Curse of the Naked Actor

Curse of the Naked Actor 2 to 4

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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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Curse of the Naked Actor
[Alpenhorn 2018]

Chapter 2: Ferbaloe

[July 7]
The next day our rehearsal was a “post mortem” of the first performance. Mr Thompkins went over what happened during the performance the night before. He praised things that went right. He criticized things that went wrong. We all discussed what to do differently in future performances.

‘Wesley, your nude scene.’ When he finally reached that point in the play, Mr Thompkins described it in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, reading from his notes.

‘The whole thing is only about 90 seconds. First: walking slowly, seeming dazed, turning, taking the lamb offstage: good. Next: your body.’ He will discuss this in front of everyone?

‘You never rehearsed in the nude, so until the real thing last night I was uncertain what we would get. You are no longer pudgy, good.’

Everyone was listening with the same mild interest they had shown for discussion of the previous scenes. Except Sis, who was trying to suppress a smile.

‘Penis, okay. Even the back rows of the auditorium can see it. Description: short but fat.’

I blushed---only the first of many times.

‘Buttocks, very good. Better than we could have hoped for. Description: bubble butt.’

I can’t believe going through this humiliation is useful for anything.

‘You know, Wesley,’ Mr Thompkins went on. ‘You wear those loose jeans all the time, and no one sees that you have a great butt.’

Why would I want anyone to see?

‘Of course, during the nude scene the first few rows can see more. More than just your penis and your butt. For example: The pattern of wrinkles on your scrotum. The ferbaloe of your foreskin.’

‘Ferbaloe?’ my voice sort of squeaked.

‘You know,’ Mary explained. ‘The ferbaloe is the ruffle or flounce at the end. They say foreskin ferbaloe is just as distinctive as fingerprint. But easier to see with the naked eye.’

I was staring at the table. They talked about that! With everyone listening---including Sis. I could feel the blushes come and go in my face.

‘Wesley, one more note for you,’ Mr Thompkins added. ‘When you lean over the railing to pick up the lamb...’ He paused.

Mary continued: ‘The audience just to your rear can see in your crack, you know? So you should wash down there more completely.’

I just closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see what the others thought of that!

That night when my parents were out to dinner, I used the full-length mirror in their room to investigate for myself. Mr Thompkins knew more about my private parts than I did!

So I got to know my body: Penis short but fat. Bubble butt. Scrotum pattern of wrinkles---a line down the middle with lots of horizontal grooves on each side. And of course my ferbaloe.

I looked it up. Actually, it is spelled furbelow. It can mean a ruffle or flounce on clothing; on flowers (lilies, orchids); on jellyfish; on seaweed.

[July 10]
The second performance mostly went well.

It was time for the nude scene. Mary wet my hair. I removed my dressing gown and hung it on the peg. I swung the door open and walked forward. Dazed.

The way to seem dazed may be to think of something else. I wondered about 150 people in the audience, all looking at my penis. Were they thinking, ‘Short but fat’? Of course not. They were just shocked by a boy naked.

I paused, I turned, I walked on. Did they care if I was pudgy? Not likely.

Next turn. Were they admiring my bubble butt? Probably some were. But most were still just surprised. And uncomfortable.

I turned again. There in the front row. Were they noticing the pattern of wrinkles on my scrotum? I didn’t think so. Were they memorizing my furbelow? Could they identify me from my furbelow better than from my face?

Last turn. Here was the pen with the lamb. I stood tiptoe and leaned over, my waist on the railing. I reached down. Were they really looking in my crack? If so, it was all clean there today. They would see only a small pink rosebud.

Today the lamb was on the far side of the pen. I had to stretch to reach it. My toes barely touched the floor. (I guess also this was designed with an older boy in mind.) Ha! Mr Thompkins forgot to tell me to clean the soles of my feet.

I carried the lamb offstage.

Curse of the Naked Actor
[Alpenhorn 2018]

Chapter 3: Waggle

With time, our performances were more polished. Even my nude scene became routine. True, sometimes I felt myself on the verge of erection, as during the premiere performance. But often I felt nearly normal while appearing nude on stage.

I did have some imagined worries. Or nightmares.

What if kids I know from school found out about this play? What if they managed to circumvent the “Adults Only” restriction for admission?

What if they schedule some cast photos? What if we have to wear a costume from the play? What if I have to be nude?

What if they bring in a video crew to record the whole performance?

They were just idle worries. None of that really happened.

[July 26]
During a beak in our rehearsal, the Director and Assistant Director had a private talk with me.

‘Well, kid. We wanted to talk about, you know, your nude scene.’ Mr Thompkins seemed uncertain---that was unlike him.

‘What he means,’ Mary jumped in, ‘we want some waggle.’

‘Waggle?’ I asked. In a moment I figured it out. Oh, no!

‘Woah, kid. Sit down.’ I guess they thought I was going to faint.

