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The summer vacation was over and the dreaded day had finally arrived. I was never keen on giving up the slow carefree pace of school summer vacations and hated having to go back to the work and discipline of school. The first day of my junior year as I rolled out of bed at 6:00 AM I was not only under this normal mental burden but the realization that the previous Saturday while I was having fun and games with my friend Bob down in the woods, in previous years my father and I would have traveled to the city to outfit me with clothing for the upcoming school year. The fact that I didn't have any new school cloths for the upcoming year left little doubt in my mind that he was expecting my dress to ben one of the dozens of Boy Scout uniforms he had bought me back in June. I didn't doubt that he had spent most of the yearly money that was set aside for my school wardrobe on the shorts, knee socks, and shirts we had bought. Now here I was sitting on the edge of my bed with 30 minutes to dress, eat breakfast, and get down to the bus stop.

I knew, blood brothers or not, my two buddies Dave and Mike would not be wearing either the scout uniforms I had given them or the nice heavy denim shorts their mother had made for the three of us to school. She had made wearing shorts mandatory for them during the summer, but she wouldn't have allowed them to wear their shorts to school even if they had wanted to. Not that there was the slightest chance in hell they would consider doing such a rash and stupid thing.

With my intense summer long workouts I had put on about 15 pounds, but lost nearly two inches around the waist. So I knew there would be no problem getting into last years long school pants which father thankfully hadn't taken up to the dump and burned. They would be a bit on the short side in the legs since I had grown a couple of inches in height, but the most serious response that would generate from the school crowd would be a few snickers from the more well to do students. Showing up for 11th grade in high school wearing baggy short pants that only reached about half way down my thighs was another story. I would be lucky to still be alive by the time the bus would show up to take me home at 3:30.

My hundreds of hours with the barbells over the summer had definitely made a dramatic improvement in my formerly puny upper body and the dislike of intense pain from my dad's punishing boxing lessons taught me how to protect myself. I had total confidence that I could handle all but about a dozen of the biggest guys in school, and they were way out of my class in weight, reach, and brute strength. Eight of them were farm boys and on occasion I saw them sling kids my size around like they were hay bales. Needless to say this group included the school bullies who took delight in imposing themselves on boys of normal stature. I had little doubt what they could and would do to me and my shorts as soon as I stepped off the bus.

One of the bruisers that had given me some flak in the past was a farm kid that rode our bus. He wasn't well endowed in the mental department but he made up for it physically. His strength was not only because of his size, but because his parents were Plain people who eschewed the use of anything other than horse or human power on their farm As a result he got all the exercise one could ever want. We all called him Slow Sam; but not when he was within earshot. I wasn't concerned about anything physical happening on the bus because as big as this kid was our driver was even bigger and had tossed him off the buss just the previous year because he was harassing one of the other kids.

I knew if I wore last years long pants to school I would have broken the contract my father seemed to think I had made. I figured this would then give him an excuse to gather up all my shorts save the school gym shorts that i had to have and put a match to them. That thought of all my comfortable cotton fetishes going up in smoke was just more than I could contemplate.

That did it. I grabbed a fresh unworn pair of Boy Scout shorts and knee socks from my dresser drawer and put them on. I couldn't quite bring myself to wear the scout short sleeved shirt because I didn't think it counted in my agreement with dad, so I slipped on a khaki shirt from last year. I had definitely filled out in the chest and arms and I would have to be careful I didn't stretch or reach the wrong way or I might bust the seams open. I wasn't about to be a total dork and wear a neckerchief even though dad was good on his word and had provided me one from the scout troop in town along with a scout membership card as he had promised.

Because I had dawdled so long in making up my mind what to wear my dad and step mom were going out the door as I was coming down the stairs and I just had time to shout a good bye. Dad wished me luck so I guessed I had made the decision he was expecting.

When I showed up at our bus stop a younger boy who rode a different bus because he was still in grade school was already there. He couldn't contain his mirth even after I flexed my newly acquired muscles and threatened to squash his pimple head. He said he wished he could be there to see the piss beat out of me when the guys at the high school got a look at me. About then my buddies walked up and they didn't give me any support either, although we had all been running around dressed the same way the day before. In fact Mike made a point of letting me know that he and Dave would not come to my rescue and risk getting beat up to save their best friend who was stupid enough to wear short pants to high school.

