Confessions of a Voyeuristic Mother Part 18

Confessions of a Voyeuristic Mother 19

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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As a young black girl, I spent the summer of my junior year in high school at a predominantly white summer camp. Though I was assigned to be an office assistant, a change in circumstances threw me into a different role. There were several awakenings dispelling many racial and social stereotypes.

Voyeur 19-- My Summer at Camp Algonquin

By, Running Bare

The summer before my junior year in high school I was truly excited to get the letter from Camp Algonquin. I wanted to bail from my family home and stray cautiously into the world. Just for fun I downloaded and filled out the application for summer employment. Never did I think a kid my age would be even considered for a position that would take them away from their home for the entire summer. But, as I said they did.

I was to be the assistant to the camp secretary. It meant limited contact with the more exciting part of camp life—the kids, but, hey, I would be able to enjoy the remote outdoors and still maintain some contact day to day with the kids.

There were alternating two week sessions. First group? Girls between the ages of six and thirteen. Then the boys of the same ages would follow for the second session. Actually, as one of three girls in my family, the boys were of more interest to me. They always seemed to run rough shod over life. Kind of taking on challenges and breaking rules far more than any of the girls I knew growing up. Yep, for sure, girls took life a lot more cautiously than the boys I’d observed.

Yeah, even to me, a sixteen-year-old, African American honor student, boys were perplexing to say the least. White boys in particular were extremely interesting in that it seemed like they came from an entirely different social circumstance. They did things that kids of color would avoid, probably because of the consequences they might suffer. It was as if white boys didn’t care.

From my earliest school memories, boys of all races were constantly getting their butts busted by teachers and the principal. I often heard them brag that their mother or father had taken their pants off and whipped their bare backsides with a belt. Now, here was where another difference could be noted. The black boys didn’t run home to Momma and complain the principal or teacher tore up their backside. Actually, I can’t recall one that would have done that. It’d be an invitation to be torn up again at home. On the other hand, many, not all, white boys did. Unlike a black mother, there was a chance the parent of one of those wussies would show up to complain about the well-deserved punishment their “cherub” had gotten.

What surprised me even more was instead of being shy about paddling white boys seemed to wear such punishments as badges of honor. Black boys didn’t want to talk about it. Frankly, getting my butt busted, which never happened, would have been something I’d have wanted to hide. You know embarrassing to say the least.

Many of the boys even found sitting on the hard school furniture difficult after returning to the classroom after such an ordeal. Some comically announcing their whipping to the class while imploring the teacher for permission to spend the day standing up to do their work.

Of course, the teachers would laugh and usually accommodate such requests. But, sometimes they’d kind of cruelly add to the suffering by making them sit and extend their discomfort. I always enjoyed when one of the boys was forced to expound upon corporal punishment dished out at home and the teacher would ask, “Tell us about it. Did Daddy use a belt or a paddle? Did he make you take your pants off or not?”

I miss those elementary and middle school experiences. Really, I’m sure the boys in high school were occasionally getting the belt as well, but they didn’t feel comfortable discussing it. Maybe, maybe not. Like I said, I’m one of three girls and my parents never resorted to corporal punishment with either of us. They preferred restriction. I hated it but when I went to school, I could at least sit at my desk in comfort.

Another thing I have to confess was my curiosity about boys’ “special” parts. Mom had had “the talk” with me several years ago. I’d seen and, out of sheer curiosity, actually sneaked a touch of my three-year-old cousin’s penis and scrotum while I helped change his diaper. I was still naïve as to growth and functionality of penises and testicles. But I do remember consternating over what it was that made those parts occasionally become hard and stick out stiffly. I did find that function interesting.

Now I was in high school. Though there were many boys at school who wanted to date me, none ever attempted to force any sexual contact more than the typical “making out”. Yeah, I was a goody-two-shoes and I guess I managed to attract boys of the same persuasion. Lots of experimental kissing and occasional over the clothes touching but never much in the way of skin contact.

My father drove me the two hundred miles to the camp. I really think he was being the “helicopter” parent wanting to meet the senior staff and check out the place before he would give me his final blessing. I also think he was a bit apprehensive that summer camps were notoriously white kid vacations. Maybe because of socio-economic reasons? Who knows? I was kind of different about such things. I loved being around younger kids and, strangely, I loved hiking and woods which again didn’t fit the stereotype.

As we drove under the garland type sign crossing high over the road into the camp, I was impressed with the open grass fields amongst the wooded areas. The brochure had mentioned there were over a thousand acres of fields and woods included within its borders. As we approached the heart of the camp there was a large white building bearing the wood carved sign bearing the words “Mess Hall”. It shared a common parking lot with the building directly across from it “Administration”. Dad pulled in and parked.

Mr. Adkins, the director was very welcoming. He greeted both of us with a handshake and a smile. After asking us if we’d mind waiting a few minutes, he took us on a tour of the immediate area. About a hundred yards up a path from the admin building, we came to a circle of ten wooden cabins. Each was thirty or forty feet from the other and there were clothes lines strung between them. I remember thinking, the cabins were really rugged, but better than tents. We entered the first and there was a counselor bunk forward most and there were five bunkbeds built in behind it. Each cabin could accommodate ten campers.

Separating the two sets of five cabins was a large “bath house” outfitted with toilet stalls and a huge common shower. I remember thinking how uncomfortable I’d be taking a gang shower. I wondered how boys felt about such things. I did know I was uncomfortable with the idea.

As we walked further south on the same path, we came to a huge swimming and canoeing area. Apparently, the water off the pier was deep as the diving board was a good ten feet above the water’s surface. It was quiet then, but in a week or two it would become pandemonium with the sounds of excited campers splashing and yelling.

