Confessions of a Voyeuristic Mother Part 14

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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Hi again. My name is Bob Jessup my last reminiscence was reported in Confessions of a Voyeuristic Mother Part 12. I related how my sister’s son, Roger, was my first fling with photographing a nude prepubescent boy. I explained how publishing the photos helped pay for my sophomore year in college. In closing I mentioned Patrick and his brother Timmy and how I had what you might call a repeat performance with these two boys. Many of you readers wrote to tell me they wanted to read that account as well. This is a response to their request.

The cooperation of my mother, my sister, and, in this case, Mrs. Leahy make me think mothers tend see a male child’s nudity as a requirement of boyhood. From my experience, I defy anyone to state that mothers, well most mothers, aren’t a bit turned on by any occasion allowing force nudity of their sons. The female cooperation during the project I describe here and my nephew’s photo sessions make it pretty evident. They are. Whether the motive is pride, voyeurism, or both, most of my maternal clients were excited to fully display their boys for the enjoyment of others. All I can say is it was a thrill for me too.

Confessions of a Voyeuristic Mother – 14
A Photo Essay of the Leahy Boys
By, Running Bare

My sister worked with a lady named Bridget Leahy. She and her husband, Tommy, were the parents of two boys, Patrick (12) and Timmy (8), and one girl Amy (10). Frankly I didn’t know them, but Glenna related how she’d shared the album of Roger’s photos with Bridget at work. She said Mrs. Leahy was so taken by the work that she borrowed the book to show her husband. When she returned it, Mrs. Leahy stated both she and her husband wondered if I would do the same kind of photography with their two sons. She said they wanted both posed studio stuff and candid outdoor nudes. To top it off, they were willing to pay me five hundred dollars for my efforts.

Now, I know you might think that was a lot for that time in history, but I needed more. First, I wanted to meet the boys and see what the possibilities were for such a shoot. I wanted to see the boys naked to measure the potential for me to negotiate a different kind of contract. See, I really benefited big time when I sold the publishing rights to Roger’s pictures, and if the Leahy boys were physically appealing, particularly in the appendage department, I stood to land another contract with “All Boy” magazine.

When I first went to the Leahy home I was a bit apprehensive. I’d given a lot of preliminary thought to how having a father involved might cause some difficult interaction. Though the mother assured me through my sister, her husband was on board with the idea it still occupied the back of my mind. On my way to visit the family various scenarios had played out in my head as to what the dad’s reaction would be to-- A: Having his sons pose nude; B: Trusting me to spend time alone with his naked boys; C: Publicly exposing the naked boys; and D: Allowing me or my “agent” to fondle their packages as needed. I resigned myself to the idea that A through C would be awkward, but D would definitely cause some turmoil, not so much with Mrs. Laehy, but certainly with mister. With all that in mind I pushed the doorbell.

A young boy, I assumed it was Timmy, answered the door. He was a cute little guy with a big smile. Immediately notable was his attire. He had a slightly dirty t-shirt loosely covering the top of his cut off jean shorts. I was immediately impressed that Mom had cut them off well above the boys knees, in fact, the fray was about halfway up his thighs. I was impressed with the slender but shapely legs adorned by a bruise or two and a scraped left knee. I quickly undressed him in my mind. I don’t think he was expecting me as he turned and cried out “Moooommmmmm, somebody’s here!” Shortly Mrs. Leahy came up behind him and said, “You must be Bob, the photographer.” I was flattered that she thought of me as a “professional”, but I nervously corrected the “photographer” title with a humble, “Well, I try.” She opened the door and let me in. As we walked to the living room, she, like her prodigy shouted, “Tommy, Bob Jessup is here!” We sat down and Timmy hovered half curious and half signaling he wanted an introduction by his mother.

Momentarily, a rather cute and well-groomed young girl entered and her mother introduced her as Amy their daughter. Timmy was still kind of bouncing around. Mrs. Leahy told him to calm down and told him that I would probably be taking pictures of him and his brother Patrick. Of course that began and whole barrage of “What kind of pictures? Why?” which went unanswered but were met with “Sit still!” instead. Amy smiled and excused herself as her father entered the living room. Mr. Leahy was a rather big man. Not fat but hefty. His worsted-wool, pinstriped grey suit pants were topped by a long-sleeved, white dress shirt rolled at the sleeves. He extended his hand and we exchanged introductions.

Mr. Leahy snapped his fingers and told his youngest son to go find some other place to park. The boy immediately left with a half pout expression. It was clear the boy was taught to be compliant to his parents.

I was still curious about Patrick who hadn’t shown up yet.

Mr. Leahy began the discussion with telling me he saw the work I’d done for Glenna with Roger. Half-jokingly he made the comment that “The kid is really hung isn’t he?” and he kind of chuckled. I wasn’t sure if it was a rhetorical remark or he expected some kind of response. That was a bit awkward and I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I mean if I agreed with him, it’d look like I was tuned in to Roger’s package, which I was, but I certainly didn’t want that information out of the bag. Was it a trick question? I just said, “Well, I guess so.” I took the half naive way out.

