By briefsboy14
Copyright 2025 by briefsboy14 all rights reserved
[3,525 words]
* * * * *LIAM
By briefsboy14
briefsboy14@yahoo.com
SUMMARY
Mark has almost finished his first year of A-levels and is looking
forward to the summer holidays. Although only seventeen, he also looks
forward to a pint with his best mate Liam at the weekends. The story
takes place at a time when fake ID could always get you a pint
somewhere and is set in the UK.
CHAPTER 1: FOURTEEN
I
hated the day I found my first pubic hair down ‘there’, I still
remember it clearly. I was 14 years old and it should have been a
momentous day, signaling the start of my journey through puberty and
navigating towards becoming a man. Instead I recall it as a horrible
day. I was devastated by this discovery.
I was stood before
the full length bathroom mirror completely nude looking at my
reflection, as I had often done over the past 12 months, not quite
every day but not far off, I had been waiting for this moment. The door
was locked as always, triple checked to be sure; always triple checked
before I would disrobe.
I ran my hand across what had
previously been my smooth unblemished groin and although I had only
found one very fine wispy hair; it felt like I’d been invaded and was
outnumbered; it looked completely out of place against my pale skin. I
lifted my arms, turned side to side and inspected my armpits to find,
much to my further annoyance, a few stray tiny hairs had made an
appearance in each pit. They looked equally disgusting, no better than
the one I’d found hovering above my penis.
I wasn’t naive.
At school we’d learnt about puberty and the changes the body goes
through. I’d been looking forward to growing up as I was a bit behind
my peers - not exactly a late bloomer for my age but pushing towards
the upper parameter or later age range for a boy to start puberty. In
terms of height I was a bit short but not noticeably different to other
boys at school though a few had shot up in the past few years; my best
mate Liam particularly looked like an awkward beanpole - a good foot or
so taller than me. I was neither skinny nor fat, just average with
maybe a tiny bit of baby fat left.
With puberty only now
just starting to kick-in the hair on my arms and legs was still sparse
and fairly light in colour which made me look quite hairless. Now that
I’d got my first pubic hair I felt overwhelmed. Although self-conscious
of my body, I had become used to my immature boyish look that went hand
in hand with my lack of development and I can’t really explain why, but
for some reason I felt I wasn’t ready for the changes that my first
pubic hair announced had started. Determined to remain in control of my
body I picked up the pair of tweezers next to the sink.
CHAPTER 2: FIFTEEN
Over
the next 12 months puberty continued; albeit at a fairly slow pace. By
15 years old I was a bit taller, by a few inches, my voice had deepened
a tad and and I’d lost my remaining puppy fat. I’d even managed to
reduce the height gap between me and Liam and it was now down to 8
inches, however I still thought I was ‘behind’ a lot of the other boys.
I gauged my development by comparing myself to the different age groups
at school and thought I looked more like the 13 year old boys than I
did my contemporaries.
There was one part of me that I was
particularly keen to compare but as we had private changing cubicles
for PE I never had the chance to check out how I was doing in the
trouser department. There were the usual comments among the boys at
school about ‘size’ - generally along the lines of ‘mine’s huge /
you’ve got a tiny dick / hung like a donkey / pencil dick’ etc etc… but
I assured myself it was all bravado or simply boys joshing around,
fueled by their own insecurity; if I was insecure about my own size
then my mates must be too… or so I thought.
There was no
better put down of another boy than referring to the inferior size of
his penis and I was mortified whenever it was directed at me, even
though they didn’t know what size my penis was; in terms of height I
knew I was on the short side for my age and had what I’d call an
underdeveloped physique, but neither of these things worried me too
much and I wasn’t even overly bothered that puberty didn’t seem in any
great rush to embrace me but I did have a nagging worry that if my
penis was proportionate to the rest of my body then maybe it was small
for my age.
Plucking my pubic hairs at 14 with my mum’s
tweezers had been fine but I couldn’t keep doing it as they continued
to grow, not exactly a bush or wild, but enough that I had progressed
to shaving it off every couple of weeks. At 15 I still preferred being
hairless, it definitely made what I had look a little bit bigger, and
the notion of retaining some control over my body was as strong as it
had been when I’d discovered my first pubic hair.