The bus soon arrived. Our stop was near the beginning of the route and there were already the eight kids that got on ahead of us last year on board. The requirement, which our burly driver strictly enforced, was that the kids that got on first sat furthest to the rear. Sitting in the back, the eight of them had ample time to observe my already battle scarred knees as I made my way all the way up the isle to the rear. My loyal supporters who got on with me tried to distance themselves from such an obvious geek by sitting in a seat about halfway back, but the driver told Dave to sit with me or else and made Mike sit across from us. Every seat had to be utilized because by the time we arrived at school it would be more than full because there had been several standees last year and there would likely be even more this year.

The driver yelled for everybody to shut up and the loud guffaws died down to a dull titter. As the bus loaded up all the newcomers were instantly alerted to my abbreviated outfit even though most of the later arrivals couldn't see my bare knees. To my surprise most of the negative comments came from the younger 7th and 8th graders and the girls.

Slow Sam boarded at the next stop after ours and he made a point of looking me over real good. To my amazement he didn't have any comment at all. Curiosity caused some of the boys in my immediate vicinity to ask me why the hell I was wearing shorts to school. It turned out they felt I must have done some dastardly deed to piss off my father to the point where he would force me to undergo such total humiliation. I wasn't about to tell them it was my choice because I had a sexual thing for wearing shorts especially when I was playing with my balloons.

We arrived at school all to soon and all the kids scurried to get off. However when they got to the wide sidewalk in front of the school they didn't drift toward the school's main doors as we usually would but they milled around facing the doorway of the buss. They wanted to see me make my grand exit. I made a point of being the last to get off the bus so I wouldn't disappoint any of them. As I was about to disembark they gave me a roar of hoots and whistles and I threw them a fancy salute as I stepped to the sidewalk. I heard the bus driver wish me lots of luck as he closed the door behind me.

My game plan was to get into the school building as quickly as possible. Fights outside were not very common but inside it just wasn't done, period. In the early fifties even school bullies obeyed adult authority, or else.

Because of all the busses lined up along the street in front of the school it was about a half a block hike to the school entrance and I strode quickly toward my safe haven with the crew from my bus and everyone else we passed forming a large mob behind me. I had the feeling I know how Pied Piper must have felt. I was doing fine until about 30 yards from the door my way was blocked by three of the non farm bully boys who always hung out together. This was exactly what I was afraid of. I could tough it out maybe one on one, but dealing with 40% of the muscle on our admittedly anemic football team at one time would spell sure disaster.

Needless to say they took exception to my school outfit with many unkind remarks. I tried to ignore them but they wouldn't let me pass. A confrontation was inevitable. To add to a bad situation, out of the corner of my eye I saw Slow Sam coming up behind me fists already clenched. As he reached me I figured he was going to grab me and pin my arms so the others could work me over, but just as I was about to dodge him he pushed past me and as he waved his ham sized fist in the bully boy leader's face he announced, "You guys want more fun?"

This suddenly shifted the odds more in my favor. Suddenly having to deal with the two of us they weren't about to chance the encounter. They let me pass and I made a beeline to my home room for the year. I thanked Slow Sam and he told me to come get him if they gave me any more trouble. I think he came to my rescue mainly because of his intense dislike of the bully boys leader who often indulged in pointing out Slow Sam's less than stellar mental prowess in front of his friends; as opposed to any real benevolence toward me on Sam's part.

There was no question dad's eight years on the school board had greased the wheels, as they say, relative to the teachers as well as the school administration. My homeroom teacher was a staid spinster in her late sixties and I am sure if she hadn't been told to ignore the childish length of my pants by the powers that be she would have hauled me off to the principal's office the moment she laid eyes on me. My friend Bob had the same home room and as far as I knew all the students were in the college prep group. Even though I had told him I would probably have to wear shorts to school, until he saw me, he didn't really believe I would have guts enough to actually do it. Thankfully again most everyone assumed that I was sporting knee pants as a punishment As a result I got through the first day's home room orientation and the second period class without incident. I did receive an unusual amount of attention in the hallways between classes, however.

