Boys Will be Boys by Britguy

[Britguy]

Boys Will Be Boys

First published 18/11/2017


Remember the seventies? It was a different world back then wasn’t it? Not like now, when you hardly dare hold a door open for a woman, even though you’d do the same for a man. You hear a lot about sexism and harassment, and I suppose there was plenty of it, but not just for women as you will see.

August 1978. ‘Sunny Jim’ was prime minister, Britain was ‘the sick man of Europe’, our industry famous for its inefficiency and poor industrial relations. I was an eighteen year old school leaver doing a summer job my father had arranged for me working at... well, the firm’s name doesn’t matter, it was a pretty typical industrial operation. I was working as a sort of ‘gopher’ for the sales department, which mainly involved filing, fetching and carrying, and talking to production control, trying to get an estimated despatch date for the orders that should have gone out last week and didn’t.

I was pretty shy and nerdy but thought I was dead cool in my black corduroy trousers, black shirt and tie, and multi-coloured sleeveless pullover. Not cool enough to talk much though, like I said I was shy and the secretaries and female clerks I talked to delighted in embarrassing me with suggestive comments.

The Friday of my second week I was invited to the pub at lunchtime for Jim’s birthday drinks. I smiled politely and didn’t answer, which turned out to be a mistake, not wanting to disappoint Jim, one of the salesmen, but not wanting to spend my lunch break in a smoky pub or suffer the effects of alcohol all afternoon.

The salesmen shared an open plan office with the engineers who, unusually for the time, had demanded, and got, a no smoking policy for the office. This disgusted the salesmen, who all smoked like chimneys, but I was grateful for it. It meant that when anyone wanted a cigarette he had to go out into the corridor but the salesmen weren’t there much anyway, spending most of their time on the road. The exception was Friday afternoons when they all stayed in the office, not wanting to risk driving after the lunchtime booze-up.

I had my lunch in the canteen as usual and was back in the office working by 1:30 after the half hour break allowed. The salesmen had left early, before 12:30, but there was still no sign of them so I quietly got on with things. About 2:15 the door opened and the salesmen staggered in. Jim was pretty drunk and the others not much better; no wonder they didn’t want to drive.

“What happened to you then Terry?” asked Jim, looking at me. “I thought you were coming to the pub for my birthday?”

“I... er... no, sorry, I forgot” I stuttered. “I just went to the canteen as normal.”

“Forgot my arse!” said Kevin forcefully. “Didn’t want to more like! Too good for us are you? Or not man enough to drink with the lads? Or would Mummy not approve? Did she tell you not to play with the rough boys?”

Kevin was the alpha male among alpha males, with his top sales figures and his two-litre Cortina. The others had 1.6s except newbie Alan who suffered the shame of only rating an Escort and they all looked up to him and followed his lead. Sales manager Mr Parsons occupied a private corner office but had taken himself and his Granada off to the Golf Club.

“Not much of a man, eh?” asked Steve with a nasty grin on his face. “We should research the question.”

“Yeah, good idea!” said Kevin. “That’ll teach him!”

“What do you mean by that Kev?” asked Gordon, the fourth salesman. Alan said nothing, he never did talk much, I don’t know how he got into selling.

“He needs teaching a lesson, teach him some manners!” replied Kevin, offended by the perceived snub, his inhibitions dissolved in alcohol. “Let’s debag [depants] him! Get his manly parts out for inspection!”

They looked at each other for a few seconds, reached an unspoken decision, and next thing I knew I was on my back on the desk, Steve holding me down while Kevin went for my trouser buttons and the other three just stood there watching making no attempt to help me.

“No! Don’t! Get off me!” I shouted, struggling.

“Ah, shut up and take it like a man!” snarled Kevin. “Don’t fight or we’ll strip you naked and take you down to the typing pool.”

Well obviously they’d never dare do that but I didn’t want to attract anyone else to come and see what all the fuss was about so I shut up but couldn’t stop struggling; no way could I just meekly accept this assault. I felt Kevin’s hands rapidly undo the button on my cords, then the fly buttons, then his hands went inside and I resigned myself to losing my trousers.

But Kevin stuck his fingers inside the elastic either side of my y-fronts and rapidly pulled them down to my ankles, along with the cords. He couldn’t get them over my shoes so started undoing the laces. I lay there wondering why four married men in their twenties were so interested in knowing what I had in my trousers. They weren’t, of course, they just wanted to embarrass me, and it was working. It was impossible to just lie there passively with my legs, and what was between them, exposed to their gaze so I struggled anew but Steve was too strong for me. He wolf whistled and grinned at me. “Now we know what a real man looks like” slurred Jim.

