Date: Tue, 24 Aug 2010 12:18:21 +0000 (GMT)
From: nder pants <nderpants@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: A Life Without Trousers - 3

Chapter Three


It seems quite incredible, in retrospect, how matter-of-factly (with the
possible exception of Yvonne) every one of my friends accepted the forfeiture of
my trousers to Orlando in such a public place as the riverside terrace of a
crowded public house on a warm summer Saturday evening -- not only that, but
their swift disposal into the afore-mentioned river was received by them all in
surprised amusement but without undue comment or protest.

I seem to recall Guy saying something to the effect: "Well David, my old mate,
it looks as if your trousers are heading off back to the city without you," and
everyone chuckled.

A bit of a cheer had gone up from some of the surrounding tables, together with
some jeers and wolf-whistles and good-natured banter on the whole, but they soon
settled down again. I know strange things happen among students in a university
town and it was probably this that led to such a tolerant acknowledgement of the
incident, but I felt far from normal sitting there at the table in a pair of
rather shamingly scanty scarlet boxer shorts, the brevity of my shirt tail
making the concealment in its entirety of the slightly gaping fly hole
practically impossible.


Periodically, I made eye contact with Orly but quickly looked away on meeting
his harsh, unflinchingly challenging and almost triumphant gaze. I knew my pulse
was racing, I could tell my breath was shallow and faster than usual, but
perhaps even more disturbingly I knew I was also finding the mortifying
situation of sitting there in public without any trousers on arousing, and that
unnerving sensation disturbed me greatly.


My knees were drawn together to prevent anything from accidentally lolling out
of the rather short but baggy leg holes of the livid red boxers, given to me
when my frame was slightly more youthful and slender. The heel of my right hand
was pressed into my groin, concealed, I hoped effectively, by the apparently
more casual left hand lying across it, as though just carelessly laid in my lap.

Orly, however, was intent on my complete discomfiture.

"Your round, I think, David," he said. "Here's the twenty pound note you
borrowed from me earlier. And since there are nine of us, I doubt it will go
that far, here's another tenner I will add to what you already owe me."

The significance of the added stress he laid onto that statement was not lost on
me and I swallowed hard again as I rose to take the money. Just as I leant
across the table to take the notes from him, that is when the party of ladettes
got up to move inside and passed our table. They were town girls out on a bevy,
definitely not the student type, and their leader just grabbed the bottom of one
of my boxer's legs and yanked it down hard.
How much of my bare buttocks were revealed, I have no way of knowing but the
startled and shocked expression on Yvonne Fielding's face led me to believe that
not much had been left to her imagination.

I was mortified. I looked abjectly across at Orlando after I had leapt to
recover my modesty as quickly as was humanly possible, hitching my underpants up
while the girls hooted in delighted derision by my exposure at their hands and
continued on their way.

It was then that Guy volunteered to go and get my round in and I like to think
it was because of that unsettling incident with the girls and the way it had
affected me that Orlando relented for that brief moment and made no objection to
my not going up to the bar dressed just as I was. He realised that at that
moment I had reached the end of my tether. I could not cope with further
humilities at that time.

The rest of the evening was comparatively uneventful, at least until the time
came for us to leave. Those of you who know the Trout will also know that you
cannot leave the terrace without going back inside the pub', so, as you may
imagine, I felt very self-conscious in shirt tails and red boxers excusing
myself through the press of people and weaving my way past diners at their
tables also.

Suddenly I felt fingers gripping my upper leg. I froze.

"I like your thighs, David. They're so deliciously hairy. You should show them
off more often."

I turned in horror to look down into the upturned face of my tutor, Barbara
Goodier, smiling at me. She laughed at the expression on my face and playfully
ran her finger nails higher through the hairs on my inner thigh.

"Oh I think you'll find he will be doing just that, Mrs Goodier," Orly said as
he propelled me past her and, presumably, her husband, through the crowd and
towards the exit.

"And his chest too; is that hairy as well?" she called after us.

I was quite simply scarlet in the face and utterly mortified. My tutor was
probably the last person on earth I would have wanted to see me without my
trousers on. I knew I was blushing hotly.

The girls- especially Millie who was wearing quite high heels- were not too keen
on walking back along the river and opted for the 'bus back into town. Nigel
said he'd go with them and, after we'd all arranged to meet up for a bar lunch
before going punting the following afternoon, we split up and headed over the
bridge towards the river path. It was twilight now as we passed the abbey ruins
and the lock and there was hardly anyone around so I felt more comfortable in my
trouserless state but still was a little apprehensive about when we hit the
built-up area nearer home. I moved away from our crowd into a clump of trees to
relieve myself, grateful I had been able to contain it and not had to visit the
gents' in just my underpants. Whilst I was attending to myself, I heard a splash
and some shouting from the river itself.

"Is the water warm?" Guy was calling and some youths were calling back,
presumably answering in the affirmative, for, as I returned to the riverbank, he
had already pulled off his top and was stepping out of his chinos. Ripping off
his socks with one hand as he pushed down his white briefs with the other, Guy,
by now completely naked, leapt into the river with a sort of trumpeting fanfare
as he went.

