Puberty

Last week I touched on the delicate subject of puberty by looking at the unpredictability of growth . Whilst a surge in height may be the most obvious sign of impending adulthood, puberty changes the body in more ways than just this.

Personally, the first things that comes to mind whenever puberty is brought up in conversation are the curly wisps of hair at the bottom of my torso – my pubic hairs. No doubt because the words ‘puberty’ and ‘pubic’ share the same stem, although I’m sure a Freudian analysis could explain it too.

I’ve mentioned before that I was pre-pubescent upon arriving at Eton, which meant that I was pretty bloomin happy when my pubes did eventually appear. After months of torture and self-doubt I could at last put to bed questions such as ‘am I a freak?’ and ‘is my penis synthetic?’  

It’s not that anyone else noticed their arrival though. As far as I know, all the showers here are single cubicles, and since the craze of pinning your mates down and stripping them naked had yet to take off, my celebration was very much a private affair.

Pubes are funny things really. They are unlike any other types of hair on your body. Whereas the hair on your head is smooth and soft like cashmere wool, the texture of one’s pubes is like the touch of a cheap doormat. Cheap is not a bad way to describe them, since their proximity to the genitals means they have a low reputation.

Their unpopularity can lead to fights, such as the one that happened recently between two B blockers in my house. From the version of events I’ve heard, one of them asked the other to borrow his Gillette in order to shave his beard, but in a moment of apparent opportunism decided to hack off his pubes as well. How exactly this misdeed was discovered I do not know, but it goes without saying that the owner of the razor was left pretty angry.

It’s only in the last six months that I myself have begun shaving. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I need to. The stuff that comes out is little more than bum-fluff, and since it never grows more than a centimetre it’s barely noticeable on my chin. Still, I convinced myself back in September that it was the right time for me to start shaving, being a C blocker now and a real man.

As a result, I headed into Windsor in search of a razor. In the end I purchased for myself a top of the range Gillette Mach 5, eight blades and shaving foam. I was almost stopped however by the bill – over £20 for a few sheaths of metal! I half considered putting them back on the shelf and coming back in a year’s time. But I swallowed my pride, opened my wallet, and strode back to the house armed with my new weapons.

Shaving is one of those things that looks easy, but is trickier than you think. Everyone reckons they can do it after seeing it in movies, but when it actually comes to pulling the blade across one’s skin there is little room for error.

I was to find this out on my first go. After rejecting the possibility of seeking advice from a friend, I whipped up a thick layer of foam and slapped it across my cheeks. Then, picking up the razor, I brought the blade firmly up my face in a vertical direction. Having done this a few times, and with the adrenaline of this groundbreaking moment rushing through my veins, I failed to notice the sharp pain building in my chin. It was only when I saw myself in the mirror that I spotted the scarlet blood seeping into the white foam. Wiping away the mess I surveyed the damage - three conspicuous cuts on my chin. I instantly opting for the multi-bladed Gillette – five times a close shave it may have been, but it was also five times a deep wound!

As well as getting rid of unwanted hair, another symptom of puberty is the dreaded BO. I am fortunate to have an eleven year old cousin, and last summer we spent a whole afternoon playing football in the sun. When we eventually stopped I must have stunk like a pair of old socks, but my aunt remarked that he didn’t smell any different.

Telling someone they smell must prove a really awkward conversation. I’ve never had to do it myself, although on several occasions I probably should have done. Most people arrive in F block with a whole case full of deodorant, so terrified are they by the thought of smelling.

Inevitably though, some people don’t get the memo. One boy in my house, around the end of the Michaelmas half began to develop a strange odour. At first it was neutral, but it soon became unpleasant. People talked about it when he wasn’t there, and it was only after the Dame had a quiet word that he went and bought some Lynx.

Reeking of deo is acceptable, if a little inconsiderate of your div partner. Perfume however, be it aftershave or cologne, is generally considered a step too far. This is probably because it has effeminate, slightly metrosexual connotations to it. Occasionally older boys wear it, those going for the debonair look usually, but to rock up in E block smelling of Davidoff would be to ask for a lynching.

Finally, one thing I didn’t know about puberty until recently is that it affects girls earlier than boys. With my limited experience of girls I’m not surprised that this fact passed me by. However, I admit I was rather sceptical when I heard it – why, after all, should one’s sex determines when they begin puberty? To test this theory out I decided to check out one of the girls I know, The Princess, and go back on her Facebook pages to some of her earlier photos. And there, sure enough, she was pictured at the age of thirteen with an impressive pair of breasts which don’t appear to have changed since!

The only problem now is that I’m guilty of spending half an hour looking at a 13 year old’s boobs. For someone my age this could even be illegal. Time to delete my internet history I reckon.