Rodney's Nude Humiliation

Stevie sat in the rear of Mrs Lanbourne's four door hardtop Sedan de Ville as it sped north on the interstate. The interior of the new 1956 Cadillac smelt antiseptic and nice. She had just bought it. Mrs Lanbourne was like that, this elegant lady with her long nose and lambent brown eyes: everything was the best. Stevie thought of her these days as his real mother. He thought the Broadway hit song, "Hey you with the stars in your eyes," had been written for her. "Love never made a fool of you. You used to be too wise."

Beside him sharing the back seat were her two daughters. Stevie just thought of them as The Nurse and The Librarian. They were smug and reeked of simmering, slow-burning excitement, taking side swipes every now and then at the little poke in the flies of his dungarees and giggling at one another.

But why wouldn't Stevie's petite member be punching upwards? Why would this evanescence of his 18 year old boyhood- the engorgement of his barely three inch member- even be noteworthy? Of course Stevie would be excited. Of course his cock would be rampant. His dreams were coming true.

They were headed on this Sunday morning, after all, to Oakwood Naturist Retreat, a few hours drive out of St Paul. It was the mid-summer open day, the famous recruitment event in the Minnesota naturist calendar, and Mrs Lanbourne was honouring her commitment to Stevie, to fulfil his feverish fantasies, and have him spend the day, from sunup to sunset, nude with many women and girls.

Without so much as a stitch to protect him from their eyes.

Of course he was stiff. He was as hard as a hammer.

"I think our little Stevie is very excited," said The Librarian. In a half whisper so their mother could not hear.

"Yes, he's thinking of all those ladies and girls looking at his hairy little body..."

"At his stiff little organ..."

"At his hairy little nut bag."

They spluttered with merriment.

He lashed back.

"Yeah, but you'll be stripped off too!"

The two girls giggled the louder.

From the driver's seat their mother called them to order.

"Stop teasing Stevie. This is a big day for him. He'll be getting a lot out of his system. It'll help him over his fetish. It'll do him a lot of good."

They sped on, past lakes and red barns, past roadside diners, fruit and vegetable stands. Cows looked up, quizzical, as if to say, "There goes that Mrs Lanbourne with that Stevie Lynton...wonder what will come of that?"

Billboards advertised the abundance of Eisenhower-era prosperity: General Electric's push button range ("Now I cook by pushing buttons") Nabisco's Oreo brand, trips across the country on the American Flyer, Pepsi Cola ("More bounce to the ounce!") and Knickerbocker ("The beer drinker's beer.")

The sun shone on this blessed, protein-fed land, surely the happiest in human history.

In an hour they turned off to join the road to Lake Lansing- they could smell it, its lacustrine essences richly distilled- but before they reached it they turned right into a side road. It cut through a wall-like forest of black spruce and American elm. In 15 minutes they came to a sign that read: "Oakwood Naturist Retreat" with shilouettes of one male and one female couple naked. The parking lot was full of cars. A banner read, "Begin the Life of Sun and Health."

A family was emptying a car boot of its beach umbrella, fold-up aluminium chairs, picnic hampers. A skinny, freckled faced son in a blond crew cut looked gloomy, his two sisters looked skittish. They teased their snub-nosed brother about soon losing his pants and boxers. His pot-bellied Dad hushed them, his mother- an attractive brunette- smiled to herself.

The camp was surrounded by a high log wall. There were two log cabin-style locker rooms, marked Men and Women, both built into the palisade. Apart from the service entrance for vehicles, they were the entrances, the only ways in or out of the forested paradise where folk went buff naked.

Carrying her picnic hamper and her girls bouncing cheerfully by her side Mrs Lanbourne waved a fond goodbye to her favorite boy. "See you on the other side, Stevie...in a natural state!"

"You, too, Mrs Lanbourne," said the boy, his petite erection steering him into the locker room.

Suddenly there was a screech of brakes. A hot rod skidded to a halt.

"Hey Stevie boy! Wait for us!"

His three friends tumbled out. There was Rodney Ricketson, red hair flaming, oiled and brushed back in his Elvis cut; his Adam's apple dancing in his throat; eyes blazing with excitement. He stumbled out the car door. A long, wide erection pushed out the front of his jeans. Nothing terrified Rodney, or thrilled him, like being stripped off with women and girls.