We visited the clinic staffed by an RN. And, then on to the crafts shop where I met my first fellow employee. Crystal Whitford, the arts and crafts counselor.

Back at the office I was introduced to Mindy Richards. Mindy was a middle-aged woman who had been a summer employee since her high school days. She was an unmarried grade school teacher during the year and now the camp secretary during the summer. She would be my boss for the summer. I guess it comes with the whole kid work thing, but she seemed very congenial and reassuring.

Just to the left of the admin building was the “staff” quarters where all but the cabin counselors took up residence. The lower half of the building was for female staff and the upper floor, accessible by an outside stairway, was for male staff. Dad helped me take my stuff in. There were ten rustic, but very spacious, bedrooms that contained two beds, two chest of drawers, and two desks each. I was told to look around and pick a bunk. Not much to be choosy about. They all pretty much were questionably inviting. But, hey, in the spirit of adventure, who could complain?

One notably good thing was the privacy provided by the bathrooms and showers in the staff quarters. Thank God I wouldn’t have to sneak hygiene functions into times that offered privacy.

Notably, I was one of two African American staff members. The lady who ran the mess hall was what would best be described as a jovial heavy set black lady who had to be into her fifties. That was it, just me and her. But, I must also be honest, I didn’t find the awkward feeling of questionable acceptance from any of the other staff. It was plain they were happy to have me in their ranks.

I’ll never forget that day a week after my arrival, the kids came. Mindy and I sat with the lists of campers and cabins to which they were assigned and we, essentially, collected the camper’s physical exam forms, tuition and checked them in. As large SUV’s were coming and going the camp became alive with the cheers and activity of kids running here and there. Parents unloaded their suitcases, backpacks, and duffle bags dragging them to the assigned cabins.

Things finally quieted down. At about three thirty that day our last camper had settled in. All the parents and non-camper siblings had finally vacated the area. Tiring? A little but to me it was exciting. I was off to a new adventure. Off on the “grid” or common green area kids and counselors romped and laughed. All was what I’d pictured it to be.

Surprisingly, I was able to learn the names of all staff and that first group of kids in a matter of days. Oh, occasionally, I’d have to ask some nine or ten-year-old, “And, you are?” But, generally remembering the identity of the hundred or so campers became easy, especially in that I was the mail sorter and had to deliver letters and care packages to the campers’ cabins.

Another observation was that the kids seemed to be clueless about discrimination or the color differences. It made me think that with each successive generation racial differences had become less and less an issue. There’s hope for humanity after all.

It was the second wave of campers that dramatically changed my stint. The Saturday before the Sunday arrival, Mr. Adkins came into the mailroom, we called our office, and told us that Sam Andrews the counselor he’d hired for one of the ten and eleven-year-old boys cabins had a family emergency and was having to bow out for at least the first boys’ session. He needed a replacement for at least that two weeks. He and other directors suggested I might be able to stand in as their counselor.

To this day I remember feeling both honored but hugely apprehensive. How was I a girl, and a black girl at that, merely five or six years older going to guide a bunch of for the lack of better words, boy urchins, through boy activities for two weeks? More to the point, how was I going to be able to supervise the “boy” method of camping? I’d already heard the boys were required to skinny dip at the lake, and worse, were into capturing and playing with the local wildlife, including snakes. How was I to supervise them as they changed or showered?

That said, I really wanted to. I really relished the idea that they would be at my command for two weeks. I wanted to make them strip naked for any number of reasons. I wanted to be in-charge of disciplining them when they misbehaved. I wanted to get down and dirty in athletic endeavors, but not wildlife captures and handling. Truly ever since Mindy told me the boys had to swim naked, I looked forward to the opportunity to take in the sight. My mind led me to imagine ten boys naked under the shower heads as I supervised them. Unlike the girls they showered naked as well.

You know, I didn’t then and still don’t understand how anyone showers without disrobing. But, the first wave of girls showered in their bathing suits. Funny how the rules were different for the boys. Even the toilet stalls, which were door less, were sight limited as the girls would pin their towels between the dividers to maintain minimal privacy. I was told, and soon found out, either the boys weren’t to be bothered by that or there was an unwritten rule which prevented that practice for them.

There I was being asked to do something I really was ambivalent about. But, what the hell? I’d give it a shot.

Mr. Adkins asked if I’d be more comfortable if he temporarily assigned the counselor from the six and sevens to take the older boys and I’d have the little guys. I didn’t want to. If I was going to be “entertained” by naked kids, I wanted the older ones. So, it was settled. For the first time I’d known about, a girl was going to be the counselor for the “senior” boys at Camp Algonquin. I also wondered how the parents were going to respond to that. But, most important, I wondered about the boys’ attitudes with the idea.

It turned out most parents were at least marginally okay with it. I truly think their comfort rested on the erroneous belief that females were not interested in the other gender’s equipment. That by some strange genetic anomaly, females had no sexual curiosity or drive. Wrong!!! I did and especially white boys.

The boys, on-the-other hand, were not so good with it. They were more concerned with how they were going to acclimate to someone with little athletic prowess would work out. It wouldn’t be until that first swim they’d concern themselves with being naked in front of me. That was a light switch that would be hard to throw. “You mean we have to be naked in front of her?”

Second was the fact that I was empowered to discipline them—physically, if I felt it warranted. I know most of the boys’ counselors had paddles but rarely used them. Some used a belt, but always minimally. Belts were frowned upon, but there were times. Always paddled or belted on the bare backside and always witnessed. Thankfully the physical punishment was kind of rare as the whole idea of summer camp was to let one’s self go. Secretly, the few times I used physical punishment, I kind of enjoyed it.

