Jack’s Y Fronts and the New Lodgers

He was compact but masculine.

She turned to the giant chest of drawers and opened a draw.

Her voice changed. It was suddenly lighter, skittish, conversational.

"We know boys your age like all kinds of underwear. This is Jack's collection..."

She half giggled.

"...these are his 'athletic supports'...stand closer and see..."

The boy shyly hobbled closer, both hands pressed to his groin.

She dangled a Bike brand jock strap so he could see the three inch waist with brand name emblazoned. From it dangled the knitted cup and the rear straps. She shook it, inviting him to appreciate the fact that...it had no rear!

"He loves them," she said holding him up several others including Johnson and Johnson and Lonsdale brands.

"Would you like to wear these?" she added slyly.

Her sly question made him gush.

"Boxers wear them," he said. "For...protection."

And then blushed scarlet.

She looked down at his hand-covered groin. Pubic hair- long and fine- showed itself outside the somewhat small hands.

"Well, we will see you in yours but in the meantime these are Jack's posing straps."

She rootled in the drawer and brought out the exotic collection- satin and cotton, and webbed and woven- and, it seemed, in all colours of the rainbow. Some indecently small, and in light blue or even pink, would have concealed little.

Billy could hardly look away but truth was his eyes displayed an embarrassed interest. She looked down again at his lower tummy and the flattened hands. Was he excited by the daring male underwear and pressing harder into his groin to hide his arousal?

"And Jack likes his physique mags- like this."

She held up Adonis "The Art Magazine of the Male Physique." Its cover picture was of young Frank Hlivjka with his boy next door expression, above an extravagantly V shaped torso. His groin was cupped in white posing strap. His hands were placed on either side of it, as if to draw attention to the bulge.

Next to her the naked young boxer looked wide-eyed, his youthful imagination racing, perhaps seeing himself on the cover. He definitely was pressing his hands harder to his genitals, Julia thought. And it made her imagination race with thoughts of what those graceful little hands were hiding. "Unbelievable short, his sister says, but unbelievably thick," she recalled another one of her circle of girlfriends saying.

"And under the brown paper at the bottom of the drawer, Jack keeps this..."

She rootled some more and brought out a somewhat crushed copy of a black and white nudist publication, Sun and Health.

She held it up for the nude 18 year old to see.

He was wide eyed.

She flicked its pages.

"Here...Jack loves this one."

It was the page with a lean, tanned youngster seated in a fold-up chair in front of a tent or caravan, with a few older ladies with dangling melon breasts gathered in front of him...and looking down.

"Ugh! The page is stiff...with his ejaculations..."

Billy blushed deep red.

"We catch him with this material which gets him taken to Gerda's for treatment. But here it is, more of the stuff, smuggled into the house."

Billy became speechless. Breathless. He too had been shamed with his sister regularly discovering girlie magazines like Black Spice hidden by him under the brown paper lining at the bottom of drawers, under the mattress, in his clothes cupboard.

Julia remodulated, slamming the drawer with disgust and becoming cold and bossy again.

"Please take your shoes and socks off..."

He registered shock for a second and then turned his back to obey.

She caught a dizzying view of his bottom, his glutes even more soccer ball-shaped than she remembered from Gerda's corridor, and his cleft even deeper and darker, the edges dusted with fine black hair.

She told him to lead the way downstairs.

She saw him start with fear. Going downstairs? Without a stitch?

"Because that's where your Y fronts are. I've just ironed them."

She told him again to lead the way and watched the muscles of his soccer balls clench and unclench as he moved uncertainly down the narrow stairs with his hands pressed in front.

Yes, hands pressed to his groin. He's terrified of having me see his famously short but very thick penis, she thought, greedily. But I'm leaving for Ceylon in days...it's inconceivable I leave England without getting to know him naked.

Downstairs Julia sighed with feigned impatience and sat down, swinging one leg over the other. As it happened, the naked boy was standing right before her, trying to shelter his nudity. Visibly trembling.

There is a bit of Cupid about him, she thought, and that punchy bottom is just begging to be spanked. She was very wet between her thighs.

Striking a match to light a fresh Lucky Strike she asked, "So they take you to Gerda's...to be punished? In the nude, like all the others?"

She exhaled and wreathed him in her smoke.

He coughed as he choked out a reply in the affirmative.

