And the same caveats about recognition apply, so you can't sue me.
Thank you to everyone who replied to my request for comments - many mre than I expected. It was very sweet of you all to bother. Rather embaressingly, I can't reply to you because my Yahoo account has gone very strange (perhaps it doesn't like the subject!) and I can't reply to anyone. I promise to keep trying, though. I'me having to use a new email account nickwyatt42@gmail.com if you'd like to contact me.
Part Two
As I stood waiting rather nervously in the wings in my perversely exciting Juliet costume, I could peep out and see Mr Gibson in his Director role, sitting in the front row of the audience and assessing the costume of a couple of boys in front of me. Adrian Stanley was sitting next to Mr Gibson, taking notes.
"Can you swop caps, please. No, that one's just too big." Over to his left to someone I couldn't see. "Are there any spares?"
"Doublet's look fine though, so too the tights. How do they feel, eh? Bit weird? Course they do."
"Right, not bad. Over there please to get yourselves sorted out with some shoes." The boys padded off.
"Who have we next?"
I stepped out of the wings.
"Me sir, Juliet."
Silence.
"My God. I say."
Mr Gibson was almost speechless.
"Wyatt. That's very convincing. All you need is a wig and a little make up. Give us a twirl."
I didn't understand.
"Spin around please Juliet!"
I did so and felt the full gown swing out charmingly. I liked that and decided to have a proper spin on my own later.
"Marvellous." Long and drawn out. He looked over to his left where Mrs French sat with another lady whom I did not recognise at a desk with several boxes of wigs, shoes and accessories. "What do you think?"
"Acceptable. We'll need to shorten that shift a bit. Is it pinned?"
She looked up at stage left wings where Mr Trelawny stood watching.
"Just lightly. Wanted to see what you thought - and what her shoes would be wearing."
"No more than ballet pumps."
"Need to pin up a bit more then."
"Palm to palm is Holy Palmer's kiss"
I looked deep into Hugh's eyes, just as I was supposed to. But the World span a little bit, and when it righted itself I realised that I was excited to be so close to him and dressed like this. The shift was still too long and I'd sort of managed to stand on the hem of the dress as well so it was stretched tight from bodice to the ground. Without meaning to, I twitched my penis against the rough linen of my shift and the velvet dirndl. Hugh noticed the twitch in my dress and a little grin ran across his face. I don't know why, but I glanced to my right towards Mrs French; she'd seen too. She knew.
She glared at me. Mrs French's eyes went steely grey and her mouth narrowed to an almost invisible horizontal line across her tight face.
We finished the scene, and with it Act One
"Okay, not bad! Overall we need to lift the tempo a bit. Y'know, keep the responses coming back nice and sharply" Called Mr Gibson, clapping his hands slowly. "You have ten minutes free and then I want to start a run through of Act Two – all of it."
I turned slightly, but still felt the laser-like glare of Mrs French on me. As I moved off centre stage she intercepted me; "Get into my office!" It came out as half whisper, half cat-spit. She was furious with me.
Knowing that my fate was sealed and that I deserved to die, I turned away towards stage left and descended the creaky stair to auditorium level and then picking up my skirts while trying not to lose my stockings, I ascended the narrow stairs towards the various offices occupied by Heads of Departments. I didn't go into Mrs French's office of course, I waited respectfully outside; eyes down, hands clasped behind my back. Her sharp, precise footsteps hurried along the corridor behind me,
"Get in there!" And she flung the door open.
I stepped in and stood on the small carpet mat, between piles of books and manuscripts and before her throne-like desk.
"How dare you embarrass us all!"
She slipped between stacks of book and sat on the chair behind her desk.
I said nothing.
"You are a vile, wanton boy. Your carnal thoughts defile the very sanctity of this school!"
I couldn't think of anything to say, so I said nothing still.
"What was it? Romeo or the costume?"
I still made no response. She'd hit the right answer; it was both Romeo and the clothes I was dressed in.
Without underwear, the shift I was wearing made lovely contact with my penis, and every now and then the slightest, most innocent movement would cause the shift to caress my willy briefly, but decisively. And of course, Hugh was breathtakingly beautiful.
"How dare you appear like that in a theatrical costume. Are you wearing any pants under there?"
