Rodney's Nude Humiliation

Mrs Guelf, who owned the photo development store in Brewer, had twin daughters: Gwendolyn and Jessica, 18 years old and still in attendance at Grover Cleveland High. "Those poor Guelf girls," lamented one local Brewer lady. "Both plain as pudding." Indeed their skin was pasty and their mousey hair hung limp. There was a hint- in this, and the prison-like drabness of their clothing- that their breath may not be altogether wholesome. In this context that they both had uncommonly large busts was a peculiarity, not a compensation. None of the sex-obsessed Brewer boys dreamt of probing beneath their bras to stroke their melon-like equipment. The price of proximity would have been too high. Better the perky if smaller conical offerings of one of the Doris Day lookalikes.

No, the Guelfs had never been taken to sock hop or prom; never been entertained by a boy in Pop's Soda; never been whisked out on a date to the Dandy Drive-in or the movie palace.

Yet their eyes had strayed.

To the trouser fronts of the athletes in corridor and classroom, to the exposed underarms of fellas in basketball games, to the photos of Greek statues in the school library. When rumours of the school musical had spread they had pored over Miss Cuff's mimeograph of the costumes and feverishly imagined what different boys might look like in, say, a three inch by five inch frontal flap. That they had both been enormously excited by this idea- of boys stripped buff naked and put in these flimsy and tiny garments and made to perform- could not be denied.

As it happened no girls at school had been more aroused than the Guelf twins by the notion of boys swimming in the nude. Imagine- boys from their class and the sports teams and the church, boys they saw everyday- getting around stripped to the buff! They day-dreamed about boys naked in and round the school and YMCA pools. And there were stories of boys by the lake who also went nude working out and swimming, with rumours that at least one girl had spied with binoculars from the shrubs. They had taken the keenest interest in any intelligence on the subject. With nude swimming in the school pool, did any of the female teachers get to go in? Did any of their cheeky school mates really get to peek, as rumour suggested, through loose bricks or spy holes? What did particular boys look like, with their clothes off? The questions tormented them.

Meanwhile the idea of those arrogant boys- those boys who ignored them- being stripped and embarrassed and vulnerable, thrilled them to their cores. Jessica would claw at her roomy vagina at night, under the blankets, dreaming of how she might catch Rodney Ricketson or Mark Sullivan in the chlorine-scented school pool after hours. Through the shimmering green water she would see that they were naked. They would gulp with embarrassment and try to disguise their nudity by paddling with their arms. Meanwhile she would stand there in her swim suit and tell them to get out. Their faces would tense up with shame. But she would insist. "Come on, fellas. Out this instant or I report you." But they would beg her and plead to be spared this humiliation. And finally she would order them to haul themselves out "this moment" and, bit by bit, she would see them nude and bend in close and stare at their groins and tease them mercilessly and make them twist and turn with shame so she could inspect their rears...and, imagining their nudity and their embarrassment, she would explode in big repetitive orgasmic shakes and stifled moans.

Which, night after night, would be an invitation for Gwendolwyn in the adjacent bed to switch on her mental movie and imagine that, walking in the woods, she frightened handsome Carl Harlson and Kerry Fulbright in a bosky dell, sunbaking on rocks near an old swimming pool, drying off after a nude swim. Carl was lying on his back, his genitals like those the girls had seen on Greek statues, totally exposed. Kerry was on his tummy, his shapely bottom absorbing the rays. "Well, this is a pretty how-de-do," she declares to make them shrivel, their clothes out of reach. In this fantasy she threatens to tell their sisters she had caught them naked and that they were up to no good. "Aw, no Gwendolwyn, don't do that...please," Carl begs. "We'll do anything you want...honest," offers a desperate Kerry. Soon she had both standing before her, hands on heads, and she shames them with a physical inspection. Oh, how the notion of shaming these boys thrilled her as she clawed at her own genitals. To make it worse for them she probed and fingered like a nurse- played with their things, stroking their bottoms- while they winced and twisted with the humiliation and all the while begged her not to tell on them and, in the end, she had two naked boys going wild as she exposed her melon breasts...and instructed them to kiss lasciviously their wide aureole and nipples...until she, letting this fantasy rage in her mind, exploded like her sister.

Neither girl said anything to her twin. Neither had to.

One summer day, before the start of one of the all-girls' classes, the twins sat bolt upright overhearing the panted conversation of the five attractive young women grouped at the desk in front of them. Attractive girls, girls who unlike them went on dates with boys.

