Stripped For Florida Book 2 Part 1

Stripped For Florida: Michael, Book 2, Part 1

* * * * *
This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain 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.
* * * * *

Stripped For Florida
Michael, Book 2, Part 1

* * *

Michael came down the steps prepared for school. His backpack slung over his shoulder he came into the kitchen and sat on a stool to eat a hurried breakfast before catching the bus down the street. The only problem was that unlike the previous start of school year, his mother had not laid out any clothes for him. He chalked this up to their continued contentious relationship. He had spent the summer completely naked. In fact, with the exception of the flight home, he'd been naked since he'd arrived at Cap d'agde in France at the beginning of summer. Somehow they had even managed to keep him naked on the train ride from Marseilles to Paris, transferring from private limousine into a first class train compartment. Since arriving back home in Florida he hadn't been off the property even once.

"Michael," called his mother from her plant-filled 'conservatory.' "Please come here. I must speak with you."

"Alright mother," replied Michael, padding barefoot and naked into the adjacent room. "It's time for school and you didn't put my uniform out."

"Don't you remember last fall," his mother said in an altogether unsympathetic voice. "What will you do when you can't cover up all the time with those long pants, darks socks, belt . . ."

"But it's my school uniform, mother," answered Michael automatically, wondering why they were having this conversation yet again. "It's the rules."

To himself he wondered why she even bothered. He hadn't worn anything at all for months, not even the smallest of water polo or racing swim suits. He was completely naked, all the time, and he was sure she would make him strip as soon as he returned home from school.

"Your father has informed me . . . "

Michael threw his head back in exasperation. His mother always invoked these edicts that supposedly came from his stepfather. He still couldn't completely discount that the orders came from Papa, but his experiences over the summer were leading him more and more to the belief that his mother couched her own wishes in the form of demands supposedly handed down from her husband.

"Your father has informed me that you are to be completely naked at all times. I have struggled with the school but they remain completely intransigent on this subject. We are major donors and it is a private school. You would think they would see sense and allow for one naked student on the premises. I even offered the compromise of having you attend classes in your nice new nylon bikini-style swimsuit. After all, it is considered modest enough for public sports meets."

Michael stood behind his mother waiting for her to get to the point. There was always a point. Sarina picked up her gold Cartier pen and made a notation in her schedule book.

"I have to get to my hair appointment, Michael, so please don't delay me like this. I really don't have the time to go into this right now."

Michael rolled his eyes. He was about to turn around and go back upstairs to his room when his mother spoke again. "I have arranged for you to be home schooled. That way you can stay naked."

"But, what about swimming?" Michael immediately regretted the outburst. It had simply exploded out of him, but he wished he hadn't betrayed to his mother that one thing still mattered to him.

"I am working that out with the coach. I do agree that swimming is excellent for keeping you in shape. If they will not allow you to swim in the nude -- which I am sure they will -- then you will simply have to wear the white Aussiebum I ordered for you. It says it is shear when wet, so it is almost like nothing. The website says that the loose style has no spandex and is very light. I am not a boy, but I imagine it feels almost like you are completely bare since it doesn't squeeze tight around your genitals."

Realizing he wasn't going to school today, Michael turned on the ball of his foot and made to leave the room.

"Michael!"

"Yes, mother."

"I will be posting a daily schedule for you in the kitchen. You will not simply waste your time. Your homeschooling includes some activities that will help you build a career, enhance your body, and meet new people. Also, it is high time that you be an asset to your family, by which I mean that you will be contributing to the family business. You know how strongly I feel about that subject. Your father has built a very successful business empire and we are very fortunate to be able to participate in that. I think you have spent a very leisurely childhood, but henceforth I expect you to earn your keep. The schedule is posted in the kitchen. If you have any questions you may ask them when I return from my appointment."

Sarina's heels clicked across the sparkling marble floors and the glass door to the house clicked shut. Michael stood in front of the glass-fronted chrome-framed 'communications center' his mother maintained in the kitchen. Michael spared 15 seconds to be annoyed at the relentless modern design sensibility of this house. It was beautiful, no doubt -- and Michael certainly appreciated the pool -- but he remembered living in far too many squalid, mold-infested south Florida dwellings to go along with his mother's attitude that she couldn't possibly live without high end design.

