Uncle
Toby�s Memoires
By Chris
Warner
This story is
written by Chris Warner, and all copyright and other rights of authorship are
retained. It is for ADULTS ONLY and contains sexual material. If you are under
18 years old and/or are offended by sexual material, please stop viewing this
page NOW. Readers are permitted to keep a copy for their own personal
reference, but this story must not be reposted or in any other way distributed,
in any form, without the express permission of the author via the e-mail
address given. I am likely to be happy for it to be posted to other sites, but
I intend to retain control over the contents of the story and ensure that
certain other conditions will be met.
*******
I am proud to
bring you an excerpt from the forthcoming autobiography of my great uncle, Sir
Toby Warner (1937-��� ).� His book is entitled �A Respectable Veneer�,
and it is a candid account of his life which will shock the many people who
know and revere him as a respected surgeon, a community leader, a politician
and elder statesman, knighted in 1991 (at the age of 53) for his many
contributions to New Zealand society.
�
Sir Toby�s
revelations concerning behind the scenes corruption in the Muldoon Government
are likely to attract a great deal of attention, as will his involvement in the
drug scene and his connections to various crime figures.� In comparison, the chapter I have the
privilege to share here won�t be nearly as scandalous, dealing as it does with
early sexual experiences which are inconsequential in the light of today�s
morals, although it will still cause some embarrassment to those who were
involved.
�
Regards,
Chris Warner
�
Chapter 6 �
Medicine: A Worthy Vocation for Young Men?
�
As already
mentioned in Chapter Four, one reaches a time in one�s life when one feels
entitled to use sentences beginning with the words �young people today��� There is always the risk of being labelled an
old fuddy duddy, but one
trusts the reader will take the opportunity given here to consider all my sins
before choosing which labels to apply.
�
Young people
today have every expectation that they will be able to look at naked bodies, in
pictures or video if not actually in the flesh, with the minimum of
inconvenience.� Furthermore, they find it
inconceivable that naked bodies have ever been in short supply.� Even those old enough to remember the days
before the internet, which has made viewing sexual intercourse so commonplace
that still images of naked women have become pass�, will scarcely believe there
was a time before nudie magazines were sold in every newsagent and corner
shop.� Tell any young person that Playboy
was first published in the USA in 1953, and that it was many years later before
copies found their way into the hands of boys in provincial New Zealand, and
they will struggle to comprehend such ancient history.
�
Of course, there
is a long history of men being able to access women of easy virtue and/or
obtain pornography, but in the 1950s much of this was the dominion of what we
referred to as the lower classes.� Within
the upper classes any hint of impropriety could destroy the careers and social
standing of any person.� Some men wishing
to visit a brothel would only do so by first taking the precaution of
travelling to another country.� For some,
even this was too risky.� And certainly
the girls we consorted with, the ones we knew would make suitable wives while
we pursued our respectable careers, were particularly keen to avoid any scandal
which might prevent them from marrying into the social class of their fathers.
�
I saw my first
pictures of naked women in 1952, when my 4th form art master took us
on an excursion to an art gallery.� I
refer of course to paintings of naked women � the only pictures that were in
any way accessible or acceptable in those times.� Mr Abbott blushed as he tried to lecture us
on the artistic importance of the nude in art history, but I doubt if any of
his listeners was taking him seriously as we stared at the paintings before
us.� In my mind, not only was I enjoying
the vision before my eyes, but I also spent some time considering my envy of
the man fortunate enough to spend so many hours in the same room with this
naked model while dabbing paint onto the canvas.
�
At that stage in
my adolescence, I had already divided my future career options into two
categories: those careers that involved looking at naked women, and those that
did not.� Clearly I could add �artist� to
the very small list under the first heading, but naturally in all other
respects it couldn�t compete with the career which ultimately claimed me.� Becoming a doctor was obviously the most
eligible way of combining wealth and social status with my ever-present craving
to see naked women in the flesh.
�
So there we have,
far earlier in the chapter than the intelligent reader will have anticipated, a
response of sorts to the question posed by the chapter title.� Doctors over the centuries have successfully
put it about that their primary motivation is altruistic, and that examining
naked women is somehow a cross one has to bear.�
Of course, I do realise that it is very important to the naked women
themselves to also believe this, as this belief has always been essential to
them overcoming their modesty and seeking the medical assistance they
needed.� For this reason, I might be
reluctant to come clean if it wasn�t for the abundant supply of women doctors
in modern society.� For the record, I can
finally admit that my motivations for pursuing a medical career were (in
reverse order of importance): respect, money, and the desire to look at naked
women.
�
That tiresome
intelligent reader, having noted from the above conclusion that this chapter
has reached a somewhat premature climax (a recurrent theme I�m afraid � more on
that later), will expect I will now move straight on to Chapter 7.� However, I am expecting that the intelligent
reader will be outnumbered by the many garden variety readers asking the
question �Hey Toby, old chum, how about telling us about other experiences of
naked women?� I am so glad you asked, because I have a story which will
titillate the many while embarrassing only a few of my contemporaries.
