Clothes Maketh The Man

My clothes had a lot to do with how I was perceived at school. I was seen as a bit of a 'nerd' because of the way I dressed and because of my haircut which was very short for the fashion of the time.

I was called all sorts of names by certain boys, bullied and often ended up in fights when I could take no more. My Father would be angry with me if I arrived home with bruises and the odd black eye. I was often punished for getting into scrapes as if it was my fault for starting them, but this was just another excuse for my Father use his stick on me.

We never had much money. My Mother died when I was young and my Father who worked full-time in the Army had two boys to bring up. We had to survive on his money. We had little family, an Uncle in Southampton, no Grandparents, there was simply no-one to give support to my Father's income.

He always bought all our clothes and continued to do so until I left home at 17.

One of the less expensive and widely used materials of the late 60's and early 70's was nylon and this fibre could be weaved into all kinds of clothing which was durable, hard wearing and easily laundered.

A typical  100% nylon shirt

I started at primary school with a grey nylon school shirt, shorts and long grey nylon socks which was pretty standard uniform at the time. However, I was somewhat self concious as my grey shirt was practically see-through. Fortunately I did sometimes wear a vest underneath to hide my modesty.

Grey nylon school shirts were 
commonly worn at that time

My Father also bought nylon underwear, vests and pants, nylon pyjamas and nylon bedsheets. Nylon was cheaper than cotton at the time and it also had the quality when washed of being drip dry with no need to iron.

Most of the family shirts could be washed out by hand in the sink. Larger sheets and underwear would usually need to be taken to the Laundrette and this fell to me or my Brother as part of our chores once every couple of weeks.

For each and every birthday and Christmas, I would be presented with a new shirt, socks or underwear as my gifts. My socks were always the short, patterned nylon type which came in numerous colours. 

Once my Father even bought me a string vest! He had some of these himself, but when worn with a nylon shirt it was easily visible underneath and more suited for the Army or Navy than a thirteen year old lad as I was. It was definitely not the thing to be seen in! I received a lot of verbal and physical abuse form other boys in my school because of my vest which I couldn't hide except by keeping my blazer on. My school shirt was a turquoise/ blue colour and quite thin and I was the only boy in a string vest. Most of my other shirts were dark colours such as brown or navy blue and most nylon seemed to come in these darker shades as I also had brown  or blue sheets and pyjamas at various times. 'Brentford Nylons' was the main shop that my Father would buy bedding and pyjamas from. This was a big supplier chain and I remember going there to try the shirts on but my school shirts came from a local uniform supplier.

I was bullied over my string vest                                    

My Father and Brother were also nylon shirt wearers. I had a lot of hand me downs from my brother's wardrobe as he grew out of his shirts and trousers. Later when Dad joined the Prison Service, he was issued with nylon shirts with his uniform. It really was the wonder fabric of the time. However one thing that used to really annoy me was when he slipped his shoes off whilst watching TV. He would rub his nylon socked feet together until they crackled with static! he seemed oblivious to what he was doing however.

Nylon shirt and string vest, obvious when worn together

I only ever had one pair of shoes, usually plain black leather slip-ons with elasticated sides and these had to make do for at least a year of school and home wear. Aside from this I had my plimsoles for PE and a pair of brown open toed sandals. These three were my only footware. In those days, there was no thought of wearing sandals with bare feet except at the beach. I would never have been allowed to do so anyway, my father would have thought it scruffy and hippie-ish, so my sandals were always worn with my patterned nylon socks! I usually wore them during the summer when I was not at school around the house and for Scouts on a Wednesday night or when we went camping.

Socks and sandals was never a good look

When I moved up to secondary school, I wore a turquoise blue shirt with black trousers, maroon blazer and navy tie which was of the 'knitted' type. The fashion around this time was for flared and high waisted trousers with platform shoes, but my trousers were plain and not flared. School rules would not have let us undo the top button of our shirts or loosen our ties, let alone my Father. He would certainly not have let me go to school without my blazer or my tie hanging loose. He bought me a navy blue ‘crimplene’ raincoat which I had for many years as my only winter coat. Everyone else was wearing those green or blue 'parka' type coats with the wrap around hood. Once I tore the coat of some barbed wire which gave my Father yet another excuse to thump me. It got sewn up again and I had to continue to wear it as another could not be afforded.

As for the Scouts, I had a bottle green nylon uniform shirt worn with a red scarf or 'necker'. The shirt was actually a hand me down from my Brother and had a very shiny appearance which was one of the characteristics of nylon fabric. Although I wasn't the only boy in my troop with a nylon shirt, it certainly made us stand out from the others. I have some photographs from a local newspaper which were taken after we had visited the print offices with the troop. Although in black and white it is obvious I am in a nylon shirt as the camera flash reflects off the shiny shirt!

We visited a newspaper 
printworks with the Scouts

Even when we were small we always had to look smart in a shirt and trousers when at home and always in a tie for Church on Sunday. I never owned a pair of jeans until I could afford them myself and I could choose more what I wanted to wear.

