Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 20

"He has very heavy testicles indeed. 'Baubles' he calls them. But you two have nothing to be ashamed of."

All this discussion of their characteristics made them feel weak and gooey inside.

Their eyes glazed dreamily.

Each began to finger his penis head, smoothing out the viscous fluids, and soon running their fingers up and down the stems, while the lady continued her commentary in her lovely soft voice.

She said that St Paul was very focused on chastity. He did not want young males to have sexual relations outside marriage and wanted as many as possible to have no association with females at all. To stay unmarried. According to the researches of her husband, the saint can be assumed to have seen "self pleasuring" as no sin at all and he even believed he encouraged "masturbation circles" in the churches he founded, fraternities of young men pledged to avoid women but needing release from urges that accompany manhood. Helping one another.

After all, Paul was a Greek speaker and lived in a Greek culture and those illustrations on vases tell us everything we need to know about their love of nudity...

...even their display of erections, to one another.

These words- daring and yet calming- seemed to hypnotise the boys. John and Bud, eyes unfocused, moved their fingers...up and down. Almost robotically.

Hell, they started fingering themselves! Right there in front of Mrs Pebbles!

She kept up her chatter. She said Reverend Pebbles believed the first Christians must have masturbated together in one another's households, beginning with prayers and likely using unguents and oils.

Indeed the Reverend Pebbles believed that the gatherings of early Christians for fellowship dinners probably devolved into games that resembled strip poker. Instead of sitting around in robes they would have lounged on settees wearing loin cloths or a cloth resembling a towel, ready to be discarded. Even the Last Supper might have become a dinner like those celebrated on Ancient Greek vases, the males nude and aroused.

"And sexual relief among themselves was an alternative to wickedness with females. Better to get some relief with your buddies and go back to working for god instead of just pining for the opposite sex."

Both boys were fingering their stems, wild eyed at these thoughts. Mrs Pebbles was teaching that jacking off was all right!

And right now they were doing it...

...and it felt meltingly beautiful with her watching them at it...

...and talking about it!

She invited John Lawrence to talk about masturbation- even as, sitting under her gaze, his fingers worked at his stem. With a hesitation of some seconds the boy set aside all restraint and confessed that this last week he had done it several times every night...

He looked bashful at the confession but obliged to offer only the truth, giving the setting they were in and the church's teachings on penance.

...thinking, he said, about what had happened at swimming- "being looked at by girls...and ladies."

Yes, being looked at by her.

"I was hoping it would happen again." He said this as his hypnotised gaze stayed locked in hers.

He blushed deeply at letting out the truth, as he continued to squeeze and fondle his upright organ with its well shaped glans.

But she smiled back so lovingly. She didn't have to say she accepted his confession. She didn't have to say she granted him penance.

Bud confessed that he thought he produced more fluid than other boys- his slimy stem confirmed it at least in respect of Cowper's fluid- and had once masturbated five times on a Saturday.

The thought seemed to drive him to go faster...up and down. The horror of doing this, with Mrs Pebbles watching, drove him harder.

Both were trembling. Both quickened the pace. Which made her smile more beatifically.

Her eyes moved from one groin to the other.

"It's nice how your testicles bounce around while you masturbate...on both of you...oh look at yours, John, jiggling away...very boyish...and how very stiff you both are...oh look at your stiffness, John, you must be hard as a rock...and you, Bud, you must be loving that sensation...I can see your balls jiggling too and you are hard as a hammer. Yes, I can appreciate the two of you must feel so very, very strange to have a grown-up lady watching while you go to it...pleasuring yourselves..."

Their eyes were glazed, locked into hers.

"...masturbating..."

They went faster.

"...like monkeys..."

They continued the motions, indeed could not have stopped.

"...totally naked...stiff...and in front of a lady..."

God!

Hell!

"...who can see your testicles jiggling all directions...can see, yes, your balls..."

Ohhhhhhhh, they were cumming...

"...naughty Sunday school boys...nude...and jerking on your dicks right in front of me!"

John exploded first...

Splash!

...and ropes flew in all directions and suddenly all his dense dark hair was matted, up and down and from left to right, with ropes of pearly sperm.

Bud gagged...grunted...gasped...and his eyes widened as a geyser of milky fluid shot past his face high into the air then landed with a splash on both thighs...then another which splashed onto his chest...and a third which matted his pubic bush.

