their blue skirts swirling around
their knees and their panties or thongs, of course,
well hidden.  They were laughing and joking together,
and I got the impression that Debbie was more carefree
and extraverted than Helen – although Helen wasn’t
really at all shy.  She had only seemed that way when
I first accosted her because she was having trouble at
school.  I was very interested in Debbie, too.

At exactly a quarter past five, I rang the bell at the
gate.  Helen herself came out to open the small gate
for me.  “Mum says I must bring you in through the
front door,” she said.

She brought me into the lounge, where the family were
all waiting for me.  “Hi, Roy,” came Debbie’s cheery
greeting, in her melodious voice with her beautiful
smile.  She was sitting on the sofa watching the
television, which was on quietly.  The parents greeted
me warmly.

They sat me down in an easy chair opposite the sofa,
where Helen went to sit next to Debbie.  Both had
changed out of their uniforms into shorter dresses. 
Debbie, who had been sitting with her knees together,
crossed her legs and I had a quick flash of something
white up her skirt.  I don’t think it was deliberate. 
I couldn’t be sure whether it was panties or thong.

“Roy, Helen really likes you, and we all appreciate
everything you’re doing for her,” the mother said to
me, smiling warmly.  “So we would all really love to
meet your family and invite you all round for a meal
or a barbecue one evening.  Which do you think they’d
prefer?”

I had already planned my answer, but I was nervous
about delivering it, and rather regretted having to do
so.  As I had tried to explain to Helen that morning,
it would be so much easier for us to get together
without keeping it a secret if our families became
friends.  But she didn’t want to own up to lying, so I
had to make an excuse.

“Thank you – very much,” I answered.  “Maybe – a
barbecue.  But please, I – maybe not just yet. 
Perhaps we can wait a – a week or two first.”

The parents looked puzzled.  “Why is that?” the mother
asked.

“Well, I – I haven’t actually told them about Helen
yet,” I stammered.  “So maybe, until I’ve told them,
maybe – we can wait a bit.”

“I think the lad’s a bit shy to tell his parents he
has a girlfriend,” smiled Helen’s father.

“Well – sort of,” I agreed, blushing in spite of
myself and casting a quick glance at Debbie, who was
moving her legs again.  “I – haven’t been friends with
a girl before and I . . .”  I trailed away.

“Very well, Roy, if that’s the way you feel,” the
mother said.  “But I’m not very happy about the fact
that you’re here with us and your parents don’t know
where you are.”

“They know I’m with a friend,” I explained.  “I just –
didn’t tell them who, and they didn’t ask me.”

“Or tell them it was a girl,” smiled the father.

“Good thing you didn’t tell them it was me,” put in
Debbie with a laugh.

“Be quiet, Deborah,” said the mother, but it was with
a laugh and all completely in fun.  They seemed a
happy, caring family.

“Well, Roy, if that’s so, you may come in and visit
us, perhaps once a week, just before dinner like this,
I suppose,” said the mother, raising her eyebrows at
her husband, who nodded.  “But I don’t think we can
invite you for a meal or to come round and play during
the weekends until we’ve at least spoken to your
parents about it.  I think families need to know each
other and approve before we can go any further than
that with you, don’t you think?”

Reluctantly I nodded, glancing at Debbie, who was
scratching her ankle, but without revealing any
secrets.

“You can stay for a few minutes if you like, and then
we’ll be having our meal,” the mother said, heading
off to the kitchen.  “Helen, would you like to take
Roy into the garden?  I’ll call you when we’re ready.”

We stood up and Debbie stood up as well.  “No,
Deborah, you have enough boyfriends as it is,” laughed
her father.  “Sit down and watch the television and
let them be.”

“Oh, boo!” snorted Debbie, smiling anyway and sitting
down, pretending to be cross, arms folded and legs
slightly apart.  I gave myself a split second to stare
in delight at the silky white underwear revealed in
the triangle formed by her legs and skirt.

“She was wearing something white,” I hissed urgently
to Helen, as soon as we got outside.  “Would that be a
thong?”

“You saw – up her skirt?” asked Helen in surprise, and
I hastily had to explain that I couldn’t help it
because she opened her legs when their dad told them
to sit down again.

“I don’t know,” Helen said.  “Most of her thongs are
different colours, but she does have one white pair. 
I’ll ask her later.”

She was able to tell me next day that it was actually
Debbie’s white panties I had seen.  “I don’t want Roy
shouting out that he saw my bum if I bent over,” she
had laughed and Helen, rather shocked, had protested
that I was far too much of a gentleman ever to do
that.  Debbie in turn assured her that she knew that
and was just joking.  So I still had to see my first
real live thong in action – apart from down the back
of jeans or Helen’s demonstration, which I didn’t
really count.

We wandered around the back garden, and Helen took me
right down to the bottom.  There was a rather dirty
garden shed in the corner.

“That’s where Elvira and her boyfriend go on Saturday
mornings,” Helen told me.  “I don’t know why they
always go inside when they could sit outside under the
trees, and it’s much cooler.”  She frowned and looked
rather puzzled.  “I don’t know what they do in there. 
I think he hurts her – sometimes.

“Last month I was alone one Saturday, so I came down
and – well, I wasn’t spying, but just wondering.  I
was here by the shed and heard them talking, but I
couldn’t hear what they said.  Then they stopped
talking.  And then suddenly I could hear Elvira go
‘Uh! Uh! Uh!’  She did it six times, and she got
louder each time, and the last time was so loud and
she sounded in such pain I was frightened.  But then
she suddenly stopped.  She’d done four of them when he
made the same sort of noises, and he did them three
times.  Then they were quiet for a few minutes and
started talking again.  I was scared he had hurt her,
but they weren’t arguing or anything.  And when I saw
her later, she seemed very happy and not hurt at all.”

I tried my best to look puzzled, but I had a pretty
good idea of what had been going on.  I loved Helen
for her innocence and naivety, and didn’t want to
bring her out of it.

“I did ask Debbie later on,” Helen continued.  “And
she just laughed and laughed as if it was funny.  She
told me they had just been arm-wrestling, but I can’t
see anything funny about that.”

I didn’t give my considered opinion.  Helen opened the
door and we looked inside.  There was an old mattress
in one corner, which may have been significant.  “They
probably sit on the mattress and talk, though they do
it for an awful long time,” Helen said.

“They probably do what we do,” I grinned.

Helen stared at me, and then giggled.  “You mean –
cuddle and kiss?” she whispered.  “Yes, I think they
must do.”

We heard Helen’s mum calling us, and so headed back to
the house.  It was just a matter of saying goodbye to
everyone, with an enthusiastic one from Debbie, and
then Helen was deputed to see me to the gate.  Clearly
her mother didn’t imagine what state we might have
reached in our relationship.  “Remember, Roy, we can
have you here more often when you’re ready to talk to
your parents about it,” was her parting shot.

“You must tell her the truth sometime,” I urged Helen
as we walked up the drive together.

“I can’t, because she tells me I must never talk to
any boys on the street or I’ll get into trouble,” she
protested.

“Then I’ll be able to see you at weekends and she
won’t mind,” I told her.

“She doesn’t know, so she doesn’t mind anyway,” was
Helen’s logic.

“Well, can I – come this Saturday morning again?” I
asked, a question I had been bursting to ask all the
time but had hoped she would ask first.

“Yes,” she nodded, to my relief.  “Though Julie will
be here.  Her parents are going away for the weekend
ad she’s staying with us.”

“I like Julie,” I told her.  “But – we won’t get much
time together.”

“Julie understands,” replied Helen.  “And she won’t
tell anyone about us.”

“Did you tell her – about what we did last Saturday?”
I asked, suddenly feeling worried.

“Of course, she’s my friend, so we don’t have
secrets,” answered Helen.  “And she won’t tell.”

“Have you – told anyone else?” I asked warily.

“Only Debbie,” she said confidently.  “And she won’t
tell either.  She says it’s very exciting.”

I felt worried.  Whoever knew a girl who could keep a
secret?  “Look, I think – you need to stop telling
anybody about – anything,” I told her.  “They might
say something by accident and give us away.  I’ve told
nobody at all.  It’s safest that way.”

Helen nodded, but I wasn’t sure I could trust her with
that.  “What about – the other two whose photos were
in the paper?” I asked.

Helen thought I was still talking about Saturday
morning rather than secrets.  “Oh, I’ll invite Steffi
if you like, if Mum will let me,” she said.  “But not
Carrie.  I don’t want her again, after all the trouble
she got us into.  And she’s more bossy than ever. 
She’s rude to Julie and me because we don’t wear
thongs any more.

“We’ve all split up now.  Julie and I go round
together, and Carrie and Steffi go round together. 
But Steffi’s still friendly.  It’s just Carrie keeps
grabbing her and telling her to come, and she always
does what Carrie says.  She’s even started wearing
thongs at school again, to please Carrie, though she’s
scared she’ll get caught.  Maybe if I invite Steffi,
she’ll be more friendly with us and join up with us
again.  That would serve Carrie right.”  It sounded to
me as if she was being a little harsh on Carrie, who
had been her friend for some years, but then I didn’t
know Carrie personally.  “And I’ll tell all the girls
to wear thongs,” she giggled, and my heart leapt.

“Come, quick,” urged Helen, skipping through the
bushes to our usual place.  “You can inspect me.”  She
lifted her skirt, twirled around and her almost bare
bottom flashed before me.  She had put on her thong
specially for me.

But, just at that moment, we heard her mother’s voice:
“Helen!  Hurry up!”

She shot back on to the driveway, face red and
panicky.  “Coming, Mum!” she yelled back urgently, and
hurriedly opened the gate for me.  “I’ll tell her I
was trying to persuade you to tell your parents,” she
hissed, coming close to me and putting her face up. 
Afraid that at any moment her mother might appear at
the far end of the drive, I gave her a quick kiss, got
one in return, and said, with slightly more
confidence, “I love you, Helen.”

“I love you too,” she replied breathlessly, shutting
the gate quickly behind me and running back down the
drive.  I hoped her mother believed her.

I had mixed feelings about Saturday morning.  I think
overall I felt disappointed, because I so much wanted
to have a long time alone with Helen again, getting
even more intimate this time.  But I did like Julie
and had visions of what might be achieved with her,
and I liked the look of Steffi from the photo in the
paper.  She sounded a nice girl, if rather a weak
character.

I continued meeting Helen in the mornings as well as
the evenings, and she really loved it.  Julie met her
on the corner each morning, and I could tell she liked
me as well.  I continued my evening ‘inspections’, and
we both enjoyed it when I settled my account every
time.

On Friday afternoon Julie came home with Helen, as was
to be expected as she was staying for the weekend.  It
just meant that I didn’t know when I would next be
able to share the cuddles and kisses that were so
important between Helen and me.

When we reached Helen’s house, I said goodbye at the
gate.  Helen looked surprised.  “Aren’t you coming
in?” she asked me, surprised.

“Well, all right,” I agreed, also surprised.  I
stepped in after the two girls, wondering what Helen
had in mind.  Surely she realised we couldn’t do it
with Julie there.

But Helen was pushing her way through the hedge,
following by a grinning Julie.  “Come, Roy,” she
called, seeing me lagging behind.

“What *is* this, Helen?” smiled Julie.  Reading
between the lines, I thought Helen had given Julie the
idea that there was something up, but kept her in
suspense.  It looked as if we were going to perform
with an audience.  Well, all right, if Helen wanted it
that way, but I wouldn’t be able to show too much
intimacy.

“Here we are,” smiled Helen at Julie.  “This is what
we do every night.  It’s a game.  Roy says he must
inspect me to make sure I’m not wearing a thong.  But
I charge him two kisses for it.  Roy, are you ready?”

I nodded.  This week until now, it had been ‘lots of
kisses’, so Helen was at least cooling down the
intimacy for our first public viewing.

Helen lifted her skirt, stood up on her toes and did a
pirouette to display her lovely soft woollen white
panties.  Then she dropped her skirt again and stepped
towards me with her face upwards.  I leaned forward
and kissed her gently on either cheek.  Then she
kissed me on the lips.  It was very tame compared to
what we had been doing all week, but I at least was
too embarrassed to try more – and so presumably was
Helen, or she would not have knocked the price down.

“Julie, would you like a turn?” I asked.  Perhaps it
was partly to overcome the awkwardness I felt at
having Julie watch us in action, perhaps it was a
little bit of revenge against Helen for revealing our
secret life.  But mostly I liked the idea.

Julie looked nervous for a second, and then raised her
eyebrows, smiled and nodded her head vigorously. 
“Ooh, Julie!” squealed Helen, who either hadn’t
thought of Julie taking a turn or hadn’t expected her
to agree.

Without looking at me, Julie lifted her skirt high and
spun around, to show me her ordinary shiny white
panties, a very nice pair.  Then she moved towards me,
looking slightly flushed.  I leaned forward and gave
her gentle, loving kisses on both cheeks while Helen
watched in fascination.  She beamed, and then wrapped
her arms round my neck and gave me a big kiss, just
wide of my mouth.  Then she stepped back and laughed
in delight – or was it embarrassment?

“That’s two for the price of one,” I joked, smiling at
them both.  Helen seemed to be accepting it.  Feeling
thrilled to win Julie’s affection as well, I left,
longing for the next morning.

I hung around the phone again so I was ready to answer
it when it rang at about half-past nine.  It was Julie
this time.  “Roy, Helen said I must phone you,” she
told me urgently.  “Come as fast as you can.  Her
parents have gone, but Carrie came without being
invited, and now they’re having a big fight.”

“Isn’t Elvira or Debbie there?” I asked, forgetting my
parents might overhear me.

“Elvira doesn’t know what to do, and Debbie says it’s
none of her business,” was the reply.

I don’t think my parents ever bothered with anything
they may have heard me say on the phone, but Jenny
could be very inquisitive at that time.  But I was
used to shutting her up.  I just called out “Bye!” to
my parents and they didn’t even ask where I was off
to.  It was a very useful arrangement for someone like
me.

As I cycled furiously towards Helen’s house, I tried
to get into the prefect mould of thinking again.  I
had developed quite a reputation as a diplomat during
my last year at junior school, able to talk to
troublesome kids and sort them out, and I felt I had
learned the art of when to be heavy-handed and when to
be kind and gentle.  I had also learned that it wasn’t
a good thing to prejudge the issue, as the one causing
the trouble was sometimes the one who needed a good,
long, understanding talk and support.  So I would have
to see how to go with Carrie.

I discovered gradually later that Steffi had unwisely
told Carrie that Helen had invited her around on
Saturday morning, whereupon Carrie replied that she
had also been invited but had no transport, so could
Steffi give her a lift?  So the trickery succeeded as
easily as that.

I rang the bell at the gate, and Helen opened it,
looking flustered and red in the face.  Julie was also
there, looking cross.  With them were the other two
girls whose photos I knew very well by now.  Steffi
was looking unhappy and nervous.  Carrie was smaller
than I had expected, the smallest of the four, but she
had an even more uncompromising expression on her face
now than in that photo.  They were dressed almost
identically, with short faded blue denim skirts and
white blouses that showed the midriff, Carrie’s
clothing being the skimpier of the two.  Her blouse
was loose and showed a little frilly white bra
underneath.  I noticed she was also wearing bright red
nail varnish and green eyeshadow.

“Hey, what’s this *boy* come for?” Carrie demanded
rudely and indignantly as soon as she saw me.  “Helen,
you’re not going to let him in, are you?”

“I invited him,” Helen told her crossly.  “And I
didn’t invite *you*.”

“Who is he, anyway?  Your boyfriend?” Carrie snorted. 
“Send him away, this is a girls’ club.”

“It’s not a club meeting, it’s just I’m having my
friends round,” insisted Helen, still angry.

“You told everybody to wear thongs,” insisted Carrie,
always making sure she was louder than Helen.  “And
when it’s a Thong Club meeting, it’s *my* club because
I started it and I decide who comes.”

“Well, this time it’s not a Thong Club meeting because
it’s at my house and *I* decide who comes,” stormed
Helen, getting so angry tears were coming into her
eyes.  “And Roy isn’t wearing a thong, is he?”

“Isn’t he?  Let’s find out,” demanded Carrie.  She
turned to me, standing there smaller than my shoulder,
but very aggressive, with hands on hips.  “Listen,
boy, if you want to come to *my* club meeting you must
follow the rules or else you go home.  Take off your
shorts and show us if you have a thong.  Let’s see
what you’ve got under there.”  And she aimed a kick in
the direction of my crotch.

I am sure that even she did not intend to make contact
with me, or maybe she expected me to dodge out of the
way.  But I think she had worked herself up into such
a state that she miscalculated, and her foot hit me
right in the testicles.  I have taken worse blows than
that, but it was enough to make me gasp and
involuntarily jerk forward from the waist for a
moment.

I could never have imagined Helen losing her temper,
but now Carrie had gone just too far.  With a scream
Helen launched herself at Carrie, hitting out wildly. 
Carrie, taken totally by surprise, screamed in her
turn and fell to the ground, cringing and yelling as
Helen shouted and slapped her.  Helen had no idea at
all how to hit anybody so that it hurt, being such a
gentle girl by nature, but Carrie yelled like a pig
being slaughtered, kicking wildly and displaying the
deep dull orange front of her thong.  Julie and Steffi
was standing by amazed, hands clasped to mouths.

“Come on, Helen, that’s enough,” I told her, stepping
forward and putting out my hand to restrain Helen if
necessary.  Seeing me move up and raise a hand, Carrie
gave another wail and cringed, turning her head away. 
I suddenly noticed that she had a yellowish bruise and
a dried cut on one eyebrow, clearly not something
Helen had inflicted.

Helen meekly stopped slapping or swatting, or whatever
you could call it, but was in tears as she looked up
at me and said, “But she *hit* you.”

“I think she was just pretending, and it went wrong,”
I told her.  “I was surprised, but not really hurt.” 
Carrie was looking up at me angrily, except her eyes
gave her away.  There was no anger in her eyes but
only fear.

“Come on, Carrie, get up,” I said, adopting my quiet,
firm prefect tone.

“Not if you’re going to hit me,” she whimpered, trying
to make her voice sound bossy, quite unsuccessfully,
halfway through.

“I don’t hit girls,” I told her with scorn.  “Stand up
now.”

“Your panties – your thong is orange, and Roy can see
it,” Steffi pointed out helpfully.  Carrie glared at
her furiously.

I stood there looking down at Carrie coldly.  She
stared back at me, tried to look arrogant, failed, and
climbed slowly to her feet.

“Roy, make her go home, please,” requested Helen.  “I
didn’t invite her and I don’t want her.”

I realised that Carrie would have no transport, and
the nearest I could do would be to force her to wait
outside the gate until Steffi’s mother returned – and
her mother might decide to sue me for that, citing
danger to her darling daughter left at the mercy of
any sort of robber, pervert or masochist who wanted to
inflict a girl like that on himself.  It would be a
test of my diplomatic skills to bring about a
reasonable solution.

“Carrie, why did you come today to Helen’s house when
she didn’t invite you?” I asked her quietly as she
stood there, watching me warily under hooded eyelids.

“She asked Steffi, so I thought she meant me as well,”
retorted Carrie, regaining her composure. “She’s
always invited me before, so I thought she just
forgot.”

There was an ironic laugh from Julie.  “You didn’t
tell Steffi like that,” she pointed out.

“Helen, you told me why you didn’t invite Carrie,” I
said, turning to her encouragingly.  “I think you need
to tell Carrie those reasons now.”

Helen, having regained her temper, also seemed to
regain a slight fear of Carrie.  “Because – she’s so
bossy,” she began.  “And . . .”

Carrie burst out in protest, but I told her sharply to
be quiet.  She obeyed, but looked very sullen.  “And
she got us all into trouble about the thongs,” Helen
concluded.  Julie made murmurs of agreement.  Steffi
just looked nervous and unhappy.

“Helen, how long has Carrie been your friend?” I
asked.

“Five years,” muttered Helen.  Families who sent their
children to the Catholic school were often permanent
residents of the country, instead of the transient
expatriates who usually supported the private English
schools I attended.

“Have you been cross with her all that time?” I asked,
trying not to sound too much like an attorney
cross-examining a witness.  Helen shook her head.

“When you were friends with Carrie, what did you like
most about her?” I asked.

“Well, she was fun,” muttered Helen awkwardly.  “She
always had – exciting ideas and we all – liked to go
along with her.  When she wasn’t bossy.”

I had to shut up Carrie again.  “Do you really want to
end five years of friendship for ever with somebody
who can be such fun, though?” I asked Helen.

“Well – not really,” said Helen thoughtfully.  “But
she got us into trouble with the thongs and was never
sorry.  I think she needs to be punished for that.”

“I didn’t know there was going to be any trouble over
the thongs,” burst out Carrie.  “Besides, it was all
fun and Sister O’Halloran can’t do anything because my
mother . . .”

“It may be fun for you because you like to show off
and get your own back on Sister O’Halloran,” retorted
Helen.  “But *we* didn’t like it, and you got us into
it.”

“And she’s always calling people stupid if they don’t
agree with her,” put in Julie.  She mimicked Carrie in
a put-on voice.  “Oh, you’re so stupid.  You’re so
stupid.”

