Be Careful What You Ask For 9

By David

The author prefers not to display any email address. Please direct any feedback to [email protected] and it will be forwarded

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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I was admittedly a strange child, obsessed with odd little fantasies but too shy to tell anyone. As I entered adolescence I embarked on a series of secret adventures to satisfy my insatiable curiosity. Only when I got caught did I realize just how careful you have to be about what you ask for … it just might come true!

Part Nine – A Perfectly Awful Morning in My Own Back Yard!

I felt so vulnerable, standing completely naked in my back yard. The morning sun was warm against my eleven year old body, but between the cold concrete beneath my feet and a cool breeze tickling my bare skin, I couldn’t help but shiver all over. A twinge of fear definitely contributed to my trembling, which was understandable since my own mother had just forced me out of the house and elevated this stupid situation to a whole new level!

This is getting out of control, I thought to myself. This isn’t supposed to be happening! First Miss Thelma and her stupid daughters, then Mrs. Taylor … and then Jackie … and now my mom? At this rate, who knew who else was going to find out about my stupid secret! I just had to figure out how to stop all this craziness from happening!

I rubbed my bare bottom where my mom had just slapped the heck out of it. The stinging pain made me feel hurt and helpless, just like a little kid. It also made me feel ashamed of myself, almost as much as being tossed out of my own house without any clothes!

I looked down at my penis. Smooth and pink with no hair at all, it looked so helpless, so vulnerable as it stood out erect and stiff ready for action. I wiped my eyes and sighed.

“Great! This is all I need … my stupid wiener sticking out! I wish you’d just go back to sleep!”

But before I go any further you have to understand that I was awkwardly conflicted about my situation. While part of me – and I do mean a significantly large part – was absolutely terrified of what my mom had done and what awful things she had in store for me, there was that other part that was obviously excited and even thrilled by these latest developments.

Remember the grade school adventurer who dared to go naked at Mrs. Taylor’s house? Well, that same perverted little masochist was alive and well inside my stupid pre-pubescent head, giggling and grinning with delight at the trap my mother had set for me; I actually caught myself nervously giggling and grinning on the outside, which was really confusing. It was as though that part of me was saying, “Weee! This is going to be so awful, it’s going to be great!” while I knew for a fact it was going to make my life miserable. But I couldn’t help myself from feeling that way … it was just who and what I was at that time. And my eleven year old erection was proof of that!

See? I told you I was a weird little kid.

Okay, so back to where I was. I remember looking across the back yard, scared and confused and feeling like a complete moron. I also remember telling myself I had to make sure nobody could see my naked butt. Crouching over and clutching my chest to hide my nakedness, I looked around to see what I was up against.

“Okay, so maybe as long as there's nobody here to see me, this won’t be so bad,” I whispered to myself. “Maybe ….”

Our back yard was pretty big, large enough for a two-car garage, my mom’s flower and vegetable gardens and a couple of old oak trees, one of which had a rope swing my dad had tied to a high branch. A concrete picnic table sat under the shade of the other oak tree. I took a deep breath as I realized I was going to have to walk all the way across the yard and sit there, right out in the open where anybody and everybody could see me.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Our property backed up to a quiet wooded area where I often explored and played in the creek. Hardly anybody ever went through there, so I normally didn’t have to worry about prying eyes. In my present situation, however, my imagination ran wild and I had to keep telling myself there wasn’t anybody lurking among the trees. At least I was pretty sure there wasn’t.

Luckily, a tall privacy fence protected the left side of the house where our next door neighbors, the Millers, lived. The Miller house was a single story ranch, which was good as that meant no second story windows for spying on whatever went on in our yard. That was important as the Millers had a daughter named Becky who was the bane of my existence. She was as mean as she was ugly – she was the fattest, grossest girl I’d ever seen – and I shuddered to think what she’d do if she ever saw me without any clothes on.

“That would be awful!” I whispered to myself, clutching my naked body as tightly as possible. “If Becky catches me like this, I’ll never be able to go to school again.”

I glanced down to see my boy boobs and my stupid penis. I hated how my dumb nipples stuck out! And my wiener was still sticking out without a care in the world, oblivious of the danger that lurked nearby. I sighed and shook my head.

“Oh yeah … if she sees any of this ... I’ll just die ….”

For an instant I pictured fat, freckle-faced Becky Miller standing in front me, grinning her goofy buck-toothed grin and staring at my naked body through her dumb old coke-bottle glasses. I could practically hear her teasing and mocking me with her stupid loud mouth, letting the whole neighborhood know how ridiculous I looked and doing her absolute best to make me cry.

“Oooooo, look at little sissy Davy in his little sissy birthday suit!” I imagined Fat Becky saying. “He looks so dumb without any clothes on! He looks just like a widdle baby who wost his widdle diaper! Ha-haaa!!! Where’s your diaper, sissy Davy? Did your mommy forget to put it on you?”

I could easily picture her shoving me around, pulling my curly hair and smacking away at my bare bottom and tweaking my swollen nipples. I even allowed myself to picture her grabbing at my penis and pinching it in order to make me cry.

“Go ahead and cry, crybaby!” I imagined her saying. “Cry for your mommy and tell her I pulled off your stupid little wiener!”

It didn’t take much for me to think up all this. Becky had a reputation for being a bully; ever since I knew her in third grade she would push around the littler kids and taunt them until they were in tears. The worst thing she’d ever done with me was tease me about my long curly hair, but that was enough to scar me for life. Well, throughout the fourth, fifth and sixth grades, at least.

“Ooooo, look at Davy’s pretty pretty hair!” she would sing loud as she could, whether it was in class or in the cafeteria. “His pretty curls are so girly, he’s more girl than boy! Haha, Davy’s got curly girly hair! Davy’s got curly girly hair!”

On the advice of my mother I ignored Fat Becky’s nonsense most of the time, but she still intimidated me; I made it a practice to stay as far away from her as possible, which wasn’t easy since we were next door neighbors.

“Thank goodness for that fence!” I whispered as I replayed my little masochistic fantasy in my mind. “I hate that stupid Becky!”

Shivering in my bare skin, I did my best to put Becky Miller out of my mind for the moment. I had other things to worry about, like making sure my mother was the only one who saw me during my stupid naked picnic breakfast!

The other side of our yard was poorly protected by a low picket fence covered in wild roses and a few small decorative evergreens. That was where Mrs. Mullins lived. Mrs. Mullins was a nice old lady, older than my mom but not quite old enough to be my grandmother. She was a little nosey and way too pushy in my humble opinion. I didn’t care for her was because my mom made me mow her yard for free. I resented that – well, doing it for free, at least as she had plenty of money; the only thing I ever got for my efforts was a pinch on the cheek and a sloppy old lady kiss on the forehead. That doesn’t sound too bad, I guess, but I really hated sloppy old lady kisses!

After this day I would hate them more than ever before.

Tugging nervously at my curly locks, I looked toward Mrs. Mullins’ house with dread. It was common to see her either in her garden or peering out the kitchen window. That was the bad news. The good news was that I hadn’t seen her for a couple of days, so I figured she was out of town. At least that’s what I hoped. If she was home and if she did see me naked, well, that probably wouldn’t be the end of the world. She was just an old lady, so what would she care? At least it would be better than if that stupid old Becky Miller saw me!