As best I can remember, the following question was, “Why all the nakedness? Did you have to take nudes?” Those questions obviously put Mrs. Leahy in an uncomfortable position. Before I could answer she asked if I wanted something to drink. I suggested I would like that, but asked her to stay for a moment while I answered that question. I explained the photos were taken as a requirement for a class I was taking at the college and my chosen theme was about boys and the freedom of nature. His nakedness was absolutely required to get the spirit of my work. I also anticipated the “boner” question and headed that off with “I’ve been asked particularly about the shots of him with an erection and I’m the first to say erections are solidly a part of boyhood. You had ‘em, I had ‘em and most of the time they literally popped up spontaneously.” Again, Mr. Leahy gave a nervous chuckle while he shook his head in agreement. With that Mrs. Leahy left to retrieve the refreshments.

When she returned, she put a glass of lemonade down before me and handed one to her husband. She sat and rejoined the conversation explaining that she would like photographs like those of Roger to remember her son’s childhood. She also explained, that though her husband wasn’t necessarily in agreement about the naked shots, he agreed to allow the shoots.

He interrupted to say that he, as with most boys of the time, was raised to have no modesty. He felt boys needed to be unconcerned about their exposure especially when around others of the same gender. He just didn’t know why pictures had to be taken. I listened as I was not quite sure where the conversation was going. Finally, his wife put a sudden stop to his line of questioning with, “I want them naked. I want to remember their little boy years as carefree. I like Bob’s thinking that nudity for the boys does complete the whole freedom and growing up theme.”

Mr. Leahy showed a look of defeat. Then he started to describe his boys. “You met Timmy.” I just nodded. “The kid’s a handful, but he’s got a good heart. He will be into something every time you turn around. He wouldn’t give a shit if he had to be naked all day in the middle of Macy’s department store. He has no modesty whatsoever. But, Patrick? Well, Patrick is calmer but has not ever, that I can remember, been comfortable being naked in front of others. Even as a five or six year old he’d hide to change if anyone other than his mother or I was in the area. We didn’t explain what we had in mind to either of them because we wanted to wait until after this meeting. Both boys and Amy did see the photo album of your nephew. Amy was mesmerized. Patrick was interested in studying the photos, but certainly not amenable to being the subject of such things. And, Timmy, well Timmy could have cared less. He went through the album and then left the room to go play, without any comment about the boy’s nudity at all.”

I found myself just nodding as he spoke. I wasn’t sure whether to just ask why they’d called me before they were ready for an agreement.

“How do we go about arranging a photo session with you?” Mrs. Leahy was chomping at the bit.

I explained that rather than them paying me five hundred dollars there were some other less costly alternatives. At the behest of mister, I explained that I would be willing to lower the cost to expenses if they were willing to allow me to maintain copyrights to all photos taken. The one codicil would be that I would have to see both boys naked to determine if there was a market for publishing. One could tell from his look that Mr. Leahy was a bit uncomfortable with the speed at which this was going especially my request to see both boys nude that evening.

What did keep the conversation going was Mrs. Leahy’s next remark, “How do you want to do this? Do you want to take them up to their bedroom?”

I told her that we needed to call them to the living room and strip them there. I suggested I wanted their sister present to watch as well. Mister shook his head and told me that Patrick would not disrobe in front of me or in the living room, much less in front of his sister, but I was free to try. I instructed Mrs. Leahy to have both boys come to the living room in their bathing suits. She could tell them truthfully that I would be taking pictures of them and I needed to see their bodies, and, not so truthfully, take some light readings from their skin. Then, as a part of the measurements, I’d just yank their suits down without warning and make them step out of them.

Mr. Leahy suggested he needed to get the strap he used to discipline them in case Patrick got “rebellious”. He thought just having it draped across the arm of his Lazy-boy would signal compliance and control. With that, Mrs. Leahy went to get Timmy changed and his brother attired for the gathering. In passing she called for Amy to “go to the living room.”

The ten year old entered and her father instructed her to sit on the couch while her brothers were brought down by her mother. Seeing the strap she asked if one of them was in trouble. Her father just softly said, “Not yet.”

Giggling, Timmy jumped down the four steps from the landing and bounded into the living room wearing short swim trunks. He was in his element with limited clothing and the freedom to bounce around. Mister told him to calm down and I guess the belt on the arm of the Lazy-boy amplified his message as the kid sat down right next to his sister. He was really quite an attractive specimen, at least from what I could see. Two or three minutes later, what I could only describe as a Greek god shyly entered the room. He too was wearing bathing trunks, but holding his hands in front of his groin. He was blushing and followed his mother’s instructions to go and sit beside his brother. His upper torso wasn’t as muscular as Timmy’s but far from fat or flaccid. His legs were meatier than his brothers but every bit as well defined. His face was framed by his short cropped black hair. His facial features were well proportioned and pronounced. What else can I say the kid was drop dead handsome? From first sight, I was anxious to pull that suit down to complete the image I had formulated.

Mrs. Leahy introduced me to the boys as a photographer they were going to hire to take family photos of the boys. Patrick was jarred into the sudden realization that I might be related to the photographs of that “naked kid” his mother had shown him a week or so before. She was honest enough to level with him, “Yes, yes he is.” Though unspoken I knew he was then concerned he’d have to be naked as well. For some reason the fear of the answer caused him to avoid asking that next question. Amy did it for him, “Is he going to make Timmy and Patrick be naked in the pictures too?” Thank you, Amy. You just made my task much more difficult. I let the parents field that answer.

