Zach
Andrew Jackson High 8
by George Gauthier
- Parkour
As I limbered up at the foot of the wall, windmilling my arms then reaching upwards to stretch my lats, I said to Squirrel:
"Now this is a real challenge: the very first stage of the course is straight up seven stories of blank brick wall. Then it is over rooftops, across an old railroad trestle and a shaky timber bridge long since closed off to traffic, and jumping fences, before negotiating a series of boarded up industrial buildings.
I hope we are all up to it. At least we get to start in the shade. Another hot one today."
The four cute twinks in our group of five friends, me, that is Zachary Taylor, named like the president, Squirrel (Brandon O'Rourke de Lyautey), Squirt (Alex Conlon), and Sprout (William P Tagliaferro IV), were halfway up an alley peering up at an abandoned building whose windows gaped open and empty. As participants in the sport of parkour, which is a combination or acrobatics, climbing, running, and tumbling. What makes it hard is that in parkour the challenge is to negotiate the course without equipment of any kind: no ropes no grapnels no cleats, not even gloves, employing just our unaided physical powers.
Our only climbing gear was canvas shoes with soft rubber soles worn worn without socks. These protect the feet just enough to give us a decent grip whether going up or even sliding down masonry walls. We can fall from surprising heights thanks to our slight builds and the acrobatic techniques to use to spread the the impact from jumps and falls by rolling and tumbling and sliding. Not that we always get thru unscathed but no major injuries so far.
Squirrel has two years experience with parkour so it has has fallen to him to lead the rest of us in mastering the art. Squirrel tries his best to mentor his friends. Just the other day he told Squirt:
"Remember your lessons, grasshopper. Reach out with your senses, perceive where others see only the surface of things."
Which was a bad imitation of Master Po channeling Master Yoda.
Actually the little red head has taught us three a lot, him and a couple of other guys at the parkour club at our school, Andrew Jackson High School in South Florida. You would be amazed how using just hands and feet an agile guy can climb a wall, a drainpipe, an electric tower, a tree, or the steel skeleton at an abandoned contraction site. We learned much in just a few weeks.
So, I centered myself, breathed deep and slow and sought my qi. Soon I did perceive a way to the top, starting with that abandoned green telephone box from which, with a jump, I could reach the ledge that ran around the front of the building above the first storey. From there it was a matter of working my way up the right angle between the main part of the building and the wing of the L. The courses of bricks had been laid in a decorative three dimensional pattern which offered excellent foot and hand holds for someone to scramble to the top.
It helps that none of us are big guys. I am a wiry five-nine and the other within two inches of five feet. It wasn't just our light weight that was an advantage. Smaller guys are proportionally stronger than big guys, thanks to the law of squares and cubes.
Soon all of us were atop that building and making our way across the rooftops. We felt like kings of the world or maybe crown princes given our youth, or even queens, given our same gender orientation and sexually submissive natures. Two were cute blonds all of two inches taller than the tiny red-head plus me, the raven haired youth "towering" over them at five-nine.
All this parkour stuff we practice is not just for fun in its own right. It is all part of our training in surviving future challenges like some of those we have faced in the past.
Sprout was captured and turned into a leather man's sex slave for two arduous weeks. I am proud of my own role in helping to locate and free him. Squirrel was an intended victim of rape and murder by a young gangster and had to seek refuge as a naked fugitive in the woods. Sprout and I were virtual sex slaves last summer in Haiti, though admittedly our "masters" were a good-natured bunch of kids. We had the time of our lives. Squirt got blackmailed and raped by a teacher.
The four of us put ourselves into the hands of Sam Arden who promised us something even better than we expected. He taught us how to be survivors, not fighters. Anyone can fight, and maybe lose. So sometimes you fight; sometimes you run; sometimes you talk your way out of trouble. As he put it, the best way to deal with most trouble is: "Don't be there when it happens."
Arden taught us to maintain situational awareness and how to see trouble coming. His training covered methods of escape and evasion and how to devise and use improvised weaponry. As for fighting skills, we learned a form of aikido which relies on your agility to turn an opponent's size and weight against him.
Arden left it up to us to maintain our stamina and cardiovascular fitness and ordered us to take up parkour as an excellent means of escape and evasion. He mostly trains us naked, though he himself is sexually indifferent to young males, even ones as impossibly pretty as he admits we are.
