Be Careful What You Ask For 2

By David

The author prefers not to display any email address. Please direct any feedback to puericil@hotmail.com and it will be forwarded

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Be Careful What You Ask For

by David

I was admittedly a strange child, obsessed with odd little fantasies but too shy to tell anyone. During my adolescence I embarked on a series of secret adventures to satisfy my insatiable curiosity. Only when I got caught did I realize just how careful you have to be about what you ask for … it just might come true!

Part Two – My First Big Adventure

One day my mother asked if I’d do her a favor. Mrs. Taylor, one of her friends, was going out of town for a couple of weeks or so and needed someone to check on her house. Her housekeeper was sick and unable to take care of things, so my mom offered me up to help. The house was within walking distance from our home – in the fancy neighborhood, which was kind of a big deal for my mom – and I could do it on the way home from school.

“There isn’t much to it, honey, and having the responsibility will be good for you,” my mom explained. “You just need to bring in the mail, water some plants, feed the cat and the fish, things like that.”

Always the helpful child, I was happy to do it. Sort of. I mean, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be babysitting some old lady’s house, but I’d do it anyway.

“I guess so,” was my reply.

Mom smiled. “Don’t act so unhappy, sweetie. It won’t be that bad. There is even some money in it for you if you mow the grass and do a little weeding in her garden while she’s gone.”

That certainly caught my attention. I mean, who couldn’t use a little extra money? School was about to come to an end and summer vacation was coming up; I was going to have all sorts of expenses like going to the movies and buying snacks and books and things. I quickly agreed. Little did I know this would be one of the most important decisions in my young life.

Despite my initial reaction, Mrs. Taylor – her first name was Elizabeth, believe it or not, just like the movie star – wasn’t exactly an old lady. About the same age as my mother, she was a strikingly beautiful woman with a curvaceous figure and charming smile that reminded me of her Hollywood namesake. I’d met her before when she visited my mother and found myself blushing whenever she looked at me. She rarely spoke directly to me, preferring instead to talk about me with my mother, you know, saying things like “What a polite young man you have here, darling,” and “He’s quite sweet for a boy his age.”

It didn’t hurt that my mother’s friend had large breasts, just like the women in my father’s magazines. She kind of reminded me of my teacher, Mrs. Campbell, so you know I liked looking at her! On occasion I’d thought of her in my odd little fantasies, imagining myself rendered naked under her sultry gaze, but I did that with several of my mother’s prettier acquaintances, so at the time it didn’t seem significant.

Anyway, the plan was for me to check on the house every day after school. Mom explained that the mail and newspaper had to be brought in each afternoon to make it look like someone was home and burglars wouldn’t be tempted to break in. She even suggested that I hang out for an hour or so while I was there and do my homework before locking up and coming home.

“You can play with Justine some so she won’t get lonely,” Mom said. Justine was Mrs. Taylor’s cat. “As long as you’re home by dinner it’ll be all right. Just be sure to turn on some different lights when you leave. That will add to the ‘lived in’ affect, okay?”

I had nothing else to do, so again I thought, why not?

The first day on the job was a revelation. I was given a key, which didn’t seem like a big deal until I saw Mrs. Taylor’s house. It was a lot larger than ours – at least three times as big! – and much nicer, too. From the outside it looked like a mansion or a castle to my young eyes. Inside was even more spectacular! As I stood in the foyer gazing up at the huge staircase and chandelier above, I felt like I was in a palace in a foreign country, it was so amazing. There were real paintings on the walls – many of them reproductions of classical works, my favorite! – along with fancy antique furniture, marble floors and soft, wispy rugs wherever you looked. It even smelled nicer than our house.

My chores took a lot longer to get done than I first thought. The newspaper and mail were easy; I just brought them in and put them on the desk in the hall. Feeding the cat wasn’t a problem, either. I just opened up a can, put it in the bowl and replenished the water. Justine, the cat, would check to see that I’d done my job and then go back and finish her nap.

“That wasn’t so hard,” I remember saying to myself.

Watering the plants, on the other hand, was a tedious task. Mrs. Taylor left a list describing their locations and precise instructions on how much to water them. There was also a fancy metal watering can decorated with fancy, almost dainty filigree. The problem was that there were at least a dozen plants on the first floor alone and that dumb can barely held enough water for one plant, much less a dozen. I had to make multiple trips to keep it filled, which was maddening. The second floor had just as many plants, making it necessary to walk up and down the stairs repeatedly. I tried using the faucet in one of the upstairs bathrooms, but again, that stupid watering can had such a weird shape, I had to go back downstairs to the kitchen every time I refilled it.

Talk about frustrating! Argh!!!

Mowing the grass would be hard work. The front yard was huge and all I could find in the shed was a push mower, so I knew that was going to take me at least an hour to get done. I decided to put it off until later in the week when I had more time.

The back yard wasn’t so bad, thank goodness. It was actually quite interesting. More of a garden than a yard, there wasn’t anything to mow. I was supposed to weed around the edges, but I couldn’t tell the difference between the weeds and the plants. I decided to skip that chore and plead ignorance.

Still, Mrs. Taylor’s garden was an interesting place. My overall impression was that it looked more like something from a magazine or a picture book than anything in our neighborhood. There were all sorts of sculpted topiary bushes and flowery plants and trees. There was even a large pond with giant gold fish.

“So that’s what she meant when she said to feed her fish,” I whispered in awe. I watched with rapt curiosity to see some of the creatures were almost as big as my head. “Holy cow!”

After dropping a healthy portion of fish food in the pond – according to the written instructions, of course – I wandered around the garden. There were all sorts of pathways to get lost in, it was almost like exploring a maze!