“We don’t know yet. We haven’t decided.” Great dodge Mr. Leahy.

I pulled out my light meter, and, knowing it was a lie, I told the boys that it would tell me about their skin tone and I could figure out if I could get some good photos of them. I told them I would hold it up to the skin on parts of their bodies and I showed them how the needle danced when pointed at the light. I made it believable.

I chose to start with Patrick as I was sure if he saw me yank Timmy’s suit off, he’d never cooperatively comply when it was his turn. His mother pushed him by the arm to approach me. I started to act as though I was taking readings at his hair. To make it more believable, I jotted notes on a clipboard between each measure. I went down his body registering arms, hands, chest area including nipples, his navel, thighs, and down each calf to his feet. Each time I stopped to jot an unnecessary remark. Then I went down his back doing the same. His defenses were down as he was comfortable with how that went. From behind, as the boy faced his father, I grabbed either side of his trunks, and in one quick thrust, yanked them down. Boy did that wake up his defenses. He grabbed for the suit as I just said, “Relax, Patrick, we’re almost done.” Then I pulled them down to his ankles and tapped is calves one at a time to indicate I wanted him to lift his legs to complete removal. So far Mrs. Leahy, Timmy, Amy and I had a total moon staring back at us. I metered each butt cheek. Then I gently pushed on his back to make him bend over (completely unnecessary but I wanted to put on a show for his siblings and his mother) and metered him again. Finishing that, I took the boy by the hips and gently began turning him around. He countered and wouldn’t move. His father said, “Patrick, turn around so he can finish.” That was met by an adamant, “NO! Give me my bathing suit back.” With that Mr. Leahy arose from his chair with the belt in hand. He took the boy’s chin in hand and repeated the instruction to turn around. Patrick began crying and begging not to have to do it. Mrs. Leahy much less aggressively reasoned that I was almost done and he should do as he was told or “Daddy will whip you with the belt.”

Avoiding eye contact with either sibling or me, the twelve year old slowly turned around clutching his boyhood tightly. I guided his hands away from his penis and down to his sides. My position was down on one knee so his pubic region was directly at eye level for me. What immediately appeared to me was the hairless pubic area and a four or five inch erection. His bulbous circumcised glans was pointing right at my left eye. I’m sure the back of my head obstructed the anticipated crotch shot for his sister and little brother. A quick glance over my shoulder told me that his sister was thoroughly interested in what he had been covering. I couldn’t resist, I took the shaft in hand and pressed the meter toward the deep pink glans as though I was gathering data. The “metering” charade continued as I scanned the shaft of the developing penis and the loose scrotum below it stopping occasionally to jot some senseless notes. Patrick had tears dripping down his cheeks with some finishing their fall on the top of my hands as I lightly squeezed his hardened shaft.

Amy jokingly asked if she could hold his “wiener” too and giggled. With that Mr. Leahy cleared his throat and glared at his daughter. She stopped giggling immediately. Patrick was completely humiliated. I continued by stretching out the skin of this scrotum and pointing the meter at it continuing to act like I was recording something of “professional” importance. The kid’s phallus remained stiff and protruded five inches parallel to the floor. I couldn’t help but admire the apparent strides he’d made in building the adolescent girth as it was no longer the skinny appendage I assumed his brother would be sporting.

I intentionally remained in a squatting position shielding myself with the boy’s body, as I was in a similar predicament. My own appendage was pressed stiffly against the front of my pants. Thankfully it was pushed upward by my briefs to minimize tenting. I completed my work with Patrick, playfully slapped his bare backside and directed him to go sit on the couch next to his sister. He reached down to retrieve his suit. I grabbed it before he could and told him to stay naked in case I needed to take more readings.

As he sat next to his sister, she couldn’t take her eyes off his penis. Aware of her stare, he put his hands in his lap to shield it from view. His mother, also interested in his boy parts, instructed him to “Put your hands behind your back.” His tightly closed upper legs had engulfed his rod causing his mother to command, “Patrick, spread your legs!” He parted his knees six inches or so, but it was enough for the erection to spring free. Both females were still glued to the view as Timmy approached me.

Even before I directed him, he kicked off his bathing suit. He too was hard, and he giggled as he teasingly thrust his hips forward putting his naked little glans within biting distance from my mouth. I took him by the hips and pushed him back a bit, if for no other reason than to send a subliminal message to his father to suggest I wasn’t interested in the boy’s item. Of course, I was, and if I wasn’t in a family gathering I might have pulled him even closer. His little ball purse was still tight and the size of a couple of unshelled peanuts. As expected his shaft nowhere near the prepubescent growth in girth that his brother had, but length was what one would expect of a seven or eight year old. I grabbed the shaft. It was so hard, I almost felt like I could actually snap it off like the limb on a tree. That enticement wore off a bit and my meter went to work as I pretended to measure the light reflecting off his inviting little glans. It was important to follow the same progression I did with Patrick to dispel any thought that what I was doing was needless (even though you and I know it was).

