Confronting My Demons

Confronting My Demons 2

By Running Bare
runningbare@anonymousspeech.com

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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Confronting My Demons 2

By, Running Bare

In the weeks following the nude photo shoot at the campsite on the lake I temporarily went back into my protective posture about being naked. I’d been totally embarrassed when Mr. Z had shown my entire family those slides of me naked in the woods. Guess I had considered he would be the only one who saw them. How wrong could I be?

My sisters each had a small print of my naked body draped across the sleeping bag while I feigned being asleep and unaware of my vulnerability. They were not a bit shy sharing those pictures with their friends. My parents had one of the shots of me nude and climbing the tree blown up to an eighteen by twenty four inch size, had it framed and hung it prominently in the family room among the smaller framed photos of other family members (all of them clothed). It could have been worse I guess, had my four inch penis not been flaccid in that image. It could have been erect. But, that was little consolation as you will remember I was quite hard in the sleeping bag shots. At least in those I looked to be asleep and unaware of the photos being taken.

I begged almost daily for my parents to take down the enlargement on display in the family room. I mean, even then, it was not really the most appropriate thing to have on open display. Mom insisted it was “cute” and she felt I was too sensitive about it. She did mention her bridge club thought it was cute too. Oh, that made me feel better. I mean if a group of middle aged ladies thought a naked eleven year old was cute then by all means keep the portrait on display.

Within the week that followed my emboldened devil angel started looking for ways to replicate the eroticism of exhibitionism in my mind. He convinced me there were ways to expose myself, enjoy the adrenaline rush and make it completely deniable that my naked display was intended.

Mrs. Selinski lived next door to our home with her three children— two girls, one five the other nine and her seven year old son. Her husband had succumbed to cancer the year before. As it turned out, her kitchen window paralleled my bedroom windows only thirty feet away. The two girls’ bedroom window also paralleled my window but was on the second floor of the house. It too was thirty feet away, or maybe due to the elevation, forty feet. It did look right down into my bedroom. My desk was situated directly under my windows. While doing my homework, I would often see the light go on up there at night as the girls prepared for bed. Never paid much attention to it. Enter my Lucifer representative.

“Hey, what if you got naked and sat at your desk? Those girls might look right down into your bedroom as they passed their window. I mean you have a better than seventy percent chance they won’t, and just the slight chance they might look alone should get you stiff like it did in the sleeping bag with Mr. Z. I mean, if you got caught, you could just say I was in my room doing my homework and forgot to close the drapes. Go ahead, get naked and spread ‘em right there at your window. Give it a chance you’ll get those juices running.”

But enter my guardian angel, “Hey what if Mrs. Selinski decides to do the dishes or something and sees you from her kitchen? Do you really want that? She’ll say something to your parents and then you’ll be in trouble. Or, what if your mom or dad comes in while you’re romping around nude with the curtains open? You know they don’t knock.”

Back comes the “bad” voice. “No you won’t get caught by them. What does he know about it? You could argue your privacy was invaded by gawkers who shouldn’t be looking in on you anyway. Go ahead, get naked right now. You’ll enjoy the rush.”

I half reluctantly stood and removed my shirt in front of the window trying not to look up at the girls’ bedroom window. My breathing and heart rate began to increase. I undid my belt standing sideways to the window to avoid the appearance I was purposely disrobing should any Selinski glimpse toward my window. Then in an effort to thwart any interference from my modesty guardian, I looped my thumbs in my briefs and quickly slid them down and off. My erection slapped my pubis and settled pointing outward and parallel to the floor. It was so stiff I swear I could have pounded nails with it.

I sat at the window of my bedroom, drapes wide opened, both hoping to be discovered and definitely thinking maybe I didn’t want it. The light went on in the girls’ bedroom almost on schedule. I spread out my books, backed my chair out from the desk and spread my legs. My dick was stiff and I was thoroughly into the fear and hope that I might be seen. I could see the shadows moving on their bedroom ceiling as they got ready for bed. No faces at the window though. Eventually, the lights went off and I had benefited from the rush of the situation but avoided discovery.

On the second night, I repeated my agenda. Legs spread wide, keeping an eye on the window above. Again the shadows of their movement were very discernible. About five minutes into the exhibition, my eye caught some real movement. It was Darla the five year old. She was at the window. I had to keep myself from looking directly at her and hoped she did indeed look down. As I quickly glimpsed up I could see her little face in awe. It was apparent she’d discovered me. I kept acting as though I was looking at my books while keeping my erect penis completely exposed. Another glimpse told me Sharon the nine year old was standing right next to her and they both were transfixed on my penis. So, the coach who’d provoked the incident reentered. “Rub your penis! Play with it! Go ahead wiggle it around! Give those girls a show.” I did being careful not to let them know I was aware of their presence. After ten minutes of displaying myself my momentary glimpse for feedback showed they were no longer at the window, but the light was still on. Something told me that I should move deeper into my room at that point suspecting they were possibly telling their mother what they had seen. I didn’t want to get caught. To my knowledge, nothing ever became of the incident.