I was especially delighted to discover several statues located in the various paths and alcoves, mostly replicas of classical Greek and Roman works, many of which were nudes! That was extremely exciting to me, of course; I immediately recognized them all from studying my art and history books. I was elated! It felt like I was roaming about a nudist colony for statues!

The most beautiful statue in Mrs. Taylor’s collection was a life sized Venus, which stood opposite the gold fish pond. I didn’t notice it when I first stepped outside, but when I realized what I found I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It was an amazing piece, showing the goddess of love completely naked with her arms and hands held high above her head, leaving her alabaster breasts and distinct pubic area exposed to view. The details were stunning, from the dreamy expression on her face down to her belly button and shiny marble nipples. Due to the way her thighs pressed together I couldn’t tell much about what was between her legs, but I had fun looking! Except for seeing my mom getting dressed, this was the closest I’d ever come to seeing a naked woman in real life; I must have stared at that thing for ten solid minutes, maybe twenty, my imagination running wild at the very sight of it.

In addition to the classical pieces, there were also several naked angels and cupids scattered here and there, each which I found extremely fascinating. I didn’t know much about Mrs. Taylor, but I decided that she and I had a lot in common. I was really beginning to like my mysterious benefactor!

Strangely enough, my favorite statue of all turned out to be neither a woman nor a girl; it was a large boy cupid that was almost as tall as me. Standing across the fish pond from Venus, he looked quite shy, with his arms crossed loosely over his chest and his legs pressed awkwardly together in a vain attempt to hide his tiny little marble penis and balls. I recognized the position immediately as I’d done the same pose in front of the mirror for years.

I know this sounds queer and all, a boy being obsessed with a statue of another naked boy, but I think it was because I thought he reminded me a little bit of myself. Except for the wings, of course. We both had curly hair – his was much longer, of course, and had flowers in it – and his naked butt and legs looked just like mine. His nipples even stuck out like mine did, which I kind of found interesting, though I would have never admitted it to anyone.

Okay, I know this sounds weird, but I may as well just tell you. I tried not looking too closely at his exposed bottom and genitals, but I did it anyway. I mean, I couldn’t help it. The idea that someone had studied a butt and carved one out of stone captured my attention. As I said before, I was a curious kid and I just couldn’t stop myself from looking!

Oddly enough, the melancholy expression on the cupid’s face fascinated me almost as much as his naked body; he looked sad, as though he was pouting. I thought a lot about the boy who modeled for that statue; I easily imagined him being shy and embarrassed, standing for hours on end as the artist studied and worked to immortalize his plump, vulnerable body in stone. It didn’t take much for me to put myself in his place; I immediately pictured myself being put on a pedestal, standing for hours on end before an audience of mocking smiles and giggling voices. I probably would have had an embarrassed expression on my face, too.

“Wow,” I kept saying to myself as I stared at the quiet figure before me. “I mean … wow!”

On the second day of my new job I forced myself to get my chores done as fast as I could. The mail was easy and just as I predicted, the lawn took nearly an hour. Thank goodness I only had to water the plants every couple of days, so that was off the list. All that was left was feeding the cat and the fish.

When I finished I was exhausted from being in such a hurry to get everything done – using that stupid old mower was a nightmare! – but it was worth the effort; I wanted to spend as much time as possible in Mrs. Taylor’s garden looking at her collection of statues. I’d thought about them ever since the day before, especially the boy cupid, and I couldn’t wait to see him again.

I did the same thing on the third day as well. Except for mowing the grass, of course. I came in, locked the door behind me and got my chores done as soon as possible. Then I wandered around the garden for about an hour – well, maybe two – visiting my naked friends. I spent most of my time between the life-sized Venus and the boy cupid, caught up in my thoughts. I really wished I was in the cupid’s shoes, not that he was wearing any, of course. I know, it all sounds very weird and perverse, but I couldn’t help myself. Like I said before, I was a pretty strange kid.

On the fourth day I was surprised when Jennifer Wilson approached me during lunch at school. The love of my life looked adorable, as always, in a cute dress and sweater outfit that made me feel funny all over. While I’d admired her from afar and sometimes included her in my silly little fantasies, we didn’t talk much, except about school work and a few awkward pleasantries.

“Oh, David, I understand you’ve been taking care of Mrs. Taylor’s house while she’s out of the country,” Jennifer cooed sweetly. “I live in that neighborhood, you know. That’s a very interesting house, don’t you think? My mother and I visit there all the time. It’s got all sorts of great art.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I just froze and nodded. “Um, it’s okay … I suppose.”

“It’s just okay?” She giggled. “Oh, you’re funny! Have you seen their garden? It’s got all those naked statues! Don’t you think they’re … interesting?”

Again, I had no idea how to respond, so I did what I did best and acted dumb.

“Um, well, I didn’t pay much attention. I just water the plants and feed the cat, you know, check the locks and that kinda stuff.”

There was that giggle again. “Well, you don’t know what you’re missing! Maybe I’ll stop by sometime and I can show you what I’m talking about. I’ve been there lots of times. I know my way around the grounds pretty good.”

She leaned close and whispered, “I’d love to see those naked statues with you.”

I would have given anything to be with Jennifer while looking at Mrs. Taylor’s naked statues; better yet, I would have given anything to let her look at me naked! I couldn’t say that, of course. I couldn’t say much of anything, truth be told; I was too busy trying not to make a total fool of myself.

“Um, yeah.” I shook my head, then nodded. “I mean, wow … yeah! We can do that.”

My one true love smiled. “Maybe I’ll stop by sometime soon. Okay?”

Dummy that I was, all I could must up was a simple, “Um, yeah … okay,” as she walked away.