I was lost in my thoughts when my mom yelled at me; it was a good thing I’d peed before taking my shower or there would have been another wet stain for me to worry about! I turned to see her standing at the back door, her hands on her hips and a look of disapproval on her face.

“David! What are you doing? Why are you still standing there? Go on over to the picnic table and have a seat! I’ll bring your breakfast to you in a few minutes.”

Resisting the urge to cover my erection – I did NOT want another spanking, that’s for sure! – I instead clutched my arms across my chest and frowned. “But Mom … do I really have to? Please … can’t I come in now? Please don't make me stay outside with no clothes on. I’ve learned my lesson ….”

“David Allen Cartwright, what did I tell you? Get away from the house and go to the picnic table and have a seat! Do it … NOW!!!”

There it was again, my middle name. That meant my mother was pretty close to going ballistic on me. I decided to cut my losses and take my chances with the picnic table. I took a deep breath, let it out, and carefully stepped off the concrete patio and toward my doom.

Needless to say, I was experiencing a strong sense of déjà vu as I left the safe proximity of my house and into the open yard. I couldn’t help but think about being in Mrs. Taylor’s garden and all of the wonderful and frightening sensations I experienced during those visits. Sure, we didn’t have a lot of fancy art and a fish pond to look at, but just being outside naked was enough to make the goofy masochist in me all giddy and excited; I couldn’t help but grin – just a little bit, mind you! – at the feeling of the dew-soaked grass against my bare feet, and I actually enjoyed how the cool wind tickled me all over.

I looked down and, sure enough, my stupid wiener was still sticking out. I guess I was enjoying myself more than I thought I was.

Things turned even more bizarre when I got to the picnic table. There was a bright red table cloth and place mats, set up just like my mother had said. That was really strange, like something out of Alice in Wonderland; me being naked made it even weirder. Mom had brought out the good silverware, cloth napkins and even the fancy salt and pepper shakers from the dining room, which I thought was bizarre.

I also noticed a couple of flower vases, both of which were oddly empty. Why my mom would set them there was a mystery to me.

I looked toward the house and wondered if my mom was still watching me. Figuring it better to be safe than sorry, I took a seat. Being in the shade all morning, the concrete was cool to the touch; it was so cold, in fact, that my poor bare bottom got a shocking chill when I sat down on the bench, causing my poor penis to shrink up and withdraw into its hiding place between my pudgy thighs. Believe me, there’s nothing like a freezing butt to change your attitude!

Breakfast didn’t come right away, of course. Apparently my mom was taking her time. I tried not to let it bother me. I mean, it wasn’t a big deal, right? Why would she be in a hurry, I thought to myself. After all, I’M JUST SITTING NAKED AND ALONE IN THE BACK YARD! EVERYTHING IS PEACHY KEEN! THANKS A LOT, MOM!!!

Sorry, but I was really frustrated. I just wanted you to get an idea of how I was feeling at the time. Feelings, after all, are kinda important. Right?

Having said that, I waited at the picnic table all by myself, feeling quite the fool without so much as a stitch of clothing to my name, sitting on the cool concrete for so long I started shivering. I wrapped my arms around my chest and kicked my legs back and forth in an effort to get warm.

"This is not fun!" I fumed in frustration. "Not any fun at all!"

I began to wonder if there wasn’t going to be a breakfast after all. Maybe Mom was just teasing me. Maybe this was all some sort of joke, you know, to “teach me a lesson.” But that didn’t make any sense. Why would she go to all the trouble of setting up the table so nicely? I mean, I saw the bowls and skillet in the kitchen, along with the pancake mix and other ingredients; why would she get all of that stuff out if she wasn’t really making us breakfast?

MOST IMPORTANT, WHEN THE HECK WAS SHE GOING TO COME OUT AND PUT A STOP TO ALL OF THIS NONSENSE???

The truth of the matter was I didn’t know what the heck was going on. All I knew was that I was sitting outside in my birthday suit and I wanted nothing more than to go to my room, lock the door and put on some clothes!

I waited a little while longer, got impatient and changed seats, then waited some more; my bottom felt funny, rubbing across the rough concrete bench, and I got a little creeped out when I discovered some dumb ants were crawling up my butt. I even found a couple clinging to the exposed tip of my wiener! UGH! That really grossed me out! I let out a squeal like a little girl, I was so freaked! If anyone was watching me they would have had a good laugh if they’d seen me hopping around, smacking at those stupid ants and then trying to look at my bare bottom and in between my legs to see if I had any more on me.

AAARRRRGHHH!!!

I sat back down and tried not to cry, I was so frustrated. This was ridiculous! Why was Mom taking so doggone long? I prayed for this whole mess to be over with as soon as possible, but it wasn’t looking good.

Just when I thought I heard some movement in the house, the telephone rang. All the way across the yard and through the kitchen window I could hear my mother answer, then start chatting away as if she had nothing better to do; it was almost as though she wanted me to hear her, as if she was teasing me, making me suffer on purpose. There was some laughter – she had a great laugh, very feminine, but very loud, which usually made me smile. But I wasn’t smiling right then. I was as mad as I was sad, and it was going to take more than a little laughing to get me out of that mood.

Anxious and impatient, I kept watch for any stray eyes or intruders who might be spying on me. Across the fence I could hear activity at the Miller household; Becky was yelling at her mom about something and her mom was yelling back. I crossed my arms over my chest and scrunched down as low as I could, just in case Becky managed to find a way to see through the fence and into our back yard; that was one girl I did not want catching me naked!

I did have one uninvited guest. It turned out Mrs. Mullins was home after all and she was standing on her back porch! I got really nervous when our next door neighbor stepped into her back yard to check on her flowers; crouching down as far as I could, I watched her from my hiding place as she wandered about, looking at her plants and inspecting their blossoms.

At this point you probably ought to know that I found Mrs. Mullins more interesting than I cared to admit. She was a big lady, almost as tall as my father if you counted the blue-gray beehive of hair on top of her head. I was fascinated with her body as she had a giant bottom and even larger breasts; her butt was as big as two basketballs and her boobs were the size of watermelons! There was also the way she walked, which was a cross between a waddle and a rumba dance move; together, the sight of her ponderous breasts wobbling left to right and her gigantic bottom wiggling about like two bowls full of jelly was enough to hypnotize me for hours on end.

And so it was that this oddly shaped busybody of a woman interrupted my already exasperating Saturday morning. I did my best to blend in with the shadows, but I failed miserably; I wanted to die when she waved at me and hooted a greeting.

“Yoo-hoo! David! Helloooooo! Daaaaa-viiiid! Good morning! How are you this lovely day? Isn’t this fresh air and sun just wonderful?”

Thank goodness, the picnic table shielded my lower body from prying eyes, or so I hoped. I was pretty sure my neighbor could not tell if I was naked; if I was lucky she probably thought I was wearing a pair of shorts. I pushed my privates down between my thighs and clenched them together tight, you know, just in case.

“Um, hi Mrs. Mullins. Yes … m-m-ma’am, it’s, um … very n-nice out.” I winced to hear how squeaky and nervous my voice sounded. “Um, how … how are … are y-you?”

