A Dozen Doodles Discovered

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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.

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A Dozen Doodles Discovered
[Alpenhorn, 2020]

“Ready? Phase One.”

Elke punched the button to start the timer. The rest of us yanked the blindfold hoods off the ‘prisoners’. It was the start of the ‘initiation’ of this year’s new boys from Camp Mikawasu (fondly called Camp Mickey).

The boys blinked in the light. This year, twelve newbies had been sent here for our treatment. Twelve lucky girls chosen from Camp Minalee (of course called Camp Minnie) had custody of these boys for the next three hours! I was one of the girls chosen. At the end of the three hours we would deliver these prisoners back to their older brethren from Camp Mickey, in exchange for the newbie girls who had been taken across the lake for their own initiation at the hands of the boys.

We stood by and watched the boys squirm. They were wearing only loose white boxer shorts (plus hiking boots). Their wrists were bound, and held by ropes going up to the pulleys on the ceiling. We tightened the ropes so that the boys were stretched to full height, their feet just touching the floor.

And they were worth watching! Fat boys had probably chosen electronics camp or something, rather than Camp Mickey, which was known for its sports. No, these were sleek and lean. Nice eye candy. Twelve lanky bare torsos surrounding us. After a short time one of the girls said “It looks like it will be number 4.” We didn't know their names yet, so we just used numbers. We turned to look. Boy number 4 was small and skinny. His boxers were sagging low.

Some of us at Camp Minnie had prepared the ‘specialty’ white boxers in advance, and delivered them to the senior boys at Camp Mickey. After dinner today, the senior boys had taken all the newbie boys for initiation. They made the newbies take everything off and put on the boxers. Besides hiking boots (essential for walking outdoors around here), that was all they had on. Then they rowed across the lake here to Camp Minnie.   The senior boys tied the newbies’ wrists, put burlap hoods over their heads, and turned them over to us. (The newbie girls were taken back across the lake.) We twelve girls led the blindfolded boys into the Rec Room for their initiation.

In preparation for the arrival of the newbies, Camps Mickey and Minnie had held negotiations about what was allowed during initiation. According to our agreement with Camp Mickey, no touching is allowed—we may touch neither the boys nor their clothing. In return for ‘no touching’ we got their attire reduced to just boxers. (The agreement for the girls, on the other hand, lets them keep all their clothes on, but they are subject to touching.)

One property of the specialty boxers: there was only one size. So they were really tight on the bigger boys—it was interesting to look at that! And they were really loose on the smaller boys.

Number 4 was small. If he had simply held still, the boxers would have stayed on. But—like the other boys—he was squirming and struggling. So his boxers were slipping. We all watched boy 4. His boxers were low enough that there was a nice V showing in front. Some of us walked around to the other side—a butt-crack worth seeing. Number 4 realized that his motions weren’t helping. He tried keeping still, but by then it was too late. Soon his boxers gave up and slid down his legs. Because of the boots, they caught around his ankles.

“Doodle one!” we yelled and pointed. His doodle was no longer covered—it was discovered! A lovely circumcised doodle. All twelve girls saw it!   Boy 4 shrieked. He squirmed even more. But it didn’t help. It just made his doodle waggle around—I loved watching that.

“Four minutes, twenty seconds,” the timekeeper announced. We explained to the boys: “Four minutes for the first doodle. That’s a bit sooner than average. By the end of tonight we hope to discover all your doodles!” Boys shouted, pleaded, and even cried. But that did no good.

“Can I get dressed now?” boy number 4 asked us. I was impressed: it takes courage for a boy to talk to girls while his doodle is showing.

“No, of course not. You will be on display for the whole evening!”

“Doodle two!” one girl announced. “We missed it.”

Another property of the specialty boxers: an extra-large fly on the front held closed by one button. But the sneaky girls who sewed on the buttons made sure that the buttons would easily pop off. While the boys were struggling, some of the buttons had done just that. And now: doodle two was sticking out through the gap! That boy tried wiggling so that his doodle would go back in. But he did not succeed.

“Doodle three!” Another missing button leaving a wide unsecured space made it easy for another doodle discovery. Girls squealed in pleasure. One more boy turned red in the face. “Hey, guys. We should stand still,” one of the boys figured it out. That way, sliding down (for the smaller boys) or coming out (for the bigger boys) was less likely.

