Part One: Boys wearing only belts.

“Can you believe it? We lose the loin cloths! We gotta go on stage wearing just a fuckin’ belt!”

“We gotta tell our moms!”

“Tell the school board they can’t do this to 18 year old fellas!”

“It’s those fuckin’ evil girls and their research on what ‘plains Indians’ really wore! Knew that would appeal to that super bitch Cuff!”

The four doleful boys walked the corridors of Grover Cleveland High- fortunately largely deserted this late in the afternoon- wearing only their Indian loin cloths, as they obeyed Miss Cuff’s order to go to the lockers and return wearing only belts. Only belts. No other clothes. To test the idea of a new costume for the school musical, Cowgirls and Indian Braves.

With their Indian headresses and in their moccasins- designed, they thought, to make them look even funnier to the girls and women- they padded along. The cocks of the three big boys were visible as they poked aside those small frontal flaps. Stevie’s petite erection tented his flap.

They were a certainly a spectacle for two Negro female cleaners, each with her mop and bucket, who rounded a corner and stood stock still in amazement, dark eyes wide.

The boys groaned when they saw the females. Shit! Virtually nude in front of Negro lady cleaners! And, facing right ahead, they rigidly avoided eye contact as they passed.

Rodney trembled with his awareness the maids were looking right at his bolt hard erection which had forced his flap to bunch up at his left. He went gooey inside. Being stared at naked always excited him to the core. Undetected Stevie flicked his flap aside with a cunning hand movement and his small rigid dick, flowing with Cowpers fluid, was displayed. It made him feel fluttery inside. A quick glance showed one of the cleaners had her eyes right on it, smiling.

The women then watched exposed asses complete their passage.

“Them’s the boys in that show ’bout cowgirls and Indians,” said Zelma, giggling. Her colleague, Louise had only this year arrived from Mississippi.

“White boys don’t like us seein’ an all,” said Louise. “See how they wouldn’t even look at us? But, Sister, I sure like seein’ them!”

“You bet, my girl. Those big guys are just as well filled out as our young bucks with their big Alabama snakes. My cousin Yuela gets to fit ’em at Mrs Carruthers, the sewing lady. Gets to see ’em nekkid. And real close up.”

“And the maids in them boys’ homes? They talk all the time ’bout what they see- boys made to go nekkid, wear little panties, strip off for sisters, get spanked by their mommas…”

They giggled.

A minute or two later the males were in the locker room. They were all fond of it, the old change-room, with its drip drip drip from leaking showers and the smell of old sweat and linement. It had stained, seatless toilet bowls. But girls never got here. It was girl-Free space.

Opening his locker Mark said, “Worse thing about those cleaning ladies? They all talk. My mom’s maid, Amelia? Caught her peeking at the photos of me swimming. Pictures show me with hard-ons. I know she shows them around to her friends.”

“My mother hires Nattie, to help when she’s got a party,” lamented Rodney, slipping the loin cloth down his legs. His bludgeon stood boldly at its textbook 45 degrees; its spongy, swollen glans was mauve-tinted as if blushing from the corridor encounter. “She’s the maid who saw us at that bridge game, laughing every time she caught my eye. They Love seeing white fellas like us…”

He groped for the word.

“…degraded.”

His hammer-hard erection wobbled as he struggled with the rusty locker.

Said Mark, stepping out of his loin cloth, “Don’t forget those two maids at Mrs Reilly’s watching us strip off? Eyes like saucers!” His ample cock was subsiding, his balls lowering.

“Lucky we can’t afford a maid,” said Jimmy Fraser, whose dad drove a truck for Black Hawke Meats. “It’s bad enough with three sisters laughing at me in pink g-strings!”

As his erection retreated the tall, gaunt boy with his bass voice felt his ball sac loosen and hang lower between his furry thighs.

Stevie was the first to strip off the loin cloth, detach his snake skin belt from his hanging dungarees and clip them at his waist. If anything his little member became even harder, certainly released a big dollop of fluid.

Looking at their companion the three agreed wearing just a belt was to be…well, totally naked. But their submission to the ruling female spirit meant fellas just followed orders. They shamefully clipped their snakeskin belts around their waists and, in moccasins and head feathers, trailed silently back into the corridor.

Zelma and Louise were mopping the floor. They caught their breaths at the sight, although now only Stevie and Rodney- both so stimulated by exposure to female eyes, or the promise of it- were standing at a hammer hard 45 degrees. The cocks on Mark and Jimmy hung like fire hoses, folds of scrotal sack draping on either side.