At last I found a voice.
"No Ma'am, Mr Trelawny took them off of me."
Her head snapped up in surprise.
"Who did? What on earth do you mean `off of me'?"
"He pulled my underpants down and wouldn't let me wear them Ma'am."
"When?"
"When he was helping me with my dress Ma'am."
"And who did this?"
"Mr Trelawny, ma'am."
Silence. At least twenty seconds of silence. She had caught me with an erection under my dress which was aimed at the leading man. But my erection was exacerbated – even caused – by one of her fellow teachers.
"Are you suggesting that Mr Trelawny . . ."
For once Mrs French was lost for words. Her primary weapon, the English language, had failed her. She coughed diplomatically, looked out of the window and started again.
Quietly now "Do you have a complaint against any member of staff?" Eyebrow raised, she looked at me.
"No ma'am"
"Do you feel that you have been the subject of any coercive behaviour?"
"No ma'am"
I knew of course that I had been, but I also knew that I enjoyed the attention and wanted this bizarre scenario to continue. Mrs French sighed, leant on one elbow and rubbed her hand across her forehead.
"Did he 'touch' you, Wyatt?"
Emphasis on the word 'touch', meaning caress, fondle or grope. I paused a second.
"Just a bit."
A longer pause
"Do you feel that he took advantage of you?"
"Not really ma'am"
She breathed out in relief very slightly.
"So what do you want from me, Wyatt?"
"Nothing ma'am. Well, I just need something to keep these stockings up."
I could see start and then grin, but she tried to disguise it behind her hand.
"Eight forty five tomorrow, Wyatt. Be here and I'll have something to help you."
"Yes ma'am, thank you ma'am
"Now off you go and do Act 2 and would you also ask Mr Trelawny to pop up and see me, please."
"God, she looked a bit mad. What's the matter with her then – time of the month?"
This was Dickie Bennet loitering with intent at the entrance to the auditorium. Dickie was always loitering around and definitely with the intent to do something outrageous. He was probably the campest boy in the year, if not the school; think of Kenneth Williams, but with acne and at least two stone overweight. He was playing the Nurse – an excellent casting decision, he was wonderful.
"Something I did that she didn't like."
"What, did you whip it out on stage? I never noticed and I was watching. Love the frock, ducky!"
And now Hugh Montague came past as well.
"Everything alright?" He tried to sort of shoulder Dickie out and gain my undivided attention. "Only, Frenchie noticed, y'know." he added solicitously and dipping his head towards me in a 'concerned' sort of way.
"Noticed what?" Dickie enquired.
"Nothing at all, really." I said dismissively. And then to Hugh "It's all fine. Don't worry."
He still looked concerned, and I would have liked to envelope myself in his compassion and snuggle in to his big shoulders for a hug. But I didn't of course, not right there.
The next morning was already warm as I waited patiently outside Mrs French's office at eight-forty. I couldn't imagine her being late and I would not have dared to keep her waiting - no one would, not even the Headmaster. Along the stone corridor and around the corner, I heard the sharp tap of her shoes approaching. Here she came, with her black academic gown billowing slightly as she hurried along. She clutched a large handbag, several books a paper bag and several files to herself as she approached. She stopped at her door and without acknowledging me in any way, she produced a key from her pocket, unlocked her office door and thrust it open.
"Come in!" She barked over her shoulder.
I came in.
"Shut the door."
I did so.
She dumped everything on her already crowded desk and turned to me.
"I should not be doing this. Not under any circumstances. This is strictly for the purposes and duration of the school play, do you understand?"
"Yes ma'am." I agreed, without even vaguely understanding what it was I was agreeing to.
"You will return it at the conclusion of the performances."
"Yes ma'am"
She fiddled around on her desk and eventually, rather hesitantly held out a paper bag towards me.
I put my satchel down and took it, and made to look inside, raising my other hand to examine the contents.
"Not here! Take it away and use it for the next costume fitting. Hide it. Never show it to anyone, or tell anyone from whom you received it."
The tension in her voice was almost palpable. I was frightened.
"Yes ma'am. Sorry ma'am" I responded in weak confusion.
She softened slightly in response to my lack of understanding.
