A Rotten Christmas
by Jolyon Lewes
Chapter 3
As I ascended the stairs towards the twins I saw below that shy, alluring smile of Peter's what seemed like a yard of bare leg - he was wearing little white ankle socks and his grey shorts left his thighs bare to the very top! Yes, like me he was wearing a short-trousered grey suit and I'd never seen a sight more beautiful. At first glance he seemed to be bare leg right up to his armpits! I was dizzy with emotion as both twins greeted me warmly. Peter looked so spectacularly gorgeous I found myself hoarse as I said hello to him and his sister. If I thought my grey shorts were embarrassingly short Peter's were even shorter, so short they only just covered the place where the delicious curve of his bottom began. I'd never seen a suit like it and I was captivated. My dizziness lasted a full minute. Amazingly, Peter's voice had broken but he looked younger than me and my voice had shown few signs of breaking.
Gathering my composure, I began to chat to the twins but we hadn't long before the performance started and Grandmother directed us to our seats. Nicole asked me how old I was and when I said fourteen I saw Peter's expression change momentarily to a tiny frown, to be quickly replaced by his shy smile. I could hardly believe my luck to be seated between the twins. Peter went to one of the expensive public schools in Central London and was a keen clarinet player. Nicole went to St Paul's School for Girls and the cello was her instrument. Both twins aimed for careers as classical musicians. I asked Peter what form he was in at school and was amazed when he said he'd be sixteen in April. That probably explained why his voice had broken.
"So, is that your school uniform?" I asked, tentatively.
"Oh, if you mean these shorts, no, definitely not. We wear long trousers at school, thank God. It's just that my mother's French and, well, she likes me to wear French clothes out of school. Always has done. One of these days a schoolmate is going to see me like this and I'm never going to live it down. When I first saw you I hoped you'd be my age so I wouldn't be the oldest boy in the Festival Hall in shorts but never mind, I'm used to being conspicuous. What about you, Tim? Is that your school uniform?"
"Yes, I'm afraid it is. Third form and below means compulsory shorts. I've only just started at the school and I'm finding it all a bit strange."
"Well, we can talk about that later. Right now I'm really glad I've got another boy beside me who's in shorts. Look at Nicole - you'd never see her with bare knees!"
Nicole heard this and leaned across to pat her brother's thigh. "Girl's privilege," she said, sweetly.
I couldn't help gazing at Peter's thighs, bare all the way to the top. Like mine they were entirely hairless but pinker and incredibly smooth. I wanted to touch them. He was the most wonderful sight I'd ever seen and I now knew for certain that my destiny lay in the dreaded homosexual direction. Much as I tried to look at Nicole and feel the same excitement, I could not. I can't remember much of the music because I spent most of the concert staring at Peter's legs. I noticed he sat with his knees close together, which I thought looked a bit prim. With my long legs I had to sit with my legs wide apart and once or twice my bare knee touched Peter's and it was a very nice feeling.
I found myself actually looking forward to returning to Grandmother's house and I enjoyed being squeezed beside Peter in the taxi from the South Bank to Knightsbridge. The housekeeper had set out a good supper and because I was busy entertaining Peter and Nicole I didn't get bored or have to be scolded for bad behaviour. It was a splendid evening! I hadn't much in common with the twins but just kept asking them about their music and they, in turn, asked me about my interests. I mentioned Stonehenge and had a brief moment of guilt for David. Had Peter taken his place in my affections? Well, yes, he had.
The twins' parents were as charming as their children. Their mother spoke English with a strong but delightful French accent and I could see she doted on her son, whom she called 'mon petit.' I supposed that by dressing him in clothes worn by young French boys she felt she could prolong his childhood but I wanted to ask him whether it made him embarrassed. He was, after all, nearly sixteen.
It wasn't easy to have a private conversation with us all sat around the table but my heart beat a little faster when Peter's mother suggested to Grandmother that I visit the twins next day and go to another concert with them in the evening. Grandmother, no doubt delighted to get me off her hands, agreed and I began to get really excited. I wondered whether the twins genuinely wanted to hang around with a gawky fourteen-year-old with no knowledge of music but they seemed willing so I felt happy, for once. Later on, in bed, I felt even happier when I relived the time I'd spent sitting beside the lovely Peter and it led to one of the most glorious wanks I'd ever had. Memories of that rotten Christmas at last began to recede.
The following morning Grandmother reminded me, with some relish, that I was to spend the day with the Browns. "They have invited you to lunch, Timothy, and to stay until after the concert. A taxi will bring you home. I expect you to behave yourself perfectly; you know what will happen if I hear you have let me down in any way. However, I think it would be good for you to see more of those two children."
For once, I fully agreed with her. I might even make an effort to understand the music that played such a large part in the twins' lives. But Grandmother had something else to say.
"Your short trousers hang rather too low. You might have noticed that Peter's sit much higher and it is because he wears braces. I have a pair your father used to wear and I will now put them on. All young gentlemen should wear braces to keep their trousers up."
My grey shorts didn't need anything to hold them up but two minutes later I was in a set of braces which grandmother tightened fiercely, making the shorts dig painfully into the place where my legs join. It was most uncomfortable. Grandmother now walked me to Eaton Square, to where Peter and his family lived. Walking made the discomfort in my groin even worse and I put my hands into my pockets and pressed down hard to try to get the wretched shorts a bit lower. Next thing I knew was a very sharp whack to the back of my thighs from Grandmother's walking cane.
"Hands out of pockets, Timothy. You know my rules."
