By Willie B.
williebflorida@gmail.com
Copyright 2025 by Willie B., all rights reserved
[6,754 words]
* * * * *Chester
A Stripped For Florida story by Willie B. Florida
williebflorida@gmail.com
Sometimes my stories coincide a little too directly with real life in
Florida. Under Governor Ron DeSantis, the Florida house education and
employment committee passed the Parental Rights in Education bill which
requires the implementation of “procedures to reinforce [the]
fundamental right of parents to make decisions regarding [the]
upbringing and control of their children.” Also known as the “Don’t Say
Gay Bill” the law bans classroom teachers from discussing LGBTQ+ topics
since they are not considered age or developmentally appropriate for
students.
* * *
”It doesn't take much to keep a guy under control," observed Sheriff Tate.
His buddies lounging around the wood-paneled den nodded agreement.
Successful to the man, the town's leading lawyers, doctors and
businessmen, they well knew the control exerted by their wives and
girlfriends.
"Boys night out" in the former offices of an old law firm was their weekly escape.
It wasn't only his buddies that Sheriff Tate was considering, however.
He jacked his hand faster on Chester's 15-year old hard-on and grinned
as the boy splattered sperm across the hardwood floor.
"Yep, it sure don't take much," Tate concluded, agreeing with his own assessment.
The naked boy fell back against the Sheriff's broad belly, his head
limp on Rod Tate's chest. Chester had been jacked to orgasm three times
during the evening and was nearly spent.
* * *
The
Sheriff's buddies made up the core of the group. The ostensible excuse
was that if their wives, girlfriends and sweethearts were going to have
"girls' night out" well, then, so should they. At first the guys got
together to do "guy" stuff -- play cards, drink beer, throw darts, eat
junk food, and the like. They couldn't help thinking that the women
were having more fun going out. Wasn't there something more interesting
to do?
One night, Dr. Marshall, the town's leading ophthalmologist brought his teenage nephew with him.
"I'm sorry, guys," he apologized, "my wife's sister had to go to Boston
and her husband's working late. He can just join us in playing pinochle
or something."
It was part way through the game that the guys
looked up. There was a squealing sound in the next room. They had found
a building to meet in, an old-fashioned place that had once been a law
office. It was all wood-paneled with built-in shelves, with one of
those wooden fences across the middle of the room with a gate in it,
large old desks and an elegant chandelier. There were two smaller rooms
that had been for the attorney's closed-door meetings with clients.
This was the site of their weekly gatherings.
The squeals got louder and were abruptly squelched, as if someone's hand went over a young person's mouth.
"Where's Bradford?" wondered Dr. Marshall. He got up, crossed the room
and opened the door to the first of the offices. "Oh, my!"
The
others followed, curious at Dr. Marshall's interest. The sight from the
door was something indeed: a very naked Bradford being impaled in the
ass by the town's leading divorce lawyer.
With that
introduction the boys club took a decided turn toward boys, younger
boys, that is. The distinguished clientele that made up the boys night
out quickly discovered that they weren't the only males held in thrall
by the ministrations made to their bodies. They each may have been
quite under the control of their ladies, but on this night of the week
they controlled some younger males. They quickly realized that not
every boy was as quickly seduced as young Bradford. But each man knew
all too well the weakness of a boy. So it was that Sheriff Tate had his
fun jacking young Chester. It was all a matter of time.
"It's
almost you boys bedtime," announced Stanley Lupinski, a prominent
businessman and sometime City Council member. The three naked boys
presently in the chambers yawned and slowly got up. The boys wandered
around the room looking for stray articles of clothing and getting
dressed.
"Good-night," said a sleepy Chester, standing at the door. "Next time?"
"If you want more of the same, you know when, and you know to stay
mum," the Sheriff reminded him. The three boys nodded and wandered out
into the night. Mum was certainly the word. There was no chance the
boys were going to spill the beans about where they spent three or four
nights a month. They didn't think their friends, families or
schoolmates would quite understand the lure of being jacked off naked
by the town's aging old fogies, as luminary as their day jobs might
be. In fact, they were somewhat mystified as to their own behavior,
but that is simply because they did not yet realize the magnetic
attraction of a boy to sexual pleasure. These old men offered them
something rare: sex without the hassles of social interaction. All the
worries and dilemmas of budding teen sexuality did not apply.