Following the session with Timmy I sent him, still naked, to sit beside his brother. He did. With both boys sitting nude, I began explaining to the parents that both boys would be ideal subjects for photo shoots. To dispel any suspicion from Mr. Leahy, I threw each of them their suits and told them they could put them on. Patrick didn’t waste any time, but Timmy threw his back at me and asked if he could stay naked. Again to defray any suspicion I told him that was up to his mother and father. With that, his mother told him he could. Though his acceptance of his nakedness would kill any thrill I would have in exposing him to others, his openness was something I hadn’t experienced with boys and I was convinced exploiting it could be fun as well.

As I sat cross legged on the floor with my clipboard covering my lap, and while the boys were present, I decided to go over some of the conditions of the shoots. I wanted Patrick especially to know that I had his parents’ backing. I explained that we would spend a week or so at a cabin either at the beach or in the woods. The boys would be expected to be naked a great deal of the time (probably always, but they didn’t need to know that). There would be times for the sake of the photos or as a calming at the end of the day, their boy parts would have to be fondled. I used as an example the application of sunscreen or unwinding them for bed. Patrick’s body language as I spoke was even more defiant. He was burning holes in me with the laser look coming from his eyes.

Mr. Leahy had a questioning look and very forthrightly asked, “Fondling? What do you mean by fondling?” I responded with explaining nothing more than simple rubbing and touching. “No oral stuff or things like that!” It was evident he wasn’t questioning he was setting my limitations in place. Mrs. Leahy put her hand on his knee as if to say, “It’s okay, I kind of like it, just let it go”. Her look of approval toward me and the reassuring touch to her husband’s leg had an almost immediate calming effect on the man. I reassured him I would not, under any circumstance, tolerate his kids being violated with oral stimulation or sodomy by anyone. My adamant statement disarmed his concerned look a bit. Then to further lighten the conversation I jokingly mentioned, “Of course I’ll have to give some attention to their little butt holes so we don’t stain the furniture.” The adults and Amy laughed at the remark. Mrs. Leahy said, “Maybe you should put your suit on too, Timmy. I hate to think you’d leave skid marks on my sofa. I can see I’m going to have to inspect the cushions after you go Bob.”

Timmy got up to comply and Mrs. Leahy told him she was just kidding. He could stay naked the rest of the night and all day tomorrow if he wanted. He threw his suit at his father and plopped his bare bottom back on the couch.

I felt the remainder of our discussion would be best held without the kids present, so they were sent to their rooms or to the basement family room to watch TV. On the boys’ departure my excited appendage finally started to behave and I was able to stand up to move to an easy chair. I explained that the photos would be much better if the boys had a consistent tan. How they accepted that would signal the start of my voyeuristic fantasy. I knew with Timmy that wouldn’t be a problem, but with Patrick the chance of avoiding a battle was slim to none. If we were going to do this, the boys had to spend time completely nude in the sun. It was decided that if Patrick displayed tan lines it’d be true to that era in his development. It’d be something that would remind him and the viewers of the photos that “Back then you were so modest. But, look at Timmy. He sure wasn’t.” I explained that I’d see that Patrick developed some color down there during the first few days at the cabin, if they couldn’t get him to comply at home.

Mrs. Leahy responded to the idea the boys would be out in the yard naked with a concern about visiting neighborhood children, particularly Amy’s friends. I stated it would be good training for the boys to be exposed to them. It’d prepare them for being publicly exposed during the week of the shoot.

We discussed the financial end of the project. I told them that they’d have to pay for any cabin rentals, my gas, food and other expenses. There would be a five hundred dollar fee unless they gave me full copyright to the photos so I could recoup remuneration for my time and services by selling publishing rights. I explained the studio shots wouldn’t cost them anything. With that Mr. Leahy smiled.

Before we settled it all, Mr. Leahy asked if a beachfront cottage would suffice. He had a coworker who had a month long timeshare on the beach on Cape Cod. Of course I reminded him it’d be okay as long as everyone kept in mind the boys would be completely nude 24/7 for most of the days and that the beach would definitely be more public than the woods. Surprisingly, he said that’d be fine. He liked it public and I must admit so would I. Mrs. Leahy was completely on board as well. They would try to coordinate the cottage and he’d get back to me.

My only concern was that there was a room or other space that I could use as a studio for some posed shots of the boys. I was assured it would have plenty of space for me to drape an area I wanted to use. All I had to bring were the props-- lighting and backdrops-- I wanted. I remember feeling, at that point, if this was how much excitement being a step above amateur photographer brought me, I wondered if someone could make a living at it. I mean two weeks on the beach, a couple of perpetually naked boys running around in public, and, in the end, being paid big bucks for photos them, what’s not to like?

The Leahy’s didn’t tell their sons about the total game plan. All they knew was a young college aged guy was going to take them to the beach for up to two weeks. I’m sure the boys were thinking about the blast they would have. All they had to do was let the guy take pictures of them for their parents.

