Post
Experience Project iOS Android Apps | Download EP for your Mobile Device

Skidmarks Inside Grey School Short Trousers

I have recently read the story on this thread "Skid Marks Down Under" written by an Aussie guy which seemed so similar to my own experiences that I thought I'd tell mine as well. Our early experiences of skidding our pants and short trousers is still even now one of the more taboo areas, and I've never seen a serious study of the topic. There are sometimes items from parents moaning about the laundry problems of their boys skids, but little written with understanding.

If I had any sons, I'd make them fully aware that skids were okay. It was a boy thing. And although I'd want to make sure they had clean undies if and when they wanted them- perhaps when getting changed for games, I'd want them to know that wiping was purely optional, and it was really boyish to skid their briefs as much as they wanted to.And that in their teen years it was a sign of growing up.

There were four experiences that stick in my mind from when I was eleven-the last year of primary school which have really stayed with me, and influenced my own attitude. I must add that in those days there was an innocence which sadly has been lost. There was nothing sexual whatsoever in that pre-adolescence period. No-one shouted gay because buddy bonding between friends involved taking a poo together or going into the cubicle whilst one of you went. As I say, it was just bonding and you only did it with your close mates.

These may not be in chronological order.

Lionel was a sturdy quiet boy with rather greasy blondish hair, 11 the same age as me. He wore grey corduroy short trousers, and I had noticed for some time, that the back seam was always stuck right up between his bum cheeks in what is now called a wedgie. I started to get curious as to whether he got brown marks up there. He should do with the grey corduroy pushing up his bum unless he was super fastidious, and he certainly didn't seem to be. I did not know him well enough to ask him, and we did not get fully changed for games, so it seemed there was no way of satisfying my curiosity. Then one summer playtime, we were on our hands and knees playing with our Dinky Toys on the playground. I looked up and his grey corduroy clad bottom was stuck on the air in front of me as he crawled on all fours with his toy cars. Without thinking I plunged my nose between his cheeks. I could feel the warmth of his buttocks, and the ribbing of the corduroy on my face. But his arse smelled strong! I was surprised. I had smelled my own skidmarked pants, but his crack really stank. I guess he was a non-wiper.

Immediately I felt remorse and guilt, and withdrew. He just looked round at me, one eyebrow raised questioningly. I stuttered that he smelled good. There was a ghost of a grin but he said nothing and returned to playing with his cars. I had found out his secret and he didn't seem to mind.

The next occasion was with a lad called Frankie- a rather loud rumbustuous boy. We had been talking, he said he needed a crap, and invited me into the school toilet cubicle with him. As I said, this was the age of innocence, there was nothing sexual, and it was what friends did. He dropped his grey flannel short trousers and white pants, and I noticed that the back of his white pants were smeared over a wide area with streaks of brown, quite heavy in places. He saw me looking down at them, grinned, and said "That's where I sh*t myself last night playing down by the river." When I asked him further about it, he said that he and some friends were playing on the banks of the river that evening, and when he wanted to go, he couldn't be bothered to go back to the house, but just let a turd drop out into his pants and kept it there until he got home. He then emptied it out, finished in the toilet, and never thought of changing his pants.

I was enthralled by this. But I was disappointed when after his performance in the school toilet, he wiped carefully with four (Yes four!) pieces of paper.I wanted to tell him with his pants already marked, why did he bother with any at all.

Then there was rough and ready Tony who was probably nearer 12 at the time. He was an easy-going rather lazy lad whom the teachers didn't really think was good company for me. What did they know. He tended to be my physical protection from any bullies whilst I helped him with his work. He also invited me into the cubicle when he had to take a poo. Or perhaps it was just a natural part of our friendship at that age that I accompanied him. He dropped his grey flannel short trousers to his ankles, and I noticed that he didn't wear any underpants. That was certainly not unsual in those days, and grey flannel short trousers were sturdy with a thick white cotton lining.

