Acting Out - CMNM Origins

Over the years I've often tried to think of how I came to have the fetishes I have. I don't have so many, but those I do are pretty specific. Now, in hindsight, it's much easier to pick out the events which made me who I am. Sometimes it was something I saw, or even a random remark someone made. And sometimes it was a very specific event, like a flash of lighting illuminating the corners of a darkened room.

In my early twenties, I'd moved to a new city and was trying my best to find my way into the kind of life I was imagining for myself. I got myself a fairly decent job at a small media company. I didn't have any close friends, so when I wasn't cruising around the local beach and eyeing the swimmers and surfer dudes stripping out of their wet gear, I probably spent too much time at home, looking at erotic websites and masturbating, thinking about what might be. I'd discovered I had a huge appetite for photos of men stripping in public, or setups where they got naked in front of their friends because of a game or dare.

Late one night one of those random lightning flashes happened. I'd been walking home from the city and passed a small bar I'd never been into. Before I got to the door, I heard a group of male voices chanting a word that instantly got my attention.

"Strip! Strip! Strip!"

Without thinking, I ducked inside and found a group of maybe 8 guys around my age, seemingly a rugby or football club. Standing in the middle was an athletic looking dark haired guy holding what was was obviously not his first beer of the night. The chant continued and after handing his beer to one of his red faced mates, he sheepishly began unbuttoning the oversized shirt he was wearing. I was nailed to the floor, seeing his tightly muscled chest come into view. Somehow it was the moment he kicked off his sneakers that made my heart rate shoot up. And sure enough, his hands went to his belt showing he really was going to take his pants off completely in the middle of a bar. Five seconds later he was standing in socks and boxer briefs while I tried to move closer without attracting their attention. He stood up grinning and reached to his teammate to retrieve his beer. The rest of them gave a kind of low jeer and the tallest guy said a little too loudly,

"No Chris, take it all off," as the rest of them began their chant again.

"Take it all off! Take it all off!"

To my astonishment, boxer boy shrugged and yanked his underwear to the floor in 1 quick motion, standing up to reveal a modestly sized dick in a bed of neatly trimmed hair.

I don't know what came over me, and even though I could barely take my eyes off him, I had to get out of there. Outside in the street, I realised I was shaking, and on the rest of the walk home I searched my brain for what had knocked me into this funk. I didn't quite understand it, because I'd sure as hell never done anything like it myself. I just knew it turned me on like nothing else.

I'd never talked about this with anyone, but after that night, my secret interest became something of an obsession. I started a small anonymous blog where I shared my favourite pics, thoughts and fantasies, and one of the most popular posts was a story I wrote casting myself in the role of the sheepish boxer boy. I called it Take It All Off and my hands had shaken so much while writing it, it had taken ages to finish. I had no idea who my readers were, but that post in particular got some a few nice comments. One even knew the bar and the rugby team that frequented it. Anonymous as it was, it still made me feel less alone to know I wasn't the only guy obsessed by stuff like this.

After 6 months or so I'd met a few people and there was a guy at work I unexpectedly became fairly friendly with. Craig was a few years older than me, and more or less my polar opposite in terms of personality. More than that, he was tall, dark-haired, self-confident, and had a beach body - all the things I secretly lusted after from the partially opened door of my closet. Craig's seemingly rock solid self confidence had me even more in awe of him. His sexuality was a little vague, despite my efforts to find out, because he was frankly hot as hell. But to my surprise he was kind and even interested in me. He'd gotten me involved with a local theatre group he was in, doing stuff backstage and whatever else they needed doing. Needless to say, Craig was an aspiring actor. And despite my assumption that was born more from his cockiness, the first time I saw him read for a part I realised he actually had some talent too.

The first production we did together was pretty safe and predictable, something by some English playwright whose name I can never remember. The second came in the summer, and looking back, it set something in motion which is with me yet. This was a piece about a domineering mother and her son, and unsurprisingly, golden haired boy scored the male lead. I'm not saying he didn't deserve it, but John, our experienced and sometimes fanatical amateur director was also very openly enamoured of Craig, so that may well have played a part. Particularly in light of one particular scene.