We shared our bodies freely though some relationships are closer than others. Me, that is, Zachary Taylor, and Sprout, William Pierpoint Tagliaferro IV were the first pair of lovers. The two of us met in kindergarten and grew up together, quickly becoming inseparable. Sprout is someone I have known as far back as my reliable memories go, say to around five. Then one fine morning not so very long ago, we woke up and realized we not only loved each other, we were in love with each other. Squirrel, that is Brandon O'Rourke de Lyautey lives with Sprout and often shares his bed, with our without me. Squirt, aka Alex Conlon and Paul Hansen are lovers though Paul still dates girls.
I get along famously with Squirrel. After all he lives with my boyfriend Sprout and his pops, working as their house boy and cook. And a pretty fair cook he is too. After tasting his hearty home-cooked meals, I wonder now how the two of them, father and son Tagliaferro, ever survived on take-out and microwave cuisine. Squirt is a frequent visitor too, joining Squirrel in his bed, in his private room at the back of the house, or Sprout and me on Sprout's futon. I live only minutes away on my bicycle, so I sleep over at Sprout's quite a lot. My moms is cool about it too. She likes having her handsome "son-in-law" Sprout stay over at our place too.
Actually we have more fun at casa Sprout, where we can run around in the buff without raising an eyebrow from Mr. Sprout, that is papa Tagliaferro.
I guess Sprout started this nudity thing while tending his garden naked, getting closer to nature, as he said, but soon he did not bother with clothes indoors either except at meals. Then he had me doing it with him. Squirrel had started in young, getting his nickname when he ran away starkers from a threatened beating by a drunken foster parent who had stripped the boy naked in preparation for a caning. The eight year old took off, finding refuge high in a tree, above the drone of mosquitos at night. The truant officer who tracked him down the next morning damned him for an annoying little squirrel. The nickname took.
It fits too. He is the very smallest of us, five-foot-zero and only 100 pounds even. And with his climbing abilities he is nearly as quick and nimble as the red squirrel he resembles thanks to his auburn hair.
As for Squirt. That little blond guy lives with just his pops. He started out by sleeping in the raw and to hell with pajamas. Then it was going nude around the house, like at his desk or the back yard, or watching TV. His pops did not mind. Next he discovered the nudie beach beyond the jetty. He eventually joined me and Sprout on our nude botanical safaris in nearby nature preserves. I plan on a career in forestry, with a specialization in IT support. Sprout wants to be a research biologist. Anyway Squirt comes along though he spends most of his time running the trails, supposedly for the exercise. Trolling for randy boys, if you ask me. If you really want to find botanical specimens, you have to go off trail. When Squirrel joins us, he takes to his accustomed aerial highways in the trees where he had hid out for three months, a fugitive from both the law and mob killers.
There is a fifth member to our group, Paul Hansen or PH. One year older, Paul is currently attending a college locally, intending to transfer next year to join the rest of us at the University of Florida at Gainesville. We really want to keep this thing between us going after we graduate this spring from AJHS. Paul is tall, dark, and handsome. He stands well over six feet and is powerfully built. Parkour is just not his sport. Besides, he is uneasy about heights.
Although no prude, Paul is not quite the compulsive exhibitionist the rest of us are, though we can all charm him out of his pants easily enough. We often drag him to the nudie beach, where he is a good sport about it. Chez Sprout, he may disport himself in the nude in the backyard but slips on a pair of shorts indoors.
All of us save Paul are glabrous, without any body hair at all on our smooth skins. No sign of the growth of beard on any of us either, though we are all eighteen going on nineteen. That is thanks to the modern depilatories that put hair follicles into a permanent resting state.
Paul allows himself some body hair. Nothing in the pits, which he considers unsightly, and his chest in naturally smooth, but he prizes the treasure trail leading down from his navel to a neatly trimmed bush. He claims that the the glory trail is evocative and suggestive of what lies below. I guess that works on his girl friends. I do know that Paul runs a barber's clippers over his legs with a quarter inch attachment, which leaves the hair on the lower legs so short as to be nearly invisible.
I suppose it is fair to say that we still look more like boys than young men, which is fine by me. Me, I never want to change or grow up. I would like to be like Peter Pan only old enough to enjoy sex. Same with the others. We like things just fine the way they are. Alas, life is not like that so next year we are off the college.