Printed out and posted behind the glass was a single sheet of paper with the heading "Michael"

9 am - 1 pm Accompany Papa
2 pm - 3 pm Swim Practice

Michael was mystified. He recognized swim practice, but he had never accompanied Papa anywhere. Well, if he wasn't going to school he might as well swim. He went to the pool and sliced into the water. He emerged on the other side of the pool and pulled himself up the edge in one sweeping motion. Water sluiced off his body, still tanned dark from his naked summer in southern France.

"Michael, has your mother informed you?"

"Um, I am going with you somewhere?" Michael wasn't sure which part of his mother's 'orders' Papa was asking about.

"So wonderful. You get to come to work with me every day. You have no more school!"

"Really!!?" Michael wasn't sure if this was good news or bad news. True, he had no friends at school. Mother seemed to think he would still be on the swim team. But, wasn't he supposed to be learning something at school? How would he ever get a job when he grew up? Instead of voicing these doubts he asked, "Okay, so should I be getting ready to go or something? Mom didn't put out any clothes for me."

"Non, non! C'est bien. You are perfect. I'm just getting a few items and we can go."

Michael stood in the glass foyer of the house. The south Florida sun was already strong even at 9 o'clock. It poured through the blue and green triangular glass panels, glinted off the water of the indoor swimming pool and bounced and reflected the glimmer of waves across the marble floor and Michael's tanned nude form. "Oh, it will be so perfect. You are perfect, my son," enthused Papa, walking back towards him. His stepfather was dressed in a gleaming white three piece suit with expensive white snakeskin shoes and a straw panama hat on his head. If he had gotten anything from his home office Michael could see no evidence of it. His father rarely, if ever, carried anything with him in his hands, as if it were too servile a thing to be caught carrying a briefcase, computer or portfolio. Without even looking over his shoulder Papa swept past him, opened the door and ordered, "Mish, come."

I guess I'm going naked, realized Michael and dashed to catch up.

***

His father pulled his white Porsche up to the front entry of a large curved glass building set back from the highway among topiary trees and retention ponds sporting fountains of water. For a brief moment the heat hit Michael's body and then they entered the blast of air conditioning through double glass doors. Michael caught a glimpse of a valet pulling the car away from the entrance drive. Inside light poured down through an enormous skylight. A round reception desk was staffed by several young people who could have been fashion models. Several people passing through the lobby greeted Papa who nodded and smiled warmly. Nobody seemed at all surprised to see a tanned teenager in the lobby completely naked.

"Our company," said Papa simply, an undertone of pride in his voice.

Michael tried to look around as his father walked purposefully down a long corridor. Lights shone next to each door. Some red, some green. Papa opened a door where the light shone green and waited for Michael. The entire room, floors, walls, ceiling, were an odd shade of green. Wires looped across the floor, there were a few tripods, stands with lights, and photo umbrellas. While Michael looked around to get his bearings a man of about his father's age strode over and began adjusting the tripods. Without preamble he started stating orders. His voice was quiet, gentle even, but there was no mistake that he was used to being obeyed immediately. Like my father, thought Michael, and in spite of himself grinned. He'd actually thought of Papa as father for a moment! With a wry smile he started listening to the man's words. To his shock he realized the orders were for him.

"He knows English, doesn't he," the man asked Papa.

"One moment, Bruno. He'll be fine. He's just never done this before. Michael, this is Bruno, our chief photographer. Just follow his suggestions and he'll be taking some photos this morning. When you're done I'll meet you in the lobby where we came in." Papa walked to the door, calling over his shoulder, "Good luck, Bruno. You're perfect Michael, just perfect!" With that he stepped out of the door, flicked the switch to turn the light outside red and was gone.

Bruno gave instructions in a quiet but imperative voice. His directions were very precise, and when Michael did not understand he walked over and carefully placed each of the boy's arms and legs into position. He carried a remote control and Michael began to realize that the cameras were so quiet he was never sure when a photo had been taken. Seeing his confusion Bruno explained. "Digital cameras are completely silent. Not like the old days. There is no sound of a shutter opening and closing. The cheap cameras, they have added an artificial sound so people will know they just snapped a photo." He laughed quietly and continued working.

Michael could make no sense of the photo session. Bruno had him stand looking over his shoulder, stand with his legs apart looking at the far wall, squat down with his head looking up, put his hands behind his back, on his hips, in the air. The poses went on and on. Bruno would instruct him, adjust if necessary and move on. Nothing was labored over. Every twenty minutes or so Bruno would give Michael a big glass of water and tell him to drink it down. Then he would spritz something on his arms or body, or mess up his hair, or make some other adjustment.

