When I returned to awareness and started to get up from the couch, I saw that Robbie was standing there, wearing his underpants and clasping his shirt, frozen in the process of dressing. Embarrassment came as I squirted the soapy water out and I sheepishly returned, dressed quickly and got out as fast as I could, even though Matron seemed unaffected by my performance.

Robbie jumped me as soon as we were out of earshot, slapping me on the back and crowing with delight.

"You spunked on Matron's couch! You really did! Nobody ever did that before!"

"I couldn't help it."

"That was rather obvious, old boy. I mean, I sometimes feel like doing what you did, but I've never let myself go that way. It was incredible. I thought you Yanks were all talk, but you sure didn't just talk in there!"

He grabbed my arm and steered me towards the stairs.

"Robbie? Where are we going?"

"To the dorm - it will be empty at this time of day, and you owe me one."

When we got there, he flung himself on his bed, unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down, allowing his erection to spring free. I didn't hesitate - I just grabbed it and started to rub while he writhed and groaned and eventually went into the rigidity that precedes the climax.. I jumped back as he spurted and watched as the white goo spurted up and landed on his belly and then finally the last drops slowly ran down his deflating prick. He reached for the scrap of cloth that every boy kept somewhere near his bed and wiped himself clean, then he grinned.

"Wow! That was good! Now tell me all about your enemas - do you always spunk when you get one?"

We wandered outside and I found myself telling him about seeing Alice through her bathroom window and I guess I did exaggerate somewhat about the clarity of what I had observed. Robbie was green with envy and, however obscurely, I felt that I had scored a small victory for America.

That night, it seemed just fine for Robbie to come to my bed at lights out.....

I was really looking forward to Christmas and seeing my folks again. Then, a week before the great day, the Beak summoned me to his study and handed me a piece of paper that I recognised immediately as a routine TWX.

"REGRET UNABLE TO TRAVEL XMAS STOP PLEASE KEEP BOY THERE STOP BOYD ENDS XXX"

"I'm sorry, Boyd. Seems he can't get here."

I fled before my tears really started. Robbie found me, of course.

"I say! Someone dead?"

"No. My parents aren't coming and I have to stay here over Christmas."

"We'll see about that. Cone on - I'm going to have a word with the Beak."

We returned to the study and Robbie started his pitch.

"I say, Sir, is this true? Jason has to stay here?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, I think that's really terrible. I want to invite him to spend his Hogmanay with a real Scots family."

The Beak shook his head.

"I'm sorry. Your offer of hospitality is admirable, even if heathen, but my hands are tied."

I broke in, hope welling inside.

"Sir, why don't you call them? I'm sure they would give permission."

"My dear boy, I simply cannot telephone to Germany, let alone to an officer whose location I do not know. They only allow official calls, not chit-chat about holidays."

"Won't you even try, Sir?"

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry. It can't be very pleasant to be marooned in this place instead of spending it with your family, but this matter is now closed. The decision is made and you will just make the best of it. Is that clear?"

We both nodded and left. Robbie had one of his determined looks and dragged me to the dorm where he got his coat out.

"What's going on?"

"If he can't call Germany, I bet you know someone who can. We're going to find that Morrison guy who sent you the parcel and get him to make the call."

"Robbie! The Beak said it was settled - anyway, Major Morrison's camp is twenty miles away at least."

"Well, if you don't have the guts to even try..."

"All right. We'll try."

We sneaked out of the school grounds and luckily found a farmer who gave us a ride for the first few miles. Then we hitch-hiked and eventually an army truck stopped and the driver told us he was going to the camp and invited us to hop in. The journey took several hours, but eventually we found ourselves at the gate of the camp.

The private told us to piss off, but I demanded to see the corporal of the guard. He was dubious, but he could tell that I was an American boy and he eventually did admit that they did have a Major Morrison in the post. Finally he gave up and got us a ride to the G2 office.

Major Morrison was obviously baffled to be confronted by two boys both talking at once and demanding access to military communications. Finally I told Robbie to shut up and explained who I was and what I wanted. He refused, of course, but I continued to persuade him that one tiny TWX wouldn't destroy the entire fabric of the US Army. I was just about there when the door slammed open and the Major jumped to attention at the sight of the star.

The general looked at us and then exploded.