I stopped Carrie, who was shouting back, and decided
we would never get anywhere this way.  “Helen, can you
take the others off and all of you go and play
somewhere else for a while?” I asked.  “I need to sort
this out with Carrie.”

“All right,” agreed Helen, inviting the others to go
with her.

“Steffi, you stay,” ordered Carrie.

Steffi looked uncertainly at Carrie and then at me.  I
told her quietly to go with Helen, and she went
timidly without looking back at Carrie, who stood
there glowering furiously at me.

“You’re ruining our whole morning!” she accused me
angrily.  “This is a girl’s club and we do girl
things, and we don’t want boys here.”

“Remember that Helen invited me but she didn’t invite
you,” I replied.

I had a long talk with Carrie, which I’ll summarize as
best I remember.  I was 12 then, not 18, so I wasn’t
as experienced or as fluent with girls then as I am
now.  But I did make the points that I’ve included
below, even though I didn’t make them as quickly or as
immediately as I would nowadays.  So I must admit
that, if I sound like myself today instead of a less
confident 12-year-old, it’s only because for the save
of brevity and clarity I’ve left out all my gropings
that made the process so much longer and harder.

“Sit down and let’s talk about things,” I suggested,
sitting on the grass.

She remained standing.  “I don’t have to do anything
you say,” she sneered.

“No, but if you don’t I can put you outside the gate
to wait all the time until you’re picked up,” I told
her.

“If you do that my mother will sue you,” she
threatened me.

“No, she won’t, because my father’s a lawyer,” I lied.

Carrie believed me because she looked quite shocked
and deflated.  I gave her my best prefect look, and
reluctantly she sat down.  I noticed she kept one hand
very firmly over the front of her skirt to ensure my
eyes did not espy the thong of which she was so proud,
while the other she kept near her throat, no doubt to
try to stop me from seeing her bra.  She looked down
near her shoes and starting fidgeting with a blade of
grass.

“Carrie, why are toy so bossy?” I asked.

“I’m not bossy,” she snapped.  “Helen just says that
because she hates me.”

“You were bossy as soon as I arrived here,” I told
her.  “You tried to tell me what to do, Helen what to
do, and you kicked me.”

“I didn’t mean to kick you,” she said aggressively.

“I know, I believe you,” I answered.  If she was
surprised, she didn’t show it.  “But you were bossy
all the time.”

“That’s because the others were so horrid,” she
muttered.

“How can you expect them to be nice when you come
round to Helen’s house without being invited?” I
asked.

“I *should* have been invited!” she said fiercely,
looking up and glaring at me for a moment.  “It’s my
club!  I started it!”

“This wasn’t a club meeting,” I reminded her.  “Helen
was inviting the others round to meet me, and it
wouldn’t have been any good asking you because you
didn’t want to meet me.”

“She didn’t even ask me,” snorted Carrie.

I decided to take a gamble, and my instincts were
correct.  “I know why you’re bossy,” I told her.  She
didn’t answer, but I guessed she was interested. 
“It’s because you’re unhappy,” I told her.

She almost spat at me.  “I’m *not* unhappy!” she
snapped.

I decided to take an even wilder gamble, remembering
how Carrie had reacted when Helen attacked her and
when she thought I was going to hit her.  “How did you
get that cut on your face?” I asked her.

She glared at me again, but I thought she looked
fearful.  “I bumped into a door,” she muttered, which
sounded like a stock answer.

“Did your mother do it?” I asked, going right out on a
limb in a way that I might well think better of at 18.

Looking at her feet again, Carrie jerked convulsively.
 “No – o!” she insisted viciously, and then seemed to
choke.  She put her head down and her back heaved and
kept on heaving.  Try as she might, she couldn’t stop
herself from crying deeply and bitterly.  She was
indeed a deeply hurt girl.

I just sat there and waited, wishing I could put an
arm round her, but all her body language told me any
gesture on my part would be rejected.  Slowly she
regained some measure of composure, but she never
looked up.

“Do you think I hate you?” I asked in the end.

There was a pause, as I think she tried to make sure
she could speak properly.  Then she muttered
scornfully, “Of course you do.  And I hate *you*.”

“I don’t hate you,” I told her, trying to sound as
casual as I could.  “If I hated you, I would throw you
out or say and do horrible things to you or let Helen
beat you up, wouldn’t I?  And you couldn’t do anything
because my dad’s a lawyer.”  She had no answer to
that.

“I hope I can get to like you,” I continued.  “I want
you to stay.  But we’re going to have to get Helen to
agree, and we can’t do that unless we make a plan for
you to be friendly with her again.”

There was a long pause.  “I’m not bossy,” she finally
said, her voice choking despite her efforts.  She
still hadn’t looked up.

There was no point in arguing with her about that. 
“The trouble is the others think you are and when I
first saw you I thought you were,” I answered.  “If
you aren’t kind to others and you order them to do
things the way you want all the time, they’re going to
think you’re bossy.  So you’re going to have to change
the way you treat them a bit.”

Nowadays I realise that a lot of Carrie’s bossiness
came from fear.  Whatever went on at home with her
mother, she couldn’t control it and, in the same way
often as a boy who is a bully, she tried instead to
control her peer group at school.  By being bossy and
domineering, she put a bit of fear into others, and
perhaps being small herself made her more aggressive
than ever.  But, when taken by surprise by Helen’s
attack after pushing her too far, the bubble perhaps
had burst and the other girls might not be quite as
compliant in future.

Carrie said nothing but continued to fidget with the
grass by her feet.  But she had completely forgotten
to hide her thong, which was easily visible up her
skirt as she sat.  She had taken such care with her
skirt when first sitting down, so I guessed she was
pretty shaken up to have forgotten so quickly.

“You’re a good leader but you need to be a kind
leader,” I told her.  “Helen showed you this morning
that she won’t put up with you being unkind any
longer, didn’t she?”

“Why should I?” muttered Carrie.  “Nobody’s kind to
*me*.”  Then she looked up sharply, eyes still sharp
and damp, and said vehemently, “If you tell the others
about this – or about my mother – I’ll kill you!”

“You can’t do a thing,” I told her quietly and firmly,
in my strong prefect way.  “But I won’t tell them. 
And I think *I’ve* been pretty kind to you today.  You
hit me, remember?  I could hit you, I could be
horrible to you and I could throw you out.  But
instead of that, I’m talking to you nicely.”

Carrie fidgeted with the grass again.  Finally she
muttered sullenly, “So what do you want?”

“I want you to stay and to be friends with Helen
again,” I told her.  “I’d like to be friends with you
myself, but I don’t think you’ll want that.  But we
need to get Helen to agree.  I think the big problem
right now is that Helen blames you for all the trouble
over the thongs.”

Almost immediate Carrie’s hand moved to press down her
skirt sharply in the middle to cut off my view.  “I
didn’t know it was going to cause all that trouble,
did I?” she objected.  “We just wore them for fun and
it was just bad luck that Sister O’Halloran saw us.”

“You teased her and said unkind things to her – and
the others – when you first got a thong, until they
did too?” I asked her.

“That was just fun, it wasn’t serious,” Carrie
protested.

“The others didn’t think it was fun,” I told her. 
“Look, you know it, and no excuses.  You’ve been
making those other girls do what you want all the
time, and being unkind to them if they didn’t.  But it
won’t work any more, because they know now how scared
you are of getting beaten up.”

She put her head down and flushed with shame, but of
course trying to hide it and fidgeting with the grass
again.  “You’re in danger of losing your place as
leader,” I told her.  “If you stay split up, Steffi
might want to join them as well, and you’ll be left by
yourself.”

“I don’t care.  They can go if they want,” she
retorted.

“I know you do care,” I told her.  “And I care about
it too, so that’s why I’m trying to talk to you now. 
I think the thing that bothers Helen the most was the
trouble the others in the class and the prefects
caused with her about the thongs.  She says that you
didn’t care and you showed off and enjoyed it” (I
didn’t really believe she enjoyed it) “but she didn’t
like it at all and she thinks you didn’t care about
how she felt.  She doesn’t want to wear thongs at
school any more.”

“Well, that’s her business,” muttered Carrie.

“Yes, it is, not yours,” I put in as gently as I
could.  “So you need to respect others when they want
different things from you instead of teasing them or
bossing them.  I think today may be your last chance
to stay friends with Helen and Julie.  If you can tell
them you’re sorry they feel bad about the thongs, and
try to be a bit kinder, I think that may work.  Can
you do that?”

She shrugged, trying to play it cool.  “I suppose so,
if they’re that worried,” she pouted.

“Look, I’ve an idea, and I’m not going to force you
because I respect you and you may not agree,” I told
her.  “I can go and talk to Helen now, and see if
she’ll let you stay and let you talk to her, and you
can just tell her you’re sorry she felt bad about the
trouble at school.  I think that’ll be enough, as long
as you’re kind.  I’ll try and get her to allow you to
stay.  If not, I don’t want to put you outside, but I
will make sure you don’t join in with Helen when she
doesn’t want you.  But I’m sure she’ll agree if I talk
to her.  Does that sound all right?”

“If you like, I don’t care,” she shrugged, but I
wasn’t fooled.

“Will you tell her you’re sorry she felt bad about
school?” I asked.

She shrugged again.  “All right,” she said.

I didn’t like her attitude, but realised she had the
problem of her pride to deal with and was probably
pretending.  But I wasn’t nearly as certain as I tried
to sound either, and this was the best response I
could get from her.

“All right, you stay here for a few minutes and I’ll
talk to Helen,” I said, getting up.

“Don’t tell her I’m sorry for coming, because I’m
not,” she called after me.

“That’s up to you, you can make it a good thing or a
bad thing for yourself,” I turned and told her.  “I’m
trying to make it a good thing, so you can all be
friends again and you can be the leader, so don’t mess
it up for me.”  She said nothing more as I walked off.

As I said before, it didn’t happen anything like as
smoothly or easily as this at all.  At 12 I was still
learning, so I made mistakes, we argued more than I’ve
shown here, and only got anywhere by roundabout
routes.  But somehow it did work out and I managed to
get Carrie’s reluctant co-operation.

I wasn’t sure where Helen and the others had gone, but
when I glanced at the house I saw an upstairs curtain
moving, so I had a pretty good idea.  Nowadays I would
accept as a matter of course that any 10- or
11-year-old girls in such a situation – girls of any
age! -  would naturally try to position themselves so
they could at least see what was going on.  I didn’t
think they would have been able to see much of the
place where I was with Carrie, near the gate, but no
doubt they had been glued to that window for some
time.

The front door was ajar, so I went in and called for
Helen.  There was some scuffling of feet and then
Helen’s voice called out, “We’re in my bedroom.”  I
could also hear some rock music, not too loud, from
above, so I guessed Debbie was also at home, and that
excited me.  Actually Debbie was older and she was a
girl, so she should have been handling that whole
situation with Carrie.

The girls were all there, trying to look unconcerned. 
Steffi was sitting on the bed with one leg up, so I
saw her yellow thong straight away.  She was still
looking nervous.  “Where’s Carrie?” asked Helen.

“Have you thrown her out?” Julie wanted to know.

“No, she can’t get home and we could be in trouble if
we force her to wait outside the gate,” I told them. 
“But I think she’s sorry things went wrong over the
thongs.  I’ve told her not to be so bossy.  She’s a
bit too proud to say sorry, but I think she wants to
be friends again.  So maybe you can give her a chance
this morning, and if it doesn’t work I’ll make her sit
by the gate for the rest of the time and out of your
way.”

“And if it doesn’t work Helen can hit her again,”
grinned Julie.

Helen looked a bit uncomfortable about this, but said,
“You’re so clever, Roy.  Usually it’s impossible to
talk sense to her.  Where is she?”

“I told her to wait outside.  Do you want me to bring
her up here?” I asked.

Helen nodded.  “Will you all give her a chance again?”
 I asked.  “I’ll be around and make sure she keeps to
her part.”  They all duly nodded.

Before I left, I suddenly remembered to turn round,
smile and say, “I haven’t even had chance to say hello
to Steffi yet.  Hello, Steffi, how are you doing?”

She smiled back shyly and said, “All right.”

I went to the stairs, to find Carrie unashamedly
waiting at the bottom.  No doubt she had been hoping
to overhear something, but with Debbie’s music in the
background I’m sure that hadn’t been possible.  Still,
I was pretty annoyed that she should have deliberately
disobeyed me.

I put on an act of being much more angry than I was. 
“I told you to wait outside where we were!” I stormed,
galloping down the stairs towards her.

Again Carrie showed that boxing, wrestling, rugby and
American football were not likely to provide her with
future careers.  “I’m going, I’m going,” she squealed,
backing away as fast as she could and heading for the
front door.  I chased her outside, with the other
girls fascinated spectators at the top of the stairs.

She was still backing away fearfully as I stormed
through the front door.  I felt it necessary to
frighten her again to make sure she didn’t think she
could get away with anything during the morning.  If I
could not control her, she would quickly make all my
efforts a disaster.  Or perhaps she was deliberately
testing me to see if I deserved her respect.

I chased her all the way back to the place where we
had talked.  “Look, no big deal, I’m here!” she
squealed.

I came as close as she would let me, which was about
ten metres, and then stopped.  “I am trying to sort
everything out for you and you deliberately creep back
to spy on us when I told you to stay!” I shouted at
her, still acting up quite a bit.

“Okay, okay, I won’t do it again,” she defended
herself desperately.  “I just – needed the loo, that’s
all.”

I refrained from telling her there were plenty of
bushes around us that might benefit from a little
fertilisation.  I glared at her for a good few
seconds, while she looked most uncomfortable.  Then I
said, “Right, Helen and the others are ready to make
friends again.  So you remember what you need to tell
them?”

She nodded, and then followed me back to the front
door, where the other girls were waiting.  They all
looked a bit embarrassed as Carrie approached.

“Look, I didn’t know things were going to turn out
badly about the thongs,” she said.  “I didn’t mean it
to happen.  I didn’t want you to feel bad, okay?  So
we can stay friends.”  I suppose this was about as
close to an apology as Carrie was likely to get.

Helen again looked embarrassed, but nodded and said,
“Okay,” quietly, as did Julie.  Steffi as usual kept
out of it, standing to one side, ignored by the
others.  She struck me as a nice girl, but one easily
led and liable to take the path of least resistance
without annoying anybody.

Carrie broke the ice somewhat by holding her hand out
to Helen, palm outwards.  Helen hesitated, then put up
her own palm and slapped it gently.  Carrie did the
same with Julie, who grinned as she slapped a bit
harder, in fun.  It seemed to be a group greeting of
sorts, and they all smiled at each other rather
sheepishly.

“Let’s start the club meeting now,” decided Carrie,
taking charge again, but not objectionably.

“It’s not really a club meeting,” said Helen, quietly
making her point.  “But we can make it one.  Let’s
play.”

I sensed things were about to start, but had no idea
what.  And I was not about to be disappointed.  This
was to be one of the most memorable mornings of my
life.

(To be continued)



YOU PUT A THONG INTO MY HEART (CHAPTER 4)


The meeting of the Thong Club was about to come to
order.  The girls seemed to have met here before, as
they trooped off to a rather secluded spot on the
thick green grass under a spreading tree.

There was a bit of embarrassed giggling and sidelong
glances at me from the girls, apart from Helen. 
Hoping to be told I could stay, I asked, “What do you
want me to do?”

“Roy, could you ask Debbie and Anthea if they want to
join our club?  Tell them the meeting is about to
start,” Carrie instructed rather than asked me.  But
she was not being unpleasant, so I decided to
co-operate, sensing a little relief from the girls. 
Debbie obviously had a friend with her.

I went into the house without looking back.  As I
climbed the stairs, there was a small window that
overlooked the front garden, and I glanced through it.
 Presumably the girls hadn’t realised that, although
most of the house may have been hidden from their
view, they could just be seen through the branches
from this particular window.

I could see Helen walking in front of the other girls
as if she were a model.  She faced the others,
curtsied, and then lifted her skirt higher to reveal
that white thong I had seen on my last visit.  Then
she turned round and bent forward, so that her largely
bare bottom was facing her friends, before walking
elegantly off.  I saw the other girls clapping her,
and also casting furtive directions towards the house
in case I was coming back.  Clearly they began the
meetings with an inspection of their own and felt
happier without having me around.

Steffi followed Helen on stage, revealing her yellow
thong at the front and white bottom at the back, while
I could not tear myself away from the window.  Finally
Julie had her turn, the only girl whose thong I had
not seen before.  Julie’s chosen colour was pink – for
the thong, that is.  Her bottom was a tradition pastel
textile white.  I did not see Carrie have her turn, so
I guessed I had missed her while I was going upstairs.

I nipped quickly along the passage, knowing I could
not be gone for too long without arousing suspicion. 
I hoped Debbie would join us.  I knocked on her door,
but immediately her voice came from the other side,
very firmly, “No, thank you, please go away.” 
Presumably she had been expecting an invitation,
whether to join in or mediate in the quarrel, but was
not interested.

I scampered downstairs without announcing myself.  The
girls outside were lying on their stomachs in a square
on the soft grass, heads together in the middle
resting on chins, legs out behind them.  The cheeks of
Carrie’s bottom, with a dull orange string barely
covering the crack, were visible as I approached, but
she didn’t appear aware of it.  They looked over their
shoulders at me and giggled.

“No, Debbie won’t come,” I told them, which I was sure
they knew.  I slumped down on the grass between Helen
and Julie.  “What did you do while I was away?”

They giggled.  Carrie said, “We talked about what
we’re going to do this morning.”

“And we showed each other our thongs,” giggled Helen.

“Don’t tell him,” whispered Steffi, looking worried.

“Shut up, Helen, don’t be stupid,” broke in Carrie. 
Then suddenly she remembered, and rephrased it.  “I
mean, Helen, you don’t need to tell Roy – private
things.”

“It doesn’t matter because we can trust him,” Helen
asserted.  “He knows lots of private things – about
me.”  Steffi’s eyes grew wide and Carrie’s grew
narrow.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me if the others
don’t want you to,” I assured Helen.  “I don’t want
the other girls feeling bad, because I – I know some
girls are shy about private things.”

“I’m not shy, it’s just not your business because
you’re not a club member,” Carrie said, verging on
unacceptable bossiness again.  “The rules are that
club members have to wear miniskirts and thongs
whenever we meet.”

“Well, I haven’t . . .” I began, and then remembered I
was wearing a new T-shirt that morning, bought for my
birthday and rather too big and long for me because my
mother wanted them to last until my next birthday.  I
had shown it off to Jenny often enough as ‘my dress’
because it was long enough to cover my crotch and
bottom.

“Hey, I’ve got a miniskirt,” I exclaimed.  “Like
this.”  I pulled out my shirt and slipped my shorts
off underneath.  I tossed my shorts aside and stood
there proudly in front of the girls in my long shirt. 
“There you are,” I told them.

They giggled, and I realised that because they were at
ground level, they could see my underpants up my
shirt.  Steffi turned her head and whispered something
in Carrie’s ear, and I had no doubt that was the gist
of it.

“But you’re not wearing a thong, so you still can’t be
a member,” objected Carrie.

“Roy, you can borrow my other thong,” Helen offered. 
“If you like,” she added, remembering what it looked
like and my reaction to it.

There was no way I wanted to borrow Helen’s other
thong.  “I *am* wearing a thong, too!” I announced
with a grin.  I reached up the back of my shirt with
both hands, took hold of the elastic in the legs of my
underpants on both sides, and pulled it up over my
bottom so that the piece down the middle was pulled
tight and stuck into the crack in my bottom.

I turned round and lifted my shirt to show the girls. 
I wasn’t sure what they could see, but they squealed
with laughter.  When I tried it later at home in front
of a mirror, I could see that indeed it did look
rather like a thong, with a triangular piece at the
top, two bare bottom cheeks and a thin strip of white
material running down the middle.

“Ooh, that’s clever,” giggled Julie.  “We don’t need
to buy thongs after all, we can just do that with our
panties.”  I could have told her, after a while, it
grew rather uncomfortable to have that material stuck
in my backside for too long.

“That’s only the back,” pointed out Carrie, but I
could tell she was running short of arguments.  “Let’s
see what the front looks like.”

“Look, Carrie, you can’t make him . . .” began Helen
uncertainly.

“It’s all right, it doesn’t matter,” I said, turning
to face them and lifting the hem of my shirt.  “It’s
all fun.”

“That’s too wide for a thong,” protested Carrie, but
murmurs from Helen and Julie suggested they were on my
side.  Steffi just giggled with her hand to her mouth.

Experimenting, I turned over the elastic waist of my
underpants and shoved some more material underneath,
pulling it inwards.  Fortunately the elastic was
strong and I had a narrow little pouch to house my
penis and testicles, while showing my groin.  I would
no doubt have shown my pubic hair too, if I’d had any
at that age.  The girls giggled behind their hands and
watched avidly.

“There you are,” I smiled, displaying my little pouch
to them all.

“Come on, Carrie, he’s done it, he’s wearing a thong,”
said Helen, and a murmur of agreement came from Julie.

“He’s still got to do the parade that we did,” said
Carrie.

“All right, but how do we do that?” I asked
innocently.

“I’ll show you,” volunteered Helen quietly, standing
up.  She was wearing a small top with her midriff
showing, as were the others, and a light little red
skirt that suited her well.