"How do you like that?"

He professed he found it very embarrassing.

"I'm shy, I guess. Too much...pride."

She scoffed. "Boys with pride! That doesnt go well with drooling over magazines with women in their bras!"

She blew more smoke in his direction, stared hard at his hands pressed into his groin.

"My girlfriends have heard that your sister saw you stripped naked for the first time- in the waiting room at Gerda's."

He looked like he'd been slapped.

He couldn't bring himself to confirm it. That elder sister of his!

"It must embarrass you to know she shared details with all her friends. Even I heard about the characteristics of your sex organ."

He flushed redder than ever. He swayed with the shock.

"Goodness, it must be humiliating to know they all know...and talk...and laugh...about it."

She emphasised "it." She nodded at his groin even as he pressed harder.

He was destroyed.

"Anyway, your Y fronts..."

She crushed her cigarette in an ash tray and swung off her chair and stalked to a corner of the kitchen. She returned with a neatly folded item of underwear.

"Your new costume for home."

She unfolded it and held it up with both hands.

"Coopers Y Fronts, the underwear of the British Olympic team. High waisted, right above your navel, really high...then a big bold angled Y to let your organ in and out when required....and elastic at the high leg openings...yes, showing all your thighs..."

He was frozen with shock.

"Just think. This is all you will wear at nights...through weekends...in front of Mrs Ellroy...and in front of our lady visitors. You will wear them serving tea...sitting down to meals...meeting the girls who come- oh don't worry, my girlfriends won't stop coming because I'll be off in Ceylon. They'll be coming more than ever- with three male lodgers to see in their undies!"

She handed him the Y fronts and told him to pull them up. He hurriedly turned his bottoms to her- the sight thrilled her to the core: the powerful, punchy glutes, the deep, mysterious cleft, the delicate black hair- and pulled them as high as he could.

"Let's get your things."

She followed him down the hallway.

He picked up the outsize gray snap brim hat and looked at her quizzically.

"On your head, of course! Now pick up your bags."

He presented the sweetest, most vulnerable picture.

A young man in nothing more than ridiculous gray fedora and a pair of Y fronted underpants, a smallish yellow-brown suit case in each hand.

He looked at her, shamed, beaten, a prisoner.

A traveller...

...but off to where?

Off to total 100 percent nudity.

Because in that second the Y fronts- carefully selected by Julia, owned and pre-owned by Harold and Davey and Jimmy and Jack, worn in the bottom to the point of transparency, worn in the elastic to the point of utter unreliability- just slithered decisively down the young boxer's legs to form a shameful puddle at his ankles.

He was totally naked.

He froze, not daring to put the luggage down.

His cock was freakishly short, clearly. Yet wide...expansive...thick. The glans was huge, an anatomical oddity. The ball sac was wide as well, strangely hairless, with the deepest furrows.

He continued to stand, hatted but otherwise exposed, entirely comic.

Her eyes slated her curiosity. Did she stare for a full five minutes? Certainly time seemed to stand still. For the two of them.

Quietly, cunningly, like a barrister unveiling a clinching revelation, she put her question, speaking softly and cunningly.

"If I opened your luggage and searched every corner tell me this: would I come across a copy of Black Spice? The magazine you had to take to Gerda's and admit to liking? To look at...erect...even as she attacked your bottom?"

His face dissolved. Tears overflowed.

"So the answer is yes?"

He nodded.

"So you can't give it up?"

He shook his head.

"You still get excited by women in frilly underwear...by their breasts?"

He nodded, shamed.

"Put the bags down...step out of the Y fronts...and come over here."

A 23 year old spinster, she would be leaving England within days. Likely would not see this young boxer again. Even this house. An awful clarity had entered her life. A desire to waste no more time.

He stood there, hat and Y fronts discarded, as naked as she might ever have hoped. Yes, the expression "birthday suit" seemed suited to his boyishness, his Cupid style, his vulnerability.

Billy Dedlock was in his birthday suit.

in front of her.

At her chair she rolled her skirts all the way up. Then sat. It was clear she wore no underwear. A thick whorl of reddy-brown hair protruded, as did pinkish vaginal lips, shiny and moist, and a inch-long anatomical declaration- a midget finger- that could only have been an overdeveloped clitoris.

Her thighs shone and a sour and anatomical smell rose to both their nostrils.