"So he was right! Two runaway kids in my camp. Just what the hell is going on here? Major?"

Generals are terrifying beings. They might not quite be God, but they are here and he isn't, so they act like it. Robbie opened his mouth but I shook my head vigorously and he closed it again while the Major told our story. Then there was an awful silence before the General spoke. Generals are allowed to swear and this one was no exception.

"I spend all of my time being nice to the fucking Brits, drinking that piss they call tea and telling them how we always behave like guests in this fucking miserable piece of real estate. Now I get accused of kidnapping and harbouring runaway kids and I see all my goodwill going straight down the crapper."

He turned to the MPs behind him.

"Escort these two kids to the guardroom - there will be a truck along to take them back to their school. Meanwhile, major, I'm hearing things about unauthorised signals that need some explanation."

It didn't take long before we were in the back of a truck with two armed MPs watching us as it drove us back to the Beak. They kicked us out when we got there and a grim-faced Beak marched us to his study.

"Explain yourselves."

Robbie started in on him.

"Sir, I thought that if you couldn't call Germany, we should try the Americans. They can do anything."

"So you just broke bounds, left without permission and had everyone, including the police, running all over the country looking for you?"

"Sir, it was all done to try to right an injustice. If Jason's parents had known, they would have given their permission, I'm sure."

At that point the phone wheezed into life and the Beak picked it up.

"Hello General. Yes, they got here - thank you for sending them back so quickly."

He listened for a while, then replied.

"I'm sure the officer concerned meant well and I certainly appreciate his efforts in the past. It is supremely difficult to contact the boy's father without assistance from yourselves."

He listened again.

"Well, it's kind of you to do that. I can only apologise for those wretched boys - their behaviour was totally inexcusable."

He put the phone down and I felt my knees go weak as he glared at us both.

"Well, Campbell, it appears that you have achieved the impossible. The General himself has contacted Boyd's father and he has given permission for him to spend his holiday with your family."

I somehow managed not to cheer. Then the desire faded completely as the Beak stood up and reached for his cane.

"Now there's just the matter of your outrageous conduct today. You first, Boyd - bend over please."

Robbie was right. The old bastard could really lay it on when he chose.

Two days later, the caning forgotten, Robbie and I endured hours on a filthy train which slowly clanked its way north and stopped at every station - just as well, because there were no toilet facilities on it. The country gradually became more open and more hilly until we had to have a second engine connected to help us up the gradient. Robbie cheered as we crossed a truly spectacular valley on a long bridge.

"This is the Ribble Viaduct. Next stop Carlisle and then it's Bonnie Scotland!"

We got off the train with relief at a place called Dumfries, then Robbie, who seemed to know his way around, took us on an elderly bus which headed into the middle of nowhere. We finally arrived at a tiny village and he yelled with delight as he saw a horse and trap standing there.

"He's here! He'll be in the pub - come on."

'He' turned out to be a black-haired, black-browed man who grunted what seemed to be a greeting and then turned back to his beer. To my amazement, Robbie turned to the man behind the bar.

"What about a couple of halves for two weary travellers? This man here is an American and he should sample good Scotch Ale before he dies."

"Just halves, Master Robert. And no refills - the Laird wouldn't like it if you rolled up drunk."

I could simply not believe it as the man pumped two half-pint glasses of amber coloured beer and handed them over. Robbie handed one to me and we went to a table in the corner where I cautiously sipped the liquid. It was cool and it tasted good, so I took a big swallow and then wiped the froth off my lip as Robbie grinned in triumph.

"Well? Is that not the nectar of the Gods?"

"Robbie - this must be illegal! How come he gave you beer?"

"We own the pub."

It took a while for that to sink in.

"Robbie? What's a Laird?"

"Oh, it's what they call landowners here. It isn't like a real lord."

"Your father owns land here?"

"Oh, some. It's not worth much - it's only good for grazing sheep on."

Our carrier finished his beer - it was thicker and darker than the stuff we had been given - and made for the door. Robbie and I gulped down the rest of ours and scrambled into the trap as the man completely ignored us, clucked to the horse and set off up a small track.