My neighbor lady’s fat, broad face beamed with a huge, bright smile and she let loose a laugh that sounded like it came from a little girl. “Oh, I’m just wonderful! But you look so lonely. What are you doing sitting over there all by yourself? You look like you’re waiting for someone.” She paused, then formed a mock pouty face. “Are you lonely, sweetheart? Is that what it is? Do you need me to come over and keep you company?”

Eek! The last thing I wanted was for that nosey old woman to come over and see my naked bottom! Or any other naked part of me. I thought about my stupid penis and tried to imagine how our neighbor would react if it happened to pop up when she was looking. Probably not a good idea.

I cleared my throat and fought to keep calm as I tried to deflect her offer.

“Uh, no ma’am, I’m fine. My … my mom is bringing me breakfast. She, er … thought it would be fun to eat outside for a change, I guess. You know, like a picnic. She’ll be here any minute” – this last part I whispered – “I hope.”

“Is that why you’re not wearing a shirt, then?” my neighbor asked. “So you can get a little sun, like you’re having a picnic at the beach?”

I froze for a moment, then forced myself to nod and smile. For an instant I thought she’d discovered I was naked, but apparently not, or at least not just yet.

“Um, sure! That’s exactly why!” I lied. “My mom thought it would be fun if we pretended we were at the beach!”

Mrs. Mullins thought that was a wonderful idea, of course. She then chatted on about how she and her late husband used to go to the beach before he died. Most of the time I found her stories boring and tedious, and this was no different. I prayed for a miracle as she told her story. I just hoped she didn’t invite herself over to join me!

I squirmed and wriggled about on the concrete bench for the longest time while Mrs. Mullins changed subjects on me and yammered on about whatever else it was that older ladies liked to talk about. Sitting naked on at a picnic table doesn’t sound like much of a challenge, I must admit, but don’t dismiss it until you try it; do it while entertaining a pushy old woman while you’re at it. It is not any fun at all!

The good news is that because we were so far apart I was still pretty sure she couldn’t tell I was naked. If she had I was pretty sure she would have made a big deal about it. Hurray for small victories, I guess.

After a while the sound of Mrs. Mullin’s ringing phone called her away. My talkative neighbor bid me good bye, saying “Have fun with your special picnic breakfast!” and giggling like a little girl. I was so relieved when she went back into the house I almost jumped with joy. But I didn’t, of course, just in case anybody was watching.

I sat at that stupid table for so long I lost track of the time. I thought I heard my mom talking to someone through the kitchen window and I assumed she was still on the phone with either my Aunt Margaret or one of her friends. She often spent Saturday morning gossiping on the phone, so that made sense.

I just wished she hadn’t sent me outside without any clothes!

“Geez, how long is this going to take,” I remember complaining aloud. “This is an awful way to spend a Saturday morning!”

Frustrated and bored, I laid my head down on the table and tried to imagine I was somewhere else, somewhere where I had clothes to wear and there weren’t any stupid women or girls around to give me a hard time. I tried as hard as I could, but I was so nervous about what the rest of the day would bring, I couldn’t concentrate.

So instead I closed my eyes … and I fell asleep ….

***

I remember suddenly waking up to the sound of a door slamming and a chorus of feminine laughter. I wiped my eyes and shook my head, and for a moment I was confused. Why in the world was I outside in our back yard, sitting at our picnic table? And where the heck were my clothes

Was I dreaming?

Then I remembered. Oh yeah, Mom. She’d caught me playing my stupid naked game last night and now she was “teaching me a lesson.” I wiped my eyes again and sighed.

Crap.

It took me a second to get my bearings. There was the sound of voices again; they sounded feminine all right, at least two women, maybe more. That wasn’t good! Suddenly wide awake and alert for danger, I looked up to see my mom walking across the lawn toward me with a plate of food in her hands. To my horror, she wasn’t alone; accompanying her were my Aunt Margaret and, of all people, my mom’s good friend and my employer, Mrs. Elizabeth Taylor!

“Oh crap!” I whispered to myself. “Oh crap oh crap oh crap! Aunt Margaret … AND Mrs. Taylor??? This is not good. Not good at all!”

Once again, I had no idea what I should do. I couldn’t very well run into the house and there wasn’t any place for me to hide other than crawling under the table, which even I knew was just plain stupid. The good news was that my stupid penis was still asleep. I glanced down and was grateful to see it remained a tiny vestige of itself, hiding between my pudgy eleven year old thighs. I squeezed my legs together, tight as I could; I remember almost smiling to see that I’d completely hidden any sign of my boyish organ.

And so, there I sat, stark naked in the shade of that old oak tree and watching nervously as the three adult women approached me.

Like my mother, Aunt Margaret was wearing a pair of jeans and a loose blouse. I think that’s the first time I really noticed how much she and my mom looked like each other, you know, like sisters are supposed to look. The biggest difference was my aunt was a little more plump than my mother – okay, a lot more plump than my mother – and she had much bigger hair and boobs. She also had a much bigger personality; while they both loved to laugh and have fun, Aunt Margaret always went one step further when it came to giving me a hard time. She especially loved picking on me and tickling me and teasing me ….

Oh god, I’d almost forgotten about the tickling! My aunt was a real tickle monster when she was in the right mood; when I was in fourth grade, in fact, she tickled me until I’d peed my pants. That had been a couple of years before, but now I cringed at how she would react when she saw I didn’t have any clothes on.

"She'll probably tickle me until I poop," I whispered aloud to myself. "Please don’t let her tickle me, please don’t let her tickle me, please don’t let her tickle me …."

I worked myself up into such a frenzy over this I almost peed myself just thinking about the torture that awaited me!

My Aunt Margaret wasn’t my only problem, unfortunately. Mrs. Taylor actually scared me more than my mom and aunt put together. All I had to do was replay the events of the past couple of days in my mind to remember how mean a person could be, a grown woman like that tricking a little kid – me! – into going naked and then picking on him and making fun of him for doing whatever he’s been told. She wasn't just mean – she was cruel!

“Aw, don’t stop crying,” I remember my employer saying to me the first time she inspected my naked body from head to toe. “I love watching little fairies cry. They’re so adorable and their tears are so yummy! Maybe I ought to call some pretty girls over to see you crying. Wouldn’t that be fun, my pretty fairy? So go ahead and cry, cry, cry like the sad, silly little sissy that you really are.”

I suddenly broke from my thoughts and watched Mrs. Taylor as she closed in on my position. It was as if she and I were the only ones in the yard, making eye contact and looking right at one another. I blinked and tried to turn away, but there was no escaping her gaze … or the smarmy, knowing smile that curled her cruel red lips; she knew exactly what I was thinking and she was already inside my head and messing with my mind.

Of course, the main reason I found it hard to avoid gazing upon my tormentor was the fact that she was just plain gorgeous to look at. Even at the tender age of eleven I knew enough to realize just how beautiful she was. Her face was regal, almost majestic in its shape and form; her body was perfectly proportioned with a more than ample bosom, narrow waist and wide hips. The mere sight of her was enough to make me tingle all over and cause my penis to go erect, which I quickly pushed down between my legs where I prayed it would remain forever.