The boys had only one worry. It was well known among the boys who
frequented boys night out that at random intervals one boy would be
chosen. For some reason, in a state that had made nudity legal, only
boys who had not been stripped were selected by the "boys." The men
would play cards, throw darts, drink beer and all that stuff, while
keeping three to six boys naked. They would get passed around and
stroked, fondled. jacked off, and sometimes taken one at a time to a
back room, before being sent home at the end of the evening. But, every
once in a while one of the guys would choose a boy and they'd go out
into the night.
Every single time this had happened the boy ended up stripped and stopped attending boys night out.
Chester had heard all the rumors. The boy was left somewhere tied up
and naked. It was an extortion scheme. The boy was forced to commit
some crime. The kid's parents stripped him as punishment. There was a
secret boys club made up of all the boys who'd been stripped.
• • •
Chester felt the adrenaline rush as he vaulted the wooden fence,
noticed the chained guard dog just in time and slipped around the
corner of the ranch house. He darted across the dimly lit suburban
street and crossed a vacant lot. Only three more blocks and he'd be
home. The cool night air brushed across his naked body.
He'd come to in the stall of a public restroom. Getting up off the
cold floor he felt his head swim and he had to sit on the toilet until
he regained some semblance of balance. He'd been sneaking out of the
house and joining the old farts for, what, maybe a month, six weeks?
He'd seen five or six other boys during that time, a couple of whom he
recognized from school or the neighborhood. Like them, he'd soon been
relieved of his clothes and was stroked and fondled and brought to
orgasm multiple times during the evening. He didn't really think too
hard about what he was doing, but the next week he'd be sneaking out
again. He wouldn't have considered himself gay, not at all, but those
guys did know how to beat a guy off!
Chester felt himself
hardening at the thought. He shook his head. He needed to figure out
where he was. What time was it? His parents would start wondering why
he was out so late. Also, where were his clothes?
Florida
is an odd place. There are plenty of naked boys and girls wandering
the streets, going to school, learning to drive, flipping burgers and
going on dates. The Stripped For Florida program allows any parent or
guardian to strip their kid, after which he or she is legally barred
from wearing clothes until the age of 21. Problem is, Chester wasn't
stripped. He knew full well what would happen if one of the many
electronic sensors failed to register an embedded SFF chip behind his
ear. He could easily end up with the police holding him while they
waited for his parents to show up. They would be given the choice of
paying a hefty fine or legally stripping him. Either way, his folks
would be pissed as hell. They'd also wonder why he was out late at
night naked and obviously up to no good.
He gathered his wits,
stepped out into the restroom, and cautiously opened the main door. He
was in some fast food joint, maybe a MacDonald's? There was sure to be
a sensor in here, but maybe if he stayed with a crowd it would be hard
to track him. Chester walked out of the restroom trying to look as
casual and ordinary as possible. A family with two naked young boys
was just getting their order in a large take-out bag. Chester
sauntered over and walked in a huddle with them towards the exit. The
father opened the door and his two boys, joined by Chester, walked
through. An overhead light blinked red. The security guard stopped
the family.
"Excuse me," said the guard, "it may be nothing more than a malfunction, but the sensor just went off."
"No problem," replied the father, clearly one of those proper types who
always promote law and order. "You're welcome to check the boys." The
security guard prepared to run a hand-held scanner behind each boy's
ear while Chester loped across the parking lot and into the darkness.
He had only three more blocks before home, but this was going to be
difficult. Chester stopped to catch his breath and appear calm and
relaxed. The Sheriff and all had kept him naked during the times he'd
visited their gathering, but he wasn't at all used to being naked out
in public. There was no way to get home from here without going
through three blocks of stores, bars and restaurants. He was going to
have to look like an ordinary stripped boy on his way home. Chester
practiced walking nonchalantly, but immediately realized it looked too
forced. He was swinging his arms too much, looking around with his
eyes gaping out of his head and generally attracting way too much
attention. He tried again and having set his pace began the rest of
the walk home.