"Yes, yesterday it happened. My aunt was there...oh, she said it was the funniest..."

"My brother came home with Mom and our neighbour. They were beaming. Oh, they looked overjoyed. Looked...on-fire. He looked like he was in tears."

"My dopey brother couldn't look us in the eye all night! And Mom kept prattling away about how manly all the boys looked, swimming in the nude just like their fathers and how much Gran had enjoyed it and she was surprised by how many aunts and neighbours had found the time to go for a YMCA swim meet. Every time she said something like this my brother looked like he just wanted to crawl away."

"Listen! Listen! You know my aunt? The naughty one? Who runs around?"

"With the big earrings? The blue stockings?"

"With the boyfriends? Who likes younger guys?"

"Well, she gave me ALL the details! She said that the boys had to march out of the locker room stark, stark naked! Not a stitch. She said they were SO ashamed and bashful, blushing like fire hydrants as they shuffled past. Not a stitch! In their birthday suits! Aunt's so funny...she said 'their equipment was swinging!' And that all the ladies, no matter where they sat, could see them!"

"Oh my god!"

"Jumping Jesus!"

"And that queer coach made them stand on the starting blocks for ages. She said she had never seen males more embarrassed! And...this is SO incredible...the coach even made them go and sit with their moms and families in the bleachers...that's right!...stark naked...cramming past them...and sitting between them...and she said they all looked like they wanted to die!"

The girls spluttered and swooned.

"Tell us, who was there?"

"Oh yes, pleeeeeese!"

And the girl proceeded to reel off names, and other girls listed brothers or cousins or neighbours, and at each name one or two would let forth a suppressed shriek as they imagined that boy- so familiar from class or basketball team or church choir or neighbourhood or grocery deliveries- walking around without so much as a cotton thread. At each revelation they became more excited.

The Guelfs noticed that as they talked one girl had pressed her palm into the crotch of her skirt, another had started stroking her upper thighs where her skirts had drifted high, and a third was unconsciously stroking her breasts.

"Oh HIM! Without a swim suit! Oh, how I wish I had seen that!"

"Oh god! I always wondered what he would look like!"

"Aunt knows Kerry Fulbright because he mows her lawn and she said...oh, I don't know how to put it...that his 'prick,' and I'm sorry but that's how she talks...his prick got stiff...poked out, and that it sticks out to the side, at an angle!"

There were suppressed shrieks. The two Guelfs, in the background and unnoticed, pressed their thighs tight with tingling agitation. Oh, to have seen it, pined Jessica. Oh, to have sat in those bleachers, dreamt Gwendolwyn.

"...and she said that Jimmy Strawbridge had a short, stubby one..."

The girls hissed and spluttered with incredulity.

"...and that little Timmy Townsend sitting with his mom and aunt had a sweet teensy one too BUT that Mark Sullivan..."

"Yes! Mark Sullivan! Ohhhhh, tell us!"

"...was a whopper! Yes, long and thick with a fat head! That's how she talks. And she told me about the nice looking Negro boy? You know, Samson Douglas. She said he is even more handsome without clothes and seemed very bold, walking right past ladies without any attempt to cover up. Aunt said his whole organ was big and black and upright but she said that his balls were huge- she said he and Mark Sullivan had the biggest ball-bags."

There was a quick, near-hysterical exchange in which several of the girls explained to the others that boys, behind and beneath their cylindrical cocks, have dangling bags- yes, it is indeed funny: little bags that contain two balls. Yes, balls that simply hang there in the bags. Bags made out of skin. And this scrotum is very sensitive and their balls can't be handled too roughly.

This new information made the eyes of girls flame with prurient interest.

"Here's the best bit. When they were standing up there before diving- and the wait went on for a long time- one after they other they all...and this is how aunt put it...(it's so cute)...'suffered erections!' Like that? Suffered!"

"Erections?" asked one of the less educated.

"It's when the boy's thing...his penis...(that's the word mothers like)...or his organ..."

"Oh, organ! Penis! Just call it a cock or a prick!"

"Whatever, when it stands up or sticks out or goes stiff! When I caught my brother with a bulge in his pyjamas he whispered that he had a hard-on. Get it- hard! A hard-on! That's what they call it. He begged me not to tell Mom. That's how I got to see it!"

More gasps and giggles and splutters.

