LCM Debagged

I thought it only apt, with this blog being named as it is, to recount a moment which may qualify as the most embarrassing of my life to date. A serious debagging incident indeed.

In the fourth year of my secondary school education a group of pupils undertook the Duke of Edinburgh’s award (bronze), involving a compulsary trek in the Cumbrian Hills. On completion it was decided that we should have a dip in an inviting tarn (or waterhole), freshen up a little.

Now I didn’t wish to get my boxers wet, only to have to walk back to the campsite in dripping drawers, so I whipped them off from under my shorts (‘Mr.Bean’ style). A clever trick (me thought).

So I was standing, looking out onto the small tarn, where girls and boys alike paddled and bathed and generally celebrated puberty, when Gareth Walker (first class prick) comes up behind me and yanks down my swimming shorts, pointless white netting and all, to reveal my peach fuzz and pecker to my peers. LUCKILY only a couple noticed and were not too perturbed, I whipped them back up quick like.

So now I tied that nylon draw cord in the top of my shorts as tight as I could, a preventative measure in case the same should happen again. And it did. But this time, because I’d drawn the cord so tight, I couldn’t get the tiny tight shorts back up past my thighs. A few folks turned to see what the fuss was about. I turned my back to them, my milky white seat glaring out towards the water, and tugged at my shorts to pull them up. More and more turned towards the scene. “Don’t LOOK AT ME!”, I called, panicking at this stage. I tugged back and forth and eventually got the problematic trunks back on.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough.

Later that evening I was strolling through the campsite, and overhead a conversation emerging from the tent of two of the most popular girls in the school. It was quiet, granted, but I definately made out one saying to the other, “Was Stuart Drummond having a wank by the lake today?”.

Welcome to LCM,

Stuart