One thing more. The depilatories we used not only suppress the growth of body hair, they turn off the activity of the sebaceous glands. It is oils secreted by these glands, especially at the groin and armpits, which turn rancid from bacterial activity, producing body odor. The only thing our sweat glands produce is salty water. In short, we, the gay youth of today, are the first generation that smells genuinely sweet.
- Caught Out
"Something wrong, officer?" I asked the beefy cop standing between me and the exit from the site of half-built data center. It was just a skeleton of steel beams and reinforced concrete floors, and unlikely ever to be finished. A merger had made it no longer necessary.
"Wrong? Well let me see. There is trespassing for starters, trespass to land, the lawyers call it. Then there is interference. You did pull that wiring out and use it to swing down to the ground like some later day Tarzan or Jungle Boy. I hope you are not going to add resisting arrest or fleeing the scene to your other charges, son. Come along peacefully, there's a good lad."
"Is this really necessary, officer, I mean Corporal Meadows? Look, I am a good boy. Never been in trouble with the law. You can check on that easily enough. I've done no real harm here either. I never do anything destructiveon any of my runs. That is not what I am into, not what parkour is all about. I just like to climb things and a derelict structure like this is mighty tempting."
"Parkour, eh. I've heard about it. Even watched some videos. Amazing stuff. Guys climbing like Spiderman. Never saw anyone actually going at parkour. No equipment, eh? Not much in the way of clothing either. Those skimpy shorts look like they were painted on you. The fabric is so sheer and clingy it follow the curves of your bum like the tights on a ballet dancer, showing off your deep cleavage. Not that I can charge you with public indecency, not these days."
I should explain that our only clothing in parkour is form-fitting low rise shorts which highlight our shapely bums. The tan-thru fabric is a nearly sheer weave with many thousands of tiny pores which lets the sun's rays through. The cloth is rat only SPF 10 so you can keep up your tan. The only thing that keeps the fabric from being completely see-through is the elaborate pattern printed on the surface, which fools the eye and brain, making them attend only to the intricate pattern, not to the naked skin beneath.
The pattern on my own shorts was a whirl of black and gray, but then my hair is so dark it looks blue. Our blond boys, Sprout and Sauirt chose yellow with green foliage to match their eyes. Squirrel's suit was an abstract design of red and black which blended into auburn like his hair or that of the red squirrel that occasioned his nickname.
"You are right, officer. Skimpy as this garment is, I am showing off quite a lot of my body. Is that such a bad thing? Can't you remember when you were eighteen yourself and were so proud of the strong and sexy body you had so recently grown into. I am asking you man to man."
"Boy to man is more like it." he grumbled, but I could see that he was softening his position.
"Can't you overlook some harmless teenage high jinks, a technical trespass that does no damage and harms no one. Besides, would you want it on your conscience if you threw me into jail? You must know what can happen to pretty boys like me thrown into the lockup with hardened criminals, especially wearing only a shimmy skin tight short as protection against nudity. Do you want that on your conscience, hard men raping a teenage boy? You look like a decent sort, sir. Maybe you have a son my age or getting near it."
He let out a big sigh, and I knew I had won him over.
"OK kid, but I gotta wonder, aren't you embarrassed a little going around town in that skimpy thing, next to nothing really, pretty close to stark naked?"
"In all honesty, no. I do it all the time actually. In fact I spend a lot of time with absolutely nothing on, in the rude nude every chance I get. I am one of those kids who runs around the nature preserves in a state of nature. The county cops used to chase after us but now usually leave us alone out there. Then there is the nudie beach beyond the jetty... "
"Ah! Of course. I remember now. You were one of those kids in those outrageous body art costumes at Halloween and Mardi Gras over at Andrew Jackson High. You were Superboy for the Halloween and some kind of Amazonian Indian boy for Mardi Gras. Whoa! That took brass, walking into a room with a couple of hundred people, girls and boys and grown ups, with nothing on really, letting it all hang out. And that principal or yours. Poor man. He looked so serious at you boys as he held up a finger, without realizing its phallic significance, with a stern warning of: 'No erections!' Hilarious."
"Yeah, it's all coming back to me now. You are one of those four friends at AJHS who are always getting into the most outrageous scrapes. One kid was captured by a leather master and his boyfriend blackmailed the Chief and the DA into turning over surveillance video to run against his own search software."