Even Mrs. Taylor’s clothing reeked of glamour. In contrast to the casual attire worn by my mother and aunt, her ensemble was more sophisticated, more in keeping to the style of her movie star namesake than what my mom and aunt wore. She was adorned in a pair of fashionable black velvet slacks that reached below her knees – I later learned they were called “capris” – along with a low cut sleeveless silk blouse that exposed her well-toned abdomen and emphasized her bounteous bosom. I tried not to stare at the outline of her nipples as they pressed against her blouse, but that was a wasted effort; I heard her laugh as she purposely turned her body from left to right, leading my gaze along like a puppy in search of its mother's milk.

Yeah, yeah, I know … I was just an eleven year old boy, so what did I care what she wore? The sad fact was that everything my employer did and wore fascinated me. I could tell you all about the clothes she wore, the dresses and skirts, the blouses and slacks, even the gold colored sandals on her feet. On that particular morning I even noticed that her hair was pulled back in an elegant style and her fingernails and toenails were freshly manicured and polished a bright blood red. An expensive looking gold chain hung around her neck with an artsy looking pendant of some sort – which drew even more attention to her amazing cleavage, of course – and she had several bangle bracelets on her wrists and three or four shiny gold rings on her fingers.

Yeah, I was obsessed, all right. But hey, I was a dumb kid with an erection that I was fighting to hide from my mother and her friends. What did you expect?

Anyway, back to my precarious predicament and impending doom ….

Along with my mother, both Aunt Margaret and Mrs. Taylor carried plates of food, and everyone was laughing and chatting away as if they were old friends getting together on a typical Saturday morning. Only when they arrived at the picnic table did they acknowledge my existence; not a word was said as they surrounded me, but their smug smirks and the gleaming mischief in their eyes told me I was in for a rough morning.

Oh yes, I was doomed, all right. And there was not a thing I could do to stop it.

“Look who came to see you, David!” my mother suddenly announced. “Two pretty lady visitors, just for you! Aren’t you suddenly the popular boy!”

I felt my stomach ache as the threesome stood over me. I remembered how I’d once wished to be trapped naked in the midst of a group of mature, attractive women; my preadolescent masochism led me to think it would be fun to be enslaved and looked at and mocked by such alluring females. Now it seemed my dreams were coming true and I wasn’t prepared for it. Not at all. A sudden fit of claustrophobia hit me and I had trouble breathing, I was so nervous.

“Good morning, David!” Aunt Margaret cheerfully chirped. “How’s my favorite nephew? My, oh my, aren’t you looking all bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning!”

“Bushy tail?” quipped my mother. “More like a bare naked tail.”

“Bare naked …?” My aunt’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. I felt myself go tense; whenever she acted like this things tended to get kinda chaotic. “Oh my, why I do believe you’re right, sister dear. David’s little tail is bare naked, or at least it appears to be. I better check and see for myself!”

I blanched as the three women laughed.

“Moooooom … why did you have to …?” I started to complain.

Before I could get another word out, Aunt Margaret set her plate down on the table and she stepped behind me and ran her fingertips over my naked shoulders all the way down my sides to my bare bottom and back up again. I let loose an involuntary giggle and I squirmed under the touch of her fingernails lightly scraping and pinching those little sensitive spots under my arms, along my ribs and the small of my back just above the crack of my butt; within seconds I was squealing and begging for mercy.

“Aunt Margaret! *gasp!* No, please … *gasp!* … stop it!” I exclaimed. “You … *gasp!* … you’re embarrassing … *gasp!* … meeeeeeeeeeee!!!!”

“Oooo, you’re right! He is naked! Just look at that cute little bare bottom!” my aunt said with exaggerated joy. “David Allen Cartwright! You sneaky little thing! Your mother told us all about your shenanigans last night. Sneaking outside without any clothes, running around in the middle of the night with your bare bottom hanging out! Such a sly little thing you are!”

I writhed under my aunt’s touch, doing my best to keep from laughing out loud. “P-p-p-please … *gasp!* … Aunt M-M-Margaret … *gasp!* … that … that t-t-tickles!”

My pleading only whetted my aunt’s appetite, unfortunately. Her hands suddenly went everywhere, under my arms, along my ribs, even pinching my nipples, which was one of my worst phobias.

“Oooo, your little boy boobs are soooo cuuuuuute!” She squealed with delight as she cupped my breasts in her hands and gave them each a good squeeze. “If they keep growing pretty soon we’ll have to get you a little bra, just like a girl!”

Horrified, I glanced at my mother for sympathy, then at Mrs. Taylor. Mom just gave me a big smile and a wink, as if to say “You’re on your own, little mister!” My employer, on the other hand, responded with a cool, knowing look and a little nod; it was as though she knew something I didn’t know. I thought for an instant about how I’d gone through her lingerie and tried on one of her brassieres. I wondered if she had a security camera in her bedroom ….

But for the moment I had much worse things to worry about. Aunt Margaret brought me back to reality as she reached down between my legs and tried to pull my knees apart. That was my worst fear of all; there was no way I was going to let her or my mom or anybody else see my erection! Desperate and panicked, I swatted at the offending fingers and tried to protect my modesty, but it was like fighting off an overly curious octopus.

“Oh, David … my pretty little nephew. What a naughty little boy you are! Keeping secrets from your mommy and me! You know what naughty little boys get from their aunties, don’t you? Especially when they’ve been doing naughty things and keeping naughty secrets. That’s right … they … get … TICKLES!!!!”

With that my aunt dug her sharpened fingernails in even deeper, poking and pinching and probing in all my most sensitive spots; my poor bottom got the brunt of the pinching, with my aching nipples running a close second. Within seconds she had me squealing and squawking for mercy.

“Noooo!!!! Stop it!!! Pleeeeeassse … stoooooohahahahaaaap iiiiiiiit!!! … *gasp!* … Aunt Margaret!!! Pleeeeeeeassse … *gasp!* … no more … no more … … *gasp!* … no moooooorrrrrrre ….”

I was fighting a losing battle. Aunt Margaret was a master tickler, something I learned at an early age. It had been a while since I got the full treatment and without warning I felt like a little child again. What made things worse was she was tickling me while I was naked, which set me into a complete and total panic attack!

“Aunt Margaret!!! No … no no no no … *gasp!* … I don’t have any clothes on!!! Please … *gasp!* … don’t tickle … *gasp!* … me like this!!!! Not without … *gasp!* … any clothes on!!!”

“I know you don’t have any clothes on, you silly thing!” my aunt said with a laugh. “It’s all your fault this is happening. You should have kept your clothes on. Back when you were little I couldn’t keep my hands off you when you were naked. It looks like things haven’t changed much, have they?”

At some point I let down my guard and my legs came apart, exposing my erect penis and my balls to view. I remember looking over at Mrs. Taylor, who was standing next to my mom. She was laughing and nodding with approval at my aunt’s horribly rude advances; I later came to the conclusion she was studying me, watching my reaction under stress and taking mental notes for future use.

“It looks like someone enjoys getting tickled,” my employer said with a lilting laugh. “How adorable!”

“David Allen Cartwright!” my mother exclaimed. “Really, son … is that necessary? Can you not control that thing for five minutes?”

“Ooooo, don’t be such a spoil sport, sister dear,” Aunt Margaret cooed with an evil voice. “Your little cutie is reacting like that because Elizabeth is right – naked tickles are fun!”