The third period was my least favorite class, gym. It was held in a large room which also served as our school auditorium. The rear half had fixed movie theater seating with a large balcony overhead and the front half was a regulation sized basketball court. The gym instructor had us sit in the front row of seats while he gave us the requirements, rules, and regulations that I already had heard each of three years before. The gym instructor was a huge man and a WW2 ex marine, and prior we had heard, had spent a year or so in pro football. Nobody messed with him.

As I took my seat with the rest up front I made a point of sitting at the far end because I knew no one would want a first class geek elbow to elbow with them. In any event I didn't want to further embarrass myself by having a kid get up and move as soon as I sat down next to him. To my horror I saw the three bully boys that had confronted me upon my arrival sitting together in the center of the long row of hooting guffawing kids. The three were all twelfth graders, but because of the school overcrowding it wasn't unusual to have as many as three grade levels in the same gym class.

The uproar instantly ceased as our gym instructor, Mr. Mack, entered and quickly strode across the basketball court to deliver his pre-recorded blurb. His presence would normally insulate me, if only for a few minutes, from any further physical or verbal taunts. The fact that he was carrying the two pair of boxing gloves that were put to use on the occasions when minor differences arose between students left little doubt he knew I was scheduled for this class and would be bringing minor differences with me. After his flawless delivery (I had it memorized) he proceeded to call me up and have me stand in front of my leering classmates.

I had little doubt he was planning to have one of my classmates demonstrate what real he men do to sissies that wear short pants. Three quarters of the kids in the gym class were as big or bigger than I was and I knew that several, in addition to the bully boys, would jump at the chance to bloody up the bare kneed kid standing in front of them.

I felt my face flush as I stood there awkwardly for what must have been at least a minute. I didn't know if the gym instructor was expecting me to say something to defend myself or what. In his class, unless you were engaged in play, no one talked without his permission. I turned toward him and gave him a 'what next' look.

To my total humiliation Mr. Mack called out to the rest of the class and asked them if they didn't think I looked like a sissy wimp that should at the least have my nose and knees bloodied and my silly shorts ripped off. Was the SOB trying to get me killed. A least half the kids sitting there were willing to perform these acts I'm sure without any invitation the minute I walked into the school and they saw me. Now he was goading one of them to beat me to a pulp.

To my amazement no one rushed to volunteer. Then Mackey walked over and grabbed my shoulders from behind in his massive paws and said, "Who thinks they can whip this Boy Scout here who isn't afraid to show off his good looking legs?"

Again I expected a land rush of eager volunteers but what happened was dead silence. I realized that a number of them knew about my summer workouts and boxing lessons because I had made a point of leaking this information in my first two classes hoping it might deter some of the more aggressive boys from working me over. I stared at the crowd that had so vociferously jeered me from their seats a few moments before and they all looked away.

Not so with the chief bully boy. When he saw no one was volunteering he told the gym instructor he would be more than happy to bust me up. One of his sidekicks put on the chief bully boy's gloves and Mr. Mack came over to put mine on. Before he started I pulled off my shirt and undershirt because I knew the over tight shirt would get ripped when fists started to fly, especially after I started sweating up and it would be sticking to me.

As he was leaning over lacing my gloves up he started hurriedly whispering, "Remember everything your dad taught you and above all get rid of your mad so you can think clearly. I want you to play with him and let him chase you around for awhile. I want you to make him look like the real ass that he is. When I give you the signal, put him away; gently understand. Above all I don't want you to kill him. Remember these are lethal weapons you have on the ends of your arms. Just a light tap mind you. I don't want him in the hospital."

There was no ring or mat of course. We had the area of the entire basketball court to move around in. Mr. Mack had us square off. Chief bully boy couldn't wait to get a few shots at my kisser as he lunged flat footed toward me. Of course I was on my toes and simply danced out of his way, his shots missing their mark or deftly deflected by my glove. Once, twice; just like a bull fight. As I backed away circling so that we stayed in front of our audience it was just like a tango.