She gave a very good repeat performance of what I had
seen through the window, although now I had a ringside
seat.  She walked primly on to the stage, fingers
clutched to the hem of her skirt.  Then she curtseyed,
and kept lifting the skirt until it reached her waist,
revealing again the tapering front of her white thong,
with the groin showing.  The other girls kept turning
to stare at me to see my reactions, which I found
awkward as I didn’t know how to act unconcerned.  When
I shifted my eyes to look at them, they giggled and
turned away.

Helen turned round and bent, spreading her arms wide
like the wings of a swan.  Her bottom was now visible,
apart from the crack itself which was just about
covered by the broad string down the back of the
thong.  The girls giggled and tried to sneak more
glances at me.

Smiling but looking slightly flushed, Helen walked off
to the side and then came to join us.  We all clapped.
 “That really was – nice and sexy,” I told her,
smiling.  I thought ‘sexy’ might be a word to
encourage those girls.  “I can’t be sexy like that.”

“Boys can be sexy too,” Carrie told me, giggling. 
“Now go on and have your turn.”

I followed the route Helen had taken, walking round
the side as if on to a stage, and marching on to the
stage to face the spectators.  I had forgotten to ask
what to do instead of a curtsey, so I decided to
spread my knees wide and curtsey, which brought
laughter.  Keeping my knees bent and spread, I then
hoisted my shirt right up to my chest to show my
makeshift thong.  The girls screamed with laughter. 
“He looks like a spider monkey,” I heard Carrie say.

Then I turned round and bent to show my rear portion
to the gallery.  On a whim, I kept going over, kicked
my legs up and did a handstand, a trick I’m quite good
at after hours in the gym.  I felt my shirt obey the
law of gravity in two stages, first falling over the
lump of my bottom and then slipping all the way down
to flop over my head.  My world went dark, but I could
hear the squeals and almost hysterical laughter of the
girls.

Eventually I allowed myself to collapse on the grass
and lie there still, with my shirt still half over my
face and no lower than my shoulders, bare from the
chest downwards apart from my makeshift thong.  Still
laughing, the girls stood up and gathered round me. 
>From my prone position I was ideally placed to see
right up their skirts.

“Oh, Roy, that was so funny!” chuckled Julie, unaware
that I was feasting my eyes on the soft delicate pink
crotch of her thong and trying not to be seen doing
it.

“We can all see your underpants – your thong,” Carrie
was happy to inform me.  “There’s something sticking
up inside it and making a bulge.”  She giggled and
pretended she was going to poke me in the testicles
with her finger, only this time she made sure she
didn’t make contact.  She had me a bit worried,
though, as my penis was playing up and making its
presence obvious.  Holly again tried to stop her.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s all fun,” I smiled at her,
easing myself on to my elbows so as to reduce the
bulge.

“You can – tuck your shirt into your pant – your thong
to keep it from falling down,” Helen told me
helpfully, showing me, but I already knew that.

“I wonder what it looks like,” I heard Steffi whisper
to Carrie.

“Especially when he’s standing on his hands,” giggled
Carrie.

Carrie came over and stood right next to me, so close
I could see her tummy at the top of her dull orange
thong up her skirt.  “Now, Roy, you must . . .”  Then
suddenly she gave a squeal, clutched herself between
her legs as if she had been caught short, and backed
away.  “Ooh, Roy saw my thong!” I heard her hiss in
giggling embarrassment to the others.

“It doesn’t matter, you can see mine all the time,” I
reminded her.  “I’ll never say stupid things like some
people to make you feel bad.  It’s just fun.”

“Yes, Roy’s all right, Carrie,” Helen assured her.  “I
don’t mind Roy seeing my thong – or anything.”  To
prove her point, she lifted her flimsy skirt again to
show me her white thong.

“Helen, have you ever seen Roy’s – thing?” Steffi
whispered to her.

“And has he ever seen your pussy?” put in Carrie,
quietly but not quietly enough.

“I’m not telling you,” Helen retorted, slightly cross
and slightly embarrassed.  “But it doesn’t matter,
he’s all right.”

Slowly I rose to my feet again, my shirt flopping down
as I did so as per the law of gravity.  “Aw, now we
can’t see your thong any more,” grinned Julie
mischievously.

“Or your thing,” added Carrie.  She nipped forward,
grabbed the hem of my shirt playfully and pulled it up
for a moment to expose my underpants again.

“Hey, if you do that to me I’ll do it to you,” I
threatened her in fun.

“No, you won’t, because you can’t catch me,” she
teased me, also in fun, dancing away out of my reach
and flapping her skirt at me, what little there was to
flap.

I pretended to chase her and she danced away just out
of reach, while the other girls laughed.  It seemed
clear to me that this was all a game and I was free to
join in.  I stepped after Carrie again, and she darted
further away.  This time she turned round, lifted her
skirt and stuck out her almost bare bottom at me.

I just couldn’t understand girls.  Only a moment
before she was jumping back in embarrassment because I
had seen her thong, and now she was deliberately
exposing her bottom to me.  Still, I played along with
the game and chased after her, wondering if I should
catch her.  “If you stick your bottom out at me, I’ll
spank it,” I threatened playfully.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” she jeered, darting
on again.  As I chased her, I puzzled about her again.
 Since she apparently had some violence at home, was
she some sort of masochist, willing to risk my
spanking her bottom hard?  Or did she trust me not to
hurt her?

She kept darting round in circles, and I was sure that
if she really did not want me to catch her, she would
have sprinted off into the trees.  But even when I got
close enough to touch her arm as she ran, she just
laughed and danced around behind me again.  All the
other girls were standing around laughing, so it was
clearly fun for them.

Finally I had Carrie backed up against a tree, perhaps
deliberately on her part.  Laughing, she pretended to
fend me off with her arms, and then fell to the
ground, where she lay, kicking at me with her legs. 
In such a position, her skirt was well up and her
thong fully exposed.  I was sure this was a gift of
trust on her part, as she had suddenly decided that –
well, maybe that she liked and trusted me after all.

I caught hold of one leg, and she laughed all the
louder.  I turned her over, didn’t even need to lift
her skirt at the back because it was already up, and
gave her a light slap on the bare bottom, not hard
enough to hurt.  “There, I told you,” I laughed at
her.

“Pull her panties down!” came a laughing suggestion
from Julie.

“He wouldn’t dare!” laughed back Carrie, but she now
sounded a bit wary.

I was still a bit too nervous to try that, even if I
was sure of her approval, so I backed away, and was
given a diversion by Steffi, Carrie’s faithful
follower.  Giggling, she too pulled her skirt up at
the back and stuck her bottom out at me.  I hardly
needed to chase her as she collapsed in a giggling
heap, kicked weakly at me and laughed as I spanked her
bare bottom lightly.

Helen I think was too polite to stick her bottom out
at me, but she did turn round and pull up her skirt. 
After a token chase I grabbed her behind a large tree.
 Thinking we were out of sight for a second, I wrapped
one arm around her waist, tapped her bottom with my
other, and gave her a kiss on the cheek at the same
time.

“Hey, you kissed her!” came Carrie’s shrill voice, to
my consternation.  “I saw you kiss her!”

“That’s all right, I’ll give you one, too,” I offered,
turning and chasing towards her.

“No!” she squealed, giggling, and ran.  This time
there was a different tone in her voice and she ran
quite a bit further, so I know she meant it this time.

Even at the age of 12 I had known for some time that
so often girls say “No” when they mean “Yes”, but I
had learned the difference.  I also knew that when
girls say “No” and mean “Yes”, it does not always stay
“Yes”, but they can chicken out at the last moment
before physical contact is made and “No” really does
suddenly become “No” again.  But I had learned to be
careful, and if in doubt, don’t.  If “Yes” was really
meant, they will come back to you with more “Noes.” 
Even then you will get an occasional girl confusing
the issue by still meaning “No”, but this is usually a
girl who would like to mean “Yes” but feels safer if
it doesn’t happen after all.  And of course there are
those who suddenly decide they really meant “No” after
all when it is too late and the action has already
taken place.  Even at 18 it is complicated, but at 12
I was pleased I was getting most of them right.  I
wonder if they understand it themselves?

“Anybody else wanting a kiss, then?” I asked, looking
around and making a game of it again.

Steffi quietly slipped off to join Emma, while Julie
stood there giggling.  I looked at her and she said,
“No,” shaking her head and taking one step backwards. 
I suspected she really meant “Yes”, but wasn’t quite
sure, so I turned back to Helen, who was flushing a
little.  After all, kissing a 10-year-old against her
will is to her the equivalent of a rape and I didn’t
want to risk doing anything unforgivable.

Suddenly Julie appeared before me again.  She was
nodding her head.  “All right,” she grinned, pretence
dropped very quickly.  She hunched her shoulders up
and clasped her hands tightly together, standing very
still while she waited.

I really liked this slim, fair-haired little Julie,
although Helen was of course still my favourite.  I
decided to give her a surprise.  Impulsively I put one
arm behind her back, another behind her knees and, as
she squealed, lifted her off my feet and into my arms.
 Then I gave her a big kiss on her surprised cheek.

As I lowered her to the ground, beaming happily,
Carrie came running up again.  “Bet you can’t lift me
up like that!” she challenged me.  Then she added
quickly, “But no kiss.”  She was the smallest of the
four, so I had no great problem.

Nowadays, of course, at 18 I have little problem with
fitting into the big-brother role, romping with
children, picking them up and all that sort of thing. 
At the age of 12 my experiences were usually limited
to Shelley, Jenny and their friends, all much younger
than myself.  So I really enjoyed a new role with
girls smaller than myself but not that much younger. 
It gave me the chance to show off how strong I was,
always a source of pride for any 12-year-old boy.  Or
any boy of any age, provided he can do it!

My muscles were not yet too well developed, so I
struggled a little as far as lifting was concerned,
and quickly grew tired.  “Roy’s getting weak!” Carrie
mocked me, laughing, so I chased her around and gave
her a spank on her bottom again.  The other girls were
now on me, tugging my shirt up and even putting their
hands up to my stomach and trying to tickle me.

“Stop undressing me!” I scolded them in fun, and they
all squealed and laughed.  I chased and tickled them
as well, but unfortunately as they were wearing skirts
and bare midriffs, I couldn’t go up their skirts.

Finally, exhausted, I slumped to the ground in a heap.
 With a loud sigh, Helen sank down on top of me.  I
rolled over to lie on my back, and she snuggled up on
one side of me.  Julie sank down on the other side. 
Carrie sank down next to Julie, putting a hand out and
landing it on my penis.  I could feel her fingers
groping at it.  She giggled and said, “Sorry.”

That didn’t fool me for a moment.  Carrie would only
say sorry when she didn’t mean it.  I reached out a
hand and gave her a little push, right where I guessed
her left nipple would be.  I too moved my fingers
enough to feel a bit of wobbly flesh there.

“Sorry,” I said, in the same tone of voice.  She
jerked away and glared at me, slightly flushed, while
I glared back.  Hopefully she would understand to keep
off my genitals in future.

Steffi sank down next to Carrie, content just to lean
her elbow on my knee.  We all panted for breath, at
that age all a bit embarrassed at the intimacy we had
enjoyed, and whenever the girls caught each other’s
eye or my eye, they giggled to prove it.

Then Steffi stood up and tried to do a handstand.  She
wasn’t very good at it, and Helen stood up to show
her.  “You must kick yourself off with your other
leg,” she told her.  “Like this.”  She did a
demonstration, her skirt flopping down to show her
near-naked torso with her thong, and the other girls
giggled.  She could only stay up for about two
seconds, though.

“I can do that,” claimed Julie, standing up and
tucking her skirt into her thong.  My heart gave a
lurch as she pulled back the elastic at the crotch to
push her skirt inside, but I could see only a glimpse
of more skin inside and nothing else.  She managed it
for a little longer than Helen, but most of her skirt
came untucked, being too short for the purpose.

Steffi tried it, but again failed.  “It helps if you
get somebody to hold your legs while you’re up,” I
told her.  “Would you like me to do that?”

“No, Carrie can do it,” she replied shyly.

“I’m not doing handstands, I don’t like them,”
retorted Carrie, sitting there and looking rather
scornfully at the efforts of the others.

My guess was that Helen and Julie, living in a more
affluent area, had perhaps done some gymnastic
training in the casual classes they often have at
places like sports clubs, while Carrie and Steffi,
living on the poorer side of town, had not had that
privilege.

“Ah, come on, Carrie, try it,” Julie urged her, but
she shook her head.

“I don’t want everyone looking at my thong,” she
retorted.  I wondered if the real reason was that she
didn’t want to show herself up by being unable to do
it.  Then, a moment later so it was easy to draw a
connection, she said, “Roy, you show us again.”

The other girls agreed, so I stood up and started
tucking my shirt into my thong-like underpants. 
Rather naughtily I decided to tease them, so I pulled
aside the leg of my underpants just enough to show the
stem of my penis and testicles and that was all.  I
could sense Carrie and Steffi in particular staring
with interest and hope.

“Your – pouch thing has slipped,” Carrie informed me
with a giggle.  That was inevitable with all the
activity I had had.  I adjusted it, pulling out the
top to look inside and adjusting the legs so that
again only the very stem of my genitals was available
for their viewing.  Carrie and Steffi seemed
fascinated and made only a poor attempt to hide it. 
Although I had got beyond the stage of “I’ll show you
mine if you show me yours,” that was the general
principle.  No freebies for them.

Then I put my arms up and did a handstand.  As I
expected, my shirt immediately came out and flopped
down again, causing squeals of laughter as it
slithered down past my waist and enveloped my head. 
Then I kicked my legs over and landed on my feet, my
shirt returning to its proper place.

“Roy, you’re showing us – everything,” giggled Steffi,
who was slowly gaining confidence with me.

“Not quite everything,” Carrie pointed out.  But she
did not quite dare to suggest I remove my underpants.

The girls continued to practise their handstands, with
Carrie participating only by holding the other girls’
legs.  Then Helen said, “Now Roy’s joined the club for
today, let’s start again with him part of it.  Let’s
do the parade again.”  The other girls agreed, and
then she went on, “Only instead of turning round and
bending over, we do a handstand like Roy!”

“No, I don’t want to do a handstand, they’re silly,”
objected Carrie.

“Well, we’ll take a vote on it, then,” decided Helen. 
“How many want to do the handstand?”

“Hey, if we have votes on anything, I’m the one who
organises that,” objected Carrie.

“Well, go on and do it, then,” shrugged Helen.  “Take
a vote.”

“We don’t need a vote, I just don’t want to change the
way we do things,” said Carrie.  “And Roy’s only here
today, so nothing he decides will count.”

“That’s not the way we’ve done things,” objected
Julie.  “We vote on things, and we’ve always agreed
before, more or less.”

“Well, we don’t agree now,” objected Carrie.

I could sense this might cause a problem, so I
suggested, “How about saying that the person can do a
handstand if she wants?  Then everybody has a choice.”
 As I said it, I looked sharply at Carrie.  She looked
away, but I think she got the message.

“Yes, let’s do that, then,” agreed Helen.  “Okay,
everyone?”

“I’m supposed to do that,” snapped Carrie.  “Is that
okay, everyone?”

Everyone nodded.  “Right, we’ll do it the other way
round this time,” decided Carrie.  “Roy, you go
first.”

I had my turn, staying up a good long time, even
though most of it was in darkness listening to the
giggling of the girls.  I heard Carrie’s voice telling
me she was counting the seconds, coming closer all the
time, so she no doubt wanted a closer look at the
bulge in my underpants.

I got down again by dropping forward, and my legs
crashed into a human body.  Carrie gave a squeal,
backing away, as I came down, pulled up my shirt and
had a look at who I had bumped into.

“That was sore!” complained Carrie, rubbing the side
of her head.

“It was your fault because you should have stayed off
the stage,” Julie told her.

Then it was Julie’s turn.  She did her piece and
followed with a neat handstand, her pink thong looking
tasteful in colour, if not in size.  Then it was
Steffi, who hesitated and then did a handstand, then
Helen, and finally Carrie.  Looking rather cross at
her loss of full authority, she did not do a
handstand, but stuck her bottom out a bit more rudely
than was necessary.

“Next we have our chat group,” Helen told me.  “That’s
what we were doing when you came out of the house
after seeing Debbie.”

Carrie was already sitting on the ground, with her
legs crossed and her thong easily visible under her
skirt.  “My mother always tells me to sit like a lady,
especially when I’m wearing a thong,” she said,
affecting a very snooty voice.  “But when I am here, I
will sit how I bloody well like.”

It was all done for effect, swearword as well, and
then Carrie leaned backwards and swung her legs up
into the air.  Of course her skirt fell, giving a full
view of her thong and her bare bottom.  It was quite
clear that I was intended to see all this, whether as
a gesture of trust or just Carrie showing off.

The girls put themselves in positions lying on their
tummies, as I had seen them before, heads close
together in the middle, legs stretching outwards.  The
only difference was that they deliberately pulled
their skirts up at the back, exposing their almost
bare bottoms to the sky, doing so with giggles and
sidelong glances at me.  Helen later explained that
they hadn’t done that part earlier as they knew I
would be coming out of the house.

I had no idea what this was all about, but at their
invitation lay down with Helen on one side and Julie
on the other, and pulled my shirt up to expose my
almost bare bottom as well.  “Now we’re making a star
shape, with five of us,” observed Julie.

It seemed this was gossip time about school, friends,
enemies, teachers, parents, boys, and anything else. 
With me there for the first time, they were slow
getting started, but gradually began, amid embarrassed
giggles, to discuss different people and events,
especially at school.  Of course I couldn’t join in
and am not going to waste my time repeating the gossip
that was interesting only to them, but it was good to
see them getting used to me and talking freely,
although the conversation did not quite reach such
topics as breasts, pubic hair and periods.  Not yet.

Slowly the conversation grew slower and the awkward
grinning and giggling began again, along with sidelong
glances at each other.  It seemed there was something
afoot, perhaps the next activity of the morning, that
they didn’t quite know what to do about and didn’t
want to discuss in my presence.  This seemed to be
confirmed when Carrie said, “I need to go to the loo,”
almost an hour since she had claimed she wanted to,
but hadn’t gone.

This seemed to be a signal to the others – but,
knowing the liking that females have for making a
party out of a toilet break, this didn’t necessarily
mean anything.  I guessed I was not invited to this
one, and sure enough Carrie said, “Roy, just stay here
and we’ll be back in a minute.”

I’d never believe a minute, but I said, “I thought I
was a member of the club today and could take part in
everything?”

They giggled awkwardly, and Helen said, “Well, this is
– a club break, so it’s not part of the club, really.”
 She gave me a special smile, as if requesting me not
to argue.  I didn’t intend to, but had perhaps naively
hoped for an invitation.

Eagerly they scampered off to the house, giggling as
they did so, encouraging my belief that this was more
of a discussion than anything else.  I took the
opportunity to go somewhere I couldn’t be seen from
the house and irrigate some of the plants while I had
chance.  If they weren’t going to include me, I didn’t
want to run the risk of having them want to be present
when my need arose later in the morning.

As expected, it was a long, boring wait of about 20
minutes before the girls finally returned, still
looking at each other and giggling.  Helen, it seemed,
had been elected as spokesgirl.  She announced to me,
“Roy, we’re going to swim now, if you want to join
us.”

“We just swim in our thongs,” Carrie added, almost
aggressively.

“Sounds great,” I agreed enthusiastically.  They
giggled again, and I followed them on their way to the
pool round the back of the house.

I learned later from Helen that the discussion had not
been so much about whether to invite me to the swim,
as even Carrie was basically in favour, but rather as
to whether they should wear their bras as well as
their thongs.  Other weeks they had always taken their
bras off, but Carrie in particular felt nervous about
doing so in my presence.  Helen herself had brought
the argument to a close by suggesting, and getting
agreement, that they could wear their bras if they
wanted but nobody had to.

We went into the pool enclosure.  They stopped, rather
embarrassed, a problem most girls invariably show by
giggling.  With a little more embarrassment, they
might blush as well.  Then Carrie said, “Roy, you’re
the new member – so you have the honour of going in
first today.”

I rather suspected that might be the case, so I was
ready.  I stripped off my shirt and tossed it on to a
lounger.  There were more giggles as I stood there in
my underpants.  They were still tucked in all right at
the back, but again the front had come loose.  So I
adjusted it, again allowing the girls to see just the
stem of my penis and testicles, to encourage their
curiosity.  It’s not something I would ever do
nowadays, with greater maturity, but I was hoping it
might push them a bit further towards naked swimming.

Then, with a yell, I took a running jump and hit the
water like a bomb.  I just heard squeals from the
girls, and then I swam across to the other side and
looked round.  It was quite a small pool, about ten
metres long and perhaps six metres wide.  The girls
had backed away and were laughing, but not yet
changing.  As I was in the shallow end, I did a
handstand in the pool, with my legs and my bottom
sticking out above the water level.

When I came up, I was glad to see the girls were
finally moving, saving me from having to invent
something else to persuade them to come in.  Helen was
just stripping off her totally unnecessary bra, worn
just for Carrie’s sake, and now she leapt in next to
me.  I reached out my arms for her and she splashed
her way into them, laughing.