CHAPTER 3: I’M TURNING SEVENTEEN, I THINK I’M TURNING SEVENTEEN, I REALLY THINK SO
My
sixteenth year flashed by in a whirlwind of school and working towards
sitting my GCSEs. I was fairly bright and had been predicted to achieve
A’s and B’s in most subjects but I struggled a bit with Science and
Maths. At my mum’s suggestion I began swimming at the local pool and
joined a running club to help me de-stress and provide some physical
distraction from my studies and, in the end, I was pleased I had taken
her advice as I passed all subjects with nothing lower than a B grade -
which meant I secured a place at my preferred sixth form college. I’d
wanted to get away from my secondary school and fortunately there was a
standalone college in a nearby town that did the A-level subjects I’d
chosen to study.
It also seemed that along with finishing my
GCSE’s, I’d also finished puberty. I’d stopped growing about 6 months
ago and was certain I’d hit what would be my full maturity, as some
sort of consolation I’d managed to get the height gap with Liam down to
6 inches and I really hoped he’d finished puberty too; I could live
with a 6 inch difference; unfortunately it wasn’t the only 6 inches I
was lacking.
At seventeen Liam was still my best mate and I
often wondered if his penis was bigger than mine, not only was he
taller than me but he was broader and more muscular too, he wasn’t a
gym rat or anything like that, he just had a bit more meat on his
bones. Talking of ‘meat’, mine would never achieve an A or a B grade;
and although I still had no reference, I doubted it could even attain a
D or an E. Maybe an F?
‘F’ for failure.
CHAPTER 4: FALLING ON MY SWORD
After
starting my A-levels I decided to keep up the swimming and running. I’d
left the running club but still went for a run once or twice a week
after school and also at least once at the weekend, usually in the
morning. Though not of legal age, drinking had reared it’s head in my
life at this time and my mates and I usually went to a pub on a Friday
or Saturday night, flashing our fake ID’s and feeling terribly grown up
getting pissed on pints of Stella; these were halcyon days, or halcyon
nights; if you prefer.
The pubs we could get served in didn’t
care and knew we were underage - we had cash and they wanted it; so
long as we weren't being a nuisance we were tolerated. I wasn’t sure
what they thought of my mates’ taste in music but we all pumped coins
into the jukebox and the regulars seemed happy enough to listen along
and let us ‘kids’ enjoy ourselves, no doubt we reminded them of their
own youth and the rite of passage that underage drinking holds for 17
year old boys trying to impress any girl that showed a bit of interest.
My own taste in music was rooted in my dad’s old records; Dylan, Cash,
The Kinks and loads of obscure stuff from the 70’s and 80’s punk and
alt scenes. While my mates we’re selecting Pulp and Blur, I was
selecting The Vapors, Elton Motello or Tenpole Tudor - often getting an
approving nod from the old men in the pub. For me, music helped to keep
the memory of my dad alive.
Some of my mates did actually have
girlfriends, others were always out on the pull when we went out and
Liam was openly gay - which none of us minded a jot. Admittedly he
didn’t go out of his way to make it known outside of our main circle of
friends, but he had definitely stepped out of the closet. I was happy
to watch my friends trying to pull girls but I left all of that to them
and remained on the sidelines.
I wasn’t looking for a one
night stand or a relationship, I wasn’t even sure if I was into boys or
girls and wasn’t doing much to determine which sex I preferred, though
I did admittedly have a bit of a crush on Liam when growing up. I
wasn’t looking for any of that for one reason; I still didn’t know how
I ‘compared’ and didn’t intend on finding out whilst trying to lose my
virginity.
I needed to find out before committing to that act.
I was savvy enough to know not to compare myself to the monster cocks
in the few porn magazines I’d acquired - straight and gay - but having
never seen any of my mates naked, or any male naked for that matter, I
was becoming more and more desperate to know if what I had was at least
maybe average; I’d settle for average any day of the week.