Even now I feel more comfortable in a shirt and tie than I do casual. I guess this is because it was 'safe' when I was wearing smart clothes. I knew my Father wouldn't complain or have reason to berate me. I was obeying his will!

One of my first jobs was as a waiter in a hotel and I was dressed formally for that all day in a bow tie and waistcoat. I have since been in other uniformed services. I  have worked as a Hospital Porter and a Security Guard. Wearing shirt and tie just feels more natural to me. My Father has succeeded in bending me to his will and even after all these years I still possess some nylon shirts and I still wear socks with sandals!

In The Navy

My Father had always wanted his sons to go into the Army on leaving school as he and his Father had done. He was there fore appalled when my Brother, Luke announced that he had signed up for the Navy.

My Brother Luke joined the Royal Navy

Relations between them had not been good for years and although my brother was always more of a rebel than me, we had always been under my Father's thumb. The moments of rebellion were easily sorted with a thrashing, so it surprised me as well to learn of his career choice especially as he had not told me about it before hand.

My brother and I were close as children and into adulthood as our Mother had died when we were young. I think we took comfort in each other as we had an uncaring, unloving Father and there was no one else to turn to. Luke was always very protective of me as a boy and on more than one occasion he tried to intervene to prevent me from getting a thrashing. This had resulted in him experiencing my Father's stick as well as me.

When we were younger he would often get into my bed and cuddle into my back during the night, especially if it was a cold winter as we had no central heating in the 1960's and 70's. Later in life after he had joined up, my Father had got rid of his bed from our shared room, and when coming home on leave he would have to sleep on the sofa for a few nights. Quite often he would get into my single bed during the night, saying he was cold and remain there until the early hours. There was not a lot of room with two lads in a single bed but I didn't mind as I found it a comfort and I was still living with my Father's regimes. Luke had at least escaped that tyranny in part.

When I visited Luke in his bedsits and flats, we used to sleep together in his single bed as he had no mattress to put me up on and no chair big enough to stretch out.

The problem with My Father was that he in the Army and saw the Navy as being the poor cousin to the other Services and a bit 'gay'. Whether this was true of not I don't know. I asked my Brother if he was gay at once. He had told me of some of the things he had got up to in the Navy and I thought they were a bit suspect myself. His reply was to laugh and then he went to fetch his kit bag. It was then that he produced a copy of 'Blue Climax' magazine which he gave to me. I took this to mean that he wasn't and that he still loved straight sex. My eye widened when I saw the pictures of men and women having intercourse. I had never seen anything like it before in my life. He warned me that I must keep it well hidden because if my Father found it.......!

I managed this successfully for the next few years until it was discovered. I refused to tell my Father where I had got it from although he must have suspected Luke having been to many foreign countries by this time. He gave me several back handers whilst he was questioning me. I was told I had a dirty disgusting mind and with that he went to fetch his stick.

My Father would cane us over the slightest mistake

I never saw the magazine again although I have many fond memories of its contents and I was lucky enough to find some scans of the pages on the internet.

Incidentally that was the very last time my Father ever beat me. Soon after, I had left home for good.

'Pool Party Pranks' was one of my favourite photo stories from the magazine.

   

  I love the way the women chow down on those big cocks and one guy is sucked off on the edge of the pool. The fashion now is for shaved cunts, but I prefer them natural, less artificial. One of the most horny things about this type of magazine, 'Colour Climax' especially, is the language and the stories. I love the way they convey the characters lust and the dirty talk. It really gets me going and that is something you don't see with modern pornography.

I of course never went into the Army either. My Father took me for an interview and medical when I was 16 with a view to me signing up.

 

My Army medical was not quite like this!

 I also went for a kind of trial weekend trial in Windsor at the barracks there to see how I got on working with the horses. I think my Father wangled it as a kind of favour to him and I spent the weekend mucking out and polishing tack! The thing was I had to sleep in a dormitory on my own with the door locked on the outside so the squaddies couldn't interfere with me during the night!

 

I had to be locked into my dormitory in case of molestation.

I tried to be enthusiastic but I knew I didn't want to do this. I had had enough of regimes, being told what to do and when to do it. I was told when to have my haircut and when to go to bed, when to do my homework and whether I could go out or not.
When my Father received the letter saying they didn't think I was the right material they were looking for, he was not pleased and made my life hell for the next few weeks.

I was keen on sport at school and particularly football. I was considered good enough to play for the school team. This meant going to practice and matches out of school hours which I was keen to do. However, my Father had other ideas and would prevent me from doing this whenever possible, insisting that I came home after school to do my homework and sometimes forbidding me to go out on Saturday mornings to practice depending on his mood. Consequently I was dropped from the first team.

This is where he was full of contradictions. He wanted me to go into the Army for which an interest in sport would have been useful, but he insisted on me studying just to spite me. He wouldn't have ever considered letting me stay at school for A levels, yet he got me to study instead of letting me play football.

I don't think my PE teacher Mr Griffin understood there was a conflict at home. In fact he was a bit of a sadist to some boys. If he had understood and seen my problems, he might have supported me more, even spoken to my Father about my sport, but he didn't.