When I picked them up, both boys were dressed as I had requested. They had on athletic shorts, t- shirts, white ankle length socks and athletic shoes. It was apparent that Patrick was not happy about his attire, but was willing to appease the chaperon. Mrs. Leahy handed me the single suitcase which was very noticeably light for what could turn out to be a two week outing. It was obvious she was supporting the plan for exposing the boys as much as possible and facilitated it by limiting her boys’ clothing to pretty much what they had on.

The trip to the cottage was uneventful, only a couple of wrong turns. It did take a bit to locate the property, but after we arrived the boys wanted to hit the surf. I opened the suitcase and found a couple of matching sky blue Speedos. Patrick held his up and asked why his mother bought him blue underwear. Apparently both boys were accustomed to wearing trunks and these were a rude awakening. I was quick to inform him that was his swimsuit and he argued it wasn’t. Timmy was okay with it and supported my observation by noting, “Yep, it’s our swimsuits, look, Patrick, there’s the string to tighten it!” His acceptance was a far sight easier to deal with than Patrick’s frustration. The boys wore the Speedos and spent the rest of the afternoon til dusk dodging waves and playing in the sand. Patrick never did get comfortable with the attire and would often glance around very obviously monitoring if anyone was looking at him in the skimpy swimwear.

That night as the boys watched TV, I busied myself preparing the “studio”. With Dr. Cutter’s blessing, I’d borrowed some free standing lighting and tripods from the art department at the college. The cost of the “rental” was that I shared the photos with her, and, if she chose, I would have to display them for a showing in the college library. I remember thinking that I hoped she chose to display them. If that occurred, I intended to drag the subjects into the library just to embarrass Patrick and subject both to questioning by any interested viewers.

Some bed sheets Mom provided made acceptable backdrops. The following morning, the boys would have their first of several studio sessions and those Speedos would have to go. After many hours of mulling over different scenarios, a plan to expose them had evolved, and that following morning I was going to put it into play.

The boys reported to breakfast in the same attire they’d worn the day before. Patrick complained he couldn’t find any clean clothes in the suitcase. I put them both at ease and suggested we could always wash what they had on. While they dined on cereal, milk and juice I went over the agenda for the day. Before we went to the beach, we’d have a photo shoot in the makeshift studio.

Both boys followed me the room I’d set up. I asked Patrick to be the first subject. I posed him in various provocative poses exposing as much of his legs and offering teasing shots up his shorts while his legs were widely splayed. It was a very evident his discomfort piqued each time I’d push the hemline up his leg a bit or spread the fabric to offer some exposure of his still cotton covered bulge. I asked him to take off his shoes and socks and he complied without hesitation. More shots, then I asked for him to remove his shirt. That request did pinch a nerve. He balked a bit at the request, but I reminded him that he spent the entire afternoon the day before without a shirt on and it didn’t seem to bother him. Bringing that to attention must have made sense, he began removing his t-shirt. I made him slow it down so I could get shots of the removal. Timmy just sat quietly and watched his big brother. After shooting a 36 exposure roll without the shirt on, I reloaded the camera and asked him to remove his shorts. He refused. I told him his mother and father wanted as much of his skin showing as possible in most of the photos. He still wasn’t going to comply.

It was then I reminded him of the belt his father had given me to “help keep them in line, if necessary.” He still refused and I left the room to retrieve the strap. I could hear Timmy asking why he was so afraid of getting his picture taken in his underwear. He implored him to “Just take off your shorts, Patrick. We’re both boys you know.” I returned bearing the dreaded belt and warned him if I had to ask again there would be a painful session with the belt in store for him. Slowly he linked his thumbs in the elastic waistband and paused as if to give me a chance to change my mind. I didn’t. But, I did direct him to remove them slowly so I could take photos of him taking them off. He complied but was none too happy about it. I think it was at that point he began anticipating to himself that his underwear was probably coming off next. After a series of tighty whities poses, I didn’t disappoint. I told him to slip his underpants off while he faced the camera. Even Timmy had some thoughts about that and tried to support his brother’s reluctance suggesting his mother and father wouldn’t approve.

You can imagine the facial expressions when I told them their parents not only would approve they asked for nude photos of both of them. Patrick then all out refused. I had no recourse but to use the strap. I swung it causing a muted pink strip to appear on his right upper thigh. He recoiled. I swung again putting a second stripe not an inch or two above the first. He tried to retreat causing the third lash to land squarely in the area of his cotton covered genitals. I remember thinking that I hoped it hadn’t put a mark on his penis or ball sack that wouldn’t disappear momentarily. We didn’t have a couple of days for it to become unnoticeable enough for the photographs. Finally, he begged in a whimper, “Okay, okay, I’ll do it. Just don’t hit me again. Please don’t whip me again.” With snot flowing freely and mixing with tears he stood up and began removing his underwear. My concern was I’d have to retake the photos of him stripping them off when he wasn’t crying, but, as I would later find, the crying added to the arousal of the viewer. His tears offered evidence of his overall shyness and discomfort with forced nudity. Off they came freeing his still hairless groin. His penis was flaccid probably as a response to his emotional stress. Ordering him to stay naked, I called a short break so he could regain his composure. While he pouted, I picked up his clothing and put them in the footlocker the lighting had come in.