However, except in the hot summer when I was wearing out an old pair of shorts, I always did wear underpants. When I had asked my mother whether I needed to one hot day, she said that pants were worn to protect ones trousers. Perhaps the reasonaing backfired, because I took that as tacitly accepting that I would get skids on my pants. Although the light was poor in the cubicle, I noticed that the white cotton lining at the seat was heavily marked with brown. It seemed doubly naughty that not only was he dirty, but that he did it straight onto the lining of his grey flannel short trousers. I was at an impressionable age. And he was almost my hero!

He dropped his turds whilst we were still chatting, and then immediately stood up and pulled his grey flannel shorts up. Although there was a supply of toilet paper, he had made no attempt to use any, and was obviously a non-wiper. Hardly surprising as I'd already seen the lining of his grey flannel shorts. I was so impressed. He turned round and pissed on his turds. He then farted loudly, grinned, and told me he had finished off in his trousers and that I should do it too. Too right I would! He then just walked out without flushing or wiping his hands leaving me to hurry along behind in complete hero worship at his dirty habits.

And the fourth episode which sticks in my mind was Kenny. He was the middle brother of three, nearest my age, with a dark fringe of hair over his forehead, and a brace on his front teeth which made his mouth rather full. We had been playing near his house, and his mother had invited us into the kitchen for some Tizer. We were sitting there when Kenny lifted up from the stool, stuck his bottom out in his charcoal grey Flanlon short trousers, and forced out a very loud fart which fizzled at the end. "There"s another brown mark to my collection." He boasted with a grin and we laughed. His mother laughed too and thought it very amusing even though she would be the one having to deal with removing the brown marks he so obviously liked collecting in his pants.

A few weeks later at school. It was a small country school, and I was head boy. Kenny sat two desks away from me. It was the first lesson after dinner, and it was with the headmistress who was a strict teacher. We had all settled down when Kenny lent forward and did a fart. Although we both sat at the front, she chose to ignore it as an accident. However, Kenny then lent over on one cheek, and let rip a tremendous explosion followed by a further push with an extremely wet bit at the end (Undoubtedly a shart in modern speak.) There were two seconds of absolute silence and then pandemonium broke out. I leaned forward and mouthed "Well done, Kenny!" However, the headteacher who was now in full flow screaming at Kenny what a dirty pig he was, saw me.

And I was caned for encouraging him! That was probably my first taste of what injustice could be. He was only shouted at.

Later at playtime I approached Kenny, and told him what a shame that the headteacher had not appreciated his fart. He grinned and agreed. I then asked him if any sh*t had come out in his pants with it. He fingered the back of his charcoal grey Flanlon short trousers and said that a little bit had, but he didn't care, and would leave it there. He liked it when I told him he was a dirty boy like me. I then said that I expected he didn'y wipe his bum too clean. He agreed, so I pushed it further and asked him how many pieces of paper he normally used. He said "None" with another grin. I then told him how lucky his pants were being treated like that and worn by him. With an even bigger grin, he said, "I know."

These were certainly four very strong pre-pubescent memories of being dirty which encouraged me in my own dirty habits at that time, and have stuck with me ever since.

Once last point. As I said, I was head boy at the time in this small school. An Irish lad called Francis approached me one day, and confided in me that his mum was always getting at him because he got brown marks in his pants. He asked me what I thought he should do to avoid them. I think he was rather startled when I told him I got them all the time, and had never tried not to get them. A boy should wear his brown marks with pride!

Not perhaps quite the usual EP story but nonethess fascinating (to me) of my early pre-sexual influences. Does anyone else have similar early memories they'd like to share?

deleted deleted 26-30 3 Responses Jan 3, 2011

Your Response

Cancel

Your stories blow my mind.I live in the Eastern US.When I was in 7th grade I knew this one Billy no mates that did not wipe and stunk up the class to high heavens.But that was about it..I never saw lads walking around with stains in the rear and another lad sniffing his ***.Keep these stories coming.

not to mention seeing em drop a load and smelling it too

i liked to see my mates brown streaks also and still enjoy seeing another man even now as i like to see my own and jack to them as well