The king size Rambler pulled up and his mother and aunt Sylvie competed to bid their little 18 year old the fondest of farewells.
"Make sure you thank Mrs Christensen for hosting this wonderful party for you and the other athletes," said Timmy's mom.
"And project your young man's charm at the nice girls, even the homely ones," ordered his lovely aunt.
Timmy Townsend alighted from their new sedan.
This was a corner of Brewer where the houses were new and low-slung, all lighted and smelling of fragrant wood smoke like temples in a sacred grove dedicated to monogamy and domestic bliss. He faced the illuminated facade of the Christensen house. It was perhaps the grandest of the recent ranch style-homes, with a shale and timber facade and porches and patios, set in a garden crowded with shrubs and trees.
From inside Gogi Grant was singing The Wayward Wind. There were peals of shrill girlish laughter. Shadows moved quickly across the drawn Venetian blinds. A deeper woman's voice issued an order but Timmy couldn't make it out. Another burst of girls' laughing pierced the air.
The boy's heart beat hard.
Under his blond crew cut, Timmy was excited.
Maybe Samson, the Negro boy from Alabama would be among the swimmers invited tonight. At that big swim meet last month the sight of the black boy's glistening muscles and his onyx cock, hard as a hammer, had made the eyes of his mom and aunt light up. Little Timmy had also been excited by the manly physique and had felt the strangest feelings in the pit of his tummy.
He had dreamt about becoming the black boy's special friend. Yes, he- a small, cute blond boy with a sweet little cock- would volunteer to be adopted by the Congolese warrior. "I could be Samson's white slave," Timmy even dared to dream. He had fantasies that Samson had slept overnight at their home and the boys had shared Timmy's bed and that under the blankets they had both slipped out of their stripped pyjamas to get warmer, skin touching skin. And that Samson had cuddled Timmy and then Timmy had cuddled Samson- stretching real hard to get his arms around the big torso- and they had played games of tummy rubbing- one on top, then the other- and riding one another's backs.
When his aunt Sylvie was giving him his bath, gently soaping around his groin and making his petite penis point to the ceiling, he had admitted to funny feelings about his Negro schoolmate. His aunt had told him it was "kinda normal" at his age to get confused but he would soon "grow out" of it and meet nice girls and feel warm and affectionate about them instead.
Maybe Samson would be here tonight. And they would get to model swimwear, side by side. Even be required to undress together, pulling on their new brand swimwear racers. Maybe Samson would let Timmy lace up his racers which would be burdened by the heft of his bull-like cock and balls. Timmy might be required to help tuck them in.
As the Rambler roared off, Timmy stood still.
He was somewhat nervous about knocking on the door and joining boys preparing to model the new racers, with swarms of women and girls. Something in him wanted to be a watcher, safe in the dark, peering through a window. Not being judged for being short, boyish, cute...free to gorge on the sights of others.
The squeals of girlish laughter continued. Shadows moved on the blinds. The gramophone now played Tab Hunter's "Young Love."
Timmy tiptoed across the tendered grass, illumined by the light of the big front rooms, to the side of the house. Here it was dark, under the branches of the cedars and mountain ash.
One window was open, protected by an insect screen. But too high...
He moved swiftly along the side of the house and into a rear garden. The outsize pool was illuminated from underwater lights that made it vast and Caribbean. By a tool shed Timmy saw fruit crates neatly stacked. He lifted one and moved back to the window, as light on his feet as the naked Hermes, messenger of the gods of Greece.
He positioned the box under the window amid the hydrangeas, mounted it, stood on tiptoes and peered in.
It was the bedroom of one of the girls, all pinks and pale yellows, dolls on display, flowers in a vase, a big ornate mirror.
And...
...hell!
There was a boy from school, facing Timmy but not seeing him in the darkness. In any case, the boy's eyes were glazed with terror.
He was the long, lean athlete- who played basketball and swimming- called Alwyn Goodwin. His head was crowned with the heaviest Elvis haircut, shaped with dollops of Brylcreem, swept up in the rear in a duck's tail. The brunette pomaded helmet of hair- so flamboyant- just made him look more skinny...
...and naked.
Naked, that is, except for his white boxers which he was reluctantly drawing down his thighs...
...and suddenly revealing, emerging from a shock of untidy black pubic bush, a petite and tapered uncut prick, settled on top of a little globe.
And behind him, helping him draw down the underwear, knelt a beaming Sally Wainwright. Sally Wainwright! And behind her, flushed with excitement, was red haired Karen Strawbridge with her cats eyes glasses. Karen Strawbridge, with her freckled face and red hair in plaits, that frightening ugly girl!
Alwyn's jeans were folded over her right arm.
She'd already taken his jeans off!
