Mom, Dear Abby, and Me

* * * * *
This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

* * * * *

This is a piece I previously published on another site. As with most of my stories, there is a whole lot of “truth” to the content. Of course, there is some embellishment of the facts, but it is based on an actual 1970’s advice column verbatim. There are also elements of my experiences with parentally imposed nudity.

Mom, Dear Abby, and Me

By, Running Bare

Dad was in is lounge chair in the living room, concentrating on the afternoon newspaper. My mother was watching TV with me and my sister. As he often did, he interrupted our viewing with an item of interest he’d just come across, Hey, listen to this, Honey. Dear Abby has posted your letter. I mean what are the chances? He then commenced to reading the whole thing and my heart sunk.

You wrote,

Dear Abby, My sister has a beach front summer place on a lake. She also has two boys, ages 11 and 13, and two girls, ages 12 and 14. When the weather permits, she requires the boys to play on the beach and in the water completely nude. However, she has the girls wear swimsuits. We have two children a boy 12 and a girl 13, who would enjoy a vacation at the lake, but I don’t like this nude boy bit. My husband says I’m wrong.

Dad interjected, “You got that right! I do think you’re wrong. And, by the way, I like how you changed the facts to protect the innocent.” Then he continued reading the column,

When I discussed it with my sister, she said it was good to bring up boys without secrets from their sisters and that I should do the same. I half jokingly asked her if she thought Dear Abby would agree with her and she bet you would because you had a plain sense of fundamental realities. I agreed to write you and show her your answer.

Dad stopped and looked over the paper with a questioning look, “You gonna’ show Sharon Jenkins the answer?” Then continued to read,

I also agreed to concur with it.

Dad grinned, Great, Jack it looks like you’re going with the Jenkins for a couple of weeks. Pack light. Mom got an embarrassed look as we both realized what was to come.

What do you say? signed Mass. Mrs.

Then he got that I told you so smile, Let’s see what she says, as if he hadn’t already read the response. He continued,

Dear Mass Mrs., I’m inclined to agree with your sister and your husband.

“Let me reiterate, she agrees with ‘your husband’”. He was grinning broadly.

The fundamental realities are that boys and girls are very different. I concur with your sister that it is okay to have the boys nude in the presence of the girls providing them with the opportunity to see the secrets boys have girls don’t, yet not having the girls follow suit, or rather lack thereof. It certainly is a very good way to satisfy girl’s curiosity as to what boys look like while in the appropriate surroundings, but I agree with it being different for the girls and that they should wear swimsuits at all times when in the presence of the boys. Although this may seem unfair to the boys, girls require more privacy than boys and it would be inappropriate to insist that the girls comply with the no-swimsuit rule. But, it sounds like your sister’s boys already understand and accept that. However, the boys should,

Dad emphasized, “And, listen to this.”

ENJOY the experience of playing and being in the presence of the girls completely naked, but given how boys will usually doff all clothes in haste and without care when at the town swimming hole, I’m guessing your son won’t require too much pressure to comply with your sister’s rule.

Boy did she get that last part wrong. I didn’t like having to skinny dip at the Y and I sure didn’t want to have to be nude in front of the Jenkins girls and their guests at the lake.

My Dad was in ecstasy as he chided Mom. “I told you, Jack should spend a couple of weeks nude. He needs to go with the Jenkins. Aren’t you glad you disguised the facts a bit so Sharon won’t know it’s you who wrote the damned letter? She wouldn’t let you forget it. She’ll probably shove it in your face, if she reads it. And, I’ll bet even with the facts changed, she’ll suspect it was you.”

Now you may think I jest about this letter. If you do, feel free to check it out for yourself. You can find Mom’s letter and the response in the September 22, 1970 edition of any syndicated newspaper your community might have had back then. You might even find the column on line. Really, you’ll be able to read it and see that I’m not kiddin’ you. Let me repeat, my Mom’s letter and Abby’s response were published for all to see.

