from Charlie
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Over the past few years of corresponding with Auntie Helga I have related to her some of the stories from my youth of times that I was taken down a peg or two from my arrogant boyishness and dominated by mature ladies and teasing girls. Many of these occasions pertain to the forced exposure of my underwear, which very typically for the time I was growing up were loud brightly patterned y-front underpants and vests with contrasting trim.

In many ways I have often felt this forced exposure of my underwear as being very akin to petticoating. Most often I was being reduced to my y-fronts and vest in order to belittle and humiliate me, either as a punishment or to subdue my often times stubborn and rebellious boyishness to make me easier to control. The removal of your clothes is like the stripping away of one of your defences against the outside world, and having them then taken away from you puts you at the mercy of those that have taken them. After all you can't very well leave a place or walk away dressed just in your underwear. So if you want your clothes back you have to learn to accept your lot and do as you are told. Whilst I accept that it's not quite the same as being made to dress as a sissy girl or baby, being made to strip down to your usually private underpants and vest in front of a group of giggling girls by a strict domineering lady is still a very emasculating and subjugating experience let me tell you.

I'm sure that some of these experiences may be familiar to many of you, especially those who have grown up in the UK as I have. The period of my youth by the way being the late 70's to late 80's, when I was 8-18 years old. Some examples are, forgetting my PE kit one too many times and being made to take part in my underpants and vest as a punishment. Often I was made by my mother to change in the middle of busy shop floors to try on clothes if the queue for the changing rooms was too long. For many years I was also made to make do in just my underpants at the beach instead of having proper swimming trunks to wear. Even on the beach you couldn't really mistake loud y-fronts with contrasting trim for swimming trunks. When your still a little boy this might not be so bad but when you enter your early teens and you are still being made to make do in your underpants at the beach, it could be the cause of some humiliation. I was also usually made to play in the back gardens of my mother's friends' houses in my underpants and vest because she didn't want the smart clothes she made me wear for such visits getting mucky and torn. This was regardless of course of whether there were any girls present, and quite often these ladies had little girls. There were many other things like that and all this carried on right into my mid-teens. Although there were many occasions of this sort of thing, they were still few and far between enough so that every time was still an utter humiliation and embarrassment for me. Having little girls, often a few years your junior, teasing and giggling at you as you played in front of them in your underpants was not something you ever really got used to.

Having your trousers taken off you was something that instantly brought you down a peg or two. The loss of your clothes and the exposure of your once private underwear had a very humbling effect. Even if I was aged thirteen and in a room with a five year old girl, if she was clothed and I was just in my underwear, that made her the superior dominant child in the room. It put you on the same level as a little child that couldn't be trusted not to wet themselves or get their clothes all mucky and covered in crayon marks or food spills. After all if you were an older child that was more mature and could be trusted, then surely the grown-ups wouldn't have taken your clothes off you. So if the five year old girl had been allowed to keep her clothes on whilst I had mine taken off me, then that must mean she was regarded as the more mature one in the room and therefore also the dominant child. Little girls with a taste of power don't hold back in putting it to use either, especially when it's over a big silly older boy in his underwear. There's not a lot you can do about the bossy little madams either. If you refuse to play along with them then they just tell on you to their mother or other adult lady in charge, which might possibly end in a few smacks over the backs of bare thighs or bottoms. That of course just makes the prospect of getting your clothes back seem even more distant. So you have no option but to play along and be bossed about by these little girls and be made to join in with their little games.

I ought to set the scene a little for you really as many of these stories revolve around the same hub as it were. When I was younger my mother used to be a teacher up at the Sunday school at our local church up the road from where we lived, and after a couple of years my mother then took over the running of it. So of course my mother got to know lots of ladies up at the church that had small children, ages usually ranging from about five to thirteen years old. Sometimes these ladies would take turns babysitting other children at their houses to give their mothers a break and occasionally if my mother was busy I'd get sent off to stay for the day at one of these ladies houses. Many of these ladies when dealing with rooms full of small children could be quite strict and no nonsense, and have been the cause of many of my underpants humiliations and a good few spankings too.

Anyway, Auntie Helga has over the years expressed an interest in publishing some of these stories and finally I have felt that perhaps the time is right to go ahead and do so. So I hope you all enjoy reading about my little childhood experiences and my underpants humiliations.


As I have already related, when I was a young boy my mother used to run the Sunday school up at our local church. It was run entirely by women, mostly middle aged ladies who had their own children but also by some older retired matronly type grannies helping out too. Mature, forceful, dominant women have been a prominent feature during my years growing up as a young boy, especially so at Sunday school. Many of them were quit strict when they needed to be and weren’t afraid to put a naughty child over their knees for a good spanking or bring them down a peg or two in some other manner. So I have ended up using lots of memories from my Sunday school days as inspiration for some of my past illustrations.

