Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 21

"The embroidery is so well done. The overall effect will be quite fetching. Very artistic. With your feathered headdress, moccasins and amulets on each arm. And why let it agitate you? Because eventually- we don't know when- there will be a full blown performance of the show and lot of public events, Miss Cuff says, leading up to opening night with boys in full costume."

Full costume?

She held up the belt.

And couldn't resist a lapse into helpless laughter looking at it.

Stevie: Joys of a Close Shave

For Stevie being shorn of hair was a source of new delight. He looked himself over in the mirror, the criss-crossing indentations on his tummy newly revealed, probably the best abs of any boy at Grover Cleveland, previously hidden by his bearish pelt. Even his neat little pecs were visible, the rug that hid them shorn right off. His miniature cock looked...well, more...normal and even his diminutive ballsac respectable, a nice little globe with those deep decorative lines.

But above all being shaved meant staying smooth, and his lovely friend, his surrogate mother Mrs Lanbourne, was available most days to have him strip off all his clothes while her Himalayan cat Hermes rubbed against him. Then, followed by Hermes, present himself in her living room, with its antiques and floral upholstery and smell of polish, where she would take him over her aproned knees, one of his arms over her shoulder, and run her late husband's Philips battery razor all over him, prickling away.

Yes, Stevie Lynton under the wise brown eyes of his surrogate mother, collapsed in her lap, posed like Michelangelo's Pieta.

Yes, all around his groin it would whirr...

...all around his little corrugated ball sack (transporting him to Cloud Nine, to use the teenage jargon of the times)...

...painstakingly, around the base of his petite, drooling erection...

...under his armpits (oh, the tickling)...

...over every inch of his torso where any moment the black fur threatened to reappear, teasing his nipples, "your titties" she called them...

...up and down his little man's legs...

...and, then, when she asked him to turn over and lie face down as if for one of his romantic spankings, all around his bottom- yes, even in his intergluteal cleft, whirring and tickling...

...and finally up and down his thighs!

To say Stevie was excited by this is wild understatement. But then Mrs Lanbourne knew his deepest longings beyond the extended thrill of these drawn out full body pricklings. So one or two young women might be invited to witness the shaving, demurely holding their tea, looking bemused at the nude boy over her lap and the whirring of the razor. Or the work might be contracted to Milly Slink although she was increasingly engaged with shaving many of the boys at school and, in some cases, their older brothers.

Sometimes Mrs Lanbourne would present Stevie with a special treat- a new edition of American Sun Lover or Sun and Health and help him find the pictures that stirred him so deeply. Black and white photos from nudist communities that showed boys his age, cocks displayed, surrounded by girls captured on camera swiping sidelong glances at the male groins. Or boys like Stevie caught with their mothers and other melon-breasted ladies assembling a picnic bench lunch of coleslaw and sliced ham.

It would leave the depilated boy begging, "Please can you relieve me now? I can't wait any longer." Generally she wasn't ready and their work would be drawn out further- more shaving, more study of the magazines, even a reddening of the now-smooth bottom cheeks under her crisp spanking hand- until it was time for maternal strokes to bring relief to the depilated young man- very hot and bothered by the loving attention. And then it took little time- hardly a minute- before his emission flavoured the air. It was a thick, white, mint-fresh offering, yielded up as a compliment by a romantic young man to the older and prevailing female.

Shaven so smooth he was the more easily, with the damp towel, mopped clean, the centre of attention and smiling beatifically.

Jim Nielsen: Apotheosised Boy, Biggest in the School, Splendour in the Grass

The sun beamed on the lake and the lichen-clad pine and spruce forest that enclosed it. Like the gorgeous sun of Ancient Greece, thought Coach Gordon Compton as he led his 18 year olds along the sandy track through this woodland paradise of butterflies and hardwoods, an occasional downed oak rotting away in undergrowth and the scent of vegetation filling their lungs, and a whiff of the lake- lacustrine essences- around the next bend. Ah, the lake- with its swathe of grass, small beach, the little glade with nooks and crannies that offered boys retreat, or adventure.

This Garden of Eden was where the coach had boys exercise naked as Adamites. Stark naked, like the youths of Sparta: Olympians and warriors. Or as the wicked Mrs Geiler might put it, in Adamskostume.