Mom took the chance that Abby would actually give a different response and lost. She had made the deal with Dad that if Abby agreed, I was to be forced to go with the Jenkins. Jeff and Jerry Jenkins (don’t you find all the J’s weird?) weren’t twelve and thirteen as in Mom’s letter. In reality they were twelve-year-old twins. Their parents did own a lake front cottage in a lakeside community in the middle of a pine forest. And, what she wrote was actually true. They had two sisters, Gabrielle the youngest was nine and their older sister, Sandy, was 13. So even though Mom disguised facts, I’m sure if Mrs. Jenkins read that column, and most women did back then, she’d suspect who it was. Even if she didn’t, I’m sure she’d share my Dad’s I told you so attitude and share it with her.

When they went to the beach both sisters got to invite one of her friends. My sister Carla was going as Sandy’s friend and I was to go as a friend of Jeff and Jerry. But, as you can see, Mom had an issue with the dress code. Being ultra-body shy, I did too.

Dad loved it, “You know it isn’t going hurt him to run around bare. He isn’t normal when it comes to being naked. Eleven-year-old boys shouldn’t be so shy about their bodies. You know when I was a boy...”

Mom cut him off, “Yes, Henry, we know, when you were a boy you ran naked at the lakes, swam naked at school and the Boys’ Club, and even hiked naked in the woods at scout camp. We all know. You’ve told us those stories and showed us the pictures to prove it. Who the hell took those pictures anyway?”

He was proud to answer her question, “We all took pictures. When we had them developed, we got enough prints made to share with each other. Those were the days.”

My mind flashed back to the black and white photos in Dad’s album. There were definitely a multitude of photos verifying his stories. There is no doubt, with the modern modesty trends, those photos wouldn’t be developed today. There were photos of his nine-year-old, wet, naked form unabashedly poised at the Boys’ Club pool with his arms up, standing on his tiptoes, boy package in plain view, ready to dive. Grandma had taken that one as well as many others over the years.

“Yep, our mothers and sisters could come and watch us swim,” he’d brag about it just to rub salt into my shyness. There were black and white photos from of him during his prepubescent years with his fellow scouts canoeing and swimming naked as the day they were born at scout camp. The even later photos showed Dad and his friends with long penises hanging out of their adolescent bushes. There were photos of them playing basketball nude as well. He was quick to note that parents and siblings visited the camp, at the halfway point, and were often treated to the view of naked pre– and early adolescents doing any number of activities.

In his zest for me to develop comfort with boy nudity, right up until I was seven, he’d take me down the street, Mason jar in hand, to a small pond to catch tadpoles. We’d leave the house with me naked except for flip-flops and walk down our street. I didn’t think much of it back then and, apparently, neither did anyone else. It was definitely a function of my age. I’d wade out into the murky water and he’d sit on the bank of the pond and play the spotter role. Oh, Jack, quick there are some! A half hour later I’d have a jar full of pond water with a bunch of frog offspring swimming around in it. Then he’d pull me out and have me lie down on the grassy bank to let the sun dry me off. My immature package was fully on display to anyone who passed on the sidewalk or drove by. He’d sit there while I sun dried; exchange small talk with our neighbors who might walking by; and wave at people driving past, many of whom we didn’t even know. He was just being neighborly. I am constantly reminded of my tadpole adventures with my father by Mom’s photos of me with my penis and scrotum fully exposed happily showing off that Mason jar full of tadpoles. And, I must admit, it doesn’t look like I was bothered in the slightest by my naked state.

We joined the Indian Guides at the Y and the fathers would take us on camping trips. During those camping trips we boys—five, six and seven years old were expected to spend a great deal of time playing Indian games, hiking, swimming and the like often totally naked. Again, even to this day my folks have photos of fifteen or twenty naked little boys playing at various activities, while our fathers sat around in lounge chairs apparently chatting about adult male interests.