She saw his cock punch straight out parallel to the floor. The head was enormous and might have been half its length. Short indeed. But mightily thick. A bulbous dollop of moisture formed...and fell off, in a sticky trail dangling to the floor.

The expression in his eyes had shifted from shame to hunger. With all this boyish shyness, he was pound for pound as eager to slip his exotic member inside her as any male, in the right circumstances, might be.

"Lie over my knee..."

He bent.

Not reluctantly.

His remarkable genitals were so close.

But she held him off, stopped him from lowering into her knee. No, not just yet. She reached out and took hold of his penis, tried to enfold the thickness of the stem but couldn't. She marvelled at the satiny smoothness of the swollen glans, the width of which she fingered and stroked. She cupped the scrotum, so deliciously soft. Yes, a purse for coins. Smooth as silk.

She was reverent before this freakish, astonishing beauty.

At the moment another huge dollop of moisture appeared from the slit in his cockhead.

A salty gift from him.

She smoothed the viscous fluid over his stem.

She saw him close his eyes.

It was time. So she reached an arm and pressed his bottom, bringing him across her. Cupid was over the knee of his mother Venus. He relaxed into the space between her thighs and his cockhead, now flowing like a leaky tap, nestled into the porridge flowing thickly from her own vaginal lips. The questing clitoris found itself deliciously squashed between the boy's glans and Julia's pelvic bone. Deliciously.

There could not have been a snugger fit.

On her lap, the sight of those soccer ball glutes delivered a vision splendid. But his gloriously thick dick- forget about its shortness- nuzzled into her entrance.

She was about to swoon.

He too.

"Do your friends... other boys...say anything about its shape?"

Head dangling to the floor he thought.

"One friend...a coach in the gym...looks at me in the shower. He says..."

He smiled wickedly to recall this. She could tell he was smiling.

"Long and thin will go straight in

But doesn't please the ladies.

Short and thick will do the trick

And make them buff like crazies."

They both laughed.

And then gave in to the wicked pleasure. Both her hands pressed his bottom cheeks and both gasped.

And it might be said, tested the truth of the verse very often in the days ahead- on the settee in the parlour, on Julia's bed, on Mrs Ellroy's, on kitchen chairs and in the bathtub, sometimes making clever use of Jack's posing straps which around his waist made Billy shake with excitement, and even raiding Jack's Sun and Health mags with pictures of males Billy's age thrillingly nude in front of older or bossier females like- it might be said- Julia.

After several days of this unrestrained joy Julia trained to Southhampton and left on P&O Orcades for Columbo.

Part Three: the big Negro boy joins the Eccles Street household.

Mrs Partridge and her two daughters might have thought that on the visit to take tea with Mrs Ellroy and meet her newest lodger- Eddie Adams, a 19 year old Negro boy from the West Indies- the landlady might have done what she had done with all her other male lodgers on such visits: fit them out in the loosest fitting Coopers Y Fronts so that drooping elastic at the waist and the legs would offer candid views of their cocks and balls.

Such revelations crowned such gatherings and thrilled the girls to the core, to say nothing of the occasions when, so loose, worn and old, a pair of pants might slither right down the legs of the boy and show all he had while his hands were holding a tea tray and he could do nothing to retrieve his modesty.

But there Eddie stood- this cricket player from Barbados, now enrolled at Manchester School of Medicine- towering at six foot, in this intimate room, with roof beam shoulders and roped arms- all shining, darkest ebony- in the tightest Coopers Y Fronts, in the smallest, most clinging available size. They must have come from the House of Fraser that week they looked so fresh. From above his navel to the drooping, bulging bottom of the Ys and the curve revealing all his thighs they successfully strained to hold contents so heavy that the Partridges could only stare with bolt-eyed gluttony.

Yet they had to notice as well how strikingly handsome he was. Such huge sculptured lips- true African lips- and such a noble chin. As a reminder that he was studying anatomy and physiology he wore American style glasses with transparent frames.

"Tea? M'am? Young ladies?" he asked as coached by Mrs Ellroy, in his West Indian accent, trembling with nerves and shyness.

And, seated in deep arm chair and low settee, their attentions were drawn, under the offered tray, direct to the heroic bulge.

Which, ever so subtly, might have shifted, have expanded, with their eyes glued to it, him feeling their eyes glued to it. They could definitely make out the outline of his glans.