At last we arrived at the Browns' magnificent house and after a glass of wine Grandmother departed. I admit to being slightly disappointed to find Peter in long, casual trousers, although he still looked beautiful. Nicole was out so Peter had my undivided attention and he took me up to his bedroom to show me his clarinet. It was a beautiful instrument and he played a little tune for me. Then we sat and chatted.
"Do you have to wear school uniform all the time even when you're not at school?" he asked.
"Grandmother insists I wear it all the time, as if I didn't have to wear it enough at school! Anyway, I don't have many other clothes here. There isn't a single day since the fourth of January when I haven't worn this suit the whole time, except for sport. And now she's made me wear braces."
"Yes, I guessed. They make your shorts look nearly as short as mine!"
I must have blushed because he put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, Tim, it makes us brothers in arms." He squeezed my shoulder and it made me feel very happy. "Why don't you slacken the braces a bit? I saw you wince when you sat down so they must be too tight."
"I don't know how to slacken them. Never worn 'em before."
"Let me show you," said Peter. "If you stand up and take off your jacket...."
When he'd shown me how to make the braces looser I felt much less discomfort in my groin and thanked him. The feel of his hands on my chest gave me a short-lived erection which I hoped he hadn't noticed.
"Last night you were asking about my school uniform," he said, "so I'll show it to you."
Peter pulled a dark suit out of his wardrobe. "This is what we wear at school and there's my blazer for the Summer Term. And here's my concert suit." He pulled out a very fine-looking charcoal grey suit. Like the other one, it had long trousers.
"But you weren't wearing that last night." I said.
"No, it's the one I wear when I'm actually taking part in a concert," said Peter, "it's very expensive and I never use it except for when I'm on the concert platform. This here," he said, with a scornful expression on his pretty face, "is what I was wearing last night. Maman likes me to wear it when we're out on the town. It's quite new and was made in France." Peter passed it to me. It was the light grey suit with the tiny shorts, complete with dark blue braces.
I felt the material, which was gentle and soft. I looked closely at the shorts. "Wow, they're so short! Mine are bad enough but these ..."
Peter blushed and looked away. He said it wasn't uncommon for French teenagers to have shorts like that. "But this is England and boys my age don't wear short-trousered suits or if they do their shorts are much longer than these. I'll be sixteen in April, for God's sake! If any of my schoolmates spot me I'll get a terrible ribbing. I've got another suit like this here - see, it's dark blue - and there's one at the cleaners with even shorter shorts, if that's possible!"
He said he had to wear braces with all his suits as none of the trousers had belt loops and he knew this made his shorts ride so high as to be verging on indecent. This gave me another erection and I had to sit down in case he noticed. He said he'd told his mother many times he'd like to stop wearing short trousers but she'd made it clear that when she or her husband took him out to concerts, meals or to visit friends he would wear short trousers. He told me he thought he'd be in shorts till he was seventeen. This news made my erection even stiffer, at which point we were called down to lunch and I had to work really hard to look respectable before Peter's mother saw me.
I was given a little glass of white wine with lunch and it made me feel very sophisticated. Afterwards Peter took me back to his bedroom. "Tell me about boarding school, Tim."
I somehow felt I could trust Peter and I told him about the awful routines at school and how I'd been whacked. I didn't tell him about the ragging I got on the sports field with boys always trying to pull my shorts down to spank or bite my poor bottom. Nor did I tell him how lonely I was there. I think he sensed something though, because he got me to sit beside him on his bed and then asked me lots of questions, in this gentle way of his, about what friends I had and what my interests were.
As the afternoon drew on, I began to feel so safe with Peter; we seemed to have won each other's confidence so quickly. David and I had never really spoken about anything but practical matters. Peter was the first person I ever felt I could tell anything to. I told him a little about how it felt to be a boy nobody at school wanted to speak to and how miserable I felt every night as I struggled to get comfortable in my narrow little bunk in the cold dormitory. Peter listened and then ran his hand slowly up and down my bare thigh.
"There's no reason why someone intelligent wouldn't want to speak to you, Tim. You're clever and bright and those boys must all be idiots." He gave me a little cuddle, which made me burst into tears. That made him hug me harder.
Peter and I chatted for a long time and his words boosted my confidence. When the time came to go to the concert I'd recovered well enough to chat happily to Nicole and her mother in their sumptuous drawing room. Peter appeared in his dark blue suit, his legs looking even barer than I'd remembered from the night before. I tried not to stare. We all had a glass of wine before departing for the Wigmore Hall. Again I felt rather sophisticated, never before having had wine and made enthusiastic conversation. In the taxi, Peter, shorter than me and with his tiny shorts baring his legs entirely, seemed like the little brother I never had and I put my arm round his shoulder. Perhaps it was the wine. He responded by moving closer to me and ramming his thigh tightly against mine.
The concert was of chamber music, or so I learnt, and I didn't enjoy it as much as the drums and trumpets of the previous night but I pretended to, as it was obvious the twins were spellbound. I watched the clarinet player very carefully and pictured Peter on stage, performing his dear little heart out. Tears came to my eyes. This impressed Nicole, who thought the music must have caught my emotions and she gave me little cuddle at the interval. Life was good. I cherished every minute. Sadly I had to go back to Grandmother's straight after the concert and next morning I had to catch the train back to boarding school but I took with me the memories of my time with Peter, buoyed up by the promise that we would meet again at Easter. Nicole was an angel. Peter was more than that: he was all I thought about as I sat on that train, trying to ignore those passengers staring at my bare white thighs. Thoughts resurfaced of that rotten Christmas.
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