�
Young people
today (yes, that phrase again) assume that St Paul�s
Anglican College has always catered to both boys and girls.� However, it has only been that way since
1981.� Prior to that it was known as St
Paul�s Boys College.� Slightly less than
a mile away, on the site now occupied by one of the more outrageous new bible
colleges, was St Hilda�s College for Girls, a proud and worthy establishment
now consigned to the pages of history.�
In those days both schools were predominantly boarding schools, with
less than one in ten being a day student.
�
Apart from the
art gallery visit already mentioned, I had no further experiences fitting with
our theme until the last year of my secondary education.� My final year at St Paul�s was 1955, and I
had the honour of being Head Boy as well as being one of the four house
captains.� The identities of the other
house captains will easily be discovered by those who are motivated to do the
research, but I will at least throw a flimsy veil over their identities by
referring to them only by their first names.�
They were Bertrand (Bertie), Peter, and Henry (Harry).
�
Contact between
the schools was minimal.� The only time
the student bodies were regularly together was for evensong on Sunday evenings.� School rules dictated that all boarders
return from home leave early enough on Sunday evening to change back into
school uniform and eat a quick tea before marching through town to church.� The boys sat to the right of the aisle while
St Hilda�s sat on the left.� Gazing
across at the rows of girls was a pleasant consolation for the end of our
weekend off, and I actually looked forward to evensong despite our many
objections to going to church, most of us having already attended with our
parents in the morning.
�
In my final year
at school Sunday nights soon became the highlight of my week due to the
longstanding tradition of the house captains of both schools sharing supper
together following the service.� The
tradition was originally an invitation to supper at the Vicarage, which was
exactly what occurred on our first Sunday evening of the school year.� This was our first opportunity to meet our
counterparts from St Hilda�s.� The vicar
had each of us introduce ourselves in turn, and I was soon acquainted with
Elizabeth (Betty), Victoria (Vicky), Alexandra (Alexa) and Beatrice (Bea).� As expected, they were the pick of the crop
of the intelligent and accomplished young women churned out by the private
college.
�
Over supper the
vicar explained that he was getting too old to be hosting eight teenagers every
week, so he let us in on the secret that for several years he had been allowing
the house captains to have their supper unsupervised in the Sunday school
parlour, which was upstairs in the Sunday school building behind the
church.� He took us over and showed us
around.� The parlour was a comfortable
sitting room with a small kitchenette, and it even had a gramophone for us to play
some music.� He said he would drop in to
see us every now and then.� However, and
the reader should note this happy circumstance, he advised us to bolt the
downstairs door from the inside for security when we were there.� There was a bell he could ring if he needed
us to let him in.
�
There was a
palpable sense of excitement when the following Sunday arrived.� As the most senior pupils we occupied the
rearmost pews in church, and there were frequent glances across the aisle.� After the service the vicar walked us to the
door of the Sunday school building but he didn�t come inside, leaving us with a
few last minute instructions on turning out lights and locking up.� He again reminded us to bolt the door from
the inside to keep ourselves safe.� He
then took his leave and hurried home.� He
had no need to set a time limit on our supper.�
We were all conscious of our school-imposed curfew of 9pm, just under an
hour and a half away.� Harry had brought
a few records with him (jazz), and it seemed natural that one of the girls had
brought the supper.� Betty produced a
plate of biscuits she had baked at home that
afternoon.� She also made and served the
tea while we sat around getting to know each other until the time came for us
to begin walking back to our respective schools.
�
A week passed,
and again we found ourselves together separated from the rest of the world, and
again I noticed that it was Betty who provided the supper.� Now it had not occurred to any of us that the
boys would ever take turns bringing supper, but it did strike us as odd that
the girls weren�t taking turns among themselves.� When we raised this with them, we learned
that the girls had decided that the loser of the weekly house competition would
provide the supper each week.
�
Just in case an
explanation is required, the house competition was the system of points awarded
and deducted throughout the week by the teachers.� The winning house was announced at Monday
assembly, and they were awarded the school pennant in a formal ceremony.� I can�t for the life of me remember why this
was important to us at the time, but strangely it was.� Naturally as house captains we knew the
weekly results prior to the weekend.
�
Anyway, back to
the supper situation, and the circumstance of Betty providing our supper two
weeks in a row provoked our own response.�
In keeping with the competitive nature of their arrangement, we decided
that the losing captain of the boys� house competition would assist in making
and serving the tea.� This may not seem
like much, but to put it in context, we were expecting one of our number to act
like the butler - or a woman!� Either way
we considered it a demeaning role.
�
Many weeks passed
with one of the girls turning up each week with home-baked goodies, and one of
the boys putting on a brave face and serving up the tea.� We were getting to know each other very well,
and like any group of high achievers, there was a fair amount of teasing and
rivalry as we shared in the successes and failures of each individual and the
houses they led.� In addition to the supper
duties, we also started to impose other penalties for various failures.� At the start this took the nature of silly
forfeits such as singing a song.�
However, over the course of the year the stakes were gradually raised.