Mr. Adkins had given a “reminder” class to the counselors. One of the reminders offered by the camp nurse was to do a daily “tick check” on every boy. The recommended time to do it was immediately after they showered. In any case, the nurse told us the boys had to be completely naked and she went over where to look. “Their genitals need to be examined thoroughly as the critters like warm, moist areas like the scrotum or base of the penis. They also are known to seek out areas around the anuses. Don’t be shy, move stuff around if you have to.”

I have to admit, my mind briefly shifted to wondering how this was done during the girls’ session. I mean they showered in their swim attire. I didn’t dare ask.

She then gave instructions about properly removing any ticks or treating any chiggers that might be found. “If you aren’t sure how to do it, send the kids to me.”

I couldn’t believe it. I was being asked to not only be in the presence of these naked boys, but I was being told to move their penises and little ball sacks to inspect. I was supposed to bend them over, spread their cheeks and check out the area around their anuses. How are these boys going to take that? I asked.

The nurse gently stated, they’d be strange about it for the first few days, but they’d eventually be secure with it. We’d see. No, I’d see.

As a follow-up the nurse reminded the nine males and me, to look for poison ivy, oak and sumac rashes. She suggested those be referred to her and she’d treat it. She also suggested she’d rely on us to take care of treating rashes in the evenings before they went to bed. She made mention that the rashes usually showed up on arms and legs. Any place skin was exposed. But it can spread to covered areas.

I must have acted shy about doing such things. The nurse asked if I was uncomfortable examining the boys. Nervousness must have given me away. I stammered, “Well, noooo, but I’m not sure about touching their boy parts.”

She reassured me I would get comfortable with it quickly. And, also reassure me, “Honey, you’re a girl. You can touch as much as you want without risk. The poor male counselors have to worry about accusations. Accusations are rare, but not unheard of. As a female you are thought to have no curiosity or drive to play with boys’ privates and touching is completely acceptable. In fact, its considered motherly. Enjoy.”

That first day, as I said, the reality of their demise sunk in when I took them to the lake. Bill, the lifeguard for the area stood there well-tanned, whistle around his neck, sunglasses, zinc-coated nose and used his battery powered megaphone to announce, “Okay, boys, get naked!” I kind of found that abrupt. Needless to say, there was immediate hesitancy. All but two of them looked back at me as if to ask, “Are you really staying?”

Of course I was. I wanted to check out their packages. I’m not going to lie. I wanted to see these kids nude.

It took another order from Bill to get them going. Two boys had already stripped naked and were standing at the waters edge, covering their penises and waiting for Bill’s permission to enter the water. I was especially interested in two of my boys who were, for all practical descriptions, perfect. You know well shaped, tanned legs, handsome faces with broad smiles and Adonis like six packs. Yeah, Tony and Chris were beautiful specimens. I was overwhelmed by the opportunity to complete the picture.

I think Bill liked the bashfulness. He called me to the beach area. He then ordered the naked boys to form a line and face us. “Hands to your sides! I want to go over the rules. Just stand there and listen so you can swim.”

I tried to act completely disinterested in their nudity, but no way I could sell that. I couldn’t help but visually be drawn to their penises and ball sacks, especially Tony and Chris’. The boys weren’t listening to Bill. I could tell as they all were spending much of the time trying to assess my interest in their boyhoods. At any given moment at least seven or eight were looking at me as he spoke.

Tony was shall we say well endowed, at least in comparison to the other boys. Not only was he handsome beyond words, but his athletic build, those muscular meaty legs, and that beautiful package put him way ahead of his peers. Chris on the other hand was cute. He too had beautiful legs, but his boy parts were what I’d consider normal. He was not nearly as long as Tony nor two of the other boys. The chunkiest boy in the cabin, Mitchell, had little more than a nub and didn’t seem the least bit aroused by the situation.

Both Tony and Chris, along with about five others, were stiff as tree limbs. Eight of the ten were circumcised the other two presented penises I’d never seen before. My little cousin was circumcised and I had no idea what that meant. I just assumed that was the natural way they were born. That was the summer my whole cut or not cut awakening took place.

It was the nurse who explained it all to me later that afternoon. “With boys who haven’t been circumcised, during the tick checks, slide the foreskin back off the glans and look for not just critters, but make sure they’re cleaning themselves properly.” She offered to come and show me how, if I needed to see it done. She told me frankly it was rare to have uncircumcised kids in this country, but two out of ten in the same group was really unheard of at the camp. She asked if they were brothers.

The following morning all the boys and counselors were at a ceremony called “call to colors”. Prior to breakfast everyone gathered by cabin to watch the flag raising and recite the Pledge of Allegiance. As I looked around at all or charges, I couldn’t help but notice there were four black boys mixed in the sea of Caucasians. Two of them looked to be seven or eight and the others, I believe, were in the nine year old’s cabin. Will wonders never cease.

Even more impressive though was the number of kids who were wearing the official Algonquin camp wear. I loved it. Remember the track shorts and gym shorts of yesteryear. The cotton shorts with the elastic waist band with the one or two inch inseams? Well, picture if you will a white pair (a really good color for boys in the wilds [tic]} with what was evidently an optional white t-shirt sporting a forest green camp logo. I say optional t-shirt as many boys didn’t wear the shirt preferring to be bare above the waist. Based on my observation of boys during activities, some were what Gary called “free balling”. You get the picture. But, those little legs. Oh, those legs. So many tight, shapely, tanned little boy legs contrasting the white shorts. You could see tan lines where their everyday home and school shorts stopped. Those tan lines would be gone when Mom and Dad picked them up. It was nothing less than an advertisement for me to want to make them expose more.