After that it was easy.  Julie was not far behind,
removing a pink bra to match her panties, the only one
with a coloured bra.  She, like Helen, was almost
flat-chested.  Carrie, perhaps rather resentful that
Helen kept taking the lead, was hurriedly dragging off
her top and skirt, while Steffi was as usual following
Carrie’s lead.

Carrie was the only one to keep her bra on.  She leapt
into the pool rather self-consciously, with her frilly
little bra still covering her chest, and immediately
had to pull it down again as the force of hitting the
water pushed it up to her neck, by the looks of it. 
But she did so under water.  Steffi had cute little
pointed nipples, but that was all the growth she had
achieved so far.

We splashed around, with plenty of shrieks from the
girls.  I found that my underpants were not meant for
ploughing through water, and there was always a
downward pull on them, threatening to drag them below
danger point.  The girls were finding the same problem
with their thongs, and there was some embarrassed
giggling as they kept having to hitch them up.

They tried some handstands, as they had seen me do in
the shallow end.  With half their bodies under water,
it was much easier for them to balance, and they
hardly had to hold the legs at all.  They also felt
free to make comments when the owner’s ears were under
water.

“Imagine if we did this naked,” giggled Julie,
grinning naughtily at the others as Steffi had a turn,
legs up and little yellow thong just above the water
line.  “That would look funny!”  My heart started
pounding, as I hoped they might actually do it. 
Fortunately the cold of the water prevented the pouch
I had made in my underpants from swelling suddenly.

“That might be a bit rude,” suggested Helen, smiling
but hesitant.  “Would it, Roy?”

“Well, I don’t think it would be any more rude than
wearing thongs to school,” I grinned, trying to look
casual.  “It would only be rude if the others started
laughing and saying rude things, and then it would be
the others who were rude.”  I could tell the girls
were thinking about that.

Then they wanted to race me, but I could beat them all
quite easily.  After all, I had swum in a bigger pool
at home for years, and had practised as a tactic to
impress the girls.  Helen and Julie were noticeably
better swimmers than the other two, who lived in
comparatively deprived homes.  Carrie was distinctly
reluctant to race since she knew she couldn’t win, and
I was sure she felt inferior about many things in her
life.  Her bossiness and arrogance was mainly a
disguise.

I suppose the next logical step was water fights. 
Helen started it by flicking water gently at me and
giggling, and even as I was returning the compliment
the other girls joined in.  It was four against one,
which gave me no chance – unless I played rough, which
I had already learned was a fatal thing to do with
girls.  With girls, you either play gentle or you play
rough – there is virtually no middle ground.

With Carrie, actually, I did have to play a bit rough
at times, as once again she wanted to be the dominant
force and was prepared to be rough herself if
necessary in order to do it.  I didn’t actually touch
her, but had to splash her extra hard at times to
force her to back away.

As I was doing so for the second time, Helen sneaked
up behind me and pushed her wet bare shoulder against
my side, pretending to push me.  I think she was just
eager for more physical contact, so I put an arm round
her shoulder and pushed back gently.  Still laughing
into my eyes, she put an arm round my waist and for a
second we were together, the bare skin of our chests
and stomachs touching in the sunlight and the water.

Then the other girls were on me as well, giggling and
too shy to do more than press their bodies against
mine, pretending they were trying to push me over, or
something – I’m not sure what.

Then suddenly I was aware of somebody else on the
scene, on the side of the pool, just above our heads. 
The girls realised that at the same time, and quickly
disengaged themselves with little squeals and
embarrassed grins.  Suddenly worried, as I wasn’t
supposed to be at the house anyway, I looked up.

Debbie had arrived on the scene.  She was standing
there, looking down on us all with a beaming smile on
her face.  “Helen, you didn’t tell me Roy was coming
today,” she remonstrated with her sister, sounding
hurt and disappointed.  “Roy, I never knew you were
here!”

“Well, I did – come to ask you if you wanted to join
in.  When the club started,” I stammered.

“Oh, was it you who knocked?  I didn’t know that was
you,” she replied.

She was standing almost directly above me, wearing a
rather flimsy little skirt, dark purple in colour. 
>From where I was I could see right up her thighs
without even trying.  Near the top her legs were still
covered by her skirt, which was slightly translucent
in the bright sunlight, giving a mottled look to her
thighs.  Above that, all was dark.  Was she wearing
black panties?  Or thong, more likely.  I think she
was aware of my enraptured gaze but didn’t move away.

Behind her was her friend Anthea.  She was a tall thin
girl with gingerish-brown hair tied in a long plait
down her back.  She was wearing a white blouse with a
black skirt reaching down to mid-thigh, but she was
not close enough to allow me to see more than upper
thigh on her skinny legs.

At this point I had better say more about Debbie.  She
was not a dangerous sex maniac like Saskia’s sister
Katarina – or like Saskia either, for that matter. 
Looking back, I think she was just the sort of girl
who was a natural people-pleaser.  She had the beauty
and the personality to do it very easily.  She was
just a bit of an exhibitionist, but without meaning to
be dirty-minded, and I’m sure she was really delighted
to see me, along with everybody else she me.  The
downside was that she was a pretty shallow, flighty
person.  Helen, although quieter, was the more stable
and reliable of the two.

“Roy sorted out Carrie when you didn’t,” Helen told
her older sister, but not unkindly.  “I mean, he
sorted out the – the problem with – the problem we had
with Carrie.”

“Roy, how on earth did you get accepted by the club?”
Debbie laughed, ignoring the comment about Carrie. 
Later on that morning she would tell me about Carrie,
“I can’t stand that girl.”  She continued to me,
“You’re not supposed to join unless you wear a thong.”

“He *is* wearing a thong,” Carrie and Helen both put
in together.  “Roy, show Debbie,” Helen added.

Grinning, I climbed out of the pool.  The back of my
underpants were still tucked above my buttocks, but
the pouch at the front had disappeared again.  I fixed
the pouch, once again carefully showing the stems of
my penis and testicles to tease the girls, and Debbie
as well, I hoped.

“Ooh, that’s clever!” exclaimed Debbie, bending
forward to look more closely.  At the same moment
Carrie reached up from the pool, grabbed my underpants
at the waist, in the middle at the back, and pulled
downwards with a laugh.

I had a choice of having them pulled down or going
with them.  I deliberately toppled backwards into the
pool, grabbing for Carrie as I went.  I wrapped an arm
round her and we both sank for a moment together. 
Then we came up, with Carrie squealing and laughing as
she struggled with me.

“Now come and join us, Debbie,” called out Carrie.  I
sensed a provocative note in her voice, as if hoping
to embarrass her.

I think briefly Debbie was a bit embarrassed.  She
giggled, looked at the other girls, then at me, and
asked, “Shall I?”

“Come on, Debs, you always do when you’re here,” Helen
encouraged her.

I thought Debbie was about to ask me my opinion, but
instead she giggled again, turned to Anthea standing
behind her and said, “Come on, Anthea, let’s do it.”

Avoiding my eye, Debbie reached up and began to pull
her small red top off over her head.  Behind her,
Anthea backed away, unwilling to join in, but I wasn’t
sure how much of it was because of me.  Debbie was
wearing a little black lacy bra underneath, partly
transparent with her flesh showing through the flimsy
black material.  I suspected little rounded breasts
underneath.

As it appeared, the other girls again looked at me and
giggled.  I hated this, as I didn’t know where to
look.  Before I grew too much older, I learned the art
of carrying on a conversation as a distraction when
this sort of thing happened.

Debbie flashed me a grinning glance, and I called out,
“Swim in your clothes,” to try and divert attention
away from me.  I would of course have been most
disappointed if she had done so, but I was sure she
wouldn’t.

Debbie laughed and hesitated with her hands on her
skirt.  Then she said, “I have to obey the club
rules.”

“You’re allowed to keep your bra on today,” Helen
informed her kindly, but without considering my
thoughts on the matter.

Debbie looked relieved.  Always quick and impulsive,
she got to work on her skirt.  It was a wrap-around
sort, and within a second she had undone the button
and unwrapped it.

It seemed clear from the gasps and squeals of the
other girls that they had not seen Debbie wearing a
thong like this before.  She revealed a tiny black
lace thong to match the bra.  Apart from the crotch,
which was opaque, it was possible to see her flesh
through the material.  But, more than that, thin tufts
of black pubic hair were sprouting from both sides of
the narrow pouch at the front, and the rest of her
pubic hair was visible through the transparent
lacework.

If my penis had not been under water, I am sure it
would have ejaculated all over the place.  As it was,
my stomach churned and I felt quite dizzy with the
staggering scenery.  At our club I would have
delighted in the view without becoming aroused, but
here, with a textile girl who was both sexually
alluring and childishly innocent, I felt ready to
burst.

Meanwhile the other girls were staring in disbelief
and some concern also about my presence.  “Ooh,
Debbie!” they squealed, quite fascinated by such a
daring thong.

Having taken this bold step, Debbie seemed in a hurry
to get the exposure open with as soon as possible. 
“Look out!” she called, as with a laugh she leapt into
the pool on the far side of the group from me.

Seconds later she surfaced, and there were more
squeals from the younger girls.  Between the crowd of
bodies I could see that the force of her landing had
disrupted her bra, which was half over her shoulder. 
I caught a quick glimpse of the small shiny round
breast that I had imagined before she managed to pull
it up again and Steffi helpfully pushed her body into
my line of vision.

“Hey, Roy, did you see?” came Carrie’s voice, as she
tried to be provocative again.

“It doesn’t matter, leave her alone,” I replied.

“Come on, Anthea,” Debbie encouraged her friend,
urging her to join us.  Anthea shook her head, looking
embarrassed.  She sat down on the bench, giving me
from my lower position a quick view of pale blue
panties under he black skirt.

“Oh, come on, Anthea, be a sport,” laughed Debbie, and
the other girls all joined in their persuasion.

I could immediately tell that this form of pressure
was doing more harm than good, and was I not committed
to defending the helpless?  From my selfish point of
view, I knew that the more I could get the girls to
trust me and feel comfortable with me, the more likely
I was to get my way with them.  “Hey, come on,” I
shouted out.  “She hasn’t played before so she doesn’t
have to.  Nobody *has* to join the club.”

Debbie looked at me in surprise, then gave me a big
smile and shrugged her shoulders.  “All right, she can
stay out,” she said, and proceeded to ignore Anthea
after that.  The other girls did the same.

Debbie was clearly quite popular and she took a lot of
the attention away from me.  She splashed and laughed
and screamed in a way I never would, and the others
joined in with her, while I was almost left out at
times.  Her bra kept slipping as well, and she had to
keep pushing it back, but I still got regular glimpses
of her burgeoning breasts.  Occasionally she would
reach under water and give her thong a hoist as well.

Carrie kept out of most of it.  The feeling between
her and Debbie was obviously mutual.  She played by
herself for a while but she was also having trouble
with her bra.  She managed to tighten it a bit, and
then reached up to adjust a hairclip.  As she did so,
the tightened bra was pulled up slightly, exposing two
little soft rubbery nipples sticking out a couple of
centimetres from her chest.

Immediately she felt something and her hands shot
downwards to put things right, dropping the hairclip
into the water.  Instinctively I plunged after it for
her.  I don’t know what she thought I was doing, but
she squealed and backed away quickly.

As I surfaced, she glared at me, bra now adjusted, and
snatched the hairclip from my grasp.  “You saw me. 
Don’t lie,” she challenged.

Having been so confident with her earlier, I was now
quite taken aback and tongue-tied.  “It doesn’t
matter,” I blurted out.  Nowadays I would have
shrugged my shoulders and appeared quite unconcerned,
but I hadn’t developed that art at 12.  “I – I thought
– it was beautiful,” I stammered.  She looked more
suspicious and antagonistic than ever.  “More than
Helen,” I added.

That last one was a masterstroke, even though it was a
desperate shot on the spur of the moment.  A
self-satisfied smile came to her lips, which she tried
unsuccessfully to disguise.  The smug look in her eyes
was unmistakable, though.  She tried to shrug her
shoulders as if she too thought it didn’t matter. 
“I’ve got more than the other girls,” she boasted.  I
nodded vigorously in agreement, realising that she had
deliberately excluded Debbie from ‘the other girls’.

“I’m really the only one who needs a bra,” she mused,
turning her head away and pretending more than ever
that my appreciation meant nothing to her.  She paused
and then added, “But they’re not made for swimming. 
Debbie’s so stupid when hers keeps falling off.”  So
saying, she slipped her bra off over her head, threw
it towards the bench and then ducked under the water,
presumably too shy to give me any further viewing
rights immediately.

When she came up, I made sure I was watching the
others splashing around with Debbie.  She leaned with
her back against the wall, the water up to her waist
and her little breasts now fully open for viewing,
with no age restriction.  Then she said, “Roy,” and
began to ask me some inconsequential questions about
myself and my school.  She had clearly now reached the
place of trust, and was either talking to cover her
embarrassment or indicating that I could have a look
at her assets now.

I think she was still watching me quite carefully at
first, so I tried not to look too hard at her and kept
looking away at the others.  Debbie was getting tired
of playing and of constantly adjusting her bra.  Only
when Carrie looked away from me did I allow my eyes to
feast on those little rubber stoppers that were
growing into breasts.

Debbie by now was leaning against the side of the
pool, back to the other girls, laughing and telling
them that was enough.  Reluctantly they stopped
playing with her, and gradually drew together and
began talking in a group.  Debbie looked at them,
looked at me and then propelled herself along the side
of the pool towards me.  Her sagging bra now revealed
almost everything through the soaked transparent
material, except the shape.  I could see virtually all
the shape and also the outlines of the nipples.

As Debbie came towards me, Carrie pulled a face and
sidled away.  “Great to see you again, Roy,” she
beamed at me, so charmingly.  She giggled.  “I hope
you like black underwear?” she added teasingly.

I found it difficult to lie.  “I – I liked you better
in that white when . . .” I began, and then realised I
had given the game away.

Debbie squealed and laughed.  “How did *you* know I
was wearing white last time you came?” she scolded me
in fun.  “You must have been spying, you naughty boy!”

To my shame I blushed.  “No, no, I – couldn’t help it,
it was an accident,” I tried to assure her.  “But I –
did think they were very pretty.  Very sexy.”

“Black is very sexy,” she laughed, but must have seen
from my face I wasn’t convinced.  All the time I was
trying to keep my eyes from her bra and my mind from
her thong, which was under the surface of the water.

“Helen says you’re a naturist?” Debbie continued. 
Awkwardly I nodded.

She laughed.  “That must be fun,” she said.  “Wish I
could come to your club.  But I don’t think my parents
would let me.”  Then she added, “You can swim naked
here if you want, you know.”

“Well, it’s – we – don’t swim naked unless we’re with
other naturists,” I tried to explain.  “I mean, if you
all want to – to do that, I’ll do it too, but it
wouldn’t be right to do it if nobody else does.  And I
don’t think the other girls will want to.”

“Oh, you’ll have to wait and see,” she laughed.  “But
underwear is quite good enough for now.”  Again she
started to adjust what little clothing she had, but I
dared not look while she had her eyes on me.

“I think Anthea’s lonely,” I put in, looking towards
her friend, who was sitting glumly on the bench with
her knees together, but a little triangle of panties
just visible up her skirt from our low altitude.

The ruse worked.  Debbie turned to look at Anthea,
gently encouraging her to join us, but to be met with
a shake of the head.  I quickly took the opportunity
to glance at her bra, and then under the water.  From
that angle most of what I could see was black
material, but that would change once she left the
water.  I thought I could see some black hairs
floating about at the sides.

My heart was thumping in anticipation of Debbie
getting out.  Hoping to encourage her, I jumped up and
sat on the side of the pool, looking in.  Debbie
laughed and said, “Your pouch has come undone again.”

I repeated my usual performance of fixing it while
revealing only the stem of my genitals.  Debbie
laughed again and then launched herself across the
pool.  With only the merest strings across her back
and her waist and bottom, she looked virtually naked. 
When she reached the far side and stood up, she had to
pull up both tiny garments.

“Come on, Debbie, you said we were going to finish the
video,” came Anthea’s plaintive voice.

“Oh, all right,” agreed Debbie, shrugging.  She swam
back across the pool, dragging herself up next to me
and again adjusting her G-strings.  To my dismay, she
called out, “Pass me my towel, Anthea.”

Anthea helpfully passed over Debbie’s towel and she
sprang out of the pool, with the towel clasped to her
front.  The impetus dragged her sodden thong down a
little, and I thought for a moment I could see some
black hair emerging from the top of it now.  Then she
pressed her towel to her chest, and it all
disappeared.

“See you later, Roy,” she called cheerily, swinging
round to speak to me.  For a split second the towel
swung aside.  I could see virtually every centimetre
of flesh in her nether region through the wet,
transparent material, even the blackness of her pubic
hair – except, infuriatingly, for the little patch
right at the base, where the material was opaque and
no doubt padded inside – for hygiene reasons, I am
told.

Fortunately she had turned again and was gone, back to
the house with Anthea, before she saw my reaction.  My
stomach was churning and my hands were trembling.  I
turned round, hoping none of the others were watching.

I was out of luck.  Carrie was watching me with a sly
grin on her face.  “Hey, Roy, you like Debbie’s
undies?” she challenged me.

I pulled a face and managed to lie this time.  “She
should wear something – a bit more – well, it’s a bit
embarrassing for me,” I stammered out, hoping Carrie
would believe me.  Carrie gave a sarcastic grin and I
couldn’t read her mind.

The other girls now seemed to follow Debbie’s lead –
or was it my lead?  They pulled themselves out of the
swimming pool and went over to a small table nearby,
where they each had a bag.  They drew out their
towels.  “Come and get one, Roy,” Helen invited me,
who had a spare one.

We lay on the paving stones or the loungers to
sunbathe for a while, and I kept getting chances to
glance at Carrie’s little breasts just sticking out
from her chest.  None of the other girls seemed to
comment on her decision to remove her bra, but there
was a bit of giggling and whispering going on, so I
suspected something else was up that they felt nervous
about in my presence, especially as Helen seemed less
concerned than the others.

(To be continued)



YOU PUT A THONG INTO MY HEART (CHAPTER 5)


At one stage in their discussion Helen sat up on the
sun lounger where she was lying, looked at Carrie and
asked, “Shall we – go now?”

Carrie frowned.  “Not yet, I’ll tell you when,” she
retorted.  I was tempted to ask what this was about,
but thought it better to pretend to be unaware of
anything unusual.

There was a bit more inconsequential chatting and
giggling, and then finally Carrie rose to her feet and
started drying herself.  The others took it as a
signal to do the same, so I grabbed my towel and did
the same.  I could feel tension in the air.

Helen was the first to pick up her outer garments and
start to put them on.  The others followed, with some
tense giggling.  I reached for my wet shirt and asked,
“What about our wet – thongs?”

The others giggled, but Helen replied, “I’ll show you.
 This is what we do.”  She finished putting her skirt
on, and then reached up it and eased off her wet
thong.  She spread it on to a hot paving stone to dry,
and then with her towel began to dry under her crotch.

Heart hammering again, I pulled down my underpants the
same way, as the other girls did with their thongs.  I
hardly dared to believe that the girls were going to
go ‘commando’, as the Americans call it, without any
underwear at all.  But it looked like it, as the
others giggled as they dried.  Steffi was slightly
careless or unwary, flicking her skirt up a little too
far as she began to dry, and I caught the quickest
glimpse of a soft little vagina.

I stood there rather nervously, wondering if my penis
was hanging down below my shirt.  But at 12 it was
still small, and when I checked at home later in the
mirror, I found I had a few centimetres to spare.  But
I had to be careful when I moved around.  I had no
problem with the girls seeing it – but not just yet.

Steffi then whispered something into Carrie’s ear. 
Helen overheard, and nodded.  Carrie frowned, and I
heard her reply, “Of course.  But he can go up first.”

Helen looked uncertain.  “Not first.  We don’t – do it
that way,” she argued.

“All right, you go first, then,” retorted Carrie.

“Okay,” Helen agreed, shrugging.  She picked up her
bag and set off across the lawn.  The rest of us
followed, with myself wondering what this was all
about.  The fresh air swirled around under my shirt,
and I felt more exposed than the traditional Scotsman,
as my shirt was considerably shorter than a kilt.

We were going to the foot of the tree house.  Tree
houses are commonplace in our city, with most of my
friends having one.  I had probably noticed on my last
visit that Helen had a tree house in the large tree
over to one side of the property, but had forgotten
it.

“After our swim, we go up into the tree house and
share our stick-ons, and do some more talking,” Julie
told me.

Looking at the ladder up to the tree house, I could
now understand why (I think) Steffi had questioned
whether we were going up, with me there.  Those at the
bottom would easily be able to see up the skirt of the
one climbing the ladder.  Helen I guessed had been
trying to protect me from the inquisitive views of the
girls, who would not be able to keep their squeals and
giggles under control no matter how hard they tried,
and so had sacrificed herself.

Without more ado, she began to climb the ladder, her
bag slung over her shoulder.  I immediately sensed a
tension among the other girls, who looked knowingly at
each other, at me, up the ladder, and they sniggered. 
Straight away I sensed that I was being tested.  Would
I look up the ladder and therefore up Helen’s skirt?

Of course, I knew I didn’t dare.  So I quickly turned
to Carrie and asked, “What do I do, because I don’t
have any stick-ons?”