There was no question my opponent was one bull of a kid; probably around two hundred and twenty pounds and not too much of that outside of maybe his brain was fat. I was the nimble but wimpy bull fighter, deftly parrying his ferocious attack.

Our enthralled audience quickly saw that one of the schools major tormentors and troublemakers was being made to look like an ass. He was throwing blockbuster punches that if they had landed would have instantly sent me to la la land. All of these I would either deftly dodge or deflect with my gloves. This kid wasn't telegraphing his punches, he was plastering them on a bill board. After a minute or so into our waltz I knew what he was going to throw at me before his pea brain even made the decision. He was frustrated and his anger was mounting. He was totally oblivious of the shouts and laughter that attended his futile efforts to kill me.

All this time I was circling in front of our audience while backing away from him. At one point we were lined up with him between me and the rest of the group and I decided to chance letting him have a really good shot at me. I opened myself up and let him gave me a massive shot to the gut, at least it looked that way to the crowd. Actually I drew back just as his punch was landing and although it sounded solid and stung me a good bit it did little damage. A hit like that would have folded up most of the kids sitting there. They didn't know that I had dodged most of the blow, and I was hoping they would be awed at my seeming ability to take punishment.

Bully boy was quickly wearing himself out and running out of steam so I stood my ground and gave him a few love taps on the cheeks. Bing bing, he didn't even see them coming. Uh oh, the needle on his pressure gage suddenly shot up into the red zone. He made a quick grab for me and I wasn't as nimble as I should have been and he managed to get me in a bear hug. He had my arms pinned but they were in front of me between us. I pushed against his chest with all the strength I had. Because it was a very humid day I had started to sweat up. Wearing the boxing gloves bully boy couldn't maintain his grip behind my back. I suddenly popped him away from me like removing the metal cap from a glass soda bottle. With the force of my push and the suddenness of the release bully boy didn't have time to get his feet under himself as he shot backwards. As a result he landed with a thud square on his ass on the oak floor. Our audience roared.

I danced away from him as the gym instructor rushed over to check him out Except for other than a bruised ego and ass he wasn't otherwise the worse for wear. Bully boy quickly regained his feet as Mackey yelled at him to nail the wimpy kid. He came at me again with a real vengeance. It was also obvious he was becoming a quick learner because he realized it was much harder for me to give him my little love taps if he kept his gloves up in front of his face. In addition he was no longer killing himself by heaving an endless string of hay makers at me. I suddenly began to question who was going to be last on their feet.

I noted on the wall clock as we continued our dance that we had been at it for at least five minutes. I made a point of being positioned so most of our ring side audience could see me, looked over to Mr. Mack, and mouthed 'now'. He nodded and I let bully boy have a solid right to the midsection. A room audible ugh escaped from his mouth as he dropped his guard leaving him wide open for my left uppercut to his chin. I tried to gage the force of the punch so that it would just stun him. I wanted to avoid knocking him out if only for a second or two. Because of his size and weight I wasn't sure I could handle his fall and prevent him from fracturing his skull on the hard floor should he keel right over backward. As it happened he went down with a thud landing on his left hip and rolling backward. As he started down I made a dive for him and just managed to get my right glove under the back of his neck before his head would have whacked the floor. He actually wasn't actually out, just stunned, so I quickly lowered his head to the floor and jumped away.

Meantime the moment after the blow Mackey came rushing over. I would have never believed a forty year old close to three hundred pound man could move that fast. Mackey wouldn't let bully boy get up because he was still dazed. Mr. Mack then pulled out a tube of smelling salts which quickly brought him around. Man was this whole show a set up or what? I felt like the star actor in a play and the only one who had not seen the script. Bully boys two buddies also came over to the huddle on the floor and convinced him the fight was over and removed his gloves. I knew better. Tomorrow was another day. I also knew the next time I would not likely to be still on my feet when the dust settled.

Mr. Mack then grabbed my arm and raised it as a sign of victory. The grin on his face left the audience little doubt he was pleased that I had managed to put bully boy in his place. Most of the kids there looked pleased as well. He then proceeded to ask if anyone else thought I was a sissy because I was wearing shorts. To my immense relief there was no response. I had little doubt that a few of the more athletic boys sitting there could have taken me, not only because they were big and strong, but because they knew how to handle themselves in a fight as well. They were also more mature and would restrict any fighting to self defense only.