The other counselor with like age boys, Gary, asked me about what two days I’d like to schedule the naked campout. I remember taking it the wrong way thinking the guy was making a pass at me. He laughed and explained that two times a session, he and Sam would make the boys strip naked and lead them into the woods to spend two days and one night foraging and exploring au naturel. The counselors didn’t participate in the naked requirement. This year with one of them—me—being a female, it was definite only the boys would be nude. Gary said he was anxious to see how the kids were going to react to the ordeal with a girl counselor being there.

Amazingly, he followed up with the “you can bring your camera if you like”. I wondered if my excitement was that transparent. All I can say is thank God for the digital camera. I quickly pondered how the past counselors had film with such images developed and printed without problems. I was later told by my mother boy nudity wasn’t considered porn back in her day, but the modesty “evolved over the years to pacify ‘wussy’ mothers”.

I was so excited looking forward to the camping outing, but I had to hide it.

That first night I took the boys to the showers. I was hesitant about making them march up to the bath house naked so I allowed them to wear their underwear. I did manage to spot the six and seven year olds leaving as we approached. They were nude, waving their towels and laughing as they walked back to their cabin. Not a single one of them was swayed that a “girl” counselor was present. Not a single one of them even attempted to hide their penis. They were cute. Their little appendages did tug at my sensibilities. I wanted to just pinch and tweak them as they walked past.

As the boys showered and I watched much to their dismay, Gary approached and asked how long it’d be before my group was done as he wanted his boys to be next. I said I had to do the “tick and poison ivy thing” so I wasn’t sure. He said they usually did the examinations at the cabin so the showers weren’t tied up.

I think he enjoyed the boys’ embarrassment. He suggested he could bring his boys up to the showers while mine were still in there. “It’ll be a bit tight, but I think they all will fit.”

Still a bit uncertain about this whole counselor thing, I declined suggesting it’d be too tight. His response was he’d wait, but his boys were going to have to adapt to being seen naked by a female counselor before the naked hike. We decided to join forces and share swim and canoe sessions and it could happen there.

“Hey, would you mind checking my kids for ticks and rashes tonight? If you did both cabins, I could kind of help you get used to the process. Besides I think I’ll enjoy forcing the nudity on them. It’d be good for them.”

I was a bit uncertain about the advisability of joining forces that way, but decided I was the newcomer and Gary seemed really interested in breaking in the boys before the hike.

“Sounds okay to me. How will we do this?”

His suggestion was that I could examine my kids as they left the shower and they could just assemble naked outside the shower room and wait while I examined his group. That’s exactly how it came down.

Ever experienced feeling penises of twenty boys? It was fun. I can’t deny it. I loved the embarrassment and hesitancy the most. I’d reach over and grab the hard-ons by the tip and wiggle them around. I’d finger their still immature ball sacks and then made them bend over so I could spread their round tight butt cheeks. Even Gary enjoyed the embarrassment the boys showed during those displays.

Third to line up for the check was Tony. I had examined two boys which represented the first non-toddler penises I’d ever felt. It was evident that the ten year old boys were uncomfortable with me moving their penises side to side and in one case lifting his ball sack but they complied. Tony approached and he was sporting an erection.

As he approached my heart quickened and my breathing must have grown quicker. I could almost feel the hormones shooting throughout my body. I pinched his glans lightly. I still remember the feel of the kid’s penis tip and how I wanted to play with it for a considerably longer time. I couldn’t resist the temptation to grab the shaft and hold it out of the way as I traced over his scrotum with the index finger of my right hand. The stiffness was very notable and inviting. As I manipulated his penis, I looked up to see his head slightly raise and eyes turned toward the heavens. He was definitely embarrassed and wanted to deal with it by acting inattentive, but it was very evident he was thoroughly humiliated. I loved it.

Truly I was concerned that Gary was noticing my interest in the boys’ equipment so I tried to act hurried. Taking the kid by his bare hips, I gently turned him around so I could inspect his butt cheeks, crack and anus. Nothing there either. I patted his bare backside and ushered him on. Oh, how I wanted to make that boy stay nude for the entire camping experience. He was beautiful. Even more so when he was embarrassed.

Gary made me wonder if I’d given away my secrets, “Good looking boy, isn’t he?”

What could I do, but agree without my voice cracking, “Who? Tony? Yeah. He is a good-looking kid.” Nothing more was said.

Twenty boys and not a single one verbally complained, but you could tell they hated it. As I took hold of their penises some would pull away, but a firm swat on their bare backsides with my hand usually brought them into quick compliance. Twenty boys and not a single tick. Not a sign of rashes.

That night as the boys slept, I lay awake plotting ways to spend more time stimulating my boys to foster my eroticism. I had to find a way to spend more time fondling Tony especially. The kid was beautiful and I wanted time to feel him beyond the tick exams. It did dawn on me that the nurse had suggested we counselors treating poison ivy rashes. Not having ever had a poison ivy rash, I wondered what that would entail. It was obvious there would be some kind of ointment that would have to be applied. My plan started to come together. On the naked campout, I’d make Tony and a couple of the others rub their genitals against a vine hoping they’d break out in those specific body parts. At eleven he couldn’t possibly be aware of what poison ivy looked like. I wondered how long the rashes would remain. I could only dream about such an outcome.

Maybe, I could find a way to bring some leaves to them without risking me getting a reaction. The nurse suggested for the rash to occur one would almost certainly have to come into skin contact with the plants, but not necessarily always. If I could get some latex gloves from the craft shop, I could pick some leaves from one of the many vines encircling the trees in the woods, and, as the boys slept, I could pull down their pajamas or underpants and rub their boy parts with the leaves. Would the latex gloves protect me? Would the treatment methods justify such a chance? Who knew? To evaluate the risk of being infected myself, I’d talk with Gary about what treating poison plant infestation entailed.