Well this story starts during the summer holidays when I was aged thirteen. One morning my mother dragged me up to the church hall because a friend of hers was organising a dance class and my mother wanted to go up and have a chat with her about various things. This was in the days before the mobile phone of course; sometimes it was still easier to meet in person. That meant I had to get dragged along too, as even though I was now thirteen my mother still didn’t like leaving me home alone. First I had to pass muster one of my mother’s smartness inspections before she would present me to any of her friends. It wasn’t a hot summer’s day; it was grey and overcast but still warm and muggy. So I was wearing my brown corduroy trousers and smart brown shoes with just a thin navy blue roll neck jumper over my vest. After my mother gave my straight bowl cut hair a rigorous combing, making me wince by roughly pulling through any tangles, and then giving my face a quick spit wipe with her handkerchief, I was deemed presentable enough to take out.

We walked up to the church and got there early and met up with the lady running the class in the church hall. The church hall was one of these old buildings that looked like it had been around since the 1930’s and had seen better days. It always smelt a bit damp and musty in there to me and although there were frosted glass windows all along one side it didn’t get much of the daylight due to it being right next to the church, so it was often a bit cold and gloomy in there too. It had these big old cast iron radiators under the windows, but they didn’t get turned on very often in order to keep running costs down. It wasn’t a particularly large hall, more like an old sports pavilion really.

The lady my mother had gone to see was called Mrs Jones and when we got there she was already in the hall clearing the floor space and getting things set up for her dance class, and she was busy laying out some soft rubber play mats in a square in the middle of the floor. Where presumably the girls in her class would be doing a few exercises. To start with I sat around bored and disinterested as my mother chatted with this lady whilst she was waiting for the children to arrive for her dance class. I’m sure I probably looked like a typically awkward teenager, sat there making no attempt to disguise my annoyance and irritability at having to sit there biding my time whilst the two ladies chatted away. I wasn’t paying any attention to a word they were saying and was instead wondering how long I’d have to be there for before I could go back home and get back to painting my model kit.

After a short while a few of the girls started to turn up for the class, all looking between the ages of about eight to ten years old with the eldest looking to only be about eleven maybe at the most from what I remember. As their mothers dropped their little girls off, a few of the ladies of course stopped to have a quick chat with Mrs Jones. So I glumly thought I was just going to be there for ages more yet before my mother had finished whatever business it was she was up there to sort out with her. At this rate I thought I was going to end up sitting there bored stiff watching the girls do their dance class for ten to fifteen minutes before we got to go. I still couldn’t understand why my mother had to have dragged me along with her. Why couldn’t she just have left me at home, I wasn’t that irresponsible was I?

On the bright side though, as the girls were getting ready for their dance class I noted that they were all wearing little more than short gym skirts and vests. As some of them started doing little warm up exercises I secretly began to get excited by the inevitable prospect, that as they were wearing those short skirts, that I would get a few good up skirt views of their pretty panties. So I sat there try to surreptitiously catch little looks as they performed their stretching exercises. I was duly rewarded with a few quick exciting glimpses of their panties here and there. A couple of inches of panty bottom exposed, the quick flash of a crotch and then one girl even lay down on the mats on her back and raised her legs in the air with her hands on her hips. Her short gym skirt of course flopped down giving me a full look at her exposed panties. I couldn’t believe my luck and my eyes must have been nearly popping out of my head as I took in the lovely sight of her pretty floral print panties, all snuggly fitting the curves of her little round bottom raised up before me. Unfortunately I stared for too long and she looked over at me and realised I was looking at her panties. She then quickly sprang back up on her feet and brushed her skirt down giving me a rather miffed and indignant look, before then muttering something to a few of the other girls who all turned to look at me sitting there with contemptuous looks on their faces. After that they were all a little bit more circumspect about how they went about their little warm up exercises.

After a short while longer, when all the girls had arrived, about eleven of them in all, my mother finished her chat and then came over and dropped a bombshell on me. My mother announced to me that she was going to go back home but that I was to stay there and join in with the girls dance class! This came as a bit of an unwelcome surprise to me to say the least. I wanted to go back home and play with my model kits and boys things. Of course I instantly began to entreat my mother with protestations, moans and complaints. Join in with their dance class, why? I don’t want to learn how to dance; besides this is just for girls! My feeble protests were soon shot down however and it was explained to me that Hilary, that was Mrs Jones’s first name, wanted some boys to start joining in with the class so that the girls had proper dance partners. I was going to be the first boy to do so and I was going to have to stay behind and join in and that was that. By the end of our little argument my mother was by then snapping at me loudly in front of all the grinning girls, who looked on with amusement as I got a browbeating from my mother. So it was with a shamed face that I had to resign myself to whatever was in store for me.