I felt my face burn hot with excitement and there was a fierce tingling down inside my pants. Jennifer Wilson knew about Mrs. Taylor’s naked statues? Are you kidding me?

It suddenly occurred to me that Jennifer had actually used the word “naked” in a conversation with me.

Oh, my gosh! My mind was officially blown!

During my walk to Mrs. Taylor’s I had mixed emotions about Jennifer visiting me while I was in charge of the house. My head had cleared and I was thinking more clearly. The fact that she sought me out had me confused and her offer to show me around didn’t make any sense. I mean, I really liked Jenny and all, but I didn’t believe for a moment she was interested in me, not one bit. She probably just wanted to snoop around while Mrs. Taylor was out. I didn’t even know if I was allowed to let friends visit me when I was in charge.

That was something I'd have to think about.

The following afternoon it rained really hard, trapping me in Mrs. Taylor’s house. Once I finished my chores I didn’t have anything to do. Worse yet, I couldn’t see my naked statue friends from the patio doors, which was really frustrating. I called my mom and asked her to come pick me up. She was busy doing something, so she told me to ride the storm out and come home when I could.

“I’m sure you have homework to do,” she said patiently. “If you get bored, play with Justine. If it gets too late I’ll come get you, all right?”

I spent a few minutes looking over my homework, but that wasn’t what I wanted to do. The cat showed up to keep me company for a bit, but then went back to her nap. I quickly got bored with my books; there wasn’t much to be done and I couldn’t keep my mind on my lessons anyway, to tell the truth. I was too distracted by the strange house and its exotic furnishings. The sound of the rain just made things worse.

Suddenly, I had an epiphany! It occurred to me that this was a golden opportunity to make my dreams come true. Well, kind of. For the next couple hours I had this entire house to myself; there was nowhere for me to go and no one to watch over me. I could do pretty much whatever I wanted – and no one would ever know!

“Mmmm … I dunno if this is a good idea,” I remembering muttering to myself. I thought a little harder. “Then again, who’s gonna find out …?”

I decided to start out playing it safe. I picked a corner of the main living room and did a careful survey to ensure nobody could see me from outside. Once that was settled I took a deep breath and carefully began unbuttoning my shirt ….

You know what comes next, don’t you? Of course you do. I got naked! Completely and stark raving naked, without a single stitch touching my skin! Not was I just naked, but I was naked in my mother’s friend’s huge old house! Naked without a care in the world. I was as naked as I could be in this enormous, mysterious mansion for as long as I wanted. Well, until the rain stopped and I had to go home.

Still, I was thrilled beyond belief. Now I just had to figure out what I was going to do next.

I sat down on the couch. A thrill went through my body; the prickly embroidery scratched the bare skin on my unprotected bottom and back, giving me a little shock. I bit my lip as I slid across the material. The little threads tickled and sparked my tender butt, just like I was touching something electrical.

Outside lightning struck and there was the sound of thunder, adding just the right touch of drama to my illicit experiment. The lights even flickered, just like in an old horror film on television.

“Wow …,” I whispered to myself. “This is great!”

I can’t tell you how happy I was in that instant. This was way better than going nude in my bathroom at home, or wandering through my parents’ dinky little living room. This magnificent, castle-like mansion belonged to a total stranger – well, Mrs. Taylor was practically a stranger to me – and I was locked inside, a naked prisoner, at the beginning of a wonderful adventure!

Standing up, I turned to one of the gigantic mirrors that decorated the walls of that amazing room. As enthralled as I was with going without any clothes, I still hated the very sight of my body. Here I was, nearly twelve years old and I still hadn’t grown out of my baby fat. I didn’t look at all like the other boys; well, the boys I admired, I mean. The area around my nipples was as plump and jiggly as ever and I thought I looked way too girlish around the hips and legs. I turned around and scowled at my big fat butt. By now you probably understand why I felt the way I did about myself. Titties and a big butt, just like a stupid girl. Exactly what an eleven year old boy wants.

NOT!!!

God, I hated myself!

To make matters worse, I hated the fact that I still didn’t have a bit of hair “down there.” Under my arms, my pubic area, my legs, nothing. I was as smooth and vulnerable looking as a little baby. I made an ugly face and stuck my tongue out in disgust.

“What a stupid faggot!” I taunted my reflection in much the same way as I’d been taunted the school locker room. “Look at those stupid titties! When is your mama gonna get you a bra, sissy boy!”

Even I had to laugh at how ridiculous I sounded. Still, I got a certain thrill from acting out the very thing that had been bottled up in my mind.

“What a stupid faggot,” I muttered at the effeminate reflection in the mirror. “You’re just a big fat fairy, that’s what you are!”

Funny thing. I didn’t know exactly what “faggot” meant, but the guys as school said it all the time, so it seemed appropriate. “Sissy” was pretty easy and "fairy boy" I understood, or so I thought; what boy wants to be a fairy, right? A sissy, maybe. Seriously, the actual sexual connotations of these terms and ideas escaped me at the time. The main thing was I was using words that made me ashamed and caused me to blush.

See, I told you I had “issues.”

Excited to the point of confusion, I laid down on the floor and sprawled out on my back, staring up at the living room ceiling. The ornate ceiling was painted with scenes of birds and clouds and angels. I never noticed that before.

“I guess I wouldn’t have seen that if I hadn’t done this,” I said aloud to myself.

It felt so weird, so nicely unfamiliar, to be lying on Mrs. Taylor’s expensive Persian carpet looking up at her exotic ceiling in my bare skin. My senses woke up as the ancient fabric tickled my bottom and my thighs and my back. I closed my eyes and envisioned myself in some glamorous situation, surrounded by watching eyes and wagging tongues.

