I was practically thirty-eight years old, dammit, with two sons - a sixteen-year-old and a fourteen-year-old – to bring up on my own. They were twelve and ten respectively and I was thirty-four when their mother, my wife Sue, was tragically killed. I was on my own suddenly, a grieving widower and scared I would not be able to cope.
Sue’s mother had gone to pieces at the death of her daughter and was useless. She kept dissolving into tears when asked to have the kids for the day, saying she couldn’t bear to see her poor neglected motherless little grandchildren. A big help that was! I couldn’t expect much from my mother, though she did her best, but she had her hands full, poor soul, looking after my father who had been struck down with early dementia after a stroke. He was only sixty-four.
I suppose Derek, Sue’s brother, did his best really, both with the boys, and also offering support as a sounding board for me when I groaned on about the unfairness of it all. It was, after all, a daunting prospect to be suddenly thrown in at the deep end, keeping a family and home afloat, washed, clothed, cleaned, ironed and fed, and to hold down a full-time job as well. Mind you, without living in the age of the computer I just couldn’t have done it. I was also lucky enough to have a very understanding boss who let me work at home when I could, and around school hours, etcetera.
There’d just been two occasions where I simply had to travel for my job and on both those occasions “good old Uncle Dekka” had stepped into the breach and come to stay. Derek was ten years younger than me – Sue had been eight when he was born, so he was very much the baby of the family and consequently had been spoilt very much by his doting mother and his big sister. I’d got along with him all right when Sue was still alive, but he was an infrequent visitor to our house really, so we knew little of his private life. The boys loved it, however, whenever he came and, I have to admit, he was very good with them, engaging them in, and indeed enjoying being in, their boisterous and noisy rough and tumble.
It was the second occasion he had volunteered himself to step into the breach upon which the seeds of doubt were first sown into my mind concerning Derek’s leanings. As I said, the first time everything had gone swimmingly. On this subsequent instance, I had had to fly to Germany and it was half-term to boot. Notwithstanding that, he had come around on the Sunday to see me off to the airport where I’d said goodbye to the boys, Derek driving them home after I’d flown off. With no school to act as respite for him, I remember, he had entertained them right royally and spoilt them rotten with burger bar outings and pizza deliveries, I believe, on both the Monday and Tuesday I was away. I got back late on the Tuesday night, due to a delayed flight, to find the house in darkness. Letting myself in, I crept upstairs, peeped in both the boys’ rooms and entered mine. Derek was fast asleep in my bed. Just the slightest bit uncomfortable at the prospect of spending the night in a double bed with my brother-in-law, I shrugged off the feeling as an example of unnecessary British reserve and began to undress in the dark.
After all, the last time Derek had stayed, we had had a spare room but now the boys were older and had been duly allotted a room each of their own so, of necessity, if he were to spend the night in a bed at all, then it had to be mine. It is my habit to sleep in a large and capacious pair of pyjama shorts but, for some unaccountable reason I was unable to justify to myself, I was uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping next to a man wearing just those, and so I decided to retain my normal daytime underwear beneath them that night and donned a t-shirt before sliding underneath the duvet alongside my comatose brother-in-law.
I awoke with a start in the middle of the night, suddenly aware of his closeness. He appeared to be fast asleep from his breathing, but his body was pressed up behind mine, one arm negligently thrown across me, his hand forming a loose careless sort of cup at my groin. With increasing discomfort and a sense of alarmed embarrassment, I thought I detected he had an erection pressing into my lower back. I sat up and shook his arm from me. He grunted at the movement but apparently remained deeply asleep. Tentatively, I turned over and lay facing his recumbent form, ensuring as much space as was possible between our two bodies, slightly shocked at the thought that he appeared to be sleeping in the nude, before being able to drop off back to sleep myself.
The following morning, I awoke with a raging hard-on. A quick and furtive exploration revealed to my astonishment that my genitals were completely exposed. Had I merely been wearing the usual pyjama shorts, which I had previously imagined were long enough to prevent such embarrassing and unwanted revelations, I should not have been as surprised that the leg hole had got ruckled up, so to speak, and held in that position by my own tumescence. But the fact that both my engorged penis and scrotum were fully out of the much tighter leg hole of my briefs as well caused me alarmed concern. I shot an accusatory look at my bed-sharer, disturbingly uncertain as to his part in my rampant exposure, but who appeared to be still sleeping the sleep of the innocent. As I watched him, my initial unsubtantiatable suspicion draining away, Derek stretched and yawned languorously. He opened his eyes and feigned surprise at seeing me.