"Tell me about it. That blackmailer would be me, Zach Taylor, at your service."
"Yeah, Taylor. That was the name, like the president. Listen boy, you are a legend on the force. I only wish I had been there to watch it."
"I was on one of the search parties when your friend the little red squirrel took to the trees to escape arrest and hide from the Mob after that Saragossa kid accidentally brained himself. That one turned out well too. Good riddance to the old man and his whole crew. And the whole bunch of righteous avengers got away clean. Sad to say there was a lot of clumsy police work that day that left gaping holes in the dragnet a hundred men could have driven through. You might have thought it was done deliberately."
Wow! I suddenly realized the officer was admitting that the cops actually let the killers get away, the men who avenged the murder of Squirrel's foster father.
"As you say officer, good riddance to mobsters."
"All right. What the hell. No harm, no foul. Get along with you, kid. But put a pair of pants on will ya."
Such was how I put Sam Arden's lessons to use, talking my way out of trouble.
I continued on my way to one of my impromptu swimming holes. Actually a minor sinkhole that had filled with rainwater. It was in the woods on ground as yet uncleared for one of those developments that, no doubt, will one day see the entire state of Florida paved over.
I kicked off my low rise canvas shoes and slipped out of my shorts, rinsing out the sweat and hanging the garment on a bush to dry while I slipped into the warm water, letting it lave my body, wash the sweat off. It felt good letting the water support me, tired as I was. I leaned back and sculled my arms and legs, face turned to the sun, eyes closed, listening to the birds around me and the hum of traffic not too far off.
I heard a freight train rumble by on the railroad tracks. To look around, I might be in the forest primeval, but it was just a small pocket of woods in the middle of the sprawl they call South Florida. It did make me feel very naughty, swimming stark naked so close to so many people going by in cars. None of them could guess that a beautiful teenage boy was skinny dipping a hundred yards from their speeding cars.
Oh and it is about time I settled something. I am really better looking than dear Sprout gives me credit for. He still sees me as the gawky kid I was a couple of years ago, when I shot up and everything went out of proportion including my nose. Alright, I am still skinny, 125 pounds on a five-nine frame, but I like to think I am coltish rather than gangly. My delicate features have are more regular now and have hints of Asian or American Indian blood. I wear my raven locks medium length, a loose thatch that frames an exotic face, even if I say so myself. My nose is straight though not oversize, and I have bowed lips, just begging to be kissed. So maybe guys don't do double takes when I go by. But I have turned heads when what they have seen sinks in and they turn slowly to look back and to admire.
Anyway, I got out of the water and lay on the grass, face down, genitals pushed back between my legs so my weight would not press down on them. I relished the way the sun warms my bare ass. That more than anything tells me that I am totally naked. I must have dozed off. Suddenly a shod foot laid a hard smack to my ribs. I whirled and sat up to confront three strapping youths, troublemakers by the look of them.
The leader was a rough looking guy maybe twenty or twenty two, with tangled brown hair and facial stubble.
"Well, well, well. So this is the catch of the day! Sunning himself bare-ass he was. Trying to keep those nasty old tan lines away. Doing a pretty good job of it too. He is evenly tanned all over and fairly dark for this time of year. Must spend a lot of time outdoors bare-ass. Ain't that right, pretty boy?"
"Yes, that is right, sir. I spend a lot of time naked outdoors." I said, getting slowly to my feet.
"Sir. I like that. See boys, our young friend is respectful of his elders. Cute as a button too, with that pretty face of his. A little skinny maybe but with fine lines on him, like a frisky colt. Or better a filly. Eminently fuckable."
"You got that right Riley. Look at those corrugated abs and that fine rump, firm and round but flat on the sides the way a boy's butt ought to look. Such sweet cheeks. I am so tired of my girlfriend's thunder thighs and fat ass. Time for a change of pace."
"My thoughts exactly, Tommy. A change of pace. For us. Not for him. I'll bet pretty boy here takes it up the ass a whole lot. He wouldn't be anyone's exclusive property. A boy like that gets passed around. Ain't that right, pretty boy?"
"As a matter of fact, it is, which I suppose makes me something of a boy slut, but I give it up only for guys I like. Nothing personal, of course."
