Act 5, Scene 1
Nigel and Evan and the Facts of Life
Friday, April 16th, 4:30 pm
Tea at the Macmillan residence. Angela is putting out a plate of
biscuits and milk, then sets a pot of tea to steep. Claris rummages
about the parlour, collecting up clothes and other indispensible
paraphernalia girls require for a sleep over at her friend's house,
just a few doors down. Nigel is upstairs with Evan, who had come by
after school to play.
By the grace of his incantation, Nigel has passed the entire week at
Wickham without disrobing in public-excepting in the lavatory, with
Evan at lunch, and once in class during a film about volcanoes, but
only after Mrs. Farthley had turned off the lights. One can't expect
miracles right off. Still it was such a positive development that
Headmaster Chandler informs Mr. and Mrs. Macmillan of the improvement.
Nigel's parents attribute the change to Father Schroeder. At home,
Nigel seems to chant his silly ditty incessantly, disturbing domestic
sanity and bringing his mother and sister, and his father close to
screaming, which Nigel concludes is proof positive his incantation
works.
"Bye, Mum," Claris announced, shouldering her bag and heading for the
door.
"Bye, dear. Come on back if you've forgot anything," her mother said,
then added, "and don't be staying up all night jabbering!"
"Yes, Mother ... "Claris rolled her eyes, in reality thinking, "Fat
chance of that."
"That's a good girl," Angela replied, knowing that would happen when
hell froze over.
Then she looked up the stairs.
"Nigel," Mum called, "Come down. I've put out biscuits and milk for
you and Evan."
She could just make out the singing of two high voices floating down
the staircase.
"Everybody's going to stare at ...."
"Lord, give me strength ..." she swore. "Nigel!"
There was a desperate sound of shoes clattering down the stairs, and
Nigel appeared at her side.
"Take this plate upstairs," she said, "I'll get the milk."
They climbed the stairs together and entered Nigel's bedroom, which
was a narrow space consumed almost entirely by two pieces of furniture
... a dresser and a four-poster bed. The floor itself was all but
invisible, carpeted by a jumble of toys and books and boyhood clutter.
As Angela came in, Evan, who had been lying on the bed sniggering over
some of the more spicy pictures in the Royal Geographic, slapped the
magazine closed and jammed it under his belly.
"Mummy," Nigel began, working up his courage, "Can Evan have a sleep
over with me tonight? Claris is having one. Can I? Please?"
Evan looked up and gave an overemphasised grin, making him look
slightly mad.
"You've been so very good this week, I suppose it would be alright."
She said hesitantly, wondering what Roger might say, but she added,
"I'll call your mother, Evan, and see what she says."
"Thank you, Mrs. Macmillan." Evan said. "I'm so very grateful for your
kindness."
Angela gave the boy a queer look.
"Right," she smirked, and stepped out of the room.
Both boys nearly let out a squeal of delight, but judiciously held it
in. Instead, they leaped on the four-poster and did a dance of
exhilaration, sending the headboard banging away on the wall.
"Stop jumping on the bed!" They heard Nigel's mom yell from
downstairs. "Now be quiet. I'm calling your mum!"
The boys clapped Nigel's incantation together for luck.
"Monkey's dirty underwear ... Monkey's dirty underwear ..."
"Alright, Evan." Mrs. Macmillan's voice presently echoed at them,
"Your mum said it was alright. Wanted me to keep you for a week ...
can you imagine!"
So the two chums did another celebration dance on the bed.
"Get off the bleeding bed!"
Leaping off, the boys took up the glasses of milk and the plate of
biscuits and sat on the floor.
"You shouldn't say my incantation, you know," Nigel said. "Harry did
it 'specially for me. You have to get your own. Mine won't work for
you."
"Well, how do I get it, then?"
"From Harry, I suppose."
"Can I make it up myself?" Evan wondered.
"I don't think so," Nigel cautioned, taking a bite of shortbread and a
gulp of milk. "Someone has to give it to you."