The beer was stronger than it looked, or maybe neither of us was used to alcohol, so we were both feeling somewhat happy when we finally drew up in front of a castle. A small castle with windows instead of arrow slits and no sign of a moat or drawbridge, but definitely a castle. Well - maybe it was just a house with a small tower at each end, but it still qualified as a castle as far as I was concerned.

A small, old lady came out of the front door and Robbie leapt out with whoops of joy, picked her up and swung her round.

"Nanny! It's good to see you again! How are you?"

"Put me down at once, Master Robert."

He lowered her to the ground and she peered at me.

"And this must be your little friend Jason."

I nodded to her. Nanny? Was this his grandmother? He enlightened me.

"Nanny has been here forever, Jason. She looked after my father and she brought me up too until I escaped from her clutches and went away to school."

"I still look after my boys when they come home, Master Robert."

"Indeed you do, nanny. And you do it very well."

She smiled happily.

"Come up to the nursery and bring your little guest. You will need to clean up after that long journey. I can smell the train on you and maybe something else?"

"Hush nanny. It's our secret."

I whispered to Robert as we went inside to a panelled hall smelling of polish.

"Nursery? We aren't babies!"

"That's what they call the children's rooms here. You live in the nursery until you become the Laird. Or have children of your own."

I felt sorry for Nanny as she painfully climbed the stairs to the top of one of the towers. The nursery turned out to be a large semi-circular room with two metal framed beds in it, freshly made with crisp white sheets and red blankets. Nanny subsided on to a chair and Robbie looked at her with concern.

"Nanny, you shouldn't have to climb up here any more. It's just too much for you."

"Oh, I live in the Dower House now, Master Robert. But I have to see to my children when they come home. Everything is ready for you and we'll soon have you nice and clean."

I was getting used to it by now. Robbie stood beside one of the beds and took his clothes off while I followed his lead while I wondered of all Brits were so casual or just the upper-class ones. Nanny had vanished through a door and Robbie ushered me in to a room which held the largest bath that I had ever seen, half full of steaming hot water. The most unusual feature was not the bath however, but the fact that there were two toilet bowls against one wall, a couple of feet apart. I was wondering why any bathroom needed two toilets, then Nanny moved to a stool beside the bath and picked up an strange object - a long red tube that bulged in the middle, fitted with a shaped nozzle at one end. She put the other end in a basin of soapy water and squeezed the bulb a few times, producing strong jets of liquid from the nozzle. It was some sort of weird device for giving enemas!

Robbie was obviously expecting it. He walked over to the bath, stood with his legs apart and bent forward to grip the rim. Nanny popped the nozzle into position and I watched as the muscles in his butt went rigid and he raised himself on tiptoe as she pumped away with a vengeance. Eventually he yelled that he had taken enough and plucked the nozzle out of his ass before he stumbled to one of the toilets and clasped his stomach as he bent forward and the liquid gushed out.

Nanny beckoned to me and I adopted the same position. The nozzle was okay - it was the same shape as the big boy's one at home, but the sudden gushes of liquid took me by surprise. I held on for dear life as she happily blaster hot water into me and I did the same as Robbie - I just couldn't stop my feet from lifting me up as the stuff scoured my insides. She seemed to be happy to go on for ever, so I too pulled the nozzle out, and it was then I realised why there were two toilets. Robbie and I sat and groaned as we slowly managed to eject the final pools of liquid that worked themselves down.

Nanny beamed.

"I'll just go and lay out your clothes. You're big enough to bath yourselves now."

We dived into the bath - it was large enough for more than two - and I began to relax as the water soaked a whole term of boarding school out of my system. Robbie chuckled.

"That's a bonus - she doesn't live up here now. We'll have some privacy!"

I didn't ask what that meant because there was the sound of a gong being struck in the distance. Robbie jumped out.

"That's the five minute warning. Time for dinner!"

We hurriedly dried ourselves as we walked back into the nursery - and then I got a major shock. Nanny had laid out clothes for us - a crisp white shirt, a tartan tie. That was fine. The rest consisted of long tartan socks, a tartan skirt and what looked like a dead rat on a chain.

Robbie hastily pulled the shirt over his head and then buckled the kilt round his waist. I shook my head.

"I'm not wearing a kilt. No way."

"Fine. Go in your shirt then."

I looked around but there was no sign of my clothes or the small bag I had brought. He guffawed.

"Nanny will have taken everything to be washed. It's the kilt or nothing."