“Tony!” he said. “When did you get back?”
I wincingly wrenched my bloated genitals back under cover of my underpants and shorts as I sat up and threw the duvet back to get up. Derek was lying there beside me, stark naked, with an erection. I hurriedly apologised and replaced the duvet over him.
“No worries, old man,” he said with a boyish sleepy grin, scratching his right nipple as he lay on his pillow looking at me.
It was at that moment that Barnaby, wearing just his boxer shorts, came in.
“Uncle Derek – why, Dad, you’re back!” he observed rather unnecessarily as I already knew that.
He was swiftly followed by Elyot, my pyjama-shorts-clad fourteen-year-old who came bounding in upon hearing his brother’s declamation of my name.
“Dad! What have you brought us?” he wanted to know after the swiftest of hugs and then launching himself into a frenzied search of my luggage.
Both lads had sat on the bed, having opened their small gifts, as though it was the most normal thing in the world that their father and their Uncle Derek were in bed together, and pressed me on what I had seen and done in Germany.
I felt mounting alarm as Derek prepared to get up and consequently hurried the boys from the room before he uncovered himself in front of them. There had been only one occasion, as far as I could recall, when my sons had seen me naked and they had been much younger. Sue, it was, who had propelled them into the bathroom to join me in the bath one Saturday night and I remember only too well my having been intensely uncomfortable about it. There had been questions and comments about hair and size which I found singularly prurient and invasive. Sue had merely laughed at my discomfiture and called me an old fuddy-duddy. The fact that Derek was still partially erect as he threw back the bedding seemed ample justification for my concern to take steps to ensure they did not see their uncle naked and in an aroused state.
“What’s the matter, Tony?” Derek asked suddenly, turning to face me.
“Nothing. Why?” I asked him in return, trying to avoid eye contact.
“Does my nudity disturb you?” he wanted to know.
“No, of course not,” I began. “It’s just that I was worried the boys might see . . .”
“An erection?” he supplied the words I had failed to say.
“Well, not just that, but I suppose I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable . . .”
“I rather think you’re the one who was at risk of feeling uncomfortable, Tony.”
He was standing facing me, his feet planted apart, not making any attempt to reach for his clothes.
“Do you think that Barnaby and Elyot have never seen erections – let alone, experienced them at their age?”
“Of course not,” I could feel my face growing hot.
“Well then, just chill, for heaven’s sake,” he added, threw open the bedroom door and walked out onto the landing, naked.
“Anybody in the loo?” he called.
Elyot came scurrying out and they high-fived each other as he passed Derek to get back to his room.
I stared and froze. It was clearly not a new experience for the boy to see his uncle naked. Coming out of my reverie, I quickly shucked my pyjama shorts and had just pulled on a pair of jeans as Derek came back into the doorway.
“I’m just going to make a brew,” he was saying as he came into view, “Oh! I was going to say would you like me to bring you one up, but you’re getting dressed, I see.”
“Are you thinking of going down like that?” I asked nodding at his nakedness as I reached for a shirt.
He glanced down at himself as if to wonder what I was meaning.
“I wasn’t thinking of it; I was simply going,” he said with a bit of a shrug. “Why? Would you rather I didn’t?”
“No; not at all.” I sounded far too false and casual. “It’s just I’m thinking of the neighbours seeing you.”
“It’s all right, Tony. I won’t go out like this, I promise.” He winked at me, casually tugging on his penis and went downstairs.
I came out of the bathroom five minutes later and followed. There he was in the kitchen, bare buttocks leaning on the edge of the work surface, talking to the boys sitting at the table with their cereals. Both of them were only in their boxer shorts.
“Am I the only one getting dressed this morning?” I asked as I crossed to the kettle.
“There’s a cup already here for you, and it looks as though the answer’s yes,” Derek said pointing to where my mug was.
