Rodney and His Friends in Tights

St Paul boasted one all-female college: Myra Shrewsbury Teachers' College, its 1890s and Art Deco buildings clad in ivy and set in verdurous grounds. All its staff were women. Busts and portraits of its presidents- bespectacled and ferocious- glowered like female deities of vengeance, arranged in its vestibule, as if to frighten off any creature who dared to boast genitals dangling between his legs. In fact the only males ever allowed through its iron grated gates were aged janitors and gardeners. Delivery boys- their jeans and T shirts considered improper- were kept outside.

Most of the city's female teachers had been educated there, certainly all those at Grover Cleveland High. It was famous for a feminist credo, inculcating a certain attitude to males. It was an attitude its graduates sought to enforce when they joined other "Shrewsbury girls" as teachers in the city's schools.

Miss Cuff was one of them. As a devotee of her old college she kept her former teachers informed of her school initiatives including the musical, Cowgirls and Indian Braves. And of her little experiments like the loin cloths and the shaving of the boys' body hair. At lunches and coffee klatches with her old teachers there were a lot of lascivious smirks when she described the embarrassment of, say, Rodney Ricketson when his organs became engorged and poked the flap aside, in front of watching female staff or when Johnny Marcello had become instantly erect when forced to undress for a shave by one of the designated girls, with other females looking on in the school corridor. Or poor Stevie Lynton whose tiny erect penis had been exposed on the very day when 15 girls had been invited to watch a rehearsal and the waist band holding up his flap had snapped and the loin cloth had fluttered to his heels.

This summer the college got started with a theatre work of its own: an all-female production called The Female Crown: Shakespeare's Women. And they went to Miss Cuff, drama teacher of Grover Cleveland High, with a little request. It was a simple request. They asked if she could supply six 18 year old males to be an idling, ambling presence on stage, during productions of The Female Crown. They wanted boys from her school just standing in the background, providing atmosphere.

It was going to be a production in traditional dress.

For the males forming this chorus, this meant wearing what was known in Shakespeare's time, as hose. Or tights.

"We will have Mrs Carruthers run them up- the lovely old dress-maker who did your loin cloths? She's found this new, stretchy, silky nylon material," explained the head of the college drama department, Dr Martha Bagnet.

"Nylon?"

On her boys? Miss Cuff's imagination galloped. Her eyes swum, behind their red- framed, cats-eyes glasses.

And Dr Bagnet's eyes enlarged behind her flashing pince nez as she expatiated on her secret, even erotic, vision.

"Yes. Just like ladies' stockings. Skin tight. Absolutely skin tight. Colors? Oh, the palest...creams, limes and a light salmon, almost pink. Will look sensational on your young men, my dear."

Miss Cuff looked suffused. She fingered the long dangling chain of beads that hung around her neck and stared into the distance, imagining. She was, after all, an artist.

She said, "Yes, I know the effect. You want them to look sheathed..."

The two women savoured the word.

"Yes...sheathed."

"...sheathed, in their tights."

"Precisely, sheathed. Leaving nothing to the imagination. Absolutely no padding, though, not like ballet dancers with little mounds in their groins. We want a skintight effect. Think you can pick six...shall I say? Six of the most...interesting of the boys?"

As she delivered this, Dr Bagnet flashed a cunning, crocodile smile.

Miss Cuff assured her that, yes, she could. She felt the old stirring in her loins at the thought of her young men...stripped...completely naked...humiliated in front of females.

The boys had rehearsed in front of her wearing tiny loin cloths. Encouraged she had designed new ones even tinier and, daringly, without flaps on the rear. Made them display their cleft bottoms, to their acute embarrassment. She had seen them blush when erections had sprouted, their stiffening rods shoving the flaps aside. She had seen them naked standing on the stool at Mrs Carruther's as they'd been measured and fitted; she had smiled as their cocks had, with wills of their own, lengthened and risen. And she had encouraged girls to peep in from the corridor. Yes, while they stood, blushing on the stool.

She had watched as girls, whipping up shaving cream and wielding razors, had scrapped off the boys' pubic hair. She had recently been a witness at Dr Speight's medical examinations, thrillingly conducted in conditions of top-to-toe nudity.

If one of her boys had been laid on an examination table with towels over every inch of his body except his privates she was certain she could identify him- by the shape of his glans, the overhang of a foreskin, the heft of his shaft.