�
The nature of our
get-togethers changed the week Bertie�s house was punished because three of its
third-formers had been caught cheating in a test.� Naturally the rest of us teasingly maintained
that the corruption went right to the top, and we demanded that Bertie be held
personally accountable.� There was much
debate over his punishment until Vicky surprised us all by suggesting that
Bertie should serve the supper shirtless �like a savage�.� There was a moment�s stunned silence before
the other girls started giggling and adding their approval of the
punishment.� While I had no particular
interest in seeing Bertie topless, I was nonetheless excited by the situation,
as this was the first hint we had that the girls weren�t entirely pure and
incorruptible.� The girls won the point,
and Bertie was blushing furiously as he removed his shirt and served the
tea.� The girls didn�t stop giggling
until after we parted to return to school.
�
There was an
undercurrent of tension the following Sunday evening, but nothing untoward
happened.� I was the losing house
captain, but there was no suggestion that I should lose my shirt. However, the
following week I was the loser again following a dismal showing by my house,
and it was Bea who looked to the others with a wicked smile and suggested I
should serve them topless.� While the
idea was naturally embarrassing, I was again excited by the situation and I
probably didn�t put up nearly enough of a fight before giving in and taking off
my shirt.
�
As I was serving
the tea, I did wonder out loud why the losing girl (Vicky) wasn�t being punished
like I was.� This was neatly deflected by
the girls, who laughed and accused me of being a bad sport.� However, the other boys seized on the
opportunity and didn�t let the subject die.�
It transpired that during the coming week St Hilda�s was having its athletic
sports day, which was one of the high points of the competition between the
houses.� We began arguing that extra
importance should be attached to the results of this, with the losing girl
facing a punishment consistent with the punishment I was serving.
�
The ensuing
debate was fierce but good natured and the outcome was a victory of sorts.� Since the girls� uniform consisted of a dress
with a buttoned bodice to the waist, there was much discussion about a fair
punishment.� In the end it was agreed
that the losing girl would undo these buttons while still otherwise wearing the
dress, while the losing boy would �continue to go shirtless as normal�.� This shifting of the goal posts didn�t escape
our attention, with the topless boy now being the norm rather than the
exception, but we didn�t dare quibble about the agreement. Catching a glimpse
of a bra was far better than we had dreamed of.
�
The results of
the St Hilda�s sports day had not reached us by the time we went home for the
weekend.� As we walked to church on
Sunday evening there was much whispered speculation as to who might have been
the losing house captain, and whether or not they might follow through on the
arrangement to serve supper with their uniform unbuttoned to the waist.� As it happened, we learned the identity of
the loser partway through the service.�
During the notices the vicar congratulated the winning house, with
mentions for second and third.� The fourth
place-getter was obviously the house not mentioned � the house captained by
Alexa.� Out of the four girls, Alexa was
the quietest and most reserved.� As we
four boys looked across at the senior girls� pew, Alexa stared straight ahead� with an
embarrassed look on her face.� We
remained nervous about whether or not our hopes would be crushed.
�
As we arrived at
our meeting place, the girls huddled together in the corner conducting a
lengthy whispered conference.� Alexa was
obviously requiring some encouragement, but the other girls had taken on
themselves the responsibility for the honour of their sex to provide the
encouragement.� They finally stopped
whispering and turned to face us, with Vicky, Betty and Bea providing a wall
behind which Alexa was sheltering.� They
glared at us and reminded us that there was more than one losing house captain
in the room.� Of course, in our
excitement we had forgotten.� We turned
on Peter, the loser among the boys, and demanded his shirt be removed pronto.� Poor Peter was the shyest of the boys, the
least equipped to removing his shirt in a room with four girls, but he was as
conscious as the rest of us that nothing should get in the way of viewing
Alexa�s bra.� His hands were shaking so
much that undoing his buttons proved to be a considerable challenge.
�
Peter was soon
topless, and to his credit he then went about preparing the cups and saucers
for our supper, doing his part to create an atmosphere of normality.� For Bertie, Harry & I there was no such
attempt.� We simply sat in our chairs and
stared at Alexa as she too appeared to be fumbling with buttons as she stayed
hidden behind the others.� Then, as if by
some prearranged signal, the three girls moved away and sat down, leaving Alexa
revealed to our gaze.
�
At the risk of over elaborating the context in which we found ourselves,
if your knowledge of 1950s morality is derived solely from the degree of
�scandal� you observed when it was thought Rizzo might be pregnant in the movie
Grease, then you don�t really have an idea of our situation attending private
schools in provincial New Zealand. �If
word got out about any of our activities so far, it would have resulted in
immediate expulsion for all concerned.�
The loss of reputation would have limited future career and relationship
options, particularly for the girls.� The
only thing that we had going for us in this situation was that gentlemanly
behaviour was still extremely important.�
To bring dishonour to the girls by failing to keep this secret would
bring the worst possible damage to our reputations.� The girls knew they were entitled to a level
of trust that is unthinkable today.
�
Having attempted
to raise the narrative tension with the last paragraph, I now have to admit
that the notion of Alexa being �revealed to our gaze� was a distinct anticlimax.� While
the front of her dress was unbuttoned to the waist, its style meant that it
barely gaped at all.� The opening
revealed only an inch or two of her white cotton bra.� I am sure that beforehand we had all intended
to avoid staring openly, but it was difficult to avert our eyes as we hoped for
glimpses of more.� Throughout the evening
I was rewarded with only two brief glimpses of the full roundness of a bra cup.