On day three, I was again poised to put on an exhibition for the girls. And, yes they checked. They weren’t disappointed and neither was I. On that evening I got up from my chair and acted like I was stretching in front of the window. I wiggled my hips and let my five inch hard-on flop around slapping my pubis. Again, I was careful not to let the kids know I was aware of their observation, but I reveled in the eroticism of it.

This went on nightly. Even Joey their brother was present on one evening, but still not Mrs. Selinski. Maybe, the girls hadn’t told her because they were afraid she might make it stop. At any rate it was on the sixth night of such sharing, I glimpsed up and saw a big shadow move on the ceiling of their bedroom while the three of them were watching me. Mrs. Selinski quickly joined the audience. I immediately dropped to the floor below the windows to avoid her seeing me. But, I think she did.

The following afternoon my mother sat me down and told me that if I was changing or getting undressed I should close my drapes. There wasn’t any kind of anger or frustration on her part, but I found it curious that happened the day after Mrs. Selinski joined the kids at the window. Mom didn’t say I’d been seen or acknowledge she and the neighbor had discussed the matter. But, if they had, both felt it was me being careless and not being an exhibitionist. I dodged that bullet, but it essentially ended a nightly pleasurable sensation. Actually, I was proud of myself for overcoming the strict level of modesty the good angel had essentially inflicted on my personality.

I’d say it was two weeks later that Mr. Z contacted Mom and told her he wanted to do some “studio” photos of me. Studio my ass. It was his basement with that sheet draped over the pipes as a backdrop and a stool. He did have various props to pose me with. Anyway, Mom told me to wear a long sleeve shirt and a pair of very skimpy cutoffs for the session.

Now, I know you’re thinking I should have overcome most of my body shyness as a result of the camping outing. Not to mention the fact that my family made sure there were public frontal displays of my nakedness. You’d be wrong. Actually, I found myself regressing even further into fighting against exposing myself. Perhaps it was the embarrassment caused by my sisters and their friends asking me to “get naked” for them (of course, I didn’t) or the big action shot in the family room which prominently highlighted my penis and growing ball sack, but my desire to hide even my bare legs was back full force.

As I walked to Mr. Z’s house, I found myself getting angry about the whole ordeal. I was pissed with what the guy had done to me and I wasn’t happy about going to his home for another photo session. But there I was long sleeved button shirt, tails out and totally covering the shorts. Yep, I looked like I was nude except for that shirt. I rang the bell. Momentarily Mr. Z came to the door and warmly greeted me.

He ushered me down to the makeshift photo site, and quietly asked if I was wearing underwear. I was. He was nice enough when he asked me to go over to the corner and remove my briefs and put the shorts back on over my bare ass. Timidly, I faced the corner and did as he instructed. I don’t think he watched me as I did. Not that it should have mattered. After all, with my passive encouragement, the guy had seen and fondled my boy parts just a couple of weeks prior. Anyway, it sounded like he was too busy moving the props and lighting into position. When I turned around he offered me a Coke and discussed what he wanted to capture. As he put it, this was going to be predominantly a “tease” session. There would be sneak peeks of my penis and ball sack as I was posed in various sessions. I was a bit relieved that he didn’t mention full nudity at the time, but that was later to be introduced.

We were back to the whole unzip the shorts to the top of your penis thing we’d done at the campsite. I was again a bit uncomfortable with it, but did as he instructed. Then I’d have to spread my legs wide while sitting on the stool and Mr. Z pushed the leg on my shorts up and pulled the head of my erect penis out so it was showing below the fray of the hemline. It was almost as if my letting him fondle me at the campsite two weeks earlier had given him license to touch me whenever and however he desired. I felt the blush in my face as I sat there and let him “have his way” with my various body parts. To that point, I was just as he described—teasers—no full on nudity.

An hour into the session, the doorbell rang. Mr. Z excused himself to go answer it. He told me to go ahead and get another Coke if I wanted it. I really didn’t want one, but it gave me something to do while he took care of whoever was up there. All I could hear was the muffled sounds of voices. Sounded friendly, but I couldn’t hear exactly what was being said. I sipped the Coke wanting for the session to be over so I could leave. No, devil-angel debate about shedding my clothes this time. Then I heard the sound of him shutting the front door, and, momentarily, the shuffle of feet on the stairs. Mr. Z was talking to someone as they came down.

I turned toward the stairs and was shocked to see Frankie Sewell, a girl from my class, following Mr. Z. He wasted no time saying she was going to help with the shoot. All bets were off. I was ready to leave. Frankie was nice enough, but I was not going to let her to even peek at my covered items. Like most young boys back then I was at the mercy of Mr. Z’s plans. I knew I didn’t have a choice. But, I could object to any further exposure other than my fully bared legs and unbuttoned shirt. That was all she was going to get. She did give me a happy greeting, “Hi, Mark!” and she seemed comfortable with my state of dress. Let’s just say she was more comfortable with my attire than I was. She, on the other hand was dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and what were to later be referred to as Daisy Dukes. Her shorts weren’t much longer than mine, but they were longer.

