Swimming Trunks
I know I shouldn't just repost old stories, but I promise I'll only do it once this week:
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There is, in every litter, a runt. A child, weaker than the rest, who is picked on, in a tribal, bullying fashion driven by the insecurities and ignorance of the other children.

No, for once, this one isn't about me. This was the unfortunate child in the same class as me, and it's a shame this had to happen to him.

For summertime at our primary school meant swimming lessons. Our school was not a fancy or particularly well-served one, but somehow, by god-only-knows-what-means, they had their own swimming pool.

I say "swimming pool." It was a lined box that contained chlorinated water. Which was ok if the weather was warm and you were small. (Admittedly I was a fast grower, but by the time I was in year 3 or 4 I'm sure if I stood up the water barely covered my nipples.) So by "swimming pool," I mean "glorified puddle."

Of course, the crazy, evangelical teachers thought this was by far and away the school's greatest asset, and every fund-raising event the school held seemed to be geared towards raising money for the upkeep of The Puddle.

Oh yes: it was outdoors.

And so, as Spring began to yield to Summer, and the sun peered tentatively out from the heavy veil of bland stratus clouds, they decided it was time to get the kids back into The Puddle.

And fuck me, it was cold. I swear my balls should have dropped twice as far as they eventually did, but were inhibited by this early exposure to such glacial water.

So one day, as I stood, waste-deep in this water, the teacher supervising us called out:
"Whose swimming trunks are these?"
And she held aloft a dripping wet pair of speedos.

All the children, naturally, checked themselves and made sure they still had their tender bits covered from everything except the bitter, unrelenting chill of the water.

The trunks were forgotten about. Until the teacher decided it was time for the kids to get out of The Puddle.

And as the runt of the litter climbed the rusty ladder out of the pool, he suddenly realised that the teacher had been holding aloft his trunks.

He was half-way up a ladder, dripping wet and stark naked in front of the whole class.

Children are cruel. They know not what they do. They laughed. He yelped. In spite of all the warmth having been removed from his skin, his cheeks went bright pink. (Both pairs.)

Poor bugger...
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 12:59, Reply)