Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 14

Now Teddy stepped out on the log. The 19 year old with the crew cut presented a fetching picture.

"Oh! Look at this fella..."

And in a hushed voice the lady added, "...and what an interesting...(shall I say) shape to it!"

They giggled. Teddy's banana-shaped, wide-helmeted, collie-hat of an erection wobbled back at them, as he stepped gingerly forward across the elm.

"Oh, what a photo that would make!"

"He'll make a fine nudist. Naughty boy's already got a fine all-over tan."

He fell into their arms.

"Caught you!"

"Ohhh! His...his thing touched me!"

"Don't be embarrassed, fella! We see sights like you here all the time!"

"Careful, sonny. Don't scratch your little tush on those nettles!"

Rodney was venturing across, long boney feet testing the wood.

"Here we go! Look at the red head!"

"Goodness!"

"Wow!"

"Big boy!"

"Pick the real log!"

Much laughter. Embarrassed, Rodney appeared to totter, then found his balance. His heavy half erect penis appeared to point the way forward.

He tumbled into their arms.

"Ow! It jabbed me!"

"Lucky you!"

And one of them in an undertone, added, "Just look at that head on it!"

As their arms embraced the nude boy they wanted to how he had lost his pubic curls. He stammered out answers. "Musical...at school...Miss Cuff...drama teacher...boys play Red Indians..." Telling them about it, he became fully engorged. All those memories of rehearsals and modelling. Jerk...jerk! To full stand! Their attention was absolute.

"So you were shaved for this school show? To look like an Indian?"

"They get girls to do it! Never heard of such a thing! Look at him! Smooth as an egg!"

And hands reached out to stroke.

And for the rest of the journey- what Oakwood called its "the forest circuit walk"- there were parties of females, in waiting, standing off to left and right, so that as Rodney padded past his long erection was in perfect sight, on proud display; as was the equipment of Teddy and Bud. Needless to report, girls covered their giggles, older females looked on, smiling knowingly. The boys blushed deeply, as Ira Gladgrip, cheerful as a Girl Guide captain, led the way along the winding path and the three girls followed the boys' clenching and unclenching glutes.

Table tennis was sweet fun too- for Stevie, for example, who leapt and sprang around in a match with Miss Arabella Houters, a 52 year old German-born vegetarian and fitness fantastic. Her body was nut brown but Stevie and the 30 or so observers saw little of it, in her cut-off shorts and blouse knotted at the navel. They saw a lot of Stevie, whose limp little penis and testicle sack flew in all directions as he sprang and leapt to keep pace with her and whose small, tight glute muscles tightened and flexed.

"She's slaying him. The poor fella can't keep up!"

"Knowing we're watching his every move probably explains it."

"Just imagine how he must feel..."

"No sympathy from me! He and his friends came here expecting to be looking us over- taste of their own medicine."

Mrs Lanbourne guided her Stevie away.

He was heaving, both from the pain of humiliation and the exhaustion of the match.

She steered him to a hollow in the thick spruce, with a picnic table and benches. She took him in her arms and helped him to sit on her knees. With soothing maternal fingers- those long elegant fingers he so admired- she took his erection- at this moment he swooned with relief and pleasure- and she stroked his narrow, short member. Stevie placed an arm around her neck, buried his face in her lustrous perfumes and surrendered himself to thoughts of the things that had happened this day.

He thought of that moment when he walked out of the change room and came face to face with Mrs Lavender and the other females who quickly starting laughing at his total nudity. Ohhhhhhhhhh! What rich humiliation that had been- the intent looks of those girls, eyes fastened on his punchy hardon. He thought of that game of volleyball when, with all those dressed girls and women packed tight, he had been forced to prance around and feel his short penis and little ballsac flap and slap against his groin. And whenever he looked he saw them looking right at it. He savoured the memory; the sweet humiliation flooded his system, the dressed females looking and laughing at him...

...her fingers stroked his erection...he sunk into the rich, sweet feelings...

...he thought of the forest walk that a Mom and her daughters had steered him on, with two of the boys from the Y, boys with strong, veiny pricks, wide as roof beams, and the girls had teased him hovering at his rear, telling him in whispers they could see all his bottom and liked the way it flexed and unflexed and asked him if his little cock was standing up and how he must hate being naked when they were dressed...

...Mrs Lavender's fingers worked on his glans and frenulum, on the tip of his cock...ahhhhhhh...