Evan ignored him and suggested his own version
.
"How about this ... Monkey's poopy smalls, poopy smalls. Everyone can
smell his poopy ... !"
He could barely get through it, so slain he was by hilarious laughter.
"Oh, that is so DISGUSTING!" Nigel said. "You just copied mine and you
made it nasty."
"Did not." Evan replied, and chanted his version again.
"Did, too!" Nigel responded, and began chanting his incantation more
loudly.
"Boys! Put a sock in the monkey business, for God's sake!" Angela
shouted from below. "I can hear you through blooming walls!" They
heard her turn up the tellie.
Nigel kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks, then picked up
the Royal Geographic and sat on the edge of his bed.
"Do you want to look at pictures?" he asked Evan.
"Alright." Evan pried his shoes off without unlacing them ... he
always put them on the same way, which explained why the backs were
collapsed ... then took of his own socks and, balling them up, threw
them at Nigel, who ducked away.
"Missed." he said as Evan bounced onto the mattress and sat beside
him. The two boys looked at the Geographic for a time, Nigel turning
the pages patiently and Evan making funny comments about the naked
Indians.
"Oh, look. She's so fat she's got three!"
"She doesn't have THREE. That's her stomach, you silly."
"I bet the piranhas bit it off when he went swimming," Evan surmised.
"Don't be silly. Indians don't go swimming with piranhas."
"Sure they do."Evan insisted, "Look here. He's got no willy. A
piranha bit it off."
"Did, not."
"Did, too."
"Well, look!" his friend insisted, pointing, "None of them have
willies. Here, and here, and here ..."
Nigel scrutinised each of the pictures. Evan was right. None of the
Indian boys or men had penises, nor did they have testicles. It was a
very disturbing discovery, and it made Nigel uncomfortable, and he
began fidgeting. He studied the pictures for quite a long time.
"I don't believe it," he finally said, "Look here. She's got a baby.
If they've got babies, then they have to have willies."
"What?" Evan asked, completely flummoxed. "How's that?"
"When a mummy and daddy want a baby," Nigel patiently explained, "The
daddy gives the mummy a baby with his willy."
"Get on!" Evan blurted derisively, "A baby can't fit through a
willy!"
"It stretches, you know." Nigel said simply. Without further
explanation, the boy pulled his zip down, probed about with a finger,
and pulled out his penis. He stretched it to the length of a school
pencil.
"You see?"
"It doesn't stretch sideways." Evan protested.
"It would if there was a baby." Nigel nodded wisely. "Does yours
stretch?"
"I don't know," Evan responded, feeling a bit self-conscious. "I've
never stretched it."
"Really!" Nigel exclaimed incredulously, as if his friend had somehow
missed learning a basic childhood skill, "Come on, let's see."
Evan pulled on his zip, and the front of his trousers instantly
parted, for he always had trouble securing the waist button. Giggling
self-consciously, he fished about.
"There!" Evan announced.
"Where?" his friend squinted dubiously, "You can't even see it."
"It's short, that's why."
Nigel slid off the bed and, in one deft move, slid both his trousers
and his smalls down to his ankles.
"You'd better say your monkey's dirty underwear." Evan warned.
Instead of answering, Nigel hopped toward the bedroom door, very
nearly getting tangled in the trousers and tumbling to the floor. He
caught himself on the knob, and then quietly pushed the door nearly
closed, purposely leaving it slightly ajar.
"Mum won't hear us this way, but I can hear her," he said, kicking off
his trousers and flinging his underpants onto a bedpost. He was then
reduced to his white school polo.
"Can I see it?" Nigel asked politely.
Evan inserted his hands into his trousers and whities. Bending over
slightly, he slid them down until they bunched up at his ankles. He
used a bare foot to pry them off one leg, then the other. When he
straightened up, his large school shirt fell over his round stomach,
concealing the object of interest.