As a Cub Scout, our den mother had a pool in her backyard and after our den meetings we boys were made to strip naked so we could the swim. She also had two little girls one older and one younger than most of us in the den. They wore their bikini suits and joined us. The older girl, Cindy, was into staring at and often even grabbing our packages. It wasn’t uncommon for four or even all six of us in the den to have woodies by the time we had to get ready to go home, all because of Cindy’s handiwork. She pulled on our penises and fondled our balls and we’d stiffen. For some reason I was one of her favorite targets. I can still hear her, “Come here Jack, let me pull yours.”

I complained about it to Mrs. Issacs especially when Cindy stalked me all around the pool just to pull my penis. But Mrs. Issacs would just say, “Cindy keep your hands to yourself.” Then shed write it off by telling me, “She’s just playing.”

That period of my development, I think, was most likely when my over modesty issue began.

Now, there definitely were times we Cub Scout aged boys would play doctor with each other. But, those times of innocent exploration were more to stimulate those feelings brought on by our curiosity as to the reasons for the social taboos of such activities and excited by the chance we might get caught. They were times of genital comparison. Looking back the arousal certainly reinforced our desire to do such things. One has to wonder how making us parade around nude in public and semi-public venues and often allowing other kids to fondle us is any worse than consensual sex play, but the latter was and still is considered sinful.

I must say, also, we had to swim naked at the junior high pool, we still were expected to be naked at the YMCA pool, and at scout camp. In fact, when I was nine, we boys took swim lessons at the Y. We had to take the lessons nude. I’m sure this is why Dad chose the Y for my lessons. To illustrate the thinking of the times, no one had a problem with the instructor being a college girl. She was nice, but talk about woodies. It took a few weeks before we boys weren’t aroused at swim lessons. And, yes, sometimes she innocently touched our boy parts during instruction. This happened on occasions when she had to physically support our bodies in the water. More often than not, one hand would lightly cup our boyhoods or tight little backsides, while we floated or demonstrated a stroke. Frankly, as I think back about it, a male instructor would have had to pretty much do the same thing. Needless to say, today she’d have a problem with our Puritanical trend.

But, I was two months from my twelfth birthday and Jerry and Jeff invited me to be their guest for two weeks at the lake. I wanted to go until I heard about their parentally imposed dress code. As you saw in my mother’s Dear Abby letter, their mother required (not encouraged but required) the boys stay nude during their vacation. And, one couldn’t miss the fact this was done pretty much for the enjoyment and education of the girls. Really, it wasn’t just for play and water time as Mom wrote, it was ALL the time. And, it was made clear to me and my mother, if I went along I’d be expected to do the same. Dad had no problem with it at all.

I’m not sure what the twins take on the forced nudity was, they never talked about it. But I knew mine. It was to avoid that kind of situation completely. I mean there were other people there to scrutinize my junk. Not just their mother and father, but now four girls, and God only knew how many other vacationers. All of them would be welcomed to evaluate those tanned boys with the cute peters bouncing all around.

As much as I liked the Jenkins boys, there were limits to what I’d do to be with them and this was one cup I wanted to pass. The lake was inviting but the cost of admission was a bit too high for me. Now, thanks to Mom, that didn’t much matter anymore, our opinions had been neutralized by the most popular socialite of the time. I was required to accompany the Jenkins on vacation.

On the day of our departure, we had to go in separate cars. Mr. Jenkins took us boys and Misses took the girls. Needless to say, my luggage was light. Other than the short shorts (athletic shorts which were short enough to expose your ass cheeks were the boy fashion of the time) and the t-shirt I was wearing there wasn’t much else. I did have one other set of clean shorts, underwear and a t-shirt. These along with a toothbrush all stowed neatly in the paper bag that constituted my luggage.

A few hours after leaving home we turned up a sand drive. As we approached the log home, I could smell the clean aroma of the pines in the fresh warm air. After the car rolled to a stop, Jeff and Jerry jumped out and giggled with excitement. I was a bit more apprehensive of...

