Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 21

Miss Bagnet said in a dying voice, "Yes, such a lovely burst of hair. So thick...so shiny." Her fingers moved towards his jungle as if to investigate, and stalled.

No sounds but their heavy breathing, while the agonised boy, presenting himself as instructed, avoided their looks and stared into the sky. High up a V-shaped flock of Canadian geese made their passage. No female eyes looked skyward.

Everything else could wait. Like the answer to his submission on behalf of the coach. Like the invitation for the boy to join them for a hot dog. No several...as many as he could eat. No, not going for his clothes first but just as he was. Here on the grass, surrounded by them. And with those hot dogs- as many as he could eat- all the ketchup and coleslaw and potato salad and chocolate flavoured milk from the Pebbles kitchen he, as a growing lad, might dream of.

And the photos could wait, to be snapped by the 1950 Voitlander Besser of 60 year old Mrs Wendy Hessmeister. That too could wait. And watching all the boys work out, as clearly the coach wanted (and might have planned) that too could wait, inviting as it was.

All could be put on hold.

Sufficient to the moment, with blazing ruttish female eyes, to huddle together and stare at what he was so shyly presenting.

Carl: "Hello Little Carl!"

Tall blond Carl Harlson, Brewer's Young Viking, had suffered his share of embarrassments and they all focused on one core source of vulnerability. Yes, he was tall and broad shouldered. He was cute, tousled and slim hipped. But girls in Grover Cleveland apparently talked about him having "the smallest dick" in school. Some remembered him from the famous time they had burst into the nude swimming, and he had stood totally exposed and got an erection, short and slender, with a crepe-like foreskin. Girls had surrounded him.

During rehearsals for the damn musical, back when they could wear swinging loin cloths that gave them some cover, Sally Smyth had whispered in his ear, "One day I'm gonna rip that thing right off you! And they'll see what a little cock you've got, Carlie." He had shivered with shame.

Being shaven by Beatrice Weatherall in the corridor entailed more humiliation. Standing against the wall, with other boys standing on either side having their bodies shaved, he had been exposed to female eyes-as Beatrice, kneeling, drew her razor over his thighs. Carl presented a contrast with the meaty projection of Jimmy Fraser- what Jimmy boasted was his "firehose dick"- or of Danny Bristol Junior with his downward banana bend (the only one in their school) or of Charlie Hodgson's thick white sausage with stand-out blue vein on its dorsal side.

Each of them fully erect, like guns on a battleship. But their's were hefty. He was the one with the dainty boy's appendage.

The faces of Millicent Moore and Sally Wainwright, girls from his year, had lit up with looks that screamed "Gotcha!" They had stood whispering and grinning, eyeing his cocktail sausage. Then his English teacher, gaunt Miss Dolomite, a 23 year old virgin, had walked by but had come to a stop seeing one of her favourite boys. Her eyes widened. One of her favourites, but buck naked.

She had stood scoping his nudity, catching his eye. Looking down to his groin. Smiling. Making him tremble.

At church camps at the Whispering Cedars Baptist Retreat, Carl had listened to lectures from Reverend Ben Albright about how boys come in all shapes and sizes, six inches was the average length and even five, and it has nothing to do with satisfying a wife in sexual intercourse in holy matrimony. But he wanted to ask why did the eyes of girls light up in a special way when the ample dicks of Rodney, Mark or Jimmy Fraser got presented to their sight caught swimming nude? Yes, in a special way- greedy, he thought, no...gluttonous. And in the corridors why might a party of girls all glance down at his flies and one say, "Hi Carl" and another say "Hi little Carl" and all of them break up laughing?

Once when he had played what boys called "backseat bingo" with Nan Cooper, she had told him, with the evidence between her fingers, that she had heard about his "sweet little penis" and produced a tape and attempted to measure it. He had been traumatised and wrestled himself free. When Betty Townsend had stripped him once in her living room- parents at a Billy Graham rally in Paterson- she, in her bra and panties, had pronounced his cock tiny compared with her twin brothers' and asked him whether he thought it could ever "achieve entry." His erection had instantly shrivelled. He had dressed and gone home.

He was horrified that girls gossiped about their boyfriend's organs. Respect meant nothing. Or privacy. That baby doll Lucy Childe apparently never shut up about Danny Bristol Junior's downward banana bend, the only one in the school- not like Johnny Marcello's upward bending banana, a shape other boys might reveal- saying she was "coaching" him on how to use it properly despite its weird shape which she insisted on describing to all her friends, making poor Danny sound deformed. There was even a rumour she had blackmailed him into showing it off to a circle of her companions one lunch hour in the art room with the encouragement of art teacher Miss Simpkins.

And apparently Christine Kelly had recruited crew cut Charlie Hodgson as a boyfriend after that incident at the pool. She had told her friends his dick was as thick as her wrist. And other things- like how it had a HUGE blue vein running down its upper side- that had made them chortle and look at him a different way in the corridors.

Sally Wainwright told girls about Kerry Fulbright's sideways slant and how she had taunted him with the need to go to Doctor Speight about it. She had grilled him just to see him redden, in the back seat. Could he "will" it to straighten up? Had it always lurched off to the left? Was it a result- here she was soooo cunning- of "sexual frustration?" Or, she demanded to know, of "excessive masturbation" which had damaged the tissues? And what did his sisters and mother think? Because she had heard about the nude photos.