My mother then left and by this time all the girls were ready to start the class and had dressed down to their bare feet, the short gym skirts they had arrived in and their vests or t-shirts. The lady in charge, Hilary Jones, then told me to get myself ready too, now that I was also to be joining in with the class. Of course I had no suitable dance wear, having arrived wearing my smart brown shoes, brown corduroy trousers and a close fitting navy blue roll neck jumper. So I just assumed of course that I would be fine with just taking my shoes and socks off in order to join in. So whilst all the girls stood waiting for me, I grumpily took off my shoes and socks and then half-heartedly got up to join in, still wearing my corduroys and jumper. It was at that point however that Mrs Jones took one look at me and asked me what I thought I was doing. Seeing my puzzled look she then told me in no uncertain terms that I couldn't possibly join in whilst still wearing all that hot restrictive clothing and that I was to remove my jumper and trousers and undress down to just my underpants and vest at once!

As you can imagine I was quite stunned and shocked by this and I stood there dumbstruck not knowing quite what to say or do. Did I quite hear that right? She wants me to undress down to just my underpants and vest in front of all these little girls! Mrs Jones was one of these loud overbearing women, quite plump and stocky with it. Not the sort of lady you first picture taking active dance classes, and yet she was actually quite energetic. She was also not the sort to gladly suffer petulant young boys like me. So seeing my look of shock and hesitation, she snapped at me in a rather sharp loud impatient voice to get a move on as I was holding up the class. I was in a state of shock and absolutely mortified at the thought of having to strip down to my underpants right there in front of all those girls. All the girls’ faces had by now of course lit up with big gleeful expectant grins upon hearing that I was about to be made to undress down to my underpants and vest in front of them all.

I didn’t want to undress down to my underwear in front of all those little girls, but on the other hand there was no way I was going to argue with this strict fierce lady. I was terribly lacking in self confidence in my youth, and I was easily cowed and made timid by fierce ladies like her. I couldn’t just go home, I was stuck there in this hall and left under the charge of this strict lady, and I had no choice but to do as she said. What else could I do? So there in the church hall in front of all those girls I began to undress down to just my underpants and vest. Mrs Jones and the grinning girls by now had all stopped whatever they were doing to stand there and watch me undress. First I slowly took off my jumper, making a right meal of it trying to delay the inevitable dreadful moment when I had to take my trousers down. You could sense the girls excitement in the air as my hands trembled and my fingers fumbled clumsily as I undid the button and zip on my corduroy trousers. Then feeling faint and light headed, I took down my trousers exposing my y-front underpants to a chorus of titters and giggles from the girls. The air felt cool around my now bare legs emphasising their sudden exposure and that of my y-front underpants. All the girls looked down at my now exposed underpants, giggling and laughing and making secret little comments between themselves which resulted in even more giggles and laughter. I have no idea what they were saying about my underpants or perhaps the little round pimpled protrusion of my little cock in the crotch, but whatever it was it seemed to cause them all great amusement and to me, great shame. Mrs Jones then made me neatly fold my jumper and trousers into a pile on a chair at the side and then had me stand there to attention in front of everybody in nothing but my y-fronts and vest. I was now dressed in nothing but a light blue vest with royal blue trim and a pair of brightly patterned y-fronts with contrasting red trim. Whilst I stood there to attention hands down by my side, Mrs Jones came over and neatly tucked my vest back into the waist of my underpants, as it had come untucked when I took my jumper off. She ran her fingers around the waistband and leg openings making sure my pants and vest looked all neat and smooth. The girls of course were all sniggering and giggling at me as I stood there before them with my underwear completely exposed. I'm sure you can imagine the amusement it gave the girls to see me standing there subdued and humiliated before them dressed in just those pretty, colourful underpants. My face felt hot and flushed and I stood there with my head hung low staring at the floor, not wanting to meet the smug grinning faces of those girls. I almost felt dizzy with the shame of it all. Whereas only a short while before I was trying to catch glimpses of their panties, now I was the one exposed in front of them with my private underwear for them all to see.

I then spent a thoroughly embarrassing and humiliating afternoon dancing around with those girls in nothing but my underwear. It was a very emasculating experience, as me the only boy there and the eldest child in the class by at least two years possibly three was subdued and reduced to the bottom of the pecking order. I was subservient to even the youngest little girl in the class, as I was made to dance and play in my underwear as if I was still a small kindergarten child.