Yes, she told Martha Bagnet, she could pick six of the most interesting ones.

Which was why they had been summoned, six fellas- to stand on the stage of the school's empty auditorium, the stage with the faded backdrop showing a pyramid and palm tree. They were framed by the sagging, moth-eaten, satin-coloured curtains with gold rimming.

Wearing nothing but their jockstraps.

Virtually in their birthday suits, they thought darkly.

The ladies, eyes dancing, were Miss Cuff, Mrs Carruthers and her Negro maid Yuela, a few teachers from school and half a dozen from the teachers' college.

Miss Cuff explained to the boys why they were here- they were forming a chorus to decorate the stage, over at the ladies' college, to be part of the mise-en-scene, while young women recited and acted. Yes, they just had to stand there and, no, it had nothing to do with their Indian costumes. In this performance they'd be fully attired.

The relief of the males was palpable, even as hands stayed fixed over the bulging cups of their jockstraps. Hell, they had feared they might be forced to prance and pose at this ladies' college in the loin cloths!

No, Miss Cuff went on, they would be fully attired in Shakespearean dress.

Another sigh of relief.

In fact that's why they were here today: to let Mrs Carruthers, who had done such a good job with their Indian costumes...

Here the boys blushed. How they hated to be reminded of those tiny garments which left their asses exposed.

...to let Mrs Carruthers carry out some preliminary fittings for the college production.

"Beginning with the blouses..."

Mrs Carruthers held up a short, embroidered green top.

Rodney thought it looked...sexy. He remembered the males who sang and danced in the musical Kiss Me Kate- his mother had taken them to see at the drive-in. He'd wanted to be one of the male performers, singing and dancing, admired on the Broadway stage. His penis began to stretch.

"...and these caps."

She held one- streamlined, with a feather, Robin Hood style. The boys chuckled. Funny, nice to show off at home.

"And..."

Miss Cuff paused for effect.

"...these tights!"

Miss Carruthers held one aloft.

It dangled- a wisp of a costume, fit for a fairy.

It looked it might be worn in a girls' ballet class, with a tu-tu. It was the lightest salmon pink.

What was it made from? It looked frail as parchment.

The boys stared, shocked.

Miss Cuff looked at it dangling from the broad, raised arm of the seamstress.

She appeared quizzical, fingers on chin.

"I don't know...it looks too...too.."

Yes, say it is too small, willed the boys. Two fuckin' tiny. Throw the fuckin' thing away.

"...too loose, too generous."

Whadddddd! Too large! The boys' jaws dropped as one.

"No, it really clings," said Mrs Carruthers. "Let's try them on the fellas, shall we?"

She pointed to a pile on a chair.

And there was nothing the boys could do, no protest they could mount, that would have stopped or slowed the fitting.

Miss Cuff closed in on the tall, rangy boy with the crew cut and- she remembered- the large, round head on his penis. Nearly as fat as Rodney Ricketson's, although Rodney's mushroom would win the ribbon at any State Fair. She proffered the salmon pink tights.

"Er...Miss...another colour...please?" gulped Mark Sullivan, the boy who was taunted by nude pictures from the swim meet, displayed in the family album.

But, no...he had to take the pink. And that meant shuffling to turn himself away from the ladies and struggle out of his jockstraps and, bare-buck naked knowing they were watching his ass, try to ease his right leg into the stocking of the tights.

As he hauled it up it struggled to pass his hips.

Tug.

Tug.

Tug.

Gasp! No way would be make it get it to reach his waist! And...shit! What a tight fit! It felt as if his thighs would burst the fabric! And getting it over his hips was a battle. He struggled some more till Mrs Carruthers and Yuela descended on him. Hell, no! They were bending down in front of him! They could see everything in his shaved groin! And they started touching! He could feel their finger tips! Around his upper thighs! He could feel their breath! The females fiddled and stretched, all the time looking close-up at his half inflated penis...until the tights were tugged by the two ladies, an inch a time- tug, tug, tug- to finally reach his waist. And cling there.

What a fit! So...tight! The thing squeezed and flattened his cock and balls so that their shape was perfectly de-marked, like an illustration in a medical text book. His voluminous penis stem was outlined in detail running down the right leg. In outline, with all its distinctive features even down to the huge artery running its middle and the ridged corona of the fat glans. Observers could see the folds of his foreskin, ruffled around his knob. Two huge balls were visible in the squashed scrotum, stretched out in the other leg- the left leg- of the clinging tights.