"Oooh. Sarcasm eh. This boy has a bit of spunk, he does. I like that. Nothing like a little fire in a boy you fuck. Look how he is standing there, one part defiant, two parts nervous and afraid, wondering what we are going to do to him. As if he did not know what real men do with pussy boys who fall into their hands. Then that is what boys of his sort were born for, to serve real men like us with their mouths and their asses."
"Hey Riley. Lookey here. His clothes. Just canvas shoes and this sheer featherweight shorts."
"Pull out the laces from the shoes. We'll use them to tie his wrists and ankles so he won't give us any trouble. Nothing like putting a kid in bondage to get your juices flowing. As for his shorts..."
The leader flipped open a gravity knife and cut the sides of my shorts. Then put the pieces together and cut it into quarters. Then he cut some more, till it was just scraps of cloth which the breeze carried away. Sending me a message, no doubt of my own helplessness, knowing I must be miles from the nearest clothing.
"And look. Not a feather on him anywhere, Riley. He is smoother than any girl. Looks good on him though, Can't get more naked than that. A girly boy for sure."
"Which is just the use we are going to put him to. I can't wait to put him on his knees between my legs, those pouty lips of his pressed around my cock. I'll bet he is a terrific cock sucker. Isn't that right kid? You're an expert, aren't you? Probably like the taste of cum. And you swish it around in your mouth and swallow it too. You'll swallow mine, ours, that is for sure and like it too."
"Fine, but I get first dibs on Sweet Cheek's ass."
They were so confident and pleased with themselves they were not ready for my move. I darted between them, tumbling under their outstretched arms and rolled to my feet. Then I sprinted through the woods, my three would-be rapists in hot pursuit. At one point, I leapt across a wide drainage ditch and ran on. The clumsy boys had to step down into the ditch and clamber out, giving me a useful lead. I increased that lead on the open ground next to the railroad tracks, then vaulted the five foot fence which marked the railway's property line and rolled back to my feet. Again my pursuers lost time clambering over, cursing as the prongs cut them.
As I reached the strip of woods on the other side of the tracks I heard one boy call out in pain. He had twisted his ankle. The other two told him to hang in there. They would be back for him, and resumed the chase.
By now I had reached civilization, a major roadway lined with stores. Bad tactics to run into some place of business and ask for help. That would put me into a corner. So I ran down the four lane main drag, giving drivers a good look at a highly presentable representative of the youth of today, out in public in all his glory. Actually that part was fun. I was in my element showing my naked body off to hundreds of good citizens. Take a good look, America! This is what a pretty gay boy looks like these days!
- Under Arrest
Phone calls drew the cops and soon I heard the warble of a police cruiser pulling up behind me. I heaved a sigh of relief. I was safe!
"You again!?"
It was that same cop, Corporal Meadows who had stopped me at the construction site.
"Didn't I tell you to put a pair of pants on Zach? Now I find you stark naked. You know, this got called in to HQ. I cannot just let you go, not this time."
"Please officer Meadows. I was running away from rapists. Three older guys. They chased me across the railroad tracks. I think one of them hurt his ankle back a ways. They cannot be far away. I can describe them."
I did so and he called it in to HQ which passed the descriptions to the their patrol cars.
"Well you will have to describe them again to our police artist down at the station. Sorry about the handcuffs, but that is procedure. I am sorry Zach, but I really do have to place you in custody this time. Nothing personal. I kinda like you kid. And we will check out your story and look for those guys. One thing. How did they get you naked? Maybe they could have snatched those shorts off'n your hips, but you are barefoot as well. I am a cop. I notice things like that."
"OK, so maybe I was skinny dipping at a sinkhole and sunning myself bare-ass. It was secluded and private, no one else around."
I explained how I had dozed off and let them catch me unaware.
"No one around, except the three guys who tried to punk you out. Alright Zach. You are already on video, but I need a few candid shots of my own. So hold still for a minute. Fine, now turn to give me you left profile, now your right. OK face front and we get full body shots. Front... left side... right side. Gotta document any wounds or injuries to that beautiful body of yours. Show the state you were in when placed under arrest, and that you were entirely nude when it happened."
"But then you are used to letting people take nude pictures and video of you aren't you? I did a search a little while ago and found video of you at that camp in Haiti, at the nudie beach, those costume parties, and offers from professional studios for portfolios of tasteful nude photographs. Naughty boy. It is a cinch you are not body shy, so I won't insult you by trying to cover your nakedness with a space blanket or some such. This is a come as you are party. Nothing personal, kid, but maybe a little public humiliation will teach you to be more careful when you lay your garments aside.