�
As I walked back
to school with the other boys, we each compared our experiences of what we had
seen.� These glimpses of a bra were the
high point in all our sexual experiences of women.� I had had an erection all evening.� My theological knowledge of the sin of Onanism had provided some degree of restraint up to this
time, but that evening I could not help but indulge, and this generally
signalled the time in my life when I conceded that I was not cut out for such a
high degree of piety.
�
The following
Sunday saw us all on our best behaviour as the vicar made one of his occasional
visits to join us for supper.� We engaged
him in an earnest discussion of his younger days as a missionary, and he went
away well pleased with our respectability.�
I was worried, however, that his visit might have stayed the momentum of
our little group.� I needn�t have
worried.
�
I had begun to
suspect that Betty was the ringleader of the girls, and the following Sunday
supported this hypothesis.� Soon after we
arrived from church Betty said �I suppose I might as well get it over with!�� She began undoing her buttons as she looked
around at each of us in turn.� Each of us
glanced away in embarrassment as she looked in our direction, which led to some
giggling from all the girls.� To our
surprise it was Alexa who started the girls clamouring for skin.� The losing boy that week had been Harry, who
required a sharp elbow from Bertie to impel him into action.� That evening brought considerable
rewards.� Betty seemed to know which
movements would cause her dress to gape open, and she didn�t shrink from making
these movements.� Her breasts were
probably the smallest of all the girls, and her bra was the same standard white
cotton, but the views were generous.
�
The following
weeks revealed Bea and Vicky in turn.�
Since the winning and losing of the points
competition mostly depended on the whim of the teaching staff, it helped that
they appeared to prefer to share the honours around, rather than have any house
become either too complacent or too discouraged.� We had been looking forward to Vicky, as she
appeared to have the largest breasts of all the girls.� Unfortunately neither Bea nor Vicky had the
same inclination or ability as Betty to have their dresses gape open, but we
weren�t entirely unrewarded.� The
situation was no less exciting, and my masturbation sessions were now very
frequent.� The only restraint I was
showing was to avoid messing up my sheets, confining my activities to the
toilets.
�
The following
weeks brought repeat showings of Bea and then Betty.� By this time all of the boys had taken turns
shirtless.� I am sure there was a
unanimous desire to raise the stakes to see more, although it didn�t follow
that everyone was prepared to show more.�
As I have previously mentioned, there was a degree of competitiveness to
our games.� There had been the occasional
mention of introducing more of a boys versus girls
element to our competition.� This was
mentioned more often by the girls, funnily enough.� The reason for this was that the girls
typically ended up with more points overall in the inter-house
competition.� However, we were all too
intelligent to take this seriously.�
Because they were separate schools, it followed that the awarding and
deducting of points would never be consistent, and none of us could really
pretend otherwise.
�
As it happened, a
level playing field was looming on the horizon.�
In those days New Zealand was still firmly attached to the apron strings
of England, and many of the private schools had their students sit the English
A-level exams.� Because the New Zealand
school year runs from February to December, the English exams happened just
over halfway through our school year.�
This put us under a great deal of pressure, and our competitiveness came
to the fore, leading to a great deal of bantering on our Sunday evenings with
the girls.
�
The arrogance of
the upper classes is bred into each generation at a young age, and even the
shyest amongst our number didn�t seem to consider the possibility that they
would lose.� The exams came and went, and
we now faced several weeks waiting for the results.� The confidence of each gender remained high
that they would prevail, and negotiations intensified to determine the forfeit
for the losers.� There was no doubt that
the stakes would be raised.� The
conclusion was not unexpected given the circumstances.� It was agreed that the losing team were to
strip down to their underwear for the duration of our supper.
�
Our exam results
arrived on a Thursday, and the boys gathered together to calculate our overall
performance.� Our confidence became
dented in the cool light of the numbers, and it suddenly occurred to us that
maybe the girls would beat us.� It was
with a fair degree of nervousness that we prepared for church that Sunday
evening.� I for one had made sure I was
wearing my newest and cleanest pair of underpants, and I�m sure the others had
made similar preparations.
�
At church we
could see that the gravity of the situation was weighing just as heavily on the
girls, and I was comforted to see that they didn�t appear confident.� As it transpired, they had every reason to be
nervous because they had lost a very close contest.� Their average marks were just four points
lower than ours.� All of a sudden I was
going to see not just one but four girls in just their underwear.� We managed to stifle much of our external
rejoicing, but our excitement was real and evidenced by carefully concealed
erections as we sat and watched the girls deliver on their promise.
�
The girls huddled
together, no doubt to encourage each other, before they lined up with their
backs towards us.� Their hands went to
the buttons of their dresses, then in unison they slipped their dresses off
their shoulders and allowed them to fall to their ankles.� We were greeted by the sight of four backs
crossed by white bra straps, and bottoms and legs covered by white
half-slips.� There was much nervous
giggling as the girls provided their own count-down before turning to face
us.� The sight was wonderful as we gazed
at the row of breasts encased in their bras, ranging in size from Betty�s small
pair to Vicky�s much larger pair.� Peter
let out a whistle, while the rest of us provided encouragement in the form of
applause.