“Yeah, Dad, you’re the odd one out. You need to chill,” Elyot said, and the others laughed.
I drank my tea and regarded them over the rim of my mug. That was the second time I had been told to “chill”, I noted. I wanted to say something but stopped myself for fear of seeming “uncool”.
A sudden vision came into my mind of the first and only other time I saw Derek naked. It was when he was very publicly stripped at his twenty-first birthday party held at The Grange Country Club. A bunch of his old school and university hearties had set about him and, as his clothes started to come off alarmingly fast, Sue’s mother begged me to wade in and restore order. As I’d attempted to muscle in on the proceedings, in an effort to prevent the complete exposure of my young brother-in-law in front of all his friends and family, thereby sparing embarrassment for all concerned, I suddenly found my actions were not being appreciated by the said hearties, who promptly turned their attention to me. I escaped ruefully from the fray with my trousers round my knees, my face as red as my rudely-displayed underpants, and Sue in tucks of laughter.
He had sported an impossible-to-conceal erection that night, when finally rendered totally bereft of any form of covering whatsoever, and I recall Sue’s comment later when we were in bed to the effect that Derek seemed to enjoy male company more than female. It was what was left unsaid, hanging in the air, which concentrated both our minds as we re-lived in graphic detail the rude exposure of the birthday boy. Finally, Sue had chuckled and had gently groped me, saying it was lucky for him that the hearties had not managed to get my red knickers off or Derek would have been shown up in a very poor light by comparison. I had the grace to blush as I turned out the light. Barnaby would have been only nine then, and Elyot not quite seven.
I found myself appraising his naked form as I sipped my coffee, almost admiring it and his relaxed attitude to his nudity standing there talking to my two boys as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Unselfconsciously, he scratched the right side of his scrotum, hefting his large penis to one side with his thumb as he did so. Both boys watched his action with little concern before raising their eyes to his face again as he continued to address them. Disturbingly, I realised I was the only one disconcerted by his dishabille.
The following Saturday just so happened to be my birthday. I was up and dressed at my usual time and reading the paper over my breakfast. The boys were still dead to the world – it being Saturday – when suddenly the doorbell rang. There stood Derek with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a brightly wrapped present in the other.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Tony, happy birthday to you,” he carolled as he stepped across the threshold, flung his arms around me in a great bear hug and gave me a smacking great kiss on the cheek. “Mwah!”
“Ugh, Derek!” I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand as he released me from his embrace.
“Gawd, Tony – you are an old fuddy-duddy! I know you’re pushing forty now, but that doesn’t mean you have to give up living a little.”
The tone of mild exasperation struck home and even hurt me a little. Did my brother-in-law really see me as such a dry old stick?
“Sorry, Derek. You just caught me by surprise, I suppose,” I said with a conciliatory grin as I patted his shoulder. “Have you time for a cuppa?”
“Forget cuppas! Get out the champagne glasses,” he called as he sailed out of the kitchen and bellowed up the stairs: “Get down here, you lazy buggers, and say hello to your father on his birthday!”
The boys tumbled down stairs, tousle-headed and just in saggy boxers, kissed and hugged me as they told me I looked so very much older. Whilst all this was going on, Tony had placed four champagne flutes on the kitchen table.
“Four? Oh no, Tony, I don’t think so,” I said, looking meaningfully at the boys.
“Well, I do! I bought it and I think my nephews are old enough now to toast their dad in champagne on his birthday.”
The boys trumpeted their agreement and hugged their uncle. A cheer went up as the cork popped and Derek began to pour. Glasses were clinked all round and we all sipped quickly, wrinkling our noses at the bubbles.
How old are you today, Dad?” Barnaby asked.
“He’s only thirty-eight. He just looks a lot older,” Derek said with a wink and a dig at me with his elbow.
I chuckled ruefully and gave him a dig back.
So, Mummy would have been thirty-five,” Elyot said wistfully.
The champagne went flat in my mouth.
“That’s right, Elyot,” Derek said brightly. “Quite the mathematician, aren’t you? Come on now, Tony – aren’t you going to open the present I brought you?” and he pushed it across the table towards me, having successfully lightened the mood by changing the subject.