To my continued embarrassment Mr. Mack then went on to extol the manly bravery I had exhibited in bucking the dress norm for sixteen year olds. He challenged the boys to all join me in donning abbreviated trousers. I knew that he would really like that because we all suspected he shared a secret passion for boys that were wearing short pants. He went on, as father had mentioned, that any kid who wore shorts to school for at least half a semester would get an automatic A+ in gym. I thought 'fat chance'. It was unlikely that any of the college preppies would trade a perfect score on the SAT test for a chance to endure the jeers, taunts, and perhaps physical abuse that wearing shorts to school would engender.

At lunch time, as per my normal routine, I ran down town to the restaurant in one of the small hotels downtown for my lunch. I got plenty of stares from the adults on the street as I passed by. As I sat at the lunch bar eating my tuna sandwich a burly gentlemen seated next to me wanted to know if I wasn't too big to be running around in short pants. I told him no. I enjoyed the coolness and freedom they provided. It happened it was a hot humid fall day and some other guy remarked I was the only smart one there. At  least I looked to be a lot cooler.

Except for the stares the rest of the day was uneventful. No one bothered me. In fact no one except Dave, Mike, Bob, and two other guys I paled around with even talked to me. By the last period I noticed that no one seemed to be talking anywhere near where I happened to be. It was a great climate to get a suddenly over fat head except I knew that I had at least three enemies who were out for my blood. I just really wanted to either be accepted or ignored.

When I got home I left my school clothes on. When dad showed up he asked if that was the outfit I had worn to school. When I answered in the affirmative he replied that he was confident that I would have enough guts to wear scout shorts to school. He then wanted a complete run down on the events of my day. He was very pleased with my boxing prowess but I sensed he was not all that pleased that I had actually worn the shorts. He made a point of reminding me that I was going to have to prove myself to the rest of the kids every day and that no matter how tough I was there was always someone bigger and tougher. How well I knew. I was not looking forward to tomorrow.

Since he didn't seem too enthused I pressed the issue of my wearing shorts to school and he replied, "I'm in favor of your fearless commitment but I am not in favor of your motivation for wearing young boys clothing. Boys when they grow up to be men usually put away childish toys like balloons and dress like adults. I think you are allowing your sexual deviations to force you into taking actions that are not going to be beneficial to you short term or later in life. Your balloon fetish you have been able to hide so far, but sooner or later you are going to get caught and it will be very embarrassing both to you and this family. I think as far as your short pants fetish, and that's what it is isn't it, you look good in shorts and I like seeing you wear them; but in our society boys your age and men just don't wear them in public. I don't think they are proper attire for school boys above sixth grade. However since you seem determined to expose yourself to your classmate's ridicule as well as possible personal injury you will wear your scout uniform to school in the future."

"Does that mean I am to wear the shirt and neckerchief as well," I asked?"

"Absolutely. That shirt you've got on is too small for you and maybe some of the bigger boys will help you get rid of those silly neck rags you seem to enjoy wearing so much," father retorted.

The next morning when I get dressed I couldn't bring myself to face the embarrassment of wearing the neckerchief from the scout troop in town so I wore one of the generic ones I had; green with yellow border. Father waited to check me out before he left for work and he immediately insisted I wear the bright yellow troop 35 neckerchief from the local troop with Pedro the Philmont donkey's head on it. I went upstairs and switched neckerchiefs as commanded. I knew I couldn't switch back after he left, or better yet not wear one at all, because I was certain he was being kept abreast of everything that was happening to me through his network of teacher friends in school.

The bus ride in was uneventful. The kids still gave me more than the usual attention but it was obvious the novelty of my abbreviated costume seemed to be wearing off. To my surprise slow Sam made a point again of letting me know he was prepared to back me up if the bully boys gave me any trouble. When we arrived at school I made my way quickly into the building with Slow Sam at my side. Unlike the previous day, although they still stared and tittered, the others moved aside forming a nice wide isle for Sam and me to pass through. The three bully boys were lounging under a nearby tree as we went by and made no comment or moved to stop us.