"It'll keep your stockings up and keep you, erm under control. Don't show it to anyone because they won't understand."
I peeped into the bag, whatever it was, it was a sort of ivory colour.
"Not here please, Wyatt! Off you go. I'll be at rehearsal later."
Deeply confused, I walked down the corridor, into main school and straight into the loos. Locking myself in a stall, I took the item out of the paper bag and reeled backwards in shock. My head went light and I thought I saw sparks in front of my eyes. I was holding a woman's girdle, with suspenders dangling from it. In my shock, my shoulders banged back against the divide with a loud thump that brought me back to my senses. It was already partway into prayers and assembly for the school, so I was alone in the toilets. Closing the loo lid, I sat down to examine this strange but beguiling piece. My sister certainly never had anything like this, and I didn't dare snoop on my mother, but I'd seen them in decorous newspaper ads and in mail-order catalogues.
It was a soft ivory sort of colour with stitching down each side and in a sort of 'V' pattern down the front. The back was plain, but the material stretched in every direction. There was a tiny curl of pink fabric in the form of a flower at what I took to be the top front, and below four suspender clips dangled on short straps. Inside on the left was a discrete label 'Marks and Spencer's Made in England. S' nothing more. Looking more closely on the right, I realised that one of two of the overstitched threads had come slightly adrift. It wasn't new, then. Had Mrs French worn it? I lifted it to my nose and smelt it carefully. Vey vaguely I could smell washing powder. Yes, it had been worn, but I also thought it had probably been at the bottom of her drawer for some while.
Now. What to do?
We had a rehearsal later, but not in costume, so I didn't need the girdle today. Should I keep it in the bag in my satchel, but what if someone saw it? There was another alternative and I slipped of my shoes, trousers and pants and stepped into it. I tugged it up and wiggled my hips to make it slide up into position around my bottom. Mrs French must have about the same size hips as me.
It felt exquisite. I ran the flats of my palms down the slippery material and just loved the signal transmitted to my skin inside. Hands on my hips and across my bottom, oh wow. My penis was hugely erect and struggling under the restrictive fabric. I pulled up the front of the girdle to make my willy more comfortable, but gave it a bit of a wank instead. I stopped myself reluctantly and tucked my willy in again, pointing straight up my stomach and flapped the girdle down again covering me down to my testicles. I wasn't sure whether to wear pants as well - over or under, so I stuffed them into the side pocket of my satchel that was secured by a clasp.
A few minutes later, I slid out of the toilets and walked - minced - down the corridor towards the main staircase, now the girdle encircled my thighs and groin. I can't pretend it was comfortable. At every step, I felt the repressive fabric ride up a little further as I walked. Taking longer strides made it worse and wiggling my hips as I walked seemed to help a bit, but god help me if any 'interested parties' saw me doing so, I'd be taken from behind before ten yards were out. And of course, the suspender clips dangled about in a rather horrid way, occasionally I'd hear the odd clunkk from down there. Our school uniform trousers were hideously baggy, but just now, I was rather pleased they were.
I started to wiggle my way down the main stairs and too late, I heard a gaggle of voices below. I slowed my descent, hoping they would depart before I arrived at their level. Oh, and I tried not to wiggle.
"Oh Wyatt, what an excellent surprise!"
Doctor Coleridge, headmaster, turned to his party of ten or twelve- "I'd like to present Nicholas Wyatt to you all, our latest thespian. Nicholas will be taking the lead role in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet a little later in the year. Yes, and as one of our more promising artists, he has already been offered a place at the Royal College of Art."
Which wasn't quite true of course, I had been told there would be a place for me as long as I achieved certain grades in the A levels,
There was light ripple of appreciation and someone actually clapped. I slowed my descent as I realised that the assembled below me were all Asian clergymen. Bizarre.
"Come on down, Wyatt!" Called the headmaster, I lodged that away for future reference `Come On Down', he said.
"Thank you sir."
I tripped lightly down the last few stairs and almost felt like curtseying to Doctor Coleridge.
"He's a fine student, you know." Called Dr Coleridge over his shoulder to any one of his entourage who was listening. "Excellent actor and brilliant artist. We expect much of him!"