I tore the very smart wrappings off to discover a vividly multi-coloured striped pair of boxer briefs. The boys cat-called and stamped on the floor to express their approval. I laughed, feeling a little foolish and embarrassed. Was I blushing, I wondered?
“Thank you, Derek,” I said. “You’d certainly see me coming in those!”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Barnaby looked at Elyot with a shocked grin on his face, then they both looked at Derek, who cleared his throat and all three of them burst out laughing. I failed to see the joke and asked for an explanation.
“Never mind, Tony – a boys’ only joke, that’s all,” Derek crooned, patting me patronisingly on the head. “Far too puerile for old men like you! We certainly want to see you in them, though, don’t we, chaps? Put them on!” Derek insisted, having skilfully avoided the subject of my query.
My heart skipped a beat. Did he expect me to strip down and model them for the three of them then and there? I allowed myself a hollow sceptical laugh.
“We’re not joking, are we, fellers?” We want to see them on, and we want to see them now! Come on; get your kecks off!”
He lunged at me, and I dodged away like a scared virgin.
“Yes, come on, Dad,” chorused Barnaby. “Kecks off now, or do you want us to do it for you?”
I stared, unbelieving my own ears, as my elder son stood up and advanced towards me in a threatening manner, a broad but dangerous grin on his face. I looked him up and down uncertainly as he stood there, three short paces away, in just a pair of blue patterned boxer shorts. I glanced at his legs. I had failed to notice how hairy they were now. His whole frame suddenly seemed so much more mature than I had appreciated before, but then I had seldom seen him less than fully clothed. He had armpit hair, I could see, and I fought against the urge to drop my eyes to the gaping fly hole of his crumpled boxers. I was shocked and dismayed that I had wanted to look.
The atmosphere was suddenly menacingly combative somehow and I flashed a look of appeal at Derek.
“Back off, fellers,” he said as Elyot had also risen and was approaching me. “Give your father some space to go and get ready properly and then come down and model them for us all. Mind you, Tony, just the new knickers, man – nothing else!”
I shot him a grateful glance for defusing the situation, and reluctantly made for the stairs. He thrust the underpants at me as I passed. I knew I would feel extraordinarily foolish, but I reminded myself that I had taken them all swimming in the past and they had seen me similarly clad at the pool. Also, very occasionally, our paths crossed on the way to and from the bathroom in the mornings. But I shivered at the prospect of going downstairs and into the kitchen to model just a pair of underpants for my two sons and my brother-in-law.
I stripped off quickly and stepped into the snugly fitting boxer briefs, then looked at myself in the mirror. I was utterly appalled. Used as I was to my normal roomy y-fronts, these figure-hugging pants appeared to emphasise every bulge, helped greatly by the brightly coloured striped effect across the pouched front. I did my utmost to rearrange things, in an effort to appear less outstanding, and then reluctantly headed downstairs and along the hall to the kitchen.
Cheers and wolf-whistles greeted my appearance.
“Cool look, Dad. The way to go. Now you must ditch the baggy old granddad’s drawers you normally wear,” Barnaby said as he applauded.
“Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?” Derek asked in a Mae West tone of voice, then added: “That’s not all you, Tony, is it? No – can’t be. You’ve got at least three pairs of socks stuffed down there, haven’t you?”
Elyot screamed with laughter, pointing at my bulge.
The fact is - reluctant though I am to admit it – I am rather overly well-endowed, which has proved a source of confusion and embarrassment on several occasions and, consequently, I have often gone out of my way to avoid instances where it might prove likely to be commented upon. Speedo type swimming trunks, for example, were quickly dropped in favour of the baggier and long-legged swim shorts after some very rude remarks from Sue on our honeymoon. Boxer shorts had also provided more problems with mortifying and unlooked-for fall-outs at all sorts of inappropriate moments and had led to my being more comfortable in briefs.
I stood grinning slightly sheepishly, the butt of both my sons’ coarse humour, with my brother-in-law egging them on, when the back door opened and in walked Marjorie, our very kind neighbour carrying a birthday cake.