They fell back in their chairs, looking like they had been fired from circus cannons.

Mrs Pebbles beamed.

She seemed fulfilled. Suffused.

"Amen," she said.

For the gasping boys it was a benediction.

Oh, what a fuckin' joy that was, thought John.

Shit, when can we do this again, thought Bud.

And thank the Lord for Saint Paul, they both thought.

Johnny Marcello and the canvassers...

His telepathy half worked. The idea that this stuff on the settee was predestined- a girl on either side of him, him nude. But it was the girl with freckles and cats eyes glasses who was focused on his ballsac, the one with the woefully flat chest who squeezed his fat glans.

"Goodness, it's...it's...like a mushroom. Look, I squeeze it...and a tear appears in the slit! See? Do all boys have these on the end of their sticks? What are they called? And do you like it when I touch it?"

Glazed eyed, and dreamily drifting, Johnny could only whisper, "It's a bellend...it's my bellend. All boys...and, yeah, I like it when you touch it...my thick bellend..."

The other one could not stop tracing the furrows on Johnny's sac with her finger nails...patting gently the marbles inside...stretching the skin with thumb and forefinger...tickling his perineal raphe all the way to his bottom hole...giving the balls a little juggle.

"So funny to have this big purse just hanging here, under your pole...it's so lovely and soft."

And round and round her fingers explored and flickered.

Johnny felt suspended. In a trance. An ecstatic trance.

It was the trance of the exhibitionist who finds that at this moment he is the centre of all attention, of the known universe.

If earlier his foretelling had told him one of these girls sitting on the sofa would be entranced by his glans, the other by his testicles and scrotum, his instincts now told him that within minutes one would be lying on the carpet her tartan skirts rolled up and panties kicked free, inviting him to slide his banana dick into the syrupy recess between her legs...

...and the other would be coaxing him from his seat to do his duty...

...with the understanding that, performed on her friend, he would be ready and able to slide that white banana-bent shaft between her own legs.

His towel lay discarded in the hallway.

The joy of being stark naked...

...a dressed girl on either side...

...enchanted by his cock and balls...

...this, was worth the wait.

Miss Cuff's poem in praise of 18 and 19 year old pricks...

It was late at night, in a dowdy common room in the college, a hour after the riotous audience reaction to the night's performance. A triumph for the college and its collaborators. A coven of instructors was present, Miss Cuff of course, some of the most favoured girls. None prepared to let the evening go, not yet. The air was thick with the fug of their Chesterfields and Camels and head of the college drama department Martha Bagnet, pince nez on her nose, had even ignited her corn cob pipe with Arrowhead tobacco ladled from a chamois pouch.

As the J and B whiskey was drained- and from a console table, Louise Gladhand, was mixing Singapore Slings and Tom Collins- the conversation roamed over the humiliations inflicted on the boys in their tights- or in their birthday suits. There was drawn out congratulations for Mrs Carruthers- and her assistant Yuela- for finding material thin almost to transparency. They and their two Negro accomplices from the school cleaning staff beamed.

"Oh, my god, it showed everything!" said Barb Jones, who had recited Hamlet's Ophelia, thinking of Rodney and Mark on either side of the stage, standing tall with hands behind their backs while the tights flattened very firm erections and displayed every contour under the sheath-like material and lightest of colours. The female audience had been enchanted by the size of the sex organs. Everything a sex-starved 50s-something mother might have yearned for. Girls had been excited too, by the sight of the boys almost nude and by the fact they were both....soooooo very ashamed. Goodness, they had found it so arousing that males could suffer such humiliation.

And in the next act it was Stevie Lynton and Jimmy Fraser who wrenched attention from a fine delivery of Rosalind's speeches. It was in reference to this, that Rodney's sister, Sally, blurted that she loved the sight of Stevie, "the little fella" who had managed to "splotch all the front of his pale green tights" while the big boy behind him provided the contrast- he had a rod that stuck out so hard it stretched the front of the salmon pink fabric so that anyone might be tempted to drop her little hand down into the gap and feel around. That was poor Jimmy Fraser.

Again, it was hard to imagine boys more humiliated. Redder, or sweating more, closer to tears. And awkward about their hands, wanting to cover up but knowing they couldn't.