...he thought of that walk across the lawn to the volleyball when girls and ladies had streamed across to catch him and the other naked boys stepping high as the needles stung their soles, most of them erect and one girls had pointed and said, "Oh, look at that boy's cute little thingie!" and two mature ladies had looked and laughed...

...suddenly Stevie felt a surge...

...he clung Mrs Lanbourne around her neck...

...and...

...the first cannonade shot high, landed in the hair of his head...

...the second hit his face with a slap and drained down his nose and trailed off the tip...

...the third splashed onto his hairy chest.

Stevie expired clinging to his friend, head pressed to her bosom, imbibing a mix of his fresh sperm and her perfume. After a minute he looked up into her loving, lambent brown eyes and thought again of the song, the hit from Broadway, played every day on radio: "Hey, you with the stars in your eyes. Love never made a fool of you. You used to be so wise..."

The stars in her eyes sparkled back at him, naked boy on her lap.

A V-shaped flock of Canada geese flew high above, honking its satisfaction.

From the campgrounds Mrs Lavender was summoning all to the final event.

It was the surprise to mark the end of this visitors' day, the one she had promised that morning.

It was a brilliant twist.

Thrilling to all the females. Fun for the club members. Terrifying horrible for the trapped male visitors.

All convened on the smooth outdoor timber dance floor.

"Our final event of the day..."

Mrs Lavender was excited. Her eyes blazed.

"...is square dancing!"

Square dancing! The 1950s square dancing boom was in full swing.

Cheers from club members, looks of bewilderment from the boys.

"Us? We gotta dance?" asked one of the YMCA swimming club members, hands on his hips. His broad beamed white prick inflated, ready to rear.

Asked Big Jim Folsom, standing with his petite prick at half stand and his huge, ungainly testicle sack hanging low, "We go and get dressed for this, right?"

Thought Tommy Cortisol, surely she's gonna let us put on boxers...at least boxers...if we gotta get out there and dance with girls- dressed girls. Like the two girls standing on either side of him, in shorts and T shirts tied at the waist, grinning down at the boy's long, narrow prick standing out parallel to the ground. "Boxers at least," he prayed, seeing the head of his mother Nora in the crowd of onlookers. She was smiling.

It was dawning on them- Rodney and his friends, Big Jim and his buddies from Mrs Molloy's, the swimmers from St Paul Y, Bud Barnacle and his Dad Bob- dawning on them all.

They would be dancing- square dancing- in their birthday suits with dressed females.

Mrs Lavender laughed.

"Fellas, you came here for a day of nudist fun. And square dancing is one of our activities. And the news is- you are all getting out on that dance floor just like you are! That is, in your birthday suits!"

There was a bustle and confusion but, then, it all fell into place. Rodney was taken in hand by the same Mrs Ira Gladgrip who had escorted him on his forest walk. She may have been in her 50s- hell! as old as his mother!- and her khaki shorts stretched on her wide thighs. The two of them- the stark naked boy and the big mature woman- formed one side of a square that had, as another side, one of Big Jim's buddies, hand in hand with a freckle faced girl with plaits in denim shorts and loose fitting T shirt. She seemed proud of her partner. The young man was shuffling and looking at the floor. He had a hard, fit laborer's body; his cock, uncut with a big overhang of foreskin, was threatening to stretch.

Forming another side of their square was one of the YMCA swimmers- square chested, fury blond hair on his tummy, a regulation cock hanging from his defined Adonis belt. He, too, didn't know where to look as his partner, a beaming Mom with heavy lipstick and red and white polka dot blouse, merrily swung his arm back and forward while she chattered away.

"How d'ya like Oakwood? Pretty nice country, eh?"

She was resolutely cheerful. And, as she playfully swung his arm back and forth, there was nothing else to do but mumble answers, standing next to her, holding hands, stark naked, his prick getting stiff.

"And going clothes-free? Guess you like that experience? The freedom?"

His cock stretched and lifted itself from his ball sack.

Gripped by shame, in a still lower voice, he mumbled, "Oh...yeah...that's...alright, I guess..."

She looked down at what was happening in his groin.

"Oh, I think boys like you find going nude pretty swell."