“Happy bir – loody hell!” Her eyes raked over the front of my technicoloured underwear. “Well, well, well,” she gasped, “you weren’t standing at the back of the queue when they handed them out, were you, Tony? Have you got a licence for that thing?”
My face was burning and my hands flew in front of my bulge.
She looked at the two boys who were speechless with laughter at my predicament.
“My, you’ve both got something to look forward to when you get as big as your dad,” she said roguishly.
“I must just go and get out of these,” I murmured shuffling towards the hall door.
“You mean we get to see even more?” she asked wide-eyed
“No, no, of course not. These were a present and I was forced to model them,” I attempted to explain.
“Don’t we get to see you in your birthday suit, then?” she added to make them all hoot with laughter.
I panicked and ran as Elyot, swiftly followed by Barnaby, lurched at me, hands outstretched at waistband height.
I returned to the kitchen fully dressed and far more comfortable.
“Marjorie, how very kind,” I said as I looked at the decorated cake, with my name on it in icing.
“I left all the candles off. I didn’t want you to set off your smoke alarm,” she added as she winked at the boys.
“Go and get dressed, you two,” I endeavoured to shepherd them towards the hall door.
“Spoilsport!” Marjorie moaned. “First you go and cover yourself up, then you want to do the same with the boys. Can’t a girl have a bit of fun? . . . Unless you’d like to strip off for me, Derek?” and she fluttered her eyelashes at him provocatively.
“Just say the word, Marjorie, and they’ll be off in a flash!” Derek winked.
“Ooh! What’s the word? What’s the word?” she squealed.
“Have a glass of champagne instead,” I interposed, having poured one for her.
“Oh, how lovely! Was this a present too?”
“I brought it - along with his knickers,” Derek added. “Cheers.”
“Many happy returns of the day,” Marjorie raised her glass to me, “and here’s to the next time I see you in your knickers.”
“Or, even better, out of them!” added Derek and both boys fell about laughing and pointing at my obvious embarrassment.
It turned out to be a great birthday, though, with all of us going off out for the day. The weather was glorious, and we had a really good walk in the countryside, ending up with an enormous pub’ lunch before driving home and enjoying an impromptu fish and chip supper in the kitchen, but with cutlery and crockery strictly forbidden so there would be no washing up. It was a very jolly affair, during the course of which, two bottles of red wine were polished off by the five of us, together with most of Marjorie’s cake.
It wasn’t until I noticed the boys were getting a little raucous that I realised both bottles were empty. Derek had been topping their glasses up each time he refilled Marjorie’s, his and mine. After a bit of a scolding and some cheeky wisecracks, I threatened to tan their hides for them.
“It was Uncle Dekka’s fault. He kept giving us more, so you ought to tan his hide,” Elyot shouted out.
“Oh, yes please!” Derek leapt at the idea and threw himself over my knees. “Tan me now, Tony – or do you want to take my trousers down first?”
“Trousers down, trousers down, trousers down!” chorused both boys, and Marjorie joined in.
I pushed him off my knee quite brusquely.
“Enough!” I said firmly as I rose. “It is well past your bedtime. Get up those stairs now! No arguments. Don’t go and spoil what has been a lovely day.”
Marjorie stared into her wineglass, and I momentarily regretted the sharpness of my tone which had broken the mood. Derek got to his feet and in a subdued voice said goodnight to them both. I opened the door for them, and they kissed me sheepishly as they passed through into the hall.
I closed the door after them and turned to see Derek with a bottle of brandy in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other. He was waving them in the direction of Marjorie.
“One for the road, Marjorie?” he asked.
“You mean one for the garden path!” she chuckled. “Though, at this rate, I’m more likely to fall into the hedge!
“Don’t worry. I’ll whizz you home in Tony’s wheelbarrow,” he said, pouring her a generous brandy. “Whisky for you, Tony?”
“I’ve had quite enough drink already, thank you,” I said.
“Go on; it’s your birthday!” he responded, pouring me at least four fingers. “And it’s not as if you have to drive home.”
“No, but you do!” I retorted as he started pouring a glass for himself.
“I could stay the night, if I was asked. Cheers! Happy birthday!” and he winked.
He took a good slug of his whisky and sat down next to Marjorie.