“You can look at ours,” she answered.  “Come on, your
turn to climb up now.”

I sensed them staring at me, or rather at the bottom
of my shirt, as I put my foot on the first rung and
began to climb.  I wasn’t really ready to show them my
genitals yet as they were not ready to show me theirs,
but I couldn’t avoid their seeing something.  So as I
climbed, I just kept my thighs as close together as I
could and hoped they would be able to see nothing more
than the bottom of my testicles.

And I made sure I did not look upwards, not even as
far as Helen’s feet.  Any glance upwards would have
been translated as my untrustworthiness in the company
of naked girls.  Instead I kept my eyes right down,
making the girls below giggle with greater
embarrassment.

I reached the top, to find Helen awaiting me just
inside the tree house.  “Come and sit next to me,” she
invited, sitting down herself with crossed legs.  With
her short skirt, she naturally exposed her little
vagina, the soft rounded lips clear to my view.  But
she clearly didn’t care, as she trusted me.

It was very cosy inside.  Most tree houses are rather
rough and ready, but this was the most luxurious I had
seen.  The inside walls had been painted a bright
yellow, there was a carpet on the floor and cushions
around the outside, and dainty curtains in the
windows.  There was not much else, but it all gave the
impression of being a bright, warm, cosy little house.

I sat next to Helen, on the far side away from the
door, wondering the best way to sit.  If I crossed my
legs, as Helen did, my genitals would easily be
exposed for the others to see.  Unless I pulled my
shirt down hard to fill the gap, a habit I hated in
girls and one that would also show I mistrusted the
girls.  I wanted to have my cake and eat it: I wanted
to seem totally unconcerned about my own nakedness
while at the same time keeping the girls guessing
without seeing them until they were ready to share.

In the end I put my knees up under my chin, keeping my
thighs together, just as Julie appeared at the top of
the ladder.  She ducked her head to come in, which for
her as with all of us must have provided an
entertaining view from the rear, and sat down on the
other side of Helen.

I wondered whether much could be seen up my shirt from
opposite, as these were the only places left to sit
inside the narrow room.  I had my penis well hidden
away between my thighs – or so I hoped.  I had no idea
how much was visible.  When I tried it at home later,
facing the mirror, I found that only the patch of soft
pink skin under my testicles could actually be seen,
to my satisfaction.  The rest could wait until the
girls were ready.  It didn’t occur to me at the age of
12 that they might be following exactly the same
policy.

Steffi came up close behind Julie, and then Carrie. 
They would both have to sit on the opposite side of
the little room.  Steffi nervously sat down opposite
Helen and Julie rather than me, crossing her legs and
pushing her skirt down in the middle.  It was too
short, though, and as soon as she removed her hand I
could see her perineum and the bottom of the crack in
her bottom below it.

Carrie, perhaps making herself last so she would have
nobody looking up her skirt, had nowhere to sit but
opposite me.  Without looking at me, she knelt down on
the old rug that covered the floor and then sat with
her legs folded under her, making sure I saw nothing
up her skirt.

They opened their bags, chattering away, but the
hesitancy and amount of giggling showed that my
presence was affecting them again, probably because
they felt vulnerable with nothing under their skirts. 
But as they took out their albums and discussed their
stick-ons, they began to relax and talk animatedly. 
Helen was good at including me and showing me
everything she thought interesting.

Steffi provided me with the most entertainment.  With
an album on her lap she assumed that her skirt was
completely covered, but in fact I could easily see up
it most of the time.  With her legs crossed, her
vagina looked almost like a little corkscrew with a
little bulge underneath, and I presume part of it was
her clitoris sticking out, but hard to recognise as it
was the same colour as the rest of her skin.  She was
still the most reluctant of the girls to meet my eye.

We must have been there for about half an hour, with
the girls still managing to keep talking and finding
interest in doing so.  I was pretty bored, my only
entertainment being provided unintentionally by
Steffi.  Occasionally she would put her hand up her
skirt and give herself a little scratch.  Carrie kept
her knees obstinately on the carpet and there was
nothing going there.

I was wondering if this was going on for ever when we
heard a call outside and below.  “Yoohoo, everybody! 
You thirsty?”

It was Debbie.  The girls immediately got up and
scrambled to look out of the windows opposite me,
forgetting themselves as they leaned out so I could
see the lowermost parts of four little bottoms peeping
out from under skirts, with pink patches on them from
where they had been sitting.  Even as I looked, Carrie
seemed to remember and straightened up somewhat.

“I’ve made some lemonade for us all,” I heard Debbie’s
voice call.  “Come and get it in the kitchen if you
want it!”

“Ooh, yes,” squealed the girls.  I had been a bit
thirsty for some time, but the girls had been so busy
talking they hadn’t realised their own thirst until
now.  “Thanks, Debbie,” they cried, heading for the
door.

Julie was the first through the door, ducking and
revealing her slim little white bottom as she did so. 
Helen followed, and then turned back so say, “Roy, you
needn’t come, we’ll bring you some.”

As she spoke, Steffi followed Julie out.  Then Carrie
said, “Bring me some too, Helen, I don’t want to
come.”

Helen agreed, and the three girls disappeared down the
ladder, leaving me alone with Carrie.  I was sure
Carrie had decided to stay with me for no other reason
than that she didn’t like Debbie.

Carrie walked over to the door to watch them descend. 
The girls were just short enough to stand upright
without having to duck their heads, as I did.  After a
few seconds she leaned well forward out of the doorway
and called down the ladder, “Lots of ice in mine.”

As she did so, about half of her bottom was revealed
to me, very white apart from a red mark that had
probably been caused by her sandal from when she had
been sitting with her legs folded against her.  Again
my 12-year-old mind found these girls difficult to
understand.  Less than a minute earlier she had
hurriedly straightened up to prevent me from seeing
that bottom, yet right now she was, apparently
deliberately, giving me a good view of the same area
of flesh.

“I’m not going down there to see Debbie,” Carrie
informed me over her shoulder, backing into the room
and straightening up.  Then, humming to herself, she
sat down facing the doorway, back largely to me, with
her legs crossed.  Then she changed her mind and sat
with her knees up, rather as I had been doing, only
hers were further apart and further from her body. 
She wrapped her arms round them and sat there, staring
into space.  It seemed obvious this was deliberate on
her part, probably to tease me since I was sitting
somewhere behind her left hip and could see nothing.

At 12 I was still rather impatient, impulsive and
finding it easier to speak than to remain silent.  So
I took a gamble, just to see what would happen.  “Sit
like a lady,” I scolded her in fun.

She gave a short, sharp laugh.  “I will sit how I
bloody well choose,” she said firmly, again using the
swearword for effect.  To prove her point, she spread
her knees further apart.  “You can come and see if you
want,” she sang out to me.

I thought for a moment.  It was a tempting offer, but
I had to keep up the image of a boy who had no
interest in naked girls.  She might well decide to
cover up and tease me some more if I attempted to take
up her offer, so I thought I would be wise to decline,
tempted though I was.  “No, thanks,” I replied.

She shrugged, and there was a brief silence.  Then she
shot a glance over her shoulder at me and demanded,
“Why do you sit like that all the time?”

“It’s uncomfortable having my legs crossed,” I
explained.

She shrugged again, and I was sure she knew the
reason.  Then, still looking outside, she said, “I bet
you’ve never seen a girl’s pussy before, have you? 
Unless you’ve got a sister, and just maybe!  Because
it makes you shy.”

“Yes, I have,” I replied as casually as I could.

“Oh, I forgot Helen, didn’t I?” continued Carrie
provocatively.  “Tell me, what has Helen shown you?”

“That’s none of your business,” I retorted crossly.

“Helen’s still physically immature,” she went on,
relishing the long words.  “She doesn’t have breasts
and she doesn’t have hair.”

“Neither do you,” I replied, teasing her.

“Oh, yes, I do,” she assured me.  There was another
pause, and then she invited me again, “Come and look.”

“No, thanks,” I replied, through gritted teeth.

“Why not?” she wanted to know, still provocative.

“Because that’s just silly and showing off,” I told
her.  “You won’t let me see anyway, because you don’t
have any hair.  You’re too young.”

“No, I am not,” she snapped, annoyed.  “I’m just the
first in my class.”

“Nobody grows hair at junior school,” I told her,
knowing it wasn’t true.

“You want a bet?” she challenged, glaring at me over
her shoulder.  Her knees were still up and splayed out
beyond my line of vision.

“What are you going to bet?” I asked, my heart
beginning to beat faster.

She thought.  Then she said slowly, “If I do it – then
you must do the same.”

I shrugged my shoulders, playing Mr Casual again. 
“All right,” I agreed.

She put her knees down, folded them under herself
again and turned towards me in the same motion.  She
had a nervous smile on her face.  “You promise you’ll
do it – the same as me?” she asked.

I was about to say, “Yes, but only if you have the
hair to show me,” but thought I had better not risk
it, even though she spoke with a ring of truth. 
Instead I just tried not to show my excitement and
just nodded, “Okay.”  And then I realised this could
be a potential problem for me, because I didn’t have
any hair myself at that time.

Carrie rolled over on to her bottom and swung her
knees up so she was facing me with her legs open. 
There was her vagina in the middle, small and neat,
with a tiny clitoris hanging down from the top.  Just
at the top there was a narrow ridge of light ginger
hair, only three or four centimetres long and still
thin, but just visible against her very pale white
skin.  “There,” she stated, her face flushed.  “Now
it’s your turn.”

“No, it isn’t, because you haven’t any hair,” I teased
her.  I was also playing for time, worried about my
own hairless pubic area.

“Are you blind?” she retorted, flushing again. 
“What’s this?” she demanded, pointing a finger at the
little ginger fuzz, but obscuring the view of her
vagina with her hand at the same time.

“I can’t see it,” I teased again, leaning forward to
have a closer look.

She gave a squeal and covered up some more, and I
realised I have foolishly gone too far.  “That’s not
hair, that’s fluff,” I teased her, trying to make up
for it.

She put her legs down and did seem a bit embarrassed. 
“Now it’s your turn, because you promised,” she
demanded.

I thought I had better grit my teeth and comply.  So I
spread my knees apart, feeling my penis released from
confinement and flopping down, exposed to her view.

She stared with unconcealed interest.  Then she gave a
short, sharp burst of laughter and pointed.  “You
haven’t even any hair yourself!” she snorted.  “You’re
bald!”

“Boys don’t grow hair until later,” I protested,
embarrassed.

“I’ve got hair and you haven’t, and you’re a year
older,” she gloated, grinning at me in triumph.

“Well, I’ve had my first period and you haven’t,” I
shot at her.

She looked quite taken aback.  She obviously didn’t
realise that boys had periods, too.  Or did they?  I
saw a bit of confusion flitting across her face. 
Would she challenge me?  In the end she seemed to
decide it would be safer not to.  “I thought you’d at
least have some hair,” she eventually said, sounding
rather less confident.

Then she brightened.  “Look, we’ll play follow the
leader,” she decided, rather than asking me. 
“Everything I do, you must copy.  You ready?”

“Ready,” I said, thinking perhaps it wasn’t a bad
thing she hadn’t asked my approval, because that left
me with the option of refusing if she expected me to
do something too extreme.

She scrambled to her feet, making no effort to hide
her vagina as her knees went up.  I scrambled up too,
Carrie obviously looking at my penis, and then she
laughed as I bumped my head on the roof.

Then she reached up and put her arms over the top of
her head.  This lifted her skirt up, and I realised as
I did it, as best I could with the low roof, that the
same was happening with my shirt.  Next she lay down
on her back and pushed her legs up in the air, giving
me a full view of her long slit from top right under
her crotch to her bottom.  I did the same, and she
giggled, watching my penis falling back limply against
my loins.

Then she squatted on her haunches and hopped awkwardly
up and down.  I copied her, and she sniggered again at
the sight of my penis waving wildly up and down.  It
was very obvious and she made no effort to hide it.

Then she stood up and lifted her skirt as high as it
would go, hem up to her chest, exposing her little
vagina completely.  I did the same with my shirt.  She
turned round, crouched and stuck her bottom out at me,
so I did the same.  Then suddenly she leapt up and
bumped hard against me, her bare bottom against mine. 
Taken by surprise, I only just put my hands out in
time to stop myself from falling against the wall. 
She howled with laughter.

I gave a loud roar in fun and sprang at her, arms out,
just as I would do at times with Shelley and Jenny. 
But Carrie didn’t see it as fun.  Her face suddenly
went white, she screamed in fear and cowered against
the wall, head down.

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you, it’s just fun,” I
protested, crouching down and putting my arms
cautiously round her chest, but she didn’t respond,
turning her face away.  “You know something?  I like
you now,” I told her, thinking in my vanity it would
make her day.

It certainly seemed to be the wrong thing to say.  She
pulled away from me, her body rigid, and pulled a
face.  What?  Nobody liked Carrie!  The only way
Carrie could get any sense of importance was to boss
people around.  Why was I trying to deceive her by
talking about liking her?  That was impossible!

By now we could hear the chattering of the other girls
as they climbed the ladder, and Helen’s voice calling
for Carrie.  Carrie now scrambled to her feet,
accidentally giving a quick flash of her little
vagina, and ran out to the door, leaning out and
giving an exaggerated wiggle of her bottom towards me.
 I took it as a sign that she had forgiven my totally
outrageous comment.

“Let down the basket, Carrie,” I heard Helen’s voice
call from below.

Carrie reached back inside and picked up a covered
basket from the corner.  She pulled out some cord tied
to the handle, and let the basket down while holding
on to the cord with the other hand.  All the time she
swung her bottom backwards and forwards, still partly
visible under her skirt, in what she presumably
thought was a very sexy way.  Once she threw a glance
over her shoulder at me, and I gave her a big grin,
feeling the time for pretence was over.

As she pulled it up, with the drinks inside, I could
feel the tree house shaking slightly as the other
girls climbed the ladder.  As she drew the basket,
lopsided, on to the little veranda, Julie, the first
girl, arrived at the top of the ladder.

Still thrilled by my encounter with Carrie, I sat down
with my knees apart, and then suddenly realised, as
Julie came inside, that I wasn’t ready to let her see
my penis.  Quickly I tucked my knees under my chin, as
I had done before, but this time, because I had sat
first, my penis wasn’t tucked up behind my thighs as
it had been before, but was dangling down.

Julie glanced at me with a smile, and then did a quick
double-take, the smile disappearing.  She looked
slightly shocked and looked away again, her face
flushing a little.  Without looking back, she sat down
across the floor from me, where she had sat before and
Helen had been between us.  I suddenly realised that
hers was the only vagina I hadn’t yet seen.

Steffi was coming in now, with Helen bringing up the
rear, both carrying cups with plastic tops to stop
spillage in the basket.  I quickly put my knees down
and crossed my legs.  I did not want to look stupid by
pushing my shirt down in the middle, so I left it,
knowing that the person sitting opposite me would be
able to see whatever she wanted.  Then I discovered
that by pushing my heel in firmly, I could hide my
penis behind it.

Helen stood over me and handed me my cup.  I don’t
think she was trying to see my penis, though she might
well have been able to from her position as she bent
over me.  I took off the cap and drank the cool,
delicious lemonade.  Steffi was sitting on the other
side again, her vagina hidden when she leaned forward
and visible when she sat straight.

Carrie finally came in carrying the lunchbox from the
basket.  She opened it and put it in the middle where
we could all help ourselves.  Then she sat opposite me
again.  This time she deliberately crossed her legs,
giving my eyes full access to her little vagina.  Then
she looked at me challengingly.  I knew what she
meant.  I moved my feet so she could see what she
wanted.

We ate and drank, with the girls chattering away about
anything and everything.  Carrie was quieter than
usual.  She sat there with a smug smile on her face,
unashamedly staring at my genitals much of the time. 
I was quite happy to return the compliment.  Once,
while the other girls were enthusiastically arguing a
point, with a superior smile, she slipped her hand up
her skirt and stroked her little wisps of pubic hair,
overjoyed that she had some and I didn’t.  Such was my
infatuation with Carrie that I almost forgot about my
beloved Helen sitting next to me.

As we ran out of supplies, the talk turned to what to
do next.  This was easy, as they tended to follow the
same programme every week.  “Can you dance?” Helen
asked me.

“No, he can’t, we’re doing the Spice Girls and that’s
not for boys,” interrupted Carrie, before I could even
reply in the negative.

“He’s wearing a dress, so he can try if he wants,”
argued Helen.

“No, I can’t dance,” I broke in hurriedly, saving a
possible argument.

The empties were put back in the basket, and Carrie
then handed it to me.  “Roy, you can lower it to the
ground,” she told me, getting up with a wide view of
her whole vaginal area, one knee up and pushing.

We all got to our feet, and I found that all of us,
myself included, seemed to be more forgetful about
keeping ourselves covered, although I was not in a
position to see anything of Helen and Julie, who were
sitting against the same wall as myself.

Perhaps, though, the job with the basket was to allow
the girls the chance to descend the ladder before I
did.  It didn’t take me long to lower the basket, from
which the girls retrieved the empties and the rubbish,
and then draw it up again.  Or maybe the job was so
they could stare upwards at me as I did so.  There
were giveaway smiles on their upturned faces, but by
leaning forward I kept my shirt against my thighs and
I’m sure didn’t show them too much.

Again I climbed down the ladder with my thighs pressed
together as well as I could, probably presenting them
with tantalising glimpses of my genitals rather than a
full view.  I suppose really I was waiting for
something from Julie, for Helen and Carrie had already
freely allowed me to see their vaginas, while Steffi
had done so accidentally and seemed less concerned
than the others.  But pretty little Julie, although
careless with her skirt when she had something
underneath, had so far revealed nothing to me.

We trooped inside the house.  The girls seemed to
glance rather wistfully at the swimming pool as we
passed it, and I wondered if they would decide to swim
again.  If so, wearing what?

I followed them into the house and towards the lounge.
 From in front of me I heard Helen give a gasp and
Carrie a loud groan of annoyance.  They stopped in the
doorway and I peered over their shoulders.  I focused
first on the central object, a slim white bottom with
a white thong strap down the middle, just covering the
crack in the middle.  It was bulging from under a
flimsy purple skirt, and continued downwards in the
form of two long shapely legs.  Above it was a turned
head, with a smile directed at us.

“Ah, Debbie, we were going to play some music,”
protested Helen.  She turned to the rest of us and
said, “She so often thinks of exactly the same things
as I do.”

“It’s all right, you can come and join us,” invited
Debbie, happily.  Standing silently next to her was
Anthea.  “I’m putting on the Spice Girls, and you like
that.”

Carrie started to say something crossly, but at that
moment the music (if you can call it that) started. 
Debbie had been bending over the sound system and it
was now blaring away loudly.  Immediately Debbie
started to dance to the music, mimicking the Spice
Girls’ aggressive or obnoxious facial expressions and
pumping her arms.  I was glad I had been excused.

Helen had no further objections, so she swept in and
began to dance on the floor (Debbie and Anthea had
already rolled back the carpet), quickly followed by
Julie.  Anthea joined in quietly.  Carrie stood for a
moment rather crossly, and then decided to cut her
losses.  She plunged in, ignoring Debbie, and began to
dance, and of course Steffi followed.

I sat on a chair watching, carefully placing my thighs
far enough apart to be interesting but not far enough
to reveal more than a portion of my apparatus.  The
girls would glance at me now and then, and smile or
giggle.  Occasionally as they stretched and moved, I
would see a white bottom or a white hip, above the
swimsuit line, or Debbie’s lacy white thong, which she
had no doubt chosen for me.

Carrie, it seemed, had to keep attention on herself. 
Once as she was dancing she flicked her skirt up at
the front to give me a flash of her vagina, and then
she mischievously flicked Debbie’s skirt up at the
back.

This was during a lull in the row emanating from the
sound system, and I heard Debbie protest.  “Take off
your thong like the rest of us, then,” I heard Carrie
tell her.

Debbie put her hand to her mouth and laughed.  “Oh,
you’re all – naked underneath, are you?” she asked. 
She shot me a glance, and I thought she started a
little to see a portion of my genitals, but not much. 
I checked in the mirror at home afterwards!  She
turned back to Carrie and said, “I’ll do it if Anthea
does.”  Anthea looked quite embarrassed, predictably
shaking her head, and Debbie knew she was safe.

They were a long time with the Spice Girls, before
they eventually sank into chairs or on to the floor,
laughing and panting for breath.  Steffi sank on to
the floor almost opposite me, knees up and vagina in
full view under her skirt.  Then I saw her stiffen for
a moment, slip her knees over to the side as Carrie
had first done up in the tree house, and at the same
moment dart a glance towards me.  I made sure my eyes
were elsewhere, managing to exchange a smile with
Helen.  From the corner of my eye I saw Steffi visibly
relax, and about 20 seconds later she put her knees up
again cautiously, glancing at me again.  I kept my
eyes well away and, assured that I had no interest in
her secret place, she kept her knees up and vagina in
view.

“Helen, put on the bums-a-daisy one,” instructed
Carrie, interrupting Debbie, who was chattering away. 
There was a bit of a gasp and giggle from Julie, who
shot me a glance, while Debbie also giggled.  I
wondered what was coming.