The first thing Mrs Jones had us do was to dance around in a large circle around the hall with various musical instruments such as tambourines and maracas. Whilst the girls joyfully danced around with lively expressions and movements, I on the other hand shuffled around rather insipidly with barely disguised antipathy. Mrs Jones was not going to have any of that however, so she singled me out and had me stand on the mats in the middle of the circle of girls. Then as the girls watched on, Mrs Jones had me perform various stretching exercises on the mats in front of them all. She had me bending over to touch my toes, performing the splits and she had me lie on my back as she pulled my legs up over my head and held apart, giving the girls the most intimate views of all my private areas. After that Mrs Jones had me doing more dramatic creative movements such as pretending to be fireworks exploding, making me jump up in the air all out stretched, or having me pretend to be Jack Frost, mincing around the circle pretending to be all icy and spikey in time to the girls playing on their instruments. It was the sort of thing I remember doing when I was a little child at infants and junior school in music and drama lessons. Yet there I was now aged thirteen dressed in just my y-front underpants and vest, doing it in front of all these very amused little girls like I was just a little infant school boy again. It was all so humiliating and belittling. It wasn’t long before I was completely subdued and humbled before all these girls, all my stubborn rebelliousness shamed into submission. After that I did as I was told without question, joining in with all the dances and partnering up with some of the girls. The girls of course never stopped giggling at my underpants and teasing me. All I could do was stand there and take it. Even the youngest girls felt confident enough to join in teasing the big boy in his “funny knickers!”

During the lesson Mrs Jones took a few photos to use in the church newsletter, and hence a rather embarrassing picture of me in my underpants and vest appeared on the front of the next newsletter, to try and emphasise the need for more boys to join in. I still have a copy of it and I have tried to reproduce it with the accompanying illustration for you. As you can see, all the girls are in their short gym skirts and then there's me looking very awkward and rather embarrassed having to dance around in just my underpants and vest. The text from the newsletter I’ve copied almost word for word too. Note where Mrs Jones says that for the boys “No special clothing is needed to join in, any boys will be fine taking part in just their underpants and vests.” Obviously that was not meant to appeal to any boys but to their mothers. No need to buy them any special kit or spend time making sure they’re appropriately dressed before they come, just send them along and they can just strip down to their underwear. I was of course utterly mortified to see a picture of myself in my pants and vest on the front of the church newsletter. A few other boys did eventually end up getting dragged along to the dance lessons and we even had enough for a separate boy’s class, but that’s a story for another time.

Eventually the dance lesson came to an end and the girls started to put their shoes and socks and jumpers back on to get ready to go home. When I went to do the same however, I noticed that my clothes had since been removed from the seat I’d left them on, presumably by Mrs Jones. “Don’t worry I’ve put them somewhere safe out the way”, she said when I asked her where they were and she left it at that. It was obvious that I wasn’t going to get my clothes back just yet. When all the mothers turned up to take their daughters away I was still stood there in just my underpants and vest, and a got a few wry grins from some of the older ladies. When they had all gone, Mrs Jones set me about helping her pack all the mats and instruments away. I of course had little choice but to keep doing as I was told as she still had my clothes. Finally when everything was packed away Mrs Jones appeared with my clothes that she had apparently put away in a cupboard in the kitchen somewhere. She then beckoned me over and proceeded to dress me as if I was still a small child. She pulled on my socks, then my jumper, tucking it back into the waist of my underpants of course. Then on with my trousers making me step into the legs as she held them out. If I tried to interfere she would just swat my hands out of the way, so all I could do was stand there with my arms held out at my sides as she dressed me. She even finished off by lacing up my shoes, as if I was incapable of doing so myself. Then she took me by the hand and walked me down the hill back towards the road where I lived, holding onto my hand like I was a small child that couldn’t be trusted to be let go of. It was only when we got to the end of the road where I lived that she finally let me go to walk the last few hundred yards back to my house.

The whole morning had been a most humiliating and belittling experience for me. When my mother asked me how it had been, I quietly grumbled about hating it of course but I was still feeling rather subdued by the whole affair. I’d been made to dance around in my underwear in front of a group of younger little girls, who of course teased me and giggled at me mercilessly and who made me feel very small and beneath them. You could say however that it was my comeuppance for being such a stroppy awkward teen and of course for trying to peak at the girls’ pretty panties. Some might say I got my just deserts in the latter case.

I have many more such tales, so if you enjoyed this one and would like to read more, then let Auntie Helga know and I shall try to get some more ready and illustrate them.

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