Mrs Carruthers and Yuela stepped back to admire their work.

He stood hands by his sides, head hanging.

The women smiled. Yes, his penis in the right leg, the sack in the left: his private parts trapped in this display.

"The light salmon colour? I think it suits him, blond crew cut and swimmer's muscles and all," opined Mrs Carruthers to Miss Cuff. For her part the drama teacher's eyes swam with lascivious awe, gazing at Mark's flattened genitals which she had seen, popping free from the flap and stretching out and parallel to the floor, at so many rehearsals and thinking how he would be viewed in the Doris Woodsworth Theatre in the Sally Goodbare Building of the Myra Shrewsbury Teachers College, before an audience of frustrated college girls and, say, their visiting sisters and their teachers. He might be made to decorate one of the arches of the proscenium stage. Made to lounge there, arms folded. Or even ordered to stand nailed to one spot, hands on hips. Or hands behind back, while girls acted and recited around him. And the audience steamed at the sight of movement in the front of his tights.

As if to fulfil her hopes Mark's penis shifted slightly, filled out. It stretched longer down the right leg of his tights.

Adeline Tonkin swallowed greedily. She had never seen a male organ in all her 35 years. Oh statues, of course and art texts. And in every class she taught mathematics there would be a male or two who liked wearing jeans with a telltale bulge in the front, boasting of his endowment. There was that old female teachers' trick, too, of calling on boys to stand and recite: nine times out of 10 you would catch the teenager with a hammer-hard member, jutting forward or poking up to the ceiling or trapped down a pants leg. But none had prepared her for the scale and tumescence, the details as well, of Mark's sheathed organ.

The college girls were in for a treat, thought Miss Cuff. Goodness, imagine how a full erection was going to struggle and shift and arrange itself down there...while females looked on!

Long, skinny Larry Albright, all but nude with his jocks by his feet, was being helped into his tights by Mrs Nora Beecroft and Miss Lucy Peptide, teachers of biology and English at the college, both leaning in to get a close-up of his broomstick prick beginning to stretch. How interesting, they thought, how long and beanstalk thin the boy's organ and, they wondered, how much longer might it go?

They worked at the waistband, edging it to his hips, staring all the time at his exposed groin. His hairless groin was these days committed to the care of Susie Smyth- she of the mousy hair and Coke-bottle glasses. The girl had no brothers or male cousins. She would smile dreamily as she whipped up the shaving cream, long, lean Larry naked on the examination table under her gaze, his remarkable penis stretching and rising, his blushes blazing away.

Meanwhile right now it was the college teachers who were getting the close-up. They stared greedily as they worked away. Tug...stretch...tug! And another tug! What a battle to shift the tights over his narrow, boney hips! While the boy reddened like a fire hydrant and waved his hands hopelessly, muttering, "I can do it...I can do it..." No, no, thought Nora, I don't think you can, young fella; we're not letting go of our grip on the waist band of your pretty new costume. We're not bringing this fun to an end soon.

But I mustn't smile, she thought. Not even while I see that long, narrow organ of his with the small reddish head now vanishing into the left leg of the tights- sheathed in it, you might say. With that intriguing brown band around its middle, decorating the stem. And that testicle sack now boldly outlined. Those two marbles on perfect display under the nylon! Hilarious! My young colleague Lucy is loving this- her eyes are popping! Education for the poor girl. I know- I'll even get the wretched boy to slip them off again and start over again. Yes, now that his funny organ is hardening and rising.

With a tug she pulled them down below his hips again.

"Hey!"

Larry protested. But she cruelly lowered them some more.\

"Oh no!"

His broomstick cock with its little red head and the brown band like colour on a snake sprang free and bounced in the air before their noses.

"Goodness!"

It was a gasp from Lucy, as she stared hypnotised.

Nora smiled at her colleague's fascination.

"Right down, Larry, we haven't got this right. Not as good a fit as it should be. Yes, slip them right off...step out of them. Time to start again. No, don't complain..."

Nora Beecroft whisked them down his legs to his ankles. He was nude again.

Her partner Lucy looked as greedy as one of Dicken's starvelings admitted to a banquet.