There was Mark Campbell whose tall, swimmer's physique seemed desperate to fling off white T shirt and shuck out of his dungarees and get naked in the sun. As did Kerry Fulbright, his jaunty, right-slanting erection, poking at his trouser leg of his Levis.

"Hey...hey...Stevie, didya hear the gossip? Heard that Sally Pullen's Dad and Mom have enrolled the family in the open day. We get to see her and her sisters! We get to see her pussy!"

Kerry was desperate with this excitement. Behind his fly buttons his erection jerked skyward.

The boys back-slapped and elbowed and jabbed one another into the cool shade of the change room with its walls of lockers. They were the only occupants. It smelt of a damp concrete floor and the surrounding she-oaks, flavoured unwholesomely with a hint of over loaded septic tank. They started stripping their clothes off, flinging them into lockers.

"Let's get nude and get inside this camp. Didya see that pair of sisters out there?" asked Mark, standing on one leg and tottering as he struggled out of his sand shoes. "Their titties gonna be bouncing around on the volley ball court any minute!"

They impatiently pulled off shirts and pants, desperate to get naked. Meanwhile the father and son from the car park, burdened with beach umbrella and fold up chairs, struggled in. They said a shy hello and started to undress.

"They your sisters out there?" Kerry asked, hiding a smirk. "Looked kinda nice."

The boy just frowned under his blond crew cut, worked on his buttons.

"Guess it's a good day for it," Mark said to the Dad who was slithering his trousers down.

"Sun's good for ya," the man nodded, as eager as the boys to get out of his clothes and see what the inside of the palisade had to offer.

Rodney loved change rooms. He loved getting his athletic body naked. He loved the thought that he was vulnerable, potentially on view. Today he was the first to stand totally nude...and erect, inevitably erect, shuffling into the shadows to steer his bludgeon out of sight of the new arrivals. His pals were soon totally naked as well, cocks eagerly jutting forward and parallel to the concrete floor.

Their erotic adventure was about to begin.

On Stevie's suggestion his friends had each written to Mrs Lavender, secretary of the naturist club, and applied for day passes for this big event. Each had received his pass in the mail (they had used the post office box of Stevie's deceased Dad to escape attention from their Moms.) Each pass had come with an identically worded form letter, its tone at once welcoming and cautionary:

"Oaklands Naturist Retreat opens its palisade to visitors seeking to improve their health and wellbeing by playing and relaxing clothes-free. As the enclosed brochure explains we are very much a family institution. Young men are welcome as members when accompanied by female family- mothers, aunts, sisters, cousins. This minimises any chance of male members being drawn to naturism out of prurient curiosity. However our open day is an opportunity for young males by themselves, like you without family and still at school or college, to test your readiness for a naturist life, looking forward to a time when you have wives and children of your own. This is the reason for this one special annual event. Our rules for open day protect against the chance of wrongly motivated males gaining entrance and exploiting our innocence."

The boys skated over that mysterious reference. Their attentions were riveted, though, by the next one, so central to every boy's anxieties about a nudist camp experience:

"Young males are prone to embarrassment when the atmosphere of naturism stirs involuntary responses their immature years are unable to discipline. It is common with new members, almost an every day occurrence in nudism. It should not deter you from savouring the naturist experience. Women members have been schooled to take in good spirits this young male embarrassment, to make light of it, even to treat it with a kind and indulgent jest, to make gentle fun of the young male and sudden self-shaming. Many mothers even seize what might be a boy's disquiet to educate one of their daughters in reproductive matters. On the other hand if his shyness is too acute the boy may throw down a towel and lie flat on his stomach or quickly plunge into the pool, provoking no more than a knowing smile or playful finger wag from a mature lady nudist."

This part of the form letter sent the four boys into high spirits.

"I won't be lying flat on no towel," Mark had said, holding his letter. "I'm gonna be showing off this boner and seeing their tits and pussies in return."

Rodney's eyes had swum in agreement. His prick had throbbed. He was delirious with excitement- the thrill of showing himself, of being shamed, of females looking.

And it had also excited Kerry and Stevie to know that, in return for seeing naked females, they could sport hardons with nonchalance. Their erections jerked to full stand.

So here they stood, in the cool of the log cabin locker room, lined up to exit into the brave world of "American sun culture." Rodney slung a backpack over his shoulders with their wallets and car-keys and a cut lunch his mother had made for his day out "hiking." They each clutched their day passes.