As I remember her, Frankie was cute, I guess. I mean what eleven year old boy ever finds girls “cute”? Usually they are viewed as a pain in the ass that they have to be “nice” to. Mr. Z explained to her that he wanted her to just kind of hang out with me for a few photos in the “studio” and then we’d go out to the backyard for some more. As I think back her smile was a killer and, as I said, she was friendly enough.

As the session went on, Frankie was asked to stand behind me. I remember some of the shirtless poses where she was asked to wrap her arms “affectionately” around my bare chest and lean her chin on the top of my head or my shoulder. Those poses were quite uncomfortable for me. I’m sure many of the photos would show my apprehensive facial expression or forced smile. I don’t think she was comfortable with the poses either. But, as time went on she adjusted and I didn’t. It was a bit embarrassing. I mean here was a girl I went to school with who was hovering around me in my shirtless, underwear-less attire. What self-respecting boy wouldn’t have been embarrassed?

Then we were posed seated next to each other on a bench. I was told to spread my legs so my knee touched hers. Then, Mr. Z asked Frankie to rest her hand on my upper leg, and we were told to look up with Frankie pointing toward the ceiling as if to show me something. He apparently wasn’t satisfied with her hand position and moved it to just below the fray on my shorts. I bet her hand wasn’t an inch from the tip of my now erect penis. It was then I started hearing from my antagonizing angel.

He seemed to be whispering, “What do you need to do to get her to touch the tip of that head? Maybe, you could show it to her.”

I wasn’t on board with such a thing but the more I thought about it the harder my appendage got. I liked the challenge to my modesty, but I had the better angel cautioning me. “She’s a kid in your class. She’s a girl. She doesn’t need to see you. She might criticize what she saw. Don’t do it!”

The leg of my shorts was actually accentuated by the hard pipeline showing a three quarter inch high hump that ran five inches beneath the fabric. I was embarrassed that she might see the display and at the very least question what was causing that. I was concerned it would be only a matter of time that Mr. Z would move Frankie’s hand from my bare leg to covering the hump in my shorts. But, he didn’t.

He excused himself stating that he was going to go to his kitchen and fix us all a lunch. So we took a break. We were invited to watch TV or play a game while he prepared the food. I was told to keep my shirt off as we wouldn’t need it for the afternoon sessions. We were going to the children’s park in the city center and I was to wear only my shorts and sandals.

As he banged around in the kitchen, Frankie and I both chose to sit on our bent legs on the floor of his family room. At first we watched TV. But then Frankie, quite innocently, put her hand on my upper leg to get my attention. No, really, I think it was truly a completely innocent touch to gain my attention. Problem was it awakened you know who again. “Hey, Mark, give her a little peek at your package. You know you want to.” I didn’t but my penis reacted and immediately started to straighten itself out again. I felt it route itself down the leg of my shorts pressed firmly against my inner thigh. But, the telltale hump returned.

I gulped and decided to chance it as I found ways to nonchalantly shift my position to make the leg of the shorts ride up a little more. I was merely a half inch from exposing my glans. I stopped and reconsidered the antagonizing entity on my shoulder. “Go ahead let her see it. Let it slip out and act like it was an accident. You know you want to.”

Frankie turned momentarily and looked behind herself. I slipped the leg of the shorts up so my entire circumcised penis head was exposed. When she turned back toward me I continued my activity as if I was unaware of the exposure. She didn’t react. In fact, I wasn’t sure she even saw it. I was patient and spread my knees even wider. My shorts leg slid upward exposing even more of my erect penis. The glans and now another inch of the shaft were visible. It was then she stopped and stared. She tried not to draw my attention to my exposure. Whether it was designed to prevent my embarrassment or provide her more viewing time I wasn’t sure. I was sure she saw it and often returned her gaze to it. I continued to act oblivious to my display.

What was going through my head at the time was, “Go ahead Frankie, touch it!” My better angel was telling me to cover it up and act like I was surprised by the show. The antagonizing angel was telling me to push my shorts leg up even more. “Expose it all the way to your balls. You can do this and make it look purely innocent. Show the girl your package you wimp.”

It was then something really embarrassing happened. Frankie put on an excited air and faked innocently placing her hand on my upper thigh once again resting the side of her hand securely pressed against the tip of my penis. She looked me in the eye with a look that was designed to convince me she wasn’t aware she was touching me inappropriately. “Hey after lunch Mr. Z said he was taking us to the park”.

Yeah, yeah, but she had to know she was touching my penis. She just didn’t want me to react by putting it away. What did I do? I liked it and ignored her touch. I wanted her to feel more. So I acted like I was still engaged in the puzzle activity we’d started together. The awkwardness of the situation was shattered when Mr. Z called down for us to come up for lunch. Both of us jolted. She quickly retracted her hand and we rose abruptly with what I’m sure were blushing faces. My phallus was immediately returned to the cover of my cutoffs. Instead of running down the leg I was now tented and did everything I could think of to keep both of their gazes from falling upon my prominent bulge. My modesty had returned.