The morning classes passed quickly and more people were coming over to talk to me. Most mentioned the splendid job I did on chief bully boy. To my surprise the boys in my classes, including some of the big bruisers, seemed willing to accept my attire and several indicated they if they owned a pair of shorts and their parents would let them wear them to school they would be willing to as a sign of support. Of course they also knew they would never be put to the test because their parents would never allow it.

I did get some very embarrassing questions from members of the scout troop as to why I was wearing a  scout uniform to school to begin with, where I had gotten it since it was obsolete several years earlier with the cotton stockings and shorter fuller cut shorts, and what I was doing with one of their neckerchiefs. The only answer I had was that dad had gotten permission from the scoutmaster, Mr. Mack, and my father had made me wear them. I showed them my brand new scout membership card. It and my explanation didn't really satisfy the older boys my age. They were aware that I hadn't attended a troop meeting in four years. Thankfully they went away and left me alone.

After I returned from lunch there was still a half hour to kill before the afternoon session started. We got a hour for lunch because there was no cafeteria and the kids that lived in town were supposed to run home to eat. For the most part the bus kids brown bagged it and ate their lunch in the auditorium. Because it happened to be a bright sunny day, most of the bus kids were outside lounging under the trees eating. Since I was still being treated except for the college preppies in my classes as though I were highly radioactive and to avoid having kids get up and move away from me, I went to a spot behind the school where there was a small grove of trees. This is where I usually spent my after lunch time in previous years. Relatively few kids were there, just some guys with their girl friends.

I got the usual stares and whispered comments as I went over to sit on a low wall that held the embankment for the one end of our only tennis court. I was faced away from the school and as I sat I suddenly sensed the presence of a crowd behind me.

The group was about thirty strong, mostly older boys, and lading the pack was chief bully boy. I had little doubt he was not there to smoke the peace pipe with me. I also wondered where his sidekicks were.

I stood up and watched as he made his approach and stopped about ten feet in front of me. I quickly glanced behind me, and yep, there were his buddies closing in from the rear. He wasn't taking any chances on my escaping his planned retribution. He knew I was fleet of foot and could likely out run him so he wasn't taking any chances. Now if only this was going to be a one on one there might be a chance I would get to see the sun set tonight, but the presence of his cohorts at my back said otherwise.

His buddies quickly closed in on me from the side and rear. I shouted out to him loud enough so the crowd could hear, "What's the matter tough guy. You need your two friends here to hold me so I won't beat the shit out of you. You fight a cowards fight."

Chief bully boy went livid as the crowd quickly separated from him and formed a large circle around us. As soon as I had finished my comment his one buddy that was closing in from the side immediately turned shamefaced and walked away back to the forming circle. The other one coming up behind me, a big fairly fat kid, lunged at me as bully boy moved in for the kill. A couple of the kids shouted to warn me to the attack from my rear. As he was about to grab me from the rear in a bear hug I threw up my elbows as his encircling arms made a grab for my chest. Just as he was about to close his grip on me I spun to the left and let him have my elbow with everything I had behind it right to his mid section. My attacker let out a sudden woof and I felt the blast of his breath on the back of my neck just before he collapsed in a heap directly behind me.

Bully boy had started his rush at me just as his henchman was making his grab. I knew the guy was right behind me and I jumped backwards as high as I could to escape the raging bull that was one stride away from me. It wasn't enough. My feet caught the fallen boy's left shoulder and I went over backward, spun further to the left, and landed on my left hand and knee in the gravel. Because of the momentum of my spin I was able to get my feet back under me enabling me to leap back up while still turning to the left allowing me to face my primary attacker, all in one smooth motion.

Bully boy was so focused on punching in my face I don't think he even realized his buddy, who had collapsed with his ass landing down on his feet and was now rapidly falling over backwards because I had caught my legs on his shoulder, was right in front of his feet. Bully boy stumbled into his legs and pitched face forward over top of him; catching his fall with his outstretched hands just inches from my feet.

