Marty Part 1 - The Thirteen Poses
By Alpenhorn
[email protected]
Copyright 2017 by Alpenhorn, all rights reserved
*
* * * *
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.
*
* * * *
The
Thirteen Poses
(Marty,
Part 1)
[by
Alpenhorn, 2017]
Glossary:
aces---the
best
bazongas---breasts
boner---erection
breadbasket---stomach
bum---buttocks
drawers---underpants
goolies---testicles
khitan---circumcision
ceremony
mate---friend
mum---mother
pa---father
pyjamas---clothing
for sleeping in
Ramadan---the
Muslim holy month
starkers---completely
totally utterly no-doubt-about-it naked
trainer---a
soft sports shoe
willy---penis
Movie
Classifications:
Chapter 1:
G [general audience]
Chapter 2:
PG [for brief comic nudity]
Chapter 3:
PG13 [for suggestive language]
Chapter 4:
R [for pervasive nudity]
Chapter 5:
R [for graphic nudity]
Characters:
Marty, age
13
Heather---Marty’s
secret crush
Mo, Ankit,
Eli---Marty's closest mates
Mo’s
parents
Marty’s
parents
Emily,
Caleb, Melissa, Alice, Alf---at the party
CHAPTER 1: Mudhole
The final
bell rings. School’s out. I stay in my chair as usual to watch as
Heather walks
out of the room. The prettiest girl in the world. (Not just bazongas
and bum,
either---everything about her is aces.) Puberty happens to girls sooner
than
boys. Heather’s chair is just two rows away from mine. But she never
even
notices me. Me, Martin A. Stuart, just a “little kid” to her.
Tomorrow is
no school, a holiday. But tomorrow is also my birthday. I will be
thirteen! Tonight
I have a sleepover with my best mate Mo. We’ve known each other, like,
forever.
His house is on the same block as my house. My mum says they would put
me and
Mo together in the back yard even before we could walk. Like I said:
forever!
Mo finds me
in the hallway of the school. ‘Marty, hurry up! We’ll have so much
fun.’ We
walk home---it is only two blocks. The whole Village of Renier is small
enough
to walk from one end to the other in an hour. We stop and get my
pyjamas from
my house, then we go to Mo’s house. I have “My Little Pony”
pyjamas---hand-me-downs
from my sister. But Mo never makes fun of me for that. You can depend
on a
“best mate” to be aware of your feelings!
We play
some video games until dinner time. Mo’s mum and pa are nice. They may
be
Muslim, but I hardly ever notice. Mo’s mum wears a headscarf. Sometimes
Mo
skips lunch during Ramadan. But I never see them praying. Mo says
they’re not
religious.
Dinner is
great. Mo’s pa does the cooking, and he knows what my favorites are.
*
Mo has
something special planned for after dinner. But I don’t know what.
‘Just be
careful,’ his pa says. ‘We know you will be out until after midnight.
If your
mother and I are asleep when you get back, try to be quiet and not wake
us.’
Mo takes me
to the park. Eli and Ankit meet us there. Eli, Mo, Ankit, and
Marty---we call
ourselves “the Four Musketeers”. We always do everything together.
Heather and
some of her girlfriends are in the park. They come over and wish me
‘Happy
birthday.’ It’s the first time Heather has talked to me. I am
tongue-tied. Eli
takes a picture of me and Heather. I will treasure that picture
forever! After
the girls leave for home, Ankit tells me he invited Heather to meet us
in the
park. What a super mate he is!
The Four
Musketeers play a lot of games in the park. Since I am the birthday
boy, they
let me choose the games. We have lots of fun.
At first
there are other people in the park, too, of course. But they gradually
leave
for home. By around 23 o’clock the park is deserted except for the four
of us. The
Village keeps the lights on all night, though, so the dark does not
bother us. Eli
keeps looking at his iPhone, telling us how long until midnight.
Midnight will
be when I officially turn thirteen. I will be a teenager!
The other
three boys are a bit older than me, so they are already thirteen. They
always
tell me that teenagers like them know so much more than kids like me. I
always
laugh when they say it, because I think they are joking.
*
‘Five, four,
three, two, one,’ Eli counts down. ‘Congratulations! Marty is a
teenager!’
Mo and
Ankit grab my arms, one on each side. We have a birthday tradition of
spanks. Thirteen
years old means thirteen spanks. I think that’s why they are holding my
arms so
tight. But I am wrong.
‘Spanking
is for kids,’ says Eli. ‘We have a different tradition for teenagers.’
‘What is
it?’
‘Mudhole!’
they all shout. They are pulling me across the park. The Mudhole is
there in
the park. It was originally supposed to be a pond for little kids
fishing and
sailing their radio-controlled boats. It’s only about a meter deep. But
the
Village long ago cut off funding, so it has not been maintained, and
now it is
just a mud-hole.