�
While a bit smug
in our victory, we were nonetheless very appreciative as we waited with
patience for the anticipated second step of the stripping, when the half-slips
would be removed to give us our first look at their knickers.� However, it became apparent from the girls�
actions as they sat down that this wasn�t on their agenda.� Our initial polite suggestions turned to
furious protests as it became apparent that they didn�t intend to remove
anything more.� They had obviously
prepared their position in advance and they argued it like seasoned
lawyers.� They reasoned that half-slips
were underwear, so they had already stripped down to their underwear.� We argued and pleaded, but to no avail.
�
As we went
through the stages of grief at this trick, we eventually reached the bargaining
stage, and we discovered that the girls were open to this.� Their terms also appeared pre-prepared.� They demanded we concede that half-slips were
underwear, and that they would reveal nothing more that evening.� They also demanded that in future, the losing
boy from our regular house points competition would strip down to just his
underpants, and that the other three boys would go topless.� In exchange, the losing girl would strip down
to her bra and knickers.
�
While this deal
actually required us to make more concessions than they would, we readily
accepted.� We had just seen girls in bras
for the first time and already we were desperate for something more at any
cost.� The following week this cost was
paid, primarily by me.� My house was
starting to sink, and I was struggling each week to keep us from coming last.� That week it had seemed unavoidable, and I
would be the first boy to remove my trousers.�
I donned my newest pair of underpants before nervously heading to
evensong with my uncompassionate friends.
�
It was always
difficult to pay attention at church when our minds were on the after
party.� There were frequent glances
across the aisle � meaningful glances of which we frequently didn�t know the
meaning.� We had long ago given up
looking to see who was carrying the supper as the girls often had another girl
carry it just to throw us off the scent.�
It had become our little tradition to have an announcement of sorts once
we were safely ensconced in our room.�
Harry had great delight in announcing that I was the losing boy of the
week, while Betty announced that Victoria was my female equivalent.
�
Betty reminded us
unnecessarily of the agreement we had made the previous week, when the boys had
conceded to all going topless.� We
removed our blazers and began unbuttoning our shirts.� Vicky didn�t appear to require any special
prompting or support from the other girls as she too began to undo her
buttons.� As we peeled off our shirts she
removed her dress at the same time, allowing us to see her bra and
half-slip.� Then, to our surprise, Vicky
immediately removed that also.
�
We were now in
early spring, and the girls were all still wearing stockings as part of their
uniform.� I knew a little bit about
stockings and the garter belts that held them up, but I was blown away by the
sight of them in real life.� Vicky looked
incredibly sexy standing before us in her white bra and knickers and the white
garter belt holding up her brown stockings.�
Her breasts were large and her figure was shapely like an
hourglass.� Her knickers were what young
people today might call full briefs or �granny pants�, but such were the
fashions of the day.� She looked hot.� She smiled at us and asked coquettishly if
she was expected to remove the stockings and garter belt.� Harry answered for us all when he replied
that she looked fine as she was.
�
By getting her
stripping out of the way so quickly, Vicky had neatly put me on the spot as
seven pairs of eyes now turned to look at me.�
I had made no attempt to curb my lustful thoughts as I watched Vicky
undress.� I was highly conscious that I
was fully erect, and the others were never going to tolerate any delays on my
part.� I had no choice but to kick off my
shoes and begin removing my trousers.�
Doing it sitting down would only have invited scorn and ridicule, as all
previous stripping had been done standing up.�
I pushed my pants down and stepped out of them.
�
The status of my
erection had evidently been pre-discussed earlier by the girls, as Bea�s
comment of �I told you it would be� seemed to sum it all up.� To my great embarrassment my excitement was
obvious to all.� My torment was by no
means over, as it was still my job to help Vicky prepare the tea.� Working in close proximity with her in her
underwear maintained the tension, as did the attention of all the girls,
particularly as they delighted in sending me on extra errands for more milk or
sugar, just so they could watch me move about the room.
�
As the supper
finally drew to an end Vicky and I were given permission to put our clothes
back on before walking back to school.� I
had been painfully erect for over two hours by the time I was safely closeted
in the toilets and able to give myself some relief.
�
My house
continued its downward slide, putting me on display again the following week,
this time with Bea as the other victim.�
The week after that I managed third place, meaning that Bertie was the
one serving� supper
in his underpants.� Vicky was in her
underwear again that week, and I certainly appreciated the opportunity to
admiring her figure while still somewhat clothed myself.� All the girls were pretty, but Vicky was in a
league of her own.� I was also pleased to
note that Bertie�s erection was as obvious as mine had been the previous two
weeks.� Not that I was at all interested
in his erection, I hasten to add.� It was
just that I was glad that another had responded in a similar way to the same
situation.
�
One week later I
was again the loser.� This time the loser
for the girls was Betty, who continued to be the most daring of the girls.� As we prepared the supper she bumped up against
me several times, seemingly secure in the knowledge that she was tormenting me.