During one of the read throughs, I was working on something at the back of the hall when Craig's monologue came around. It was set in his bedroom, as he was getting ready for bed. I have to admit it was pretty spellbinding, the way he looked into space and described the very complicated dysfunctional relationship with his complicated dysfunctional mother. The eyebrow raising part came a few weeks later, when I was there during a dress rehearsal. From the blocking and performances it was clear the group had done a lot of work in a short time. So by the time it got to Craig's monologue, I walked to the front of the stage to see what progress he'd made. He began his speech, now dressed in what was apparently his final costume. But this time, after the first few lines, his hands went to his shirt, and to my surprise, began slowly and deliberately unbuttoning it. Speaking quietly, he finished undoing the shirt, revealing the muscular beach browned chest I'd always suspected he had but never thought I'd actually get to see. Finally, he took the shirt off completely and hung it on the chair placed next to him. My heart accelerated when he rested his hand on the chair back and casually kicked off his shoes, then even more when he reached down to pull off his socks too. I'd stopped listening to his speech now, totally transfixed by the large dark nipples and trail of hair disappearing in the tight fitting chinos he was wearing.

I knew this wasn't in the script, so surely this would stop here? But to my astonishment, without faltering in his speech, Craigs large hands moved to his belt, and deftly pulled it open. Without pausing, he undid the top button, unzipped and slid the chinos down his legs. My mouth went dry as I watched him straighten up and stand proud with a confidence I knew I could never possess. Now wearing only bright red Calvin Klein briefs, he was apparently completely at ease with the fact he'd just stripped in front of a room full of people and would many times over during the shows. For whatever reason that fact did something to my head. For the last few minutes of his speech, he strutted across the stage, leaving me and everyone else more than enough time to study him in detail.

The chest, the trail, the roundness of his muscular ass, and yes, the bulge at the front. The significant, obvious shape of him. Just as I was finally bringing my heart rate down by convincing myself it was all for art and no big deal, he finished his speech and turned his back to the audience to exit. But our crafty director had engineered that too, because as Craig grabbed the large towel lying on the chair with his now discarded clothes, he bent and pulled the briefs to his ankles. He kicked them off, calmly wrapped the towel around his waist, and exited like a pro. End scene.

My heart was in my mouth, and for days I couldn't get this out of my head. Craig, hot hyper-masculine Craig, had stripped naked on stage. And I'd be seeing it 15 times during the run. Turns out there was more to the odd, intensely erotic itch this seemed to have set off, I just didn't know what it was. Not then anyway. When I finally psyched myself up enough to raise the subject with Craig, he laughed it off.

"John pretty much always figures out a way to shoe horn some kind of gratuitous nudity into his shows. It's like a running gag with the rest of us. There's nothing creepy about it, it's just his thing. And he knows nothing gets bums on seats like a bit of token flesh."

Fast forward to the end of the run. I'd more or less internalised the strip scene and was able to talk normally to Craig again without wanting to bring it up repeatedly and making myself sound like a total pervert. The previous end of run party had been pretty quiet and civilised. This one was shaping up to be different.

For starters there was a lot more alcohol. I don't know where half of it came from, but the fact we were also at Craig's parents' shapeless 70s bungalow instead of the dingy back room at the theatre gave the whole thing a much more decadent feeling. I'd arrived with one of the front of house girls, but by the time I'd noticed she'd left without me, I was past caring how I'd get home. I have to admit I was pretty enamoured of Craig myself by this stage. He was that kind of guy, and having seen him strip off with such utter self assurance countless times had only increased his magnetism.

It was suddenly well after midnight and the last few people seemed to have vanished without me noticing.

I found Craig in one corner of the living room, talking to John and looking very relaxed. Our director was only about 10 years older than us, but to me he seemed so much more worldly and experienced than I was. A real grown up with a real grown up life. Even though we were all amateurs, he took his directing very seriously and expected the same professionalism from the rest of us. Not following his directions never seemed to occur to anyone and he could be pretty demanding when needed. But as I sat down and observed the conversation, what struck me now was how he and Craig talked quietly and very much as equals. They had a bottle of whisky sitting between them. Another thing that seemed impossibly adult to me.