His troop included fellas newly recruited from his swim class or from among his YMCA weight trainers. Some, however, were rusted-on followers already with lustrous overall tans and gym-honed physiques. Anyone of them, tight bellied and fresh faced enough to model for his pal Bob Mizer and appear in the pages of Young Adonis and Physique Pictorial. But sufficient unto the day. This afternoon one thing was required: to ease the newer guys into exercising nude. Convert them to the Athenian ideal.

On the small beach the coach was out of his clothes in no time, his oversized muscles glistening in the sun under his flattened, peroxide blond hair, and his tapered, petite dick suntanned and hair free. John Lawrence and Bud Lanter exchanged glances. Both new to Brewer, going nude was something they were learning, at swim class and at the Y gym. Shy at first, they now felt it had been rewarded by their relationship with Mrs Pebbles. They quickly slithered from T shirt and jeans; John whisked down his Biker brand jocks and Bud- still dreaming of going nude with Mrs Pebbles- flung away his blue and white stripped boxers revealing a rising penis. With its well shaped coronal edge.

But Jim Nielsen, just moved into town from St Paul, hesitated. Nude, he would always get attention. Stares. Gasps. Teasing. And that was from other boys. Yes, he accepted his cock was "one in a hundred" as Coach Compton had told him. That it hung a third of the way down his thighs. Depending where he placed the end of the tape it was easily over 10 inches, seemed on his current growth spurt to be edging to 12. Thickness was the thing as well. Hanging heavily, lined like an elephant trunk and light brown in contrast to whiteness of his torso, it seemed like photographic evidence from a medical textbook to illustrate absence of circumcision. Or one end of the spectrum in penile dimensions.

His prepuce covered the head in a thick pucker.

Problem is, thought Jim, if they stare at me...it springs to life.

"Come on, fella, we go nude here," said the coach as other boys, even reluctant and shy ones, loosened snake-skin belts.

Jim looked around. Bud's dick was parallel to the grass, as the boy carelessly scratched his ass and gazed to the lake. A boy called Eddie- the tallest guy in school who looked kinda goofy like the MGM star Carlton Carpenter who sang with Debbie Reynolds- was wrestling out of his socks and his small dick pointed skywards. It may have been three inches, thought Jim, even less. And on such a tall fella it must look as funny as my whooper, he concluded- and unbelted and eased down his dungarees.

Then there was a shortish, snub-nosed boy called Timmy, standing apart and gazing at the wall of thick shrubbery across the glade with his cock stiff at 45 degrees. Pulsing away, thought Jim. What does he see way off that makes that happen? Or what's he thinking about? Anyway, if the others are stiff why should I be nervous?

After all Coach Compton's own prick was rising to point at the cloudless sky, slim and tapered. And he seemed to like all of them seeing it.

Jim now tugged down his bulging Swimmer brand jocks.

As his hefty member flopped free there were sidelong glances from other boys- "Holy cow!" gasped Ronnie Wedermyer under his breath- and a big appraising gaze from the coach. One boy, Buddy Holland, who the coach had said was just returned from doing "a little modelling in LA," was staring hungrily at the contents of Jim's groin and his own stubby dick was punching its way to a hardon.

The coach told them to form a line and led them through warm-ups, then on a high-kneed run around the glade where the grass was soft enough to spare the soles of their feet, before queuing them for swims out to a floating pier, back for a sprint along the shoreline. This took them beyond the hem of she-oaks. When they returned he yelled an order to return to the water, "Quick fellas, it's a sprint, out and back!"

They were doubled-over and heaving, shaking water from their heads, when he summoned them to form a line again.

Which was when John Lawrence noticed the beach umbrella just where the track opened on to their swathe of grass. Right where their clothes had been discarded.

At the same time, Bud cried, "Look! Ladies!"

They all squinted at the bright green and lemon stripes of the umbrella and the females- maybe half a dozen- in folding aluminium chairs. All dressed. Elaborately, it seemed. None in swimwear. And...

"See! They've got binoculars!"

Eddy's pained cry made most of them shift hands to their groins, suddenly in the stock pose of The Embarrassed Naked Boy.

"Hey," Bud Lanter whispered to John Lawrence. "That's our Mrs Pebbles!"

The lady they recognised had just now lifted the second hand World War Two navy binoculars to her eyes.

Other boys ticked off females they knew. The school's art teacher Miss Simpkins was raking them with her opera glasses and Mrs Reilly, the lady who owned the biggest mansion in town, with her antique Parisian Levine leather bound binoculars. Others recognised girls from school, Karen Strawbridge with her plaited red hair and the notorious anti-boy tease Sally Wainwright, the two of them grappling a pair of binoculars from each other and laughing at the sights it captured. There was a broad-hipped girl called Veronica who had left their school last year. She was standing behind the others, watching benignly.