Still standing behind me, my aunt grabbed my wrists and pulled them high above my head with one hand while resuming her attack on my unprotected body with the other.

“Isn’t that right, pretty boy? Tell your mama it’s true. Say, ‘But mommy, I like getting tickles! They make me happy!’ Go on … saaaaaay it!”

Needless to say, I was not in a joking mood. I was shocked and embarrassed and afraid, all at the same time. It was bad enough being naked in front of so many women, but for them to see my stupid wiener sticking out … that was more than I was prepared to deal with at that moment in time.

“I’m sorry, Mom … I can’t help it! It … it just does that on its own. I promise … I didn’t mean for it to do that ….”

“Oh, stop being so self-conscious,” my Aunt Margaret sang cheerfully. “So what if you have a little hardon. You used to get them when you were little and it wasn’t a big deal back then.”

I remember frowning and thinking, What the heck is she talking about?

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” my aunt said. “Don’t you remember how we all used to tickle you naked when you were little? You’d giggle and laugh so much, it was the happiest sound in the world! And yes, your little ding-dong would stick out. So what? That just proved that you thought naked tickles are fun! It didn’t take much for me to get you to beg and beg for more. You’d cry and squeal and beg for me to do them to you. Oh, yessssss … you knew this a long time ago, that naked tickles are the best kind of tickles in the whole wide world!”

And with that she resumed tickling me, running her fingers down between my legs and under my bare bottom. I shrieked and squealed in a complete panic as I lost control over my entire body.

“MOM!!! MOOOOOOM!!!! … *GASP!* … PLEASE, MOM!!! MAKE HER STOP!!! PLEASE MOM … *GASP!* … MAKE HER STOP!!! PLEEEEEEEASSSSSE … *GASP!* … MAKE HER STOP MAKE HER STOP MAKE HER STOP ….”

Between screams I remember hearing my mother’s voice say something like, “Oh no, don’t come begging me for help. You got yourself in this mess. You’re just going to have to get yourself out of it.”

Great. Like that was a lot of help. Meanwhile, there I was, squirming and writhing under my aunt’s grip, unable to get away or stop her from setting off every alarm in my poor little pre-pubescent brain.

“AAARRRRGH!!! … *GASP!* … MOM!!! HELP ME!!! … *GASP!* … HELP MEEEEEEE!!!! … *GASP!* … NO TICKLE … NO TICKLE … *GASP!* … NO … MORE … TIIIIIIIIIIIICKLLLLLLLLLE

Suddenly ... it was all over. One second I was squealing and crying for help like a little kid … and the next thing I knew everything was quiet and serene. Except for me; I was still huffing and puffing and gasping for air in the wake of my aunt’s attack, my face red and drenched with tears and snot and drool.

The good news is that at least I didn’t pee myself. Now that would have been really awkward!

Truth be told, the incident probably lasted no more than a couple of minutes, maybe three or four at the most. But it seeme so much longer considering I was trying my best to catch my breath while fending off rude fingers and keeping my privates from being tickled or pinched … or worse, whatever "worse" might have been.

“Ooooo, David, I just love seeing you in your birthday suit,” Aunt Margaret gloated as I recovered from the impromptu assault. I cringed as my tormentor wiped my wet face with a napkin, and then gave me a sloppy wet, messy kiss on the cheek, which she didn’t bother wiping away – which in retrospect I think is ironic. “You look so cute with that long curly hair and your skin is so pretty and soft and so smooth all over! I love how there isn’t a hair on your body! And your little titties are simply adorable! I just can’t keep my hands off of you!”

To make her point my aunt suddenly ran her fingertips over my shoulders, across my plump breasts and belly and down along my bare legs. Her sharp, manicured nails scraped and irritated the soft skin inside my thighs, causing me to immediately squeal out loud and triggering a titter of laughter among the group of ladies that surrounded me.

“Aunt Margaret! I thought you were done,” I whined. “Please … no more ….”

The chorus of laughter rose with my protests. Not surprisingly, Aunt Margaret laughed the loudest. She was even worse than my mom. “See? He’s just like a big old baby doll. I wish I could just put him in my pocket and take him home with me!”

“You can have him if you want him,” my mother warned. “The way he’s been acting lately, I don’t know if I want him around here anymore.”

“Oh, you don’t mean that, you big old meanie!” my aunt said with a sigh. “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing about such a pretty little boy!”

Aunt Margaret held me in a close hug from behind; I could feel her warm breasts pressing through her blouse against the back of my head. I looked up to see her grinning down at me. She brushed my long blond hair out of my eyes and gave me another sloppy wet kiss on my forehead. Her laughter was as annoying as her roaming hands.

“You better be careful, my naked little monkey,” she warned. “I’m not done with you just yet!”

There was that stupid name again, “naked little monkey.” Why did people have to keep saying that? I mean, I hated when my mom called me that and I hated it even more when other people, especially my mischievous aunt, picked it up and started using it against me. Why couldn’t people just act their age?

I sat slump shouldered and weak, doing my best to catch my breath. It took me a few minutes, but I somehow managed to get my stupid penis and balls back between my legs where they were hidden from view. At least that was something.

I remember glancing up and seeing Mrs. Taylor looking down at me. The smile on her face sent a rush of blood to my cheeks. I thought back to the previous afternoon and how this beautiful, mature woman had rendered me to tears, coercing me into taking off my clothes and doing the most ridiculous, childish things, and then teasing me and mocking me at every turn. And now, there she was once again, watching me, studying me with those dark, piercing eyes – right there in front of my mother and my aunt – her mesmerizing stare lingering slowly and carefully over my naked body. I blushed from head to toe, knowing full well this gorgeous lady was enjoying my plight, laughing silently at the silly, helpless boy before her in his bare skin.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your fun, David,” Mrs. Taylor cooed warmly. The smile on her face made me feel like melting, it was so warm and beautiful; for an instant I almost forgot I was supposed to be afraid of her. “I called to let you know I still had your money from the chores you did for me. Your mother answered the phone and we had the most interesting conversation. Best of all, she was nice enough to invite me to your special breakfast.”

I felt my mouth go dry at the words “interesting conversation.” I was dying to know what my mom had told Mrs. Taylor, but I didn’t dare ask. Did my employer tell her about catching me naked in her house? Did my mom now know of my illicit activities at her friend’s home? Did she know about me dancing on her friend’s coffee table or peeing in her garden? If she did, why didn’t she say something about it to me? Why was everyone acting so polite and nice?

I didn’t know what to say, so I just shrugged and kept my mouth shut.

“Oh, Elizabeth, David is thrilled you came by, aren’t you, honey?” My mom looked at me, giving me the signal that I should nod in agreement. Which I did, albeit somewhat reluctantly. “He just loves spending visiting you and Justine, so it’s only fair that you come and visit him. Isn’t that right, honey?”

I nodded once more, then croaked out the equivalent of “Yes ma’am.”

“Oh, how flattering!” My employer let her eyes go over my naked body and then followed that with a sly smile. “David is one of my favorite people, too! I’m certainly glad to … SEE … him.”

Mom took over the conversation, playing out her role of loving mother to the benefit of our guests. Her voice was playful bordering on sarcastic as she focused on me.