“Boys you need to get naked! Susan and Carla are anxious to see what you’ve got, and Gaby and I want to check you out too, Jack.” It was their thirteen-year-old sister, Sandy, who shouted the order almost as a suggestion to Mrs. Jenkins. This resulted in some interesting expressions on the faces of their girl guests. They just stared at us and did all but wring their hands in anticipation. And, yes, they had their little Brownie cameras with them.

She took the bait. “Why don’t you boys take off your clothes and then help your father unload the car? Just put your clothes on the porch steps and I’ll wash them and put them away.”

I was a bit traumatized. I knew it was going to happen, but hell we’d only been there fifteen minutes at most. Jerry and Jeff started stripping right there in the driveway. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought they were in a hurry to expose themselves. Let’s just say, they apparently weren’t nearly as modest as I was.

As their erect penises bounced out of the confines of their underwear, they slipped their jockey shorts over their feet one leg at a time. Even though they were definitely aroused, neither made an attempt to cover their boyhoods. I stood there still fully clothed, stunned and amazed. The girls were definitely into the show. Carla, my sister, and Susan, the nine-year-old other guest, were beside themselves with the giggles. They didn’t hide the fact they were fully intrigued by the treat of spending two weeks with three nude boys running around. And, yep, Carla’s camera began clicking as soon as the twins had removed their clothing. Nobody seemed to think twice about it—not Mrs. Jenkins, not Mr. Jenkins, nobody but me.

“Jack, you’re a boy here too. You need to get your clothes off. Boys under fifteen are expected to stay nude here at the cottage. It cuts down on my laundry time and makes your backsides more available to the belt or brush if you don’t behave”, Mrs. Jenkins instructed.

Whoa, the belt or brush? Really, that wasn’t too surprising for the time. Parents used to exchange disciplinary authority readily. As a rule, when another kid’s parents had supervisory responsibility, they also had disciplinary authority. At that time, corporal punishment was the accepted and expected method of straightening out young boys. And, worse, welts and/or bruises were the occasional cost of doing the business of disciplining boys. No one got upset by it. I think that was when the line, Oh, that’ll leave a mark, first came into fruition.

Girls were a different story. They weren’t often spanked. And when they were it wasn’t with the severity of the boys’ discipline. Rightfully, the overriding thought was with boys, no pain no gain, with the girls the embarrassment of the spanking was the punishment. Then again, I don’t remember any girl getting a bare butt spanking after they were seven or eight, but boys usually never got them without being fully exposed.

“I’ll wait until I go in.” I tried to put off the inevitable as long as I could.

“No, I think you need to strip now. Get your clothes off.” Needless to say, the girls started staring at me then, awaiting the unveiling. “Your mother said you’d be a bit shy. Just dive in and do it. You’ll be fine in a few days. We’ve all seen penises and ball sacks before, haven’t we girls?”

My thought was, Yeah, but not mine.

I took off my shirt rather quickly and dropped it on the pine needle cover at my feet. I was halfway expecting a reprieve from Mrs. Jenkins because of the exuberance I’d shown baring my chest. Didn’t happen. A quick scan of the front yard assured me that every eye, including those of Mr. Jenkins and the boys, was glued on my disrobing. It didn’t make it any easier. Everyone had stopped and just stood there facing me. I put my thumbs in the elastic of my athletic shorts and stopped staring back at them, choosing instead to cast my eyes downward.

“Go on, pull them off,” Mrs. Jenkins coaxed.

What could I do? To complicate matters, my penis was as stiff as I could ever remember it getting. The sight of the tenting alone was humiliating. That situation caused me to fumble around with my shorts. It was a futile attempt to delay removing my underwear. I kicked off my flip-flops and slid my shorts down and lifted one foot and then the other and off they came.

“Now take off your underwear,” Carla ordered. My sister, of all people, pushed me to remove my underwear. The girls giggled and the boys just grinned at her brash demand. I know they all saw the tenting of my underwear and that just made the observers more anxious for me to free myself of the last vestige of privacy.