After lunch we were preparing for a trip to the park for still more photos. Mr. Z called Frankie’s mom to ask permission for her to go. After hanging up the phone, he told Frankie that she may have forgotten she was to watch Jordan Dempsey, a nine year old boy, who lived down the street while his mother went shopping. She looked rather disappointed but was resigned to fulfilling the commitment. Mr. Z suggested we could take Jordan as well. More phone calling and it was all arranged. We’d pick up Jordan on the way to the park.

As was to be expected, I was allowed only my short-short cutoffs and a pair of sandals. This made me very self-conscious as we two kids piled in the backseat of his car. Frankie was completely comfortable. When we stopped for Jordan, he ran out to the car clad in knee length shorts, a t-shirt, socks and tennis shoes. As he jumped in the backseat with us, he exchanged niceties and was obviously excited about the outing. His mom stood beside the topless Jeep and chatted with Mr. Z. She loudly told him the usual—not to be afraid to use his belt if he needed to, etc. She reminded Jordan to “mind Mr. Z” and headed back to the house.

On the way to the park we stopped at a local supermarket. Mr. Z told us to stay in the Jeep and he’d only be a few minutes. He was going to run in and get some picnic stuff and would be right out. While he was gone we chatted about kids’ stuff and Frankie slipped her hand on the top of my exposed upper leg. She tried to make it look as if it was just a gesture to maintain my attention as she giggled and exchange words with Jordan. This time I was hard pressed to think it was unintentional. My penis hardened and my evil little friend returned. “Go ahead shift around a bit so your ‘you know what’ makes an appearance. See what Jordan will make of it. Act like you’re just scratching an itch on your leg and push the shorts up.” I just sat there trying to summon the better angel. No luck. The suggestion of my antagonist was pressing me harder and harder. I developed an emotional lump in my throat. Slowly, I pretended to scratch as my pinky flipped my penis head out the leg of my shorts.

I maintained eye contact with Frankie as she spoke. I was completely absorbed in making myself look innocent of knowing I was exposed. It wasn’t long before Frankie caught sight of my display and rather than bringing it to my attention, she kind of nodded at Jordan as if to say, “Hey, check this out.” He looked down and was quick to laugh a bit, point, and tell me I was showing something I might want to put away.

I immediately acted shocked as if I was unaware of it and shoved that bad boy back under the cover of the denim. Both laughed as I did so. I reveled in my feeling of horniness it’d brought on. I loved that feeling, but was totally embarrassed by their laughter.

Mr. Z came back to the car shortly afterward. He deposited two big shopping bags in back and we headed off. Not a word about my unveiling was mentioned.

We arrived at our destination and were able to secure a picnic table alongside the rushing stream that winded through the park. The site wasn’t far off the beaten path. In fact I could hear the sound of cars traversing the roadway. Couldn’t see them though. Let’s just say the site was semi-private. We helped Mr. Z carry drinks and his cooler to the table and then he outlined what he wanted us to do. He said we were to play as though we weren’t being photographed. He mentioned wading in the stream, climbing trees or on the rocks jutting above the water, skipping rocks or whatever we wanted. He just followed with his camera.

Actually as we played I didn’t even give a second thought to my vulnerability to being exposed. Hell I was almost totally exposed wearing only those short-short cutoffs as my exclusive cover. As I think about it, other than the loose fitting leg openings it was like wearing a Speedo. Mom and Dad would have been impressed I had lost my self-consciousness after a few hours romping in the attire.

It wasn’t until lunch time that I began to question my future that day. As we ate Frankie, Jordan and I giggled and recounted the childish mishaps from our morning explorations. Jordan tried to crack a few corny jokes. Mr. Z just kept clicking away. At one point he stopped and sat at the table with us and asked, “What can we do to make the photos more interesting? Any ideas? I mean, we’ve done a whole lot but we need to find more interesting activities and things to do to make this afternoon’s shoot different.”

That conversation led to a whole lot of random suggestions. Things like finding a playground somewhere, renting a canoe, tubing, taking a hike into the woods, and stuff like that were all proposed. We rounded up the leftover food and carried it back to the Jeep, leaving the cooler with the iced soft drinks on the table. As we put the stuff in the car, Jordan grabbed a rolled up climbing rope that I guess Mr. Z used climbing the cliffs that surround most streams and rivers in our neck of the woods. He showed it to us and suggested we could use the rope to climb and play for the afternoon session and that would give Mr. Z some variety in his photos.

Mr. Z told us we could play with the rope but he didn’t have safety gear for us so there’d be no serious climbing activities on the agenda. Jordan brought the rope along anyway.

It wasn’t long before Jordan was entertaining himself fashioning a lasso out of the rope. He started swinging the loop and released it toward a tree stump. He missed. Then he asked me to run past him and let him see if he could “rope” me. I did and he missed me too. But, it was kind of a challenge and we continued for a half hour. He’d swing it around release it. I’d feel it hit me front or back and fall to the ground but never encompass me. Frankie tried a few times. She thought she had a technique and she didn’t.

