There are references in this to my earlier stories, Days of the Raj, Veronica Peeps and Nude and Erect.
*****
Carl Harlson, the tall, tow-haired young Viking, was summoned for rehearsal by Miss Cuff, to be the only boy up on the stage with seven girls, for a particularly difficult scene in Cowgirls and Indian Braves. It was the scene where a lone brave, out on the prairie, wearing nothing but his loin cloth, is surprised by a party of cowgirls and taken prisoner.
Miss Cuff wanted the piece rehearsed to perfection.
She had invited teachers, all female, and very, very eager to see one of the boys in his Indian gear get captured by the cowgirls. "Should be very funny," one of them chortled.
Carl began undressing in the empty boys' changeroom. He loved the changeroom, with its drip drip drip from leaking showers, its rusty lockers and the smell of old sweat and linement. He loved it despite the stained, seatless toilet bowls and the rats that sometimes peered from cracks in the bricks. He loved it because girls never got here.
His dungarees and checked shirt hanging on a hook, his loafers and scrolled socks discarded, he stood in his white boxers. And looked forlornly at what he had to put on.
A waistband with a tiny embroidered chamois flap.
A pair of moccasins.
A headband with a long feather.
Fuckin' hell! What a shitty, childish costume! But he had no choice. Miss Cuff ruled, here in Grover Cleveland High. Ruled over the boys, that was for sure.
Carl has active tear ducts and he looked close to crying in anger and frustration. He peeled down his boxers.
The air of the changeroom circulated around his naked midriff. Looking down he was shocked by the sight of his 18 year old body shaven of golden chest hair and black pubic bush. His scrotum as bald as an egg.
His shaving was performed twice a week by Beatrice Weatherall, sometimes in the school corridor outside the principal's office with other boys also standing nude, being rendered smooth skinned like Indian braves. Sometimes the school secretary Miss Assam found a reason to emerge and take a long look at what was going on. A female cleaner or teacher might linger, smiling with a far-off look. Meanwhile girls knelt and sloshed foam into male groins.
Boys strained not to become erect, without success. One after the other their cocks would rise, to the delight of the busy girls working at their groins.
Trouble was, he thought, being shaved around there only make his slender, short appendage with its thin, papery foreskin, look all the smaller.
He picked up the loin cloth and looked at it.
All those measurements and fittings at Mrs Carruther's place. Shit, hadn't she had him there a total of six times, to fuss with her maid Yuela over his costume, as he stood naked on a stool? And with each fitting the fuckin' flap had grown tinier, with Mrs Carruthers saying his covering needed to be smaller because he had less to hide than other boys.
He had shrivelled with shame.
And she was wrong: his cock was the same size as Stevie Lynton's, even a bit thicker, and Alan Larsen's was a mere three inches if lucky and there were as many boys under the six inch average as above it. Or so Coach Compton had told them, the coach's own cock being small, sprouting in his hairless, suntanned groin.
Carl eased the band up his legs and fixed it around his waist.
The flap just shielded his cock and balls but he knew that when he moved around or when he got stiff it would be a different story. And, as he worked on the moccasins, he dreaded going out the door for the rehearsal with girls, female teachers watching, Miss Cuff in charge. There would be no other boy.
He placed the headband, looked in the mirror.
Side-on he looked naked. His flanks uncovered, anyone would glimpse his genitals hanging behind the flap. Turning his back and looking over his shoulder, he saw his V-shaped swimmer's back tapered to cleft bottom, brazenly naked. Hell, showing his naked butt! To every female at the rehearsal! Next he posed head-on: shit, he could now view a little nozzle of foreskin hanging below the flap! The slightest stretch and it came into view!
He worked at the waist band but no, he couldn't lower it further. It already hung from his penis base just as Mrs Carruthers had planned in those fittings, with Yuela fussing over it, while he had stood naked on the stool with a full erection.
He moved to the door which led direct to the auditorium. On the other side he could hear the echoing voices of female teachers.
But the door was locked.
He jerked it, pulled, juggled. But it would not open. And they couldn't hear him.
There was only one other way to the school hall: past Coach Compton's office and out the rear door of the changeroom into the school grounds, across the grounds, through the cafeteria and past the school offices and into the foyer and, on the other side of the foyer, the auditorium.