Here’s what they meant: My private parts were not waggling: swinging, bouncing, swaying, doing interesting things to attract attention.

‘One of the advantages of having an older actor,’ said Mr Thompkins, ‘would have been waggle.’

‘But we chose you anyway,’ Mary reassured me.

It’s true, I had very little waggle. In the past year or so my testicles had grown larger. Often they would hang down. And sway when I walked. But under some conditions (such as going on stage nude) my scrotum would tighten up, so my testicles were hugged against my body. They were not swaying then.

On the other hand, my testicles were large enough that when they were hugging my body, they made my penis stand forward at an angle.

Let’s face it, my penis was not very long. I am only twelve, after all. “Short but fat,” was what they said. So it didn’t waggle much either, at least when I was walking slowly in a daze.

It took me a while to realize all this.

After I had recovered my composure a bit, I asked: ‘What do you have in mind?’

They glanced at each other. ‘Quick-turns,’ Mr Thompkins said.

‘Like this.’ Mary stood up to demonstrate. ‘You walk slowly to one of your marks, as usual. You pause. Then quick-turn 90 degrees like this.’

‘We think,’ Mr Thompkins explained, ‘even with your length, you should get waggle.’

What an assignment. But I agreed to try it.

[*]
After a few performances, the quick-turn became part of my routine. It became no more difficult for me than the previous performances.

Sometimes I could feel myself on the verge of erection---on the cusp---so that my penis was a bit longer than normal, and standing forward a bit more than usual. But I always made it to the lamb in time. The backstage crew had seen me erect sometimes, so I no longer worried about that.

Curse of the Naked Actor
[Alpenhorn 2018]

Chapter 4: The Curse

[August 8]
Tenth performance. I walked in completely naked. Dazed. With wet hair. I went and looked at Mom lying on the table. Quick-turn. Walk forward. She was looking at me.

Of course the script said that she watched me. But now I noticed something I had not seen in previous performances. My penis was at her eye level. She was watching it, not my face. As I paused here, it was mere centimeters from her eyes. I quick-turned, and it waggled nicely. Mom’s eyes got wide. Then I walked on.

Too bad I noticed that! I was already at the verge of erection. But noticing that she was watching nudged me across. My penis lengthened to double its usual length. And it stood straight out.

The curse of the naked actor: erection on stage.

What should I do? What could I do? Panic and run offstage? Of course not! I continued as usual. Walk slowly forward. Pause. Quick-turn. Walk slowly forward. Pause. Quick-turn. I thought my penis was now so stiff that there was no waggle at all. But the other changes---length and angle---made up for that. I thought the audience sounds were a bit different. I leaned down, picked up the lamb, and walked offstage.

In a daze, I continued with the usual routine: handed the lamb to the animal handler; put on my dressing gown; went to the dressing room; sat down.

Mr Thompkins came in, and sat there, too. No one else was there.

‘Okay, kid. I know what happened,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about it. In fact, it was a good thing.’

‘What?’ I am still a bit dazed. ‘A good thing?’

‘Sure. We want the audience to feel uneasy. Erection can do that. Especially on a twelve-year-old boy.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t worry.’

I was starting to feel better.

‘Now, kid, get dressed. You are on again in three minutes.’

‘On again?’

‘As we always say: The show must go on!’

[August 24]
The final performance of the play. I have avoided an erection on stage since that one time. I just have to remember not to look at Mom.

I stood in my place behind the set waiting for my nude scene. Mary wet my hair. I removed my dressing gown and hung it on the peg.

But Mary said ‘Not yet,’ gripped my shoulders, and turned me around facing backstage.

The crew was crowding around. So was the cast---except Mom and Dad who were on stage now. Sis (that is, Missy Plotzkin) was right there, leaning down.

‘How cute!’ she said. She meant my penis, of course.

I didn’t even have to think. It stood right up. Mary held one of my elbows, someone else held the other.

Sis grinned. ‘You know the nursery rhyme “Wee Willy Winkie”?’

Everyone nodded.

‘Well, that’s a wee willy, all right. And when it stands up and peeks out, it seems to be winking at me.’

I was confused, to say the least. But before I had time for much thought, Mary turned me around again, saying: ‘You’re on.’

I went on stage as usual. I did the walking and turning. Of course my erection was showing the whole time.

When I came back with the lamb, I looked at Mary, puzzled.

‘Mr Thompkins arranged it,’ she said. ‘He wanted to make everything about the final performance memorable. For the audience, of course, but also for the cast.’

Later, after the last scene, there were bows and curtain calls. Even though I had third billing, I got the biggest applause.

I hoped they would’t write about my erection in the newspaper reviews.

[August 29]
My mom asked me: ‘So, did it work?’

‘Did what work?’

‘Are you cured of the scourge?’

‘Scourge?’

‘The scourge of excessive modesty.’

‘Oh.’

I thought about it. I thought about stripping naked right there in front of her. I felt how my body reacted to the thought.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘Not even close.’

(End of File)