They each sported a full stand erection.

The skinny blond youngster with the crew cut stood behind them, a five inch erection- with everted edges to its corona- pointing parallel to the floor, next to his Dad, whose small acorn of a penis barely protruded from pubic bush under his heavy, hairy midriff. The boy muttered something to his old man, gesturing hopelessly at his erection. His Dad replied, "Son, think nothing of it...it's only nature. No one's gonna notice."

Small cock up at 45 degrees, Stevie was first to step out of the door into the glare.

In front of him he saw Mrs Lavender holding a clipboard ticking off the male visitors.

The philosopher-queen of Minnesota nudism was dressed in Haiwian-pattern skirt and lime green halter top cupping her huge pendulous breasts. She wore wide brimmed hat and cats eyes sunglasses.

She was covered-up! Dressed!

Beyond her were Stevie's friends, his adoptive family, the Lanbournes. The sisters were in shorts and halters with polka dots, also with broad hats and glasses. Their mother was typically elegant in loose kaftan.

They beamed.

Beyond the three Lanbournes was the family the boys had seen in the carpark, the family of the boy and his father: the attractive brunette mother and two daughters, all in white or navy shorts and patterned halter tops.

And beyond them all the females- on the volley ball court, by the pool, in family groups at barbecue stops, picnicking on the grass- were all covered, in shorts or jeans with tops or T-shirts.

And the males to a man or boy were stripped to the buff. Some were obviously like the boys, trapped day visitors, blushing and trying to hide with embarrassment and being made fun of by females. Even from this distance, it could be seen that some had erections. Others were seasoned male nudists, tawny all over, treating the visitors as a joke, their tanned cocks loose between their thighs.

Stevie clamped his hands over his groin and bent forward, in a Venus gesture appropriate to the embarrassed naked boy.

"Hey!" he protested. "What's going on?"

Behind him his friends expressed their astonishment.

"Hey! All the females..!"

"Hell! What's the deal..?"

"We're nude! They're covered!"

Rodney, Mark and Kerry tried to cover their erections with clamped hands: again, the classic pose of the embarrassed naked boy. And Rodney doubled over for good measure. The girls from the carpark joined in the laughter- their own Dad and brother had just appeared, hands full with the family beach umbrella and fold-up chairs and unable to cover up- totally exposed, brother with his cock pointing hard as a roof beam, Dad's retreating into its jungle hideout. The two of them froze, horrified. Suddenly on display, buff naked- Dad to his daughters, son to his Mom and sisters-for the first time. Even the wife was choking back tears of laughter; the two girls falling about, barking with helpless glee, whether more at their Dad or their brother it was hard to tell.

The family name was Barnacle. "At least he'll stick to you," Nora had been teased when she had chosen Bob for a husband. Still, he had owned the biggest dental equipment distribution firm in this part of the mid-West. He was nothing in the lover department: his petite cock entering her was like a doctor's digital exploration, a tentative medical procedure, and Nora had only been able to summon up lubrication dreaming of the basketball players and footballers she had played "backseat bingo" with during her days as a cheerleader.

No moment was as lurid in her memory as that when she pulled an engorged prick from folds of flannel or denim and a landmines of buttons and zippers, like finding a prizewinning banana in Christmas wrapping. And she got to test its strength and size, its curvature, the sponginess of the glans, the looseness of the scrotum, the weight of the balls. Her last year of school and those of secretarial college made her a connoisseur of the male apparatus. She knew more about how it worked than any of the owners.

Bob had hailed from a different town and had heard nothing of the formidable reputation she had chalked up in lovers' lanes in the 1930s, when her nickname had been "Naughty Nora." This was an era when Americans were discovering how mass produced automobiles could transform sexual opportunity, although it had seemed Bob had missed out, maybe had been too shy of his diminutive dick. Then in the war years, while he served in the Pacific with the First Marine Division, Nora had worked as a stenographer in the army, stationed in Los Angeles, and her adventure with rough, rude soldiery had beaten most records.

While her husband hauled machine guns through the jungles of New Britain she had schooled herself in the art of love and the science of contraception. Few parking lots, one-night room hotels, officers-only lodges were unknown territory to her. And her partners ranged from a fleet admiral and Yale-graduate colonels to cowboy privates from Wyoming and midshipmen from Mississippi. Ethnographically, she ranged from tawny-skinned Cherokee to long-lashed Sicilian and had coupled with Negro sailors whose skin was as black and shiny as a Ford bonnet.