�
The following
week gave me another respite, as it was Harry and Alexandra who had to make the
supper in their underwear.� Alexa was the
last of the girls to show her knickers, and her shyness only served to
accentuate the situation.� We had been
creating a world of our own on these Sunday evenings, but the realisation was
never far below the surface that our actions were so perverted from what was
expected of our station in life.� Simply,
her shyness reminded us how naughty we were.�
The other circumstance of note that evening was that Harry was not in
the least bit erect, for reasons that remain completely unknown as I naturally
never discussed it with him.� There was
much whispering amongst the girls but nothing was said out loud.� The look of extreme embarrassment on his face
discouraged open communication.
�
My house
continued their notorious ways, and I was again doomed to exposure seven days
later.� To my consternation the girls
were starting to express some dissatisfaction with the repetition.� Peter had so far escaped removing his
trousers, and the girls began openly stating that they wished his house would
soon have a bad week.� Peter smiled shyly,
obviously pleased.
�
That evening
stands out in my memory as the evening Betty surprised us all by wearing black
underwear.� Young people today will have
no comprehension of the significance of this.�
Black underwear in those days was certainly a more �adult� option and
against the rules of schools like St Hilda�s.�
In fact, the girls seemed just as excited as the boys, and they
bombarded Betty with questions about how she had managed to possess them.� It transpired that she had been saving her
money and had snuck into the shops during her weekend at home.� We also noticed that the fabric involved in
her underwear was slightly less than the usual uniform attire, revealing more
of her lovely upper slopes.
�
The school year
was rapidly drawing to a close.� We were
already studying hard for our final exams.�
By our calculations we only had three more Sunday nights together, and
the last of those would be in the company of the vicar, meaning that we had
only two more chances to play our risqu� games.�
Prior to our last get together we would all be having school exams � an
internal set of exams that would determine who would get academic prizes as
well as providing valuable practice for the real exams to follow.� Naturally, these practice exams were the
ideal fodder for our games.� Our
penultimate evening together (�hosted�, incidentally, by Bertie and Bea) was
almost entirely spent by negotiating the wagers to govern our final hurrah.
�
That a person or
persons would be naked was established early in our discussions.� We had been so close for so long that
anything less would have been a certain anticlimax.� The girls had made an early attempt to wager
only their boobs against male nakedness, but we were prepared for their tricks
and resisted with determination.� The
girls capitulated.� I suspect they too
were mindful that this was an extremely rare chance to see some nudity, and
they weren�t going to miss out.� The
discussion moved on.
�
The experiences
of the mid-year exams were still in our memories as our only previous boys
against girls competition with clothing at stake.� Alexa spoke about the unfairness of that
arrangement.� She had obtained better
results than anyone else in the room, but had still been among the losers due
to the lower results of the other girls.�
This observation had some impact on our discussions.
�
The other important
consideration, which was first raised by Betty, was that the losers would in
reality receive a double punishment.� Not
only would they be exposed to the winners, but they would miss out on a golden
opportunity to see what they desperately wanted to see.� This observation really hit home.� I knew I would be devastated if, having come
so close, I ended the year without seeing a naked woman.� Looking around the room, it was apparent that
others were thinking the same thing.
�
It was Alexa who
proposed the solution.� The competition
would still be boys against girls, with the losing team stripping naked.� The exception would be the person with the
highest marks out of all eight of us.�
That person would remain clothed even if their gender was the losing gender.� However, in addition to the losing team
having to strip, it was proposed that the person with the lowest marks on the
winning team would also strip naked.�
According to these rules, whatever the outcome, everyone was guaranteed
to see at least one person of the opposite gender naked.� These rules were promptly accepted by
everyone.
�
As our evening
came to a close, and Bertie and Bea began to put the rest of their clothes on,
Betty suddenly had an idea for raising the stakes with an additional penalty.� As things stood, we wouldn�t know until the
following Sunday evening which team had won or lost.� However, the person with the lowest marks
from each team would be certain of going naked no matter which team was
victorious.� Betty�s forfeit idea was
simple but deliciously naughty.� The
losing boy and girl would come to church without underwear.� As I have stated earlier, all of us had a
certain amount of built-in arrogance.�
None of us seriously considered that we might personally be the
loser.� While I was never going to be
dux, I figured there was every likelihood that I would do better than at least
one of the other boys.� Since everyone
was also thinking the same way, Bettys idea was agreed
to by all.
�
The practice
exams finished on Wednesday, and we had our results on Friday morning.� We gathered together on our way to lunch to
compare our marks, and it transpired that Peter was the loser.� I guess the girls had been praying to the
right deity, given their frustration that Peter had not had to remove even his
trousers in their presence at any stage during our year together.� Peter was the shyest of the group, and he
took the news badly.� We tried to think
of some encouraging or reassuring words, but we failed.� I�m sure Bertie, Harry and I were all
thinking about whether or not our overall marks would be sufficient to beat the
girls.