Chester relaxed after walking a block. Nobody
was paying him any mind. Couples sauntered by on their way to or from
dinner at one of the many restaurants. Some girls stood outside a
clothing store laughing, but didn't spare a glance at him. The flower
shop was still open. Chester crossed the street. College kids, or
older, were buying tickets at some music club across the way. He was
going to make it home just fine!
The boy ruminated over
what had transpired that evening. Obviously the guys had played a trick
on him, stashing him naked in a MacDonald's bathroom. Chester was
annoyed that he'd been played the victim so easily. Still, he already
ached to go back. His penis twitched at the thought of Sheriff Tate's
hand playing him.
"Hey, Chester, come on in. I got something for your mother."
Shit. It was old Mr. McCleary. He ran an old-fashioned bakery that
had been on the main drag for decades. Even late at night he'd keep
the place open, selling out the last of the donuts and muffins.
"He's lonely, poor guy," Chester's mother would say. "Why else would
anyone get up at 4 a.m. to start the day's bread and still stay open
until 9 at night."
Chester briefly considered making a run
for it, but that would certainly attract suspicion. Anyway, what could
old man McCleary do, anyway?
"Hi, Mr. McCleary," the teen chimed out.
"I've got a dozen donuts for your mother. Come in and get them and I'll give you an extra one to munch on yourself."
Chester walked into the bakery, following the old man. McCleary
reached for a box on the high shelf behind the counter and turned
around. He looked Chester over as if seeing him for the first time.
"What you naked for, Chester?"
"Oh, my parents finally stripped me," the boy replied in an overly casual voice.
"Your mother told me just today that she was...hmmm." The old man
turned and pressed a button on the counter. Chester froze for 15
seconds and then turned and bolted. He collided head on with the broad
belly of a large policeman and fell flat on his back. The officer
pulled out his scanner, held it to Chester's ear and grinned.
"Out naked without a chip, eh? This should be fun."
"I knew it weren't right, officer," McCleary said, "His mother was just
in this evening saying that she was glad they hadn't stripped him just
yet. Then he shows up as naked as a babe. I should know. I've known
him since he was a babe. His name's Chester, Chester Carter."
"That's okay," replied the policeman, "his mother'll know about it in just a minute. What's your parent's phone number, son?"
Chester mumbled the numbers and the officer punched them into his phone.
"Good evening, ma'am, I'm looking for the parent or guardian of Chester
Carter. . . . Very good, I've got your son downtown here and he's naked
as a jay bird. . . . That's right. . . . No, no SFF chip. . . . Right.
. . . We'll have him here waiting."
The officer stashed his phone and fumbled with a leather pouch strapped to his belt.
"Son, you might as well make yourself comfortable. One or both of your parents will be here shortly."
The police officer finally got the pouch undone and withdrew a
disposable syringe, ripped it out of its sterile packaging and inserted
the needle into a small vial. "Chester, I'll need you to turn around.
Don't make this worse for yourself. Clench up and that muscle's going
to hurt for a week."
The officer aimed and stabbed Chester
squarely in his right buttock, pushed in the plunger on the syringe and
withdrew the needle. Chester was all too aware of what the
consequences would be. Every boy in Florida knew about the pills to
keep penises hard. The injection was even stronger: it kept a boy's
penis straight up against his belly for 48 hours. Chester had heard it
could be quite uncomfortable.
* * *
"Well, let's
get you home." It was his mother. She had stormed into the bakery, been
assaulted by Mr. McCleary's longwinded explanation of how he knew the
boy wasn't stripped, how he called the police, he hoped all would be
well, such a nice family. His mother had berated him for "dragging
half the town into some foolish prank," before having to listen to the
police officer's dry explanation of the law. This was followed by her
signing a great many forms and with a final groan of exasperation
sticking the little round bandage behind her son's ear.