His response to my question was, “Depends on how bad and where the rash occurs. Sometimes the nurse just gives us lotion to put on it. Sometimes, if the doctor is here, they give them a steroid shot. In either case, the nurse likes letting air at the site of the infection or wound. If they have the rash on their legs or arms, it’s shorts and short-sleeve shirts which is what they wear anyway, but the clothing has to be washed daily. The mess hall ladies hate that because they have to launder the boys’ clothing when it happens. Of course, the boys have to shower every day, so that’s nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve even seen it so bad they had it all over their balls.” Using the term balls made me feel fully accepted into the guy culture. He continued, “When that happened, we had to have the boy walk around pantsless for a day or two to let the air and sunshine help them heal. Poor kids got teased relentlessly.”

You know, to this day, I think Gary knew what I really longed for. I believe when he said things like that, he was leading me. Perhaps he didn’t buy the whole females have no interest in naked boys thing. I think he liked seeing my bashfulness when he said that. Little did he know he was really encouraging me to find ways to make it happen. Or, was he just joshing me?

I left that conversation with the commitment to at the very least make sure Tony got the rash and it was centered on his pubic area. I wanted Tony to have to succumb to my doctoring his penis, testicles and anus. I wanted to make him walk around pantsless, if Gary was being truthful. I was more than willing to put the lotion or ointment on him every day. Just the thought of it made me more than anxious to rub the damned poison ivy leaves on him as he slept, if it looked like the rash was clearing up. I was also willing to do the same to four or five of the others, but Tony topped the list.

That first Wednesday Gary and I gathered the boys in nothing but shorts and shoes at the common bathhouse. Each was issued a sleeping back. Backpacks with “provisions” were put on the bigger boys. Smaller boys were to carry a tent. But, before we left, Gary gave the command to shed their shorts and underwear. He announced this would be the first naked campout. I was amused at the shock that ran across their faces. Of the twenty, probably half pulled their shorts and underwear off. Boys from the younger cabins were definitely amused as the older boys stripped. It was evident they were tuned to “checkout” our boys’ genitals. They looked, satisfied their curiosity, and went casually back about their business. It passed my thinking how I wasn’t sure girls their age would be that disinterested.

Gary’s prodding gave little leeway to those who straggled. “Come on, guys, all of you, everything off shorts, underwear. You can leave your shoes on and wear your caps if you have one. This is going to be a ‘survival’ exercise.” The remainder slid their shorts, and, if they were wearing any, underwear off. Tony included. And, yes, there were many boners bouncing around.

I collected the garments and placed them in a box which would be stowed in Gary’s cabin until we returned.

Off we went. Eventually we had twenty flaccid little dicks. The four or five that had been on the verge of tears when they found out they’d be nude for the next two days had acclimated to the situation. I couldn’t help but notice how some of the least equipped held steady, the greatest majority swayed with each step, and two or three, Tony included, tended to flop side to side. I had a great urge to help those young phalluses snap back to life, but I had to maintain the female stereotype—disinterest. Bullshit!

I held my cover so well, I think even Gary began questioning his uncertainty to the contrary.

“Don’t you think they’re cute?”

I acted oblivious, “What do you mean?”

“The boys. Don’t you think they’re cute when they’re naked? I mean when they’re so embarrassed to be naked?”

I couldn’t be contrary without suggesting the kids were cute. “Yeah, I guess they are. I kind of like it when they blush.”

We traipsed further and further into the woods with the boys. As we went, Gary, the amateur naturalist pointed out various flora and fauna, except poison ivy. If my plan was to work, I couldn’t risk the boys being able to identify it. On the other hand, how in the hell would I be able to identify it. I mean I wasn’t all that woodsy as a kid and sure didn’t spend time learning about plants other than home landscape varieties. Like I said before, I never experienced poison ivy or any other kind of irritating plant.

We reached a point about a half mile from the camp where we’d set up camp. It was obvious this was the ‘go to’ site for group campouts. A clearing with a circular formation of rocks that surround the charred remains of campfires of the past. Gary instructed the boys in setting up tents. I was entertained by the bare asses and penises as they went about their work. I know they were completely oblivious to my watching and I think missed the fact that I was taking all kinds of photos as they gave those candid poses. To maintain a modicum of ‘disinterest’, J asked Gary to teach me how to set up a tent. He did. I was then able to assist the boys who might be having difficulty.

Randy, one of my ten-year-olds, asked, “How come we gotta be naked?” it was more than evident he was very uncomfortable with that requirement.

I adlibbed, “Well, it’s a survival hike, Randy. We want you to learn to survive with the bare minimum. Gary is going to teach you how to find plants in the woods that you could eat. We’re going to try to catch fish and small game and cook on the campfire. If you’re naked it makes it even more primitive. You’ll get used to it.”

His facial expression spoke volumes. He didn’t buy that explanation. But, what was I to say? “Because we love to see your boy parts and enjoy embarrassing you.” I sure didn’t think that’d help, but, for me at least, it was the truth.

Just off the cuff as we approached the campfire circle, Gary pointed out a stump that looked like it was made for sitting. “I would stay away from the stump over there, it’s got a poison ivy vine starting to climb it.” He ushered me over, and from about three feet pointed out the telltale leaves. “That’s poison ivy. I’ll have to tell the boys to stay away too. Guess I’ll point it out at lunch.”

What immediately came to mind was, “Shit!” But, thinking fast I implored him to let me make the announcement so I didn’t look completely out of my realm. He agreed. I could fake my limited ability to identify wooded plants and warn the boys of the poison ivy. That would give me time to get Tony to sit on the damned stump for a photo session, which he would hate the thought of to begin with. Hopefully, by the time we got back to camp he’d have a full-blown allergic reaction that would need doctoring. Ah, a legitimate excuse to prolonged contact with his boyhood and hopefully a prescription for fresh air and sunshine for a day or two. That is if the prevailing rumors of such treatment were true.