I faced the cabin to shield my genitals from their view; put my thumbs in the waistband of my tighty whities; and slid them down. My penis got hung on the elastic waistband and when it bounced free it slapped my pubis causing an audible sound. I hoped nobody heard it. I could feel the stares of eight sets of eyes on my bare ass. It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop even on the sand and pine needle cushion. I lifted my legs one at a time to completely shed my briefs. I know my hole probably winked at them as I did.

“Now, turrrrnnn arrrrounnnddd,” my sister coaxed. I did, holding my shorts and underwear so they draped my raging boner.

Mrs. Jenkins ordered us to help Mr. Jenkins unload the car. “Here, just give me your clothes. Boys, you can give me yours as well.”

As she whisked my penis drape from my hand, my circumcised, rock-hard, four-inch appendage bounced into the daylight.

“Well, it looks like you have no reason for your shyness, Jack. That’s a handsome little penis there. What’s to be so shy about? Oh and don’t worry about the woody, it’ll settle down after a while. It just isn’t used to being seen by all of us yet.”

Guess that was lesson one about boy secrets.

The girls’ cameras clicked away. I knew those black and white photos were, in today’s terms, going to go viral at school shortly after we returned home.

Mrs. Jenkins picked up the remaining boy clothes and told the still gawking girls to go change into their suits.

“Boys come give me a hand,” Mr. Jenkins called us over and started handing us boxes of food, folding chairs, various water toys, and other stuff to take to the cabin.

At one point, Jeff was handed a box and he teased his father, “Dad couldn’t we have left this home? We’re on vacation.”

With a smile, his father replied, “It’s my scout training—always prepared.”

I looked in the box and there was a long handled plastic brush just like the one at our house we used to wash our backs and a wide leather strap. You didn’t have to be a brain surgeon to put it all together. Even so, Jeff said to me, “You know what these are?” I feigned ignorance as if it would make the obvious go away.

“By the time we go home, your butt will know. I can almost guarantee it. It’s Mom and Dad’s tool box.”

Both Mr. Jenkins and Jerry laughed at the remark. Then Mr. Jenkins, I’m sure sensing my embarrassment to the nudity, came to my rescue, “Jeff, just leave him alone. He’s got enough to worry about.”

We finished moving all those boxes. Of course, the girls had put on their suits and were back outside to literally keep an eye on us. We sat along one of the bottom steps of the rustic porch just below the front screen door. The girls were sitting in lawn chairs about fifteen feet away, but they were facing us. I had tucked my still stiff penis between my legs and put my knees together to limit my eye candy from their view. Jeff and Jerry both sat with their knees spread wide apart, apparently unconcerned with their stiffies being open to public view. After watching them point at us and whisper and giggle for five minutes, the screen door creaked open. Mrs. Jenkins sweetly hollered, “Girls, here, put some sunscreen on yourselves and then do your brothers.” She held out the bottle and waited for Gabrielle to retrieve it. Jeff and I scooted apart so she could climb the steps. “You make sure you get their boy parts real well. They haven’t adjusted to the sun yet.” I couldn’t see Gabrielle’s face she was behind us, but when that came out of Mrs. Jenkins’ mouth, the other three wringed their hands and grinned.

“I call Jeff,” Susan called out. I felt like we were up for auction. It made me wonder who would get me.

Mrs. Jenkins put the whole thing temporarily to rest. “Susan, I think we should let you help Gabrielle put it on Jeff, maybe later you can do him by yourself. Let’s let Carla take care of her brother this time, it might be easier for him that way.” With that Susan got that fake pouty look on her face.

I don’t know what made the sweet, well-intentioned lady think one that my sister was familiar with my penis, balls, or asshole, but she wasn’t. Carla hadn’t seen me naked in years. Not even and accidental showing. For that matter, even my mother hadn’t seen me naked since my school physical last year. And, two, I wasn’t helpless. I could smear that stuff on myself.

“Mrs. Jenkins, I can do it for myself.”