"This
is not the way I wanted to do this, Chester. The things you get me
into. I had it all planned out as a special occasion, but you force my
hand. You didn't think I was going to pay a $500 fine just because you
wanted to take off your clothes one evening? No, of course not.
You're stripped. Are you happy now?"
At home things did not
go as smoothly. His father didn't buy the one night prank
foolishness. He was sure Chester was up to no good.
"I
don't know what the truth is son, but you're lying. I can just feel
it. Go to your room and good-night. I need to ponder what to do about
you."
The answer was not long in coming, although Chester hadn't foreseen it.
"Mr. Carter? Sheriff Tate."
"Come on in, sir."
"I'll get straight to the point. It's about your son."
"I was afraid so. Come in and sit down. You might as well tell me the worst."
Chester slipped around the corner of the room and listened as his father handed him over to the Sheriff's care.
"I heard about your son's escapades last night. We have a special
program for boys at risk. In this case I would be happy to take
personal responsibility. We may not have met, but your reputation
precedes you. A very honorable family."
"Please . . . "
"Don't be embarrassed. Raising a boy is difficult. There is nothing
to be ashamed about. Now," Sheriff Tate continued, "we have realized
that when a teen boy is out and about in the evenings, without telling
his parents where he is, or what he is doing, well…it is easy to fall
into bad company. There's no telling what young Chester was up to
before he ran into Mr. McCleary--a fine man--or how he ended up with no
clothes."
"We are very concerned," interjected Chester's mother.
"As you should be," concurred the Sheriff. "Fortunately, we have a
group of men who serve as mentors to boys in this situation. Each man
takes on one boy at a time, spends quality time with him, offers
guidance and the opportunity to do some useful service work. It just
so happens that the boy I was mentoring has grown up and is now in
college. If you would like me to work with your son…”
"Oh, please, we would be delighted," exclaimed Chester's mother.
"It would be an honor," added his father.
"Very well then. If I could see the boy for a moment."
"I'll get him," said his mother.
Chester dashed light-footed back to his room.
"Chester!" He followed his mother back to the living room. Sheriff
Tate sat there as big as life, but didn't give a hint that he
recognized the boy.
"This is our son," his mother introduced him. "Chester, this is Sheriff Tate."
"Pleased to meet you, Chester." The sheriff stuck out a beefy hand and
shook Chester's hand hard. Chester kept waiting for him to give him a
sly wink or the slightest nod of his head. The Sheriff acted as if
he'd never seen him before in his life. Chester began to seriously
wonder if Tate didn't recognize him.
* * *
Chester
came around the house with yet another bundle of weeds and clippings.
He was naked, of course, having been officially stripped by his parents
the night he found himself unofficially naked in a MacDonald's
restroom. Sheriff Tate had inducted him into his supposed network of
mentors for boys at risk. Whether such a network actually existed or
not, Chester wasn't sure. What he did know is that he was spending his
Saturday in the blazing hot sun doing yard work for the Sheriff. His
skin prickled from briars, thorns and nettles. Sweat rolled down his
back and trickled down his brow. He was filthy from head to toe.
At around 2 o’clock in the afternoon the burly Sheriff told him he
could stop. Rod Tate was wearing khaki shorts and a white T-shirt and
looked cool and composed in contrast to Chester's hot, sweaty body
scarred with scratches.
"Come around here, son, and I'll show you the pool."
Chester followed the Sheriff through a small gate set in a tall hedge. A broad expanse of shimmering blue lay before them.
"Go ahead, take a dive in. Refresh yourself and then I believe the Mrs. has something prepared for us."
The water was indeed refreshing, but all too soon Chester was asked to
get out. He stood dripping wet beside the pool. When Rod Tate decided
the boy was sufficiently dry he directed him back through the gate and
up the walkway to the house.
Chester sat awkwardly in the
very formal parlor. He was very conscious of his nudity, the skin of
his buttocks and legs against the expensive leather of the couch, his
erection standing between his legs, his scarred skin on full display to
the Sheriff and his wife, both of whom sat fully dressed in armchairs
at either side of the coffee table. Mrs. Tate had brought out chicken
salad, sliced bread and cheese, fruit and tall glasses of very cold
sweet tea.