Encyclopaedic liaisons in her past made marriage to Bob Barnacle tolerable, even a relief. But they also meant that right now it was a connoiseur's gaze she was directing at the males in her sight.

"Look at that one with red hair," she was thinking. "I caught a glimpse of his masterly erection before he clamped his hands over it. I can still glimpse white shaft and those dangling family jewels...and someone has shaved him smooth as a baby. He's a basket baller or swimmer judging by that physique. And, Jeepers, he is embarrassed- especially as old Mrs Lavender has stumped right up to collect his pass...he's handing it over now...and giving me and the girls a nice glimpse of veins and purple head- what a head- and those testicles...and blushing like a fire hydrant...and she's explaining the rules for open day, telling him that, of course, females are required to cover up otherwise this place would be crowded with leering perverts staring and salivating...

"And now that other boy, also built like a swimmer or basket baller, is handing over his pass and giving us a nice view- and aren't my two little darlings taking it in- confirming he's also rigged with a heavy appendage...and he's also shaved smooth! And Mrs Lavender is brushing aside his objections and saying once in Oakwood he's here for the day! And if he thought he was going to be staring at naked girls and older ladies he's got another thing coming and he and his pals will now follow the planned program for boys visiting on open days: volley ball contests with teams of mature ladies, joining a family picnic and a forest walk with some of the mothers, always keen to advertise the joys of naturism...and then at the very end of the day a really special treat. Goodness, wonder what she has in mind with talk of that special, end-of-the-day treat?

"Now there's the cute fella with the slanting prick. He's raising merry hell about being naked while each and every female is covered. But she tells him that if he leaves early she rings his school principal and his mother to report what he's done...gosh! That leaves him speechless! So she says she hopes he understands the rules. He nods his head.

"Good, she says, and to start you and your friends can drop your hands. It's considered offensive behaviour here, standing with hands over your groins. Oh god! This is one of the moments one lives for! They look like frightened deer. They dart looks at one another. They look at the staring females. They think about it. And they act! Now they're doing it: dropping their hands. Hands now by their sides. And...we can see everything! Look at them! All erect! All brazenly stiff! And all except the short fella with the little prick are shaven smooth! Doubly embarrassed at being shorn of their manly locks. Oh don't they look appalled! Standing stock still. Like statues...and as smooth as marble...with embarrassing erections planted in their groins!

"Look at my daughters! Look at this other lady's girls! Oh, aren't they thrilled! Greedy little eyes popping! Smug in their shorts and tops! Loving the sights and, something more, loving the humiliation of the boys, caught in a trap of their own making, thinking they were going to be walking around these grounds googling at us. Their lecherous eyes, they thought, roaming over us! Now they're caught being googled at themselves...by every female here.

"Now Mrs Lavender has come to my pair, fronting them, the blushing father and son. Pathetic, how Bob delicately popped the idea of attending this open day. Good for our health, for our wellbeing, nice for the boy and his sex education, he told me in bed that night. While every moment he was thinking of seeing lithesome womanhood, naked maidens. Even the opportunity to display his tiny little dick and savour the sweetness of humiliation- oh yes, if that dirty literature he smuggles home is anything to go by with stories of spankings by maids and sex on plantations- he's dirty minded enough to relish a bit of humiliation over his small penis.

"Now look at him: knowing his two daughters are seeing him bust naked for the first time-naked as a jay, in his birthday suit- while they, instead of being nude themselves, are dolled up in sports gear...laughing aloud at their hairy, big-bellied Dad. Their Dad...who never read the small print about open day at Oakwood, so eager was he to get here.

"And the girls are staring and giggling at Bud, their eager-beaver brother with his snub nose and crew cut and freckles, trapped, on display, standing in the altogether with his erection jerking up, reaching for the sky...its veiny, wrinkly underbelly on display. Nice for his sisters to see all that, get to know their brother inside out. Every inch of him. Although he dreads it- look at the fear in his eyes. Always nervous about today and going nude. But...excited! Hell, I've had to change his pyjamas every day for a week- stiff with emissions- and every morning his sheets were splotched with what looked like maps of Ireland.