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) Send instant messages to your online friends http://uk.messenger.yahoo.com