His heavy lips trembled with nerves.

Near naked in front of white females!

When Eddie turned to leave he displayed his posterior seeming to explode with muscle and power. The pants were stretched so tight they refused to reveal his cleft.

"What...refined features," observed Mrs Partridge in an under voice.

"He has such big lips," sighed the older daughter.

"Batsman or bowler, he must be devastating on the field," said the younger, pining after the roped forearms.

"And this is Billy Dedlock, our other new lodger. Dedlock? You might know his mother? Or sister Daisy?"

Billy, who had appeared silently at the door, entered with a tray of cakes. It was immediately clear that he had not been so favoured in his landlady's selection of Y fronts. His were shambolic. Their sclerotic elastic at the waist folded over itself, the thinness of the worn material at the front exposed the shape- and even the colouring- of his huge cockhead and both legs gaped open.

Yet his compact physique, with the flare of chest hair and understated boxer's muscles, was all they might have hoped.

The women made choices from the cake offering but at a leisurely pace and appearing to take every effort to prolong the boy's embarrassment with questions about his family and how he came to be lodging here. The sisters noticed how fragile the Y fronts and savoured hope of some revelation.

"Boxing must keep you very fit."

"You must want to be the new Len Johnson."

"Yet look at his hands- so graceful."

Billy smiled awkwardly.

The Y fronts sat loose at his waist. They didn't cling. They didn't hug. There was some hint of movement.

There was a knock at the front door.

"I know who that is," said Mrs Ellroy. "Eddie?"

But the Negro youth had been coached by the landlady to be ready for the caller and was already there admitting a beanstalk but beaming young woman.

She was discombobulated by the new lodger's size and near-nudity. She faced his chest with the frizzled hair around prominent dark brown nipples. She caught a whiff of humid body odour. But she turned eagerly into the parlour. As if more interested in what she might see there.

Announced Mrs Ellroy, "Billy, here's your big sister, Daisy!"

Daisy!

Perhaps it was the jolt he experienced with the shock. But it might have been the extravagantly weakened elastic. Whatever the reason, at that second, even while he held the tray of cakes in front of the two Partridge daughters, with his head turned to face the unexpected guest, Billy's Y fronts fell right down his legs to puddle at his ankles.

He was suddenly starkers!

His genitals up against the noses of the Partridges who he had been serving cakes!

His landlady looking on!

His big sister next to him doubling over with laughter!

Days of ecstasy with Julia now dissolved in the humiliation of exposure worse than he had ever experienced even at Gerda's. And holding the tray he could do nothing! And they were all looking! And they each seemed very, very interested in the shape of...

"Short and thick will do the trick..."

The verse came back to haunt him.

"Well," opined Mrs Ellroy. "Those old Coopers Y Fronts. One tries to get the most out of them but..."

Mrs Partridge cooed, never shifting her eyes from Billy's fat wide penis. "Yes, but as you say, your young men insist- absolutely insist- on wearing nothing else! Even when we come. Which is so sweet. But there's always the danger they show us more than they might want!"

Her daughters agreed smiling, one saying that it was indeed very sweet for the lodgers here to insist on getting around in white Y fronts, even when girls and women called. It was a tradition here in Eccles Street and what did it matter if there were "accidents" like this?

All the time they were looking direct at his sexual member with the bulbous ball bag deeply furrowed.

"Is he like this at home, Daisy?" asked Mrs Ellroy. "Getting around starkers? Like a real cheeky little scoundrel? Some boys love revealing themselves."

Billy gasped at the injustice. He had never allowed Daisy to see him nude even though she tried all the time!

His sister laughed, all the while savouring the view of her younger brother's genitals.

"No, not at all. Indeed he's very bashful. I don't think he would be liking this one little bit."

"Well, dear me," said Mrs Ellroy and took the tray from the paralysed boy- red as a beetroot and close to tears- and placed it on a side table. "Billy, step out of those wretched old Y fronts. I don't know why you are so wedded to them..."

In fact she had instructed him he was to wear them and not the others in his drawer.

"...and hand them to me...and take a seat over there."

She gestured to the facing settee.

"If you are in the nuddy you are in the nuddy and there's nothing more to be said about it. And Daisy you take a seat next to your brother who might show his manners and bring you tea and cake..."