It must have been all the years of my civilized upbringing because without even thinking, instead of jumping away from his possible grasp, I reached down to grab his hand and help him get to his feet. He paused a moment looking at my outstretched hand and the red ooze that was forming on my knee that had hit the ground. I then told him in a voice loud enough for all to hear that I didn't want a fight, I just wanted to be left alone. Bully boy gave me a resigned look and grabbed hold of my hand and I helped him to his feet. As he got up I noticed that the palm of his right hand was scraped and oozing blood just like my knee.

We then both turned our attention to his fallen comrade who had managed to recover his breath and was attempting to get up. He was not a happy camper and the genuine pain that was registering on his face had me worried I might have busted his ribs or seriously injured him internally. When we got him to his feet he pulled away from us and let everybody know that he would take care of me some other day. There were loud boos from the crowd.

I turned to bully boy and asked him, "Can't we just call this a draw. I am painfully aware I look like a sissy geek in these short pants but that's what I have to wear. I don't want to get the shit beat out of me over it."

Then to my surprise bully boy said, "You're right; it would have been a cowards fight. My boys were only supposed to keep you from running off on me. Now you made me look like a GD ass again in front of all the guys."

I shot back, "Think about it. You are the one that's angry and attacking me. I know when I'm mad I don't think straight and I really have made an ass of myself on many occasions as well. You are bigger and stronger than me, but I have a major advantage over you because I have had boxing lessons all summer and I know to defend myself and hurt you. Can't we just call a truce?"

Bully boy thought this over for a moment and replied, "I'll tell you what. You teach me how to fight like you and I'll let you alone. I'll also see that nobody else bothers you either."

I said, "Deal. Can we shake on it?"

As he reached out his hand he noticed the gathering blood on his palm from when he fell and announced, "This is all we really wanted to do to you."

He quickly bent over and smeared the palm of his right hand on my right knee. "There, now you have two knees that match," he beamed.

The crown suddenly broke up and quickly moved away. Uh oh! Just as I thought I was home free a deep booming voice from behind me announced that the three of us were to report to the principal's office immediately. I knew the voice and so did everyone else. I turned and faced the hulk of our school principal striding toward us, and he didn't look like a happy camper.

As he stood in front of us he announced in a stern voice, "You know I don't allow any fighting at school. Now march."

Our principal wasn't an overly large man but was one of those guys that just exude authority. He would have been an ideal candidate for a state trooper. He stood behind chief bully boy and me and grabbed out shoulders, one in each hand, and dug his fingers in. This grip produces a somewhat uncomfortable feeling; in fact it hurt like hell. We both involuntarily registered the required expressions on our faces. PAIN as we walked in front of him.

When we got to his office I was surprised to see the gym instructor already there. I really didn't understand whet the principal's problem was because I wouldn't call the confrontation we had much of a fight; more like a fiasco. I had witnessed a couple of really brutal battles in the past when combatants got busted up pretty badly, but other than bully boy's sidekick getting the wind knocked out of him and the two of us tripping over him, there really wasn't much other action. I was glad bully boy's other buddy had walked away and wasn't implicated.

I was hoping the gym instructor was going to cover for me but as the principal walked behind his desk he immediately lit into him regarding the boxing match he had 'engineered' the day before. The gym instructor must have been expecting his tirade because he just stood there staring at the top of the principal's desk along with the rest of us. At the first pause in the verbal attack the gym instructor asked the principal if he didn't think resolving conflicts under controlled conditions using boxing gloves to reduce serious injury wasn't a better approach. The principal retorted, "No, not when the situation didn't warrant conflict to begin with and only added to the initial antagonism."

I didn't want to get my class mates or the gym instructor in any more hot water then we apparently were so I butted in and said, "Look, I am really the cause of all of this. If I hadn't worn this Boy Scout outfit to school none of this would have happened."

The principal immediately turned his ire on me as he bellowed, "You're damn right. I shouldn't have agreed with your dad to let you wear shorts to school. I knew the guys would want to beat up on you and cause trouble. If I catch you outside of gym class with other than long pants on for the rest of the year you will get a two week suspension; understand?