"I'm not dressing like a girl for anybody."

I thought for a moment that he was going to kill me. Instead he spoke seriously.

"Don't ever say that again. This is a Campbell kilt - it's distinctive because it's all dark colours - and the Black Watch regiment wears it too. They're the best fighting men in the army and they wear the kilt with pride. It's quite a compliment that she laid one out for you."

I put it on before he took even more offence and then realised that something was missing.

"There are no underpants."

"Of course not. They are not worn with the kilt."

"Listen - I'll put the thing on because it obviously means a lot to you, but no way am I walking around bare-assed underneath it. A joke is a joke, but I want my underpants right now."

"I'm serious, Jason. You really don't wear anything under a kilt. Now hurry up - my father hates people being late for dinner."

I was still suspicious, but he wasn't wearing any, so I reluctantly let him fit my sporran and then we walked down to dinner - I felt stupid and vulnerable and I was going to have my trousers back as soon as I could.

We were greeted by a larger and even wilder version of Robbie, also clad in a kilt. He grabbed his son and threw him up in the air.

"Hello, you little bastard! It's good to see you."

Robbie struggled to free himself.

"Let me go, you hairy-arsed baboon! This is my friend Jason. Don't pick him up - he's a Yank and they don't like it!"

He didn't pick me up. He punched me in the chest instead and sent me flying backwards. I lay there with my kilt somewhere in the region of my navel until I realised that my genitals were on display to both him and Mrs Campbell. I hastily scrambled to my feet and tried to locate my sporran. The Laird howled with laughter.

"It's round the back! Sort your friend out, Robbie."

I summoned up what little dignity remained and shook the hand he offered.

"Glad to meet you, Mr Campbell."

"Campbell."

I looked around for enlightenment and then he explained.

"I'm The Campbell. You call me Campbell."

Robbie's mother shook hands while I tried to work things out. She smiled.

"I'm still Mrs Campbell. The Campbell takes his clan affairs very seriously."

"Glad to meet you, Mrs Campbell. This sure is a strange country."

This time Campbell did throw me up in the air.

"You'll soon get used to civilisation, my friend. I like you, even if you are a Stewart."

"Stewart? I'm Jason Boyd."

"That's right. Boyds are a branch of the Stewarts. We'll have to see if we can get some Stewart tartan for you. A man should wear the kilt of his own clan."

"Please don't go to any trouble for me. This one is just fine."

We finally sat down to eat - proper food with real meat and potatoes that were not served as a thick white liquid. Campbell poured a glass of wine for each of us and, as I sipped it and felt the warm glow in my stomach, I began to think more kindly of the Scots. Until The Campbell suddenly let out a huge bellow, seized some sort of spear from the wall, opened the window and hurled it into the twilight. He returned to the table red-faced.

"Nearly got him that time! Whole damn place is over-run with vermin!"

I really thought that they usually used spears.

"We shoot vermin at home, Sir."

"We shoot them here as well, you little idiot! But you need shells to put in the damn shotgun, and there are just none available."

I kept a low profile, but now I had an idea.

"Campbell, where's the nearest US base?"

"Ayr."

"Is that very far away?"

"About sixty miles by road or ten miles over the hills. Why do you ask?"

"I'd really like to send a message to my father. They can get it through for me."

"Fine. Do you ride?"

"Yes."

"Robbie knows the way and there are two idle ponies that need some exercise - have a stroll over there tomorrow."

There were still no trousers or underpants available. I enjoyed the ride over the hills, even if it was more ventilated than usual, and nobody seemed to find the sight of two kilted boys on ponies unusual - until we rode up to the post. The guard looked us up and down before he spoke.

"On your way, kids. This is a restricted area."

I swung down from the saddle.

"We would like to speak to the colonel, please. Will you call the orderly officer and say that Colonel Boyd's son is at the gate?"

A bemused second lieutenant turned up a few minutes later. They are easy meat - it only took a short while before we saw the adjutant and then the colonel. It turned out that I had met him before the war and that made things easier. I explained that I would really like to send a TWX to my father and he was much nicer than that general - he sent us to the signal office with instructions for them to help me. The signals sergeant asked me where my father was stationed, and when I told him that he was in Munchen Gladbach he laughed.