“We do this with partners, Roy, so we still don’t have
room for you,” Carrie informed me.  I was quite happy
with my watching role.

Helen bent over the sound system to change the music,
revealing her bottom again as she did so.  Debbie
started explaining to Anthea presumably what it was
all about, though I couldn’t hear what she was saying.
 Anthea did not seem at all happy about it.

At that moment, a small black cat sidled into the room
from the far side.  Julie, who obviously knew it,
knelt down and held out her hand to it, one knee up
and one knee down.  I couldn’t control my impatience
any longer.  Feigning interest in the cat, I rose from
my seat and shot over, so I could be opposite Julie.

It was as easy as that.  Her lovely white flesh was
visible up her skirt as she stroked the cat, and down
the middle was a tight little vagina, still hairless,
thin and flat.  My heart thrilled, but the frantic
beating slowed.  I knelt down in the same way that she
did, one knee up and the other down, in gratitude, so
that she could see of me what she wanted, and I too
stroked the cat.

My gesture was a mistake, as it seemed to tell Julie
what she was showing.  I saw her eyes flicker towards
my penis, and then her face closed up.  Quickly she
rose to her feet and slipped off behind me, leaving
the cat.  I felt smitten and ashamed.  I had
embarrassed her and perhaps given myself away.

I decided to act it through as if I had had no
nefarious intentions, stroking the cat, and as it
moved away towards Steffi, who was calling it, I rose
with a smile and went back to my seat, without looking
at Julie at all.  I studiously kept my eyes completely
off her for a while, hoping she would think me
innocent after all, and I think I succeeded.

There was a hold-up, because Anthea was refusing to
take part.  In the end Debbie came over me, beaming
her most glorious smile.  Although I now knew she was
pretty shallow, I was again overwhelmed by her charm
and beauty.  “Come, Roy, you be my partner,” she
invited me, and before I had thought I rose to my
feet.

“Hey, how do you do it?” I suddenly added, as an
afterthought.

“Let us show you,” said Helen, who had been waiting to
start.  “Ready?” she asked the others, and with their
approval she started the music.

It was a lively, rollicking tune that I hadn’t heard
before.  Helen and Julie danced together, as did
Carrie and Steffi.  They swung each other round by the
arm, laughing, and then every few seconds there was
the bang of a drum and the clash of cymbals.  Then the
girls swung round, back to back, lifted their skirts
and bumped bare bottoms, with loud giggles.  Years
later I heard that there was actually an old-fashioned
dance, rather like this, called the bumps-a-daisy. 
The girls had changed it into a bums-a-daisy, as they
had renamed it.  Debbie laughed and beamed at me in
anticipation.  I tried not to make my interest in
these snowy-white bottoms too obvious.

Helen stopped the music after a short while, and waved
to Debbie and me to join in.  Carrie was not happy,
though.  “Debbie, you know our rules,” she told her
bossily.  “Thong off.”

“I don’t have to, I’m not a full member,” argued
Debbie.

“If you join in our games, you have to follow our
rules,” insisted Carrie.

For once, Helen came in on the side of Carrie. 
“Please, Debbie, you promised to obey our rules,” she
pleaded.  “It’s quite all right – with Roy.  We’ve all
been round – like this – ever since we swam.  If we
can do it, so can you.”

Debbie appealed to me.  “Come on, Roy, tell them they
can’t force me – like you did with Anthea,” she
appealed.

“Well, I – they’re not forcing you, it’s just if you
want to join the game,” I responded.  “I have to do
the same thing so . . .”  I trailed off.

Debbie conceded defeat and laughed good-naturedly. 
“All right, but just for this,” she laughed.  She went
over to the side of the room, turned her back on us,
reached under her skirt, pulled down her lacy white
thong and stepped out of it.  Slightly flushed, she
beamed at me, held up her thong and giggled, “I hope
you like white better than black, Roy.”

“It’s – very sexy,” I responded gallantly.

Helen started the music, and we danced.  Debbie seemed
to know how to do it, so I followed her as best I
could.  Every beat of the drum and cymbals, I turned
round, lifted my shirt and bumped her bare bottom,
which was on the same level as mine, feeling the cool
soft flesh against my own.  Unable to restrain my
curiosity, once I deliberately missed and staggered
past her, dropping my eyes to glance down at her
shapely little white bottom as we blundered past each
other.

As soon as it was over, Debbie gave a laugh and
recovered her thong, slipping it on under her skirt,
despite the protests of the other girls.  I held my
breath, totally tense, and fancied I might just have
seen the quickest flash of black pubic hair as she
lifted a leg.  Then she threw herself into a chair,
legs slightly apart, revealing her smooth white lacy
thong in rather more orthodox fashion this time.

I could tell the general atmosphere was a little tense
now, and wondered what the next item on the programme
was.  Carrie headed for the door and the others in the
club followed her outside.  Debbie and I followed,
with Anthea bringing up the rear.  The girls ahead
were whispering nervously together about something,
and I didn’t know what.

We headed slowly towards the swimming pool area.  They
wanted to swim, I could tell.  I thrilled as I began
to suspect that a nude swim was to come next.  But I
also sensed that I was the problem there and, well as
we had got on so far, they didn’t have the courage to
do that with me there.  There was no giggling now. 
They were really scared of what they were thinking of
doing.  For many preteen textile girls, on the verge
of puberty, nothing is more terrifying to contemplate
than allowing a boy to see them naked.  (Yes, even
me!)  Behind me, Debbie was happily urging Anthea to
lighten up a bit and join in something.

“I wonder if our thongs are dry,” I heard Julie say. 
This, I assumed, was a hint to the others to suggest
they swam in their thongs again.  Idly they felt them,
but I could see they were still damp in places.  Why
didn’t Helen start off and go in naked, and the rest
would follow?  After all, she had done it with me
before – or almost.  Perhaps she was just afraid it
would lead to questions about what we did last time I
was there.

I waited tensely, wondering if I should make a
suggestion.  But that might spark off the totally
erroneous (of course!) idea that I was interested in
seeing them naked and be counter-productive.  I still
obstinately clung to my refusal to go in naked first. 
No, if they wanted to see me naked, they would have to
do it first.

I heard Carrie say to the others, in a resigned sort
of voice, “We’ll swim later.”  She turned away from
the pool and walked back towards me, followed by the
others.  There was a visible release of tension, but
also an air of disappointment.

The change in programme seemed to leave them at a loss
as to what to do next.  Over to one side was a small
playground that the girls had grown out of, a swing, a
slide and a climbing frame.  Smiling as if there were
nothing wrong, the girls wandered over to it.  Helen
sat on the swing, knees together but a small triangle
of flesh visible up her skirt.

Carrie was about do sit down on the end of the slide
when she walked over to the climbing frame instead. 
The highest bar was probably slightly over a metre
above the ground, just about level with my chest. 
Carrie slapped one hand on the bar and looked at me
challengingly.  “Roy, I bet you can’t swing upside
down from this bar,” she said.

The gloves were off, so to speak.  It was quite
obvious what she was after.  I hesitated.  They were
meant to do it first.  I almost replied, “I’ll do it
if you will.”  But something told me they had gone as
far as they intended to go.  We were all playing games
with each other.

Had I really anything to lose?  After all, I had now
seen every part of the bodies of all four younger
girls.  Debbie and Anthea were not going to go any
further until a lot more had happened.  But it seemed
we had come to a dead end – unless I made something
happen.

I made my decision.  “Yes, I can,” I replied.  I
grasped the bar with my hands and swung my legs up,
feeling my shirt tumble down as I did so.  There were
gasps and squeals from the girls as I swung my knees
over the bar and saw my shirt fall down to my stomach,
exposing my penis to their eager eyes in all its glory
for the first time.  I let go with my hands and my
body swung downwards.  Everything went black as my
shirt fell right down over my head, just as it had
done when I did a handstand.  Except that this time I
had no underpants on.

There was a barrage of noise from the girls, gasps,
squeals, giggles, embarrassed laughter, comments – the
works.  “Oh, *Roy*!” I heard Debbie exclaim in
disbelief, from within my darkened world.

Reaching out with my hands, I could feel the ground,
just the far side of my head.  My shirt slipped so far
down I could now see light underneath it.  I paused a
little longer, to satisfy the girls’ curiosity, and
then I straightened my legs and swung them over my
head.  I landed neatly on my front with my shirt now
around my outstretched upper arms and the top of my
head.

I lay prone, virtually naked now.  In fact, I heard
Julie’s voice exclaiming, partly in shock, partly in
delight, “Roy, you’re naked!”

I felt a light smack on my bar bottom and Carrie’s
laughter.  “Roy, everybody saw your thing,” she
informed me unnecessarily.

“You look so funny upside down,” Steffi laughed.  I
could guess which part of me she meant.

I rolled over and bounced to my feet, my shirt
flopping down again.  I looked into an array of
laughing, incredulous faces.  Debbie in particular was
flushed and laughing hard with embarrassment and
incredulity.  “Roy, do that again,” she urged me.

“I don’t want to get dizzy,” I answered.  “Who else
can do that?”  There was a general giggle but no
volunteers.  I turned to Debbie.  “Come on, Debbie,
can’t you do it?” I asked.

The others all turned on her, no doubt glad they
hadn’t been selected themselves.  “Yes, Debbie, you
can do it,” Helen encouraged her.  “You’ve done it
before.”

“So have you – all of you!” laughed Debbie.  “But
Anthea’s better than I am.  Come on, Anthea, you’re
the gymnast.  I said you must start joining in with
us, didn’t I?”

Anthea plainly didn’t want to, but also didn’t want to
say no again.  So she grimaced and said, “I will if
you do.”

“O - kay, then,” giggled Debbie gamely.  “Here I go!” 
She grasped the bar and swung her legs up as the rest
of us automatically moved back.

There were squeals and gasps from the girls as her
skirt dropped down to reveal her white bottom, and
these intensified as she swung her legs over.  As she
was wearing a dress rather than a skirt, the whole
thing slithered down her body.  Almost her entire
body, slender and arched, was now revealed, broken
only by her little white thong.  It was not quite as
revealing as the black one had been, but the lacework
did show her white flesh through the transparent
material – and also a darker mass of pubic hair, some
of which was again sticking out at both sides.  I
found myself gazing, not unwillingly, at the thin
white skin of her groin, with a little purple vein
running through it, and strands of curly black hair
emerging through the sides of her thong.  The padded
gusset at the bottom, between her legs, was right
before my eyes.

Debbie had forgotten one thing.  She was no longer
wearing a bra, presumably having taken off her wet one
and not bothered to replace it.  Her dress slithered
all the way down to her shoulders and her little
breasts appeared.  They were small but well rounded,
with lovely smooth skin and tiny ripe pink nipples on
the ends.

Debbie gave a squeal and reached up one hand,
scrabbling to hold her dress up so it covered her
breasts.  There were the usual horror-stricken squeals
of, “Ooh, Debbie!” from the other girls, and from
their tones and expressions you would have thought
Debbie was getting raped.  Steffi shot me a resentful
glance as if to tell me I should not be here in such a
personal moment.

As Debbie continued to struggle with her dress, I felt
awkward and decided I should do something.  I stepped
forward, took the hem of her dress which was still
floating around her neckline, and pulled it up with
both hands until it covered her breasts.  Then, on
impulse, I pulled it higher, to cover her taut white
tummy and up to her crotch, although I could not quite
get it to cover her thong.

At that moment Debbie’s knees began to slip off the
bar.  Forgetting that it was probably intentional and
she would have her hands on the ground to break her
fall, I grasped her tightly round the knees.  As she
came off, I struggled with the weight of her body but
squeezed her legs tightly to me as I lowered her
gently to the ground.

She lay on her back, looking up at me and laughing,
her skirt still up above her thong and face flushed
with having been upside down.  She pushed herself up
on her elbows and said, “Roy, you are such a
gentleman!  Most boys would have wanted to look at my
boobs.”  Then, in one of those sudden about-switches
that has always puzzled and amused me in girls, she
looked almost accusingly and indignantly at me and
demanded, though smiling at the same time, “Don’t you
*want* to see my boobs?”

“I – they’re very sexy,” I answered.  “All of you is. 
But I . . .”  I pulled myself together, stood up and
looked around at all the girls, but Debbie in
particular.  “You know, this is all fun but – but I
don’t ever want to make anybody feel bad.  About
anything.  So if you don’t want to – to do things,
that’s okay.”

The girls grinned and even looked a bit embarrassed by
my speech.  Then Debbie said brightly, “I don’t mind. 
Roy, you can see anything you want.”  So saying, she
lifted her skirt so her little white rounded breasts
were again visible in the bright sunlight.

“Thank you, Debbie,” I smiled at her, trying to appear
nonchalant as I took in the vision while trying to
pretend I wasn’t totally enraptured and drooling at
the mouth as I did so.  Impulsively I crouched down
next to her and gave her a kiss on her warm cheek. 
“Thanks for trusting me.  I – I really feel great when
girls trust me.”  This was intended as a subtle
message to the others.

Helen, no doubt a little jealous, responded straight
away.  “Now it’s my turn,” she exclaimed, grabbing the
bar and swinging her legs up.

“Hey, that was supposed to be me!” protested Carrie
angrily.

“No, it was Anthea’s turn,” said Debbie, dropping her
skirt but with her thong still fully visible as she
sat on the grass with her knees up.

The squeals from the other girls were now no more than
automatic as Helen’s red skirt fell down at the back,
and then at the front.  As she wore it round her
waist, it dropped no lower than that, but her bare
torso was now exposed from the waist down – or in that
position, should it be up?  Her rounded vagina, soft
and fleshy, was just before my eyes.

“Roy, please help me down,” she gasped.  I was sure
she didn’t need help, but she certainly wanted it!  So
I put my arms round her waist and gently lowered her
to the ground.

“I trusted you as well?” she smiled up at me, putting
on a mock-baby voice, and it took no rocket scientist
to guess what she was really wanting.  I crouched
beside her to give her a kiss on the cheek and,
ignoring what others might say, she put her arms round
my neck and gave me a hot kiss in return.  I heard the
anticipated murmurs in the background.

I got up to see Julie looked at me, her blue eyes big
and bright.  By a similar means of telepathy, I
managed to understand what she wanted from me.  So did
Carrie.  “Wait for your turn first,” she insisted.  I
thought she would want to go next herself but, having
been upstaged by Helen, she evidently decided she
would go last after all.  “Anthea, it’s your turn,”
she said.

Anthea looked hesitant, and rather nervously at me. 
She was half a head taller than I was, and unlike
Debbie seemed to have no interest in a younger boy. 
“All right,” she whispered, and added to me, “I don’t
need any help, though – and I’ll stay like this.”  I
nodded in agreement.

Self-consciously she tucked her skirt into her panties
– she did not wear a thong – and grasped the bar.  She
was clearly a gymnast, as ever so lightly she swung
her legs up and over and hung down gracefully, her
pale blue panties visible at the crotch.  Carrie
whispered something to Steffi and pointed.  Then
Anthea, still very graceful, swung herself down again.
 I clapped in appreciation.

“Steffi, it’s you now,” said Carrie.

Steffi swung herself up and hung there for a few
seconds, little vagina lips visible and slightly
parted, enough to glimpse her clitoris inside.  “Do
you want Roy to help you down?” Helen asked her.

There was a pause, and then Steffi said, “Yes.” 
Gently I held her around the waist and lowered her. 
She lay on her back and pulled her skirt down to cover
her vagina, although not hurriedly.

“Roy, give her a kiss for trusting you,” Helen said
generously.

“Shall I?” I murmured to Steffi, as she made no
response to Helen.  She blushed and nodded.  I kissed
her gently on the cheek and she blushed brighter.

“Look at her blush,” laughed Debbie, but not unkindly.

“So did you, Debbie,” giggled Helen.

“Julie, your turn,” instructed Carrie.  Julie seemed
only too keen.  Within a moment she was upside down,
and I had another view of that lovely little vagina I
had seen in the lounge, thanks to the cat.  It seemed
as slim and graceful as its owner, with her white skin
stretched and her vagina flat and smooth.  I could see
every tiny fair hair all around it, but apart from a
couple of longer ones nothing to suggest puberty was
arriving yet.

“Please help me down, Roy,” she asked after a moment. 
Gently I put my arms under her back and her knees and
lowered her to the ground.  With a shy smile on her
face and a gleam in her eye, she looked at me, and I
had no need for her to say what she wanted.  I gave
her a warm, tender kiss on her soft cheek, and had the
pleasure of seeing her blush with the loveliest of
smiles.

Carrie was already swinging herself up.  “I don’t need
any help,” she told me sternly as she did so.  She
hung down for a few seconds with her little vagina
taut, clitoris clearly visible in the middle, and her
little patch of pubic hair looking almost golden in
the sunlight.  Then she put her hands down, stretched
to reach the ground, and landed with a bit of a bump. 
If any of them had genuinely needed my help it was
Carrie, shorter than the others.

“She’s got a little patch of hair!” exclaimed Debbie,
laughing and a little provocative.

“Of course,” declared Carrie, sitting up with her legs
apart to show it off to best advantage.  “What about
Anthea?  Has she any?”

Anthea blushed and looked uncomfortable.  I suppose it
was a valid question, though, as Anthea despite her
height looked pretty flat-chested.

“Come on, Carrie, let Roy give you a kiss,” urged
Helen.

“I don’t want any kisses,” growled Carrie, but I
wasn’t sure I believed her.  But I wasn’t going to
argue, as she had clearly made up her mind.

Carrie stood up and decisively pulled down her skirt. 
“Now – we swim!” she declared.  The declaration had
been made and I was trusted.

“Race you in!” squealed Debbie, taking hold of her
dress and pulling it up over her head.  Joining in the
spirit of the occasion, I was out of my large shirt in
an instant.  Ahead of them all, I raced towards the
pool, leapt, twisted in midair and landed facing
backwards so I could see my pursuers.

When the spray cleared I could see the glorious vision
of a crowd of naked girls, all heading in my direction
and all screaming and shrieking.  I had known I would
be well ahead of them, as I had only one loose garment
to remove and they each had two.  Debbie was the first
of the rest – or was she?  I’m not sure, but she was
the only one I was looking for at that point.  She was
at last naked, with the black patch between her legs
very obvious as she took a flying leap towards me in
the water, but impossible to concentrate on when she
was moving so fast.

She landed almost on top of me in the water, with a
wild shriek, and we laughed and wrestled together. 
The others were round me, on top of me, splashing me
and trying to duck me.  It was mayhem.  I had just
time to take a deep breath before I was knocked under
water, and it was quite a struggle managing to surface
again.  As I scrambled for the side, somebody bumped
into me and I banged my head quite painfully on the
side of the pool.

The stimulation of being naked – with me - seemed to
make the girls much wilder in the pool than they had
been easier on.  The most essential parts were under
water, though, and therefore not generally visible. 
But Anthea had still not joined in.  She stood near
the side of the pool, laughing self-consciously, but
still fully clothed.  Debbie splashed some water in
her direction and called out gaily, “Come on, Anthea,
this is great fun!”

I think Anthea was one of those girls who needed this.
 She would never do anything as daring on her own
initiative, but if she was cajoled by her friends she
could be persuaded into it in the end, quite happily. 
Perhaps it was to make sure it was safe, perhaps it
was to tell herself she wasn’t responsible, or perhaps
so she could blame her friends if anything went wrong.
 The demands to join in earlier had been a bit too
soon and she had clearly been uncomfortable, but she
had now adjusted to the situation.  Whatever the
reason, she gave a resigned smile and began to
undress.

With my head sore and Helen expressing some concern, I
kept out of the main action and watched Anthea.  She
slipped off her white blouse and then her little white
bra underneath.  Her breasts were still small and very
white, little concave mounds with a dull pink nipple
on the end of each.  Then she unbuttoned her black
skirt and stood there for a moment in her pale blue
panties.  They looked very large and old-fashioned
after all the thongs I had been used to recently.

Then off came the panties and she was one of us.  Her
vagina in fact was almost invisible.  She had a slight
smattering of such fair pubic hair down between her
legs that it was only possible to distinguish the
little slit up quite close.  Smiling nervously, she
minced to the edge of the pool, tested the water with
her foot, backed away as Carrie mischievously flicked
water in her direction, and then, with a little
squeal, jumped in as lightly as she could.

As she got in, I got out of the pool and headed for
the sun loungers, answering Helen’s anxious question
by saying I needed to rest my head.  I was also
feeling rather limp after a stressful morning of plot
and manipulation.  I sat there watching them with my
legs up a little so they couldn’t see my penis from
the pool – they would have to come out if they were
interested.  I had been keeping an eye on my watch and
saw I had another 20 minutes to go before I would have
to leave.

They had no slide or diving board, but the girls did
quite a bit of climbing out, running around and
jumping in, so the scenery was excCarriet.  Debbie
stayed in the pool, though, her little smooth rounded
breasts always visible, but I still wanted a closer
look downstairs.  Finally she looked at me and called
out to ask if I was all right.

“It’s a bit sore,” I told her.  “I think I’m getting a
bump.”  It was only just, to tell the truth.

Looking very concerned, she pulled herself out of the
pool, and my heart raced again as the black hair of
her groin came into view.  I tried to keep my interest
from being evident as she walked lightly across
towards me, dripping water.  She sat down on the side
of the lounger next to me, facing me, and said, “Let’s
have a look.”