"My husband didn't tell me you were so good
looking," observed Mrs. Tate. "Are you sure you're only 15 years old.
I would say you are quite well endowed."
The boy blushed.
"That's a very charming reaction," she said approvingly, looking over at her husband. "He seems a very nice boy."
"Well, with a little application and persistence I'm sure he will have
a good future ahead of him," agreed the Sheriff gravely. "Chester, we
will treat you well, as you can see. However, I expect you here every
Saturday. I've also arranged with your parents for you to come to our
house on Wednesday evenings for tutoring."
Chester nodded.
He'd also been told earlier that morning when he and the Sheriff were
alone that he was no longer to appear at "boys
night out."
"That period of development is over for you," the Sheriff had explained enigmatically. "Time for new boys to take your place."
* * *
For the next two Saturdays the pattern was the same. Chester sweated
it out in hard labor doing yard work, cleaning out a shed, and scraping
rust off of an old tractor that the Sheriff said was an antique.
Chester thought it looked more like junk and wondered why anyone would
own a piece of farm equipment if they lived in a fancy suburban home.
Just when he thought his aching muscles couldn't stand another minute
of scraping, hauling, lifting, raking and shoveling the Sheriff would
invite him to take a dip in that refreshing blue swimming pool. There
was that awkward time afterwards in the formal parlor with the Mrs.
fussing over him while the Sheriff sat there with his hands poised
around a tall glass of tea.
Wednesdays were even worse. There
was no hard labor, but Chester almost wished there were something
physical to relieve the tedium.
"Chester, you're a fine
young man," Sheriff Tate informed him. "But you need some refining
around the edges. A little civilizing. Fortunately my wife has agreed
to provide you some tutoring in the finer points of life."
The
boy was mystified, but not for long. Mrs. Tate had him stand up
straight and instructed him in posture. She taught him the proper way
to introduce a lady and had him escort her around the room on his bent
arm. He knew he looked absolutely ridiculous practicing a proper bow.
Even Chester knew that a proper southern gentleman would not be
carrying out such formalities in the nude. The evening ended with a
stifling formal dinner where he was instructed on every nicety of
dining, from seating "the lady" to how to use his napkin. The array of
silver cutlery and sparkling crystal was overwhelming. While taking
bites of food he was expected to engage in proper dinner conversation.
The Sheriff would then drive him home and Chester would stay up late
finishing his homework.
The boy felt resigned to this twice
weekly routine of labor and civilizing, but the following Wednesday
shocked him nearly out of his wits. Mrs. Tate was telling him to stand
straighter, drop his buttocks, set his head on straight when she quite
unmistakably ran her hand straight up his penis. Like most parents,
his mother and father had him on the Stripped For Florida pills. So he
was already erect. But Mrs. Tate's unexpected touch brought him to
immediate attention. His hard on strained upwards, threatening to rip
the skin straining around the blood engorged crown of his phallus.
"Keep your head on straight," Mrs. Tate admonished. Chester moved his
hips and head in confusion, not sure what she wanted. Mrs. Tate's
surprisingly soft hands continued to stroke him. He felt a sharp tweak
on his right nipple, but before he could react Mrs. Tate pinched his
left nipple as well. Her hand ran from erect penis straight up the
center of his torso and rested lightly for a moment on his breastbone.
"Posture is essential for a young man," she said
informatively, "bearing is how you first present yourself to the world.
It opens many opportunities, believe me." Her laugh was of
well-cultivated bell-like tones. "For a boy as well-endowed as
yourself, you should have many chances." Chester nodded.
* * *
The Sheriff had picked him up bright and early Saturday morning, as
usual. At the house, Sheriff Tate took him around to a small building
at the back of the property and unlocked the door. Chester surveyed a
room packed with furniture, each piece covered in drop cloths or
plastic. Dust pricked his nostrils and throat. Instead of working
outside they removed furniture from the room, selected a very heavy
chest of drawers and set it outside. The remaining furniture was
neatly stacked back in place. The Sheriff lifted one end of the heavy
chest while the boy got a grip on his end. They made their way across
the lawn, around the pool, and into the house.