"No need for a teleprinter. If he's available I can get you a speech line."

He was as good as his word. I asked Robbie to give me some privacy and, after chatting to dad for a while, I raised the important matter.

"Dad, the people I'm staying with - their land is over-run with vermin and they can't get any shotgun shells. Could you ask the colonel here to get us some? It would make a great Christmas present."

There was a pause, then:

"I don't know about that, son, but I'll ask. Don't be too disappointed if he says no."

I left Robbie to look over a tank while I went back to see the colonel. I could see that I was out of luck before he spoke.

"I'd really like to help - hell we use enough of them shooting skeet - but regulations say that we can't give them to the natives."

"Aw, well, thanks anyway, Colonel. I just wanted a Christmas present for The Campbell but I guess I can find something else."

His head shot round.

"Did you say The Campbell?"

"Yes Sir. I'm staying with his family over Christmas."

"Hell, he can sure have them. He only needed to ask and he could have had as many as he wanted. He lets us exercise on his land and he won't accept a cent for it - says it's his patriotic duty. I'll get you some and a jeep to take you back.

"We came on horseback."

He laughed.

"Okay - I'll fix up some way of carrying them. Go back and stop your friend before he manages to start that M34 or figures out how to fire the cannon."

"That's Robbie Campbell - he's as wild as his dad."

"The Campbell's son? You move in exalted circles, young Boyd."

"We go to the same school - he's my best friend."

"Is he now? Go on - I think I saw the turret start to move."

The colonel came out to us after a while. He had two heavy packages wrapped in waxed paper and tied so that they could go over the pony's saddle, a lighter one for Mrs Campbell and a bag of assorted badges and unit flashes and chevrons for each of us. Wampum. Trade goods. Brilliant! He escorted us to the gate and told the guards to pass us out - one of them came running after us as we rode away.

I turned back to see what he wanted and he handed me a package.

"Son, I couldn't help noticing when you got down from your horse. Hell, I knew things were bad, but I didn't think you couldn't afford underwear. Me and the guys want you to have these from the PX. Merry Christmas."

I peered in to the bag. Six pairs of brand new, crisp, white American cotton briefs.

"Gee, corporal, that's real good of you. I really couldn't have a better Christmas present. Thank the guys for me - these are just great."

And they were all mine. I told Robbie that I needed to take a dump and I went behind a wall and put one pair on. I felt human at last. Man is not designed to live without underwear.

We hid the loot in a shed when we got home - I told Robbie that I would kill him if he said a word to anyone.

Christmas Day was a triumph. The present for Mrs Campbell worried me, because it was just a folded length of lacy stuff, but she picked me up and kissed me - it seemed to be a family custom to throw their guests in the air. The Campbell opened his packages while I slid as far under the table as possible. It didn't help. He roared with delight.

"Cartridges. A thousand bloody cartridges! Where the hell did these come from?"

And he hauled me out and threw me up in the air. I picked myself up and saw the two Campbells staring at me.

"Breeks? Did I see breeks? With a kilt? Come on Robbie - we'll have them off the Sassenach."

It developed into a game of hide and seek, but there were two of them and when Robbie went to get the dog I surrendered and removed the offending briefs. Then I got my present.

A kilt. In shades of red with thin yellow and white threads on the hatching. Stewart tartan. The Campbell roared his approval when I put it on.

"Now you're a proper Scot, wearing your clan tartan. Welcome, boy."

I didn't know what to say. They obviously regarded it as something quite special, and I appreciated it for that, but when on earth would I ever wear it? Mrs Campbell seemed to know the problem, because she pointed out that the great advantage of a kilt was that it could expand as you grew. Then the Campbell made me stand on a chair and produced a wicked looking silver-handled knife in a thin sheath.

"And here's your sgian-dhu."

He slid it inside my stocking and regarded it with approval.

"Take care of that, boy. It's three hundred years old and it has killed men. Wear it always - it might save your life some day."

Then we got the shotguns and informed the vermin that things had changed for the worse. I told The Campbell quietly where they had come from and that there were more if he ever wanted them. He nodded.

"Damn decent of the colonel. I'll have a sheep killed and send it over for Hogmanay."

I wasn't too sure how that would be received, but I kept quiet. It was the thought that counted, after all.