“You didn’t get lonely waiting out here all by your lonesome, did you, sweetie? I bet you thought I forgot all about you, didn’t you? Well, sorry about your luck, my naked little monkey. That’s what happens when women get on the phone. We lose all track of time.”

I watched warily as my mother and her guests finally sat down and made themselves comfortable. With my privates somewhat hidden by the table I was able to cover up my modesty and could try to retain a bit of boyish dignity.

That didn’t last long, of course. Mrs. Taylor took it upon herself to sit right next to me and almost immediately I caught myself staring at her breasts, which were prominently on display thanks to the low cut of her blouse. I pressed my knees together as I felt a familiar and alarming tingling at the tip of my penis. In a panic, I glanced down to see the pink mushroom shaped cap peeking out from its hiding place, alert but finally shy enough to keep a low profile.

“You don’t mind me sitting with you, do you, pretty boy?” My employer sang to me with the same voice she used during my visits to her home. I felt myself tense up as her huge, glowing eyes gave me yet another examination up and down and up my bare body; I remember the same sense of excitement as when she put me on display on her living room coffee table and stared at me for nearly an hour.

“My goodness, is this the way you always spend your Saturdays, lazing about the house in your bare skin without a care in the world? I had no idea,” she cooed with a smirk. “Aren’t you the lucky one!”

“You’ll have to forgive my naked little monkey,” my mom joked. “He seems to have developed a new hobby in the past few days. I think he thinks he wants to be a nudist. We’re just seeing how far it takes him.”

“Mom!” I squealed. “That’s not … true. I am not a … a … a n-nu- … -dist.”

There was another wave of feminine laughter. I felt so stupid, not being able to even say a simple word without making a fool of myself.

“Oh, don’t be so shy, David,” Aunt Margaret said with a giggle. “There’s nothing wrong with having a little naked fun. I always thought you were the cutest little thing when you were little and we let you run around with your bare bottom hanging out. It’s a shame you had to grow up so quickly … you’ll always be our little baby.”

“Aunt Margaret!” I squeaked again. “Stop saying that! I am not a baby!!!”

“See, that’s what I’ve been saying!” My mother laughed. “I don’t want him to grow up. He’s too young to be growing up. He’s going to be my little boy forever and ever. Isn’t that right, sweetie? Hmm? Hmmm?”

“MOM!!! Please … stop talking!”

The table erupted with feminine laughter and I felt my face burn red hot.

“Little children look so sweet in their birthday suits, like precious works of art,” said Mrs. Taylor. She smiled at me, her eyes glowing with mischief. “I can just picture little David now, running about all bare naked and giggling and having the time of his life. It sounds like that was a fun time for all of you, having such a cute little naked angel to entertain you.”

“Um, not an angel, but more like a naked little monkey,” quipped my mother. “At least he was later on when he started growing up.”

I shot a scowl at my mom. She gave me a little wink. I started to fuss at her, but instead crossed my arms over my chest and pouted.

“Oh, David was always so much fun!” Aunt Margaret glowed as she recounted the experience. “And if he was naughty it was even more fun. My girls loved chasing him around with a switch, swatting at his fat little bottom and teasing him to tears. He’d cry and cry and dance about, shaking that fat little baby bottom. It was so cute!”

“Mom, make her stop saying this kinda stuff!” I complained. “It’s … it’s embarrassing.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” my mother replied. “The woman speaks the truth.”

I stood up and banged my fist on the concrete picnic table like a spoiled brat. Hey, you might have, too, if someone treated you like I was being treated.

“No she’s not! She’s lying! She’s just being mean to me again and trying to embarrass me like she always does! She’s just a big old bully!”

Before my mom could say a word Aunt Margaret grabbed me by the arm, scaring the crap out of me! To my horror she immediately sat down, spun me around and pulled me over her lap, all in one fluid motion. I remember looking up and seeing Mrs. Taylor’s wolfish expression, delighted at this sudden turn of events.

“Oh, I’m lying, am I?” my aunt said playfully. “And I’m a big OLD bully, too, am I?”

“Uh-oh,” interrupted my mother. “You called your Aunt Margaret old. That’s going to cost you, little mister.”

“That’s right! I am not old!” Aunt Margaret laughed. “You made some pretty harsh accusations, my naked little monkey. Well, you know what they say … if you’re accused of a crime, you may as well do it!”

“No no no no no,” I whimpered. “Please, Aunt Margaret … don’t spank meeeeeee ….”

I cried out as a loud SLAPPP!!! hit my bottom; it happened so unexpectedly that the shock of it took my breath away. This was followed up with a series of rapid fire smacks against my bare flesh, fast and light and more annoying than painful.

“Ow! You’re hurting me!” I squealed. “Stop it, please … please don’t spank me!”

“Oh, stop it! I’m not hurting you,” she said happily. “These are just little love pats. Don’t be such a drama queen.”

My aunt was right; it really wasn’t much of a spanking. It was mostly play acting on her part, giving me light-hearted little smacks on my bare bottom and the backs of my legs, all the while pretending that she was beating me to death. After the first couple of wallops I figured out what was going on and was greatly relieved it was all “in good fun.” Well, fun for my aunt and her audience at least. From my point of view it wasn’t much fun at all, especially knowing that everyone could see my bare bottom and privates while I was trapped upside down over my aunt’s lap.

“Please, Aunt Margaret, that’s enough!” I fussed once I got my composure. “You don’t have to keep doing this … pleeeeeassssse … stop it! You’re embarrassing me!”

“So, you’re embarrassed now, hmm? Well, too bad, so sad? Am I still a big OLD bully to the poor wittle boy? Hmm? Am I a liar now? Hmm?”

Aunt Margaret kept up the assault, holding me bare bottom up and face down in front of her audience. The love pats on my butt made me feel like I was a helpless child, which I didn’t like at all. And while the spanking didn’t actually hurt, the situation was so humiliating that I got mad and frustrated all at once. I tried to twist my way free, but there was no relief. It amazed me how strong my aunt was. That kind of scared me.

“Aunt Margaret … please, stop it!” I begged. “MOM!!! Make her stop it! Please, I’m sorry … I’m sorry … make her stop iiiiiiiiiiiiit!!!!”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” my aunt said cheerfully. “This doesn’t hurt and you know it. Besides, I haven’t done this since you were little. I almost forgot how much fun it is having a pretty little boy butt to paddle.”

From my disadvantaged position bent upside down over my aunt’s lap, I struggled to get my mother’s attention.

“Mom! Make her stop it! This isn’t funny! Please … can you make her stop spanking me?”

My mother sniffed with indifference and ate a bite of her breakfast. “Don’t come crying to me, little mister. You got her riled up, so you have to deal with her.”

The fake spanking suddenly stopped and for a moment I thought I would be allowed to sit up and regain what little dignity I had left. But that didn’t happen. Instead, Aunt Margaret began tickling me again, this time beginning with my bare bottom. I was shamed enough as it was, but now, as her fingers pinched and poked me in places no one else was supposed to touch … I was absolutely mortified!

“Aunt Margareeeeeet … nooooooo …,” I cried out between giggles. “Puuuuh-leeeeassssse … please let me gooooo!!! This is so humiliating!!!”