Some boys, Carl heard, were confronting girls for making fun behind their backs in this way. But girls would deny sharing their boyfriends' secrets. "I wouldn't tell those terrible gossips about your...your little problem," Lucy averred to a humiliated Danny whose sister, grinning, had reported to him what was being said about his shamefully downward bending cock. "Although I do think..." she added sweetly, "You should talk to Doctor Speight. About your...shape."

She added that she might accompany him to the doctor's. And, showing a wicked talent for humiliation, had added that they should talk to his mother. That type of bend, she said, was very rare. There can't be secrets between a boy and his mom.

Charlie had angrily told Christine that she shouldn't have told Moira and Katie that his penis was "a funny one" because of its thickness and even the size of the vein. Imagine, he complained, telling them about my vein! Worse, he had heard she had told them that he had shamefully admitted near-constant erections which he had to shelter at school and had confessed he was reduced to masturbating three times a day. "You told them I was 'a chronic masturbator!'" he protested angrily. "That totally humiliated me!"

And she had replied that it was wiser to face the fact he had a problem, and the girls had brothers too and they probably had the same sickness. "A lot of boys at this school have masturbation obsessions. It's a neurosis, Doctor Speight says. It's supposed to be an epidemic!"

Besides, she said, Moira and Katie had liked her description of his penis being thicker than other boys'. They had asked her to measure him next time.

Enough.

Back to poor Carl.

When she had glimpsed him nude and erect having crashed the boys' swim class, Laura Christensen had fallen quite in love with the tall, athletic boy with the little secret. Standing there, long, lean and dignified, without a shred of clothing, his little dick jutting skyward. She couldn't get the picture- sweet and so suffused with male humiliation- out of her mind.

Yes, I'd love him as a boyfriend, a boyfriend with a tiny penis, Laura dreamed. I'd love the moment when he reluctantly slides his pants down and shyly warns me he has a somewhat small cock, savor the moment when he nervously watches me inspect it. I'd gently lift it, look at it quizzically...then declare I was so relieved he had a little one...and watch his pathetic relief...and lie that I always hated and feared a big penis...tell him my brothers had really big ones and see him deflated...make him worry that I'd tell the other girls...and keep him anxious...and blackmail him about it if he stepped out of line...and of course watch him play football and basketball and smile at the little secret flopping inside his shorts...and dole out knowledge to my girlfriends when we talked about our boyfriends...them, jealous of my good-looking fella, eager to hear about any deficiency...and make them press for more details...knowing how he'd be devastated if he knew I talked about it.

She had waited a month or so.

Listened, as other girls gossiped about boys.

Overheard stories about the old crepe-skinned German lady, Mrs Geiler...

...about a scrotum competition sponsored by wealthy Mrs Reilly...

...about the revelations in the Kinsey report that Dr Speight had worked on...

...and astonishing accounts of boys allowing their towels to fall from their waists when answering the front door to female canvassers...

...then stories about Mrs Pebbles recruiting boys she had seen swimming nude to her Sunday school class and much more after class...

She consulted art teacher Miss Simpkins who consulted Coach Compton. She befriended Miss Assam, secretary to the principal and listened to her insights for hours. And sidled into the back row of some of Miss Cuff's rehearsals.

Laura was very excited. The revelations during the raid on the swim class had galvanised her, changed her life. It let her mind race.

Then she struck.

The invitation went out, on embossed paper, inviting the recipient to a special evening at the Christensen home- a mothers and daughters night to launch a support group for Grover Cleveland's boy swimmers. Logans' department store was the sponsor and would launch the new school racers at the happy celebration- a relief to the invited boys who might have feared enforced nudity- and an illustration showed girls in the latest female one-piece swim gear. This carried the delicious implication that girls, too, would frolic poolside.

As if to clinch the deal the letter described a buffet menu of leg ham, beef pie, chocolate cake and ice cream sodas delivered from Pop's Soda Fountain.

"Should be nice girls at the Christensen's," his mother had said, waving him off.

Strange that Rodney and Mark had said they had heard nothing about the event, Jimmy Fraser too. Yet Stevie Lynton confirmed he was going, enthusing about the promise of mature age women and ice cream sodas, and Eddy Barret, the tallest boy in the school and a real champ at basketball. He was also the spitting image of MGM star Charleston Carpenter who sung Abba Dabba Honeymoon. Carl now recalled, Eddy had been exposed during that awful female raid that had caught the boys at swim practice nude and erect. In fact Carl now had a mental picture of Eddy, standing there. Eddy was strikingly like himself in being tall and lean...and also in one other respect...

...he had Carl's little vulnerability.

As he strode along Brewer's darkened streets Carl ran in his mind the names of the other boys who had spoken about going to the Christensen's party and he summoned up, as if from a Rolodex, the memories of them swimming nude at school or the Y or in the showers after sport.

A tendril of apprehension unloosed in his tummy.

Like him, Stevie or Eddy they all suffered...

And he dismissed the notion from his mind, striding under the shadowy branches of the elms while silver light from TV sets flickered in every living room window and the voices of Leave it to Beaver, a hymn to innocent boyhood, embraced him with wholesome promise.