The promise of female eyes? More eyes? A staff room door suddenly opened and there emerged thin nosed, spectacled 45 year old Miss Breakwell, a new staff member, turning to face the four head-on.

She had moved to Brewer only at the weekend as senior English teacher, taking the class in which all four boys- happy coincidence- were enrolled. She savoured getting to know the athletic young men in all her classes, with their crew cuts and ducks butt hair, boys who smelt of Brylcreem, or soap from their showers after basketball, often in short sleeves that showed off roped forearms dusted with fine hair.

For Miss Breakwell, spinster with romantic instincts, it was stimulating to observe the jutting in their flies when she summoned them to stand and read a poem, or go the blackboard to write a line from Macbeth. The girls would even twist in their seats to take note of an erection trapped in the trouser leg of a blushing, young athlete standing to answer her snapping questions about split infinitives or dangling modifiers.

A conversation with Ada Braithwaite hinted that watching 18 year olds swim nude was a real possibility although it had to be planned with care, in partnership with the boys’ coach. And didn’t the school doctor, Dr Speight, say something about female teachers needing to be present at boys’ inspection?

But, without warning, here they were…

…wearing nothing but Indian feathers and belts…

…facing her now…

…in the corridor outside the teachers’ study!

“My goodness! Boys from my class!”

She was blocking their passage.

“In Indian headdress. And…not much else. In fact you boys are just about bare buck naked! In birthday suits! Goodness. Aren’t you…Rodney?”

And her eyes fell to his sturdy white projection which, too late, he tried to cover with both hands.

Hands pressed to his groin he bent over, in embarrassed naked boy posture. He realised he looked ludicrous.

“Yes, Miss, Rodney…Rodney Ricketson.”

“And you are Stevie? Isn’t that right?”

The short, hirsute boy nodded, hands rigid by his side, close to fainting with pleasure, loving the touch of her gaze on his gallant little erection.

How he hungered for exposure like this. “Keep looking at it dear Miss Breakwell,” he dared to pray. “Look at it all you want…laugh at how small it is…notice how stiff it is…take me home with you and keep me naked…”

“And you two young men?”

She addressed the two with dangling dicks, scrotums relaxed.

They gave their names.

She detained them as long as she decently could, asking them about this musical, about which she had heard a little, and for which they were obviously- judging by the headdress and moccasins- going to rehearse. Would they be singing and dancing? Were the costumes authentic- these belts, she asked gesturing at Mark’s waist and suppressing a smile. Did they rehearse with girls? And- somewhat slyly- would their mothers embroider the final version of their Indian-style belts for “dress” rehearsal?

“And help you try them on?”

Her voice trailed off, edged with mischief…and excitement.

As the boys stumbled out answers, her eyes flickered over their bodies.

How lovely to see four boys in her class in their birthday suits- two with happy teenage erections presented for her delectation.

And all four so delightfully bashful, blushing, shamed. Did she imagine it, or were the pricks of Mark and Jimmy beginning to inflate?

Time finally to let them pad off.

“See you in class, boys.”

Tomorrow she would see about attending their rehearsals. Also about assisting Dr Speight. And colluding with that ludicrous swimming coach about slipping into the boys’ classes. Boys needed fans, not least mature age women their mothers’ age, to cheer them on.

Under the sheet in her bed in the female rooming house- Zeitbloom Accomodation for Ladies on Maple Street – she would have a lot, that summer night, to think about.

Part Two: Glen and Mrs Leverkuhn, the door-to-door missionary lady.

Glen sat on the sofa, next to the door-to-door missionary Miss Eliza Leverkuhn, with her kindly brown eyes and her immaculate pencil-thin lavender suit, her needle-work blouse, her white kid-skin gloves.

The portrait of Christ looked down on them, and the Scandinavian furniture and the TV and the copies of Readers Digest and The Saturday Evening Post.

Glen’s towel was bunched over his groin. His heart ran wild, to be naked in the company of this compassionate older lady who was taking him under her wing, like an aunt. Hell! He was buff naked…apart from the scrunched up towel on his lap! But so close he could smell her Max Factor perfume! So strange…to be sitting this close, just a towel bunched in his lap, his cock hard as a hammer under it!

“No, not the first time,” and she broke into a throaty laugh. “No, not by any means.”

And she thought, fingers of one hand on her chin.