I thought it was all over, but then I discovered why the Beak had called it a heathen celebration. It turned out that Christmas was just a minor diversion before the real celebration of New Year, or Hogmanay as they called it, an old pagan celebration which pre-dated Christianity by thousands of years. The principal ingredients seemed to be whisky and roast mutton plus a huge bonfire built on a hill above the castle. I took Robbie's advice and we both slept very late on the morning of New Year's Eve - it was going to be a long, long night.

There were a lot of guests, but Robbie and I homed in on the only two girls - Megan, a local and her friend Moira who was, like me, a seasonal visitor. Robbie and Megan formed a couple leaving me with Moira - I reckoned that I had got the best of the bargain.

Two whole sheep were roasting outside while we started the festivities, dancing to the sound of bagpipes in what they called a reel, which was near enough to square dancing for me to manage quite well. We made whooping sounds as we twirled and spun until we were dizzy and I began to think that the kilt was really rather stylish even if Robbie had inspected me first to make sure that I wasn't wearing underpants.

There was no restriction on alcohol either and the main aim of the festivities seemed to be to get dead drunk. Everyone was merry when midnight arrived and we all clasped hands and sang "Auld Lang Syne". People kept arriving and leaving, bringing something called "Black Bun" - full of fruit and very nice, but heavy as lead in your stomach. Some of them carried flaming torches and all received a "dram" of whisky, roast mutton and often the black bun that someone else had brought.

Things quietened down after midnight and the adults slumped around the place, drinking whisky and talking in slurred voices about the way things used to be. It was our chance to sneak away with the girls, up to the nursery. They giggled and clung to us as we climbed the stairs - and I discovered the third rule, best summed up in the immortal words of Ogden Nash - "Candy is Dandy, but liquor is quicker".

We finally reached the nursery and lowered the girls on to the beds. Megan emitted a totally unladylike fart, then Moira burped and followed it up by another fart. They seemed to find it incredibly funny because they lay on their backs and waved their legs in the air while they laughed at their own gaseous emanations.

Robbie and I looked at each other, then he addressed them solemnly.

"Ladies, you have eaten not wisely but altogether too well. Doctor Campbell prescribes an enema."

That made Moira scream with laughter.

"We both had to have enemas after Christmas! We got them together!"

Megan tried to shut her up, but Moira was in full flow.

"I mean, I hadn't had one for years and then Megan's mother said we had to have them. She made us take all of our clothes off and then Megan held my legs while I got squirted. Then I held hers and I saw all her rude bits!"

She was my girl, for the evening anyway, so I asked the question.

"What do you mean about holding legs? I don't understand."

That started another surfeit of laughter, then she grabbed her knees and folded her legs right up to her chest, revealing that underpants were worn with plaid skirts. It was still the most erotic thing I had ever seen - this was the middle forties and female nudity was utterly taboo. The nearest you got was "National Geographic" with bare breasted dusky maidens smiling out of its pages. The erotic effect was rather spoiled when she farted again though. She giggled again.

"And she used this really long rubber tube! It went miles inside of us, didn't it, Megan?"

Megan nodded but didn't say anything. Then she burped and that started her giggling again. Robbie grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the bathroom, then he opened a biscuit tin which turned out to be full of various sizes and lengths of tubes.

"This is Nanny's enema box - there are some of them in here. I never got one, but I always wondered why she had them. Let's do it!"

He mixed up some warm water without the soap and then pushed one of the long tubes on to the end of the pump. We returned to find the girls had gotten worse - Megan looked pale and sweating. Robbie just started to issue his orders.

"Megan - you have to have an enema right away. Get your skirt and knickers off."

"What?"

"Come on - you know you need it. You'll be very sick if you don't have it."

To my total shock and amazement, she slowly removed the garments and stood holding her stomach. It was my first sight of female pubic hair and I felt weak with the rush of sexual excitement that it produced.

"Lie down, Megan. Moira - hold her legs up."

It was a submissive age for girls, otherwise I think she would have objected, but Robbie's peremptory authority seemed to overawe the girl. I held tight to the rail at the bottom of the bed as her "rude bits" were presented for viewing. I knew the general idea, of course, but it became a lot clearer as I looked at the glistening tissues. Robbie was the professional - he greased the tube and thrust it into the small pink dimple that was her anus.

