Tennis Exhibition by Britguy

[Britguy]

Tennis Exhibition

First Published 19/4/2014

I walked away from my tennis lesson feeling tired and sweaty but happy. I’d only taken up the sport a year or so ago and now, at age 16, my coach thought I had real potential and asked me to consider entering a regional under 17 contest.

We used the tennis courts provided by the local authority in a public park near my home and of course there were no showers or changing facilities so I just walked out wearing my tennis whites and carrying my racquet and headed for home as usual.

“I say, could I just have a look at your racquet?” The boy who stopped me to ask this was a stranger I’d never seen before. He looked a little younger than me, perhaps 14 or 15 and he didn’t attend my school, the only secondary in the town. He was dressed like anyone else, in jeans and tee shirt, but he had a public school accent [public school means expensive and exclusive private school] and the air of easy-going confidence those schools seem to instil in all their pupils. They educate a small minority of the population, a minority that includes the prime minister, the chancellor and most of the cabinet. I handed over my racquet almost without thinking, just because he so obviously expected me to.

“Schlesinger isn’t it?” he asked, examining it. “Very nice.” He turned it over in his hands as he walked off into a wooded area of the park. I had no choice but to follow him and a few yards in saw another boy I did recognise, Andrew Doyle from my year at school. Andrew was just an average sort of lad who drifted along in the middle, harmless and inoffensive but not a particular friend. The stranger passed him the racquet to examine.

“Er... Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I really like your shorts. Could I just try them on for a minute?” the stranger asked.

“WHAT??!!?” I couldn’t believe I’d heard him right; that was an outrageous request, delivered in a calm, matter-of-fact tone.

“Your shorts, mate. I just want to try them on a minute” he said in a hurt tone of voice. “There’s no need to be so precious about it, there’s only the three of us here. I just want to see what they look like on me.” This was said in the same self-confident tone of someone making a perfectly reasonable request that it would be extremely churlish to refuse, in the confident expectation that it would not be refused. There was also an implicit suggestion that if I wanted my racquet back I’d best co-operate, so subtle that it was almost imaginary.

It’s hard to explain what I was thinking. I suppose I will seem like an utterly spineless wimp but he somehow made me feel like he was the one making a perfectly reasonable request and I was being stupid and childish by not wanting to do it. After all, it’s no big deal changing your trousers in male company; we all do it all the time, right? Plus he had possession of my racquet. All of this was somehow communicated subliminally, while he gave me an open, friendly smile. Refusing him would feel like kicking a puppy, so I didn’t. Feeling embarrassed about doing it, and also embarrassed about being embarrassed, if that makes any sense, I unfastened my shorts slipped them off and handed them over and watched him put them on over his jeans.

He looked down himself. “Hmmm, hard to judge, I need to try the shirt as well.” He looked at me: “If you could, please.” His tone was still polite but less friendly and rather more dominant, as if it was inconceivable I could disobey him. Somehow it was; his possession of my trousers gave him a major psychological advantage. I needed to do whatever it took to get them back and I didn’t want to fight two boys; I’d probably lose if I tried that and then who knew what might happen. Anyway it somehow seemed right and natural that he should be dominant and I should obey, despite him being younger than me. Without really knowing why I pulled the shirt over my head and handed it over. He put it on over his tee.

“What do you think Andrew, does it suit me?”

“Dunno, it’s okay I ‘spose.” Andrew looked dumbfounded at the sight of me standing in tennis shoes, socks, and boxers while a stranger tried my clothes.

“I think I need a second opinion. You” – he addressed me – “pull your socks up, you look scruffy!” The politeness was gone and he was openly dominant. My state of dress seemed to justify it somehow.

“What?” I asked in a weak and miserable tone, just wanting this to be over. Then I grasped what he had said. “Oh, sorry” I muttered, feeling confused and slightly ashamed, and pulled my socks up as far as they would go, to just below the knee. The stranger and Andrew walked off a little further into the wood and I had no option but to follow them into a small clearing.

To my horror the clearing was not deserted but was crowded with Andrew’s fraternal twin sister Barbara and a group of other girls. Barbara and Andrew were both in my form group at school, there were several other girls from my year plus a few sisters, friends or whatever. There were exactly a dozen girls plus Barbara, thirteen altogether.

It seemed appropriate, a coven of thirteen young witches! Some sat on a fallen tree trunk, others stood behind, all staring at me like Christmas come early. I was intensely embarrassed to be seen in my underwear by all these girls but I couldn’t leave without my racquet and clothing.

“Remove your underpants, put your hands behind your back, and face the girls please.” The formal politeness was back, but the tone was cold and dominant, as if it were my function to obey and any form of resistance was not just futile but unimaginable. I was shocked, and very scared, by this command but the more he dominated me the more natural it seemed to be that he should do so. Besides, what choice did I really have?

I could run away, write off my sports clothes and racquet, run through the town to my home on Saturday afternoon in my underwear and face the wrath of my parents. Inconceivable. Or I could beat this boy into unconsciousness, pull my clothes off him, get my racquet and walk away while Andrew and Barbara and her friends... just stood there doing nothing maybe? Impossible. Or I could do what seemed to be the natural thing anyway and obey. Inevitable. I felt a kind of relief at reaching this conclusion; it was out of my hands and I didn’t have a choice. In an odd way I somehow WANTED to obey this boy.