“I’ve found that here in Brewer males are just waiting for female canvassers to knock…and spring to action, flinging open the door and presenting themselves in towels, sometimes really short towels. Comically short. Pretending to be caught showering when we all know they’ve been watching at the window. Hotel maids say the same thing- happens everyday.”

The boy’s eyes widened.

She put one hand on his knee. Her touch…was so nice!

“‘Yes, for us door to door missionaries half a dozen times on any afternoon. Dads are home from the diary or timber mill or accountants office…big dads, smelling of pipe tobacco with pencil moustaches and hairy chests, and mothers not due home for some hours. ‘The towel just fell away, oh, I’m so sorry.’ And their funny organs are always sticking up, hard as roof beams and leaking already. Thrilled that we ladies at the front door are looking. Also, of course, the 18 year old athletes…”

“Boys…other boys…do it?” he gulped.

Again she threw her head back and laughed.

“If their parents aren’t home! Two streets away, a boy you might know- very athletic, red haired, his body shaved for that school musical…and a very large organ. It frightened my partner and she ran off. He was shivering with excitement and allowed his towel to slip from his waist and fall to his feet. I had to spend some time with him in prayer and counselling to calm him down.”

Had to be Rodney Ricketson, thought Glen.

And how exciting to hear Miss Leverkuhn talk about a boy’s “large organ.”

She told him about another boy with a shaved body who was also “boldly endowed…” and came to the door in a small pink piece of “feminine” underwear held in place by a string…

“Just fancy, a posing strap. Pink! And this 18 year old wanted to show himself off in it, to strange ladies at his front door. He quickly stumbled out that his mother made him wear them and he was forbidden to cover up, even if female visitors arrived.”

Mark, thought Glen! That’s gotta be Mark!

“Not that it hid much!”

She told him about an older man who looked like a body builder, tanned all over…

“Rather like you in that respect, Glen…”

He blushed. His “all over” tan, acquired by the lake, suggested boyish naughtiness in the outdoors.

“…and shaven smooth as a statue. We thought his old mother was peeping from down the corridor…yes, even as he allowed his towel to tumble Free!”

“Was his hair flat…and bleached blond?”

“Him precisely!”

“That’s our school coach, Gordon Compton!”

“And his organ while very rigid was smaller than any of the boy’s…smaller than your lovely steed,” she added, now reaching with both hands…

…taking hold of the folded towel…

…pausing, and offering him a sweet smile…

…and lifting the towel completely off!

Whoosh!

Leaving Glen seated on the sofa, blushing…with his elegant and slightly curved organ rising from his thighs.

There was silence.

Bending over to look at its details she said, “My oh my, I can see why you are so proud of your young manhood.”

She looked at it with rapt admiration. She pulled the kidskin glove off her right hand.

“Your stalk has a very fine network of veins, a healthy sign…”

Her soft, feminine fingers reached out and touched the stem, reverentially.

Glen knew at this point this lady would never report him to his parents.

Her fingers moved higher and fondled his glans.

“What a lovely head, or to use the proper name…glans penis!”

Her fingers rotated over the spongy surface. He gasped.

“I’ve regretted seeing so many young men left uncircumcised. A tight foreskin so often constricts the growth of the glans. Keeps it from growing nice and well shaped. Your bellend…”

Glen trembled at her words. Bellend!

“…by contrast, had room to expand, especially, I imagine in the last few years, and to become plushy…”

Plushy!

“…and beautifully sculpt.”

He gasped with astonishment at what she was saying and doing. She was massaging his glans in her soft palm

“Soft as satin! Why, Glen it’s a lovely mushroom you’ve got decorating the end of your stem!”

The feeling on the close-packed nerve endings! Glen was close to fainting with pleasure!

“Goodness! You are emitting a strong flow of Cowper’s fluid. Look, all this sticky wetness! I’ll spread it up and down your stem…that’s how it’s meant to work. I’ve never seen this much on a young man. Your reproductive function seems sooo healthy.”

Up and down his silky stem she spread the fluid.

The boy was putty in her hands.

She was now fingering his sac.

The scent of Max Factor flavoured the air. And something else. A smell intimate, sour, anatomical.

“And what I Love down here is how, even with your scrotum tugged upwards by your sturdy erection, we can still feel your testicles in their two compartments.”

She tickled his balls.

“And how nice to have a hairless sac! A sweet, innocent unhaired scrotum. Just right for an attractive young man. Quite glabrous.”

She patted it.