‘When you
are thirteen, we throw you in the Mudhole.’
‘Wait!’ I
cry.
But they
don’t wait. They fling me in. I land face down. I am covered with mud
from head
to toe. It’s even in my mouth. Those three traitors are laughing, but
I’m not.
I climb
out, sputtering from water in my nose. ‘Happy birthday!’ they all shout
again. Time
to go home. Eli and Ankit go one direction, Mo and I go the other. Mo
is still
chuckling. After a while, I am at least smiling. The Four
Musketeers---Heather---games---even
the Mudhole. What a superb day! Indubitably.
CHAPTER 2: precious secrets
Mo finds
the key and opens the back door to his house. The house is dark. So we
try to
stifle our giggles and walk quietly.
I’m
wondering what will happen when I go home tomorrow with my clothes all
muddy. But
Mo has thought of that. Just inside the back door is a washer-dryer
machine. ‘Put
your clothes in the washer,’ he says. ‘They’ll be clean as a whistle.’
I put my
clothes in the washer. Even my trainers are washable. I feel a little
self-conscious standing there in nothing but my tighty-whities.
But then Mo
says, ‘Put your drawers in. They are also soiled.’
‘But,’ I
sputter, ‘I’ll be naked!’
‘What’s the
matter? We’ve seen each other naked before.’
‘Well,
maybe. But we were six years old.’
‘We’re
supposed to be best mates,’ Mo scolds. ‘But you won’t even let me see
your
willy?’
I feel my
face blushing. With a look of disgust, Mo ducks into the bathroom and
brings
out a towel. ‘Here, use this to hide your precious secrets.’ Extreme
sarcasm.
So I put my
drawers in the wash. While Mo starts the washer-dryer, he sends me into
the
bathroom for a shower. I have mud everywhere. Even my hair has mud in
it.
*
After the
shower I feel much better. There is just one other towel. Both towels
seem
quite small. I wrap one towel around my waist and tuck in the end: it
barely
covers the essentials. As I come out of the bathroom, I am still drying
my hair
with the second towel. My mum doesn’t like the “Beatles” length of my
hair, but
I do. There is no hair dryer in Mo’s bathroom, so I have to dry my hair
with a
towel. That will take a while.
My clothes
are now in the dryer. Mo turns out the light. We tiptoe down the hall
in the
dark toward his bedroom. I’m thinking about the skimpiness of the towel
hiding
my “precious secrets”. I will be glad to get my pyjamas on.
Once, when
the towel I’m using to dry my hair is covering my face, Mo opens a
door. I know
it is the den in Mo’s house. He gives me a shove into the room. I
stumble a
couple of steps forward. The towel gets tangled over my face. I feel Mo
yank
the other towel off---the one around my waist.
What?? Bright
lights come on. Lots of people are shouting ‘SURPRISE!’
When I
finally get the towel untangled and off my face, I see: The room is
decorated
for a birthday party. Lots of people are there. Most of them have
iPhones or
other devices taking pictures. Mo’s parents. My parents. Ankit and Eli.
My
pesky older sister, Emily. Kids from our class at school---including
some
girls. Even Heather. Everyone is laughing, cheering, applauding.
Ogling. Photographing.
I am thunderstruck.
I am starkers. No precious secrets left.
‘I lied,’
Mo says quietly in my ear. ‘This is the thirteenth birthday tradition.
Not the
Mudhole.’
CHAPTER 3: talked into it
‘Ha, ha,’ I
pretend to laugh. ‘I’ll go put on my pyjamas now.’ I am holding my last
damp
towel “down there” to cover myself.
‘No: During
the birthday celebration, the birthday person wears the birthday suit.’
‘OK, where
is it? I’ll put it on.’
‘The
birthday suit is what you wore on your birthday. You know: when you
were born.’
‘But I
didn’t have any clothes when I was born.’
‘Exactly.’
I feel my
face blushing again. Everyone has been watching us, and they laugh.
*
‘Look,’ Mo
says. ‘Everyone here is over thirteen. They have all been through this.
Now
it’s your turn.’
‘What if I
don’t want to?’
‘Of course,
we won’t force you. But if you don’t do it? Then we won’t consider you
a
teenager---one of us---and we won’t hang out with you.’ Eli and Ankit
are
nodding.
I consider
it. What a choice: Starkers for two hours at a party? Or: No mates
forever? Which
should I choose?
Eli tries
to convince me: ‘After you do it, you’ll be a teenager. You’ll be able
to browse
the Renier Teenagers’ Web Site. Your pictures will be there. But also
photos of
everyone in the Village of Renier who has already been through this.’
But why
would I care about that? I think about refusing. Even if no one will
like me
ever again.
‘Martin,
please do it, ’ Heather purrs. ‘If you do, you’ll be able to see my
pictures.’ The
second time she talked to me!