Now there was a pause. We girls in the center feasted our eyes on the uneasy boys facing us all around in a circle. Of course we enjoyed looking at the three doodles. But also there were bare torsos, stretched out for our view. And even doodles that were still inside could show interesting bulges.

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“Phase Two,” Elke announced when the timer specified. “Water!”

A girl outside the circle had a bucket of water. She poured it on the back of one of the boys. Wow, did he yell; the water was cold! One reason we did this in the Rec Room was that the concrete floor has drains in it. So the water wouldn’t damage anything.

Now other girls got buckets of water. A girl could throw cold water on the stomach of a boy. Or she could dump it over the head of a boy. Sometimes, when it was done just right, the sudden flow of water would sweep the boy’s boxers down. We kept count: doodle four, doodle five, doodle six. Or, when a boy gyrated from the cold water, the button might pop off his fly, and we might discover his doodle that way.

“Doodle seven,” we shouted together. “Doodle eight.”

“Only four left,” someone remarked. Now we began throwing the water directly onto the boxers of those four boys. “Doodle nine!”

The third property of the specialty boxers: when it got wet, the thin cloth would be nearly transparent. Even if, technically, a doodle was still inside, we could view it almost as well. The fourth property: the elastic at the waist would tend to relax when it was wet. A few boys were left with boxers still on. We would gang up on them. We would dump three or even four buckets on one boy from all sides at the same time. We did this even to boys with their doodles sticking out their flies: we wanted not only doodles out, but boxers down!

“Doodle twelve!” We cheered. A dozen doodles discovered! We danced around and sang the ‘Doodle Dee Doo’ song that Margaret had taught us—about a girl, Edwina, and a boy, Oskar; how Edwina repeatedly tries to see Oskar’s doodle; and how Oskar tries to keep it hidden. (Of course: summer camp is where kids learn humorous off-color songs!)

Ten of the boys had their boxers down around their boots. The last two had resisted the deluges by a strange method. Stiffies, sticking through the gap in the front, held up the boxers! Even though the boxers were below their butts in the back. We congratulated those last two boys. We considered that seeing their doodles stiff like this was ample compensation for allowing their boxers to remain above their ankles.

We waited for the timekeeper to start the next phase. And while we waited, of course we looked at all those doodles. The boys were helpless to do anything about it. The doodles were in many shapes and sizes. I was surprised by the variety. (I had never before seen more than one doodle at a time.)

“Ahh. Excuse me?” called one of the boys. It was number 4, doodle one. “I have to go.”

“Go?” Margaret asked.

“I mean—after all that water flowing. You don’t want me to pee on your floor, do you?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Marcy, bring the urinal.”

“The what?”

“Actually it’s just an empty glass pickle jar. But it serves for boys.”

Marcy brought the jar. She held it so that the famous ‘doodle one’ went in the top.

“What?” number 4 was surprised. “Now? Here? With everyone watching?”

“That’s the idea.”

“But I can’t with people watching!”

“You can’t?” She turned to go.

“No, wait. Stay here.”

After some effort, with eyes scrunched closed, he managed it. I really liked watching him pee. It was fun for me. Next time, maybe I will be the one to hold the jar.

For use later in the evening, each girl had been assigned one of the boys. We made the assignments by number before they even arrived. Mine was: boy number 7, doodle 5. So I took special interest in him. His complexion was very fair. So, when he blushed it really showed. Red cheeks. And, now that his doodle was out, he blushed often.

I stood in front of him, and looked in his eyes. He blushed. I walked around him. Ribs showing. His butt was pretty flat. No tan lines—pale everywhere. When I returned to the front he blushed again. Of course his doodle was what I most wanted to examine. When I looked down there, he blushed. The doodle was uncut, long, but thin. Its color shaded from pale at the base to a pink at the tip of the foreskin.