The principal then turned to the bully boys and let them know if they went near me or gave any other student grief they would be out of school on their ass. He then dismissed us except for the gym instructor. I thought he owed the gym instructor a real apology because I couldn't believe he would dress down a teacher the way he had in front of students. As I turned to leave I asked him if he would please call my father and explain that I wasn't allowed to wear shorts to school. He said he would be more than glad to. As I scurried to get to my homeroom for the afternoon sessions I wondered why the principal had said I couldn't wear shorts just for this year instead of never.

That night after I got home I again left my school outfit on, Pedro neckerchief and all, and waited for my dad's review. He was late getting home with my step mom and he didn't appear to have had a very good day. I was hoping it wasn't the result of a phone call I'm sure he received about one o'clock. When he finally got settled and changed into his leisure clothes. he offhandedly remarked, "I hear you had some problems today at school."

That was it, so I assumed he wanted me to fill him in on my perception of what happened. I had no idea what the principal had told him. I made a point of telling him bully boy wanted me to give him some boxing lessons and would it be OK. He said he would check with bully boy's parents first to see if there were any liability concerns; otherwise no problem.

Then he paused while he looked me over then said, "You are not going to be able to show off your pretty legs in school any more, so I guess we will have to get you some teen age boys school clothes to wear."

As much as I enjoy wearing shorts, I was all in favor of wearing long pants at school. Since a major source of my embarrassment had been outlawed, I was concerned that their might be ramifications regarding my extensive shorts stash. He might just decide that his big little boy wasn't going to show off his bare legs any longer; but I couldn't think of any way to safely bring my concern up so I let the thought pass.

"I can't believe you actually wore that silly jackass neck rag to school," Dad continued. "Do they turn you on like the shorts do?"

Uh oh. Trouble coming.

I replied, "No, I wore it because you insisted this morning remember?"

"Well I think it looks silly on a big boy like you. Take it off and let me see it," father retorted.

I did think neckerchiefs made me and other boys look sexy, especially when they were wearing knee socks and shorts with them. I surely wasn't going to give him an argument over it especially since the rest of my scoutfit was at stake; so I pulled it off and handed it to him. It was quite damp both from the heat of the day as well as my emotions. He grabbed the ends in each hand and snapped the thin cotton cloth taut several times. Today was the first time it had been worn so the cotton fabric was as strong as it would ever be. Even so I was amazed it didn't suddenly rip in half as he repeatedly snapped it taut.

"Why do you want to destroy it?" I queried. "I am really going to need it if you actually want me to be a part of the scout troop in town. I agree it's embarrassing for me to wear it anywhere else; and I don't plan to except when I am out hiking."

Dad glared at the yellow cloth stretched tightly between his hands. "I just feel like it. You can get another from the troop. They have a lot more, I'm sure," he said absentmindedly. "Let's see how well this damp rag will burn."

He got up and I followed him out to the back yard and behind our barn to the incinerator. There were some rusty wire tomato cages propped against the back of the barn and he grabbed one and pushed it into the ground to steady it. Then he draped the neckerchief over the top. I yelled, "No, wait. I have a better idea."

I grabbed another tomato cage and set it up about three feet from the first. I then tied the extreme ends of the neckerchief to each of the cages so the corner of the triangle with Pedro and the troop logo hung down. "There, that should let it really burn," I commented.

This was the one portion that wasn't overly damp and as dad applied his cigarette lighter to the thin cotton the flames quickly raced upward generating heavy whitish smoke from the water that was trapped in the cloth. The bright yellow fabric quickly turned into black ash that blended into the black printing. In just a few seconds the flames had traveled from the corner up to the diagonal edge stretched between the two tomato cages. The flames then raced outward toward each end of the triangle as the burned center section parted and the remaining burning sections of the neckerchief dropped straight down from their moorings making it even easier for the hungry flames to devour what remained.

Even being wet the neckerchief was gone in sixty seconds. My penis was oozing and I hoped I wasn't showing too much frontal bulge. Hooray for baggy shorts. Father seemed pleased with his destructive work and I was hoping he would not suggest that we finish off the few other neckerchiefs I had in a similar fashion. Rev. Date: 3/03.
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