"From what you tell me, dozing off like that around the sinkhole, you got complacent and forgot to maintain situational awareness. Yeah we know all about that. Sam Arden teaches at the academy as well."
So there I was in police custody, standing on the public highway for gawkers to look at, my arms bound behind me so I could not cover myself. I was surprised to find my nipples were hard. My blatant nudity caused a good deal of rubbernecking. And it seems every other driver or his passenger has his phone camera aimed at me.
Then the corporal took me to the station and sat me down with a police artist, who actually used an identikit rather than pencil or chalks. They kept me handcuffed the whole while.
I did not sit in a chair but on a high stool, the suspect stool they called it. I was out in the open in the squad bay where I could be seen and approached from every angle. The idea is that such exposure leaves the suspect physically and psychologically vulnerable, with only a small round seat under his butt and nothing around him. When the corporal sat me down, he pulled my shoulders back so I sat erect and made my hold my wrists up to my shoulder blades, crossed upwards, the better to expose my ass to view. He then gently kicked my feet apart, the better to expose my genitals.
The posture would make anyone feel vulnerable and doubly so a naked eighteen year old boy in a police station. From behind anyone could see my back, my bum, and the crack of my ass. From the front everything was visible, from the top of my head to my toes, including my manly parts. It was obvious from my deep and even tan that I was one of those shameless boys who spent a lot of time outdoors in the nude. It didn't help that I am so slender, girlishly pretty, and utterly smooth, without body hair, even at the fork of my legs. I drew a lot of smirks. Which is what I get for being exhibitionistic. I mean if you put yourself on display, how can you object when others in turn take advantage of your exposure you to public scrutiny.
The fact is that even the embarrassment and humiliation gave me a lascivious tingle, though thankfully not a full erection. My cock visibly plumped up and leaked a string of pre-cum that soon reached four inches hanging from the tip of my cock. Caught in a chance sunbeam that penetrated the blinds, it glistened and twinkled all the while swaying gently with the air currents. This particular posture of arousal is one I have always regarded as both sexy and sincere. If a boy is dripping, he is not faking it.
Talk about public exposure! I was in a police station, in custody, effectively in bondage, and now visibly aroused. Folks took a lot of photos of that gossiping all the time about the shameless captive. All right, what do you expect when a healthy teenage boy gets excited. It is perfectly natural and involuntary.
Just before the string of pre-cum dropped off, the corporal walked up and looked down at it. He tsk-tsked, saying he was tempted to wait and see if it ultimately reached the floor, but he had to maintain the decorum of the police station. He snagged the string of pre-cum on two fingers and raised them to my mouth. As a sexual submissive, what could I do? After a moment of hesitation as I looked around, I bowed my head and I licked his fingers clean, visibly swallowing my own pre-cum. He pressed a finger to my cock, pressing down to gauge its springiness, and warned: 'No erections!' Many eyes followed my public humiliation.
Soon enough, another pearl of pre-cum emerged from my slit and glistened at the tip of my penis like a tiny diamond, bringing grins from the onlookers. They studied my balls as if gauging how much cum they might produce in an orgasm.
"Is my humiliating display on this stool really necessary, officer?" I complained, addressing a sergeant.
"Well we do have another stool we could set you down on, son. That would be our disciplinary model in the interrogation chamber. Sorry we cannot bring it here, but it is fixed to the floor of the cellar. Isn't that right corporal?"
"The sarge is correct Zach. You don't want to go there, an innocent lad like yourself, though I am sorely tempted to take you there myself. It's got all sorts of nifty attachments I'd like to try on you. First there is a whole set of dildos and butt plugs, some straight, others bumpy, some modeled after a porn star's cock. All sizes from big on up to humongous. They are interchangeable and screw into the seat. Sit on any of them, and they really stretch you bung hole. And they are not all inert rubber. Some vibrate or deliver jolts to your innards.
"What? You cannot be serious. Are you?"
The corporal nodded. The sergeant continued the explanation:
"Of course we don't just rely just on a boy's body weight to hold him in place. That prong up the butt is only one element of his bondage which includes handcuffs and leg straps by which we fix his ankles high up and close to the seat, with knees bent and thighs spread wide, offering access to the groin."