Finally, Craig turned and smiled at me. There was something in that look that I hadn't seen before. He stretched, giving me yet another glimpse at that tight brown belly of his, and put a glass in front of me, clearly about to fill it. I tried to stop him, but he wasn't having it. I was determined not to touch it as the room was already spinning slightly after all the wine I'd had. He never stopped smiling at me as he poured, and setting down the bottle down said,

"There you are Paul. John and I were playing a drinking game. We've run out of questions though, so I've decided it's your turn."

"Questions?" I asked, not understanding.

"Yes. Its a fun way to get to know someone. It's like truth or dare, except the dare is to take a drink. You get asked a question with an A or B answer. You must answer truthfully - John here is like a polygraph," he said laughing at him smirking quietly in his seat, "or you must take a drink. Clear?"

"I think so" I replied hesitantly, "but can you give me an example?" Craig shrugged and turned to John.

"So John, Pinter or Ibsen?" John laughed out loud.

"Pinter, obviously" he said a little smugly. Craig turned back to me with that same damnably sexy smile.

"See? Easy."

He began with a few questions about my very limited theatre experience. I took them every time, wanting to avoid the whisky at all costs. But on the 3rd or 4th round I decided I'd better take at least one drink so as not to look like a total wimp. That was probably a bad choice as I was not at all used to drinking it, and they made me down it one go. I was about to find how that charming Craig also had a very devious side to him too.

He'd already asked me what my favourite part of our play had been. It was no lie to answer that his bedroom monologue was the highlight for me. That obviously tickled his ego, but his next question caught me totally off guard.

"Why was it your favourite? Because of my speech, or because I took my clothes off?" Before I knew what I was saying, out it flapped.

"Seeing you undress during your speech Craig". His smile widened at that.

"I thought so. I saw the look on your face during rehearsals"

"You did?"

"Yeah... you were right there at the front every time, coincidentally just when that part of the show came around" Shit. I was convinced he'd never have noticed me with everyone else in and out during the final run throughs.

"So why was that so fascinating to you. Because it was me, or because of the situation?"

"Umm...both?"

Craig shook his head. "Choose."

I knew what I should have said. What he probably wanted to hear. But whether it was the whisky or some schoolboy drive to tell the truth, I chose the second answer. That seemed to make him smile even wider.

"Because it was in public, or because John told me to.." and here he made air quotes with his fingers "take it all off?"

He looked straight at me as he said it, and the coincidence with my blog name unnerved me. I swallowed hard.

"I think it was because you took it all off in public Craig." He laughed louder than was necessary.

"I'll give you that one. It actually didn't bother me at all. I strip off on the beach all the time, so It really doesn't do anything to me. You on the other hand, well it beggars my next question. I'm going to frame it carefully so you can answer it truthfully. So I won't ask if you'd do the same if John had cast you in the role instead of me."

John chuckled and Craig wagged a finger at him.

"Don't go getting any ideas about this innocent lad now John!"

It felt strange being referred to that way by a guy my own age, but I can't say it was a bad feeling. Anything but.

"Instead I'll ask it this way. I think you're probably a shy boy.." Boy??

"..but I'm pretty sure your interest in my scene is more than purely theatrical. So let's say you're in a not entirely private situation with some friends, where you have to-" again the look, again the air quotes, "take it all off."

He was staring at me now, and the smile seemed more dangerous than charming now. Could he really know about the blog?

Would you do it, or run away?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, 'what kind of situation?"

"Doesn't matter. One where you just have to do it because you made a bet, got cast in a play, or.... played a drinking game" he said, looking right at me.

"Choose."

"I, I... do it? I think?"

"Good lad!" he said, seemingly surprised. "So, drink, or take off your shirt?" I stared at him blankly.

"What?"

"Drink, or take off your shirt?"

"I...uh...." I was eyeing the now refilled glass in front of me, feeling pretty queasy.

"Take off my shirt I guess." The words were out of my mouth before I knew it.

John's leather chair creaked. I'd almost forgotten he was there, but he sat up, the quiet conversational voice replaced by the director's again.

