Willy Dance
I had successfully repressed this memory until reading some of these answers. Cheers b3ta.

During Year 6 the whole year was treated, and I use that term loosely, to a week-long trip to the Isle of Wight. “A whole week with my mates and no parents. This will be brilliant” thought a small 9-year old Martin. If only I’d known the horrors I’d be subject to on that small island.

The place we went to was an adventure holiday kind of place. Everyone stayed in log cabins and it was very cool to a bunch of young kids. I was rooming with 2 of my best mates, Tom and Jonathon, and 3 other kids we were stuck with, Jon, Daniel and Mark. Jon and Daniel were the “naughty kids” and I was a bit gutted but trying to make the most of it, we had tried to befriend them before the trip. As for Mark, no-one really liked him. He was a bit weird and always seemed to picking either his nose or his bum.

Kids being kids, we had all packed a ton of sweets for some epic midnight feasts. We’d even developed a code to be quiet when a teacher was coming. “Lie low!” I’d shout when I saw someone. No it wasn’t hard to understand what we were saying, but it could have also sounded like we were playing aquatic transport charades.

It was the first night and we began our feast. Smarties, Skittles, Chocolate, anything. If it had sugar in, we were eating it. It was late, but due to the fact we were all around 8 or 9, it was probably only about 10pm. We were all on a sugar high and running round the rooms and screaming our pre-pubescent heads off. This was fun. This was what I’d hoped it would be; a bunch of guys being awesome.

The night took a turn for the worse when Mark started having ideas with what to do with the night. We all ignored him and he retreated to his room. Minutes later, the door burst open, and he was standing there, fully naked, as God had intended. It was at this point, God realised he had made a huge fucking mistake. The rest of us were aghast, trying not to make eye contact with eachother, him or ‘Little Mark’. This effectively became impossible when he walked to mere feet in front of us, started bouncing around, and began singing. To give credit to Mark, his choice of song could not have been more apt. As I recall, the lyrics were something like, “Willy dance! Willy dance! I’m doing the willy dance!” Fuck me if I’ve never been so frightened in my life. We all scrambled as far back as we could, but even the wall still left us within what seemed range of a cock slap.

Eventually we managed to shout at him loud enough and long enough for him to stop. We sent him back to his room and made for God damn sure he didn’t come out for the rest of the night. This fun cabaret was then followed by me being sick. Whether it was through me being homesick, eating too much sugar, or physically trying to remove the memories of what I’d just witnessed I don’t know. What I do know is that this was never talked about afterwards by any of the parties involved. I’m not sure if it was an unsaid pact of silence, or us all just trying to convince ourselves that this horrific act had never happened.

Length? He was 8. It was small.
(Martin1337 was trying and failing to be funny at, Fri 29 May 2009, 0:06, Reply)