Megan squealed as he started to pump in the warm liquid, then she writhed around.

"It hurts! It hurts!"

Robbie gave one final squeeze of the bulb and then allowed her to flee into the bathroom. It sounded like a herd of startled elephants as gas erupted from her ass and her mouth - she must have been near to bursting.

Megan finally emerged looking much healthier. Robbie nodded his approval.

"Your turn Moira. Megan will hold your legs and Doctor Boyd will administer your enema."

I knew a lot more about a high enema than Robbie did. My face was within a foot of her genitals as I rotated the pipe and fed it deeper inside of her to hit that mysterious region where it broke through into a larger space. She screamed once as I hit it, then she relaxed as sounds of bubbling gas and gurgling liquid indicated that she was getting relief. She didn't even object when I went into the bathroom with her and supported her as the gas escaped.

The enemas also seemed to have reduced the effects of alcohol, because they quickly put their pants back on and became much less inebriated. They whispered and grinned - sober grins - and then announced that we boys also needed enemas.

I didn't object - in fact I removed my kilt while they were still speaking. I lay back on the bed and they stared at my nakedness - and revealed that they were not totally unaware of male anatomy. They examined my erection closely and asked why it was like that. I told them it was hygienic, and they both nodded as though they understood.

Robbie held my legs and I had my first ever supine enema, administered delicately by Moira whilst Megan supervised the process. She was pretty clumsy, but the roughness just added to the pleasure of the process - except that I didn't reach a climax. In fact, I just felt sleepy by the time it was all over. Apparently they just covered me up and tucked me into bed, because when I eventually awoke and experienced my first hangover, the girls were gone and Robbie was back to his normal self, devouring thick slabs of roast mutton and making my head ring with his noise. He told me later that he had received the best ever enema and that he had subsequently had sex with both girls. I believed the first part - but girls just didn't do it in those days. I had just enough doubt to be jealous though.

School was a total grind when we returned. It was the middle of winter, fuel was short and when it wasn't snowing, it rained. At least my parents did return at Easter, but even that wasn't much fun. Mom seemed to have lost interest in me and London is a lousy place for a vacation anyway. There was some good news - after a year, dad got home leave, so summer vacation was great. We flew back to the States and I had a whale of a time eating proper food, drinking proper coffee and talking to real people.

Then, at last, as I grew towards seventeen, I was finally reunited with my parents when dad returned to his posting in Germany. At first it was great being back in quarters, but I soon discovered that Dad was bucking for his eagle and spending all of his time brown-nosing with generals and chicken colonels. Promotion is a family affair, of course, so mom had to spend her time with the wives of generals and colonels, whilst I was given strict instructions to make myself invisible - thank heaven there wasn't a boy scout troop there, or I would have been forced to join that.

School was a farce. They had a highschool on the post, but kids and their families were moving around so fast that you rarely saw the same faces for more than a week. They didn't even have proper teachers, just junior officers who were given it as part of their duties.

After a couple of weeks, I was allowed off-post and given a map showing the areas that were safe. There were plenty of bikes available - you just picked one up at the gate when you left - so I started to explore the town. It was old, and it probably would have been attractive in better times, but then it was a sad and sullen place, populated mainly by women and children I was slow on the uptake and dad eventually told me that the men had either been killed in the war or were still in camps waiting to be processed.

For the teenage boy, boredom is the root of all evil. I abandoned school without any fear - they didn't keep many records and in the US Army, if it isn't written down, it doesn't exist. Each day I waited until dad left to kiss some general's ass and then I packed stuff for my lunch, made a thermos of coffee and set out to explore Germany on a bike. The map had green areas and large blocks of pink, emblazoned with "Out of Bounds to US Military Personnel". Well, I was a civilian and I didn't have to obey their stupid military crap. The forbidden areas were ordinary as hell, rural places dotted with small villages and people who seemed more friendly than those in the towns. My German was improving - those lessons were compulsory and given in the evenings - and I eventually managed to pass a few words with people I met.

By Christmas, I was reasonably fluent on spoken German, I was fit and tanned from my cycling and I knew my way around the back roads really well. By that time I was also totally pissed off with my father.