"Stand up Paul. Not there - over by the lamp where we can see you."

My racing heart was starting to cut through the alcoholic fog. What was going on here?

"Now Craig, start your monologue please." Craig sat up in his chair and began the now familiar speech. As he spoke the line "I never thought of myself as a mother's boy", John gave the cue I knew was coming.

"Start unbuttoning your shirt Paul."

My hands were shaking, but I did as he directed. I was torn between disbelief and excitement as it slowly dawned on me how often I'd wanked off over very much this exact scenario.

"Good boy," said John encouragingly, "now take it off and drop it over the chair." I did as he asked, and Craig fell silent. I know I was only shirtless, but I was shaking none the less. I was pretty self conscious about my slim body and even avoided going to the beach because of it.

Craig stood up, and walked over to me. Instead of stopping in front of where I was standing, he walked straight by me, and very much to my surprise I felt his arms sliding around me from behind, pulling me into a tight hug. His warmth was reassuring, but also somehow possessive. It wasn't entirely comfortable, or uncomfortable. One of his bare arms wrapped across my belly, the other resting on my chest.

"It's ok Paul, it's just us. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Take a deep breath," commanded John. I did as he said.

"Again." The shaking subsided a little. My skin was tingling, but that became an electric bolt when Craig's fingers brushed across my nipple. I couldn't hide the reaction, and a few seconds later I heard him say softly in my ear.

"Shall I stop my monologue, or continue?" and allowing his fingers to circle my nipple again, more slowly and deliberately this time. I could barely speak, but there was only one answer possible.

"Continue please Craig," I croaked. As his soft voice sounded so close to my ear I could feel his breath, John gave his next stage direction.

"Now kick off your shoes Paul," commanded John from his chair. I did as he said, and they seemed to come off more easily than usual.

"Now the socks." Done. Only when he said,

"Open your eyes Paul," did I realise I'd had them tightly shut. I did as I was told, although I could only glance at his now serious face for a moment.

"Unbuckle your belt Paul." My hands acted before I could stop them.

"Good boy, now unbutton...and unzip." I felt my pants loosening, but as Craig continued to intone in my ear, both of his hands now softly circling and teasing my very sensitive nipples, I felt a definite tightening elsewhere.

"Now take them off."

It felt totally surreal to be standing with these 2 men I thought I knew, pulling my jeans off because of some strange, incredible, erotic fever dream of a game. As soon as I stood up, Craig again began touching me with his maddening fingertips.

This time he didn't ask me anything, but recommenced his speech, which I knew was now nearing its end. As he spoke the final line, John gave the direction I'd feared most, and now realised, strangely wanted most too.

"Turn around Paul." Craig never took his hands off me, and looking straight into my eyes, moved his fingers across my chest again, like a lover. John's final instruction came.

"Pull down your briefs and kick them off."

I slowly complied, with a feeling l can only imagine people experience when they throw themselves off mountains on a paraglider. I knew I was hard, because I could feel my erection jump out as I freed it from the waistband. I was looking at Craig, fearful of his reaction, but his eyes only dropped for a second, giving me a nod and a smile when they returned to my face. The briefs slipped down my legs, and the feeling as I kicked them off was overwhelming, knowing I was now as completely naked as Craig had been every night on that stage. Except he'd had his art as an excuse. He hadn't had the hottest guy in his life touching his chest and looking at him like...what was that expression? And he certainly hadn't been hard, because I'd done my damnedest to see anything at all from my spot in the wings, before he got to that irritating stage assistant holding his robe open as soon as he stepped through the curtain. A robe I also didn't have right now.

The air in the room seemed very hot and still as I stood there looking at the floor, uncertain what happened next. I heard John's chair creak again and he said,

"Paul, the show's over. Unless you're auditioning for the next one?"

Craig lifted my chin with his finger. His eyes had an expression I'd never seen before and found hard to read. Pleasure, amusement? Or was it saying he'd just had his expectations exceeded? I felt his large hands descend on my shoulders, and with a smile, he slowly turned me to face back the other way. I closed my eyes again, but this time it was allowed to pass. I felt Craig's hot breath on the back of my neck.