Once, after I had been beaten I was changing after a games lesson. The red welts were still visible across my backside and I was trying to avoid taking a shower. I didn't want the other boys to see. Mr Griffin realised I hadn't showered and insisted that I get my kit off. When the other boys saw my discomfort it caused much hilarity and great fun was made of my situation. None of this was helped by Mr Griffin who threatened to thrash me himself if I didn't get in those showers pronto!

This was no idle threat as I had in the past been slippered by him for forgetting my PE kit I had to use a spare pair of shorts from a box in his office and do the lesson in my school shirt and shoes.

On another occasion, I was unfairly tackled in a game by one of the boys who constantly made my life a misery, Andrew Hedges. The game was stopped and Mr Griffin having seen what had happened, sent Andrew off to the showers. He complained and called me several names to which I told him to go and multiply! I was also unfairly sent to the showers.

Alone in the changing rooms and amid more abuse from this boy, he went into the showers first and I hung back a bit. When I came out after him he was already partially dressed and as I was drying myself, he flicked my backside with his towel. I saw red and bollock naked, flew at him knocking him to the floor. It was at this point that Mr Griffin arrived and separated us, but it was me that was sent to the Headmaster's office for fighting. If anyone was sent there at all, it usually resulted in a caning but first he had to speak to my Father. This meant phoning him at work and after that had been achieved, I received six strokes. Of course my Father was livid and I received a more severe thrashing when I got home.

I was caned by the Headmaster for fighting

My First Seduction

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My First Sexual Experience

Sin Number Two: My First Sexual Experience

My first sexual experience was with an older man and I recorded the details in my diary for the 16^th August 1975. I was 14 years old at the time.

I was in the Scouts during my teens. I was allowed to join a local Baptist troop which my Brother had also been in. My Father had been in the Boys Brigade when he was younger and I think he would have preferred that for us, but because the Scouts were Baptists he thought that was an acceptable alternative.

One summer when we had a Scout camp with the troop, we stayed at a formal, organised campsite in the New Forest which had proper toilet blocks and showers etc. There were several Scout troops there over the summer, including Sea Scouts and Air cadets so some several hundred boys over the whole site. We were in tents, but some of the Leaders had special accommodation in some of the huts on site.

One lazy afternoon when we had no planned activities, I thought I fancied a wank and went to one of the toilet blocks to indulge myself. I was sitting there with my trousers round my ankles having a lovely slow wank when a voice said “What the hell do you think you are doing lad?”

It was one of the Scout Leaders looking over from the next cubicle, not one of my own Leaders but from some other troop. I was so shocked and naively tried to cover my dick but no doubt he had seen everything. He told me to come out at once and holding me tightly by the arm, frogmarched me over to the hut where his room was.

He wanted to know my name and which troop I was with. I thought he was going to report me to my Scout Leader. My biggest concern was that my Father would find out.

He gave me a lecture on the ‘perils’ of masturbation and then told me to get in the shower as I was ‘dirty’. He had his own shower and toilet in his hut. He watched me get undressed which was extremely embarrassing. I got into the shower and started to wash and the next thing I knew, he was in there with me, completely bollock naked and sporting a hard cock of not very large proportions! He started to rub soap over my back and down towards my buttocks. I think it was the feeling of his hands on my body which again gave me a tingling all through me as it had done when Masturbating with Nathan. Seeing that I had started to get aroused, he soaped my cock and I have recorded that he said ‘This is where the problem is’. He told me to touch his as well, and I complied.

After about five minutes of wanking me he told me to bend over. He put some soap over his hands and slid his finger up my arse, moving it in and out. This did not in itself seem very appealing to me. There was no particular sensation and I had done this to myself several times was I wanked. I knew what was coming next, however, when he tried to slide in his cock, I tensed up although he told me to relax. I was nervous as hell and yet somehow I knew this was what I wanted. He eventually, with much soap, eased it in and began to fuck me. The feeling of his smallish cock was much more pleasurable than  his finger and he reached round to wank me as he fucked. I came quite quickly and he came inside me and began to wash me with soap again.

After this ritual, he allowed me to get dry and put my clothes back on.

His parting gambit and self preservation was that he wouldn’t tell anyone what he had found me doing if I said nothing of the shower incident. To be honest I was extremely scared of my Father finding out I had been masturbating. I never said anything to anyone.

I was quizzed by my mate Andrew with whom I was sharing a tent, as to what had happened as he had seen me being frogmarched over to this guy’s hut but I made some excuse about being told off for making a mess in the toilets.

I can still picture the man perfectly. He had one of those beards round the underside of his chin, with no moustache of the kind that remind me of a gnome! He was probably in his late forties and I never saw him for the rest of the week except from afar. He may have been avoiding me, worried about my reaction. I guess he was what we now call a paedophile although I had not heard that expression until many years later. To this day I have no idea if he had been waiting in the toilets or followed me in. I certainly didn’t attempt another wank that week but I have since had many wanks over what happened that day.

Incidently, in one of the toilet blocks at this campsite there was what I now know to me a 'gloryhole' in the back of one of the cubicles. I never saw it being used and didn’t know what it was at the time, but it was the right size, height and shape and I can’t imagine what else it could have been.