I sat and listened to the rain as it hit the windows. The sound reminded me that I was alone in this huge house. It was me and my imagination. Well, and Justine the cat.

A horrendous thunderclap shook the house and the lights suddenly went out. I squeaked a cry of surprise and almost peed on Mrs. Taylor’s antique carpet. Frightened to the point of hyperventilation, I sat up and huddled in a ball, my arms wrapped around my bare legs, waiting to see what might happen next.

The lights came back on within just a few minutes. I let out a sigh of relief.

“Good grief!” I shouted toward the rain. “Whatta ya, tryin’ to do, scare me to death!”

And that’s when the phone suddenly rang!

I think I did pee a little that time. I was too ashamed to go back later and check.

I crawled over the carpet on my hands knees and answered the phone. It was my mother. She was worried about me being alone in a strange house and wanted to know how I was doing.

“Oh, I’m great,” I said, looking down at my naked feet and wiggling my toes. “I’m just reading a book and listening to the storm.”

I told her, yes, the lights came back on and everything was fine. She asked if she needed to come get me. I could tell she really didn’t want to get out in the rain and I knew I didn’t want her to see me naked, so telling the truth would be easy.

“Everything’s all right, Mom. I got my book and there’s snacks in the kitchen if I get hungry. Yes, ma’am, I’ll call before I come home. See ya!”

I had to laugh when I got off the phone. Despite my earlier bout of nerves, talking to my mom while sitting naked in her friend’s home was a thrill! It was like almost getting caught, but without any real danger. Getting the bejeezus scared of me by the storm helped, I’m sure. That little experience made me so happy, I giggled about it for days afterward.

After talking to my mom I decided to take a tour behind the scenes, so to speak. Except for watering the plants I hadn’t really explored the house, so it was about time. Even if it turned out to be boring, doing it naked would make it fun.

Beginning with the first floor I wandered in and out of the various rooms and worked my way up the stairs. It was fun walking around that old house in my birthday suit; being naked made everything fun, as far as I was concerned! I ran and skipped around the house like I owned the place.

Everywhere I looked there were antique chests and dressers filled with old clothes and books and knick-knacks. Emboldened by the knowledge that no one was around to spy on me, I dug around and snooped to my heart’s content. I remembered my mother saying that Mrs. Taylor’s family was one of the oldest and richest in the community. From the looks of the things I found, that certainly seemed to be true.

As I entered what appeared to be the master bedroom – which was as large as my parents’ living room, by the way – I felt a peculiar sense of forbidden pleasure shoot through my body. I knew very well that I was naked in the same room where Mrs. Taylor was naked at one time or another. I can’t tell you how exciting that was to my warped little eleven year old mind!

There was another reason for me to get excited. Scattered about the room were several paintings, reproductions, obviously, of classic nudes. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Some were huge, others not so large, and others bordering on small. There must have been a dozen, maybe more, on the walls and sitting on shelves and the chest of drawers and the vanity. To say that I was thrilled was an understatement.

“Wow … that Mrs. Taylor is one weird lady,” I remember saying out loud to myself. “This is better than my dad’s old magazines!”

Indeed. The paintings were mostly of naked women, some alone, some in pairs and groups. I was particularly fascinated by the ones showing girls and young women holding hands and embracing and kissing. My art books had some of these, and but the others looked like they might have come from my dad’s dirty magazines. To see such amazingly explicit nude paintings up on a wall – and in the home of someone I considered “respectable” – was a shocking experience!

Adding to my bewilderment, I was stunned to find one of the wall-mounted portraits was the boy cupid from the garden! There he was, naked as could be, wearing nothing but a pair of feathery wings and a few blossoms in his curly hair. It was a mind-blowing work of art, almost as tall as I was at the time, nearly photographic in its detail. The cupid boy’s pale skin, blushing face and sad eyes hit me like a ton of bricks; the awkward pose and soft curves of his body reminded of how I looked when I saw myself in the mirror at home. I mean, he was even bald down between his thighs, just like me! As amazing as I found the statue in the garden, this painting was in many ways better than its marble counterpart.

For an instant I let myself wonder if Mrs. Taylor would miss the portrait if I took it home. I looked around the room and realized it would have left an obvious blank spot on the wall. I knew that probably wasn’t a good idea. Besides, I had nowhere to put it; I’m pretty sure my parents would wonder why their son had a painting of a naked boy hanging in his bedroom.

“That would be really weird,” I conceded.

Taking a break from staring at my newest favorite works of art, I casually browsed through the various drawers and cabinets in the room, my heart racing to see all of the little feminine accoutrements belonging to my employer. I remembered my mother and her friends gossiping about snooping in other people’s homes; it wasn’t supposed to be proper, but the way they giggled and talked it was done all the time.

My boyish curiosity led me to the closet. I remember reaching out and grasping the knob, my hands trembling and my face warm with anxiety. A sweet, floral aroma filled my nostrils as I opened the door. Inside I was amazed to see an array of feminine clothing and accessories unlike anything I’d ever seen in my life. Besides the gowns and dresses, I found all sorts of underthings, stockings, panties, brassieres of all shapes, colors and fabrics. In addition to the perfumed fragrance that permeated everything, the sights and textures surrounding me were a sensory overload to a young lad with such an insatiable curiosity.

The guilt I felt snooping around in someone else’s bedroom was overwhelming, but the thrill of it all was just too tempting. My whole naked body trembled in the midst of such luscious femininity; I was like a kid in a candy store, only I was a kid in a beautiful woman’s boudoir. The sense of danger only added to my excitement; there was so little to gain and so much to lose.

