Woody

By NAMB

* * * * *
This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and/or sexual activity of preteen and young teen children. This is fantasy, and the author in no way endorses or practices these things on real life. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.
* * * * *

The old plantation had been locked up for ages. Us kids had all kinds of stories about the place saying that it was once a plantation during the Civil War and that ghosts of the former occupants, master and slave, still haunted the place.

It was a huge, rambling plot of land that I swear took up at least as quarter of the county. It was surrounded by a tall stone wall with barbed wire on the top so you couldn’t see much. Some theorized that it was once used as a prison though I doubted it. All that was visible through the front gate was a paved road leading in that disappeared behind a curve.

According to my mom, up until the 1990s it actually had been a working farm. She told me it was shut down and confiscated by the government because the crops that they grew were illegal. That was ancient history: well before I was even born.

For as long as I can remember, the gates seemed to be permanently locked and overgrown with vegetation.

Then one day, everything was trimmed back. I thought I even saw a truck leaving. I told this to my mom and she said that she had heard that some long-lost, distant relative of the estate had been found and inherited the place.

I wondered about what kind of people would inhabit such a spooky place. So one day, I took my bicycle up and found that the gate was open. The rusty sign said, “Private Property, No Trespassing,” but I decided to ignore it and pedaled on in.

I first saw the boy and girl at a distance and from the back. I caught a glimpse of them as I rounded one turn, but they disappeared around another bend almost immediately. I peddled harder to catch up to them.

As I rounded the bend, I saw that I was closer to them than I thought. They seemed to be taking their time walking.

That’s when what I thought I saw at a quick glance from a distance became reality before my eyes. It was indeed a boy and a girl. The girl was dressed in a sundress and sandals. The boy was completely naked except for a pair of bright pink crock shoes. I still wasn’t believing what I was seeing and peddled up to them.

I called to them and they stopped and waited for me. Surprisingly, the boy made no move whatsoever to cover up. Taking in his physique in with my eyes, I introduced myself. “Hi, I’m Shelly. I’m one of your neighbors.”

The girl smiled at me and made the introductions, “I’m Bliss and this is my brother, Woody. His real name is Woodstock, but we just call him Woody.”

“When did you guys move in?” I asked pretending that there was nothing at all unusual about the naked boy standing there.

Bliss replied, “We’re just here visiting our grandmas for the summer.”

“Grandmas? Like in both grand mothers?”

“Well, only one is really our grandma, Grandma Tess. Grandma Bekka is sort of married to her. We have another grandma, but she lives in New Jersey and we don’t see her much.”

“I’m 11,” I volunteered while still trying to understand the situation. “I’ll be going to South Middle School this fall.”

“I’m 8,” Bliss replied, “and Woody’s going to be 13 next week. Mom home schools us.”

I finally could not avoid the obvious question. I figured a handful of verbal exchanges was enough to break the ice. Finally, I asked, “So how come Woody is naked?”

“Oh, that’s just the way it is. Grandma Tess believes that little boys shouldn’t be so modest and that’s the way she raised mom and my uncles. So he’s been running around naked in the house for as long as I remember.”

“Do you ever get naked?”

“I used to when I was a little girl. Mom tells me it’s up to me if I want to get dressed or not. I like being dressed. Woody doesn’t have a choice. Except when we go out in public, he has to be naked.”

“How come you have a choice and Woody doesn’t?”

“Well isn’t it obvious? I’m a girl and he’s a boy. Girls are more mature than boys. Mom says that little boys shouldn’t be so modest. When he turns 18 she’ll let him decide what to wear.”

Well, it wasn’t obvious to me, but I kind of liked the idea. Some of my friends have older brothers and I think it would be cool to see them naked.

“Mom thought it would be a good idea if we came here to visit our grandmas to get some sunshine and fresh air. Grandma sent us down to the mailbox to see if there was any mail.”

“The postman doesn’t come until about 3 in the afternoon,” I offered.

“Do you want some lemonade?” Bliss asked. “You can come with us. The house isn’t far away.”

“Of course,” I answered. I was going to be the first kid to see the plantation in a couple of decades. I wondered what it would be like.

The house was a lot smaller than rumor had made it, but still bigger than the place mom and I lived at. It was older, but looked like it was recently reconstructed and well-kept. I parked my bike on the grass and joined Woody and Bliss as we went up the steps to the porch.

Bliss simply opened the door and yelled, “We’re back. The mail hasn’t come yet. We’ve made a friend; can you come and meet her?”

We were met by a pair of older ladies, but not as old as my grandparents. They didn’t dress like my grandmothers either. They had tops and skinny jeans. Also, only one of my grandmothers had a tattoo and that was a small butterfly on her lower back just above her waistline. These women had some obvious ink. They introduced themselves and encouraged me to call them Grandma Tess and Grandma Bekka.