He gasped with shock, with pleasure.

“Yes, smooth as a billiard ball.”

She now felt underneath his ball bag.

“This is what we call your penis bulb…the root of your organ…and further along we have your perineum- sensitive isn’t it?”

Her fingers were so delicate…her nails so ticklish…

He nodded, eyes half closed in a far away look.

She extended her exploration.

“And we know what this is, don’t we?”

She was flicking around his hole.

He nearly gasped.

“I wonder what nick names..?”

Without thinking he drew on his encounter with Gloria hours earlier.

“Twinkle hole.”

And quickly blushed.

“Twinkle hole! How delightful! I’m tickling Glen’s little twinkle hole!”

He melted inside.

And within seconds he was submissive to her following request, with its air of inevitability. He was on his feet, back to her. He was bending over…and with hands behind, parting his small, tight mounds to expose the inside of his hairless intergluteal cleft…

“I can’t believe I’m doing something so…bad!” he thought.

…so that, just as Gloria had done, this missionary lady could extend an exploratory red-painted finger nail and trace and probe the tiny wrinkled circle…while the boy nearly swooned with the shame…

…with the sensation.

Later as this lovely lady was using the towel to mop his torso, Glen was lying back, eyes closed, smiling slightly. He was suffused. He reflected on all those males like him, answering doors to female canvassers with fragile towels ready to slither off, with fellas like Rodney and Mark recruited to the refined pleasures of nude humiliation. Enforced by mothers, and schools and, even it seemed, missionaries from the church, then…well, being stripped by girls and women was the way it had to be.

We are objects. For their pleasure.

She mopped the last driblets from the slit on his “well sculpt” bellend.

How happy, he thought, to submit.

it might be, he thought, a deal with the devil.

Part Three: Boys in belts present themselves.

The four knocked and, hearing her sharp metallic voice command “enter!” trooped into Miss Cuff’s office with its Broadway and show business posters and memorabilia. She commanded them to “present themselves” in a row…

…with hands behind their backs.

Obedient as ever, they shuffled into line. Hands at their rears.

The girls–Samantha Fulbright, Betty Anderson and Milly Slink- stared with rioting excitement.

WOW!

Rodney and Stevie were hard as roof beams and, embarrassingly, both trailing spider webs of sticky fluid from their slits. Jimmy’s cock was filling out but not yet stiffening. He might be saved this embarrassment. It was touch and go. Mark was beginning to rigidify- the encounter with Miss Breakwell- hell! Being seen nude by his new English teacher!- had stirred him. His penis was pointing at the floorboards. Stiffening for sure.

The fleshy foreskin had retracted, his glans poked Free, as if to show off its silky, spongy, well-sculpt roundness to the eyes of the females.

Even Miss Cuff was momentarily distracted, staring at Mark’s emerging glans.

“The belts?”

Samantha put the question.

“A success I think,” said the drama teacher, rising and advancing on Mark. She reached for his snakeskin…

The boy closed his eyes as her fingers approached his waist.

…and the teacher tugged it higher, but her eyes were lower, staring hard at his midriff.

He felt a column of her breath on his left nipple.

Milly observed a jolt in his penis stem. Yes, it was hardening. The boy’s cock was fleshing out.

“Or lower?” Miss Cuff did not give up. Arranging and rearranging the belt at different heights, standing back, observing the result, a hand on her chin. She extended this for five minutes, Mark suffering acutely.

His cock stretched. It began to rise.

“Samantha, Betty, Milly…is this the effect you were after?”

What? A stiff dick? Samantha couldn’t help grinning.

And it was a cue for them to move closer.

And stare, as Mark’s cock jerked upwards.

It now pointed parallel to the floor. Long, thick, white, veins full. Oh hell! The boy was suffering.

Samantha said she thought the height fine but…

She moved close and daringly took it in both sets of fingers…

…and tugged it lower.

That her finger nails had lingered on the boy’s flesh was clear to them all.

Mark’s cock jerked, like a naval gun rising.

“Betty?”

It was appropriate that each girl got to align and realign Mark’s belt, to step back and reflect on her handiwork while the boy’s member jerked to full, 45 degree stand- as if with a life of its own, it chose to rear upwards and proudly display its ventral side- its underbelly with pumping artery, bunched up frenulum, the heart-shaped coronal edge- for the sight of the women.

The underside of Mark’s voluminous penis.

After staring, the females, silent and satisfied, moved onto Jimmy.