Standing in that wonderful closet filled with such beautiful things, I actually stopped to think about how both my mother and her friend had put a lot of trust in me. Not to brag, but I really did have a reputation for such a nice, dependable boy. I could only imagine how Mrs. Taylor might react if she walked into the room at that very moment and saw me in my birthday suit snooping through her things; no doubt she would have immediately reported me to my parents and maybe even call the police. But still, there I was, going through her things like a thief with a license to steal!

Speaking of which ….

Of all the things I did in Mrs. Taylor’s bedroom, the one that embarrassed me the most – and this was in private, just me and the cat, mind you! – was trying on one of her bras. Yes, of course I was a perve; I knew that already, thank you very much! But I never thought of myself as someone who would ever want to wear girls or women’s clothes. Not ever!

Okay, that’s lie. I mean, yes, part of it’s the truth¸ but it wasn’t the whole truth. I never, ever wanted to wear a girl’s dress or panties or anything like that, I promise. Buuuut … I must confess that I did think about wearing a bra a few times, especially after being teased by my so-called friends about having titties like a girl. When those bullies said I should wear a bra, I thought about what that meant. Bras were for females, girls and women with real breasts. And sissy girly boys, apparently. And after being call a sissy girly boy more times than I could remember, I did not want any part of that!

But I still thought about it every now and then. Again, probably more than I should have.

The thing was, the only bras I had access to at home were my mother’s and – ew, yuck! – the idea of trying on one of hers creeped me out. But standing naked in Mrs. Taylor’s closet and seeing all of her lingerie – and that amazing collection of brassieres – that was completely different. My curiosity got the better of me and I just couldn’t stop myself.

I decided to go for broke and I picked out the gaudiest, most colorful and complicated bra I could find. It was a black lace affair with a touch of bright red. It was long, almost like a bulletproof vest to my eleven year old eyes, reaching all the way down to my hips. It was a little large on me, but it still took some effort to get it on. And I looked ridiculous in it, of course. I looked ridiculous trying to get the darned thing on, I looked ridiculous staring at myself in the mirror and I looked even more ridiculous trying to get it off!

I was mindful that I didn’t look very masculine in the first place, what with my curly blond hair and babyish face; I’d heard that plenty enough throughout my entire life. Heck, when I was naked even I had to admit that I looked more like a girl than any of the other boys at school!

Wearing Mrs. Taylor’s brassiere made me look more effeminate to the point of being stupid, and I couldn’t stand it. But I kept staring. Having a pair of fake boobs does that to a young kid, in case you didn’t know that already. I hid my penis – which was doing its best trying to get some attention – in between my legs and I studied myself in the mirror a lot longer than I should have. With my stupid hair all mussed up and my fat pink bottom exposed and sticking out¸ I decided I looked like a little girl trying on her mother’s clothes. That was not the look I was after. Not that I was after any particular look, of course.

After all these years I still think about that moment on occasion. It’s one of my most embarrassing and fondest memories.

There was another flash of lightning and a thunderclap and I squeaked out loud with fright! For a moment I thought someone had come into the room and I was caught red-handed. I mean, I almost ripped that stupid bra off, I was so scared! I managed to calm down and think for a moment. I ended up slipping the straps off my shoulders and spinning it around backwards so I could undo the hooks. I would have made better time figuring my way out of a straitjacket!

Dazed by all I’d seen and experienced so far, I scurried back downstairs and I thought about my situation. My face burned with excitement as I remembered Mrs. Taylor smiling at me during her visits with my mother. I then imagined what it might be like living with her, having her look at me every day like she did the boy cupid. To be her naked slave, a bare-bottomed prisoner in that amazing house, surrounded with such wondrous things to look at and do; oh, that would be so horribly marvelous! I could hardly stand the thought, it was all so very thrilling to me!

The phone rang. It was my mother, of course. The rain had slowed down so she offered to come pick me up. I had to hurry if I didn't want to greet her at the front door in my birthday suit.

As I got dressed I thought about what I was going to do the next time I entered Mrs. Taylor’s wonderful home. There was absolutely no reason that I couldn’t have a little fun while I did my chores, was there? I mean, who would know? With my employer out of town and her housekeeper sick, I was the only one who had a key. Not even my own mother had a spare.

“Oh, gosh, I gotta do this again,” I remember saying aloud to myself. “I got the whole house to myself until next week, so I can do anything I want!”

I looked around at my exotic surroundings and smiled.

“This is gonna be great ….”

***

As soon as school was out the next afternoon I ran as fast as I could to Mrs. Taylor’s house. As I approached the front door I looked around to see if anyone was watching. Nothing. No Jennifer Wilson, nobody, nothing.

I got out my key, entered and then locked myself inside.

“Hello?” I shouted. “It’s just me … David. I’m here to feed Justine and take care of the plants ….”

I don’t know why I did that. I’d never done it before. I guess it was because I was thinking too hard about what I was going to do next. I waited a minute, but the house was silent. And the only thing that moved was Justine, who sauntered slowly into the room to see what the fuss was all about. Unimpressed, she decided preening herself would be more interesting.

After a minute or two of extra hard thinking, I set my bag on the floor. I took a deep breath and started unbuttoning my shirt.

It didn’t take more than a minute and I was standing in Mrs. Taylor’s foyer in my birthday suit. My clothes were in a neatly folded stack on the floor next to me alongside my book bag. I was so excited that my hands shook.

I felt something warm and furry rub against my leg. I looked down to see Justine staring up at me. She made a couple of meow sounds and tilted her head as if waiting for a reply.

“What’s that, Justine?” I said in a silly voice. “Oh, now that I’m naked you find me interesting?”

That dumb cat actually meowed at me. I had to laugh. It was almost like having a conversation with someone while being naked. I liked that. I liked it a lot!

“Do you like it when I take my clothes off?”

“Meow!”