We made some small talk as they fed us some lemonade and some brownies. They were the ones who brought up the issue of Woody’s nudity.

“I suppose Bliss told you about our nudity policy for boys.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me Grandma Tess, dear. We’re not very formal around here.

Well, it all started back in the summer of 1969. I was 17 at the time and a group of us girls took off for Woodstock. Woody’s named after the festival.

That’s when we met up with a bunch of other girls. We were simple Catholic girls from Brooklyn going to an all-girl, Catholic High School and the trip to the festival was just our way of rebelling: running away from our parents for a couple of days of fun.

We were hoping to meet some boys, maybe drink some beer and to listen to the music.

That changed when we met these girls from a local women’s college. They sort of took us in and look after us. Also, were willing to share their weed with us. None of us even smoked. Oh yes, we tried cigarettes, but they never ‘took’ with us.

This was something else. It was so relaxing. We felt like we were long-lost friends with these girls.

We asked the girls if they knew any boys and that’s when it began.

They told us that girls didn’t have to do what boys told them. That we were our own people with our own lives and nobody could tell us how to live our lives. They were feminists for sure and back in that day there was a lot of misunderstanding about the word. To a lot of people, it meant ‘man hater.’

It wasn’t so. It was all about the expression of feminine power, the power every girl and woman had in her but was repressed by traditional values.

This was a new music in my ears and it took root in my brain. No more leading my life in a way to impress boys so they would notice me. I was woman, hear me roar! I was going to be all girl and let the boys come to me.

Woodstock was an experience not to be relived in a lifetime, but it left that impression on me. When I returned to school, I was on fire. I organized a Girl’s Club where we discussed feminist ideas and what we needed to do as young women to take our rightful place in the world.

We coined the phrase, ‘Girl Power’ and we didn’t allow anyone to put us down.

Yes, there were still the air-head cheerleader types, but as the year went on, our power base grew bigger and bigger. More and more girls heard about the club and more and more girls wanted to join.

There were a couple of boys from our “brother school” who wanted to join – we did share extracurricular activities with them – but they were insincere and just in it to meet girls and were soon embarrassed out of the club by the confidence and superiority of the girls. They couldn’t stand being the ‘weaker sex’ at these meetings.

It didn’t end there either. When I went onto college, I joined a sorority with a strong feminist leaning. While other girls partied, we worked for social justice for women and were quite active in politics.

That’s where I met Bekka. We knew we were meant for each other from the moment we met. I had my first sexual experience with her and I hadn’t even been with a boy yet. Unfortunately, people weren’t as tolerant back then as they are today.

I also met Ralph in college. He was a nice enough man and we got married because that’s what you did in those days and I had two boys and a girl by him before deciding that a penis was never really satisfying to me.

For his part, he was becoming uncomfortable with my ever-increasing demands in the bedroom. I wanted to be on top both literally and figuratively.

So we divorced and it was amicable. I still hear from him every now and then and he never missed a child support payment and he always did good by the children. They all love him. He really is a good man. Not all men are jerks. It’s just that I could not live the lie anymore.

That’s when Bekka came back into my life and we shared a household together raising the kids along strict feminist lines. So if the relationship between Bliss and Woodstock seems a bit unconventional, blame me. That’s how I raised their parents.

Sunny, that’s Bliss’ mom, was in charge of her brothers. Her younger brother, Marty, took to it as if it were a natural part of his life, the older boy, Bobby, was rebellious at first, but he also came around eventually.

Both are very successful men today, and I believe it’s due to their submission to feminist rule. They learned the feminist qualities of cooperation and compassion. Being a feminist doesn’t make a man a pansy. The boys are successful in their jobs and very competitive in business, but their success doesn’t come by running roughshod over people; it comes from making alliances with them.

I’m sorry, Shelly, I’ve been hogging the conversation. I tend to do that. Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?”

There’s really not a lot to tell. I’m 11 years old. I’ve lived here all my life. I just graduated grade school and am looking forward to going to middle school. I’m thinking of trying out for the cheerleader squad.”

Grandma Tess blushed and said, “And here I was bashing those ‘cheerleader’ types. Don’t take it the wrong way sweetie. Girls today are a lot better off than my sisters back in the 60’s. You have a lot of your rights granted to you and you don’t have to fight as hard for the opportunities that are rightfully yours. But don’t give up the fight. There is still a lot of power we girls are entitled to that is yet to be won!”

Bekka laughed, “We Girls? Oh honey, it’s been at least half century since either of us were girls. But Tess is right, I envy you girls today. There’s no telling how far you can go. I have big hopes for Bliss.”

Bliss then asked, “Can we have more lemonade?”

“Of course, dear.”