Jordan took the rope back and finally caught me. We laughed as I lost my balance and fell to the ground. He ran to me as if I was a calf and began circling my legs with the rope. Mr. Z was laughing along with the three of us at Jordan’s final success, but wasn’t about to miss the photo op. “Go ahead, Jordan, you and Frankie tie him up.”

It wasn’t until I was tied securely that I again felt a total sense of vulnerability. My giggles went to concerns. I was captive. My discomfort led to me trying to get released. Jordan refused and told me to try to free myself. It wasn’t meanness on his part. To this day I’m convinced it was just a fellow kid testing whether he could tie me so I couldn’t escape. I’m convinced, at that point, the only goal he had was to see if he’d completely secured me, and he had accomplished that. My wrists were tied tightly behind my back.

Frankie suggested they could undo the leg ropes and tie me to a tree. They unwrapped the bindings on my legs and helped me up. Then Frankie walked me to the tree by the “leash” fastened to my tied wrists. As they did so, I lost some of my apprehensiveness and began teasing and giggling along with them at my situation. Jordan kept saying “You’re our prisoner.”

After pushing my back to a tree, Jordan danced around both the tree and me a few times so I was secured to it. He tied it off somewhere behind the tree and started the childish chant to “burn him at the stake”. It was pretty much all in fun until Mr. Z asked the question again, “What could we do to make the whole thing more interesting?”

Frankie chuckled and said, “Build a fire?” Mr. Z was quick to put that idea away. Telling them that was silly and he wanted serious ideas.

Guess who showed up while all the kidding was going on. Yep, my bad angel. He whispered in my right ear, “Hey, these guys are going to eventually get Mr. Z’s drift and say pants you. You know that. You might as well start bracing for it.” I found myself in the midst of the strange dichotomy I’ve already described to you. I became defensive and was quite ready to defend against such a thing, but secretly was enjoying the arousal imagining it might happen. I wanted it, but I didn’t. And, if I was to be forced to succumb to such a thing I wanted Mr. Z to require Frankie and Jordan to fondle me.

In a final act of desperation Mr. Z said, “There must be something you guys could do to him to make this a more interesting photo shoot.” It was then I was convinced my bad angel was working on Mr. Z’s brain as well.

Jordan jumped up and fulfilled the dream. “I know we could take his pants off and make him be naked!” He giggled to try to minimize any suggestion he was off base with such an idea. But, he didn’t need to. Mr. Z pondered the idea momentarily and said, “What do you think Frankie? Should we take his pants off?”

I fulfilled my role in the scenario. I objected loudly and commenced to begging for them not to do that. I can’t really say whether I did so to fend them off or to strengthen their determination to do it. Frankly, I guess it was mostly the latter.

Mr. Z then directed Jordy to take my pants down. I kicked on his approach to show opposition and he laughed. His fingers grabbed the waist band of the jeans and I felt him pop the copper button. The kid unzipped my pants while I threatened to “beat the shit out of him” for it. He slid the cutoffs down, and, with no way to cover my penis from view, my boner bounced up and down until it settled straight forward. Mr. Z had captured the whole ordeal on film and continued shooting photo after photo. As I raged and kicked the shorts flew. I was totally naked.

For some reason Jordan grabbed my penis and yanked it. He giggled, stood sidewise and did it again for Frankie’s entertainment.

Mr. Z mentioned that Jordan’s suggestion definitely made the photos more interesting. Frankie seemed a bit uneasy about my circumstance in the initial moments, but eventually started cutting jokes about what she saw Jordy doing. She even suggested keeping me naked for the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Z decided to follow her advice and told Jordan and Frankie to release me from the tree but keep my hands tied. They did. He then told them to use the loose end of the rope as a leash and to walk me back to the Jeep so they could secure my cutoffs as I wouldn’t need them for the rest of the day. That move and pronouncement made me regret my erotic arousal and gave way to total embarrassment and concern for the plans the three of them had for me.

As we walked the trail to the parking area, the worst case scenarios of public exhibition ran through my head. First of all, my hands were bound behind me. That meant I was helpless in protecting at least the visual presentation of my boy parts. Secondly, I was being walked up a trail that terminated at a parking area alongside the busiest roadway in the park. How could I possibly avoid being seen? And, third, I wondered what intentions Mr. Z had for photographic activities the rest of the afternoon.

Mr. Z walked backward photographing the procession to the car. Jordan and Frankie walked stoically as if I really was a prisoner and they were taking me to my just demise. I pondered what was waiting around each bend in the trail. I began begging Mr. Z to just stop there and let one of them take the cutoffs to the Jeep. My requests went unanswered. After three or four such pleadings I felt a sharp pain to my posterior. Frankie had found a tree limb and decided to apply it to my backside as we walked. I was shocked and ordered her not to ever do it again. Mr. Z overrode my demand and encouraged her to take another swing so he could record it on film. She did. There was no “pretend” about it. She purposely took a full swing and I’m sure (after later viewing the rear shot Mr. Z took as we passed him) she left a deep pink stripe crossing both cheeks.