“Oh, but it is sooooo much fun!” my aunt said brightly. “I haven’t had this much fun since you were a little baby!”

I went into a panic as my legs were forcefully spread apart and inquisitive fingers crept in between my thighs, tweaking and probing my most sensitive spots. The sensation was unexpected, embarrassing … and one of the most thrilling I’d ever experienced at that point in my young life.

“What are you doing?” I shrieked. “Stop it, Aunt Margaret! Let me up! Let me up!”

“This is exactly what we did when he was little,” my aunt sang joyfully. “David would be so upset after getting his little bottom paddled, so we’d wipe his tears and then kiss him and tickle him until he was giggling and laughing like the happy little naked monkey he was.”

As she talked my aunt fondled and fingered my helpless body with aplomb, ignoring my pleas for mercy and instead doing all she could to drive me crazy; upside down, my face near the ground, I squealed and squirmed under the assault until I was red in the face and choking in desperation. Believe me when I say I would have much preferred getting a real spanking over being tickled by this psychopathic tickle monster.

“Pleeeeeeeasssssse!!! Stop it!!! … *gasp!* … no more … no more … *gasp!* … Aunt Margaret … Mommy … make her stop … make her stop ….”

At long last the tickling session was over and I was pulled upright. Breathless and helpless, I was barely able to sit up straight. I quickly found myself being pulled into my aunt’s arms where she cuddled with me as if I was a favorite pet; it felt weird, having my face pressed in between her breasts and feeling her heart beat against my cheek. I wanted to punch her in the arm for being mean to me in front of everybody like that, but I was too exhausted – and humiliated – to raise so much as a peep in protest.

“And as you can see, David just loves being tickled. What little child doesn’t? After a while he’d get so worn out he’d fall asleep. Ah yes, those were good times.”

My mom sighed. “Yes, yes they were good times.”

I remember looking over and seeing Mrs. Taylor watching me. The expression on her face was one of amusement and mockery; she knew I was humiliated and feeling foolish, and her smile taunted me, making me feel even worse. I thought about how she’d treated me and made me act like a fool in her house; I wondered what kind of evil thoughts were running through her mind … the possibilities caused me to shiver all over.

“Aw, is the widdle baby cold?” Aunt Margaret hugged me even closer. “Poor widdle thing. Him’s is such a cute widdle baby. Let auntie warm you up!”

A sharp smack on my thigh caused me to gasp in surprise. I glanced around to see three smiling faces all focused in my direction. All I could do in return was give a goofy grin and squirm uncomfortably in my aunt’s arms.

After a few awkward moments of cuddling, I was finally allowed to return to my seat while the women talked on about how much fun they all just had. I blocked it all out, focusing instead on keeping as low a profile as I could; maybe if I was lucky I’d be sent to my room where I could spend the rest of the day in peace.

That wasn’t about to happen, of course. As I scrunched down to hide my privates I noticed that everyone had a plate of food except for me. Mom and Aunt Margaret each had pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries while Mrs. Taylor had a simple plate of strawberries.

“Um, Mom? Where’s my plate?” I frowned. “I thought I was going to get pancakes, too.”

My mother shot me another sly grin; I could tell I was about to be disappointed yet once again.

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I forgot all about yours. Oh well, you’ll have to go get it. I got distracted and left it on the kitchen counter. Bring some extra napkins, too, while you’re at it.”

I paused for a moment before making a move. Having to go get my plate meant having to get up – having to actually stand up – and let everyone see everything, my bare bottom, my wiener, my balls … everything. This was not something I wanted to do.

“David? Honey … you have to go get your food if you want to eat. Go on. Go get your plate. Do it! Now!”

I nodded, then stood up. It took me a moment or so to get my legs untangled from beneath the picnic table, no doubt giving my mom and our guests a longer look at my privates than I wanted. I glanced down and was grateful to see that I didn’t have a full erection; my penis had roused slightly, however, having emerged from its hidey hole and was now sticking out at an awkward angle. A wave of womanly whispers prompted me to take off running as fast as I could for the house.

“David Allen Cartwright! Come back here right now! That is no way to act when we have company!”

Sighing loudly, I sauntered back to the table, my hands over my privates like a fig leaf.

“And what did I tell you about touching yourself? Especially in front of ladies!”

I bit my lip and put my arms by my side. I also pressed my thighs tightly together in a vain attempt to hide my partially erect shame. I glanced over at Mrs. Taylor and saw her give me a vicious smile.

“You are going to have to better in the future.” My mom shook her head. “There is no excuse for that! Now, say, ‘may I please be excused?’ Go on, say it. We’re not barbarians, you know.”

I did as I was told. “May I please be excused?” I squeaked in a weak voice.

My mother looked at our guests, each of whom smiled and nodded their approval. “Yes, you are now excused. But no running! And do not drop your plate! And be sure to wash your hands before you get back here! With soap and hot water!”

I lingered in the kitchen for a few minutes before my mother yelled at me to hurry up. If I had my way I would have gone straight to my room and locked the door, but I figured that would have just complicated my life, as if that was possible. And so I got my plate and the napkins my mom asked for and headed back to the breakfast from hell.

I could feel all eyes on me as I minced across the yard in my birthday suit. It’s difficult to maintain any sense of dignity when you’re walking barefoot and bare bottomed with your hands full of breakfast and the necessary accessories.

“This is so stupid,” I remember muttering to myself. I glimpsed down to see my stupid wiener wagging from left to right and back again with every step I took. “Why did I let myself get in this situation!”

As I got closer to the table I blushed to see my mom’s smiling face, along with Aunt Margaret’s and Mrs. Taylor’s; judging from their expressions, I was putting on quite the show. As much as I’d fantasized about being naked and getting looked at by a bunch of women, this was not turning out to be much fun; I’d much rather have been in my bed buried under the covers!

“Did you wash your hands?” Mom asked the instant I arrived. I nodded, rolling my eyes in typical boyish manner. “Good. Now, sit down and eat before you get yourself in more trouble.”

I had just gotten seated when Aunt Margaret said, “Gosh, I am really thirsty! What does a person have to do to get something to drink around here?”

All eyes turned to me, of course. I had no doubt I’d been set up to run another errand and in turn give everyone the chance to look at my bare butt again.

My mom said, “Go back and get that pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator. And get some glasses, too. Don’t forget the ice!”

Once again I went through the awkward process of getting up, and once again I had to endure whispers and giggles as my audience stared at my privates. I was halfway to the house when my mom called me back and reminded me that I hadn’t asked to be excused. That was really frustrating, especially because I knew she was just showing off for our guests.

ARRRGH!!!!

When I got back I asked if anyone needed anything else. No one said a word, although I couldn’t help but notice everyone was smiling at me. Only when I sat back down did Mrs. Taylor speak up.

“I don’t mean to be a bother, David, but this glass has a bug in it. Would you be my hero and fetch me a clean one?” she said in a half-sincere, mostly sarcastic tone of voice. “Hmm? Pleeeeeeeassssse?”

I sighed and stood up again. I took the glass from my employer and looked at it. I didn’t see a bug or anything that looked like one.

“There’s no bug in here,” I said sourly. “It’s fine.”