"Aunt said that the hilarious thing was watching them straining to make it stop and there was nothing they could do, nothing to stop their silly cocks reaching for the ceiling! Oh, she said, they hated it! They were SOOOOOO embarrassed! Aunt said when males are in their teens their pricks have minds of their own! And she said one cock after another stood up and...she said this was the worst thing for each and every one of them...THEY KNEW THEIR MOTHERS WERE WATCHING!"

"Their moms! How humiliating!"

"Imagine how those big athletes musta felt!"

"Mommy's eyes all over them! And aunt's and grandmom's too, and the lady next door!"

Here the Guelf twins were close to fainting with the strange emotions that swept over them. Both shivered, with the physical details being sketched so vividly, this talk of organs and cocks and testicles and balls and hard-ons, and something else: with the thrilling notion of boys they knew but who never spared them a glance, being demolished with shame, mothers watching them naked, and suffering this further indignity of "erections."

Their school mates were nearly hopping with excitement.

"Oh my gosh! Can you imagine a line of them...on the blocks...with their sticks- sorry, pricks- poking up?"

"Yes, and all those cameras snapping!"

"Cameras?"

"Yes, the moms all went equipped. Gonna be some interesting additions to all those family albums..."

And that was when English teacher Ada Braithwaite arrived and shushed girls to their places to start the lesson on Jane Austen's Emma, from a more elevated age when young women were not tainted with such unromantic instincts.

Photos!

The Guelf twins looked at one another.

Slyly that afternoon, in their apartment above the store, with its worn carpet and shabby blinds, Jessica asked their mother whether it had been busy in the store today.

"Photos? Yes, a lot of the moms...bringing in photos...of some big sporting event."

And her voice trailed off. And her eyes shifted sideways. She looked preoccupied and quietly excited.

After dinner- mince pie- Mrs Guelf seemed intent on leaving as soon as possible. She had been single for a year and was dating a big truck driver from Wisconsin. Seems that drinks this evening had been arranged only that afternoon.

As soon as the front door closed with a tingle of the doorbell both girls moved downstairs as if in a trance, to the store, reeking of dry cleaning fluids and film development chemicals. The blinds were drawn against the street lamps of Elm, the sound of traffic dim and distant. A dog barked. A female passer-by tapped out a metronome with her high heels which gradually faded as she turned into Main.

The quiet- and an urgent sexual promise- had insinuated itself into the moment.

Jessica lead the way into the dark room where their mother developed photos with the latest Kodak 25 Pics-a-Minute Professional Developer.

She switched on the light.

It had indeed been a busy day. The shelf was crowded with neatly laid out envelopes marked Guelf Photos. Each had the name of a customer scrawled on it.

Like an automaton, Gwendolwyn reached out for one. It was marked in her mother's scrawl: "Strawbridge."

With a quaking hand she opened it and looked at the first of the 25 black and white prints.

Her sister peered in.

It is safe to say that if Jimmy Strawbridge, at this moment watching Rawhide with his family, had known about this exposure he would have left town on the 11.05 Greyhound to St Paul, to connect to Chicago, never to return to Brewer and its mocking stares and gasps and giggles.

It was nothing less than a close up of poor Jimmy's cock, worthy of a medical text.

The photo displayed a short, wrinkled penis tilting up at the end, with a largish, heavily-ridged crown, all surrounding hair flattened by the pool, the better to display the boy's anatomy. The upward thrust of the member showed off the globe of his testicle bag and its stout raphe divided it in two, with furrows running off in both directions.

That it was Jimmy was made clear by the next pictures- the boy standing on the blocks alone, with other boys at his sides, a closer view with his penis pointing right out, then one even closer with it standing up towards the ceiling. Then one of him emerging from the pool, then another of him surrounded by his mom and grandmom, them beaming and him abashed and half erect; then three other women joining them, with him still in the middle but now fully erect and looking acutely ashamed; and a delightful and touching one of him just with his grandmom hugging him around the waist, the white haired old lady so proud and excited, the boy looking close to tears with the shame, all the energy of the photo driving the viewer's attention to the outrageously public hardon rising from his groin.

The twins stared, eyes popping.

There were more.

Jimmy with his back turned, his bottoms displayed. Muscular and well shaped halves, fissured by a decisive and apparently deep cleft.

Who had insisted he do that, Jessica wondered? Turn and pose his bottom? Did his mother say, "Jimmy, turn and let us photograph your backside. That's the boy. We want to show your sisters?" What a humiliation, thought Gwendolwyn, a picture- crystal clear in its black and white precision- of his tight, low-slung ass.