“Ooh, I needed that to get over my shock,” he began.
“Shock?” she echoed.
“Yes, shock at you, Marjorie. I had taken you for a respectable widow woman, and there you were screaming for Tony to take my trousers down.”
She giggled at him and gave him a nudge.
“Maybe I just wanted to see if you were hung like a horse, like Tony here,” she whispered conspiratorially in Derek’s ear, but clearly intending me to hear every word.
“I don’t think I can compete in that field,” he whispered extravagantly back. “Mind you, I say I don’t think. I have no previous knowledge. As far as I recall, I have never seen my brother-in-law as nature intended.”
“Oh, what a shame!” she tittered, adding: “But he looked very fetching in those dinky little striped boxer briefs you had him in this morning,” and she snorted into her brandy balloon.
“. . . . And which I assume he is still wearing,” added Derek. “You are still wearing them, aren’t you Tony?”
“That is for me to know and you to speculate,” I retorted with an air of lofty superiority as I downed my glass.
What happened next caught me totally by surprise. In a flash, Derek leant forward, grasped my trouser legs at the knee and tugged down hard. In a mixture of horror and astonishment, I felt the waistband slip off my hips and glanced down to see my trousers pooled round my ankles. Stooping swiftly to take hold of them, I was not quick enough before Derek placed a foot on the crotch of them, successfully pinning the garment to the floor. At the same time his fingers grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled it up my bent over back and off over my head and arms. As I stood up, he hurled the item across the room and dragged down my underpants. Appalled, I grabbed at myself and promptly lost my balance, falling over backwards. Deftly, Derek divested my legs of both trousers and underwear together with my shoes and I was left spread-eagled, naked on the floor save for a pair of fawn socks.
Marjorie was whooping in glee and started clapping.
“Da – dah!” trumpeted Derek with the flourish of a very bad magician. “There you are, Marjorie – you get to see him in his birthday suit after all!”
I raised myself from my elbows and, covering myself as best as I could with one hand, I asked for my clothes back.
I heard the tone in which I demanded the return of my clothes and inwardly winced at its inappropriate pomposity.
“No, it’s your birthday, so you can stay in your birthday suit!” he said, clasping my clothes in a bundle to his chest and marching to the hall door. Opening it, he shouted: “Kids, come and see your dad in his birthday suit!”
“Derek – no!” I gasped, both hands now at my groin and drawing my knees up protectively also.
“Look, this has gone beyond a joke!” I began as I tried to get up whilst preserving my modesty.
“No, it hasn’t,” he answered flatly.
“I think it’s very funny,” Marjorie volunteered, grinning broadly, and she toasted me with her brandy balloon, uttering a throaty and lascivious chuckle.
I stood facing them, slightly stooped, knees bent, and both my hands clasped to my groin staring in shocked and scandalised disbelief at the situation in which I found myself and equally so at their fatuous grins. It was at that moment that both Barnaby and Elyot trooped into the room and burst into hysterical laughter.
Hooting with inane glee, my two sons made concerted dives at me, poking and prodding at various parts of my rudely exposed anatomy. It was the drink talking; of that I was only too sure. Mortified and at the same time seething with indignation, I can see, looking back, that I must have made a figure of fun. Eventually, in a vain effort to field the many attempts upon my person, I was finally moved to shield my modesty no longer, striking out with all four limbs to keep my attackers at bay.
Derek wolf-whistled. The boys trumpeted in triumph.
“Look at Dad! Stark bollock naked!” Barnaby yelled, and Marjorie just pointed, her eyes on stalks, making noises like a fire engine racing to an emergency.
“All right, very funny!” I said with a face like thunder, “Give me my clothes back now, though.”
“No!” Derek snapped.
“Come along – joke’s over,” I tried to reason.
“No, it isn’t. It’s still very funny from where we are,” he replied airily, and the boys cackled in agreement, pointing at my penis.
“You are magnificently hung, Tony,” Marjorie said, emphasising the word and slurring it slightly, but with a beatific smile on her pinkening face.
I made a dive for the door, but Derek and the boys intercepted me and barred my way.
“Look, how long do you intend to keep me like this?” I demanded to know.