By her side, beaming, was 28 year old Miss Lucy Peptide, English instructor from the all-womens' Myra Shrewsbury College. She held the boy's checked shirt over her arm. Timmy knew her because she regularly visited their school to assess English instruction.
"Down they come," cooed Sally. "Right off. What an obedient boy! Over your feet...and whoosh! What a good boy!"
Sally was triumphant, holding his boxers aloof, then passing them over her shoulder to Miss Peptide whose eyes shone brightly, newly recruited to this fun with high school fellas. So much more fun than at the all-female college teaching Jane Austen or practising Chopin preludes on lonely nights.
Alwyn was nude. Totally stripped off.
The long, lanky boy under the heavy Elvis hair stayed bent over, arms folded across his middle. His back was turned to the females, presenting his bared bottom to them. He looked close to tears.
"But you've left me with nothing on!" he lamented.
"Oh you poor boy! But we can only see your little tushie!" Karen enthused.
"Your cute little caboose!" said Lucy, feeling very much a girl again. And loving this- which she had never experienced in her own school days.
His face reddened with the shame of having his bared bottom inspected by girls from his class.
"But you said we'd all have swimmers! The latest design! For racing!" he complained.
His voice cracked with the injustice.
The long skinny boy was half turning to them, both hands splayed over his dainty genitals. He was, thought Timmy at the window, the very picture of embarrassed naked boy, tricked and bullied and blackmailed out of his clothes by naughty girls, worse because he was so tall. Worse, because he had such a small dick.
"Yes, we know we said you boys would model the latest swimmers but Miss Newbold..."
Sally's voice was sweet as June Allyson playing the "girl next door."
"...from Logan's Department Store..." explained Lucy, feeling tingly all over, playing this game with a naked young athlete.
"...she told us yesterday," continued Karen. "That the supply of teensie weenie swimmers hadn't arrived. But she and Mrs Carruthers, the seamstress, have been designing some other costumes."
Alwyn's face contorted with horror.
Tears started in his eyes. "NO! Not the b...b...b...belt they wear for Miss Cuff's musical!"
The three females giggled.
"Well yes, precisely that."
Karen went across the bed and lifted from a pile an embroided belt, with Red Indian designs, waist size 30 inches, and held it up.
One of the new, notorious belts!
The others ohhhed and ahhhed. Mocking their prisoner.
Lucy gave a wolf whistle.
Alwyn, all six foot two inches of him, still clutching hands to his groin, fell to his knees.
"No...no...no, please! Not...not that!"
"Why ever not?" asked Lucy, in mock innocence. She had loved dressing boys in tights for the Shakespeare night, especially Larry Albright who had turned out to sport a freakishly long thin cock. Alwyn was built like Larry- tall and lean. Would he have a similar penis? She guessed that he would, long and thin.
What an absolutely delicious prospect!
She resumed teasing the boy. "It is very stylish. Boys in Miss Cuff's musical have been wearing it in rehearsals..."
"And walking from their change room to the school hall, in just this...this...this..."
Karen couldn't bring herself to say "belt" because it was so hilarious that a boy might be ordered to put such a thing around his waist and go out on stage. Just a belt! She spluttered at the outrageous notion.
Her friend Sally picked up the slackened reins of her comments.
"Yes, a belt! A lovely belt! Boys wearing it down the corridors...past our home sciences room...the art room...corridors full of GIRLS! A belt...and nothing else."
"And boys like Rodney Ricketson...and Marc...and...and the Negro boys...seem to be getting used to wearing that belt."
"Even showing hints that they enjoy it."
And Timmy at the window, and Alwyn on his knees, naked and covering up, had the same thought. Yeah, each thought, those fellas have real whoppers!
Eight inches was the rumour about Mark and Rodney...some said 10...and so thick...too thick to get a girl's hand around, some said...and strong enough to support a wet towel. But Alwyn thought, I've a narrow little three incher, and never want any female to see it until my wedding night.
At the window, Timmy felt the same. The revelations of his...smallness...at the swim meets, had been terrible humiliation. Right in front of his mom and aunt and all those other mothers. While those big boys had drawn looks of real female admiration. Females almost panting...as they stared at the groins of really big boys.
"C'on fella, let's fit this around your waist."
"Please...no! I'll do anything! I'll be your slave! I'll pay you my allowance every week...but don't make me go out there in just that belt!"
The girls hesitated.
He was kneeling, facing them. Hands pressed to his groin, shielding everything. Desperate to stay covered.
"Well," said Sally. "We do have something else..."
"That offers you a bit more modesty. But if you don't agree to wear it I'm afraid we will get Mrs Christensen and Doctor Speight to make you come out just as you are now. Butt naked."
"Naked as a jay."