Kevin got my shoes off and then pulled my trousers and underwear off my left leg. Next they came off my right foot and I kicked out involuntarily and felt my foot make contact with something.

“Ugh!” said Kevin. “Oh, shit! Oh, you little bastard! You’re going to pay for that!” He sat on the edge of a nearby desk clutching his hand between his legs.

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Steve.

“The little sod kicked me right in the balls” moaned Kevin. “My God, that hurt. I didn’t think he’d have the nerve but he’s really going to regret it!”

“Typing pool?” asked Steve.

“Typing pool!” replied Kevin vehemently. By now Jim was slumped in a chair behind his desk looking queasy. He must have really had a few. Gordon hovered nearby clutching an empty metal waste-paper basket, just in case, and looking disapproving, or maybe just apprehensive, I wasn’t sure.

Just at that moment the door from the corridor opened and in came Malcolm, a young engineer, accompanied, to my horror, by Bernadette Collins. Bernadette, I should explain, was a large and not very attractive girl from my year at school. Unlike most girls she had taken science subjects at ‘A’ level [exams taken at 18] and was going to read physics at university. Like me she was getting some experience, and cash, working here for the summer, in her case helping the engineers. Unlike me she was openly delighted by my state of dress and stared hungrily at me.

“Come on lads” I pleaded. “A joke’s a joke but you can’t keep me here like this with a girl here.”

“We’re not going to keep you here like this” Kevin reminded me. “We’re taking you to see the typists, naked.”

“Oh leave him alone, why don’t you?” said Malcolm. “He’s just a boy for God’s sake!”

“He might be just a boy down there,” replied Kevin, pointing at my groin, “but he’s over eighteen on paper. Anyway, if he’s man enough to kick me in the nuts he’s man enough to take the consequences.”

“Unless you’d like to take his place?” suggested Steve slyly. He knew his man’s weakness. There were still bad feelings between the engineers and the salesmen over the smoking issue and no-one was going to give them an excuse for revenge if he could help it.

Malcolm visibly blanched at the thought. “Did you kick him?” he asked me.

“Well, yes,” I replied “but...”

“Well you’re on your own then” interrupted Malcolm, glad of an excuse to walk away. “You can’t go around kicking people. Come along Bernadette.”

“Can’t I stay and watch?” she asked piteously, deeply reluctant to take her eyes off me. “Please?”

“Yeah, let her” put in Steve. “Don’t be a spoilsport!”

“Well, okay then, if that’s what you want” replied Malcolm indifferently. “I’ll see you later then.” He walked off to join the rest of the engineers, who were all studiously ignoring what was happening at the other end of their office.

Bernadette stood as close as she could without getting in the way as Kevin, Steve and Alan removed my socks, sweater, tie and shirt. I was pulled to my feet, my hands forced behind my back, and my wrists tied together with my own tie, leaving me helpless.

“Time for walkies!” said Kevin cheerfully. “You boys coming?” Steve was, Bernadette chose to consider herself a boy because she definitely was. Alan had work to do, Gordon needed to look after Jim and Jim probably couldn’t walk in a straight line by now.

I was pushed out into the corridor. Kevin and Steve lit cigarettes and then stood just behind me, each holding one of my arms with one hand and his ‘smoke’ in the other. “Orf we jolly well go then” said Steve and I was pushed forwards.

[Britguy]

Part Two

I couldn’t believe that I was being frogmarched naked down a corridor at work with a girl I knew from school walking next to me and dividing her attention between looking where she was going and looking at me whenever possible.

What I didn’t know then but soon came to understand was that the factory was a pretty lawless place, especially on Friday afternoons. The operatives and clericals were all unionised, the union would defend anyone accused of any disciplinary offence on principle even if they were obviously guilty, the management didn’t want trouble with the union and didn’t much care what happened to members of ‘the lower orders’ anyway. In addition all the hourly paid workers were paid high wages, in cash, every Friday morning and since work finished at three on Fridays tended to regard the weekend as starting at lunchtime and head for the factory social club for a drink or three. Everyone was tacitly encouraged to get all their work done in the morning in order to minimise rework costs and the top management led by example with a long lunch at the Golf Club which rarely finished before three. The result was that any ‘horseplay’ that didn’t result in injury was generally ignored.

There were plenty of groups of rowdy female operatives ready to enjoy any lad foolish enough to go near them, or be dragged near them by his mates. Meanwhile the typing pool were happy to be of service to any all male department, such as us, that wanted to give one of their number a memorable experience.