“Oh, nonsense, boys are infamous for not being the best with hygiene. The girls need some chores too, you young men can’t be responsible for all the work. The girls can be the sunscreeners while we’re here.”

Looking back I guess this was also a way to educate the girls about “boy secrets” as well.

“Oh, it’s no trouble, really. I can put it on myself.”

Mrs. Jenkins scrunched up her mouth in a perturbed sort of way. Jeff elbowed me and said, “It’s alright Jack, the girls can do it!”

After the spring did its work and the screen door slammed against the jamb, Jerry quietly offered. “Hey, don’t argue with Mom. She’s big on the whole do as you’re told thing. Look Mom thinks making the girls look after us is good training for them to become mothers. That’s why she makes them do all that shit for us. What she doesn’t know is we’re not helpless. Just go with the flow, or she’ll ask Dad to spank you. She sees that as parental training too. Trust me you don’t want that to happen. Your ass will burn for days.”

My concentration on that discussion was broken as my sister flaunted her new authority.

“Okay, Jack stand up and spread your legs.”

She, as expected, had a shit eating grin spread across her face. She reached up and smeared the white lotion on my face and rubbed it in. Then her hands moved down my chest. Next my arms were coated with lotion and she instructed me to raise my hands so she could do my armpits. Then, you guessed it, she clumsily applied it to my penis and scrotum. There was a grin of dominance written all over her face. My appendage now at full staff was slicked up again as she slid her hand back and forth from the base to my bulbous head. Then she pinched my glans and pulled it up so she could give attention to my scrotum. I could feel her moving my balls around as she, to her credit, gently covered my sack.

“Nice set there, brother. Why not relax and enjoy it? You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. By the way, I like feeling it.”

Now that would make any boy blush. His sister, who to my knowledge, had never touched my boy parts was now playing mother. And, to have her indicate her pleasure at doing so was beyond belief.

She continued down my legs, reached around and slapped my butt.

“Turn around let me get your backside.”

After working her way down to my ass, she started kneading my cheeks like she was working bread dough. It was definitely annoying. She had to terrorize me more by whispering, “I hope Mr. Jenkins gets to spank these before we leave. I’d love to watch that.”

The side of her hand slid up and down my crack. At one point her index finger pressed against my anus and I jumped from the startle of it all. On the next pass the tip penetrated my hole and that made me withdraw. I loudly shouted at my semi-laughing sibling.

“Hey, Carla, do that again and I’m going to hit you.”

Gabrielle then did that whiney tattle tale yell, “Moooommmmm, Jack isn’t letting Carla put the sunscreen on.”

Momentarily the screen door swung opened. I was still standing facing it as Carla took the look of an offended party.

“What’s the problem here?”

I jumped in, “Oh nothing, Carla just touched a sensitive spot.”

“No, you said you were going to hit me.”

I think to avoid an argument, Mrs. Jenkins jumped in. Glaring at me she just said, “Jack, you are a little boy. You need to adjust your behavior or I’ll have to ask Mr. Jenkins to adjust it for you. Now we haven’t been here for an hour and you’re already causing a problem. Get your act together and let your sister do what she’s been told to do. Do you understand me?”

I could feel my face redden. “Yes, Ma’am.”

When I looked at my sister over my shoulder, she still had that shit eating grin of success written all over her face.

“Now let me finish your butt.”

This time she planted the whole damned index finger in my hole for a few seconds and removed it.

“How’d you like that, brother? Now turn around I want to put some more on your boy parts.” And, she did my penis and scrotum a second time.

What made that whole thing even more embarrassing was when Mrs. Jenkins came out and told the girls they needed to continue to put it on us every hour or so. She put the bottle on a collapsible table next to the lawn chairs. She then reminded her boys and I’m sure me too.

“Before you boys come in the cabin, let your sisters inspect your little butts, we don’t want any sand coming in, and remember, when you boys poop, they have to check too. I don’t want skid marks on the furniture.”