"Now, this is a portrait of the founder of our school, Bishop Richard Long . . ."
The visitors crowded forwards towards the portrait as I attempted to slip around the rear of the party.
One of the clergy turned to me as I passed, "So, you are playing Romeo?"
"No sir, I am Juliet." And then I did it, I really did curtsey.
I arrived at Room G just as the boys were returning from Prayers. I was assisting with the control of this lot for first lesson, and I stood at the door as a stream of boisterous twelve year olds cascaded along the corridor towards me.
"Right, shut up and inside quickly!"
I got all twenty of them in and sat down in relative good order before the Student Teacher arrived. I didn't mention it before, but part of our Lower Sixth function was to assist visiting Student Teachers keep control of their classes. We would supply the control - knowing which trouble makers to watch out for – and knowledge of the customs of the school - while the Student Teacher got on with his or her teaching experience.
Actually, there's a story there. It seemed that a couple of year before I joined a rather tricky class of fifteen year olds convinced a female Student Teacher that they were allowed to remove their school uniform when the temperature rose above 72 Fahrenheit. The poor girl was subjected to boys in their underpants everywhere . . .
Today, this class were getting Maths from a neat little Student Teacher in a tweed skirt. She introduced herself and I walked to the back of the class to sit and control if necessary. As I sat, I felt the girdle rise up another fraction of an inch or so. It really was dreadfully uncomfortable, and although I had carefully tucked my willy up into the girdle when I put it on, all this movement had let it wriggle down and now only the glans was imprisoned by the tightly stretched material and rather painfully so.
Up at the front, Miss Whatsit was doing Logarithms with the class and energetically writing stuff on the blackboard. I hadn't understood Logarithms then and I certainly wasn't going to try again now. But I watched her as she scribbled, the white chalk dust lightly coating her grey tweed sleeve and I watched her ample bottom jiggle. Normally, I wouldn't have paid much attention, but I wanted to see if I could see if she was wearing stockings even in this summer heat and if I could determine whether she was wearing a girdle too. I checked her calves; yes, she was definitely wearing something on her legs. Now I concentrated on her thighs as she turned to and fro between blackboard and class, but I couldn't discern anything beneath her thick skirt.
My attention wandered and I turned slightly to look out of the open window; there was a twinge from my middle. My girdle was just reminding me it was still there. I slipped a finger inside my shirt at about navel-level and eased the stifling fabric away just for a moment. Up ahead, there was a movement that caught my attention. As Miss Whatsit chalked on the board, Boy 1 passed something across the aisle to Boy 2.
I stood and strode forwards and even though Boy 2 tried quickly to conceal whatever it was, I was standing by his side immediately and I just held out my hand. Boy 2 knew the game was up, and resignedly passed a tiny bundle of many folded paper to me. I said nothing, but turned and looked down at Boy 1, who had gone deathly white and stared straight ahead. Miss had stopped chalking and turned back to the class. She said nothing, but watched our little tableau in horror.
"Afterwards" I said. "Both of you."
And I returned to the back of the classroom, and as I sat down, my penis was finally released from the bottom edge of the awful girdle and I started in alarm in case someone had witnessed the event. None of the boys had, of course and they were all doing their best to avoid my attention in case I nabbed them as well.
As the lesson continued I unfolded the scrap of paper. It had been torn from a school exercise book, and in slightly smudged fountain pen ink was just one word; 'WOBBLE'.
Predictable, really. They were watching her bottom wobble. She wasn't over-large, but there was certainly enough bottom in that rather tight skirt to attract anyone's attention. She was about twenty two, they were twelve. I tore up the note as small as I could, having decided not to tell Miss Thing what it said.
Now the boys were working in their exercise books and shuffling through the books of Logarithms tables to work out their sums. Miss Whatsit toured the classroom, encouraging and advising, repeating an instruction here and there. And as she bent over to read what a particular lad had written, I saw the fabric of her skirt tighten over her thigh and show the faint outline of the clasp of her suspenders onto her stocking. My eyes traced the faint depression of suspender strap up high across her buttock to where it disappeared again. So she was wearing a suspender belt, rather than a girdle. I wondered if I would be more comfortable in a suspender belt - but then it wouldn't keep my penis in check, would it?