“For the rest of your birthday, old man. So, chill out and have another drink.”
"Can I have a beer?” Barnaby asked.
“No!” I answered.
“Can I have a cocktail then?” Elyot asked, and gave a dirty giggle as he pointed at my groin.
“That’s quite enough of that sort of talk.” I managed a reproving stare, which must have looked ridiculous coming from a naked man. “So, what now?” I asked the room in general.
“Sit down and have another drink,” Derek said matter-of-factly.
“I can’t sit down like this!” I said gesturing at my state of nature.
“Why not? Pull up a chair and let’s put the telly on.”
“It’ll be Nudes at Ten soon,” Marjorie chimed in, and then burst into a stream of hysterical giggles.
I cast a withering glance in her direction and accepted another whisky from Derek. Trying to assume an air of lofty indifference as to my nudity I sat on the sofa as Barnaby turned on the television. Elyot came and sat next to me and stared quite blatantly at my groin.
“You’re quite hairy, aren’t you, Dad?” he said after a brief inspection, and he brushed a hand up my naked thigh. “Does your willy get much bigger when . . . you know, . . . it . . .?”
“That’s for Dad to know and the rest of us to wonder,” Derek said. “Go and get a bag of potato crisps from the kitchen, Elly – there’s a good lad.”
Barnaby had been staring too.
“It’s odd to think that Elyot and me . . . well, we both started from there . . . isn’t it?”
I fidgeted a little in discomfort at the tone of conversation and became aware of my testicles similarly twitching, as though they themselves were self-consciously mindful of the unwanted scrutiny with which my reproductive organs were undergoing. It seemed exceedingly foolish to cover myself after I had been so gratuitously exposed and held to exhibition, but I tried to let my hands loosely rest in my lap thereby restricting visible access at any rate.
“I think it’s growing at all this interest it’s being shown,” Marjorie observed, “or else this brandy’s affecting my eyesight.”
“Oh, Dad, you’re not going to throw a boner, are you? That’ud be just too gross!”
I shot a basilisk look in Barnaby’s direction, but he didn’t see it. His eyes were fixed in fascinated inquisitiveness upon my groin in a determined effort to detect whether there was in fact movement in that area. My heart skipped a beat, and I held my breath in horror as I too perceived a physical change. I silently groaned a plea to my Maker to relieve me of the final indignity of unwanted tumescence before an avidly attentive audience.
My foreskin retracted slightly and my penis sort of flopped or slid across to rest rather like a beached flounder upon my other thigh. My cheeks were hot, and my eyes pricked, and I covered my confusion by swallowing another gulp of whisky.
Suddenly, we were all distracted by news of an Asian rail disaster and, thankfully, I was no longer the centre of attention. By the time the bulletin had ended, everyone had calmed down and I was once more in a position to exert parental authority – albeit still naked, though now having lost the novelty of my being so in the eyes of my sons – and insisted they went upstairs to bed.
Kissing Marjorie affectionately, they did so without further argument, also kissing Derek and finally myself. Barnaby grasped my naked thigh quite high up as he did so, and I thought I detected his fingers brush across my penis as he withdrew from me. Marjorie stood a little groggily and with an apologetic chuckle as she thanked us both for a wonderful day. It had been good, I had to admit, and I had almost forgotten to feel quite as humiliated about my nakedness in front of her as she reached up to throw her arms round my neck and give me a kiss.
“It’s been a lot of fun, boys,” she said, “and, Tony, you’ve made an old widow woman very happy, letting me see your wonderful willy. I shall see you in my dreams!”
Derek went to let her out, saying,” You’ve got me to thank for that, Marj’.”
“When’s your birthday, then? I can hardly wait to see yours!” she giggled as she reached up and nuzzled his neck.
“It would come as something of an anti-climax after tonight’s mammoth revelation. You can take my word for that!” he added as he escorted her into the hall and to the back door. I blushed.
He came back and immediately topped up my whisky glass.
“No, Derek!”
“Go on – you only have a birthday once a year!”
“I’ll have my clothes back now,” I said.
“No, you won’t. I told you. You’re in your birthday suit now until tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!”
“I mean it,” he said. “Tonight, you sleep in the raw, like me.”