“You do? Gosh, Justine, you’re a naughty girl!”

“Meow!”

I had to laugh. Silly old cat.

I walked over the middle of the living room. As I did the day before, I laid out on top of Mrs. Taylor’s nice Persian carpet. I loved how it felt to be stark naked and in the middle of such a public feeling place, my bare body soaking up the cool air conditioned air and the sensation of the wool against my skin. I rolled around, naked and vulnerable, without any cares. I felt so decadent, so in danger … the sensation was intoxicating!

There was an abrupt knocking at the door that practically scared the pee out of me. I sat up so hard I got a cramp in my leg. The knock sounded off again. Unable to stand because of the cramp, I scrambled over behind one of the sofas, terrified that my secret game was about to end so soon in disaster.

The doorbell suddenly rang, then the knocking repeated.

“David? David Cartwright!” a muffled voice called from outside. “It’s me, Jennifer! Jennifer Wilson! Answer the door, please!”

There was another knock, followed by the rattling of the door knob. For an instant I thought the door was about to open. Did I lock the door? I couldn’t remember. If I didn’t, well, I was about to be screwed.

“David, please come to the door. I’ve got Janie Johnson with me. We want to come in!”

There was the doorbell again. And then the twisting of the door knob. I crouched down in my hiding place behind the sofa, practically face down on the carpet. I was excited and terrified at the same time.

Whew. Apparently I did lock the door. Thank goodness for small things!

“Helloooo … David … It’s Jennifer … let me in, pleeeeeeassssse ….”

I thought about saying something, but that would have been stupid. How would I explain myself? I had to bite my lip from speaking out. It was like a part of me wanted Jennifer to know I was there, and maybe even let her know I was naked.

“DAVID!!! I know you’re in there! Let us in! Janie hasn’t seen the statues in the garden. I want to show them to her. Come on, David! Let us in!”

Somehow I managed to keep my mouth shut. I don’t know how I did it. I even surprised myself by playing smart for once.

The commotion stopped as abruptly as it began. I waited for several minutes, but nothing else happened. Then I heard the sound of girlish voices. It sounded like they were trying to look in the window. I was pretty sure nobody could get in that way, but the possibility caused my heart to race and my bladder to hurt.

There was some tapping on the windows and calls for me to come out, but I kept silent. After a few minutes everything outside went silent, too. I waited a few more minutes to make sure it was safe before crawling out from behind the sofa.

On tiptoe I made my way to the front door, careful to avoid being seen through the windows. The muffled voices were still there, but they seemed to be fading. Pulling aside a curtain, I peered outside and saw two girls headed down the driveway. Yep, it was Jennifer and Janie, all right. I would have recognized them anywhere. I glanced around the yard, but everything else seemed normal.

“Gosh,” I thought out loud. “That was close. I thought for sure I got caught ….”

Trembling all over, I made my way back to the living room, pondering what just happened. The idea of getting caught – by Jennifer Wilson, no less! – was amazing! While part of me had gotten scared to bad I had to pee, the masochist in me was jumping up and down with joy!

“Jennifer Wilson and Janie Johnson almost saw me naked,” I whispered to myself. “That was … AWESOME!!!”

After a visit to the bathroom I returned to the living room and collapsed on the carpeted floor. I stared at Mrs. Taylor’s ornate ceiling above me. It still looked amazing, no matter how many times I gazed up at it.

That’s when I had a queer thought. I tried to imagine what I would have done, what I would have said, if I’d left the door unlocked and Jennifer and Janie had come in and seen me. I had no idea. It would have been awkward, to say the least. Most likely it would have been a disaster.

“Wow,” I said aloud. “They would have told everybody, their friends, my mom … our teacher, Mrs. Campbell ….”

That got me thinking, which was never good. I thought about what if Mrs. Taylor had come home early and discovered me lying in the middle of her living room, naked as the day I was born. Would she have raised a fuss and threatened to call my mother? Or would she have simply smiled and acted as if this was the most natural thing in the world for me to be doing? In my warped little mind she did a little bit of both, but instead of calling my mother she would keep me prisoner in her house, a naked captive subject to some unspeakable punishment ….

“Geez, that would be just terrible,” I said with a giggle. “Just … terrible ….”

Renewed by my recent near miss, I got up and stood naked in the middle of Mrs. Taylor’s enormous living room, my arms above my head and my legs spread apart as far as they would go. I imagined I was tied up and Jennifer and Janine there before me, laughing and giggling like the silly girls they were. I savored the sensation of the cool breeze against my bare skin, the rough tickle of the carpet beneath my feet and the sound of my own heart beating as fast as it could.

“Stupid faggot,” I scolded the reflection in front of me. “You almost got caught, you stupid, naked faggot.”

My voice echoed throughout the huge room and part of the house. At first I startled myself. But then I looked around for a moment, decided it was safe since I was the only one there, and resumed my little game, practically shouting at myself.

“What’s the matter, crybaby?" I said to my reflection. "Are you scared? You should be! You look just like a big baby, you faggot! A big fat sissy baby!”

I couldn’t help but grin. I felt more than a little ridiculous, playing my childish game, but it was so much fun, in a masochistic way, of course. To be able to say out loud the things I’d been thinking for as long as I could remember was such a thrill. And to do it in my bare skin was unbelievable! I know it sounds totally crazy, but this was no different than how other kids played make believe with dolls and toy soldiers or stuffed animals. The problem was, I was role-playing a scenario that would eventually catch up with me.

But I didn’t know that, not just yet.

“What’s the matter, you little sissy, do you miss your clothes?” I said in my best sinister growl. “Well, it’s your own fault, fairy boy! You deserve to be punished! For the rest of this day you are forbidden to wear any clothes at all! Do you hear me, you fat fairy? Cross me, sissy boy, and you’ll get worse.”