Thankfully, Mr. Z stopped short of allowing Jordan’s repeated requests to have Frankie “Whip his wiener with it!” In fairness to him, he actually told them that was enough whipping for the day. Frankie discarded the stick.

When we got to the Jeep, Mr. Z stopped taking pictures. He told Jordan to walk me over to the road and make me stand were passing motorists were able to see my stiffy as they passed. Jordan laughed and both he and Frankie forcibly shoved me forward to a position of complete and open exposure to passing motorists. If embarrassing me was the goal, they definitely succeeded. I was devastated standing there. It was difficult looking anywhere but down at my erect penis and feet. Their efforts were not lost as many passing cars beeped acknowledging, and, in my mind, agreeing with the presentation. The other two kids just laughed with enjoyment every time a horn sounded. Mr. Z shot photos from many angles.

In my frustration, I heard my “better” angel chastise me for giving in to the pleasurable feelings of horniness and eroticism. Every time I allowed his counterpart to win the drive to tease others with partial exposure, things spiraled in directions I wasn’t comfortable with. My public exposure was mostly my own fault. Had I not teased the other kids while Mr. Z was in the store, would they have come up with the idea to remove my shorts? Looking back I think they would have. Mr. Z’s questioning was pretty blatant in seeking such a recommendation for making the photos “more interesting”, wasn’t it? It’s clear he wanted me naked. I must admit for a fleeting moment I wanted it too, but now that it was happening I had second thoughts. He did not.

What ran through my head was that not one, not one, of those passersby showed any empathy for me. Nobody stopped to question what the hell was going on. Not one bothered to stop even momentarily to criticize Mr. Z’s actions as the adult in charge of the situation.

I now know that nobody back then was put out with forcing the exhibition of naked boys—especially in the case of prepubescent boys such as I was. It wasn’t common to see, but it was an acceptable practice tolerated and enjoyed by most adults. Down deep I knew Mom and Dad were going to accept—no fully approve of—what was done to me and write it off as “child’s play”. Of course, they would excuse Mr. Z as merely an impartial observer and eventually thank him for setting up an opportunity for confronting my modesty issues. I’d get no credit for the courage it took to plant such ideas in the minds of others by offering opportunities for sneak peeks at my penis and/or scrotum. In fact, the thought they’d ever know I had done that both embarrassed and scared me.

We eventually returned to the picnic area. I was a bit more at ease as we were no longer on display to anyone and everyone. Other than an occasional touch to my boyhood or bare backside nothing “kinky” occurred. It was definitely different being the only naked kid among three clothed others. Especially since Jordy was a boy too. I did ask why he got to have clothes on and Mr. Z openly said he didn’t have his parents’ permission for him to be naked. Of course, Frankie was safe as she was a girl. And, then, as now, girls older than five or so were a protected species when it came to forced nudity. They were exempt because they needed to maintain their modesty.

I guess if that was the end of the story I would have been a bit more at ease. It was very evident Mr. Z was intent on taking advantage of my nakedness to the fullest that day. He insisted on the four of us taking a hike on what was locally referred to as the Exercise Trail. It was a three mile hike half of which was followed alongside the stream and the other half circled back just below the roadside. I don’t know what was driving his decision other than to record my embarrassment and humiliation being fully exposed to more strangers. I guess the roadside display at the Jeep didn’t satisfy his voyeuristic needs.

One of the saving graces was that, by the time Mr. Z announced the hike, Jordy and Frankie had seemed to lose interest in my nakedness. Neither of them had grabbed my parts of interest and both of them had begun averting their staring. My erection had subsided. I had settled into the acceptance that the other two kids were ignoring my exposure. Maybe this forced nudity stuff was working.

The hike renewed their interest. Frankie even mentioned that if we took a hike other people would see me naked and she actually seemed a bit concerned about it. Jordy just danced around shouting “Let’s go! Let’s do it!” It was obvious Jordy’s motivation was to humiliate me. His chanting and side commentary did nothing more than encourage Mr. Z to make it happen.

As we started our trek, I was reminded that I was not to cover my boy parts no matter what happened on the hike. Of course my penis had awakened as I both hoped to complete the three miles without anyone coming upon us and curiously hoping they did. I was not to be disappointed.

I’d say we were a half mile into the hike when I heard the voices of other people coming from around a bend in the trail. Then my bad angel showed up just long enough to say “Oh, you’re going to enjoy this!” I wanted to hide, but was prohibited from doing so by the well drummed command of my parents that I was to be obedient to the adult in charge.

It was an elderly couple walking at a leisurely pace. As they made the turn we were within ten feet of them. I turned as if to be attending to something in the woods hoping to avoid frontal exposure. My evil little internal voice started telling me to turn toward them and give them the full Pinocchio. I did and what a rush of adrenaline that caused. I could feel the heat from the blushing as the blood rushed to my face. Maybe the thought that the forced nudity was making being exposed easier was premature. This wasn’t an easy encounter.