A keen competitor in triathlons, Guy was in his element as he swiftly crossed to
the far bank. The river was quite wide there after the island that separates the
weir from the lock, but Guy surged across startling a herd of cattle that had
come down to drink and generally mooch at the water's edge.

"Go on, David, you know you want to."

I looked across to where Orlando was standing. He nodded towards the river.

"To go skinny dipping with Guy," he added in an encouraging but brittle tone.
The brittleness meant he brooked no argument.

"Test number two," I thought to myself as, resigned to my fate, I slowly
unbuttoned my shirt and hopped around on one foot in an ungainly manner as I got
rid of my shoes and socks.

Aware that all eyes were on me, including the mixed bathing party already in the
river, I stuck my thumbs in the elastic waistband of my red boxers and pushed
them right down to my ankles, stepping out of them and running, naked, straight
for the river.

I am not a good swimmer. The water hit me with a stinging smack and the sudden
coldness took my breath away. I swallowed so much of river water that it
probably registered at the Thames barrier about sixty-odd miles further
downstream. As I struggled to the surface, limbs flailing madly, heaving,
retching and gasping for breath in between a coughing fit, the cattle on the far
bank stampeded right across the meadow, bellowing in fear.

"Are you all right, David?" Guy swam up, a concerned look on his face.

I tried to say I was fine but the words would not come so I just gurgled inanely
and stuck a thumb in the air.

It was suggested that we swam along the river for a bit towards the city as the
rest accompanied us along the riverside path. I reluctantly agreed, knowing I
had no choice in the matter, drawing some comfort from the fact that after my
initial shock the water seemed much warmer and therefore more pleasantly
bearable.

I think I have only been "skinny dipping" once before in my life when my
swimming trunks were unceremoniously ripped off underwater by an irate
house-captain at the end of an intermediate house swimming match I had managed
to lose. Then I was too scandalised at the prospect of getting out of the pool
in front of the assembled school and staff to consider the sensation. But on
this balmy May evening, and following a particularly pleasant hot spell, the
sensation of feeling the movement and buoyancy of water on every single part of
my body, my body hair as well was almost electrifying.

The current was taking us at quite a lick and at times the party onshore had to
trot to keep up with us.

"Great, isn't it?" Guy swam alongside and grinned at me.

I grinned back.

"Hey, Guy," I spluttered to him," what do you think they'll have done with our
clothes?"

"Hopefully, they would've carried them along for us to put on when we get out
further downstream," he said, not very reassuringly.

I felt pretty certain that someone would have taken care of his clothes. I was
just not as sure that Orlando would have mine.

I was proved wrong and guiltily thanked him for having kept them safely.

"I think you ought to dry off a bit first before putting them back on again,
though," he said reasonably enough, ensuring I had to walk along in the company
of my friends entirely nude which they thought slightly scandalous and highly
entertaining.

Nervously, I skulked in shadows as we passed The Perch Inn where a number of
craft were tied up at its landing stage and as we neared the footbridge to cross
over by the old boatyard, Orlando deemed me dry enough and allowed me to dress
once more.  We crossed onto Fiddler's Island, skirted the canal and clinging to
the wall, I made it back to Orlando's without further excitement. The others
were pretty good and pressed tightly round me if anybody approached and so we
probably looked just like a group of chaps coming back from the pub' -- which
indeed we were.

In spite of some half-hearted attempts at prolonging the evening by getting
themselves invited back to Orlando's for a further drinking session, the evening
ended there on the doorstep. It was a bit hairy for a moment though as Orly gave
me the option to say yea or nay to their coming in, but I could read in his face
that I would have been forced shamefully to strip naked in front of them once we
had got inside and could not face the explanation as to why.

The front door closed and I fell to taking my clothes off immediately for which
I earned praise much as a dog does when it pleases its master. I fought the
overwhelming desire to cover my nudity under his unblinking gaze before he
turned and led me up the stairs to my doorless room.

"You had better ensure you make the best of emptying your bladder, David, for
you will not be able to go in the night," my host informed me as he gestured
towards the bathroom.

Puzzled, I made my way as I was bid and remembered to leave the door open. The
flow seemed uncommonly loud as it hit the water in the loo and the flush too was
extraordinarily forceful.

"In future, David, you will sit to urinate, I think," Orly stated. "It will not
sound as loud throughout the house when you have to leave the door open."

I meekly accepted this further attempt of his at my emasculation and moved into
the bare room. The bulb glared rudely on my naked body and I was immediately
aware of the large uncurtained window which I shrank from as I rounded the bed.

"Lie down, David," Orly instructed.

I did so.

"Now spread your arms and legs as though in making an X," he ordered.

Bemused, I complied.

Suddenly, my left hand and foot were slipped through a couple of nooses. As I
stupidly stared at them, Orly moved round the bed and quickly attached my right
limbs in a similar fashion. I was spread-eagled stark bollock naked on my back
on the length of the bed. Presumably, some sort of strapping under the mattress
prevented me from extricating myself from the confinement in which I now found
myself -- trapped to my bed throughout the night!