In a continuing effort to make it look bigger I still kept myself free
of pubic hair and once I’d discovered hair removal cream at sixteen,
having seen an advert on TV, I’d started to keep my whole body hairless
from the neck down. I’d never been particularly or obviously hairy and
no one ever commented on my hairless arms or legs when I was at the
running club or went swimming at the local pool. I still can’t explain
it, but even at seventeen it felt right to denude my body of all hair
other than that above the neck. As puberty had ended, having no hair
remained in my eyes a very appropriate look.
I wasn’t 14, 15
or 16 years old anymore, I was seventeen. Deep down I knew. Though I
struggled to admit it to myself, I knew I wasn’t ‘average’ regardless
of how much I’d give for that - the only ‘ten pole’ I had was my dad’s
still sealed 1981 single of theirs; ‘Swords of Thousand Men’.
Lucky fuckers; I wish I had a sword, I’d fall on it and admit defeat.
CHAPTER 5: A MORNING TO FORGET
I
woke with a slight hangover on Saturday morning, I’d only had a few
pints last night but I wasn’t a 'massive' drinker, or what might
otherwise be known as a 'lightweight'. Despite my sessions down the pub
I was often up and about fairly early at the weekends, unlike my sister
who barely made it up before midday.
The alarm clock on the
bedside table showed that it was just after 8am. It was due to rain
towards the later end of the morning, so although it was a bit earlier
than I would usually go for a run, I thought I’d get one in now. A run
always helped to clear my head after a session.
When I say I’d
only had a few pints last night, that’s true, but I’d also had a couple
of shots of sambuca; and when I say I had a slight hangover, that’s not
quite so true; I had a terrible headache and felt like shit. I’d soon
wish I had passed on the sambucas; they’d been Liam’s idea.
I’d enjoyed my time at the running club, but preferred running alone.
It was always a good time to think things through if something was on
my mind but with a hangover I really wasn’t thinking straight as I got
up and went to my chest of drawers to get my running gear.
I
pulled on a singlet; I still wore the club kit, or their ‘colours’, the
outfits were a bit embarrassing - very short split sided running shorts
and a vest, or singlet as they called it - when I ran at the club
everyone wore the same kit so l didn’t exactly stand out; but now I ran
on my own I was aware that I was fully exposing my hairless arms and
pits and basically all of my hairless legs to all and sundry. The kit
wasn’t exactly what boys or men wore for a casual run round the
neighbourhood or down the local park, but I wasn’t cash rich so still
wore it when running.
I rummaged through my drawers but
couldn’t find a pair of shorts so guessed they were probably still in
the laundry room, I’d grab a pair on the way out - clean or dirty it
didn’t matter to me. I cracked open my bedroom door and listened to
check if anyone was up. Satisfied the coast was clear, I left my
bedroom and headed downstairs. I wasn’t in the habit of wandering
around half naked at home but there wasn’t much point in putting my
boxers on as they were longer than my running shorts and I’d only have
to take them off again; besides no one in our house got up early on a
Saturday.
I walked into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on
to make a coffee, before doing so - out of habit - I picked the kettle
up to make sure it had water in it, which it did; but with a hangover I
didn’t register that it was already warm and I continued through to the
laundry room to get my shorts. There was nothing in the laundry basket
so I checked the dryer and washing machine but both were empty. Maybe
my shorts were in the front room, mum sometimes did the ironing in
there and sorted out the washed laundry whilst watching TV.
“Are you looking for something Mark?”
“FUCKING HELL!”
“There’s NO need to swear!”
“SORRY MUM! ERR… WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP?”
“Don’t shout Mark, your sister is still asleep… I thought I’d go early
to the monthly Market before it rains later. I’m just making another
coffee, did you want one before your run?”
“My run?”
“Yes, I assume you’re looking for your running shorts, I’ve just folded the laundry, they’re here in the kitchen”
“Right… yeah… err… could you get me the green ones?”
“I’m making a coffee Mark, come out of there and get them yourself”
“I can’t Mum!”
“Of course you can, now come and have a coffee with me and we can have
a chat before you head out… I don’t intend on chatting to you whilst
you’re hiding behind the laundry room door!”
“But… I can’t… err… can’t you just pass them to me… I’m not… it’s just… err…”
“You’re half naked?”
“MUM!”