Without even turning to look at her brother Bliss said, “Woody, be a dear and fetch Shelly and me some more lemonade.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Woody has a voice! Except for a muttered, “Hi” when we first met, it was the first time I heard him speak since I met him. His sister and his grandmothers had been doing all the talking for him and he called his younger sister “ma’am!”

Woody trotted off to the kitchen to perform his chore.

While he was gone, I got bold enough to ask the question, “How does Woody feel about being naked all the time?” For some reason, it seemed more appropriate to ask the women than the boy himself.

Bliss fielded this question. “I don’t think he minds now. He’s been naked all of his life. At first it was so natural with both of us being naked, but when I turned 6 and was given the option to wear what I want when I want, he protested stating that it wasn’t fair.

Mom explained it to him. Boys don’t have to be so modest. God made them with their parts on the outside so everyone could see them. Girls are made with their parts hidden for a reason: they are precious.”

“Do your friends get to see him naked?”

“Some of them do. Others have moms who are uptight prudes and don’t want their daughters to see him like that. Some of those girls listen to their moms, others ‘sneak in’ to see him.

I can tell who my real friends are and who is just interested in getting to see a naked boy. I don’t know why they’d want to do that. It’s no big deal.”

Grandma Bekka interrupted, “Now Bliss, not all girls have mothers who are as enlightened as your mom is. They perceive boys as having something special. They even look down upon themselves believing that they aren’t as good as boys.

I know that sound impossible, but it’s true. Just be glad you know the real facts of life.”

The question was then turned on me. Grandma Bekka asked, “How about you, Shelly. What do you think about boys being naked?”

“I – I never really thought about it.”

“Haven’t you ever seen a naked boy before?”

“Well yes, my friend Linda has a baby brother and we sometimes change his diaper.”

“I mean older boys.”

“One time back in first grade, me and a couple of my friends made two boys make pee for us.”

“OK. So how do you feel about Woody being naked. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“It did at first, but I’m beginning to get used to it.”

“Good. That’s the way it should be.”

Woody returned, bearing the lemonade.

Bliss asked, “It’s almost 12 o’clock. Can Shelly stay and see Woody masturbate?”

“See Woody do what?” I asked.

The grandmas giggled. Grandma Tess asked, “Do you know what masturbation is?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you heard is by another name: jerking off or boys playing with themselves.”

“I heard about jerking off. One boy accused another boy of doing it and the boy got mad.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s about time that you learned. Simply put, masturbation is when a boy stimulates his penis to make it ejaculate.

Men ejaculate sperm and that’s what makes women pregnant.”

“Yes, I learned about that in our Human Relationship Class,” I said unsteadily. “Well I learned about the part where men make sperm. They didn’t really tell us how it came out.”

Grandma Tess went on, “I don’t know why the boy got angry. All boys masturbate. They eventually find out they have a penis and start playing with it.

That’s their weakness. They fall in love with their penises and they identify themselves by their penises. That’s why it’s important for Woody to be naked in front of his sister: to prove to her and to him that having a penis is nothing special.

It feels good to a boy when he can make his penis ejaculate or cum as it is sometimes called.

Nature intended that penises go into a vagina during sexual intercourse for the purpose of conceiving a baby. However, boys like Woody and every other boy who doesn’t have a woman can use their hands to stimulate their penises.

It happens early in life. Woody’s been doing it since he was about 3. Of course, at that age, he was too young to ejaculate yet, but it felt good so he kept doing it. It was only about six months ago when he first orgasmed with cum.

Boys get addicted to this habit. Girls can use this addiction to their benefit.

Woody is a typical teenaged boy; he gets excited several times a day. If we let him, he’d be pulling on his penis constantly. So we’re trying to teach him some discipline. He’s not allowed to masturbate without permission.

He has to ask one of us women for permission. Her mother put Bliss in charge of him. If Bliss is not available, he can come to one of us, but Bliss always has the final say.

So Woody has to be nice to his sister and obey her or she will deny him his pleasure.”

“Can’t he just do it on his own?”

“Yes, he’s capable of doing that, but if he cums without permission, he’s punished. It was the same way with Bliss’ mom and her brothers.

Woody is generally a very obedient and polite boy, so he gets his treat almost every day.”

“Treat?”

“I’m sure you heard about Pavlov and his dogs? Every time he gave his dogs a treat, he’d ring a bell. Eventually whenever the dogs heard the bell, they came looking for their treat.

It’s called a conditioned reflex and it’s the same way with boys. If Woody behaves himself and is a good boy, he gets to masturbate and that makes him feel good. So he associates being a good boy for us girls with the pleasure of masturbation and eventually pleasing girls becomes a pleasure in itself.”

“So Bliss, has Woody been a good enough boy?” Grandma Bekka asked.

“Yes, Grandma.”

“Well, I suppose we can let him have his treat early then.”