I twisted uncomfortably again and idly wondered of Mrs French had deliberately given me something that would do the job but would physically punish me at the same time.
At the conclusion of the lesson, I gave Boys 1 and 2 essays to write. Five hundred words on the value of respect. Miss Whatsit asked what they had been doing, but I just dismissed it as schoolboy rudery. She'd have to deal with that herself at some point in the future, but there was no point in upsetting her now.
Liberated from that duty, I walked in the direction of the auditorium again. I worried that I was being hypocritical; here I was punishing boys for healthy heterosexual interest, while wearing women's underwear and lusting after a good wank.
Next I had two hours in the school library, rearranging the study tables, sorting out books, missing tickets and the completely nonsensical classification system. This was going to be rather sweat inducing work and I really wasn't looking forward to doing it in this heat – or when wearing a girdle.
I dived into the loos again and in the stall, I pulled the girdle down and off. There were red marks all around my thighs and stomach and even as far north at my midriff. Now I decided that there was actually little likelihood of anyone finding the girdle as I wouldn't be opening my satchel again that day; so I'd risk it. After the library and lunch, I would have rehearsal, then I'd be off home. So I replaced the girdle in the paper bag, hiding it at the bottom of the satchel, and put my trousers back on - no pants - it felt wonderfully cool and liberating.
Off to the library, where Joy of Joys, I found I was working with Adrian. We had piles of tickets without books, piles books without tickets – did they match? Did they hell!
And then we had to move every reading table out and change the library into an exhibition space for The Lady Barbara Artist's Cup exhibition starting the following Monday. This was a watercolour or sketching competition that was run in the school each summer.
We chatted as we worked; getting to know each other quickly, even though we'd hardly spoken during the preceding two years.
"So are you going to be with the orchestra all summer?"
"Oh no, we're going to be in Finland or is it Sweden first? For about four days I think, then it's the other place for about the same time and then were back home – I think so anyway."
He grinned and almost hugged himself. "So exciting!"
"Sounds fab!"
"Adrian, you know this Lady Barbara thingy prize?"
"Yes." But Adrian sounded vague, music was his thing, art wasn't.
"This year the subject has to be twelve pieces showing movement, just quick sketches."
"Mmm."
"Would you sit for me – could I draw you?"
"Do I have to be completely still or anything? And haven't you even started drawing yet?"
"No! It's all got to be in on Friday and I really need your help. You could be doing anything while I draw you because it's got to be about movement."
"I would have thought you'd be asking Hugh first." That was said with more than just a touch of bitch, so I didn't bother answering.
"I could be playing the `cello, couldn't I? I'll play some Schubert – lots of big gestures! You don't want me to be nude or anything, do you?"
I wondered how to say `Yes Please' and make it into a joke, but I couldn't think of how to do it.
"Playing with your big fiddle would be great, Adrian."
He just looked at me, very scornfully.
"Philistine."
We made arrangements.
Rehearsal was hot even with my depleted clothing, luckily the play didn't really involve me too much as it was lots of choreography for the fight scene and the death of Tybalt. So I was spared the need to concentrate too much in the heat. Frenchie ignored me completely.
As I sat in the wings and watched Tybalt and Mercutio choreographed in their conflict, I couldn't help but look across at the almost reclining figure of Hugh in tights as he followed the action on stage. Hugh really lived the play, as others moved on stage, his delicious muscles twitched in sympathy – and he mouthed their lines! He knew their parts as well as his. I resolved to spend the entire weekend, apart from the ghastly wedding thrash, in study of my lines and the entire play. I knew Hugh would help us all through, but it would be better to delight him with my acting, that elicit his sympathy for my plodding performance.
At the end of rehearsal, the Company dispersed quickly in the heat of the afternoon. And I walked home alone.
After the constriction of wearing the girdle, I was really enjoying the pants-less freedom inside my trousers, and just because of that I got a little stiff as I walked along. Then I started thinking about the girdle again. I needed to try it again; properly, with some stockings and a skirt. And now I had a full bloodied, monstrous erection and I couldn't wait to get home.
End of Part Two
Let me know what you think, and I'll try to reply! nickwyatt42@gmail.com