And the other side of their square was formed by poor Tommy Cortisol whose erection was stubborn and resilient, baton-thin and throbbing. He was too was frozen with shame. But his partner- a girl with black hair and rosy cheeks who wore tight jeans and pink blouse- switched between looking at it, smiling incredulously and looking around to check that others were aware of it too; grinning if she caught their gaze and pointing back at the boy's cock with a look that said, "Yes, it's incredible, isn't it?" Shaking her head with disbelief.

And so it went around the dance floor: there were five squares, each square comprised four couples each forming a side to the square, each couple comprising a dressed female and a male in the buff, blushing to his core. And crowding the edges of the dance floor were the Oakwood nudists, the males nude and the females dressed. All of the audience were raucous at the spectacle they were witnessing, especially when a nut brown veteran nudist, Amos Howlworthy, picked up his fiddle and another nut brown veteran nudist, John Chivery, took the mike and laid down the procedure. He was the caller.

The square dancing was about to start.

Fortunately all Minnesota school students had the moves drilled into them. And danced at church and family gatherings. Square dancing was as familiar as Corn Flakes, Father Knows Best and the Mickey Mouse Club, the smile of President Eisenhower.

The fiddling started.

The hypnotic voice of the caller chimed up.

"Bow to your partner!"

And the most touching and comic thing! Each naked boy turned to his partner and bowed! Rodney turned to Mrs Gladgrip in her khakis and her Sierra hiking boots, faced her, put one hand on his tummy and one in the small of his back...and bowed to her. Thick white penis pointing in front of him, parallel to the floor. Bowed, one hand in front, one in the small of his back! Bowed! It was so...

"Oh, isn't it cute!"

"Oh, how sweet!"

"Oh, I just love this!"

The women, packed tight watching them, were thrilled. Just thrilled. To see Big Jim with his outsize ball bag hanging to his knees turn and bow...or Mark...or Kerry with his slanting prick rearing...or Tommy Cortisol with his funny erection rearing hard and long and narrow...

...each of them, like a little mannequin, turns and faces his dressed female partner, and one hand on his front and one behind, politely bows!

Then another demand from John Chiver, their caller, at the mike.

"Bow to the square!"

And then, having bowed blushingly to their partners, they had to step forward and bow to the square itself!

While the fiddle squeaked away.

The bowing- looked so quaint!

"Men to circle!"

Dancers stepped forward and moved around each other, turning in a clockwise direction for four or more counts. Then dancers broke out of the swing. The lady continued turning to her right until facing the same direction as the man. Touchingly they re-formed as a couple.

And so it went.

Cocks and balls swung, erections reared and retreated, boys struggled to look emotionless and stare straight ahead and avoid the look of their dressed, grinning female partner and avoid catching the eye of any of the watching crowd.

The audience were in hysterics as they watched. Naked males and dressed members of the club were falling about, laughing till they cried, leaning on one another's shoulders, clutching their middles. Nora Barnacle saw the intent, nervous look on the face of her son, Bud, tripping around his partner, a lady in head scarf and a pair of shorts and floral blouse.

Nora thought, "Oh no, I cannot believe my eyes. This Mrs Lavender is an evil genius. Look what she has orchestrated. Every male in his birthday suit, every female dressed. Executing these cute little steps. So sweet. Everything the male has on perfect display. Those bows! Those tripping steps! The circles! The handholding! The balls swinging and the cocks- oh, I would guess half of them- getting stiff! And there he is- my teenage boy, crew cut, snub nose and freckles! Yes, right out of Leave-it-to -Beaver but...stripped to the buff.

"And here it comes...his homely, boy-next-door regulation penis pointing out! This settles it: we will keep him naked home most of the time, certainly when his Dad's not there. On the other hand, what about him and his Dad being both kept naked? Bob with his little cock on display for his daughters..."

"Circles!" ordered the caller.

Dancers joined hands to form a circle; they faced slightly left or right as directed and moved forward around the circle. Tripping as directed, the boys continued to present a fetching sight. Boy...girl...boy...girl: the females beaming, their eyes roaming their partners bared bodies, the males eyes downcast or looking expressionless ahead.

"Oh, those dancing bottoms...how sweet!"

"And not one boy who will look us in the eye!"

It was the daughters of Mrs Lanbourne, thrilled at the spectacle.

"Men, form a star!"

Male dancers formed a star.

"Men, arm around your partner!"