As we headed down the corridor I saw three respectable looking middle aged ladies, probably secretaries, coming the other way. Surely they would be horrified, and put a stop to this, I thought, wrongly. Instead they looked me up and down appreciatively and one asked if I was being taken to the typing pool. Kevin confirmed that I was.

“You’ll have to join the queue then, love” she said with a grin. “The sparkies [electricians] have just gone in there with one of their lads. He’s dressed just like your boy as well.” After taking a last good look at me the three ladies continued on their way. “Boys will be boys” I heard the chatty one remark to her friend with a laugh.

Shortly afterwards I was pushed through double doors on my right and into a large room containing rows of desks with typewriters on them and about twenty women who were not at the desks but clustered in a group at the back of the room with their backs to us. One turned to look, hearing the door. “Stone me! Another one! It’s our lucky day!” she cried out.

Her friends turned to look and there were catcalls and whistles aplenty. “Look at that girl staring!” called out one woman coarsely. “You’d think she’d never seen a cock before wouldn’t you?”

“But I haven’t” said Bernadette quietly. Oh no, I thought. I was the first she’d ever seen? That made it worse somehow.

“You’ve never seen a lad with his kit off?” asked the woman in disbelief. “It’s your lucky day, girl! Bring ‘em over here boys.”

I was pushed to the back of the room. As I got through the group of women I realised that behind the desks was a big empty space and then the back wall, which was lined with filing cabinets. Standing with his back to one of these and being held by two grinning lads in blue overalls was Ben Davis, a boy from my year (and Bernadette’s) at school who had left at sixteen to do an apprenticeship. Like me he was stark naked with his hands tied behind him. My embarrassment level, and Ben’s no doubt, hit a new high as we all recognised each other. “What are you doing here?” I blurted, as I was turned around and stood next to him.

“I work here” he replied. “I’m training as a sparky.”

“No, I mean...” I looked him up and down to make the point, too embarrassed to say what I did mean.

“Oh, it was my eighteenth on Wednesday. I was one of the youngest in the class remember. I thought I’d got away without anyone knowing, but no. My so-called mates think this is funny. How about you?”

“Work experience” I replied. I gestured at Kevin with my head. “I kicked that c*** in the nuts but I didn’t mean to.”

“WHAT did you say?” demanded the woman who seemed to be the ringleader. “Do you always talk like that in front of ladies?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think” I muttered, and I hadn’t. That was a serious faux pas at the time (and still is but not as much) and the last thing I wanted was more trouble.

“Oh, I’ll forgive you this once” she replied, laughing at the panicky look on my face. “Now, what are we going to do with you?”

“Well, it’s like this Karen” piped up Kevin. “As you can see, our Terry’s not too impressive in the trouser department. We wondered if you girls could find a way to make it any bigger.” I was sure they could, but hoped they wouldn’t. I was getting a bit fed up with the insults as well; I didn’t think I had anything to be ashamed of.

“All in good time, lover” she replied. “Now, you, girl, what’s your name? Bernadette? Okay Bernadette, I suppose you don’t know these boys but...”

“I know both of them” she interrupted. “I was at school with Ben and Terry. They were both in my class.”

“That’s even better,” said Karen. “Now, somebody get a chair.”

A chair was placed just in front of Ben and I and Bernadette was told to sit in it, her head about waist height.

“Now then girl,” Karen instructed Bernadette, “you take a good long look at both of these boys. Take your time and then when you’re ready you can tell us which one you like better.”

Well, she took her time as instructed. For what seemed like an age this virginal girl, who by her own admission had never seen anything like it before, kept switching her attention from Ben’s privates to mine and back again, carefully studying both. At one point she got a pen and used it to lift my dick out of the way to get an unobstructed view of my balls. Then she subjected Ben to the same indignity. Ben’s face was bright red beneath his blonde hair. I had dark hair but a similarly coloured face I suspect. Neither of us bothered to look round at the captors gently holding us still; we were focused on Bernadette and the typists standing behind her, looking over her shoulders and loudly discussing what they thought of us. I couldn’t stop myself glancing down at Ben a few times to see how he compared, and I noticed him doing the same to me. I’d say we were about the same size down there.

Eventually Bernadette turned to Karen, her eyes gleaming and a happy smile on her face. “They’re both very nice” she said, as if discussing brands of chocolate or something. “I hope Terry won’t be too upset but I really like Ben better, I think it’s the blonde hair that does it for me.”

Funnily enough, I really was a bit upset. Rationally I knew she had to pick one and it was a 50/50 chance but I felt oddly miffed that this girl had inspected me naked and then rejected me in favour of another boy.