�
I was expecting
to study for my finals during my weekend at home, but I had trouble sustaining
my concentration.� Sunday evening was the
appointed time to see my first naked woman.�
At least one pretty girl would be shedding her clothes, maybe even three
or four.� I was in a state of excited
agitation when I gathered with the others in my hostel room before church.� The others were similarly affected, with
Peter the worst of all of us.� He had had
the whole weekend to dwell on his forthcoming exposure.� His agitation was worsened by his not wearing
any underwear, in accordance with the agreement with the girls.� Despite the heat of the afternoon he was
frequently asking our opinion as to whether or not to wear his blazer.� He was unable to calm a recurring erection,
and wanted to know whether or not the blazer concealed anything, or whether it
just attracted attention.� I�m afraid we
were of no assistance.� He kept it on and
ended up being the only boy in the school to wear his blazer to church that
evening.
�
If the presence
of a blazer were a reliable indicator of the lack of underwear, then the sight
of Vicky wearing hers was a sight to gladden my heart and further excite my
loins.� The fabric of St Hilda�s summer
dress was quite thin, so she had obviously felt the need for an extra layer to
conceal her lack of a bra.� Our nervous
anticipation continued throughout evensong as our thoughts were far from
religious.� Finally the service was over
and we practically dragged Peter and Vicky up to the Sunday school parlour.
�
When we arrived,
there was some debate around whether or not we should determine the overall
results first, or whether we should have the hors d�oeuvre of Peter and Vicky
stripping first.� The vote was six to
two!
�
The boys had
arranged themselves in a semi-circle on one side of the room, and the girls
were arranged in a mirror image.� A low
table with a plate of biscuits provided by Vicky was all that separated
us.� I could see Peter and Vicky�s eyes
meet across the table.� Their look
indicated camaraderie while at the same time conveying an eager desire to see
the other naked.� The rest of us,
postponing all thoughts that we might have to follow suit, eagerly awaited the
show.� Vicky and Peter kicked off their
footwear and stood up to face one another.
�
As the weather
was now warmer the girls had stopped wearing stockings several weeks ago.� As a consequence, it was easy to calculate
that Peter was wearing three items of clothing while Vicky wore two.� They began by simultaneously removing their
blazers.� I fancied I could make out two
dents of Vicky�s nipples pushing against her dress, but I may only have
imagined it.� From where I was sitting Peter�s
erection was obvious as it pushed out the front of his pants, but it was
unlikely to be so obvious from across the room.
�
Vicky paused in
her stripping as she waited for Peter to remove his shirt.� This was perfectly understandable and I just
sat there silently willing him to get a move on.� Finally his shirt was removed, and Vicky
started unbuttoning her dress while Peter began unfastening his trousers.� Through the narrow gap in the front of
Vicky�s dress I could see a continuous strip of skin which confirmed the lack
of a bra.� They both paused and their
eyes met again.� Then all of a sudden it
happened.
�
Out of the very
corner of my eye I could see Peter�s trousers drop and his white bottom come
into view.� My peripheral vision was more
than I wished to waste on him as I focussed my eyes on the angel immediately in
front of me.� Her gorgeous large breasts
came into view first as she hesitated for a second, holding her dress around
her waist before allowing it to drop to the floor.� She self-consciously held her hands in front
of her before forcing them to drop to her sides.� The image was captivating and is still as
firmly etched on my mind today as it was all those years ago.
�
Young people
today may not even know what pubic hair is, it is so seldom seen in the
fashionable pornography of our current times.�
Therefore I must remind you that, if you are attempting to conjure up an
image of Vicky in your mind, it is necessary to add a thick bush of dark hair to
your image.� I gazed at it in wonder.� I knew that it concealed miscellaneous bits
and pieces, and I had a momentary pang of regret that we hadn�t negotiate
beforehand for a more thorough viewing.
�
The reaction of
the boys was restrained, even respectful.�
The reaction of the girls was far less so as they cheered and
giggled.� Peter�s face was bright red in
stark contract to his white body.� His erection stood up at a 45 degree angle,
buoyed by the stares of eight female eyes.�
They ordered Peter to do a 360 degree turn and he obeyed, so I took the
opportunity to order Vicky to do the same.�
The view of her was fantastic from all angles.
�
Of all people it
was the shy Alexa who demanded that we move the proceedings along.� It transpired that she had done exceedingly
well in her exams and was quietly confident that she had the highest marks of
anyone in the room, thus exempting her from any stripping even if the girls
lost.� As it happens, her high marks had
done enough to drag the girls� average up.�
The girls had won and the boys had lost!
�
Following the
disclosure of the results, the cheering from the girls was so loud that I
worried that the vicar would come running to investigate.� All the girls were jumping up and down with
delight, including Vicky, the sight of which was some consolation for the
dejection we were feeling.� As Betty had
predicted, the result felt like a double punishment.� My first instinct was to grieve having to
forgo the opportunity to see Bea, Alexa and Betty naked.� Despite the reward of seeing Vicky naked, I
was devastated when I thought about what I was missing out on.
�
A few moments
later the realisation hit me at full force that I was now required to remove
every stitch of clothing I was wearing.�
I felt angry and upset, wondering what right these girls had to expect
me to show them my body.� I glared at
each of them in turn, but when my gaze shifted on towards Peter and Vicky, I
started to see reason.� The look on
Peter�s face in particular was an expression of relief � relief that he wasn�t
to be remembered as the only naked boy.�
Vicky�s face also showed relief.�
In her case I presume it was relief that she was going to receive some
reward for the embarrassment she was undergoing.