And finally the one that, both felt, would begin the family album or even be framed to sit on a living room cabinet, a work of genius: of Jimmy in his boy-next-door freshness, standing alone by the pool, in his birthday suit, his short, stubby member pointing skyward. His look was that of a submissive prisoner, who had just surrendered everything. Including honour. Presenting himself to his captors.

Including at this moment- and wouldn't he die to know it- the Guelf girls.

Both of them aflutter at this privileged sight.

So that is what they look like- cock, penis, hard-on. The revelation suffused them. They rifled through the pack again. They each imagined their next encounter with Jimmy- at church, in school corridors, bringing his mother's dry cleaning to the store.

Then they reached for an envelope marked, "Mrs Carruthers." She was the town seamstress, the widow who stitched the Indian loin cloths for the boys in the school musical.

The first photo made them swoon- as great billows of desire bore them aloft, out of the grimy storefront in Brewer and into a universe of plantations and females in crinoline gazing wistfully at shirtless mahogany males working in the cotton.

It showed Samson Douglas, the Negro student.

He stood grinning, surrounded by ladies who gripped his shoulders, hugged his waist, felt his chest. There must have been six of them, trying to beam towards the lens but eyes drifting to the Alabama flesh rising to meet their view.

From his groin stood a rock-hard appendage, black-grey in colour, rich with arteries and veins displayed in laboratory detail, the thick stem decorated with a flamboyant crown. What? The stem three times as thick as Jimmy's? Four times as long? And below...

Balls! There they hung in their glory, one lower than the other, in a capacious grizzled bag! Just as the gossiping girls had described them.

Both Guelfs felt a surge of gluttony.

Gwendolwyn reached greedily for the packet.

The contents fell out on the table. Thirty six photos! Thirty six!

Of Samson!

The girls drooled.

There he was.

Up on the diving block, engorged. Standing with Coach Compton whose small, tapered member stuck out at 45 degrees from his shaven, suntanned groin attempting to meet Samson's stalwart prick. Striding by the pool, Samson's member pointing the way. A view of him from the rear, as he manoeuvred his way along a row of seated ladies, his cock presumably flicking their noses, the ladies mouths wide open in shock...or gluttony. Sitting on the bleachers between Mrs Carruthers and another lady, his legs widespread and his dormant penis lounging in his lap and his ball bag sprawling vastly in all directions. Then still seated but with his cock upright and his ball bag concentrated and the ladies all around him leaning and bending to take in the view, with Mrs Carruthers smiling proudly at the camera as if to say, "Now, what do you think of my boy?"

And then pics of Samson in what the girls guessed was Mrs Carruther's back garden, naked as a savage, weeding her flower beds, pushing a lawn mower with cock flopping in his groin, hosing down a rose bush with his giant appendage upright and seen in profile and, outrageously, beaming at the camera and holding a half-aroused prick as he volleyed an arc of urine against the paling fence.

She must have asked him to do it, the girls sensed, and she snapped the shutter as he did.

And six photos of Samson in his Indian loin cloth, in her fitting room, the five inch long flap doing little to shelter the width and length of his member, especially in the pics that showed him engorged. One close-up highlighted the bunched-up skin of his underside where it stretched to greet his glans; the central artery looked like a heating duct; and the heavy testicle bag fell low, connected to his groin by Gothic folds of skin.

The twins stared, eye swimming with unbridled lust.

Jessica felt giddy. Gwendolwyn had to clutch the counter to steady herself.

She pointed to the grizzled pubic forest and circled it. Her sister nodded. Yes, different from Jimmy's.

"I bet all the girls would like to.."

Jessica nodded.

No need to complete the sentence.

See these photos?

Slip Samson into their virginal beds?

Touch his abundant equipment? Tickle his low hanging testicles? Take his stretched penis head between their lips?

Any one of the answers was correct.

They opened the envelope marked "Harlson" and saw Mrs Harlson's doting photos of her good looking son Carl, young Viking, with shoulders like those of a harpoonist on a Nantucket whaler but a diminutive penis and tiny ballsac. Here he was on the blocks with the better endowed boys. Close to tears when posed with his grandmom and aunt and neighbour, his little member now stiff and pointing high- clearly an acute embarrassment. Three photos of him posing back to camera, the two small mounds of his bottom muscled tightly together.