“Right then,” said Karen, “let’s see if we can get them to rise to the occasion.”

[Britguy]

Part Three

As her colleagues chattered happily Karen moved to stand just to my left, and Bernadette was directed to stand just to Ben’s left in between the two of us. “Now watch what I do and then you do the same” said Karen. “You get hold of him like this” – she took my dick in her hand – “and then you squeeze very gently and move your hand back and forth like this.” She was stimulating me and I could feel myself responding. Don’t get the wrong idea but I was fascinated watching Bernadette do the same to Ben, seeing him grow in her hand. Soon enough we were both rock hard. Karen moved away and told Bernadette to sit back in her chair, which she did, looking greedily from me to Ben and back. She was obviously delighted that Ben was horny and she had made him that way. The other women seemed fairly pleased as well, judging by their comments.

“Those poor boys are very uncomfortable now” said Karen, faking sympathy. You can say that again, I thought. I was naked and erect in front of a gang of raucous women; uncomfortable was one way of putting it, though perhaps a little understated. But that wasn’t what she meant. “When boys get a hard-on” she explained to Bernadette “they really, really want to be touched, or touch themselves, but they can’t. I wonder if anyone will volunteer to help them out.” I hoped not. Uncomfortable or not the only ‘help’ I wanted was to be let go, not what she meant.

“I’ll help them, I’ll go skiing!” someone called out. “It’s my party trick. You’ll love it, you’ll see!” Skiing? In August? In England? Was she nuts? What was she going to use for snow?

“Go on Karen, let her” said someone else. “I’ve seen Becky do this to a couple of lads at a party and it’s awesome. They were a bit drunk and they didn’t get their kit off, just unzipped and flopped it out, but it was still fun. This will be amazing if she can do it.”

Karen shrugged. “Okay then Becky, let’s see this amazing party trick then. What is it anyway?”

A moderately attractive dark haired girl who looked about twenty two or so walked towards us grinning. “Simultaneous orgasm” she said. I wondered what she meant, as most of her colleagues obviously did as well, but not for long.

Becky stood between me and Ben, gripped one of us in each hand, and started slowly masturbating us. I have to admit it felt good physically, but I could have done without the audience, who were vocally appreciative. Bernadette’s eyes were on stalks, she couldn’t stop staring. “You’d better move back a bit” Becky advised her “else you’ll get splattered. Somebody get some waste paper and put it in front of them, we don’t want to ruin the carpet.”

Some paper was duly spread out in front of us, Bernadette moved back a little, but not far, and everyone quieted down and watched intently as Becky continued with her task, gradually getting faster.

After a few minutes there was a sort of moan from Ben. “No, don’t, come on, play fair” he pleaded plaintively.

“Sorry pal, you’ll just have to wait” said Becky. “Your mate isn’t ready yet.”

“Well hurry up then for God’s sake” muttered Ben urgently and resentfully. “Let’s get it over with. This is torture.” With a shock I realised he was talking to me and I suddenly ‘got it.’ The ‘simultaneous orgasm’ was not boy and girl but me and Ben. He wanted to finish but Becky wasn’t going to let him until I was ready so now he was upbraiding me publicly for my lack of virility, or enthusiasm, or something. My face burned and I was glad Kevin and Steve were behind me so I didn’t have to see their expressions. That was a temporary respite I knew; this was bound to be the talk of the office soon enough.

After another minute or two I felt the pressure building within me and then suddenly I was there. As I started to ejaculate I heard a grunt. I glanced over and saw that Ben was doing the same. Becky had kept her promise and both of us were shooting sperm through the air at once. There was a spattering noise as it landed on the paper. Bernadette looked like she was straining her eyes trying to watch both of us at once. Everyone else was cheering.

And that was the end of it really. There was nothing more to see that had not been seen. Ben and I were untied and given tissues to clean ourselves. Ben went off with his ‘mates’, I with mine, both clasping our hands in front of us (pointless but instinctive) and trying to be good-humoured to look like we could take a joke; sulking would only make it worse.

By the time I got back to the office and put my clothes on it was five to three. Alan and Gordon had made some strong coffee and were trying to get Jim to drink it. No-one showed any interest in me so I walked out and went to join the queue to clock out.

I went back to work the next Monday dreading the inevitable mickey-taking but to my surprise the incident was never mentioned again, at least in my presence. Bernadette gave me a wide berth for a while, perhaps too embarrassed by her own conduct to look at me. As for me, I learned to make the effort to be sociable.

The End