Young Viking, Carl Harlson, blond and broad shouldered, feared his small dick being on display. He had once believed sex education, the things they'd told him at the boys' camp run by the Presbyterian church and the chatty little Boy Scouts of America pamphlet his father had given him: the penis comes in all shapes and sizes, that size doesn't matter, once they get erect there is not much difference anyway, females have no interest in such things.

But he'd heard that girls all over the school had been making jokes about his three inch member- all based on what they'd seen when they had burst into the boys' swim class. Back then he had stood proud, hands on hips, his little organ sticking up: nude and erect, like the other trapped boys. So I've got a small one, he had said to himself, big deal. But those girls had told their friends and in the school corridors they giggled as he went past, looking at his pants front.

Beatrice Weatherall, the attractive girl with the bobbed black hair and ample breasts had been allocated to his shaving. That first time, in the school's room with the sink and the examination table, she had smiled to herself as he had dropped his boxers to reveal his little dick. Even shook her head disbelievingly when, with him lying down, it poked up erect out of the shaving cream. She had a lot of boyfriends and two footballer brothers: he had shivered at the comparisons she may have been making as, tongue between her lips, she had delicately scraped away at his penis base. "There! Finished!" she had pronounced. And when he had lifted his head and looked down his body he was shocked at how boy-like his stiff little dick had appeared, shorn of every surrounding hair.

Now he had his back turned as, jocks peeled off, he struggled with the uncomfortably tight pair of hose, one tug at a time, hauling it to his middle. Ugh! In one struggle he got it on, up to his waist. And looked down: there under the thin fabric was the perfect delineation of his penis, flattened to his groin, standing up. It had stretched to its full three inches. Through the onion-thin fabric stretched tight you could even make out the tiny frenulum, the banjo-strings from the stem to the corona! All the details! Clear in the tight material! And his balls! Small, and outlined...as if there was no sac holding them! Just two marbles lodged tight in the nylon!

"Turn around, Carl," said Miss Cuff.

Ladies were staring.

And he knew what they were thinking. What a small prick on such a handsome, athletic boy. Tall and fit and, yet, the prick of a little fella. And, I wonder how he's going to please a wife with an appendage that small. And, they'd be thinking how embarrassing for him, to have us looking at him like this...how he must be ashamed!

And I am, he thought.

Mrs Carruthers handed Jimmy Fraser- big Jimmy with his black Elvis hairdo and deep voice- a pair of lily-white tights. She remembered him as a hairy young fella, his tall, lean frame decorated with matted black fur. But even his hair-dusted ass had been painstakingly shaven by Clara Greensleeves. So the cheeks he presented to the females, as he struggled with his tights, were bare as a baby's.

He begged over his shoulder, "Miss...Miss...it's just not...reaching..." And quick as a flash Yuela, the Negro maid, was around at his front, bowing down right into Jimmy's groin and fiddling with the tights. Not for the first time- fuck, he remembered being fitted for the loin cloth, naked up on the stool! Again he felt Yuela's breath on his downward bending, loose-skinned, half-erect penis, his now-strangely hairless groin, his low hanging balls, so carefully worked by Clara's razor and rendered smooth as eggs. Yes, the girl had razored those Gothic folds of loose skin, stretching out his scrotum like a piece of cloth she was examining in a store. He remembered she had been fascinated by that loose skin- "So much of it!" she had said, fingers of one hand pulling it, the fingers of the other holding the razor.

Yuela pulled the waist of his tights but they only got to his upper thighs. She gave up and tried a second pair, this one lime green, with Dr Bella Abzug, bespectacled, big-bosomed lecturer in philosophy, leaning in to give a tug or two and getting visibly excited at the close-up she was afforded of the manly physique. But even after five long, drawn out minutes the two ladies only got the tights to Jimmy's groin, his tool now fully erect and refusing obstinately to vanish inside. And Yuela after much consultation with Mrs Carruthers and with Jimmy now forced to face them head on, nude and at full stand, picked a salmon pink- oh how Jimmy begged to be spared this colour- and the two ladies helped him into its scandalously sheath-like embrace.

The clinging skin-tight fabric snapped into place.

His flattened erection and low hanging scrotum and large testicles were in perfect outline as the fabric stuck to his every feature.

Pink tights clinging skin-tight: the big fella was dying with the humiliation.