�
I began to undo
the buttons on my shirt, and I noticed that Bertie and Harry were following my
lead.� All of us had gone without shirts
for several weeks now, so it wasn�t such a big deal.� Then, without pausing or allowing any doubts
to creep in, I began to remove my pants.�
Again, I was already somewhat accustomed to performing this action over
previous weeks.� I pushed my trousers
down to my ankles and stepped out of them.�
Bertie and Harry were moving slower than I was, but I decided against
waiting for them.� My heart was thumping,
but I was feeling a surge of determination to follow through.� I slipped my thumbs under the waistband of my
underpants and pushed in a downwards direction.
�
Raucous cheers
greeted the exposure of my previously hidden appendage.� I was blushing, but I was also feeling
pleased about the positive reception we were getting from the girls.� I admit that I actually began to bask in the
attention as all the girls stared at me at once, and I felt a tinge of
disappointment as Bertie and Harry also got their underpants off, causing the
attention to shift away from me.
�
The boys were
standing in a semicircle, so I had every opportunity to see the comparisons
between us.� Bertie and I were every bit
as erect as Peter, and I was pleased to note that I lost nothing in size to
either of them.� A comparison with Harry,
however, was not possible.� As in
previous weeks, when he had no noticeable erection, there was no doubting his
flaccidness this week.�
His penis appeared small and limp.�
It was Bea that asked the question that occupied everyone�s minds.� �Doesn�t it work?�
�
Harry blushed an
even deeper shade of red as he stammered his response.� �It gets hard all right when I�m, you know,
alone.� Usually when I don�t want it to.� I think it�s just that I�m nervous.�
�
The girls had
begun wandering around, circling us as we stood there.� What happened next, however, shocked me
excessively.� Betty, who was passing
close to Harry, stopped in front of him and appeared to examine him closely.� Then, with a confident smile, she reached out
and gently grasped his penis in her right hand and began to caress it.� Everyone one stopped and stared in
surprise.� Betty�s actions were such a
turn on that I almost grabbed my own member.�
However, masturbation was such a taboo in those times that I summoned
every ounce of resistance to subdue the temptation.� All I could do was stand and stare.
�
I could see as
well as anyone that Harry was starting to respond to Betty�s attention.� Betty squealed with delight as his penis
began to stiffen and grow.� Her squeals
enlivened the room and snapped us all out of our trance.� What happened next was unforgettable.� I saw Bea, who was standing next to Bertie,
reach out to tentatively touch, and then hold, his member.� Then my attention was totally diverted by the
previously unknown feeling of a hand on my own appendage.� I started and quickly looked around to see
that it was the naked Vicky holding me in her hand.� She began to stroke me gently with a shy
smile on her face.
�
My eyes quickly
darted from Vicky�s face to her hand and back again, with natural pauses at her
breasts and pubic hair on the way.� I
also had quick second glances around the room to see Bea with Bertie and Betty
with Harry.� The remaining pair, Alexa and
Peter, hadn�t been standing particularly close to each other, but I could see
her moving tentatively towards him as he eyed her with a pleading look.
�
As it happens, it
was probably less then twenty seconds between Vicky�s
first touch and my ejaculation which splashed her stomach and thighs, and the
effect this produced was momentous and in many ways unfortunate, more than just
signalling a lack of staying power that would haunt me all my adult life.� Vicky screamed and her hand immediately left
me, depriving me of the follow through which heightens the satisfaction of any
good orgasm.� The next thing Vicky did
was to grab the nearest thing at hand, my clean white shirt, and start to wipe
herself down as she ran from the room towards the toilet.� She was followed by the other three girls who
went to help and comfort her.� We were
all just as ignorant as each other, naturally fearful that Vicky would become
pregnant even if just one of my swimmers got inside her.� The situation was tense and upsetting.
�
That was the end
of our party.� Alexa came in a short time
later to gather all of Vicky�s clothes, confirming to us that we had seen all
we were ever going to see.� The others
boys were looking at me with unrestrained hatred in their eyes as we began to
get dressed ourselves � Bertie and Harry because they had been touched but remained
frustrated, and Peter because he hadn�t been touched at all.� For them it was an anticlimax
in every sense of the word.
�
There isn�t much
more to tell.� The other boys left as
soon as they were dressed while I stood around and waited until Alexa brought
me back my shirt, which was crumpled and covered with damp patches.� She told me that Vicky didn�t want to see me,
so I too left and walked back to school.
�
Supper with the
vicar the following week was a very awkward affair.� The girls apologised to the vicar for Vicky�s
absence, saying she felt unwell.� Betty
whispered to me during the evening that Vicky wasn�t unwell, but still didn�t
know whether or not she was pregnant.� I
wrote her a letter making all the expected promises and proposals should she
find herself compromised, and I eventually received a reply that stated my
proposals were unnecessary.� I never saw
Vicky or any of the other girls again.�
Harry was the only other member of our group to go on to Otago
University, and we tended to stay out of each other�s way.� The others all attended universities in the
north.� And it was many years later
before I was finally trapped into marriage.�
But that is another story.
�
*******
The End
Chris
Warner
December
2010