“Sure,” the girl responded. Turning to me she asked, “Do you want to see Woody masturbate?”

“Of course,” I said with a strong voice that belied the doubt within me.

“Assume your position,” Bliss ordered.

Without a word, Woody got onto his knees in front of the fireplace facing the room.

“Come sit,” Grandma Tess urged pointing to one of the seats facing the fireplace. “You’re the guest. Bekka and I have seen this act more times than I can count.

It’s nice watching young men do it. They so good at doing it.”

Meanwhile Woody knelt there with hands at his sides.

Bliss and I took seats enjoying our lemonades. Bliss nodded to her brother, “Go ahead, do it.”

Woody took his penis in his hand and moved it back and forth along the shaft. I leaned forward to get a better view.

Bliss noticed this so she commanded, “Woody, slow down so Shelly can see what you are doing.”

I watched as he seemed to pull the skin of the shaft over the head. “It looks like a turtle sticking his head in and out of its shell,” I giggled.

Bliss let him stroke for about a minute more and said, “Stop and put your hands on your head.”

Woody obeyed without a word.

“I’d thought you’d like to see this,” she said pointing at her brother. “That’s called an erection or a hard-on or even a ‘woody,’” she ended with a giggle. “It means that the boy is getting sexually aroused.

Woody always gets hard when he masturbates, but sometimes he gets hard for no reason at all, or at least I used to think so. Grandma told me that boys can’t control when they get erections. It happens when they see girls or think about them.

It’s girls that make boys have erections. It’s kind of like we have a remote control, we push the button and up pops Mr. Penis.”

She turned back to her brother, “OK, resume stroking.” And she let him go for about another minute before telling him to stop and put his hands on his head again.

“See that drop of stuff coming out his pee hole?”

I nodded.

“When Woody was a little boy, he was a dry cummer; that is, nothing came out when he jerked off. Then when he got older, he started to get dribbles like that. I thought it was sperm, but it’s not. Real sperm comes later.

That’s called precum. It means the boy is really excited and getting close to cumming.”

I was amazed at the girl’s knowledge of boys sex parts and how they worked, but I guess she grew up with it. This was all “the way things should be” to her.

She once again authorized him to resume his masturbation.

Grandma Bekka laughed, “The poor boy hardly gets to jerk off from start to finish anymore without Bliss interrupting him for one reason or another.”

I noticed that Woody picked up the tempo of his rubbing and that he seemed to be sweating even though the room was cool. His body tensed up and his face got a contorted look on it. His breathing became ragged. He closed his eyes and announce with a grunt that sounded like he was punched in the stomach, “I’m cumming.”

Bliss bounced up and down with the excitement that only a girl her age could exhibit. I was in a trance as I watched first one, and then another and another jet of semen spurt from his penis. I had an odd funny thought that I should be counting them, but I never did. I had no idea how many cums he made.

I was surprised. I knew from my Human Relations class that boys made semen. I had no idea how they delivered it and guessed that it came out like pee. I had no idea how boys decided when to make pee and when to make sperm. Now it seemed to make sense: physical stimulation of the penis causes sperm to, what was the word Grandma Bekka used? Ejaculate!

I also wondered that if a boy rubbed his penis with his hand to ejaculate, could a girl do that to him too? Did it really matter who did the rubbing? Did the boy have any control at all?

I was numb with the enormity of the event. This was the most masculine thing a boy can do and he did it because a girl told him to do it.

It was only then that I noticed that my mouth had been slack-jawed open. I’m surprised I wasn’t drooling.

“Good boy,” Bliss praised him. “Now go clean up your mess.”

“So what did you think?” Grandma Bekka asked.

“That – that was great,” I said. It was more than great but I didn’t have the wit to express what I was really feeling.

“Masturbation has such a calming, pacifying effect on boys.

It’s good for Woody to do it for other girls. He’s gotten rather complacent with his sister. I understand her mother lets some of her friends participate.

Would you like to help Bliss with Woody while they are here?”

All I could do was nod.

After he cleaned up his mess, Bliss and I and Woody went out on the lawn to play frizbie after a while, I hardly noticed that there was a naked boy in the game although I had to giggle whenever I saw his penis flopping around when he jumped to make a catch.

I was then I noticed that the afternoon was getting on. “I hate to leave,” I said, “But I promised mom I’d go to the store on my bike to pick up stuff for dinner.”

I stopped in the house to say goodbye to the grandmas.

Grandma Tess said, “My, the time sure has slipped away, hasn’t it? Do you think the mail will be there now?”

“I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Good, I’ll send Bliss and Woody to get it then.”

I peddled alongside the two slowly as I escorted them back to the gate. Bliss and I chatted away idly while her brother walked silently and nakedly alongside. It didn’t seem all that unnatural; in fact, it just seemed right.

(End of File)