"What is this stuff, Bruno," Michael asked after a particularly thorough spritzing. The liquid quivered on his skin in little droplets, but unlike water it did not run off his skin.

"Mineral oil," Bruno answered.

After another break Bruno streaked something into Michael's hair and then took him to a corner and turned on a large fan for a moment. "Don't touch it," he warned as Michael reached up to put his hair back in place.

It seemed like only an hour, an hour and a half at most, when Bruno turned off the bright lights and began putting his cameras away. "You can shower through that door there, Michael. That was a very good first session."

Michael opened the door Bruno had indicated and found himself in a large open room, fully tiled and with several shower nozzles, two toilets, a urinal and three sinks. He turned on the shower and let the warm water cascade over his body. He realized that he really needed to pee and let himself release the urine with the water. He noticed that the mineral oil and whatever else Bruno had sprayed on him wasn't coming off easily. Looking around he found a large container of body wash and applied it liberally until he felt his skin return to normal.

When he finished showering Bruno was nowhere to be found. The large photo room was empty. Remembering Papa's instructions he left the room and wandered down the corridor in the direction he thought led to the lobby. A couple of young women lavishly made up and very skimpily clad gave him pearly white smiles. A tall man with a tan almost as good as Michael's but dressed in a polo shirt and linen pants smiled at him, too.

Michael reached the lobby. One of the receptionists--models, really, thought Michael--smiled at him. "Your father will be right out. Do you want anything to drink while you wait. We have coke, sprite, lemonade and bottled water." Michael accepted a bottle of cold water. He was surprised how natural everyone was with his nudity. It was almost as if they didn't notice. Even in Cap d'agde people seemed to have an idea that they were at the Quartier Naturisme and that nudity was something novel, maybe even risqué. He'd never really put much thought into this "company" that his Papa ran and that his mother made so much of. What kind of company was it, he wondered?

At that moment Papa strode into the lobby, wished the receptionists "good day" and with his arm around Michael walked him toward the doors. "You must be starving after that photo session. Let's go home and have some lunch."

For three days Papa took him to work each morning. Bruno continued to work with him on the endless poses. In the afternoon Michael swam in the pool, and at the insistence of his mother lay out in the sun.

"You cannot lose your beautiful tan, Michael. We took you all the way to France to get that tan!"

Papa was in a great mood that was infectious enough even to draw Michael's mother into smiles and his sister into a semblance of friendliness. On the fourth morning Michael was waiting to leave with his father as usual.

"I have surprise to show you, Mish. Want to see some photos!"

Michael was surprised. He knew he'd been going to a photoshoot every morning, but who would want to look at photos of anyone taken in that strange green room?

Papa walked back to his office and gestured for Michael to follow. Like everything in this house, the room was immaculate. There was not a stray paper in sight. Papa flicked a switch and a photo shone out from one of several digital frames mounted on the wall. It was Michael on the beach.

"Oh, I thought you were showing me photos from this week. That's me on the beach in France."

"Yes, I meant it as a joke. How about this one." It was Michael diving into the pool at home. Papa clicked his remote and a third photo came up. It was Michael walking down the stairs at home. Bars of light and shadow played across his body. It was an excellent photo. Michael's smooth tanned skin glowed warmth in contrast to the cool blues of the glass behind him. Rich hued shadows showed off the contours of his body, playing across his arms, chest, shoulders, legs. Michael stared at it mesmerized.

"You took this photo, Papa? You are a good photographer!"

"No, I can only photograph what is there. Now Bruno . . . " Papa flicked the remote again and a the screen changed to a photo of Michael on the beach. He was kneeling down but looking over his shoulder. Waves lapped a little distance away. But, what was he looking at? There, in the dunes, was that a man peering across and catching Michael's eye?

Michael was confused. "But, Papa. This -- I mean -- there are no dunes like this where we were in France. I was never at this place. And who is that man? How did you get this photo."

Papa smiled. "I told you, I can only photograph what is in front of me. Now, Bruno, he is amazing." Papa flicked through more photos. Michael with legs wide looking out across the water while he surfed into shore. Michael looking over his shoulder at a handsome older man. Michael, his skin dappled with water droplets stepping out from the ocean. "These are all photos from this week, Michael. I am very pleased with your first photo shoot. I told you that you were perfect."