“Well you are aren’t you? I was just about to get up and make another
coffee when I saw my 17 year old son walk past me with his little
bottom on display! I didn’t realise we had an exhibitionist living
under our roof!”
“I’M NOT AN EXHIB… it’s not like that Mum! I
couldn’t find my shorts and I didn’t think anyone was up so I just came
down to get them”
“Well seeing as you’re so comfortable
wandering around in the nude and if, as you say, you’re not an
exhibitionist you can come out now, it doesn’t bother me, and obviously
it doesn’t bother you; it’s not the first time my little boy has
wandered around in his birthday suit, though in fairness that was quite
a while ago! Your shorts are in a pile next to the kettle by the way,
if you weren’t so hungover you’d have seen them earlier”
“MUM! Please!”
“Stop being ridiculous Mark!… come out now and get dressed… or are you
waiting for your sister to get up so she can get a good look at you
too?”
“NOOOO! Oh my God!… you didn’t see… err… did you see… my umm… oh no… you didn’t…please tell me…”
“Mark! I didn’t see your willy if that’s what you’re worried about… and
it wouldn’t matter if I did, there was nothing wrong with it when I
last saw it and I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with it now. There’s
nothing to be ashamed of Mark; besides you just agreed that you are not
an exhibitionist, so if you wish to walk around ‘au-naturel’ don’t let
me stop you”
“This is so embarrassing! Just don’t look okay? Please Mum! Don’t! Can you at least turn around?"
"Oh, Mark, don't be silly. I'm your mother… I've seen it all before"
That was precisely the problem. It looks the same as when she last saw it.
“I’m sitting at the table, your coffee’s getting cold, so just come out
and pop your shorts on and let’s have a chat. I won’t look if it’ll
make you happy… okay?”
I stuck my head out of the door and
looked into the kitchen, saw the pile of clothes on the counter and mum
sat at the table opposite, mug in hand and smiling at me.
“Oh
look… I can see his head! Come on now Mark, get the rest of yourself
out of that laundry room and put something on! This behavior is very
silly and getting rather tiresome… you’re the one who came downstairs
half dressed so you’ve only yourself to blame! Anyway… I’m not going to
look”
“Make sure you don’t okay!”
Despite mum turning
her eyes away from me, I wasn’t taking any chances - I cupped my
privates with my hands and dashed over to the pile of clothes, turned
my back to her, grabbed a pair of shorts from the pile and awkwardly
pulled them on, whilst still covering my diminutive penis with one
hand. That was the only advantage of being ‘small’; one hand was more
than sufficient for doing that job.
Mum’s seen me in these
shorts loads of times and it had never bothered me before, but they
really didn’t offer much coverage at all and so I still felt very
naked; my legs were more or less completely exposed but it wasn’t my
legs that I was worried about. I couldn’t help thinking she could see
what I lacked through the flimsy nylon material.
“Well Mark! They certainly match the colour of your face!”
“What?”
“Your shorts… I thought you wanted the green ones?”
“It doesn’t matter Mum!”
“When you ran for the club you had to wear the same colour shorts and top… didn’t you?”
“I’m not running at the club anymore Mum! Look… can we just drop it okay?”
“I was only saying… the green ones would match your vest, you don’t
need to be so tetchy this morning Mark... the red ones are very nice
too and you look very handsome in them… now sit down and have your
coffee before it gets any colder”
I sat down and mumbled a
barely audible thanks for the coffee and we sat for a moment in
silence, the look on mum’s face told me she’d enjoyed my misfortune;
the look on my face told her I hadn’t.
Any other normal
Saturday morning I could have wandered around the house naked for a few
hours before my mum or my sister got up - and neither of them would
have been any the wiser. It’s just my fucking luck the one and only
time I stupidly don’t put any shorts or boxers on, my mum’s already up.
To add insult to injury; she’s the one that encouraged me to start
fucking running in the first place!
Why hadn’t I just put my
boxers on before coming downstairs? Why didn’t I think through the
possible consequences? I could blame the hangover… I could blame the
sambucas… I could blame Liam… actually I am blaming Liam! The sambucas
were his fucking idea!
To be continued…