A somewhat more light hearted tale now, although at the time I wasn’t laughing.
As stated, I was a late developer and by my 15th birthday I was getting paranoid about it. Like many late developing boys I’d come to the conclusion that there was something very wrong with me. Then, at 15½ just as I was about to begin 5th Form it started to happen. I was thrilled, yes?
I was not, I was aghast.
Oh, I had the coveted hair but it was even more vivid then the stuff on my head; by the end of the holidays the damn’ thing looked like a bloody Swan Vesta! Having said that, stripped I looked a bit like one anyway so now there was a 5’ 5” Swan Vesta with a smaller version attached.
The first gym lesson of term I learned to curse the name McVitie even though they made the best dunking biscuit in the world. I wasn’t at all happy with my newly acquired soubriquet “Ginger Nuts”. Possibly a character flaw but I didn’t think it was at all funny. Several of the boys made the Swan Vesta reference as well.
Certain things didn’t get talked about in our house and puberty, at least as far as it was happening to me, was one of them so I was flying blind. When I had my first wet dream I was baffled, upset and worried.
Objectively I knew how boys’ bodies worked, I’d had graphic lessons in that from the age of 10. I hadn’t really thought about it happening to me though. I carefully folded my pyjamas so the accusing stain was hidden and then had a thorough wash.
That night I found a clean pair of pyjamas on my pillow, even though laundry day was still several days off and worse, a box of Kleenex had appeared on the shelf above my bed. Nothing was said either to or by me but the meaning was pretty clear.
Then there was teenage priapism and those nightmare moments when watching paint dry causes an erection. On one never to be forgotten school day I had to excuse myself from every period to take care of things. Trying to hide the problem by keeping my blazer buttoned, putting my hands in my pockets and stooping just made it more obvious.
I also made the mistake of admitting, during a casual conversation with my lifelong friend Rich, that I’d had an “accident” in my pants while in class one day. Rich couldn’t help himself, he blabbed to some other village boys.
One Saturday morning I was doing one of my lawn mowing jobs at Jubilee Cottage, which overlooks the green. Rich was mucking about with a couple of other boys and shouted “Hey, Malc are you coming?” Without thinking I shouted back “No, I’ll be about half an hour yet” and they all fell about. Realising what had just been said I decided the back garden needed attention.
Of course I forgave Rich, there was never any doubt that I would.
The worst moment of all happened at home. One evening I’d had a bath and was sitting in the living room, wearing pyjamas; I was reading Macbeth, one of our set works. Dad was watching television and Mum was reading the paper, all in all a rare, pleasant family scene.
Dad gave a very artificial cough and I looked up to see what was wrong. Mum had the paper right up in front of her face and Dad was staring meaningfully at me; then his eyes moved down. Following the direction of his gaze I looked down and to my utter horror there it was, cheerfully sticking through the front of my pyjamas!
Mortified, I stammered something about needing the toilet and fled the room with my face and neck burning. I did go to the toilet, it was the only room in the house with a lock on the door.
Having sorted the problem out but still blushing, I went back to the living room and started to apologise. Both my parents were trying very hard not to laugh and assured me it was quite normal; it would have been nice to have had some warning.
Mum did suggest that perhaps I should wear my dressing gown in future.
Love
I suppose your parents were relieved even if you only sort-of were!
And if it were happening to our non-existent sons then I guess we’d have a hard (sic) job not to laugh at their predicament.
It didn’t exactly bring back memories because I don’t recall getting it as badly or as often as you relate! But surely ‘stiffies’ had long been a recurrent ‘problem’ (so common one didn’t usually bother about them) – still I guess it was just so much bigger then.
Oh and, er, have you got it under control now? (sorry!)
Absolutely right, of course. It’s one of those eternally funny things except when you’re the victim. Other boys laughing was one thing but in front of Mum was just too much.
As for under control I suppose that ‘mostly’ would be the most accurate answer. I’m not dead yet!
Life can be so very cruel to us, but some how so very funny when it’s someone else, yeah? Lovely happy and extremely funny post!
This story was a joy to tell, it was a very funny sequence of events – eventually.
Love
Mac
Mac, I think whether you are an early bloomer or late bloomer, the horrors of what follows finds you. It is a shame that adults don’t prepare their children properly, but instead choose to force their kids to muddle through sexual growth with little assistance at all. Keeping sex a taboo topic only hurts our kids. Maybe someday that will change. Doesn’t seem like that day will come soon.
I agree, Kyle it still shocks me that so many children are left with no idea simply because their parents won’t talk about sex and puberty. You’d have thought folk would have got over it by now wouldn’t you?
Ah, I remember the days of getting a stiffy in the most mundane of Situations. Still kind of happens now!
I know what you mean, but at least my Mum doesn’t have to see it now!