Switching characters, I pretended to cry. “I’m sorry, please don’t let her hurt me! Please, don’t take away my clothes! I don’t want to be naked! Please … I’ll be good! I promise! I’ll be good!”

“Just wait until Mrs. Taylor gets home, girly boy!” I shouted in my mocking voice. “She’ll blister your little fairy butt when she sees you running around naked in her house!”

I thought about what to do next. My mind was a blur, but I had a plan. Well, sort of a plan. I wanted to make the most of this very special game. Who knew when I’d have this chance again?

Red-faced and breathing heavily, I gathered up my clothing and I “hid” them in a closet where they would be out of sight, out of mind while I continued my little game.

“Without any clothes you’re my prisoner!” my imaginary captor gloated. “I’m locking them away forever!!!”

“Please give them back,” I cried in my pretend-to-be-scared voice. “I don’t want to go without any clothes!”

“That’s too bad, my little fairy! They're gone and you’re never ever getting them back!” my archnemesis announced. “Remember, you’re being watched. Make a mistake and you’ll get punished! Just you wait and see.”

I wondered what game I should play next. Spying the huge oak and marble coffee table in front of the sofa, I walked over and stared at it. It was a solid, gigantic piece of furniture, large enough to stand on. It also reminded me of an auction block like I’d seen one my dad’s adventure magazines: it was from a story about a young girl who’d been kidnapped and sold on the white slavery market. The magazine cover showed her standing bare naked on the auction block, one arm covering her huge breasts and her hand over her nether regions.

I thought about that girl as she stood on the auction block. In my childish mind I pictured myself in her place and I envied her terrible predicament. Oh, how I wanted to be in her shoes – not that she was wearing any, of course!

I remember taking a deep breath and then stepping up on the cool marble, placing me square in the center of that ornately decorated room. I placed my hands behind my back, grabbed my wrists as tight as I could to simulate being tied up, and then forced myself to close my eyes. Carefully and gingerly, I turned around, one degree at a time. Funny, no matter which way I turned I could see myself in at least one mirror, sometimes more. That made my little game even more exciting!

In my mind I pictured myself in the midst of one of Mrs. Taylor’s social events. Only instead of talking about auctioning off baked goods or donated items to her lady friends, she made me the prize on sale to a horde giggling, mocking women and girls.

“I’ll give you ten dollars for him,” I imagined Jennifer Wilson saying in a cool, mocking tone. “He can carry my books to school and do my chores for me!”

“I’ll give you fifteen!” shouted my teacher, Mrs. Campbell. “I need him to take care of my garden and clean up my classroom after school!”

“You can both have him for five dollars,” my mother replied in a sarcastic tone of voice. “He’s such a little sneaky thing … he’s not even worth that much.”

“Moooooommmm ….” I whimpered in my pretend pitiful voice.

As I stepped down from the coffee table I pretended to be handed over to my new owner, whoever she might be, for whatever nefarious plans she had for me. I squirmed and wriggled in my imaginary bonds, whimpering helplessly as they drug me away from my mother, my home … and my clothes ….

I left the living room with my heart pounding so hard I thought I could hear it echoing throughout the house. The cold hardwood floors and old fashioned rugs felt exciting against my bare feet and cool air tickled my bare legs, bottom and privates. With my hands behind my back, I wandered into the dining room. That was an amazing feeling, especially when I realized this was where complete strangers, dozens perhaps, judging from the size of the room, had gathered a one time or another.

I felt my whole body shiver with excitement as I looked about that huge dining room. I immediately pictured myself suddenly in the midst of an elegant dinner party. In that imaginary party the exquisite Mrs. Taylor and her guests – a mix of well dressed women and girls, of course! – circling around the sixth grade boy clad in naught but his birthday suit.

“Oh, Elizabeth, I think your little pet is loose!” I imagined a lady in a fancy dress dripping in jewels saying. “Really, darling, you should put a leash on the poor thing before someone steals off with him.”

A second voice – I imagined Jennifer Wilson, of course – was equally delighted and threatening. “Oh David, you’re so funny looking! You look like a fairy whose wings have been plucked. Who plucked your wings, little fairy? Hmm? Hmmm?”

“Let’s do something to him!” Janie Johnson suggested. I imagined her snooty voice even snootier than usual. “Let’s do something mean to him. I think he needs a spanking!”

These silly ideas kept coming, one after the other. I closed my eyes and prayed to be a servant boy to Mrs. Taylor and Jennifer and all of their stuck-up friends. Naked and red-faced with shame, I would fetch their drinks and serve them food while leering eyes watched and mocking tongues wagged. Oh, how I wanted it to be real, you have no idea!

“That would be so cool,” I whispered aloud with my eyes clenched tight. “Oh, please please please …let it be real! Pleeeeeeeasssssse let it happen!!!”

It wasn’t real, of course, and it didn’t happen. When I opened my eyes the room was empty. Except for Justine the cat I was alone. Good thing, as I probably would have died of embarrassment if I really had gotten my wish.

“That would be really awful,” I had to admit.

I couldn’t figure if it was excitement or the air conditioning, but by the time I arrived in the kitchen I had goose bumps all over my arms and legs and my young nipples were hard as pebbles. I had to laugh to see my penis sticking straight out, the pink tip bouncing up and down and around with my every movement. I imagined Jennifer Wilson seeing me with an erection and I couldn’t help but giggle.

“I wonder what she would think if she saw that,” I remember saying aloud to myself.

I decided I’d better at least do my chores while I was there. Doing them naked might even be fun, I thought.