"We gotta
get this upstairs, Chester. Come around and take the back end here.
I'm not as young as I once was." On the stairs Chester quickly
realized he was holding the full weight of the chest. He staggered
under the load while the Sheriff admonished him not to nick the walls.
"Missus very particular about the wallpaper," he wheezed. "Don't let
anything touch the wall, peels it right off, I'm telling you." At the
landing they rested for a moment, but there was no room to set the
chest of drawers down. After a minute or two they set off on the last
flight of stairs. In the upstairs hall they put the heavy piece of
furniture down and Chester caught his breath while looking around. The
hallway was carpeted with a long runner that looked ancient and
expensive. Oil paintings and cut glass fixtures lined the walls.
Light streamed in from an arched window at the far end.
"Alright, get your end," the Sheriff grunted. Chester picked up his
end of the chest and felt a pang in his back. Not wanting to seem
weaker than the old man, Chester said nothing, but the pain increased
as they carried the chest through a barely wide enough doorway and
maneuvered it into position. Chester leaned back and involuntarily
yelped. He was leaning awkwardly back and felt that he couldn't move a
muscle without going into terrible spams of pain.
Mrs. Tate
came into the room and rushed over to him. "Chester, what's happened
to you? No, don't move. Here, lie down on this bed." Chester somehow
managed to interpret the contradictory orders and ended up lying prone
on the counterpane of a high old bedstead. A great flurry of activity
ensued and eventually Chester found himself padded in place with
bolsters, ice packs, and a hot cloth on his belly which Mrs. Tate
changed every ten minutes along with a solicitous stroking of his
erection each time.
"I've called your parents," Sheriff
Tate said after an hour or two had passed. "I've reassured them you
will be alright, but that you will be staying here for the time being."
Chester nodded and fell asleep.
* * *
In his dream Chester was swaddled in bubble wrap and being rolled down
a hill. The experience was simultaneously claustrophobic and painful.
It was difficult to breathe through the plastic, but there weren’t
enough bubble layers to prevent him from feeling every bump and root
and rock on the hillside. His back hurt and he felt dizzy. Inexplicably
his parents seemed to be discussing the episode, even as it was
happening, with the Sheriff and his wife.
“Your son has been through a lot,” Sheriff Tate pronounced, “but I felt it important that I personally act as his mentor.”
“We truly appreciate it,” Chester’s mother replied.
“No, no,” the Sheriff insisted, “there is no need to feel indebted. We
have an entire program dedicated to helping young men get a good start
on life. I could have assigned Chester to any one of the deputies who
generously volunteer their time to this program. I’m just saying that
I’ve really come to appreciate some of Chester’s finer qualities.”
Chester’s mother nodded, while his father looked somewhat dubious.
Meanwhile Chester himself lay on the bed, bundled between pillows and
bolsters, and to be honest, looking somewhat worse for the wear.
“At your age a boy begins to think about sexual matters, but it is important to get information from the right sources,”
Chester wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming. He moved his leg
experimentally and felt the instant pang of pain in his lower back. He
must be awake.
“So many boys go down the wrong path, but you have every opportunity to be a fine, upstanding young man.”
Chester nodded. The air in the room felt close and stuffy. He wished he
could get up and go outside and inhale a blast of fresh air.
“Once you’re healed we’ll make space for you in the guest bedroom. My
husband is working on getting you school credits for your program here.
Don’t move! You’ll hurt your back. Yes, that’s right,” Mrs. Tate
continued, “you won’t have to go to school any more. Your parents
should be in control of what you learn, not whatever nonsense some
teacher tries to brainwash you with.”
Later that day Sheriff
and Mrs. Tate helped Chester move to the adjacent room. It felt even
stuffier, with the airless quality of a room that hasn’t been used in
years. A faint smell of mothballs seeped out of the closet, where rows
of clothes were stashed in zipped up garment bags. Slatted wood
shutters blocked out most of the light and the outdoors seemed remote
and sealed off. For a few days the arrangement was tolerable, but a
young person’s body heals quickly and soon Chester was feeling like a
trapped animal. Mrs. Tate brought his meals to the room on a wicker
tray and propped him up against a cluster of bolsters and heavy pillows
to eat.