I spent some time sitting on a rock at the campfire circle staring at the penis of my unsuspecting target. It was definitely longer than those of the other kids. The glans was cleanly separated by a tight circumcision scar. I noted that at the bathhouse that first night as I pressed it up against his pubis so I could examine his preteen sized ball sack. Really, the kid was beautiful. I remember wondering how it was his mother didn’t make him run nude all the time. He was worth showing off. Then I’d wonder if she found ways to trick him into thinking she didn’t care about his boy parts. Though, I don’t know how she could not. How she could help herself from forcing him to show them off to other folks.

I decided to make my move when Gary was going to take the boys on a short hike to a stream a couple hundred yards from the campsite. I told him, Tony would stay back and he and I would round up some dead limbs for firewood. Tony was somewhat disappointed that he would miss the stream and possibly a quick ‘swim’. I reassured him we’d make up for it.

The boy’s penis still hung loosely as he began picking up dead limbs and stacking them next to the fire circle. I wanted so much to spend some time rubbing him to bring that thing to life. But, how to do that?

“Tony, come over here and sit on this stump. Take a break.”

He didn’t even bat an eye and was sitting smack dab on the stump that served as a nursery for the poison ivy. I grabbed the camera from my tent. On my approach he could see where this was going and he immediately grabbed his parts of interest to shield them from my lens. His face was red. I could see this was going to be an ordeal in itself.

“What are you going to do with that?”

“I’m going to take a few pictures of you here at the campsite. We can give them to your parents.”

“They don’t need pictures of me. Mom has lots of them.”

“I bet she doesn’t have any of you at a campsite.” I began taking photos.

He tried to look elsewhere while he constantly clutched his package. He even stood up suggesting we go find the rest of the kids.

“Tony, sit back down and move your hands. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. You’re just a little boy and all little boys look pretty much the same.”

He sat back down in frustration but kept the death grip on his genitals.

“I said move your hands. You know how cute you are. People want to see a carefree young boy. Tony, PUT YOUR HANDS ON THE STUMP AND QUIT PLAYING!”

The more angry order got results. The boy moved his hands but kept his knees together.

“Spread those legs apart.” He was on the verge of tears, but slowly complied. It was evident he decided there was no alternative. “Don’t be so shy, I took many pictures of you guys setting up camp. I’m sure your penis is already in more than one of them. You just didn’t know it happened.”

I framed and took several photos of what now was a raging boner sticking out parallel to the ground. Most were of him seated, some of him standing on the stump. The kid was definitely devastated by the ordeal.

After pausing to review what I’d captured using the review screen on the back of my camera, I was satisfied. I was particularly happy to see that the flash had eliminated the shadows created by the sunlight filtering through the leaves of the surrounding trees from his body. Some of the photos showed closeups that all included his handsome face, but didn’t neglect his penis and scrotum. I had to back up the images as soon as I could find an available computer.

“Okay, let’s go find the rest of the group.” Tony’s relief was very evident.

I plotted how I’d head off any parental discomfort when they heard of the photos. And, I was sure they would. Rather than be secretive, I decided the best thing to do was to ‘get there first’ and share them with his Mom at the very least. You know kind of a, “Here we are on the naked survival outing.” No, I had to rethink, “Here we are on the survival outing.” Let them point out the boy’s nudity. Then I could explain the “survival” term truly meant the “bare essentials”.

I was later surprised at how uneventful that meeting would be. Dad laughed and Mom asked if I’d e-mail photos that captured Tony in them. Dad was more interested in how Tony reacted to having to be naked in front of me, a young girl. He stated, Tony was even shy around other boys. Ending his commentary with, “This camp thing was good for him. Glad we made him come.”

When we arrived at the stream, I told Gary I’d forgotten to warn the boys of the poison ivy hazard back at the campsite and suggested he’d better do it. He agreed. Funny, when he did, Tony showed no understanding that he might be infected from sitting on it. But, exposed he was and the itch started later that day.

The kid kept scratching his balls. I was amused and really thankful that it’d have to be treated. As I sat on the rock at the fire site, I watched as he moved his fingers even further back and started scratching his butt hole area. He’d scratch and stop and momentarily he’d scratch again. The kid had it.

Actually, I was almost compelled to ask Gary if I needed to walk him back to the camp so the nurse could have a look, but I didn’t. The next afternoon would be plenty early to get some treatment advice for the boy. Maybe by that time Chris or some of the others would have the same problem.

That night as I lay in my own private pup tent, I lulled myself to sleep thinking of, no, hoping for a prescription for Tony that included full time exposure of his lower extremities. If what Gary reported was true, I’d be thrilled beyond belief.

I began to think, misery loves company. What if I made Chris sit on the stump? Or, for that matter, any number of the boys we had gathered. Alex from Gary’s cabin was a real cutie and he had an inviting package. Maybe, I could arrange for that to happen. But, Gary had identified the weed and cautioned the boys, they’d certainly not be very cooperative about sitting on it. I found relief in the thought, when push came to shove, at least Tony was exposed.

The camp nurse was quick to see and diagnose Tony. I had to accompany him. Surprisingly, she asked me to stay while she did the examination. Without any hesitation she told Tony to drop his pants so she could get a look at the problem. He turned back to me with a look that almost implied “Do I have to?” For the moment I felt like his alternative mother. I just nodded for him to go ahead and do as he was told.

Slowly, he lowered his shorts and followed them with his briefs. A quick exam and the nurse said, “Got a little too close to some poison ivy, did ya?”