Obediently I ducked my head while she put her hands up
to feel the area and look closely.  As for me, the
view was perfect.  Her legs were apart a little.  Her
black pubic hair was not yet so thick as to be
impenetrable, and the thick black line of her vagina,
with hairs weaving their way across it, was still
quite visible.  It was slightly open at the top, as
often happens as a girl’s hips start to broaden, and I
could see the darker pink of her clitoris at the top,
forming a V-shape until the labia closed over it about
halfway down.

“I can’t feel anything,” Debbie told me, putting her
hand on my cheek for a moment and rubbing it gently. 
She beamed at me and I beamed back at her, thrilled
with all I had seen.  Then she lifted her bottom from
the lounger for a moment and gave me a kiss on the top
left side of my forehead, near the bump.

By now the other girls had left the pool and were
coming to have a look as well.  They stood around me
in a semi-circle, all naked and all unashamed.  I
could have reached out a hand and touched any vagina I
wished.  It still surprises me how girls can be so
petrified of exposing their vaginas for so long, but
then suddenly reach a decision that I can be trusted
with it, and be totally uninhibited after that.

“If we all kiss Roy better, maybe he’ll come and play
again,” suggested Debbie brightly.

“Let’s try,” agreed Helen, stepping forward and giving
me a big, warm kiss in the spot that Debbie had used. 
Julie was quickly after her, and then Steffi planted a
quick kiss there as well.

Anthea giggled.  I could just about see her vagina,
tucked away at the bottom of her torso and almost
hidden under a thin ridge of hair coloured so lightly
that it was nearly invisible.  “Come on, Anthea,”
Debbie encouraged her.  That was just what Anthea
needed, so she stepped forward to give me a shy smile
and a light peck.

“Come on, Carrie,” urged Helen.  “Just one more, and
then he’ll be well enough to join us again.”

“I’m not going to kiss any *boy*!” exclaimed Carrie,
but when I looked at her there was a hint of a smile
and a challenge in her eyes.  I stood up, still
looking at her, and she gave a squeal and darted away
with a giggle.  She stood there naked, as if
challenging me, and I thought I knew what that meant.

I stood up and took a couple of steps towards her. 
She squealed and backed away, but not too far.  She
stuck her tongue out, blew me a raspberry and jeered,
“Can’t catch me!”  Then she turned round and stuck her
bottom out at me, so far I could see the bottom of her
vagina between her legs.

I knew it was all in fun, so I chased after her, while
the other girls laughed.  She squealed again and
darted away, still laughing and still playing that old
feminine game of wanting to be caught while pretending
not to.  As I chased her, she ran behind the little
changing room, shrieking happily just as if she were
an ordinary girl instead of one with a major hang-up.

As I chased after her, she fell to the ground, rolling
over on her back and kicking feebly at me with her
legs, the famous old position of submission, totally
unconcerned about the long slit of her vagina visible
between her legs.  She was laughing all the time, and
I trusted she would not suddenly change her mind in
the middle.

I pounced on her and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.
 She seized my face in her hands and gave me a big,
strong kiss on the forehead.  “There, if that’s what
you want!” she shouted at me, eyes flashing angrily.

I got off her, startled at her apparent change of
mood.  She glared at me, and I heard the laughter of
the other girls behind me as they had followed us to
see what was happening.  Feminine curiosity is often
very predictable.

I felt rather stupid and embarrassed, as it seemed
things had gone wrong with Carrie.  It was only years
later, thinking about it with a better understanding
of girls, that I realised that it was surely an act on
her part, designed to make the other girls and myself
believe she would never really want to exchange kisses
with a boy.  And perhaps also to excuse such a
shameful act to herself as well . . .  And, of course,
she had run behind the changing room to try to stop
her friends from seeing her disgrace . . .

“You’ve made me feel better!” I smiled at the laughing
girls behind me.  “Anybody want another one?”

Giggling silently, Helen raised one finger.  More
confident now, I wrapped my arms round her, gave her a
tight squeeze and a long kiss on the cheek.  She
laughed gaily and gave me a warm, wet one on the
corner of my mouth.

As I let go of her, Julie fell into my arms, her
bright blue eyes beaming at me in happiness and
anticipation.  As with nudity, once girls decide to
cast off their inhibitions about kissing, they
disappear very quickly and very decisively.

My memories of that last 20 minutes are almost lost in
a blur of warm, bare bodies and warm, loving kisses,
skin pressed against mine, arms round my neck, wet
hair in my face and an ice cube on my back – the last
coming courtesy of Carrie, who wanted some attention
again and laughed with delight as she did so, dodging
away as I chased her and running round the back of the
changing room again . . .

(To be concluded)



YOU PUT A THONG INTO MY HEART (CHAPTER 6)


Throughout the next week I kept up my daily meetings,
and flowers, with Helen after school, and often before
school as well.  I was always there round the corner
to meet her and go home with her.  I didn’t meet her
at the bus stop because we both knew, without either
of us saying so, that it would cause a lot of talk and
embarrassment to her if the other children saw a boy
meeting her there.

It had developed rather into a three-way relationship,
as Julie voluntarily chose to come as well every day. 
“It’s like these African tribes we learned about at
school last term,” laughed Helen gaily on about
Wednesday.  “You’re the chief, Roy, and I’m your
senior wife and Julie’s your junior wife!”  We all had
a good laugh about that and were quite happy with the
situation.  Every day now I brought a flower for Helen
and one for Julie as well.

That was not all.  Every day Helen let me into her
garden for five minutes before Debbie and her parents
arrived home.  We went to our hidden corner of the
garden near the front gate.  I would put my bicycle
down and Helen put her suitcase down.  Then we opened
our arms to each other.

As I remember it, on Monday we did it fully clothed. 
On Tuesday I took off my shirt and Helen took down the
top of her dress, still wearing that tiny and still
useless bra.  On Wednesday I took off my shorts as
well, Helen took off her dress and cuddled in our
underwear.  We didn’t dare go any further than that
just in case we were caught.  Sometimes I did Helen
and Julie in turn, and sometimes we had a threesome, a
real thrill, with two warm bare chests pressed so
lovingly against my own.  I just had to be careful
that when I got an erection, as was sometimes
happening, that I didn’t have them pressed against the
wrong part of me.

I can still remember the thrill of those stolen
minutes together, the warmth of their little bare
bodies against my chest, their hot breath down the
back of my neck, their warm cheeks pressed against
mine, their warm damp kisses and the occasional
whispers of love when they dared to respond to mine. 
Of course I have had to move on, and I have been able
to find girls to love all through my school years, but
there is something special in puppy love, some special
thrill of attaining the unbelievable for the first,
that is never really repeated.  I had done this sort
of thing with my first girlfriend Saskia before, of
course, but never felt fully a man with her, as she
always insisted on being in control.  She was never
warm and yielding and vulnerable like Helen.  And, of
course, Julie!

Right from the previous Saturday we had talked about
the following Saturday, and been disappointed at the
prospects.  They had a school outing that Saturday, as
the whole class was visiting a special display at the
museum with a guest speaker.  Normally they wouldn’t
have minded too much, but this time it cut right
across our plans.  The only slight bone of contention
between Helen and myself was that she remained
unwilling to admit to her mother that she had lied
about how she met me.  I was sure that this would
enable her parents to contact mine and open up new
opportunities for us both, but Helen was afraid she
might be forbidden to see me at all.  Perhaps she was
right, but I was desperate to take the risk.

Friday was an awful day.  It had been bad enough the
previous Sunday, when I’d had no contact with Helen at
all.  Now, on Friday, there was the prospect of no
contact whatever until Monday, an awful stretch of
time for a 12-year-old.  I didn’t know how I could
handle it.  We had a particularly long cuddle behind
Helen’s gate that day, the three of us, and the girls
both had tears on their cheeks when I finally tore
myself away from them.  Even so, I was so late that I
met Debbie at the corner, delighted to see me as usual
but intimating that she knew something had been going
on.

I felt very depressed that Saturday morning, pining
for my beloved Helen – and Julie as well, I quickly
had to admit.  I did think of Carrie and Steffi as
well occasionally, but they weren’t as special to me. 
I asked Helen on Tuesday how Carrie was behaving these
days.  She puffed out her cheeks, looked into the
distance, and said, “Well, she’s nearly back to what
she used to be.  But she’s still too bossy at times.”

When my family had gone to town, I wandered around
aimlessly outside, naked as I always was when my
parents were out.  This was the only opportunity I had
to go naked around our own garden.  The cool autumn
air was fresh against my body.  I practised my
handstands a few times, trying in vain to see what my
penis looked like upside down.

Then I heard the bell ring at the gate.  My parents
had just grown trusting enough of me to leave me at
home alone now on Saturday mornings, instead of having
a security guard on duty at the gate.  So I followed
their instructions, running over to the gate and
calling out, “Who is it?”

There was a brief pause, and then came a relieved
voice calling out, “Helen.  And Julie.”  Probably they
had been afraid my parents might have answered,
although I had told them my parents, like Helen’s,
were always in town on Saturday mornings.

Surprised and delighted, I threw open the small gate
and looked out.  The two girls were beaming at me from
the shelter of their school uniforms, although their
faces quickly changed and looked startled when they
saw I was naked.

A car drove past, and I caught a glimpse of a small
girl peering out of the window towards us.  Glancing
nervously over their shoulders, the girls slithered
inside.  “Roy, shut the gate before somebody sees
you,” suggested Helen.

“Before somebody *else* sees you,” corrected Julie.

Only then did I become aware that I had the potential
to create another small item in our local English
paper.  “12-year-old heart-throb presents bare front
to the public,” or something like that for a headline,
perhaps?  Or maybe I overestimated myself a bit!

“I thought you had a school outing,” I challenged
them.

“Yes, but we – we missed the bus,” Julie informed me,
trying to hide a smirk.  “So we – thought we’d come
and see where you lived.”

I didn’t enquire any further as to how they missed the
bus.  That was good enough for me.  So I invited them
to see around my garden, which was a bit larger than
Helen’s, and presumably Julie’s as well.

“Please could you – put some clothes on,” requested
Helen.  “We – we don’t feel too good when we have
clothes and you don’t.”

I could think of a better solution, but in a strange
place they clearly weren’t quite ready to strip off
yet.  So I nipped indoors, found the shirt I had worn
the previous week, and slipped it on.

“Won’t you get into trouble for missing the outing?” I
asked.

“Oh, no,” Helen assured me.  “I can say that I met
Julie on the corner and then I found I had lost my
purse.  So we went back looking for it, and I – I
found it two blocks away.  But it was too late and we
missed the bus.”  I didn’t comment, but wondered if
Helen, a pretty straight-forward girl, would be able
to lie successfully about it.

The girls were a bit nervous at first, perhaps afraid
my parents would materialise, or perhaps a little
guilty and worried about missing the bus and deciding
to lie about it.  We wandered around the garden and
then sat down on the grass next to the pool, with
Julie as usual giving an unintentional flash of soft
white underwear as she sat down and crossed her legs.

They talked generally about school, and then Helen
volunteered with a shy smile, “We’ve been practising
our handstands this week.”

“But not at school, because we don’t want people
saying, ‘Where are your thongs?’” Julie added.

“And are you wearing them today?” I teased them.

Helen smiled and shook her head, but Julie got to her
feet, still unaware that every time she rose or sat
she left the triangle of her skirt uncovered and
revealed her underwear.  Smiling shyly, Julie
pretended to walk on to a stage, as they always did at
their club, and curtsied, lifting her skirt to waist
level to give me what she thought was the first view
of the day of those soft, rich white panties she wore.
 Then she turned, skirt still up, and bowed so I could
see the full rear section.  They were genuine panties
all right.

“Your turn, Helen,” she invited her friend, and Helen
rather sheepishly did the same.  She was wearing thin
white cotton panties, but I got the impression she was
a little ashamed of showing off like this.

“My turn now,” I grinned at them, standing up.

I think Julie caught a glimpse under my shirt as I
stood, as she blurted out, “No, you – you don’t have
to.”

“Aren’t I even allowed to do a handstand?” I protested
teasingly.

The girls giggled, looked at each other, and then
Julie nodded.  There were little squeals as I swung my
legs up, my shirt flopped downwards to my chest and no
doubt my penis tried to follow it.

“Let us show you how we’ve improved,” said Helen as I
came down.  She gave her skirt a cursory tuck into her
panties at the side, and then immediately sprang
forward and threw her legs up, causing her dress to
slither down her body a bit, but no lower than her
waist.

“We tuck our skirts in more at school, but we don’t
bother here,” Julie told me.  “We just don’t want them
flopping over our heads.”  I took this as a major
compliment, indicating that I was more trustworthy
than certain people at school.

Both stayed up for quite a bit longer than they had
done seven days earlier, so I complimented them.  They
had another turn, and then Julie giggled and asked,
“Do you think we should – take our panties off for our
handstands?”

Helen thought, and then said, “I don’t want to.  My
dress would get in the way then.”  I wondered if they
were still feeling a bit nervous about being in a
strange place.

They decided to stop after a couple more handstands. 
Then Julie giggled and said, “I’m taking my panties
off now.  We may need them for swimming later.  I’ve
never been naked under my school uniform before.”

So saying, she reached up her skirt and pulled down
her panties, and Helen did the same.  With their long
school skirts, I was unable to see underneath as they
stepped out of their panties and tossed them on to the
bench, two little twisted pieces of white material.

I had to restrain my impatience as they wanted to see
more of the garden.  I was just longing for us to swim
naked again, to hold each other and love each other
naked.  But it was still cool that autumn morning, and
they decided they wanted to sit and talk.

We sat down on the lush, thick grass near the pool. 
Helen as usual sat down gracefully, revealing nothing,
but when Julie sat I caught a quick glimpse of her
white loins and little tight vagina.  I sat down
rather carelessly myself, but did not expose myself
unduly in case I offended them.

They tried to include me in their girl talk for a
while.  Then Helen suddenly giggled and said, “It just
feels so funny to have no panties under a school
dress.  It felt funny enough wearing a thong.”

Julie turned to her and said, “Do you remember those
silly games we used to play in Year Three?  When we
kept lifting each other’s skirts up?”

Helen nodded.  “Carrie was always so silly about
that,” she remembered.  “She usually started it, but
she got cross if we did it too much for her.  Then she
suddenly decided to stop when there were others
around.”

“That’s when she started wearing thongs,” Julie told
me.  “So she got very cross if any of us lifted her
skirt up in public.  But she liked it in private. 
Then we could all show how shocked we were that she
was wearing a thong.”

“We all thought it was cool to wear thongs, and she
wanted to be the leader of the thongs,” Helen said. 
“But it all changed when we got caught by the
headmistress, like we told you.  And we had a big row
when I invited the others to my house last Saturday,
and Carrie was even more cross when you came.  She’s
still the leader, but I think she’s a bit better now. 
Sometimes, anyway.”

“I was so scared of you seeing me naked at first,”
giggled Julie.  “I thought you might – say things or
do things.  But Helen promised you were all right.” 
Suddenly she threw herself back on to the grass and
swung her legs up over her head.  Her blue skirt flew
everywhere, and I could see her bare white bottom with
the long thin slit of her vagina in between.

Then she swung herself down until she was sitting
cross-legged again, but with her skirt askew so I
could see quite a large area of soft white flesh
inside.  “That was fun!” she laughed to Helen.  “I
used to do that when I was little, and try to see what
I looked like in the mirror.  It’s naughty, but it
feels such fun.  Come on, let’s do it together!”

So saying, she swung backwards again.  Helen
hesitated, but she didn’t glance at me, so I don’t
think she was worried about me.  She had perhaps a bit
more natural dignity than the playful Julie, or maybe
she felt a bit guilty.  But then she laughed and swung
her legs up, giving me a wonderful view of her white
bottom and the soft rounded vagina in between her
legs.

When they came down, I did it myself, swinging myself
backwards and my legs upwards.  When I came down
again, both girls looked slightly embarrassed.  Helen
perhaps thought it was slightly undignified, but Julie
looked almost worried.  I wondered for a moment what
the problem was.

“No, don’t do that, Roy,” Julie said, shaking her
head.  “That reminds me of my cousin.”

“What did your cousin do?” Helen asked her.

“Well, he came to stay with us when I was seven and he
was eight,” answered Julie, looking down into her lap.
 All of us were sitting there with our skirts (or
shirt, in my case) still awry after our action, and I
could see both vaginas peeping from underneath.  No
doubt they could see quite a lot more of me, as my
shirt was shorted.

Absentmindedly, Julie began to pluck at her skirt,
exposing more of her soft white loins to my view.  “My
mother said we must have our bath together,” continued
Julie, plucking again.  “I didn’t mind at first.  I
didn’t really worry about a boy seeing me then,
especially since I knew him.  But then he started
being silly.  He started showing off his – his thing.”

“His penis, it’s called,” I told her.  I’m sure she
had never heard that name at the Catholic school.

“Yes,” whispered Julie.  I think she was familiar with
the word but didn’t like using it.  “But when we
undressed, he – he started being silly.  He kept
telling me to look at his – his penis and teasing me
because I didn’t have one.  And he – he did something
to it so it went all stiff and started pointing up to
the ceiling.  He – he was so silly and just said so
many rude things.  And he kept trying to touch my – my
– between my legs.”

She paused, and then continued.  “The second night he
was worse.  He kept mocking me and saying, ‘You
haven’t got one, you haven’t got one.’  He kept
rolling back, like Roy was doing, and that reminded
me, only he was being rude, and I know you weren’t,
Roy.  And when we were in the bath, he made it all
stiff and then began to wee, so it made a big
fountain.  I just got out straight away.  He was
laughing loudly all the time, and I think my mum
thought we were just having fun.

“Then when we were drying ourselves, he grabbed hold
of me and had a pretend fight, but I didn’t want it. 
We were on the floor together, and he put his hand
down and felt all over my wee.  Between my legs.  He
was disgusting and I couldn’t stop him.  I told my mum
after that, and she stopped us from having our baths
together.  But I don’t think she did anything.”

“I’m so sorry he treated you so badly,” I told her
very kindly.  “I’ll never, ever do anything bad to
you, I promise.”

“I know *you* won’t,” she answered, looking up at me
and smiling shyly.  “You just reminded me for a moment
– of him.”

“At least you didn’t have to put up with any more
after that,” put in Helen, trying to encourage her.

“Oh, I did a bit,” she answered.  “He kept telling me
he wanted to play doctors and nurses, and I didn’t
even know what was.  So I said all right, and he told
me I had to let him unbutton my clothes.  But I
didn’t, and I kept telling him no.  Then he kept
mocking me, and telling me I was scared because girls
don’t have things.  A penis, I mean.”

“Yes, we do,” put in Helen unexpectedly, with a
giggle.  “At least, Debbie says we do.  Only ours is
inside, not outside.”

Julie looked puzzled.  “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, you know that inside . . .” Helen began.  Then
she turned and looked at me, rather embarrassed. 
“Roy, I . . . no, Julie, I – maybe I can tell you
another time,” she faltered.  “Roy would think I was
very rude, but I – I don’t want to be.”

“No, that’s not being rude,” I told her.  “You’re just
– telling her something in a sensible way, you’re not
making fun of it or trying to make her feel bad.  So I
don’t think you’re being rude at all.”

Actually I was having a major problem.  I thought I
knew what Helen was talking about, having done serious
explorations in anatomy with my former girlfriend
Saskia, and the very thought of Helen and Julie doing
the same thing was a bit much for me.  My stomach was
churning, my bladder felt strained, and my penis was
beginning to stiffen, in full view of the girls. 
Should I pull my shirt down, or would that inhibit
them?

Both girls seemed to notice it at the same time. 
Helen gave a gasp and Julie gave a squeal, and they
both stared, not knowing what to do and looking
shocked.  I didn’t know what to do either, and it was
no use going into denial, so I just stammered out,
“Sorry – that – that happens to boys sometimes.”  My
cheeks must have been very red.

“But why – how does it happen?” blurted out Julie,
still shocked and staring.

“Well, it’s not really rude because sometimes it just
- happens by accident,” I tried to explain.  “It’s a
bit like when somebody farts, and they don’t mean to.”
 I didn’t want to try to explain about sex to them,
though I was sure they must know something about it.

“My cousin made his all hard with his fingers
somehow,” said Julie.  “Just like a spike.  But you –
didn’t do that.”

The implied question was how did I do it?  Feeling
very embarrassed again, I said, “Well, you know – it
happens to boys sometimes when they see something very
sexy.  And it’s really very sexy of you both to – to
have no panties under your school dresses.  So that’s
just why it’s happening, but I don’t mean it and I
hope you don’t mind.”

“Do you think we’re sexy?” asked Julie.  That wasn’t
quite what I had meant, but I nodded my head.  They
both flushed a bit, with both pleasure and
embarrassment.

“You mean you can see our – our wees under our skirts
and you think that’s sexy?” asked Helen.  “And that’s
making you – your penis – like that?”  I nodded,
wishing my rebellious member would obey the
instructions of my brain and lie down again and behave
itself.

I’m glad they were sensible girls I could trust. 
Carrie would certainly have found it very funny, and
Steffi would probably have got the giggles as well,
and I would have felt far worse.  These girls were
naturally embarrassed and awkward, but were trying to
handle it sensibly.