“David Cartwright!” my mother exclaimed. “Don’t be rude! Elizabeth asked you very nicely to do her a favor. Please do as she says!”

“But Mom,” I whined.

“Do it! Now!”

For whatever reason my mom was in a weird mood. I figured I would be better off if I did as I was told. At least this time when I left the table I asked to be excused, which seemed to please my mother. I remember thinking about how it wasn’t that long ago that I’d fantasized about being a naked slave boy to a bunch of bossy women; now I was living that dream and I was paying for my sins.

It took me at least four trips – or was it five? – to get everything; first there was the pitcher of juice, then the glasses with ice. Then I had to go fetch a spoon for Mrs. Taylor and then go back again to find Aunt Margaret’s purse. I felt like such a fool running errands back and forth across the yard in my bare skin. Carrying my aunt’s purse was especially humiliating as I didn’t know exactly how to hold it, so I just held it out with my finger and thumb as if it was a poisonous snake. The resulting onslaught of laughter and teasing comments only confirmed the reason for my shame; I mean, come on, it was a woman’s purse and what boy wants to be seen carrying one of those?

“What’s the matter, honey? Afraid you might get some girl cooties?” my mom teased. “Good grief! And they say girls are the dramatic ones!”

“Boys are so silly,” Mrs. Taylor cooed sweetly. “All it takes is something simple, like a little purse, or maybe something with some flowers and lace” – she said this directly to me – “and they get all anxious and scared. It’s like their Achilles’ heel.”

“Or their kryptonite,” Aunt Margaret added. “What’s your kryptonite, little nephew? Purses or flowers and lace? Oh, I know, how about going without any clothes?”

“Mmmm … on the contrary, I think wearing clothes is David’s kryptonite,” Mrs. Taylor suggested. “From what you’ve told us and what little I’ve seen, I think your pretty nudist here is much happier without them.”

Mom nodded. “I think you may be right about that,” she said, shooting me a skeptical smile. “That would explain quite a lot.”

There was that laughter again. My paranoia increased with every trip between the picnic table and the kitchen. Both Mom and Aunt Margaret repositioned themselves so they could watch me coming and going, while Mrs. Taylor enjoyed the best seat in the house. I hated the way my employer laughed at everything I did and then whispered little comments to my mother and aunt whenever I was out of earshot; I just knew she was telling them all about my visits to her home and all of the silly, dumb stuff she made me do in my birthday suit.

I was not a happy camper.

“One more thing, honey,” my mother cooed. “Be a doll and go pick out some flowers to put in these vases. I meant to do it when I set the table but I ran out of time.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Hey, I was nearly twelve years old – rolling your eyes is what you do best when you’re that age!

“Don’t you give me that look, young man!” Mom said before I could open my mouth. “Do as I say or I’ll let your aunt paddle your butt for real!”

I glanced over at Aunt Margaret. She winked at me and licked her lips.

“Just say the word, sister dear. I was just getting warmed up. I’ll be happy to accommodate you, anytime, anywhere.”

I sighed. There was no use arguing. Like everything else that morning, it was best if I just kept my mouth shut and did as I was told.

“Okay,” I asked in a hoarse, shamed voice. “Just tell me what kind of flowers you want me to get ….”

And so I was sent on the task of decorating the picnic table with the best and prettiest flowers I could find. It took me longer than I first expected as I was repeatedly sent back because this blossom was wilted and that one was the wrong color. I’d never really paid much attention to what kind of flowers my mom raised, so I had to figure out the difference between a peony and a daffodil and a lily and a rose. Roses were easy, of course, but I didn’t realize there were so many varieties. The same with the lilies. It was all so very confusing and having to deal with this while I was naked didn’t help matters; I soon felt dizzy and drunk from the onslaught of information and sensations on my mind and body.

“I have to say, this is a pleasant way to spend the morning, enjoying a nice breakfast and having such a pretty boy bring me flowers,” sang my Aunt Margaret. “I think I could get used to this!”

“It’s not too bad,” my mother replied with just a touch of sarcasm in her voice. “At least now I can see what David is up to and know he’s not sneaking about like some little pervert.”

I remember looking at my mother and feeling an ache of shame in the pit of my stomach. Being naked made my shame feel all that much worse.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” I said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to be … to be a ….”

“A pervert?” My mom rolled her eyes and sighed. “You can’t help it, sweetie. You’re just like your father. Well, almost like him.”

“Mmmm, I don’t think he’s a pervert at all,” Mrs. Taylor said sweetly. “What better way to raise a young child than to surround him with pretty flowers and the love of his mother and her lady friends. Seeing him like this, au naturel and in such a gorgeous garden of nature’s delights … it’s like a slice of heaven!”

Mom laughed. “Well, since you put it that way, I can’t really argue with you. It is a nice way to spend the day, isn’t it?”

My employer pulled me close, sliding an arm around my waist and giving my bare cheek a soft caress. I watched warily as she sorted through the pile of blossoms I’d collected so far and picked out a pink rose. She brushed back my curly locks and slid the stem in over my left ear; she then did the same over my right ear, only with a white rose. Once that was done she fluffed and adjusted my hair a bit before turning me around and presenting me to my mother and aunt. I felt silly with flowers in my hair and I wanted to rip them out and stomp on them – what boy wouldn’t? – but the smiles before me told me that they was there to stay. At least for the day.

“Now see? Is this the face of a pervert?” Mrs. Taylor sang prettily as she took my face I her hand and squished my cheeks, forcing me to make a silly little kid kissy face. “I think not! This is what a little angel looks like if you ask me!”

“All right, you’ve convinced me.” My mother laughed. She reached out and adjusted the flowers in my hair, which made me feel quite foolish. “This is not at all like his father, thank goodness. Maybe I’ll have to keep him like this more often.”

“If you don’t, I sure will,” quipped Aunt Margaret. “If he was mine, he’d look like this every weekend!”

Mrs. Taylor nodded. “If he were mine he’d look like all of the time,” she said in a husky voice.

I made the mistake of looking my employer in the eye and felt a shiver go up my naked spine; as hard as I tried, I couldn’t pull away from the spell she cast over me. It was as if I could hear her say, “Just you wait, sissy boy … just you wait … soon you’ll be all mine.”

I woke from my reverie to see my mom looking at me. She giggled and said, “Well, I guess you should be grateful you don’t live with Mrs. Taylor, hmm? I don’t think you’d ever see another pair of pants!”

I shrugged and gave a goofy grin. I didn’t know what else to do.

And so it was with a burst of feminine laughter that I was sent back to pick some more flowers. To say I felt ridiculous wandering around our back yard in my birthday suit with rose blossoms in my hair is an understatement. Especially with my mom and my aunt and that weird Mrs. Taylor watching me from afar. I mean, it was bad enough that I had to sit around in my bare skin and let the adults have their fun at my expense, but now, having to parade about picking flowers with my bare butt hanging out and my hair looking like a stupid sissy’s … that was really embarrassing! I felt like one of those nude slaves in my dad’s adventure magazines, waiting on some exotic ladies in a royal court in a faraway land; only instead of exotic ladies it was my mom and my aunt and their strange friend, and instead of a faraway royal court it was my own back yard.

It could have been worse, I guess. My fear was that it might get that way. And soon.

To be continued ….

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