She addressed me, “If Doc Williams was here, he’d give him a steroid injection and it’d help clear him up within a day, but he won’t be here until Saturday. I’m going to give you some lotion and antihistamines to tide you over. Wouldn’t hurt to let some air get at it when possible.” Then addressing Tony she said, “Tony, my boy, you need to be careful where you sit especially when you’re naked.” With a smile she got up and retrieved the needed medications.

The nurse handed him a pill and cup of water to wash it down with. Then she addressed him, “Honey, you need to kick off the shorts and underwear so I can get those legs spread and put this cream on your boy parts and butt.”

He panicked. “Why?”

I assumed the parental role, “Because the nurse asked you to. Just do as you were told.”

He complied. As the nurse covered his penis and scrotum with the cream his penis began to respond. He took his usual stance where he looked off toward the ceiling trying to ignore the situation. Didn’t work too well, but no one acknowledged his embarrassing state.

I was handed the tube of cream and a bottle of pills. “One of these three times a day. Put the cream on sparingly after breakfast, lunch and bedtime. Before each application use soap and water to clean the area. Be sure you get around his anus and under his scrotum. If you can, find time to let him run around naked from the waist down. Fresh air is probably one of the best cures. Bring him back on Saturday so I can see how he’s doing. If he needs to, we can have the doctor look at him.”

With that, I snatched up the boys shorts and underwear. The message was clear he was going back to the cabin not wearing them. That little pecker was hard as a rock.

You know, as I wrote before, I really never wanted to have penetrating sexual contact with any of the boys. I did relish forcing them to embarrass themselves through forced nudity. I did love to feel and stimulated their penises, one because I loved the feel of their stiff appendages; two, because I loved exposing them to others to foster that embarrassment; and, three, those tight little asses were so comforting to rub, pinch and slap. Something else. I loved looking at how the shaft and the tip of white boys’ penises contrasted. I mean that white shaft was so much lighter than the dark pink tips. Black boys’ equipment had very little contrast in comparison. I would come to see how keeping them naked and allowing the tanning process to do its thing on their boy parts would lessen that contrast.

Confession time. I did find as many of my senses I could employ around those naked kids the better I liked it. As I said, the sight and feel of their bodies was a turn on, especially when I forced them to share those opportunities with others. Smell-wise there is a little boy, what best can be called musk, they get after a day of active play. That too became a stimulating part of the whole naked thing. But to say I didn’t occasionally find myself drawn to want to bite their butt cheeks or lick their penises and ball sacks, I’d be lying. I never did, but the urge definitely came and went during the forced nudity.

I want to say it was the Monday of the second week, we had all twenty boys working on some art projects with pine cones they’d collected the day before. Some were in the craft shop and some outside on the arts and crafts tables. They were truly self-starters with little need for guidance on the projects. Gary and I had to plan a presentation the boys would give on the day their families came to pick them up. Usually this was some kind of display of arts and crafts, synchronized swimming or diving activity (yes, and they’d be naked), or camping skills. It was an opportunity for us to show their families the money spent on the two week session was well spent.

As we exchanged ideas, Crystal (the craft shop counselor) and I joked about how cute the kids were when they were naked. I mentioned Tony’s penis size and how self-conscious I thought it made him. Even Gary joined the conversation mentioning how, as a male, he kind of liked the forced nudity periods. He found them to be a punishing thing for the boys and for some reason punishment turned him on. And, he had to admit Tony was “gifted” in the boy department and overall was a real “eye catcher”.

About thirty minutes into the conversation Crystal asked why we didn’t plan a Native American pageant. “You know, have them walk around in loin cloths all day. They could do a dance, shoot bows and arrows, and all that stuff.” Sounded feasible.

“I could help them make loin cloths.” Then she got a devious little grin. “Well, let’s call them front and back covers rather than loin cloths. Usually loin cloths are made with a piece of cloth that covers front and back as it traverses the area between their legs. What I have in mind is two small pieces of cloth that hang loosely from a bailing twine belt. Let’s keep those bare boy parts and backsides as viewable as possible.”

I got wet just imagining it. Gary posed some problems. “You think the parents would be good with that? I think we’d be opening ourselves to a bit of hostility, at least from a few of them. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Crystal was quick to argue. “You think those mothers out there really are prudes, don’t you? Let me tell you, females love to show off little boys’ bodies and I mean the whole body. We’re supposed to act prudish, when in fact there are few women I know who wouldn’t love forcing their boys to run around naked. Am I right?” She nudged me with her elbow. From my limited experience with it, I had to concur. Really, I had to concur because I loved the idea.

“Well, what do you think Old Man Adkins is going to say? I don’t think he’ll be up for that.”

Long story short, after the kids were bedded down that night, we met with Mr. Adkins and told him what we had in mind. Gary made no secret of the “costuming” problems. Adkins kind of sluffed it off with a “They’re just little boys. Is there anyone who hasn’t seen a penis or backside before?”

I kept to myself the fact that until this work experience I really hadn’t, unless you counted my toddler cousin.

The next morning, as I twisted Tony’s penis between my fingers during the poison ivy treatment and making him stay naked for a few hours, I dreamt of making the boy a feature in that pageant. We could make the others wear those loin cloths, but Tony had to expose all. How could we do that? I shared the dream with Crystal who’d seen him naked from the waist down as a part of his curative process. She agreed his penis was clearly an award winner and that showing it off to the world would be fun.

“What if we make a big to-do of him being the chief of the tribe? We could say, ‘Because you have been through so much, with your rash and all, we think you are the toughest. How about you being chief?’

Then we have him work on a head dress while the others fashion their loincloths. We tell him on the day of the pageant that the chief only wore the head dress and nothing else. It’s bullshit, but he won’t know it is. It’ll be too late for him to change his mind. We make him present himself nude to the whole camp family. Maybe we shouldn’t tell Gary.”