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“Phase Three,” Elke announced. “Introductions. Each boy, in turn, will introduce himself. At least three minutes (we have a timer to insure this). Tell us your name and where you live. Tell something interesting about yourself. Talk about your life up to now. Or about your family, your neighborhood, your school, your hobbies.”   Of course, while a boy was doing this, twelve girls (and probably eleven boys) would be staring at his doodle. It is interesting: a boy who normally talks non-stop may become tongue-tied when his doodle is out and girls are seeing it.

It turned out that my assigned boy was named Hans Blauvogel. (Number 7, doodle 5; the blushing boy.) He lived in a rural community about an hour’s drive from where I lived. He spoke hesitantly. As he spoke he mostly stared at the floor. Whenever he happened to look up, he blushed.

After all the boys had gone through that, it was the girls’ turn. “Each girl has been assigned one of the boys. The girl will introduce her boy. And then she will describe—from memory, without looking—what his doodle looks like. The other eleven girls will be looking at his doodle to check how accurate the description is.” Which is worse for a boy? Talking to girls for three minutes with a bare doodle? Or... Having one girl describe his doodle to other girls?

My turn came. “Hello, everyone. This is Hans.” I tried to describe his doodle. I probably gave the least successful of all the descriptions. I have an excuse: I really had memorized Hans’s doodle. But when I turned my back on him and began my description, that doodle betrayed me (and Hans). It got stiff. The other girls all laughed when that happened. My description did not match what they were seeing. I said Hans’s doodle was pale; but now his stiffy was almost red, just like his blushing cheeks. I said Hans’s doodle was thin, but his stiffy was not thin at all. I said Hans’s doodle was 7 centimeters long, but his stiffy was nearly double that. And so on.

As we intended, this phase was an ordeal for the boys.

We waited for the timekeeper to start the next phase. And while we waited, of course we looked at all those doodles. Whenever I looked at Hans, he blushed.

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“Phase Four: Photography!” Elke announced.

That got the boys complaining loudly. What could be worse than having your doodle seen by twelve girls? Worse than having your doodle described? Having your doodle photographed!

But what could they do? Their doodles were out. Their hands were above their head attached to the ceiling by ropes. In the negotiation between Camps Mickey and Minnie, the best we could get was: one photo of each boy. So each of us twelve girls would photograph one doodle. Technically, phones and other cameras were not allowed in Camp Minnie. But we had one for this. We got great close-ups of the doodles. Especially the stiffies!

Photographing Hans’s doodle—what fun! In my photo, I used landscape mode. A red stiffy. Poking way out, a little above the horizontal. Looking from the side, that doodle nicely filled the screen. An image going from the lower right to the upper left of the frame. When I brought the phone close to his stiffy, Hans blushed of course. And not only on his cheeks: The blush covered his whole face and went clear down to include his shoulders.

Elke went last; she stood back to get her photo. “Why not a close-up?” we asked her. She explained: “One, I want to get a recognizable face. Two, this boy has nice muscles everywhere. Three, I think showing boxers down around his ankles does more to emphasize how naked he is than total nudity would.” After hearing Elke’s explanation, I wished I could re-do my photo. Hans’s monster blush would have added pizazz to the photo of his naked doodle.

There was a pause while we waited for the time to expire. We could keep looking and looking, though. A dozen doodles discovered! A dozen doodles introduced! A dozen doodles photographed! And next ...

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“Phase Five, ” Elke announced. “Contact.”

“What’s that?” a boy asked with trepidation.

We explained what ‘contact’ includes: Touching, caressing, fondling, pulling, pushing, inserting, squeezing, tickling, spanking, milking, pinching, goosing, ... The howls of outrage could probably have been heard clear across the lake in Camp Mickey! In fact: according to our agreement with Camp Mickey, no touching is allowed; but they didn’t know that.

After a long while the cries quieted down. “Just kidding!” we said. “No touching.” The boys cheered. Strange. Twelve boys with doodles displayed were thanking us for not going further.

We released the ceiling ropes. “Go on down to the dock. Your friends are waiting with the rowboats.” Margaret was by the exit door with a knife to cut the wrist knots. To get over to Margaret, boys with boxers tangled around their boots had to shuffle across the room with their doodles waggling—one last interesting thing for me to see.

Finally, the boys could pull up their boxers. Even if the boxers were wet and practically transparent, they were glad to be wearing them.

A dozen doodles recovered.

(End of File)