Then there were the boys whose penis heads stuck above the low-clinging waist of their tights and the bottom of his blouses rode so high that the sight could not be disguised. There was Larry Albright whose exposed upper three inches, skinny and wrinkled, were for many in the audience the stars of the show.

"And those tights were all very light colours...so they showed everything...like a relief sculpture anyway. That muscular Mark...in the brazenly pink tights! Oh my god! I could see the ruffles of his foreskin!"

And, saying this, Martha Bagnet nearly choked on her pipe tobacco, her jowls quaking and her pince nez nearly flying off the bridge of her nose.

Her friend was becoming overly agitated by the sights of the evening, thought Miss Cuff. Still, she liked that reference to the "ruffles" of Mark's foreskin. Miss Cuff liked Mark's foreskin, for that matter. So thick, not papery as with some other boys.

Which boy had the longest, which the thickest, which the smallest- Stevie and Carl were the prime candidates for this condescending accolade, and would have fainted with shame if they had heard the comments- and which the funniest: these were the subjects of drawn-out analysis.

How would any of these boys be able to look at these women folk again? Look sisters and cousins in the eye? Girls and teachers from their school?

Their own moms?

There was discussion of Rodney Ricketson- his had a huge mushroomy head, "big as a fist," said Kaye McKenzie, one of the student performers, nearly occupying a third of his stem she said. Kaye had closed in on Rodney and his family after the final curtain call to be present at his drawn-out undressing. His sister Sally had insisted on wiping him down with a damp towel with a lot of attention to his stubbornly rigid organ. And Sally had taken her time about it. Oh yes, dragged it out. Rodney was the last boy back in street clothes. As she later told her friends, Kaye had "copped an eyeful!"

And there was talk of the boy whose stem veered off to the left. An elegant prick though, avowed one of Kerry's admirers, truly elegant. But how must he have felt, asked Jenny Collander, a college administrator with garish make-up and a love for the cocktails, to have us all see that crooked slant? She had joined the family and stayed closed to Kerry during the removal of tights and his wipe down. It was Mrs Claverback, former naval nurse, who had moved the damp cloth all over the boy's shiny physique. During the extended phase, watching closely, Jenny had been charmed by the boy's slanted dick and good looks.

There was laughter when they discussed Kerry's penile slant, not least from Kerry's next door neighbour, Dorothy, who had lingered with the womenfolk rather than go home in the Studebaker. Kerry's extra shame at the end of the evening- stripped again under her eyesight- had been a bonus.

And those two young men who had not been shaven. Who still boasted their manly scrolls of pubic hair. Thrilling contrast with the smooth-bodied shaven boys. The ones with suntans from working nude in Mrs Reilly's garden. Teddy Fasolt had a penis that looked a toilet wall graffiti caricature! It curved! And the head was flamboyantly carved! Some considered his the sexiest prick there.

"Oh, no. The funniest must be that Larry's...long and thin with the small snake-head! That had to be the most hilarious cock in the whole darn event tonight!"

"Which he seemed to know anyway. I don't think any of them was more embarrassed."

That drew a snide comment from Martha Bagnet, looking at them through her pince nez.

"And who wouldn't be," she said. "With Nora Beecroft and Nancy Peptide drawing his clothes off, so decisively. And making him lower his tights a dozen times before they accepted they simply couldn't be yanked any higher and he would have to perform out there in that brazen condition! And stiff! It never subsided for a moment!"

"Well, the two have driven him home...I don't know what threat that represents to his virtue!"

Miss Cuff, floating on a sea of J and B, told the females she had been given by Mrs Reilly a poem in translation written by Chinese philosopher Confucius but censored from collections of his official works. Mrs Reilly's friend Senator Joseph McCarthy had located it through the work of a diligent staffer, young Roy Cohn, examining files on Red China at the Library of Congress. It dwelt on the subject they had revelled in tonight.

She unfolded the paper and rose unsteadily. Her new acolyte Majorie Babbage sat at her feet, still in her billowing Elizabethan dress, glazed from the night's revelations, the girl's mind feverish with male nudity.

The school drama teacher began to intone, in a voice somewhat jerky from inebriation.

She read:

"Some wise men of Philosophy find all the most excellent of qualities united in young dick.