"But, how?"

"The studio is called a green screen. Everything in the photo that particular shade of green can be replaced with another photo. Bruno knows just how to position you so that you will fit perfectly into some photo he has in his own mind's eye. I'll leave the photos in this digital frame for a while. You can take a look at them again if you like. Now," he continued, "your mother needs you today. So I cannot take you with me for another photo shoot until tomorrow. Please be nice to your mother -- she is feeling badly that the two of you have not been getting along."

Michael doubted this, but he promised to do his best.

"Michael." His mother waited only three minutes after her husband's departure to summon her son. He padded into the room and stood dutifully behind her. It was his longtime practice to avoid her direct examination as much as possible.

"Come around here. Let me see you," she commanded. Reluctantly he walked around the small love seat and stood in front of his mother. "You still have a nice tan from the summer. You must take care to keep it this way by getting enough sun every day. The swimming practice is also excellent for your health and keeping your muscles toned and your body lean. You must practice at least two hours each day here at home. I have arranged with the swimming coach for you to continue on the team. They will start practice next week for two hours each day after school. I will drop you off and pick you up. Even though it is a lot of work on my part to fit this into my schedule it is worth the effort to make sure you remain a healthy boy."

Michael felt no need to respond to any of this information, so he remained standing for his mother's inspection.

"The coach was unable to agree to my request that the team be nude at swim meets. He says that is not within his realm of decision making. However, after I offered a complete new set of racing suits for the team and a substantial contribution to improve the locker rooms and buy new equipment he has decided that all boys' swim practices will be clothing optional. Of course for you, Michael, clothes are not an option. You will practice in the nude. For swim meets and exhibitions you will have to wear one of the new team suits, I am sorry to say."

With a great force of will Michael managed to keep his face neutral in the face of this announcement. If he did have any friends in this world, they were his fellow swim team members. He doubted very much any of the others would take up the "option" to swim naked. He just hoped he wouldn't have to put up with too much opposition to his mother's plan that he be naked in the pool every day in the company of all his team mates. At least they were swimmers, he thought. Of all the athletes, swimmers were the ones most used to dealing with one another's bodies. The suits were skimpy in the first place. They were required to take showers before practice and most showered afterwards to get the chlorine out of their hair. With the exception of one or two boys they all showered naked, which he knew was increasingly an anomaly among high school boys. Then there was the whole shaving aspect of swimming. Add it all up and as far as the rest of the world was concerned it was all very "gay" -- cognizant of the potential for joshing from the outside world, the swimmers tended to bond together and stick to milder forms of teasing.

"That is all for the announcements, Michael. Now, my friends will be here for tea in an hour. I expect you to be as fully hard as possible and ready to serve everyone. No smart talk or sassy attitude from you!" What's that about, thought Michael. Since when have I ever sassed any of her friends -- not that it wouldn't be easy to do! "I brought back a new tube of gel from France this summer. Please apply it and I hope it works better than that last batch. It barely kept you half erect for an hour!"

Sarina picked up her Cartier pen and began making notations in her appointment book. After a few minutes she looked up. "You may go and prepare yourself now."

Michael took the tube of gel and walked up the stairs to his room. He stood looking out over the blue ripples catching the light in the pool below.

Right. Get hard for the ladies. Okay. And he began rubbing the gel directly into the skin of his penis. When his stepsisters had first introduced the gel, it hadn't seemed to matter where they applied it. Even eight or ten inches away from his pubic area it had appeared to work miracles, as it were. Maybe it wasn't just the gel. Michael shrugged and got along with business. He was tempted to bring himself off and shoot all over the floor, but he knew his erection wasn't likely to last if he did that, so with an extra bit of self-control he stopped in time.

He heard the door open downstairs and padded down the cool marble steps. This time he looked at the bars of light and shadow as he walked down. Until he had seen his Papa's photograph he'd never paid attention. Now he watched as the shadows moved sinuously across the curves of his body as he took each step. He walked as if in slow motion, watching the movement of the shadows.

"Michael, what's taking you so long?" his mother called up to him.

He jerked himself into normal time and sprinted the rest of the way down.

"It's naked boy!" His mother's friend had brought her daughter again, J. "I didn't know if you'd be here!"