He lectured me for hours about the necessity to be clean, tidy, smart and, above all, inconspicuous. He bought me a tuxedo and stood over me like I was some sort of raw recruit until I had polished my shoes to his satisfaction - he even took me to the regimental barber and ordered the sort of haircut I got. The regiment always had its main party on Christmas Eve so as to leave the day itself for families, and I sat miserably in a corner sipping bug juice and waiting for time to leave. Then I saw a small disturbance near the entry as some guests entered. I recognised the tartan immediately - they were Black Watch! On their best behaviour too - they circulated for a while, drank a prodigious quantity of whiskey, saluted the general and left.

The senior US officers were invited to return the visit on New Year's Eve and dad grumbled about it for the whole week, but the general was going so my father would have died rather than be absent. He laughed at their dress and their bagpipes and told anyone who would listen that real soldiers didn't wear skirts. He also told me that I wasn't invited and that I could just stay home and keep away from the liquor cabinet.

I was just flaming mad about everything and I decided to sabotage my father's promotion prospects to get my revenge. They drove away in a staff car and I quickly unpacked my kilt and jacket from the tissue that Mrs Campbell had wrapped it in. I even left my underwear off. Their camp was only a mile from ours, so I cycled over there in my full regalia.

There was no problem entering their camp. I was just a boy in a kilt and so I gave the sentry a cheerful wave as I ducked under the pole at the gate and he waved back. Easy. It wasn't hard to find the party either - I just looked for US staff cars. My only worry had been getting in to the actual event, but there was nobody watching the door, so I just went straight in.

The silence started with the group of officers beside the door - I wasn't exactly inconspicuous with my scarlet and red kilt amongst a sea of dark blue and green. A grizzled major was the first to roar.

"What's this? What's a Stewart doing in here?"

This was my moment.

"I'm a Boyd, Sir, not a Clan Stewart. My father is Lieutenant Colonel Boyd."

I spotted the purple face staring at me.

"Hi dad! Having a good Hogmanay?"

The major was turning beyond purple, almost to black as he glowered at me.

"Is this some sort of joke? Tartan is not worn for fashion - what gives you the right to wear that cloth?"

I wanted to run, but I stood my ground.

"My name gives me the right. And the kilt was given to me by The Campbell himself."

He stopped looking murderous and I could see that he was at least puzzled. I saw him looking at my socking and I reached down.

"And he presented me with this sgian-dhu."

The major took it and examined the handle. The he whooped.

"Well, if The Campbell vouches for you, then I bid you welcome to our Hogmanay. Can you dance an eightsome reel?"

"I sure can, Major!"

That was the final proof he wanted. The piper struck up the tune, six other officers joined us and for the first time in a whole year I felt at home somewhere as I went through the figures and yelled and roared in sheer exhilaration. When we finally halted, the Major clapped me on the back.

"Ye'll have a wee dram with the regiment, Mr Boyd?"

"I will be honoured, Sir."

I knocked back the whisky in one gulp and slammed the glass down on the bar while I fought to get my breath. I grinned at the expression on my father's face - he had locked his liquor cabinet, but there was another game in town!

It was a magnificent party. I gravitated towards the young officers and I realised that they were not actually much older than me. We went into the mess and played the stupid games that British officers do, culminating in an impromptu game of rugby played with a haggis.

Then the hour approached and everyone stood still as the clock struck midnight. Then all hell broke loose as we sang Auld Lang Syne to welcome in the fresh new year.

I couldn't stay forever, and I didn't even get the chance. Dad stalked over and said that it was time to go, then he hustled me out with an expression on his face that said I was about to learn a new level of suffering for my sins. He skidded to a halt as he saw the general ahead.

"Boyd! Come over here and bring that boy of yours."

"I'm sorry, general...."

"Sorry? What the hell for? It was a brilliant idea - the Black Watch were really delighted to see an American lad who acknowledges his ancestry. I must say, young Boyd, it took a lot of courage to turn up like that. Far too many Americans make snide comments about soldiers in skirts and it made a terrific impression to see one of our own in a kilt."

Okay. I got away without any punishment. But it was my dad that came up smelling of roses. It also gave him a chance to discuss my future, if a bland assumption that I was going to follow him into the army could be called a discussion. He seemed genuinely surprised that I had even considered any alternative and when I told him that I thought I wanted to be a doctor he just laughed out loud.