"Aren't you going to let me see?" Nigel asked impatiently.
Evan could only vibrate in bottled up laughter, his dark eyes gleaming
and his face red. Nigel suddenly ducked his head down to steal a peek
and Evan squeaked like a mouse and retreated to the corner, stretching
his shirt down to his knees. Nigel pursued, flying over the bed and
landing with a thump at his friend's feet.
"Hold down the ruckus, boys!" It was Nigel's mum, from downstairs,
"I'm on the phone with your dad!"
"Shhhh!" Nigel cautioned, and Evan glanced toward the door. Seeing
him distracted, Nigel seized the opportunity to thrust a finger up
under his friend's shirt.
Evan let out a squeal and attempted to retaliate in kind. The pursuit
was on, and all modesty was immediately thrown out. Up against the
dresser, then knocking over a glass of milk, swinging around the
bedposts and vaulting onto the bed, scrambling beneath the old quilt
and behind Pooh pillows, the boys fenced with foils of fingers,
advancing, parrying, feint and glide, looking to score points below
the belt, as it were. Nigel and Evan at last collapsed on the bed in
hysterics. They lay there on their backs, intermittently panting and
giggling.
Nigel suddenly sat up and slipped his polo off. He shone of
perspiration, his cheeks flushed like cherries.
"Now I'm altogether starkers," he observed. "Can I see your willy?"
Evan gave an exuberant, toothy grin, and promptly pulled the front of
the shirt down over his personal parts.
"You can't see, you can't see," he grinned mischievously, rapidly
flashing his shirt up and down repeatedly. Sitting on the bed naked
with his legs folded beneath him, Nigel patiently waited with a
serious expression. At last, Evan lifted his shirt. His friend
leaned forward and scrutinized Evan's penis with the seriousness of a
paediatrician.
"It's not small," Nigel concluded, "It looks like it is because you're
all puffy 'round here and," he paused, craning his neck, "Under here,
too."
"I'm fat," Evan said, "That's why."
"But it's very nice ... it round on the end, like a tootsie-pop, not
floppy like mine." Nigel said, "I think it is a nice willy."
"Really?" Evan smiled.
As he lay there feeling very good about that, Nigel suddenly threw
himself on his chubby friend, seized his arms and lay the full length
of his body down on top of him, pinning Evan to the mattress. They
wrestled for a time, grunting and guffawing. Being the bigger boy,
Evan could have easily peeled his skinny friend off, had he wanted.
Suddenly, the chubby boy gave a surprised yelp.
"You've got a stiffy!" he exclaimed.
"Do, not," Nigel said.
"Do, too!"
"Do, not!"
Evan rolled Nigel off of him and raised up on his elbows.
"See!" he proclaimed, "You've got a stiffy!"
"Well, so do you," Nigel retorted, "See."
"Only because you got one, first."
Both of them suddenly fell quiet, because, truthfully, neither had
ever seen another boy's erect penis, perhaps particularly peculiar
since Evan had four brothers. In unspoken and mutual consent, each
carefully and very politely examined the other, making sober
observations on the mutual qualities of their members.
"You've got a skinny one."
"Yours looks like a little sausage."
"Yours goes straight out and mine's a bit crooked."
"Oh, the tip is poking out. It looks like a cherry."
"Don't! That feels funny."
"That tickles!"
"Look! I can make it bounce up and down."
"Mine's like a tent pole."
"Mine is higher than yours!"
"So ... I can pick up Piglet!"
Quiet descended on the bedroom for a time. Evan broke the silence.
"Can I look in your bum?" he inquired.
At that moment, the bedroom door slowly creaked open. Petrified, the
boys glanced up. In trotted the family cat, Poohkums. Relief rushed
over them.
"Let's play a funny game with Poohkums," Nigel looked hopefully at
Evan, and then looked at the cat.
"Here, Poohkums. Kitty, kitty, kitty ..."
HMSVV2010
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