Problem for the boys was that to rescue their clothes was to walk right up to them. They were pressing hands harder into their groins, and some were twisting sideways, half turning to shield their modesty. Eddy turned 100 percent to present the ladies and girls his two small tight globes, hands pressed to his front. Looking back over his shoulder, his Carelton Carpenter features were locked in panic.

The ultimate embarrassed naked fella.

"And there's my mom's friend, Mrs Claverback," lamented tall, rangy, crew-cut Alwyn Goodwin, doubling over and pressing palms to groin. "She's a real bitch when it comes to boys! And I'm in enough trouble- with my dirty magazines getting found!"

Unfortunately for Alwyn, Mrs Claverback had been using a pair of vintage navy binoculars to greedily eye-ball him before he covered up. She now had his little secret down pat.

Spreading calm, Coach Compton said, "And there's lovely old Mrs Geiler, the German refugee lady. Who wouldn't harm a fly. Listen fellas, there's no problem here at all..."

"Yeah, but what if they tell Police Chief Malone we were stark naked?" asked Gordon Smyth.

"Yeah, we can't be hauled off to work in Mrs Reilly's garden! We know about that!" said Ernest Harris.

Coach told them to relax. He said he was old pals with Mrs Simpkins. And Ada Braithwaite knew about his workouts which were nothing more than an extension of school and YMCA policy on boys' nude swimming.

"I've practised healthful naturism for years. Under the law we are protected if we asked permission to be in our unclothed state. I propose that one of us goes across and asks them formally. Ask if they have any objection to us continuing our work out."

Timmy backed the coach. He said they logically had to agree because otherwise they would have to ban nudity in the school pool. No female wants that to happen.

"But, coach, you can't send me across. Old Simpkins loaded me with demerits. You need to pick one of the fellas they have nothing against...a new recruit to Grover Cleveland...and well, a boy they might enjoy seeing close up."

Bud and John, minds racing, were on the point of volunteering.

Coach, however, as if he had been rehearsing this moment, draped an arm around Jim Nielsen and reminded him that at their swimming class it had been his turn to approach the females in the bleachers with a vote of thanks for their support- what Bud and John had done in such a manly fashion- and if he performed the same role here, he had done his duty. By the team. And for his coach.

"And it's no big deal for a young male athlete to show his charms to women and girl admirers..."

Given what was happening under his palms Jim wanted to cry, "But hell! I'm getting hard!"

The other boys supported the coach. The coach made his suggestion a firm instruction.

"Just tell them no offence but we swim and exercise in the Grecian style. If they want us gone, we'll dress and leave. Offer our apologies. Sincere regrets for any shock our natural condition might have presented. But otherwise tell them we want to resume our work out. But need their permission."

Jim's cock had blood-hardened. His palms could conceal little.

"And drop those arms to your sides. Young manhood should never be ashamed of the physique the gods have given him. Not in front of his buddies, not in front of womenkind. That's our philosophy here, Jim."

There's a weird sensation- truly unreal- for an 18 year old fella from small town USA...

...stark naked in his birthday suit one hundred percent stripped off...

...to walk across a swathe of grass...

...sun warming his butt...

...with a full-blooded totally rigidified erection wobbling from his groin...

...in fact, pointing the way...

...towards a party of fully-dressed females...

...women and girls, staring at him through binoculars, as with every stop he grew closer.

Closer and closer...

...he stood before them...

...blushing, and with one leg twisting over the other, and one arm across his torso, eyes looking every direction and blinking back tears...

"Oh you're bare as a board!"

It was 60 year old Mrs Wendy Hessmeister, Brewer's librarian, with her 1950 Voitlander Bessa camera in her lap.

"We say, auf Deutsch, the boy is in Adamskostume!"

They laughed at Mrs Geiler's observation although Karen had to explain to Sally that it means a boy being "as naked as Adam." But, then, that had to be teased out for Mrs Hessmeister even as she threaded Kodak film into her camera. These exchanges about male nudity and Adam left Jim withered with shame.

They were all sooo dressy, with straw sun hats with ribbons, Audrey Hepburn polka dot cocktail dresses, broad skirts that covered half their calves. Some wore bright and pastel block cotton dresses with tight fitting bodice nipped in the waist with a full circle skirt. The girls in slacks and colourful blouses.