All I can say is the elderly couple were delightfully surprised and entertained at my naked state. The old man stopped and talked with Mr. Z expressing how in earlier days he used to run around naked in the woods too. It “brought back memories” of he and his boyhood friends. Of course he asked Jordy why he wasn’t naked too almost as if to insinuate he was missing a great thrill.

The lady tried not to be so conspicuous as to stare at me and her eyes would drift on and off my erect penis as the men talked. Then Jordy offered the invitation to “feel his wiener, if you want too”. That took the old lady by surprise and she told him that would be inappropriate. Now, I don’t know if he did it to shock her or if his intention was to do an “in your face” kind of thing, but he reached down and put a strangle hold on my penis and gave it a yank to protest her prohibition. She ignored the brat.

Following the exchange of niceties, Mr. Z took a few shots of the old man as he kind of twirled me around by the top of my head and examined all sides of my body. By that time, the old lady was smiling and staring without discomfort at my display. Following the three sixty exam, she just said to Mr. Z, “Good looking boy, you have there.” And with that they were on their way.

The next mile or so was free sliding. No one had shared the trail. In the distance a jogger approached. She was dressed in some kind of spandex suit with one of those headbands circling her head. She just nodded and kept on jogging past us. I had a mix of feelings about that. It was as if naked eleven year old boys were not uncommon. I had to wonder where she was from. I even watched to see if she would do a double take. But, no, she didn’t turn around. She just kept on plugging away. I was strangely disappointed as were Frankie and Jordy. “She didn’t even look!”

Another mile and I’d be home free with little more damage than the meeting of only three strangers. My inner bad angel was flagrantly disappointed, while I sided with his counterpart and was greatly relieved. But that feeling of security was premature.

We returned to the picnic table we had homesteaded. The clear and rapidly flowing water in the fifty foot wide stream looked cool and inviting after the ordeal of the hike. Mr. Z told us we could go in if we wanted to and wade around for a while. Jordy was told to take off his shirt and just swim in his shorts. Frankie would only be asked to remove her shoes and socks, but to keep her clothes on. “You can dry off in the sun before we head home”. I, as expected, was told to stay naked.

We all slowly waded out into the very cold water. Even Jordy and Frankie were shivering and slow to fully plunge their bodies into the stream. I remember the pause as the water level approached ball level. I couldn’t take the step. Let’s just say I wanted to avoid the coming discomfort of taking my next step. Suddenly, I felt thrust forward and ended up going face down into the water. Mr. Z had solved my problem for me.

Again, I became complacent with my nudity. Jordy, Frankie and I splashed each other and giggled as we played. My nakedness was not foremost on my mind for the second time that day. That was until some lady with her kids walked upon the scene. She too didn’t seem to put out by my nudity. When she and her clan came to my attention, I immediately took the guard pose with my hands shielding my penis and nads. Mr. Z looked at me and cleared his throat with the distinct message to put my hands down strongly implied. I resentfully dropped my protection and exposed my now tight sack and shrunken penis as I stood knee deep in the stream.

After her momentary stare at my mid-section the woman asked her two boys who appeared to be eight or nine, if they wanted to swim. They younger indicated he did, so she told him to strip naked and join us. The older of the two wasn’t too keen on the skinny dipping idea and wanted permission to keep his underpants on. She told him if he wanted to swim he could join me and his brother in our nakedness. Her daughter who was definitely younger than her brothers was told she could swim in her underwear.

What the hell is it with the girls that made adults so much more prudish about them? I guess we boys had to settle for the world we lived in. Boys were to be naked and girls not. End of story.

Turns out the smaller boy stripped off quickly and joined us. He was surprisingly well tanned and had what in most cases would be called an average eight year old package which he didn’t even try to shield. Both Frankie and Jordy joined me in checking him out. The other boy had stripped to his shorts and argued “that boy (Jordan) is wearing his shorts” to his mother. Her response was classic parental, “Well, you aren’t that boy and you will do as you’re told”.

I’d guess his belligerence was what spurred his mother to move from inviting him to join his brother and me to demanding it. Long story short, off came the boy’s shorts and underwear. His mother told him to keep his hands to his sides which he did with a flushed facial expression. His brother laughed as his predicament while the three of us checked out what he brought to the party. In the boyhood department he definitely had an inch or so on his younger brother. His circumcised appendage was pointing straight out and hard as a rock as he wandered toward the water. He quickly sought the natural protection of the water by submerging himself beneath the water.

We splashed around and the kid’s boner finally subsided. We three naked boys again slowly acclimated to being the only three bare kids present. One would think Jordy would volunteer to join us. Being a boy and all. But, nope. He just played in those shorts.

I’d say within minutes Mr. Z was back to taking pictures of all of us. Apparently, he’d sold the other kids’ mother on allowing him to do so.

