Mixed Singles

We walked from the boys' changing-room and out onto the courts, the backs of our white pleated skirts flapping on our frills behind. At once a female voice sang out:

“Tennis panties on parade!”

There were blushes all round. For these lessons we didn't just have to put up with the girls we were actually playing, but also several from the year below who had a free period and came to the sports hall to watch. The whole thing was stupid and embarrassing if you asked me, because it wasn’t like we boys were even any good at it! Not compared to the girls, at any rate, as we’d all learned the hard way from mixed singles. And making us dress the same as them sure wasn't any help!

“They'll tease us about these gym clothes as long as we've got to wear them,” I complained in a whisper to my friend in front of me. “The skirts are bad enough, but if they’re going to make tennis underpants that fit us boys in front, why can’t they get rid of the lace on the legs and bum while they’re at it?”

“I know!” my friend whispered back, blushing. “Didn’t it occur to them that boys don’t much like going around in little white frilly-frillies?”

I gave mine a few final pulls and pings to get them to sit in place, all with a dissatisfied little grimace. They sure were made to fit boys because they covered everything in front, wrapped the whole lot up a great deal more snugly than was needed in fact. So they made you hot down there, and on top of that they were too tight, and too stretchy so there was too much bounce when you were running around the court trying to hit the ball back. Those inconveniences however were nothing to the utter cringe of showing line after line of pretty frills on your bottom, which everyone got to see if you were playing in a tennis skirt! As I’d told my friend, I liked the underwear part of this lesson least of all. And that was saying something!

Our tennis teacher began putting us into boy-girl pairs as usual. When I ended up partnered with Katy, my heart sank. Oh no, I had to be the unluckiest boy ever! Katy was a nightmare, and way better at tennis than me. I so didn't feel up to this!

When everybody separated and went off in their couples to find an individual court, I hurried after the teacher and stopped her. I was squirming and cringing with shame as well as fright, a blush standing out across my nose. I shuffled my feet. With one hand I held up and shyly twisted the side of my tennis skirt as the teacher turned to me.

“Please, um, do I have to play the girl you’ve put me with?” I began, cringing as I heard the scared desperation in my own voice. I looked down and rubbed my feet together. “I don't think I can beat her, she's really good. Can’t I swap her with one of the others instead?”

“You’ve got to play with who I put you with,” said the teacher. She must have been loving this! But I couldn’t let that matter right now.

“Please!” I begged, twisting my skirt yet more. “Katy's only going to make me look stupid in front of those girls who are watching, and – ”

“That's not my problem,” the teacher said bluntly, folding her arms. This time her gratification at my overwrought state was even plainer – I could practically see a smile glimmering on her face. I’d had enough!

“Fine!” I fumed back, planting my hands on my short-skirted hips and looking daggers at her. Then I twirled myself round, hoping for the very first time in my life that my tennis skirt would flare up when I did so and give her a good view of the frilly back of my underpants. From the feel of it, my white pleats didn't let me down – they never had so far, at any rate!

This accomplished, I flounced to my court. Well, stuff that down your support-panel, tennis teacher! There had in fact been something enormously satisfying in being able to flaunt my underwear at her, almost intoxicating in fact. The same sort of thing had happened to me so often that it was quite something to turn the tables for once.

Comforted a little, but not really any less frightened about what was to come, I went reluctantly and timidly over to where Katy was ready for me. It looked like there was nothing else for it. I’d just have to try my best!

With that thought I purposefully tugged my skirt, first at the front and then the back. If girls can do it, we can. That was what I told myself every week before tennis, and I’d never needed it more than I did now!

Taking rather small steps I walked onto the court, pleated skirt shimmying. On the other side of the net waited my opponent. There were a lot of those girls from lower school sitting and lounging around on the boundaries too, looking like they were anticipating a good show.

I took a deep breath, so deep that the hem of my skirt lifted. Then I stuffed a spare ball up my knickers, ready for when I was going to need it. Lastly I gripped my racquet in both hands and pushed my bottom out. I was very, very frightened.

Whack! Katy served, harder and faster than I could ever hope to return. It had bounced from my half of the court before I’d even had a chance to move. As our audience burst into sarcastic whoops and whistles, I gasped. I'd known she was good at tennis, but I’d never thought a girl could be that much better than me! I watched her pull her spare ball out from whatever underwear she had on beneath her tennis skirt, and so I got ready again, even more scared than I had been last time. Twang! Exactly the same thing happened.

“Aw, what’s the matter, can’t keep up?” Katy asked me cheekily.

Fitful and breathless, my face burning red, I glanced helplessly at the watching girls. That was a big mistake. I didn’t want them there in the first place, and I really didn’t need to see just how much they were enjoying this.

I whipped back round and got ready again, indignant now. Katy and I had drawn the largest crowd, and I knew exactly why! She was such a tennis star that everyone knew it would be entertaining whenever she played a boy, and sure enough these girls had gathered en masse to watch the fun. Well, I decided, getting all competitive, in that case I might just start winning and spoil their fun!

But I couldn’t. Her serves were just too fast for me. Two more and the first game was over. The spectators erupted into a cacophony of catcalls and jeering, and my temper began to stir.

Trying to control it, I fiercely pushed out my bum for our second game. It was identical to the first. Same four fast serves that I couldn’t return, same horrid responses from the girls. I tugged my skirt down, harder than was necessary, and bobbed back into position scowling.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Another game. By now my hormones were going through the roof. We played two more, both just the same, in which I proceeded to foot-stamping and racquet-swishing and knickers-tugging and all the other major signs of boyish tennis irritation, each one greeted by fits of giggles from courtside that pushed my temperature ever higher. By the end of game number five I was about ready to cry.

“Please!” I implored, throwing Katy a desperate tearful look. My face was burning. “Please give me a chance!”

But she wouldn’t. Katy just kept on playing exactly like she was doing. I’d been made to feel as small as one of my own freckles in tennis before, but this was the first time I’d felt smaller.

That awful lesson seemed to last forever but finally it was over. I made my way back to the changing-room, shedding a few tears at last because my confidence was all in bits. My friend joined me and we went in together. He'd lost all his games too, which made a pair of defeated boys in white frilly knickers trudging off to get changed.

“Well, you didn’t quit,” he pointed out meekly, saying the one good thing about my performance. “You took it like a boy alright!”

“A boy should have won,” I sniffled in reply.

THE END