He could even smell perfume.

And him?

Yep, in Adamskostume.

Bare as a board. Sweaty.

It conspired to make him feel even more naked.

He was now crossing his other arm across his torso and his other thigh across its partner and looking deep into the sandy soil. While his erection refused to wilt.

"And he has a full bodied erection," pronounced Mrs Reilly for the benefit of the girls. "It's as hard as a timber beam."

"His Stander!"

Again, Mrs Geiler's Berliner slang. The netted eyes of a one-time cabaret owner glistened with this close-up view of the nude and erect 18 year old.

"Nice to see a young man with a full burst of hair down there," observed Miss Bagnet, from the Myra Shrewsbury Womens' College. "They're mostly shaven these days."

There was a murmur of agreement.

Jim's insides turned to water with the shame.

"And what's your name, young man?" asked Mrs Pebbles.

He stuttered over the answer.

"Jim...you can call me Jimmy," he gulped.

So cute. They laughed.

He wanted to sink into the ground.

"Nielsen...Jim Nielsen. I'm new in Brewer. In a swim team..."

And thinking it best to keep talking...

...again shifting his arms over his torso and repositioning his legs...

...he gabbled that the coach told him to come across and ask them...if it was all right...with them being here...for the boys...to work out...

And he ran out of words as humiliation made his throat dry. Hell, they were all staring at his boner!

"You mean work out nude!" broke in Sally, asserting her right to be an equal with the women.

She made them all chuckle, staring at his groin.

"With...erections too!" ventured Mrs Hessmeister, the library with a duty to guard the "special" section of the town library.

They were all looking at the ventral underside of his organ that, flattened to his abs, would have stretched beyond his navel.

It had no apparent crown.

"A very long prepuce," observed Mrs Reilly, shaking her head in disbelief.

The schoolgirls giggled, Veronica watched sagely. She saw Timmy in the distance. Just caught his smile. No hands covered his erection. Or anymore that of the others, as Coach Compton repeated the command he had given Jim: arms by our sides.

"No, we can't see his penis head," said Mrs Claverback. "Jim, please pull back your foreskin...expose your glans."

Whaddtt? He looked bewildered.

"I'm an old navy nurse," said Mrs Claverback. "I think I'll have to do it for him."

She was rising from her fold-up chair.

"NO!" exclaimed the boy taking the tip of his covering foreskin delicately in two fingers, as if touching it for the first time. "I can do it! Honest!"

And he carefully drew the wrinkled cloak of foreskin back to expose the shiny deep rose of the head, a glistening glans penis, spongy and pink. It was adorned with his phallic eye, a slit-like urethral orifice, splendid in its proportions.

There may have been exhalations of admiration. For example, when Mrs Reilly gasped "A boy's glans exposed like a summer rose..." But all were concentrating too hard to hear. Mrs Claverback was the first to come forward. She gazed down, as if in wonder at a newly recovered item of archaeology. Then she gently enclosed his fingers to help him retract some more. This exercise exposed another half inch of stem- of penis neck. Those in the front row could see on his underside the bunched-up elastic band structure of his frenulum, linking shaft and glans.

The quaking boy could smell Mrs Claverback's cigarettes and lavender soap. "Yes, you pull back very easily," she said to him in far-off voice, catching his eye for a second. "That's very healthy in a young uncircumcised man. You have a very free foreskin. Perfect in every way. Now hold that position."

He did, tear ducts agitated as the females enclosed him.

The girls from his school- who had not yet met this new boy- elbowed their way and, curiosity aflame, looked over the shoulder of Mrs Geiler to gasp and giggle. "Fantabulous," Sally whispered, in awe. "Fantabulous," agreed Karen.

Standing in the inner circle Mrs Reilly declared, "A lovely glans, large and well-shaped. The colouring so sweet." She made a note of his fleshy scrotal sac with some very odd folds and crevices, creases and swellings, and the outline of two avocado pears- one, it appeared, on top of the other instead of dangling side by side, and committed him to her competition. Bent over peering, art teacher Mrs Simpkins said in a captivated whisper, "Hung like an army mule."

Mrs Pebbles hoped the whiff from her own groin wasn't becoming noticeable, even smothering her perfumes. Yes, eyes dilating on his stalk, she would recruit him for her Sunday school class at 16th Street Methodist. She would get that foreskin sliding back and forth along that glorious shaft while she talked to him about St Paul and masturbation.