“*How* does it get so hard?” Helen asked me, wrinkling
up her nose in puzzlement.  I was glad she didn’t ask
me why.

“Well, it’s just – more blood flows into it and
somehow – it makes pressure and it does go hard,” I
stammered awkwardly.

“Would it be all right – just for me to touch it?”
asked Julie shyly.  “To see what it’s like?”

“I – don’t think that’s a good thing – to touch people
there,” I replied.  Then a thought came to mind.  “I
mean, you wouldn’t like it if I touched you there,
would you?”

She began to shake her head, and then said, “Well, I –
I mean, if – if I touch you, then you can – touch me? 
I – I don’t mind that.”

I began to weaken, but threw another plan into the
works.  I shook my head.  “I can’t do it with you,” I
told her.  “Helen – well, she’s first and I . . .”

“Your senior wife,” giggled Helen.

“Yes,” I went on, grateful for the support.  “So it –
it wouldn’t be right for me to – to do things with you
that I’ve never done with Helen.  That wouldn’t be
good, and I – I’d feel bad about it.”

“Helen doesn’t mind,” Julie said, but Helen broke in,
“No, I – I – we can try.  I can do it too.  I don’t
mind – touching.”

I was rather surprised and very nervous.  I had
fantasised about Helen and myself touching each other
and myself exploring her body, but I never really
believed she would agree to that.  I felt nervous
about getting involved in this sort of touching with
these two girls.  With Saskia it had not been a
problem, as she had instigated it, and for a born
hussy like her it seemed very natural.  But these were
two lovely, decent girls without Saskia’s dirty mine –
and they wanted to share in touching so intimately?

“Well, if we – all agree?” I asked, looking at them
both.  They nodded, and I also saw that they too were
nervous about it.

We sat there waiting for somebody to take the
initiative – or rather, I was hoping they would.  They
were casting covert glances at my crotch, though, and
I suddenly realised that my penis had gone rather
wimp.  Although we had been discussing something
‘sexy’, it never stayed erect for too long.  I didn’t
know how to explain it to the girls.

Eventually Julie said awkwardly, “Your – thing has
gone down.”

“Well, it – it only stays hard for a short while,” I
explained.  Then I grinned.  “Maybe if you do
something sexy it will get hard again.”

Helen and Julie sneaked glances at each other.  Then
Julie whispered, “Let’s do backward handstands.”

They were not really handstands, but basically what
they had done earlier.  They swung their legs up and
over and held themselves there, as high as they could,
with their legs apart.  Their soft little vaginas were
pointing to the sky, and my penis started to respond. 
They could not see me in that position, so I quickly
put my hand down and squeezed my penis in and out.  It
soon began to come erect.

“It’s working,” I told them.  They swung their legs
down and sat there, legs apart and vaginas still
exposed to my view, and looked nervously at my penis. 
I had my shirt up now so they could see it clearly.

“Are we – allowed to – touch it?” asked Julie very
nervously.  I nodded, too embarrassed to speak.

Julie shyly reached out and gave it a push with her
fingers.  It was pointing towards my chin, and of
course sprang back when she withdrew her hand.  “Touch
it, Helen,” she said.  “It feels – like a bone.  Roy,
are you sure – is there really a bone in there?”

I shook my head.  Helen, also very shy, gave it a push
with her fingers and was surprised to find it
springing back again.  The stimulation for me kept it
hard, and they stared at it, fascinated, but also I
think a little guilty because they were venturing into
territory where ‘nice’ girls weren’t supposed to go. 
Carrie, I’m sure, would have been noisy and vulgar and
found no problem with it.  In a way, I might have been
less embarrassed with that approach, since I had had a
lot of Saskia to put up with.

“You know, I – I didn’t like my cousin and the things
he did with his wee – his – his penis,” said Julie
hesitantly.  “But, Helen, don’t you sometimes wish
girls had – one too?  Boys can stand up when they wee,
and when my cousin was in the garden once he sprayed
wee all over the bushes – he could just do it in any
direction.  It must be – quite fun.  We just have to
sit down and – we can’t even make it go where we
want.”

“Well, girls do have a – a secret penis, like I was
telling you,” whispered Helen, making it sound very
intimate as she looked at Julie and yet somehow I felt
as if I were included.  “You know – inside.”

“You mean . . ?” responded Julie, pointing to the
little fold near the top of her vagina.

Helen nodded, with a rather sheepish, secretive grin
on her face.  Then she looked hesitantly at me.  “Roy,
is it all right – can I show you a – a girl’s secret
penis?”

I love it when girls ask like that, rather than “Do
you want to see . . ?”  It makes it sound as if they
are asking a favour and I feel less guilty – if I ever
did – about agreeing.  So I generously nodded, and
felt my penis take on a new surge of life.

“Do you know what it is, Roy?” Julie asked me,
puzzled.

“I’ve never heard about that before,” I answered,
avoiding the question like a skilful politician.  I
had a pretty good idea what it was, having enjoyed
numerous guided tours of the inner workings of
Saskia’s vagina.

“Where is it, Helen?” Julie wanted to know.

“Debbie showed me where it is,” murmured Helen,
looking down and trying to shift the responsibility on
to her sister.  Finally she plucked up courage.  She
pulled her skirt up to expose her vagina and put her
knees upwards and outwards.

Her soft, rounded vagina lips parted slightly.  I
could just see something white inside.  She put a hand
on either side of her vagina and pulled the lips
apart.  The middle part was all soft, pink folds of
skin, slightly moist and glistening slightly in the
bright light.  Above it was what looked like a strip
of white skin hanging down from the top.

“Where is it?” whispered Julie, looking fascinated and
horrified at the same time.

“Under here,” replied Helen.  She put a finger very
carefully on the little white bit that was her
clitoris and slid it upwards.  Peering round Julie’s
inquisitive fair head, I could see what looked like a
tiny little white knob.

“Oh – your clitty,” enthused Julie.  “I knew that –
but I never thought of it being like a penis.  It’s
too small, really.”

“I bet yours is even smaller,” giggled Helen.  “Come
on, Julie, let’s see your – your little penis.”  She
let go the tiny bit of skin, which slid back over her
clitoris by itself, as if spring-loaded.

“All right,” agreed Julie, sounding remarkably casual
about it now.  She sat down and crossed her legs.  Her
tight little vagina lips hardly parted at all, but I
could just see the thinnest strip of white at the top.

As if expertly, she put her fingers down as Helen had
done and parted the lips.  She could not spread it as
wide as Helen, but it was enough to show her little
white clitoris inside.  It was very short and small,
and I wondered if she could do it.  But she slipped a
finger in and pulled up the skin on top.  It looked
more like a bulge than a knob or a penis to me, but I
didn’t say so.

She looked up at me, smiling shyly with her big blue
eyes.  “Thank you for trusting me,” I whispered to
her, kissing her on her forehead and making her blush.

“Hey, the senior wife is supposed to be first,”
protested Helen, looking hurt, but I knew she was
teasing us.  I gave her a big kiss too.

“Debbie sometimes shows me how she does that,” Helen
told us.  My penis had relaxed, but now suddenly began
to sharpen up again as a thrill shot through my loins
and stomach.  “She says if a boy wants to make a girl
feel good, he tickles her there, and then her clitty
goes all hard, like Roy’s – like a penis.  She can
even do it herself.”

“Do you do it yourself?” asked Julie.

Helen looked shy and shook her head.  “I – did try it
once but I stopped and I don’t – I don’t think it’s
good,” she said.  “Remember what Sister Claudia told
us at school.  It’s sinful to rub yourself between
your legs and you’ll go to hell if you do it.”  So
they had had some sex education after all!  I never
had reason to believe from the girls that they ever
had any other.  “I told Debbie, but she laughed and
said she’ll confess it before she dies.”

“Does she let boys do it to her?” asked Julie.

“No, she says she’ll wait till she gets a proper
boyfriend,” answered Helen.  “She says she wants a boy
she can trust.”

“So if Roy does it to you, you’ll do it before Debbie
does,” said Julie.

Helen suddenly looked shocked.  She hadn’t thought of
that.  “Oh, I – I can’t – we can’t do that!” she
stammered.  “It – it’s like – well, the rude things
that . . .”  She trailed off, perhaps thinking of sex,
but it was so vague to her that she couldn’t verbalise
it.

“I don’t mind,” smiled Julie, suddenly looking eager. 
“Roy, do you – know how to do it?”

“I think so,” I told her.  If Saskia hadn’t taught me
correctly, nobody could.  “I’ll do it very gently.”

“Hey, I’m the senior wife,” complained Helen.  “You
said so yourself.  You can’t do it with Roy when I’m
not.”

“Well, you can go first, then,” Julie told her mildly.

I could read the dilemma all over Helen’s face.  She
looked very uncertain, feeling it was too far to go
herself but not wanting her best friend to get a treat
that she would turn down.  She wrestled with it for a
moment and then turned to me.  “Should I?” she asked
me weakly.

I didn’t want the responsibility of encouraging her to
take part in something she might feel guilty about. 
So I shrugged my shoulders and answered, “It’s up to
you.  I – I can do it to Julie if she wants, and then
you can do it if you want to.”

Helen still looked uncertain.  “Come on, let me do it
if you don’t want to, Helen,” Julie urged her
impatiently.

“I can try it,” said Helen finally.  I realised I
should have refused when she was still rather
reluctant and felt under pressure, but at 12 I was too
keen to get things going.

Helen, biting her lip and looking guilty, pulled up
her skirt again, put up her knees and spread her legs.
 Her little clitoris was peeping out from between the
folds of flesh.

Suddenly I felt guilty about what I was to do to her
when she really didn’t want it.  “You – really trust
me, don’t you?” I asked.  “Come on, let’s have a hug
first.”

I spread out my arms and both Helen and Julie threw
themselves at me, knocking me over backwards.  They
laughed and giggled on top of me as we hugged and
kissed.  When they finally got off me, I was lying on
my back with my shirt up and my penis, half-erect, in
the air.  “Naughty thing,” giggled Julie, giving it a
cheeky prod with her finger.

Helen looked much happier now as she sat down, lifted
her skirt and spread her legs for me.  “Don’t touch –
under the skin,” she told me.  “It’s so sore there.” 
She opened her vagina lips to allow me access.

I assured her I wouldn’t, and then reached out my
finger and touched the skin over her clitoris.  A
shudder went through her like an electric shock, and
she squealed.  I whipped my hand away, but she gasped,
“No, it’s – all right.  It just feels funny.  Do it
again.  And – Debbie says it’s best when it’s wet. 
Let me put some spit on your finger.”

She leaned forward and with her finger dabbed some
saliva from her mouth on to my finger.  Then she
leaned back on one elbow, using one hand to keep her
vagina slightly open, and waited for me to serve her. 
She shuddered a little as I put my finger there again
and tickled it very gently.  Then she giggled and
wriggled her hips a little, panting a bit for breath. 
Julie watched, fascinated.

Helen’s face began to go red and her breath quickened
as I kept tickling.  Then suddenly I felt my finger
beginning to go damp again, the spittle having worn
off.  Just as would happen with Saskia, she was
beginning to lubricate herself automatically from her
vagina.  I could also feel something under my finger
beginning to go hard.

“Stop now,” she finally gasped.  “That’s enough!”  She
lay there, wriggling slightly, flushed and panting for
breath for a few seconds.  Then she said, “I want a
look, but don’t touch.”

She sat up, opened her vagina with her fingers and
then carefully pulled back the skin.  The little knob
underneath looked slightly larger now and stood out
more.  Julie stared at it, fascinated, and kept
getting her head in the way.  “Has it gone hard?” she
asked Helen, and Helen nodded.  “What did it feel
like?”

Helen lay back again, still flushed and panting a
little.  “It was – kind of funny,” she tried to
explain.  “But a nice kind of funny.  Oh – try it,
Julie, it’s so – sort of exciting.”

“Me now!” squealed Julie, putting on a cheeky grin. 
She pulled her skirt up, spread her legs wide and
carefully pulled open her vagina.  I could see the
pink folds of skin inside, looking slightly moist, and
her tiny clitoris at the top.

“Put some spit on his finger, or Debbie says it will
hurt,” Helen reminded her.

Julie was using both hands to hold her vagina open, so
I raised my finger to her lips.  She stuck out her
tongue like a dog and I ran my finger against it, and
then brought it downstairs again.

Julie’s vagina was so tight that she needed both
hands.  As I touched her clitoris, like Helen she
shivered and gave a little squeal.  “Ooh, that
tickles!” she giggled.  “Roy, do it some more.”

Obediently I tickled her gently on her covering skin. 
At first I senses she was holding her breath and her
face began turning pink.  Then she let it all out with
a whoosh, laughed and began breathing quite heavily,
her chest heaving.  As I kept rubbing slightly, she
shivered again, and suddenly I felt dampness under my
fingers.  Pressing slightly more firmly, I found the
tiny clitoris underneath going hard.

“Ooh!” squealed Julie in a big gasp of breath.  “Ooh,
stop now, Roy, I – I can’t take any more now!  Ooh, it
feels – good!”

I stopped and sat down, smiling at the pleasure I had
given them.  We sat there facing each other, genitals
still exposed, looking at each other and laughing with
some embarrassment and a feeling of having shared
something delightful but naughty.  Then Helen said,
“Please, Roy, do it again.”

“Try it this time without using your hands,” suggested
Julie.  So Helen lay on her back and pulled up her
skirt, which lay floppily at her waist, exposing below
it her lovely white loins.  She spread her legs apart
until the lips parted of themselves and her vagina
formed a double line at the top.  I let her lick my
finger and then repeated my massage.  The area was
still damp from my last turn.

“My turn!” demanded Julie brightly, as soon as I had
finished.  “Do it this way.”  She jumped on to my lap,
facing me, leaned back and put her legs on my
shoulders.  Her skirt was trailing down and the whole
of her hips and white loins were exposed right up to
her bellybutton.  She pushed her legs up over my
shoulders, pushing me almost on my back, and wrapped
her knees round my neck.  Her little vagina, lips just
slightly forced apart, was almost under my nose and I
caught a faint whiff of a slight musky smell.

I reached down my hand for her to dribble on my
finger.  As she murmured in pleasure, I pulled the
vagina lips apart myself with one hand and gently
tickled with the other.  “Mmm!  Mmm!  Mmm!” she went,
sounding more excited each time, and kept on until
finally she had had enough.

We spent quite a while enjoying this until finally the
girls seemed to reach the point of exhaustion.  Their
vaginal areas were now quite pink with all the
unaccustomed exercise.  They lay back with dreamy
expressions on their faces, carelessly pushing their
skirts down but otherwise unconcerned about their
state of semi-dress.  I also lay back and waited until
they decided they were ready for something else.

Slowly they began talking again, in spurts.  Then
Julie asked, “Roy, can we – swim in a few minutes?”

“Good idea,” I told her.  Slowly they sat up, but the
experience seemed to have exhausted them.  They were
both sitting there, leaning back on their arms with
their legs stretched out before them, skirts askew and
vaginas still just visible.

After a brief silence, Julie said with a giggle, “I
never knew girls had a penis before.  I wish we could
use it like boys do.”

“I’ve never seen a boy do a wee,” mused Helen to
Julie.  “Not properly.  Just babies.  I wonder how
they do it.  You at least saw your cousin do it.”

“Oh, he was disgusting,” replied Julie.  “But I
suppose it was – interesting.  He just held his – his
penis in his hand and he could move it where he
wanted.”

Helen looked slightly puzzled, as if she couldn’t
quite grasp how this was possible.  I was quite sure
both girls were quite innocent of any hint that they
would like to watch me urinating, so I decided to help
them.

I rose to my feet.  “Well, I need to go to the toilet
before we swim,” I told them.  “You can come and look
if you like.”  I took a slight risk here, as I was
afraid I might just ejaculate instead, as I was
starting to do now and then.

They both stared at me in surprise, and their lack of
deviousness was quite clear.  “You – don’t mind?”
queried Helen.

“No, it’s all right, it doesn’t matter,” I told her. 
“Come now if you like.”

Feeling I needed to be discreet, even with nobody else
around, I walked behind a large bush not far away. 
They followed me.  They watched as I lifted my shirt,
held my penis in the other hand and began to urinate
into the bush, guiding the flow.

“Can you – move it around like my cousin did?” asked
Julie.

“Yes,” I answered, moving my hand to change the
direction.  I moved it upwards as well, with the urine
describing a small arc before the flow began to dry
up.

The girls watched, fascinated.  “I’ve always wished I
could wee standing up,” said Helen.

“Girls can do that, though it’s not easy,” I told
them.  They watched as I shook the final droplets off
my penis.  “My cousin Shelley is seven and she can do
it.  But you have to press yourself in a certain place
on your vagina, about the middle, to do it, otherwise
it goes down your leg.”

“May we – try it here?” asked Julie, looking up at me
eagerly.

I nodded.  Rather gingerly they lifted their skirts,
but I couldn’t give them any further directions as to
where to press.  They spread their legs quite wide,
but to start with they both dribbled urine down their
legs.  They squealed and tried again.

After a few seconds Helen cried out triumphantly,
“Doing it!”  She was bending forward, had one hand
holding up her skirt and the other pressed against her
vagina, and there was a little stream of urine
splashing straight down on to the grass.  Looking at
her, Julie managed to copy it.  A few seconds later,
as their little bladders emptied, they managed to get
the last few drops down their legs again.

“Shelley can stand up straight and do it,” I told
them, as we went over to the garden tap to wash off
their legs.  “She even stands up and does it into the
bowl when she goes inside to the toilet, but if you
try that without practice you might get your aim wrong
and do it on the floor instead.  Even some boys do
that when they’re not careful.”

“I’m going to practise so I can teach Debbie how to do
it,” promised Helen.

When they had washed off, we were ready for the pool. 
I threw off my shirt and leapt in, trying to stifle a
yell at the cold autumn water in case it put them off.
 I surfaced to find them still removing their skirts
and blouses, but within a minute their beautiful naked
little preteen bodies were finally freed to the
environment and with loud squeals they leapt in after
me.

There were more squeals as they came in contact with
the cold water, which is not a common experience in
our normally hot country.  “Ooh, it’s even colder than
our pool!” exclaimed Helen.

“Come and I’ll make you warm,” I offered, grinning.

Laughing sheepishly, she splashed towards me.  I
smiled into her warm brown eyes as I held out my arms
to her.  She fell into them, laughing with pleasure
now.  “I love you, Helen,” I whispered in her ear,
kissing her soft cheek as I wrapped my arms round her
and rubbed her bare back vigorously.

“Me!  Me!” squealed Julie, splashing towards her as
well.  I held out an arm to her and she fell against
me, putting up her cheek for a kiss.

We cuddled there in the water as a threesome, with the
girls’ wet hair constantly in my face.  I loved the
feel of their wet slippery bodies under my arms, as
they laughed into my eyes and wrestled a bit to enjoy
the physical contact.

We played a little in the water and then scrambled out
to lie in the sun.  I fetched three towels, but they
didn’t want them.  As I lay down on my towel, they
snuggled up close to me on either side, pressing their
cold wet bodies against mine.  I put my arms round
them and they snuggled even closer, pressing their
loins against my hips and wrapping their arms tightly
around my neck, so I couldn’t move without getting a
faceful of hair.  They made inane loving noises into
my ears and soaked my cheeks with their kissing.

Then Helen sat up and thrust her legs at me, spread
apart.  She pulled apart her vagina lips and
whispered, “Roy, please do me again.  It was good.”

I began to get twinges of anxiety, afraid that she
might become too dependent on this sort of contact and
find other, less responsible boys to accompany her,
boys who might decide to go further.  I would have to
try to educate this all-too-innocent girl about that. 
But for the meantime, I wet my finger and gave her
what she needed.  Of course, Julie was not to be left
out.

That seemed to satisfy them.  Helen gave a sigh and
lay on her back, snuggled up against me on one side. 
Julie lay on her side, facing me, on the other. 
Occasionally they talked in whispers, but then there
was a long period of silence.  I lay there waiting for
them, feeling their little bodies slowly warm up as
the sun shone more hotly.

I suddenly realised, to my surprise, that they had
both fallen asleep.  Julie’s face was buried in her
arm and her eyes were closed.  Her legs were sprawled
out, with the little slit of her vagina just visible
at the top in between.

Helen lay on her back, her flat little chest rising
and falling slowly and gently.  She was my first love
and she was lovely.  I ran my eyes slowly and lovingly
down the length of her body, the slight depression of
her belly button, her gently rounded hips and the soft
white skin stretching down into her groin.  Then there
were the little purple veins just visible through her
white skin and the soft, smooth rounded lips of her
precious little vagina, that she had so trustingly
allowed me to see and to feel.

I rested my head on my shoulder where I could just see
it, that little dark slit with its soft white rounded
lips, disappearing between her smooth pink legs. 
Gently I leaned over and kissed her lightly on her
soft warm cheek.  She didn't even stir.  And before I
knew it, I had fallen asleep as well, with two
precious little girls snuggled up against me.

And to think this all started because of one article
and one photograph in the local newspaper.

Just one final word.  I have overcome my fascination
with thongs, and as far as I know Helen never wore one
again, either.  Give me delightful white panties on a
girl any day!

(The End)


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