When my attention was refocused on the boys, I was treated to a clothed Timmy attempting to comfort his completely naked big brother. As he hugged and commiserated with him, the motorized drive in my camera was put to continuous use. Actually, the whole scene allowed for the suggestion that, “Perhaps Patrick would feel better if you were naked too, Timmy.”

Though a bit hesitant, I coached him to stand up and then gave Patrick step by step instructions to disrobe Timmy—first off, shorts and underwear. There’s something a bit arousing seeing those cute little butt cheeks and the lower part of a boy’s package peeking out from under a just short enough t-shirt. His penis peeking out from under that shirt kept my interest even better than full nudes. As Patrick hook his fingers in his little brother’s elastic waistband and wiggled the shorts off, his penis began to rise. Aware of his predicament he tried to turn to shield it from my lens. After forcibly repositioning the boy to expose his hard-on I returned to shooting a multitude of photos as he methodically stripped his brother. Patrick yanked Timmy’s underpants down exposing another stiff penis (that made three). I wanted him to pull them back up so he could slowly remove them and allow me to capture some anticipation as he exposed his brother.

It was apparent there was a mix of emotion in the boys. Patrick was still tearful, but smiled occasionally as he undressed the boy. Timmy though not too embarrassed was a bit apprehensive especially as his harden appendage was exposed. For the following half hour Timmy was made to wear that t-shirt so I could shoot some “sneak peeks” of his butt cheeks and little stiffy sticking out from under the hemline. As Patrick regained some composure he cried foul about me allowing the little guy to have a t-shirt on. I assured him that we’d take it off him before the session ended. And, take it off we did.

Once the shirt had been shed, I had Timmy sit cross legged. Then I had the still tearful Patrick lie down and put his head in his brother’s lap. I did force him to lie on his back so his penis was sticking up. As he got into position I found my eye glued to the range finder and the camera clicked away. There it was, Timmy cross legged, his big brother lying on his back with his head planted in his lap. Patrick tearfully stared upward, his hardened penis pointing almost straight up. Talk about an arousing pose. “Timmy put your right hand on Patrick’s head and put your left hand down on his belly button, then look down at his face.” OMG, there it was tender, arousing and provocative and I was shooting the moment.

“Okay, Timmy, now rub his boy things. You know his penis and ball sack. Be gentle, but rub them, it’ll make him feel good.” The camera motor whined as the young boy gently accosted his brothers genitals. Surprisingly, Timmy didn’t hesitate and Patrick didn’t resist, not even a little. As I photographed the action, I became so hard I was afraid I was going to erupt. I kept taking photos of the tender and thoroughly erotic scene. Timmy’s young hand went from gently rearranging Patrick’s testes to encircling his phallus as he slowly stroked up and down from base to bulbous glans. His other hand gently stroked his brother’s hair as he looked into his eyes with a gentle smile in an attempt to comfort him.

As Timmy continued to rearrange his older brother’s scrotum, I picked up the remainder of the scattered clothing and placed it in the footlocker which had housed the lighting. I slid the combination lock through the latch and secured it. Neither boy seemed to notice.

After the shoot Timmy was the first to ask where their clothes were. I told him I’d put their clothes away. Of course he wanted to know where. Patrick listened to the verbal interchange as he lay clutching his package to hide it. I told Timmy I’d put their clothes in the footlocker to get them out of the way. He looked down at the metal box and noted it was locked. I told him that was just to keep their clothes safe. He wanted to know how they’d get them out as he didn’t know the combination. It was at that moment I dropped the bomb. “Well, I know the combination, but you won’t be needing clothes for the next two weeks. Everywhere we go and everything you do, you and Patrick will do naked from now until we head home.”

Hearing this Patrick entered the fray. He argued that he wasn’t going to do that. I think we both knew he didn’t have much choice. I didn’t even acknowledge his belligerence. It was Timmy who asked why they had to stay naked. Calmly I explained that their parents wanted them to be naked in the pictures we’d be taking, and that most people liked seeing little boys running around naked. With that I enthusiastically announced, “Okay, let’s hit the beach, time’s a wastin’!”

That was greeted with Timmy bouncing his way to the front door showing little concern for his nakedness, and his older brother’s emphatic statement, “I’m not going out there naked.” In order to give the kid the sense that I wasn’t totally unreasonable, and to provide some incremental steps for the soon to be public viewers, I decided to allow both boys to wear a t-shirt. That would provide some intermittent coverage to their dangling appendages while allowing full on shots of both their beautifully rounded backsides and those cherished sneak peeks at their penises and ball sacks as they moved around.

Neither boy lost much time putting on the shirts. I made both stand up for my inspection. The shirts, except for Timmy, were just adequate to cover their entire package and half their bare asses. Timmy’s penis even in its flaccid state produced a continuous showing of that lovely glans. He didn’t seem to care. Patrick on the other hand pulled at the hem of his shirt to ensure coverage of his frontal equipment. Just to make sure the desired results out on the beach I made both boys raise their hands above their heads. The results were perfect. The t-shirts rose up completely exposing both boys’ packages. That’s exactly what I was expecting.