I felt like I was five years old when my mother would tell me to spread my cheeks to make sure I’d done a sufficient job wiping. Only problem, I was twelve and my sister wasn’t my mother. The whole skid mark thing could be solved if we boys were allowed to wear swimsuits and shorts.

We went down to the lake. There were cabins with docks like the Jenkins’ on either side. To the left the neighbor’s dock was probably a hundred feet away. An older man was sitting out at the end fishing. Jerry yelled, “Hi, Mr. Simmons! the man turned and looked at us.” My hands instinctively went to protect my package. I did notice Jeff and Jerry weren’t even attempting to cover theirs.

“Oh, hi boys. You just get here?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna be here for a couple of weeks. This is, Jack, he’s one of our friends from back home.”

“Hi, Jack. Good to meet you.”

I released my double hold on my genitals and waved to say hi.

“You gonna be here with the boys the whole time?”

“Yeah. My sister and me.”

“Well, you enjoy it. Beautiful place isn’t it?”

The guy appeared to completely ignore our nudity and went back to fishing. I was perplexed. If there were three naked preteen boys running around back home, they’d get a lot of attention. Maybe Abby was right. Nude boys at the lake were acceptable.

Jerry explained, Mr. Simmons is a photographer. “He’ll probably come over sometime to take pictures of us swimming and all. Really he’s a nice guy. He and Dad drink beer while we swim. Sometimes he and his wife have a barbeque and invite us over. They’re real nice.”

I picked up on the takes pictures of us part and really had my modesty button pushed. “He takes pictures of you? Naked?”

“Yeah, you’ll get used to it.” Then, I think to tease me he added, “Yeah, Mrs. Simmons tells him, ‘Phil, you be sure and get their cute little peepees in the pictures, I really like seeing those stiff little peepees in your photographs’.”

I thought the boys knew me better. No, I wouldn’t get used to it. I mean I was still shielding my boyhood lest the old man should look over and see it. Is that the action of someone who’d get used to it?

Without thinking I jumped off the deck into the calm, smooth lake. Jeff panicked, “Jack, get out, get out of the lake! If Dad sees you he’ll whip you.”

I treaded water, “What?”

In almost a whisper, “We aren’t allowed to swim without an adult or Sandy watching us. Get out.” There was immediacy in his face as he motioned to swim to shore. “He’ll whip you for sure.”

I chose to swim out toward an old raft. If what Jeff was worried about was true, I could always plead ignorance this time. Jeff continued to loudly whisper, “Jack, get out!” I ignored him. Mr. Simmons had turned his attention to me. Ignorant of my violation of lake etiquette, I hadn’t asked him if my swimming would bother his fishing. He seemed content and just reeled his line in.

It must have been less than five minutes and an angry Mr. Jenkins was on the dock. “Jack, swim back here and get out.” It was apparent he was a bit perturbed. I did as told. When I got out, my hands again drifted to protect my eye candy. The girls had followed him down to our location.

“There is a rule around here young man. You don’t swim unless Mrs. Jenkins, Sandy or I are here to watch you. It’s for your own safety. There’s another rule, when our neighbors are fishing you ask before you jump in. Your swimming ruined his fishing, he pointed at Mr. Simmons, and when a fisherman’s line is out, you might end up with a fish hook in you if you’re not careful.”

“I told him, Dad. We tried to get him to come out, but he just kept going.”

I don’t know whether it was Jeff’s way of saving his ass or he just wanted to get me in trouble, but that little ditty didn’t go unnoticed.

“He told you not to swim without one of us down here?”

What could I do? I nodded affirmatively. After all the truth is the truth.

“Mr. Simmons yelled over, Yes, he sure did, to support Jeff’s rendition.”

“Hi Phil, Sorry he interrupted your fishing.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I was about to go get the camera anyway, now that my favorite naked subjects are here.”

“Well, just click away. Cindy loved the 8 x 10s from last year. She framed two of them and hung them in the bedroom.”