In the kind of dreamy, dissociated state where reality doesn’t seem to be quite real I pushed my boxers down to my ankles and stepped out of them.

I stood there in my shoes and knee length socks with my hands clasped behind my back facing a dozen blushing, giggling, whispering girls all intently studying my body, especially the private area as the boy approached me. I was ashamed and baffled by my own behaviour and I couldn’t understand how I’d allowed this situation to happen. I’d stripped near enough naked at the command of a fourteen year old stranger, he was giving me an appraising look as if I were a pedigree Labrador he was thinking of buying, and I didn’t even know his name.

He took his time looking me up and down, appraising every part of my body; it seemed like he was asserting his ownership. He even picked up a bit of stick and lifted my penis so that he, and the girls, could better inspect my testicles. I just stood there as he looked into my eyes and began to talk to me:

“All those girls are staring at you. They’re looking at your sex organs, imagining them working, having sex with them, thinking about what it would feel like. You’re thinking about that too aren’t you? Of course you are, it’s impossible not to, and you’re getting aroused by it. The more aroused you get the more they stare, the more you like it and the more you get aroused. It’s a cycle, there’s no stopping it once it starts.”

He was right; despite the burning embarrassment it was pretty erotic showing myself off to a dozen girls and having them think of me that way. As my erection grew they stared and stared and it grew and grew.

“You’re getting really, really turned on now aren’t you? That erection is so fierce it must be almost painful.” It was. “All those girls looking at you and thinking of sex makes you really horny doesn’t it? It’s hard to keep your hands behind you and not touch yourself but you’re doing it because I asked you to even though it’s so hard to do when you have an erection like a steel bar, aching to be touched, and your balls are begging for release. That’s good! But it’s not necessary any more. Now I’d like you to masturbate for us if you don’t mind please.”

It seems crazy to me now but at the time I actually felt grateful for his permission! I felt a tremendous sense of relief as I wrapped my hand around myself and started stroking. It felt so amazingly good. Also right and natural. If my new acquaintance asked me to relieve myself in front of his friends of course I would do so; I should be flattered they wanted to watch.

After a few minutes I had an orgasm so intense that it left me feeling weak and shaky. I stood there trembling as the girls applauded. Most of my ejaculate had splattered on the ground between me and the girls but the first, most powerful, jet had landed on Barbara’s shoe. She wiped it off with a leaf, raised the leaf to her face and studied it at close range. It was shameful, but I just stood there; I didn’t have permission to move.

“Well, that was an easy seventy quid!” said the stranger, grinning broadly. “Pay up everyone!”

The confusion must have shown in my face. Andrew introduced me to the stranger and explained the situation.

“Kieran, this is Mike Pritchard, he’s in my year at school. Mike, this is my cousin Kieran. He’s from Berkshire; my Mum’s sister married a yuppie so they’re rich. Anyway he’s a big fan of Derren Brown* and he studies his methods.

“He offered to bet us all five pounds each he couldn’t get a stranger to do something unthinkably outrageous just by asking them to so Barbara said no way could he get a boy to strip naked and toss himself off in front of her and her friends.

“Then Sophie said to make him keep his shoes and socks on but take everything else off ‘cos he’ll look really dorky and no boy will do that so he says okay it’s a deal so they rounded up some more friends who didn’t mind risking a fiver to see a treat like that and we went to the park to look for someone and then Sophie saw you playing tennis and said he’s cute so we waited for you and here we are.” He stopped for breath; his lungs were probably completely empty.

“You’ve just won the bet for him. I can witness that he never forced you, threatened you, or tricked you in any way. He just asked you politely to strip off and jerk off and you did, so now we all owe him a fiver each but it was worth it to see that! I wish we had a record of it but he made us all leave our phones behind, wouldn’t do it otherwise. He said he won’t do anything permanent.”

“But... But I... But he had my racquet and clothes... I didn’t have any choice! That’s not like just asking me! I had to get them back!”

“I only tried them on with your permission” Kieran pointed out. “Did you ask me to return them?”

“I... Well I... No, not as such, no... I mean... Can I have my stuff back then please?” As I said this I grabbed my boxers, turned my back to the girls and pulled them on. I could feel myself blushing furiously with shame and confusion.

“Of course you can. You only had to ask.” Kieran pulled my shirt off and handed it to me, then my shorts. I got dressed and then Andrew handed me my racquet.

As I walked away I was still confused. Surely I’d been coerced somehow, I wouldn’t have done that otherwise, but I couldn’t quite say how. I went over and over it in my mind trying to understand what happened.

“See you at school on Monday, Mike!” called out Barbara. I could hear her friends dissolve into laughter behind me.

The End

*For those who may not know, Derren Brown is an English entertainer who makes a living using psychological tricks to manipulate people. He made at least one of his TV programmes in the US but I don’t know if it was ever shown there. His programmes are fascinating to watch but there is something very creepy about the man, or at least his TV persona; he may be charming in real life for all I know. In one of his programmes he got honest law-abiding people to commit an armed robbery (the gun and the robbery were fake but they didn’t know that). The scenario described above would be easy by comparison.