CHANGINGAT SCHOOL

CHANGINGAT SCHOOL

The little chap was quite erect under his shirt-tails; a bully, with his sharp eye, did not neglect to rag him unmercifully: “Hey, look at Stewart’s, everyone! Have you ever seen one like his!” The other boys, easily egged on to obscenity, jeered at this. He felt his face grow scarlet, hot, felt his balls become tight and scared. He tried to hide himself, could not; they plucked at his shirt-tails and stared. His clothes were snatched, a shoe, a sock, his pants were flourished, hoisted high: Reaching up, exposing his cock, the boys gave a whoop and a cry. Between the ink-stained desks his shorts he scampered after, but in vain: A boy called Prince, a prince at sports, caught them, laughing, and passed them on. The more he chased, the more it swung and bounced, from his shirt protruded; sexual shame and pride in one left his very soul denuded. “Quick! Sir’s coming!” When Sir came in all was quiet; his pants returned and quickly pulled on, covered him, although his bulging prick still burned. And all this was in forty-nine, when he was ten, or little more; and yet the thing sticks in the mind of an old chap of fifty-four.