“I think I’m find now, Mrs. Tate,” he told her.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, Chester,” she told him. “You’re safe in here. It’s a dangerous world out there.”
She closed the door when she left and when he turned the knob it was as
he expected. She’d locked the door. He wondered how she thought he was
supposed to use the bathroom. The next time she visited she introduced
him to the concept of a chamberpot. It looked like she wasn’t expecting
him to leave the room at all. Several days went by. Mrs. Tate brought
him meals and took away the filled chamberpot. There was no sign of
Sheriff Tate He began thinking about the best way to escape.
* * *
It was with a sense of deja vu that Chester felt the adrenaline rush as
he darted around the side of the house to avoid the motion activated
lights. He was sure that the sheriff had installed more sophisticated
security systems and knew that he needed to get off the property as
quickly as possible. He ducked into the shadow of a live oak tree,
slithered on his belly across the grass and darted toward the gate that
was normally used for service deliveries. He figured that one was less
likely to trigger an alarm than the main gate to the property. He
didn’t risk trying to open the gate but instead put one foot on a lower
run and vaulted himself over the top. He took a moment to catch his
breath and loped down the alleyway toward the shelter of trees that
clustered along the nearby creek.
The cool night air brushed
across his naked body. It seemed like only a few nights ago that he’d
woken up to find himself naked in the bathroom of some anonymous fast
food joint. At the same time he felt like he’d been locked inside the
Tate’s home forever. Was it only a few days or had he been there for
weeks? Did his parents know where he was or were they worried sick?
Fifteen minutes went by with no sign of anyone in pursuit. Chester set
off down the road in the direction of the center of town. From there he
would know his way home. For the time being he had a long evening walk
ahead and he needed the time to think. If he’d kept track of the days
correctly, this was the night of “boys night out.” That would buy him
some time, but his gut feeling was that Sheriff Tate wouldn’t be that
interested in tracking him down, not now that he was under the thumb of
Mrs. Tate. But, if the sheriff decided to pay his parents a visit he
needed to have convinced them that he’d turned over a new leaf. Slowly
a plan came into focus.
The quiet roads of outer suburbia gave
way to more densely populated residential areas. He skirted downtown
and angled towards his own neighborhood and soon found himself along
the same stretch of stores as that fateful night when he’d been
stripped. He no longer felt odd walking naked down the street. Nudity
felt natural now.
The bakery was still open and the overhead bell clanged as he pushed the door open.
“Good evening, Mr. McCleary,” he said, feeling slightly awkward that
the last time he’d been in the store was getting caught breaking the
law.
But Mr. McCleary seemed genuinely happy to see him.
“Good evening to you, Chester. You here to pick up some donuts for your
mum? I have the last few left, still fresh, not day olds.”
“That would be nice, sir, but, I’m actually here to ask if I could work
for you. Come in early, sweep up, put out the pastries. I could even
learn to work the cash register. Anything you need.”
“I can’t pay you much,” McCleary replied, “but I could use a little help. I’m not as spry as I used to be.”
“It’s not really about the pay, honestly. I would value the experience.
Right now it is summer and I have plenty of time. If you still need me
in a couple of months I could come in right after school.”
Mr.
McCleary nodded. “It is almost closing time. We both need to get home,
but I’ll see you first thing tomorrow. Is 8 a.m. too early?”
Chester winced at the early hour, but nodded as eagerly as he could muster.
“Oh, and Chester, be sure to take your pills. Customers like to see a boy making a good presentation.”
Chester blushed and nodded. “Sure, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Not long after he was at the front door of his house. Only at that
moment did he realize that he had no key. In fact, he had nothing on
him but the half dozen donuts in a bag for his mother! So much for an
inobtrusive return. He rang the bell and waited.
“Chester!” his father exclaimed. “I thought you were at the Sheriff’s place.”
Chester walked through the opened door and sat down across from his
mother in the living room. His father closed and locked the door and
came in and sat down in his usual place.