Each, as directed, placed an arm around the waist of his partner. It was, in all cases, a polite, tentative arm. Each boy was almost crippled with embarrassment. To feel a skirt against his bare hips! To know her downcast eyes were checking out your equipment! Rodney was blushing red as a fire hydrant and Stevie..! The little fella had to stretch his arm around the wide waist of the biggest of the ladies, Miss Marigold Merdle, in her 50s and a veteran of Oakwood, recruited to nudism by her Dad when she was a blushing 18 year old maiden, now a veteran of many sunny days of gazing at nude males. Still, however, a virgin.

She liked Stevie leaning into her. She resolved to bounce him through all the moves. She loved the fact her partner, gripping her waist, had a 45 degree erection. Even if he- if it- were in miniature.

"Turn the star," directed their caller, John Chivery. "And promenade the distance." So each boy, in his birthday suit, his arm around his dressed female partner- mature age Mom or frisky girl- was forced to trip ahead, genitals sticking right out in many cases. Naked as a jay but coupled to a dressed female.

And so it went. For what seemed hours. There was only one way for it to become even funnier- for the members of the club that is. And that was when Mrs Lavender retreated to the administration cabin and returned with half a dozen cowboy hats- real rodeo style- and had boys put them on. Rodney, his body shaved, never looked more nude than that moment when he recommenced the dance- executed to a slow Appalachian tempo- wearing his Western head gear and Mrs Lavender kept the dancing going until every one of the 15 boys had a chance to play a nude, square dancing cowboy.

Didn't Tommy Cortisol look a treat in his hat, stumbling with long stick-like erection leading him on? Perplexed, as he clutched the waist of the black haired, rosy cheeked girl who never stopped laughing at him and his clumsy steps and jutting prick.

And Bud Barnacle, his Mom and sisters in apoplectic explosions of mirth when he tripped around his square erect and behatted, all tense and anxious knowing his family was fixated on him, and conscious that his five incher was either poking ahead or standing right up. He had been paired with that broad, brazen Mom, lips painted a searing red. Oh, the sight of him hugging her waist or taking a polite little naked bow in front of her while she smirked disbelieving.

And somehow Big Jim looked every bit the naked cowboy under his Stetson, his bull-like scrotal sack just off the range or out of a cowboys' barracks. His buddy, too, with the long foreskin overhang seemed somehow suited to the romance of the cowboy era before circumcision of her male infant became the young American mother's cruel goal.

Even this- all this richness- had to end.

The day was lengthening.

The waterfowl were heading home, in the sunset.

That year's Hollywood epic was Picnic, in technicolor CinemaScope, a comedy-drama starring William Holden and Kim Novak, set in a small Kansas town and was steamy, by the standards of the time. Winning two Academy awards its wide-screen cinematography was considering daring, especially the final scene- the first ever aerial shot in movie-making, a horizon-to-horizon view of the landscape that had hosted the adventures of the characters.

If the movie technique of broad aerial shot were now applied to Oakwood we would be looking down on them all, enjoying a helicopter-style view, or that of a Canada goose, watching our caste of characters dispersing to their cabins and the change rooms, getting into their cars and driving back to the Twin Cities.

From the air we might view Bob Barnacle who opted to stay behind, steering his wide, hairy belly and acorn penis into the admin block to negotiate a deal on a one week cabin stay with Mrs Lavender. His rapport with the leader of Minnesota nudism seemed complete, as he stood before her, she at her desk, his glans penis a foot from her nose, and she invited herself to visit his cabin once he was settled" she needed, she said, to make sure the "facilities" worked. She said all the day visitors would be gone by then.

"We will be back to normal."

Which meant she would be naked too.

She looked at his half hidden penis. And watched it twitch and stretch.

From our aerial view we would see Bob's wife Nora. She now drove the children homewards with Bud in the back seat between his two sisters, naked as the day that he was born. Crew cut, freckled, snub nosed: the all American teenage boy. But he was sitting there in his birthday suit- although when they reached the diner, his Mom had promised, he would be allowed to pull on his shorts.

"But when we get home it's going to be new rules. Understand, Bud? You've got to get used to be naked with females around. None of this silly embarrassment or...constant adolescent excitement."

His sisters giggled, not missing the reference to his penis, and looked at the five inch erection sticking out of his groin, its upturned edges around the corona exciting their interest and curiosity.

"Mom, Bud's thingie is not anywhere as long or thick as that red haired boy's. Will it keep growing? And his other thing- the bag down there- is way smaller than that man's..."