Patrick was completely aware that his vulnerability was still a problem. He refused to wear “only this stinking t-shirt” out in public. He insisted on lower body coverage. That wasn’t going to happen. The battle was on. I grabbed the belt and without warning started in on Patrick’s bare backside. Snap after snap echoed off the kitchen walls. I just continued flailing the kid even after he begged for me to stop. I felt if I made it a beating to remember, he would, and I wouldn’t have to do it again. To say I was not really fed up with the kid’s defiance would be a lie. The boy was crouched in a corner with his knees drawn up as he shielded his head with his arms. I continued the whipping. Finally, I stopped when Timmy’s begging curbed my anger at his brother’s insolence. Patrick was reduced to sobbing in that same corner, still curled up in a ball with his belt striped butt cheeks exposed below the t-shirt. The bottom of his young scrotum was teasingly pinched between his thighs. Snot was pouring from his nostrils, his face was wet with tears. I managed to calm down, I was angry with myself for losing control, but I was not apologetic. I wanted the boys to thoroughly understand, like it or not, I was in-charge and they were going to follow my instructions for the duration of our stay. So as not to lose the point of that “lesson”, I helped Patrick standup and repeated, “Now, let’s go to the beach, and remember the point is to photograph you boys having fun on the beach so keep your hands away from your boy parts.”

Timmy put his arm around his brother’s waist half supporting the still sniffling boy. He quietly tried to console him. I have several photos of the two bare backsides, little boy supporting big boy, as they slowly strode toward the surf. In my opinion, in spite of the red marks striping the bigger boy’s backside, the photos turned out to be some of the emotionally most moving I’d ever taken. They reeked of brotherly love.

As we emerged to the open beach, it was somewhat deserted. There were couples sunning, a couple of most likely retirees casting lines into the surf, and a few women organizing for their family’s eventual day in the sun. My semi-naked boys didn’t draw immediate attention. I think the t-shirts just covering their items of interest visually fooled the viewers into thinking the boys situation was nothing out of the ordinary. But the boys and I knew it was only a matter of time before onlookers would be treated to snapshots of their boyhoods. I was somewhat perplexed at the lack of indignant staring and interest I’d hoped to see. After all, other people’s interest and displeasure at seeing two preteen naked boys on the public beach was one of my more erotic pleasures, but it appeared that was not happening, at least at the time.

As they strode slowly toward the surf their bare butt cheeks alternately exposed themselves. My eroticism flared. It was as if they were my proxies for my own exhibitionism and this literally choked me up and caused me to harden. My frustrations were soon to be alleviated.

Momentarily, one of the older fishermen chatted with another ten feet to his right. As the boys walked toward the breaking waves it was apparent by the pointing they were discussing Patrick’s welted backside. Both he and Timmy were sporting erections which were pushing the hemlines of the t-shirts up as those cute little glans were poking straight ahead. Patrick pulled at the hem of his shirt trying to cover his boner. I let him do that as I clicked away. I knew he’d have to succumb to his nakedness sometime that morning and his current embarrassment was not a battle I wanted to address at the time. In fact, I found it a little arousing. One of the elderly fishermen cast a glance toward me with what could only be taken as a knowing smile. I captured it all on film—the men’s discussion, the pointing and even the old man’s approving smile in the background of the photos of the boys.

Within the hour, the audience had grown significantly. The beach became abuzz with adults walking dogs, families bouncing in the surf, children playing in the sand, and a whole lot more attention to “the two boys in t-shirts over there”.

That morning, Patrick remained in the surf up to his navel. I didn’t have to wonder why he preferred to stay waist deep, did you? Timmy didn’t care and he darted in and out of the surf with his gifted appendage flopping back and forth from under the wet t-shirt as he dodged the waves. Turned out Timmy’s penis would unpredictably shift from flaccid to hard throughout the day. Patrick’s, on the other hand, was stiff most of the time especially when we were in public view. He was constantly pulling at the bottom of his shirt, but it really didn’t help. Each time he tugged at the shirt in front, the back would ride up fully exposing his still striped butt cheeks. The harder their penises were, the more difficult it was for me to hide my arousal. In order to avoid public detection of my true motives, I’d taken to wearing what could only be considered a tight thong under my board shorts to limit the protrusion of my own phallus during stiff periods.

As the adult joggers and dog walkers passed the boys, they’d do a double take, but they kept going. Children from other groups would work their way toward the boys for a better view. Timmy would bound out of the water, and, at times, engaged them in conversation. His wet shirt was almost transparent and glued to his wet body leaving little to anyone’s imagination. Usually, the front of his shirt was glued to his abdomen allowing his penis and scrotum to be readily examined by whoever wished to look, and there were a lot of lookers. Occasionally, Timmy would become aware of other kids’ interest in his penis and he’d glance down with a bit of self-interest. It was very evident what the verbal interchange between the boys and other children on the beach was about.

One of the more interesting observations was when other kids tried to coax Patrick from the surf. They knew he was hiding something of interest and they wanted to at least see it. He tried to ignore them. As waves broke around him he’d occasionally get knocked off his feet and as he struggled to stand, his penis and backside were totally visible. Those situations whetted everyone’s appetite for more.

The second day, I added a new rule. They were not allowed to pull at the bottoms of their shirts while they were wearing them, “Everyone wants to see your penises so let them. You are not to pull at the shirts or I’ll make you take them off.” (It was my intention to require complete nudity by the fourth day anyway, but they didn’t need to know that.)

