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!