Soft, silky and warm, falling loose between the thighs, it stands for humanity;

Rising but still bent to the ground, it embodies etiquette;

Grown dense, pointing heavenward, it stands for resilience;

Angular and incisive, but not sharp, it stands for righteousness;

As ritual object, admired by all viewers, it stands for virtue;

As there is no one on earth who does not value young, hard pricks they epitomise the way of perfection."

There was a scattering of blowsy applause. That some of the audience were confused could not be denied. Some looked nonplussed, embarrassed even, as if their inner most instincts were being analysed. Well, well...time to think of going home: this seemed the consensus. Some rose, shook out their skirts. Others stretched and yawned. The diminuendo of a long night took hold.

But Miss Cuff would not let go.

"Oh, and please remember Mrs Reilly is sponsoring the scrotum competition. That's right. The grandest ballsac in the mid-West or at least in Brewer and surrounds. And she's about to galvanise interest from mothers by offering a prize..."

There was a renewal of interest through the nervous satiety and alcoholic fug.

Yes, this...this scrotum competition. They recalled the business. So promising. Somewhat weird, though.

"Mrs Reilly has circulated all her friends with the plans for first prize- the winner of the competition. Yes, she will gift a 1955 Coldspot freezer, 20 cubic feet with a 700 pound food capacity. Freezes and stores up to 350 meals and has 11 convenient food storage sections. It's especially recommended for large families or for farm or suburban use. Quick-freeze compartment, three food elevator baskets, two storage baskets and adjustable basket. It's worth...a staggering...$409.50. Just think!"

There were whistles of excitement followed by a bubble of conversation.

"Moreover, prizes for runners-up. Yes, the mothers of the boys who received ribbons- those with wonderful scrotums but not perhaps the grandest of all- they will get coupons of $90 for items in the autumn Sears catalogue which, I'm told, will include an Audrey Hepburn polka dot cocktail dress among its many fragrant offerings!

"Already there are reports of the most modest mothers entering bathrooms and delving beneath soap suds to form a view whether their shy sons might take a ribbon- especially those who not have viewed their sons in recent years but hope he is draped 'down there' like his Dad!"

Which, as things came to pass, would be the fate of John Lawrence and Bud Lanter. Even in the warm after-glow of their encounter with Mrs Pebbles, when all seemed promising, such shocks awaited. Aggressive mothers- in search of prize winning, bull-like testicles that might carry off the prize- would be the nemesis of both boys.

And of Johnny Marcello himself, right now on the living room floor, his banana dick squelching away in and out of Sally's juicy passage, a cushion under her bottom to keep her tilted. Her clothes drawn high, him bare naked, a detail that thrilled both. Naked boy, oh so vulnerable, and the girl, skirts drawn but still attired.

Sally, red headed and freckled, would have picked his ballsac as the best in Brewer. But she was biased right now because its chamois-like furrowed skin, shaven smooth, was slapping against her carrot-hued vulva.

Lying besides them, skirt still rolled up to her waist and under-drawers at her ankles, Naiomi Davenport, totally sated, lazily slapped Johnny's white globes as they moved up and down while he bore in and out of her girlfriend. Naiomi, too, would have voted the boy's testicle sac the most worthy of a state fair-style ribbon, of all the scrotums in Brewer definitely the most glorious. She had played the juggle jiggle game with his sac- made the balls jiggle about- and felt she knew all its delights.

But how would Johnny's beanbag- low-hanging and proud as it was- stand comparison with those dangling between the thighs of other specimens of mid-Western manhood?

Of junior rodeo riders, say?

Or motor mechanics, shirt sleeves rolled to display biceps with standout veins?

Of milk-fed school football champs, smirking as they showed off in the showers?

Of lanky Negro delivery boys and hotel bellhops, newly arrived with their families from share crops in Lowndes county, Alabama?

Even bashful scholars, in the library stacks with auburn hair flopping on their foreheads and anxious eyes blinking behind horn-rimmed glasses, but hiding stunning secrets in their boxer shorts.

All likely to be propelled to Mrs Reilly's garden by mothers with a legitimate hunger for the status and convenience- the gorgeous consumer affluence- of this American life in the hedonistic 1950s, their poor sons in tow, blushing and protesting.

Oh, what a feast was promised here.