We didn’t. But, we did sell Tony on being chief. It really wasn’t hard because he liked the idea of being “the boss” of the other kids. Crystal also sold him on the fact that he’d have to wear a headdress while the other kids would only have a head band with a feather or two. No mention was made that he wouldn’t be given front and back loin flaps.

For the next three days the boys worked for hours on decorations for their front loin flaps. Crystal instructed them on working on the bead looms. They loved it. It kept them so occupied there wasn’t a hint of misbehavior.

Tony worked on bead work as well. His was for the band of his headdress. Crystal motivated him by putting a box of feathers of almost every color next to him as she sewed a garland for him to use to attach those feathers. It fit his head and had two three foot tails that came down his back. As she adjusted it, I imagined that stiff little appendage sticking out front. Even more exciting was him being clueless the other boys were making covers for their lower extremities and he wasn’t.

On the pick-up day, the other cabins were busy setting up their displays. There were clothes lines with art work clipped to them, tables of nature displays, wood carvings, etc. Our ten and elevens were busily getting in costume. I have to admit, there were complaints about how their boy parts cold be seen pretty easily, but they were told to toughen up. More than one asked, “Can we wear underpants?” Which was met with, “Do you think the Indians had underpants?”

Unlike their modesty levels two weeks prior, most eventually came to grips with their semi-exposure.

Then the holler from Tony. “Hey, where’s my loin cloth?”

As gently as I could, I explained his effort went into the headdress and as the chief that’s all he would be wearing. The other boys in the cabin were in awe at that bit of information. I guess they had some empathy. Tony became extremely belligerent and refused to participate. It was then I got a bit more forceful and told him he would participate naked, and, if I had to wear him out with a paddle, he’d have a red warm bottom to show off with his cute penis. He started to cry and plead with me not to make him do it.

Push came to shove and I left my group to Gary’s supervision as I sought Tony’s parents. Actually, I hadn’t intended to do it, but imagine sending some nude kid out in front of the entire world while everyone else at least had some semblance of cover. There were only two potential parental responses and I wanted to ensure, this time, it’d be positive.

I took me the better part of a half hour trying to wade through the crowd mulling around to find his parents and two sisters. I hadn’t spoken to them since that first day. The nurse had, explaining the whole PI treatment and all, but I hadn’t.

We reintroduced and I explained the whole Native American pageant to them. I told them Tony would be chief. I explained the costumes the boys would be wearing and how they were a bit revealing. Both kind of nervously grinned. Tony’s sisters listened intently. I then told them the only garment that Tony would be wearing would be an ornate headdress. Otherwise he’d be completely naked. At that the girls covered their mouths in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle their giggles. I distinctly heard the younger one whisper to the older one, “Tony’s gonna be naked in front of everyone.” As if, she hadn’t heard it herself.

“What I want is your blessing to allow it.”

His mother asked, “How’s he feel about that?”

I had to be honest, “Welllllll, he...”

At that the boy’s father chuckled and jumped in, “Tell him he’ll get over it. It’ll give him memories for the rest of his life. It’s time for him to man up.”

Misuses stood wide-eyed and finally broke her silence, “Well, he’s got nothing to be ashamed of. He is pretty well-endowed. I have to agree with his father. Tell him we said he’s to perform as planned.”

This really tickled his sisters. The younger one again responded with a chant, “Ooooohhhhhh...Tony’s gonna be naked, Tony’s gonna be naked.” She was shushed by her mother.

You could hear the gasp as our boys were ushered into the outdoor arena. Their flaps bounced up and down exposing their penises and backsides as they moved. Eventually, the gasps turned to laughter as the audience became more comfortable with the display of genitalia. Then Tony was introduced. I almost had to drag him out of the make-up tent. There must have been three or four hundred people waiting to “meet the chief”.

He wrestled a bit but I slapped his bare ass so hard the crack of the contact probably pierced the noise from the log seats of the “arena”. He walked out clutching his jewels. The drum beat started and the boys all engaged in the dance they’d been taught. Two of the guys from our cabin grabbed Tony’s arms and forced him to participate, but more importantly they freed his long boner for all to see. The cheap seats became electric with chatter and cellphone activity. I’ll bet Tony was photographed that day more than all the pictures his parents had taken of him those first ten years. Yeah, tell me again men, women, boys and girls aren’t entertained by naked boys.

Following the pageant, I reinforced Tony for being so brave, and walked him to his parents. The kid was still in costume and quite embarrassed. His dad congratulated him for his “show”. His little sister slapped his erect penis and giggled as it swayed left and right. She swung again but was caught by their mother before contact was made. His dad told him that while he was in the make-up tent his sisters and he had moved his stuff to the car.

The resulting conversation was very arousing to me.

Tony teared up and pointed out that all those people were “Looking at my thing. They were taking pictures of me naked. It was embarrassing.”

His mother fielded the response, “Of course they were. They can see your handsome face and beautiful legs anytime. Boys’ penises are something they don’t get to look at very often, and yours, my boy, is a really cute one.” Dropping his head, he mumbled asking his dad if he’d left him some shorts and a shirt to put on. The response, and I’ll never forget it, was, “Your mother and I have heard you spent a great deal of time here at camp naked. There were the survival campouts, the poison ivy treatment, and now totally nude in front of hundreds of people. We both feel that was a real growth experience for you, so we’re going to continue making you expose yourself to others when we can. Well, today, you’re going to ride home naked. You sisters are curious about your penis so you can share it with them all the way home. It’s only a couple of hours, you’ll live.”

The parents thanked me and handed me an envelope. When they left, I opened it. $100! I’d never been tipped before.

I love the counselor role especially with the preteen boys.

(End of File)