He summoned me to a rock near the shore. I was seated and he picked up the younger newcomer and plopped him in my lap. I remember thinking he was pretty forward with strangers kids. Posing the kid with his legs spread he told me to place my hand over his spread upper leg. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t hoping to be told to feel his penis. He did stiffen almost immediately.

My right ear became filled with the sound of you know who, “Go ahead, feel the kid’s penis. Just kind of let your hand nonchalantly slip down that way. You can do it. Hey, kind to turn to look over your shoulder and let your hand follow the lead. It’ll look undeniably accidental. Go ahead cop a feel.”

What the kids’ mother was thinking, I don’t know. She just stood to the left of Mr. Z smiling at the scene. Her eyes were almost giving me permission. It was as if she knew what I was yearning to do. My penis responded and began the climb to full staff. I was actually jabbing the little boy’s ass crack with it. I shifted to try to cage it between my closed legs but I could only do that if I could find a way to shove it down there. As he put his hands on my legs at the knees I could see I wasn’t the only stiff one.

As we sat there adjusting to the pleasant weirdness of our situations, the boy’s mother coached us. “Tommy let that nice boy feel your peepee. I think he wants to touch it.” The kid turned and looked at me with a smile highlighted by a twinkle in his eye and a slight spread between his front teeth. After his giggle he just said, “You can feel it if you want.”

This wasn’t politically acceptable even back then. I wanted to explore his body, but my good angel cautioned me to resist temptation and the open invitation. “You know if you touch his boy parts you might be queer. Just think about what would happen if Frankie or Jordan told the other kids at school. The other kids will tease you and call you gay. You’ll never live it down. What if Mr. Z takes pictures of you touching him and shares them with your family. What’s your dad going to think?”

Following my good angel’s advice, I sputtered and finally came out with, “I don’t think I should.” But, the truth was I really wanted to feel his three inch stiffy and massage his ball sack. It was an incredible urge.

Mr. Z took what I detected as a slightly pissed posture over my resistance. He wanted pictures of me enjoying a fondling session with this little guy. His encouragement came as he lowered the now still camera and told me to just feel it for a minute so he could “get some photos of the two of us”.

I wish I could say I was really put out to do so, but that’d be the furthest thing from the truth. I accepted the coaching and felt the boy’s stiff penis. Mr. Z’s camera came back to life. The boy finally slid off my lap and playfully splashed me as soon as he hit the water. I got up to play with my hard-on pointing straight out from my pubis. Then I was stopped by the voice of the boy’s mother.

“Jonathan, now it’s your turn. Get in this boy’s lap.”

Jonathan was not the least bit interested in availing himself to my fondling. I just stayed out of it. Jonathan’s penis was alluring to me. He was two years younger and his erection was comparable to mine. I had a bit more girth, but his was every bit as measured. Long story short, he was lifted into my lap by Mr. Z within seconds. He was positioned to highlight his erection and was cautioned to keep his hands away by his mother.

Satan’s rep began his whisper fest again. “Great. He’s much more hung than the little guy. You’ve wanted to get a hand around his since you first saw him naked. Now you have full adult approval and there’s no reason to beat around the bush. Just grab that bad boy and give it a tug.” I did just that.

Later I was to question whether that incident would mark me as gay for the rest of my life. I mean nobody, at eleven, knew the complexity of development. It was feasible to my young mind all it took was enjoying another kid’s body, and, bam, that was it. You were gay. Could never be that someone who enjoyed other boys’ nudity would ever enjoy naked girls.

To this day I don’t know if that woman was someone who knew Mr. Z or not. It does seem odd she just kind of showed up. Even more odd was telling her boys to strip naked and join me and then let this guy with the 35mm camera take pictures of them naked and while they were fondled by another kid she didn’t even know.

I mentioned above that I was greatly relieved all those people who witnessed my predicament didn’t know me. It was true. Another truism is that I never encountered Jonathan, Tommy or their sister of mother again. It would have been just my luck that they would have shown up at our school that fall. Thankfully, it didn’t happen. All that remains of that day are some slides Mr. Z took and the mental images Frankie, Jordan and I have of the incident.

Mr. Z put together another slide show of his favorite photo shots. It was presented one evening before me, my family and the families of Jordan and Frankie as well. The presentation was in our family room. Of the hundred or so slides Mr. Z presented, I had those skimpy shorts on for only a dozen if that. In all the others I was totally naked. What was quickly apparent was, of all of those, only four or five were not frontal, and, yes, in many I was stiff as a board. It was obvious I was the central target of the session. Talk about embarrassing.

What did catch my attention was hearing Jordan’s parents asking why he got to keep his clothes on. I looked Jordy’s way. His surprised look and evident blushing showed their question had definitely caught his attention as well. Mr. Z explained he’d never take nude photos of a kid without parental permission. Much to Jordan’s chagrin both of his parents not only verbalized blanket permission, they asked if he could plan a similar session for him. The result of their request is Jordan’s story to tell.

(End of File)