Hello Mac. You describe it beautifully and wonderfully. I guess you had a lot saved up as a late bloomer, I hope the remedies were at least enjoyable. Your story brought back a rather funny memory for me. Due to the other things I told you, I often had to wash my underwear out before my mom got up. After a while of this she confronted me to ask if I was “dirtying” them. When I stammered I was not she jumped to the conclusion I was having “night dreams”. So that next day the book “joy of sex” was found on my dresser. Not really a needed addition to my limited allowed library. However the idea did prevent any unwanted questions from being asked. LOL
Thanks for share these moments of your life. Hugs and warm thoughts,
Scottie
Scottie, that is quite wonderful and rather sweet. I’m sure your mum thought she was being helpful and she clearly sidestepped any of those awkward little questions.
Love
Mac
I agree. These thing were not really talked about by parents. We were just left to get on with it. And if I’m honest I did get on with it!! (I had a special pair of shorts for the purpose which when they became as stiff as a board [no pun intended!] I put through the wash). So not too many wet dreams for me then. But I had come to puberty a bit earlier than you. Pubes were fine but I was disappointed with the lack of development of the rest. My diminutive status was remarked on by the few other boys able to catch a glimpse on account of the fact that I was reluctant to reveal myself too much. I was quite shy and reserved, so, while they may have talked about it behind my back I was never ribbed over it. So, as to unwelcome erections these were never very noticeable or, dare I say prominent, and I can only remember one occasion being spotted by other boys (in a maths lesson) – and then only because I looked down. It is very freeing to be able to share this but if you think I am taking over your pitch please tell me to go away. Up to now we have had similar experiences but as you list progresses I think we will diverge. Thank you for stirring the memory.
Bagthorpe
You’re not taking over at all so please don’t go away, there are tales to be told that aren’t on the list which may resonate with you.
I’m really pleased that you felt able to share your own experience of those times. I don’t know if it was a stepfather/stepson issue (I was 12 when Mum remarried) but those conversations just never happened at home and I never felt able to ask any of those questions. As far as I know Mum guided my sisters through their development but probably didn’t feel able or qualified to deal with a boy.
I too was, by nature shy and reserved to the point of insularity but our games master didn’t hold with boys hiding themselves; the ginger pubes ended up as a Form-wide talking point. I suppose I should be grateful that nature saw fit to “compensate” me for the long delay, although at the time I could have wished otherwise.
Thank you for your kind encouragement. The mention of a games master reminded me of an incident which I may relate in due time.
What is it about games masters? I sometimes wonder if anyone who expresses a wish to be a games master shouldn’t automatically be disqualified from the job.
Yes, games masters! In the second or third form, a new one arrived fresh from college. He insisted on showers after games. Up to then very few wanted to experience the vagaries of a very antiquated sysytem (either scalding or freezing). And, in order to make sure that we were ready changed for the games period he said that when he appeared in the changing room, if boys were not ready then they would have to participate in whatever state of dress they were at the time. Up to then we had been used to leaving the changing room in slovenly dribs and drabs. This rule focussed the mind. Some of the rougher element thought it would be fun to strip a poor unfortunate boy, hold him and let him go as soon as the master appeared. They must have thought that the master was born yesterday. Of course he saw through it. His response was to ask the boy to put his kit on. He then turned to the perpetrators and, pointing at them, ordered them to strip. But as he was not totally sure of who they were, he pointed to those who were “on the scene”. Now, although I was of a retiring nature, I did like to know what was going on (ie nosey) and so often appeared on the fringe of things but careful to keep my nose clean. On this occasion I was in my usual place but to my absolute horror the master also pointed at me and I can still remember the order “strip”!. So about 7 or 8 of us did the entire games period naked – fortunately on a secluded field. I smile at the memory now but at the time I was red-faced with embarrassment especially as it was a rather cold day. At least I did not flop around as some of them did! That was the sort of thing masters got away with in those days!
Bloody hell, not even our games master went to that extreme and he was Old School. Mind you our rugby pitch was by Cowdray Castle and we had to walk right through the school, over the main road and then down the quarter mile causeway. I think the local residents might have had issues with naked boys wandering around. The worst our first games master did was make boys who’d forgotten their kit do gym in their underpants. He wouldn’t let anybody leave the changing room until we were all ready as traffic had to be stopped for us to get across North Street. We didn’t have an option on showers, no boy got out of those changing rooms after games or gym unless he’d had a shower, at whatever random temperature the system was producing. Several boys in the first couple of weeks had to be physically stripped and carried into the shower they were so shy.
The master who took over when ‘Killer’ retired used to insist on showering with the boys which most of them (me included) found disturbing and frankly weird; he didn’t last terribly long at the school. He was also a vicious disciplinarian and came close to seriously hurting a couple of boys.
I can imagine that you smile about that memory now but that must have been excrutiatingly embarrassing at the time.
Thanks for sharing a memory that some non Grammar School or younger people may find extraordinary. As you say, the things masters got away with in those days!