Remembering his dream over the summer, Michael blushed, hoping his dark tan would make it less obvious. He felt his dick harden, and hoped she would think it was . . . well, that didn't make any sense. Why would anyone think his dick was hard because of some exotic French gel they had never heard of. His dick was hard and there was nothing he could do about that.

"Hello, J," he said in as close to a normal voice as he could muster. "It's nice to see you again."

"Michael, why don't you go get things ready," ordered his mother. "The rest of the ladies will be here momentarily."

Michael turned and started obediently off towards the kitchen. J followed behind.

"I'm sorry if I offended you by calling you 'Naked Boy," J said when they were in the kitchen. Michael arranged cups and saucers, sugar container and lemon slices on a silver tray. "That first day I came here, I was dreading sitting through another one of my mom's insufferable gossip sessions. I didn't expect to see a naked boy -- and especially one as cute and sweet as you turned out to be."

Michael blushed furiously and grasped the tea tray and held himself as still as possible while he felt the blood rush into his penis.

"Anyway," J went on -- he couldn't tell if she noticed the blush, or the erection -- "of course your name is Michael, and I, well . . . what do you want me to call you, because I really want to be friends."

Michael held still for a minute longer, took a deep breath and managed to speak. "Naked boy is okay, if that's what you want to call me. But, except for my mother, my family calls me Mish -- it's pronounced Meesh -- it's short for Michelle -- the French pronunciation of my name. Well, my sister calls me Michael, but I think that's mostly because she hates me."

"Well, I definitely won't call you Michael, then! Mish, that's good."

"Or 'naked boy' -- after all, that seems to be what I am anymore."

"Did you really go to France all summer? Did they keep you naked the whole time like they said?"

"Oh yes, except for the airplane ride there and the airplane ride back. They even kept me naked on a train!"

"Well, you certainly have the tan to show for it. You look really great." J cast her eyes down, whether out of shyness or to check out the tan on his dick, Michael wasn't sure. He was learning that girls can be very forward when they want to be.

Michael served the ladies tea, sweets, English style biscuits, and tiny petit fours that Sarina had brought back from Paris. He ignored the chit chat and gossip, endured the remarks about how much he had grown, his mother's invitations to tweak his erection so they could see for themselves, the admiration of his tan and the admiration of Sarina for daring to force her son to be naked -- something the rest of them had never had the guts to do. Between trips around the room he retreated to the kitchen to restock the tray, make more tea and retain his sanity. He was secretly happy that J followed him back into the kitchen each time. She didn't try to get him to talk and accepted that he had to keep his mother happy by not staying back in the kitchen for too long. Michael was relieved to find that J could relate to him non-verbally. It was something he was used to with his swim teammates and it fit with his introverted personality. He was nervous enough as it was.

"I don't really know many girls," he ventured to tell J. "Actually, I don't really have any friends, unless you call swimming in the next lane on the team having a friend."

J laughed. "You are funny, Mish! But don't worry. I don't have many friends, either, so I can understand."

J tagged along with her mother the next three times that Sarina had teatime. Then she broached a subject with Michael. "If this is a bad idea, just tell me. I don't want to intrude on your space. But, you see, my mom is hardly ever home. And when she's not there our housekeeper Delores is supposed to be 'watching' me. All she really does is watch cable TV, stuff herself with food out of our pantry and gossip with her friends on the phone. It's insufferably boring; really, it would be ten times better if I were home alone. But my mother doesn't trust me. I'm thinking she would let me come here when you get off swim practice. I could hang out for a couple of hours and then go home when my mom gets there. But," J hastened to add, again, "if this makes you uncomfortable it is quite alright. I don't HAVE to have another place to stay."

Michael was stunned. Was J saying that she WANTED to be around him more?

"Um, yeah, sure, that would be fine," Michael stuttered. "Actually, that would be great." He allowed himself a grin and then looked more solemn. "I'm not sure if my mother will agree."

"I'll talk to my mother first, okay?" suggested J. "If she agrees then I'm sure she'll get your mother on board."

"It's worth a try."

"Don't be so glum; I'm sitting at home alone, bored. So are you. Our mothers are friends. Let's make it work!"

"Yeah, I get it. It's just that I've never actually had a friend visit me at home, ever. I mean, except you."

"Exactly!"

"Michael, fresh cups of tea for everyone." His mother's voice spoke sweetly from the other room, but he knew he'd be in big trouble if he didn't show up instantly.

* * *
END OF BOOK TWO, PART 1

(The End)