"The groin?" I asked worriedly, but starting to get skeptical as well.
"I believe, corporal, that your favorite toys are those aluminum electrodes you can apply to a boy's dangly bits. We don't use medical tape or glue, of course, son. Too easy to come loose with the subject's tormented writhing. No, these babies have toothy jaws that clamp on to the tits and the navel with alligator teeth. Larger jaws bite into the testicles and shaft of the cock. My how the kids do howl when that last one goes on the head of their cock. It has the strongest spring of all and usually draws blood. You do realize, young Zach, that we can wire them up and charge any and all of them with electricity. A computer controls the action, playing the captive boy like a musical instrument, though one limited to howls and screams, and whimpers, and sobs."
"Good thing for you, boy, the contractor hasn't finished redoing the sound proofing. It would be too disruptive to employ the disciplinary stool without it. Bad for morale among the other prisoners."
"Now I know you are bullshitting me. No way any of that is true!"
"Damn and here we hoped to put a fright into you. What gave us away boy?"
"Well the first thing is that you laid it on too thick. And you spoke too openly about tormenting a teenager. Which is what made me suspect you were yanking my chain. Then I had already met the corporal and formed a favorable opinion of him, which did not square with a bad guy image of him as a tormentor of naked teenage boys."
"That is unlooked for wisdom in a youth of your tender years." the sergeant observed. "That and uncommon insight into character."
"I had a good teacher: Sam Arden. He is a fine judge of character and some of that rubbed off on me."
"You have to admit we did have you squirming, at least at first. I saw how you wanted to close your legs protectively over your private parts."
He was right and also wrong. It's getting so I can no longer think of my manly parts as my privates. They are out in public so much and in reach. As is my bare ass. That is what I get for being an exhibitionist. Then again, if you cannot strut your stuff when you are eighteen, when can you?
Soon enough the cops had three reasonable facsimiles of my assailants. All the while anyone with a camera was taking stills or video of me in all my glory. No doubt to go viral within twenty-four hours. It did not take the cops long to track down three young males, one named Riley, another Tommy, one of them hobbling on a bum ankle, and all pretty good matches to the police sketches.
The corporal finally released me. smacking me on the rump in a friendly fashion as he pointed me toward the door, while volunteering to drive me home. By this time, my cock had filled out enough to visibly lift off my ball sac. As I was lead outside, to general applause, it waggled left and right with my stride. Someone call out for the corporal to lead me by my stiffy. Even the pimp who had brazenly tried to recruit me for his stable tossed me a jaunty salute.
I had the good corporal drop me off chez Sprout rather than turn up at home in police custody stark naked. My moms is understanding, but I did not want to alarm her with an official police presence.
Author's Note
If you have enjoyed this story and others like it, I hope you will consider making a donation to the Nifty Archive. It is so easy. They take credit cards.
This tale was inspired by my recent story 'Squirt' and is the eighth and last in a series set in and around a fictitious Andrew Jackson High School in South Florida. I plan to write a follow-on series called 'Gainesville' to continue the saga of the fellowship of five friends during their college days. Stay tuned.
Meanwhile, good news for readers disappointed at how few stories I have published of late. Folks, help is on the way. I have written my first novel-length story, some 125 thousand words. Mostly I publish novelettes of 10 -15 thousand words.
The novel is in the genre called heroic fantasy. Like so many stories in that genre it is set on an imaginary world where wizards and druids and others work real magic, a world populated by several sentient races including humans, elves, giants, and dwarves. Unlike most such worlds, this one has an awful lot of cute young guys running around in the skimpiest of costumes or even nothing at all, and taking every opportunity to hop into bed with each other and to switch partners.
Sorry, no dragons, but I'll bet you never read a tale that featured a naked teenage druid leading the charge of a herd of brontotheres against an army of Amazons. What is a brontothere? Look it up, but not in the dictionary. Try the Wikipedia instead.
Look for publication of my very first novel this summer on most of these same stations.
Readers who like this story might want to try my two series 'Daphne Boy' and 'Naked Prey' in the Gay/Historical section of the Archive or my 'Jungle Boy' series of Hollywood tales, posted in the Gay/Authoritarian section. Also available are my older 'Track and Field' stories in Gay/College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to my stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive.
Comments and feedback welcome.