Keeping to my routine I fed Justine, the cat. Funny, how doing something so humdrum suddenly became exciting when you did it without any clothes on.

“Here you are, Miss Justine,” I said in my silly, naked slave voice. I tried to make it sound as frightened and formal as possible. “I hope this is to your liking, Miss Kitty. Please don’t tell your mistress what I’ve been doing.”

The cat watched with more interest than usual as I doled out her food and changed her water dish. It was as though she was judging me. She gave her food the usual sniff, but instead of going back to her nap she took it upon herself to follow me around as I continued my chores.

“Are you spying on me, Miss Justine?” I giggled at my little game. “You’re going to tell Mrs. Taylor on me, aren’t you? You better not or I’ll get in all sorts of trouble!”

As I moved about I realized that silly cat wasn't just spying on me; she was watching my erect penis! Testing my theory, I turned my hips left and right, causing it to wag like a puppy dog's tail; she was absolutely mesmerized!

“Miss Justine! Please, stop looking at my tallywhacker!” I fussed. “That’s rude!”

I turned about in a circle several times, but that dumb cat followed me around and around, her golden eyes locked in on my erection. She even rubbed up against my legs, her thick white fur feeling quite nice against my bare skin. I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Great! Now I suppose you’re going to tell everybody you’ve seen my wiener. Just don’t tell Jennifer Wilson … she might think I’m weird or something.”

After playing with the cat for a few minutes, I thought maybe doing the rest of my chores without any clothes might be even more interesting. And was I ever right! With Justine still following me, I fetched the little watering can and went about taking care of Mrs. Taylor’s plants. I know it sounds childish and boring and all that, but it really was fun. Being naked does that, it seems.

Passing by several mirrors, I had to stare at myself; I made for quite a silly sight, me in my birthday suit with that tiny watering can in my hand. My face was bright red as I padded about that big old house barefoot and bare-bottomed and took care of the various orchids, azaleas and other potted plants. I thought about my fantasy of picking flowers in the woods and decided this was almost as good; all I needed were a couple of girls to follow me around and give me a little grief to make it even more exciting!

As always, I took time from my rounds to slip into Mrs. Taylor’s bedroom and snoop around a bit. This time I stayed away from the lingerie. Instead, I wandered over to my favorite piece, the portrait of the boy cupid. I loved being naked in front of him, my body tingling with pleasure as I studied him from head to toe. There was a closet door with a mirror nearby which I used to compare and contrast my image with that of the child in the painting. We looked much more alike than not; we both had curly hair, but mine was much shorter, and I was definitely a little chubbier than he was, but the similarities mesmerized me.

“This really is weird,” I remember saying to myself.

I set down the watering can and crossed my arms over my chest and pressed my legs together in a pose akin to my classical double. That’s when I realized just exactly how much we resembled one another, especially when I made the same pouty face that he had. Not only that, but my fat bottom looked an awful lot like his, which didn’t exactly make me happy.

“Dang it, why do I have to look like such a stupid sissy!” I fussed out loud at my reflection. “All I need is a pair of wings and I could be in that painting!”

Despite my whining, the similarity between the two of us fascinated me. I even found the cupid boy’s genitals interesting. Looking down, I had to smile; by this time my penis had fallen limp and it looked so silly, so helpless, just like my friend’s in the painting. I felt a tickle between my legs as I realized just how close we were in spirit and in body.

I closed my eyes and pretended for a moment that I was the model in that painting, surrounded by prying eyes, critical and judgmental, examining me and studying every bit of my vulnerable body in the greatest of detail ….

“I wish someone would paint a picture like that of me,” I said aloud to no one in particular. “I wish … I wish … I wish ….”

I know all this sounds more than a little crazy– and perhaps a bit boring in comparison to some fantasies – but believe me, dearest reader, when I say that running about naked in that huge old house was the greatest thrill in my young life. Nothing matched it, not my father’s magazines nor those silly little fantasies about my teacher or my classmates. Just thinking about taking off my clothes and wandering through Mrs. Taylor’s amazing mansion made me tremble from head to toe; doing so for real put me on an adrenaline high so intoxicating, I would nearly faint!

Over the next couple of days I repeated my little naked game at Mrs. Taylor’s home with childish enthusiasm. I’d leave school as fast as I could, rush through the front door and being playing the instant I set the lock. My secret game reeked of danger and naughtiness, but at the same time it was safe; I could play out all sorts of strange, forbidden scenarios in the privacy of that incredibly large and mysterious house, pretending to be in as much danger as I wanted, and nobody would ever know.

What in the world could be better?

There was one problem. After all I’d done, I wanted to take the excitement level one step further. But how? How in the world could I have even more fun, but at the same time not get caught? The budding masochist inside me was dying to go the next step, but the simpering coward was deathly afraid of getting in trouble. There was no way I was going to risk my reputation – or my bare butt! – by doing something completely stupid.

Hey, I might have only been eleven years old, but I wasn’t totally dumb.

What to do … what to do … what to do ….

The answer came to me one afternoon as I was in the kitchen feeding Justine. I remember looking out the patio doors and having a vision of myself padding barefoot and bare bottomed down the stone walkway into Mrs. Taylor’s garden. I thought about the statue of the cupid boy and when I pictured myself joining my naked friend my pulse raced and my entire body blushed with excitement! Oh, what fun that would be, to wander about the flowers and the trees in my birthday suit without a care in the world, enjoying the summer sun and the breeze against my bare skin. That would be almost as much fun as knowing that I would be doing something so naughty, so forbidden it was probably illegal.

My face burned hot with excitement as I stood and stared out the door.

“I’m going to do it,” I whispered to myself. “I am going … out there … and no one will ever know ….”

To be continued ….

(End of File)