The boys were instructed to keep their hands free of their crotch areas especially when they were aroused. I also found myself calling Patrick from the surf when he was trying to hide. That almost always initiated a hard-on from the boy and totally frustrated and embarrassed him. Under the new rules little was left to the observers’ imaginations. I must admit the wet t-shirt only made me hornier. I had an unavoidable desire to fondle the hell out of the boy, if for no other reason than to further embarrass and humiliate him. Timmy, on the other hand, would have readily succumbed to my playing and that took away some of the intrigue that drove my excitement.

Turned out that both Mr. and Mrs. Leahy really loved the t-shirt only series. They did note in many of the photos that I captured the attention of other beach goers to the partially exposed boys. As Mrs. Leahy referred to them, the “teasers”.

By the fourth day, I was applying sunscreen to both boys. When it came to protecting their boy parts, they’d naturally pop hard-ons as I rubbed and manipulated the lotion into their penises and ball sacks. The feel of those stiff appendages—the softness of those scrotums and the smoothness of the contents contrasting with the stiffness of their penises, and the feel of the plump, spongy, little glans’ topping each-- is etched forever in my memory. Both Timmy’s length and Patrick’s twelve year old girth offered some variation to the experience, but Patrick’s total discomfort helped keep me at the top of my game. I could have spent hours rubbing those boys’ smooth and now beautifully tanned bodies. That drive was kept in check by thoughts of what might have happened had I done so. In the house, out of site of others, was a different story. Timmy sought fondling and would drape his body across my lap and actually force my hand onto his package with the command to “rub me here”. Who was I to object?

As fresh coats of the sunscreen were applied out on the beach, I’m sure the sight and envy of many gawkers have the whole scene etched in their memories as well.

As I said earlier, day four was a rude awakening for Patrick. No more t-shirts. From then on the boys were to go to the beach completely naked and the “hands away from your penises” rule was reiterated to both. Timmy had little problem with total exposure. One would think the desensitization I attempted would have softened the blow to Patrick, but his shyness persisted.

I found their affectionate contact with each other to be quite photographically beautifully moving. It was a take away from the arousal of confrontation when they strode arm in arm or had those moments of hugging each other in brotherly ways. Of those “softer” images, one in particular stood out. The two nude boys standing side by side facing the sunrise, Patrick's arm around Timmy's back and Timmy's arm around Patrick's backside as his left hand cupped Patrick's left cheek. It was really “brotherly” in nature and was destined to be among their mother's favorites. That one was emotionally moving but did little for exciting my sexual hormones. It was enlarged to a poster sized print, matted, framed, and now hangs prominently in their home for all to see.

Another series that I found memorable was when two eight year old twin girls occupied their family's blanket next to ours. I know we were chosen because both boys were completely nude when their parents spread out their beach paraphernalia within chatting distance. The girl's were very interested in the body parts of their neighbors and could be heard comparing Timmy and Patrick's “hoses” as they would call them. Mom and Dad would correct such descriptors with proper names for the boys' body parts. We three adults were able to capture some great candids as I'd made certain the boys, and the little girls, knew anything could go. I made the boys succumb to the touch exploration of the girls under the guise of them learning about boys' body parts. In your mind you can picture these cute little girls standing, legs spread, smiling and pointing while cradling the boys ball sacks and boners. I believe those little girls left the beach that day with many questions answered as a result of their carte blanc access to Patrick and Timmy's bodies. I got many erotic images in return. They were among the magazine's favorites and some were even singled out by Dr. Cutter for a week long display in the college library.

Some of my favorites were the many series of beach wrestling . I loved the attention the two nude boys" drew from others when they were made to tussle in the sand. I didn't have to do much coaching, that was often handled by others. The boys would roll around, often giggling, as onlookers would shout move requests. One example was three college aged girls on a blanket maybe twenty feet away were chanting, “Pull that penis! Pull that penis!” as they clicked away. Timmy thought doing so was cute and naughty and did attempt using Patrick's hard-on as a leverage tool to roll his over or to get him off more dominant positions when he was going to pin him. Patrick would get mad and grab Timmy's package to return the favor. Though watching them grab each others genitals was exciting, it would often give way to punching each others testicles and I'd often find myself in a position of having to stop it as they became more aggressive.

Eventually, I made Patrick stimulate Timmy and I recorded those interactions on film. Not surprisingly, he never really objected to doing it. I think he liked stroking his brother’s penis, but he also showed curiosity with moving the boy’s balls around as he fingered his scrotum. I have studied the pictures of him playing with his brother’s equipment and his facial expressions and his own erections in those photos support my contention he enjoyed doing it.

When Timmy was made to stimulate his older brother, he too was almost always sporting an erection, but his face showed expressions of little if any curiosity. To him it was almost a chore and not something he’d necessarily do without being directed to.

Oh, how I wanted to make them suck each other, but my better angels won. Those angels and the thought of how Mr. Leahy would have reacted when that bombshell dropped, that is.

The photos of mutual stimulation were not shared with the Leahys. Those were photos I intended for “All Boy” magazine. I can say they did bring some considerable cash.

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