“I guess you could
say the program worked,” he told his parents. “I have a job at
McCleary’s. He sent these for you, mom,” he said, handing over the bag.
“I have to be there at 8 a.m. every morning until school starts. After
that I’ll work there right after school, come home for supper, and then
do my homework. If I go out with friends I’ll let you know where I am,
what I’m doing and when I’ll be home. No more trouble.”
His parents sat in silence for almost a full minute.
“That’s pretty amazing, Chester,” his mother said.
“A job. I’m glad it is at McCleary’s,” his dad stated. “He’s a trustworthy man.”
You have no idea, Chester thought. If you only knew what some of the upstanding men of this community are up to every week.
“Yes, dad,” he said out loud.
* * *
True to his word Chester was at the store at 8:00 the next morning.
McCleary had already been at work for hours and the bakery was filled
with the aromas of fresh pastries, donuts and muffins. Chester swept
the floor, helped the old man clean up the prep area, and polished the
glass fronts of the display cases. Over the next couple of weeks
Chester learned to operate the cash register, apply icing to cupcakes
and operate the ovens. McCleary promised that if he kept coming in to
work that he’d eventually teach him how to bake.
“When I retire you can take over the store,” McCleary chuckled.
Chester took his pills every day and came to work nice and hard. He
knew that McClearly approved, but other than that the old man never
brought up the evening that he’d been caught out without a strip, or
even that he was a stripped naked boy. He knew Mr. McCleary appreciated
his company and that his presence went a long way toward assuaging the
old man’s loneliness.
It was summer twilight one evening and
Chester and Mr. McCleary were winding things down for the day. There
were only a few baked goods still available and McCleary had his eye
out for passersby who might want to take them home. His eye caught on a
naked boy walking just a little too nonchalantly down the sidewalk.
“Jeremy!” he called. “I have a box of muffins for your mother. Can you come in for a moment while I wrap them up?”
Chester recognized the boy as being a grade behind him at school.
Jeremy hesitated a moment and then decided to come in. The red light
over the door flashed. Chester saw McCleary punch the button behind the
counter.
Chester spoke as calmly as he could muster. “Jeremy, Chester here, from school. Do you recognize me?”
Jeremy looked uncertain.
“I work here now. Just wanted to show you something back here.”
Jeremy followed Chester to the prep area.
“I saw the light go off. You’re not stripped.”
Jeremy looked alarmed and turned to run.
“It’s too late. A police officer will be here any second.”
“Oh shit,” Jeremy moaned. “I’ll be in trouble, get stripped, oh shit.”
“Yeah, you’ll get stripped for sure. The shot, too. But that’s going to be the least of your worries.”
Jeremy gaped at him.
“Have you been hanging with Tate and his buddies, ‘boys night out’?”
Jeremy gave the slightest of nods.
“Yeah. Me too. That’s how I ended up here. You’re going to get stripped
and all, but if you want my advice, as soon as you get home tell your
parents what you’ve been up to, that you’re in trouble, and that you
want their help to turn over a new life. But that it is your parents
who should help you, not a teacher at your school, and definitely one
of the town’s upstanding doctors, lawyers or law enforcement officers.”
The door chimes clanged and the neighborhood police officer came in.
“Oh, hey, Chester,” he called out. “Looks like things turned out okay for you after all.”
“Good evening, officer,” Chester answered politely.
“So, what do we have here? Another boy running around without a chip?
You’re parents are on their way, Jeremy, but in the meantime let’s take
care of business.”
Jeremy had his buttock punctured in short order and soon after a woman came through the door.
“I knew he wasn’t stripped,” Mr. McCleary explained to them. “You’re
always telling me you were saving it up for his first day of high
school. And then I just see him sauntering down the street as naked as
you please.”
“Jeremy!” his mother exclaimed. “I don’t know
what you were thinking, but I am taking you home this minute. Your
father is going to be very upset when he gets home.
Jeremy looked back at Chester as his mother hustled him out the door. Chester gave him a thumbs up. Good luck, Jeremy!
– finis –