"Where's Harlson?"
The echoing voice was Miss Cuff's.
"If he keeps us waiting...well, there are ways of punishing boys at this school none of them likes!"
There was laughter from the females.
He would run through the school to get to the school hall. No one would get more than a glimpse of his cleft ass, of his swinging cock.
Filling his lungs with the changeroom smells of wet tiles and damp bricks Carl jogged. Right out of the building and into the bright light of the school grounds. With one spring he was on his way across the courtyard...
...and face to face with a trio of strolling, gum-snapping senior girls.
They stepped backwards with shock.
"Oh my god!"
They took in the near nudity of the blond haired boy. The tiny flap on his front. The hilarious headband and feather. The exposed groin, shaven smooth. And as he skirted around them and they looked back at him, his exposed buttocks, powering him across the lawn and towards the entrance to the cafeteria.
"Hell! That was Carl Harlson!"
"He was...virtually naked!"
"Ah! That's Miss Cuff's show. He's one of the Injuns!"
"Oh my god! How embarrassing!"
"Carl Harlson! Can't believe we've just seen his bare ass!"
They doubled over laughing.
Desperately Carl seized the heavy glass and metal door and leant into it. He fell into the building where he faced two teachers, head-on. They were young, gaunt Miss Dolomite who taught Carl English and middle-aged, full-bossomed Mrs Harriet Longstrom, who taught girls domestic science.
"Well, well...Carl Harlson as an Indian brave! Goodness gracious!"
Mousy Miss Dolomite, 26, bespectacled and a virgin, suddenly had a feral gleam in her eyes.
In private she was subject to a raging libido that belied her prim young spinster, church-going image. For example, every night under the sheets she fantasised about making boys in her classes strip naked as punishment. Ordering them, under her gaze, to peel off every stitch, stand hands behind head and take her reprimand and sit at their desks in their birthday suits. As it happened, of all the boys it was Carl she had taken the most liking to, this young athlete suddenly in front of her in such promising circumstances. Under the blankets he was the one most often recruited for her fantasies, the naked boy she would make get to his feet naked, stay behind for punishment, visit her at home for help with studies.
Miss Dolomite was getting more daring with each passing month of her wretched virginity. She would not miss this chance. Not with Carl Harlson.
Without a second's delay, heart thumping and eyes wide with lust, she had a corner of his chamois flap between a thumb and forefinger and lifted it. It made Carl jolt. His first thought was to dart off, jog around the teachers. But Miss Dolomite's prurient grip tightened. If he pulled away it would tear the flap off the waistband leaving him nude, in nothing other than moccasins and a headband.
"It's interesting embroidery." .
But she wasn't looking at the embroidery. She and her companion were both staring under his raised flap at Carl's cigarillo of a penis, its head covered in a papery prepuce, resting on a sac as hairless as a statue's.
Miss Dolomite was surprised and curious: this petite penis. In rehearsals she had glimpsed Jimmy Fraser and Rodney Ricketson and Mark Campbell with long fleshy penis stems and big fat heads on them. Oh my god, that Rodney Ricketson! That head on the end of his penis- what did they call it in the biology texts? His glans...huge! Some boys in her class- boys she fantasised about stripping- sported fat bulges in the front of jeans. Yet here was Carl, a broad shouldered athlete, with a sweet little cylinder down there, resting on a tiny ball sac. Did he get embarrassed, standing in the showers?
She felt a flutter of excitement in her groin, sensing the shame of the tall, good looking swimmer. Shame at having his secret exposed.
Her tug stretched the flap parallel to the floor. He would feel air all around his groin. She felt him jolt with fear.
Mrs Longstrom noticed Carl was devoid of hair. "Would most boys...his age have hair..?"
"Well, I imagine he's still growing. Still...at 18...you would expect some fluff at least."
Carl dissolved with shame. Those active ducts in his eyes made him look close to tears.
Shaking, the boy expostulated that he did in fact have hair down there but Miss Cuff shaved them...er, rather she had girls do it...all the boys...so they would look like Indian braves...
"Ah! So you originally DID have hair down here, after all?" Miss Dolomite did not want to spare him any embarrassment.
"Was it blond?"