“I sell the shit out of those photos to the tourists. Mary Beth lets me set up a table in her gift shop. Something about naked young boys that people enjoy!”

With that Mr. Simmons trudged toward his house and Mr. Jenkins returned his attention to me.

“You were told not to swim and you kept doing it? I think you and I need a session to instill in you a little obedience. Mrs. Jenkins tells me you gave her a bit of a problem this morning too. I want you to go in the house and stand in the middle of the family room with your hands on your head until I get there. Do you understand? Go.”

He was pissed. I was scared. Jeff and Jerry were stoic. And, the girls were giddy. Gabrielle was patting her ass and giggling as I went by them. “Can we watch Daddy?”

“No, not this time. You kids just stay out here. Sandy, you can watch them while they swim.”

I was scared. I kind of suspected my fate. As I took my position in the living room, Mrs. Jenkins looked over the breakfast bar, dried her hands on her apron and began to take it off. She just mentioned to Mr. Jenkins, “I’ll give you two some privacy. I’ll go out and watch the kids while they swim. What, about 15 or 20 minutes?”

Mr. Jenkins just mumbled, “That should be enough.”

He walked to his bedroom and emerged with the belt I’d seen in the box earlier.

“Look, Jack, I’m not going to lecture you. I think you know what the problem is here. You need to obey the adults around here, and you need to follow the rules. The rules are in place to protect you. I wouldn’t be discussing this with you, if you hadn’t ignored Jeff’s instruction. If you’d gotten out when he told you about the rule, we’d both still be down at the lake and you’d be swimming.”

I gulped.

“Now, I want you to bend over the arm of this chair. If you get up before I’m finished, I’ll start all over again, so you just keep your position.”

I was already shedding tears of anticipation of what was to come. He pushed my shoulders down to raise my backside and kicked my feet apart. The cool air on the back of my ball sack told me it was hanging freely between my spread legs. I was sure my butthole was also on display as my legs were spread so far apart. I heard the buckle jingle a bit and then there was an audible whoosh culminating with a sharp pain across both cheeks. I lunged forward in an effort to retreat from the sting that resulted. There was a delay and I thought he must have finished. I started to rise.

“Don’t get up!” He warned.

Then another whoosh and another sharp pain jolted me. Again, there was a notable pause, and still another stripe graced my butt. At that point I was bawling like a baby. The whole, lash, wait, lash again continued until he’d planted ten stripes. I know I counted them. Each time the sting of the prior stripe sunk in before the next was applied. When he’d finished he stood me up. I could hardly see his face through the tears. Snot was running out of my nose.

“Don’t touch your bottom. Hands on your head and stand over there.”

Needless to say, I was compliant. He went back in the bedroom and came back without the belt.

“When you go back out there, the girls and even Jeff and Jerry, will probably tease you about the stripes on your ass. They’ll want to feel your butt. Let them. Just let it roll off your back. I don’t like having to whip you boys, but I guess it’s best it happened day one. That way you may be able to enjoy the rest of the vacation without it happening again, huh? I know it’s difficult.

You aren’t used to being naked all the time, especially around the girls. Really, they do learn a lot about caring for you boys and your boy parts when they are able to watch and feel them, but you’ll find you don’t even notice it after a while. Jeff and Jerry don’t. What you do need to remember is when we have a rule, you have to comply. If I have to do this again, I’m going to invite the girls to watch. It’ll help them understand boy discipline better. Do you understand?”

Still choking back sobs, I mumbled, “Yes.”

He hugged me and said, “Now, I think we need to get out so Mrs. Jenkins can come back to her kitchen or we won’t have dinner.” And he walked me out the front door. “You can find a place to hide until the tears stop, but I’m afraid that red bottom isn’t going to go away anytime soon. Go on now. Come down to the lake after you’ve stopped crying.”

I walked around the back of the cottage and a few feet into the pines; lay on my side on a bed of pine needles; played with a pine cone; and contemplated my beating and what led up to it. Slowly I began to regain my composure.

(End of File)