Naked
pictures of Heather? It seems I am not thinking with my brain, but with
some
other organ. Tongue-tied, I nod. Some of the observers mutter approval.
Everyone is
here to celebrate my birthday. Or to see me naked. I wonder which is
the reason
Heather came to the party.
*
‘How does
this work?’ I ask quietly.
‘For your
thirteenth birthday, you have to do thirteen poses,’ Mo explains. ‘If
you
count, you will see that there are thirteen people here. Each one in
turn will
tell you how to pose. Then we all take pictures of you.’
‘Starkers?’
I still can’t believe that part.
‘Well, of
course. That’s the point.’
‘Sex?’
‘Nah. No
sex.’ I am relieved. ‘Sixteen is the legal age for sex. Maybe
sixteen-year-olds
have their own traditions, for all I know. But for the thirteen poses
on your
thirteenth birthday, it is just this: They tell you what to do, but
they don’t
touch you.’
‘Who is
first?’ I ask, resigned.
CHAPTER 4: poses
[1]‘Actually,
I was already first,’ Mo replies. ‘My pose was: Martin, naked, his
willy in
full view, an astonished expression on his face.’
I frown at
him and mutter, ‘Should I thank you for that?’ He just grins.
*
[2]My mum
is next.
There is a
desk in the room. It normally has books, papers, and a computer on it.
But that
is all cleared away, and now there is only a plain white table-cloth.
My mum has
me recline on the desk. She turns out all the lights except for one
lamp in the
far corner of the room. So in the pictures you clearly see that I am
nude, but
don’t see my willy.
‘It is an
artistic pose,’ she explains, ‘not an erotic one.’
‘Thanks,
Mum,’ I say sincerely. She’s the best. I have to hold still while
everyone
takes their pictures. I suppose it only takes two minutes, but it seems
like
forever.
*
[3]‘Turn
the lights back on.’ My pa is next. He has me stand in a corner, facing
into
the room, with my hands hiding my crotch, my eyes closed, my mouth in a
grimace. ‘Look like you are uneasy and embarrassed,’ he says. I require
no
acting at all to do it!
But at
least my willy is not visible. I am grateful to my pa for that!
*
The other
ten voyeurs are not so considerate of my feelings. It often seems like
my poor
lonely willy is the star of the photos, not me.
*
[4]Now
Ankit. He tries to put me at ease. ‘You know we all like you. We are
here to
show that. To support you. To help you. Just think of this as having
fun. Like
the Mudhole---only cleaner.’ He smiles. ‘And more public.’
‘Remember
Leonardo’s Perfect Man? That’s you. Stand with your back against the
wall
there. Put one foot here. The other foot here.’ My feet are about half
a meter
apart.
‘Let your
head touch the wall behind you. Put your left hand over there. Put your
right
hand over here.’
But I don’t
move my right hand. It is all I have left covering my willy! I stop and
think: Maybe
I should quit after all!
I see
Heather watching. She smiles and winks at me. So I take a deep breath
and do
it. I move my hand to the spot Ankit indicates.
Everyone
says ‘Ooh!’ and ‘Aah!’ at the sight of my (no longer) private parts.
One boy,
Caleb, rudely lets out a wolf whistle. But my pa grabs his shoulder,
saying ‘Let’s
show some respect.’
Me---starkers.
Willy---seen by everyone. I have to hold still---I am on exhibit.
Cameras go
full tilt. A girl, Melissa, weaves back and forth taking pictures from
every
possible angle.
I sure
don’t feel like “The Perfect Man”. More like “The Mortified Boy”.
It seems
that they keep going for a long time. My face may not be so red
anymore, but
now I feel my willy tingling. How does he know everyone is looking at
him?
Finally
they finish. I can cover myself with my hands again. But what’s the
point? Everyone
here has seen it. Really seen it. And they have photo after photo.
Still, Willy
feels better when he is invisible.
*
[5]Alice is
a girl in my class. I always thought she was a shy one. But she takes
charge of
me when her turn comes.
‘Stand up
there on the table. Move forward, your toes on the edge. Pose like a
strong-man. Arms flexed, hands in fists by your ears. Pull in your
tummy. Now
look right at me. Hold it there!’
Some of the
photographers lie on the floor to get a low-angle shot: my willy in the
foreground, and my strong-man pose above in the background. And I have
to stay
still while they do it.
*
Sometimes
between poses we stop and have refreshments. Cake and ice cream, of
course. But
even then I have to remain nude: the birthday boy may wear only the
birthday
suit until after the thirteenth pose. Still, during the breaks I try to
hide my
willy somehow.
*
[6]When
Eli’s turn comes, he says ‘Remember we love you,’ just like Ankit. ‘We
don’t do
this to hurt you. Someday you will laugh about it.’ I doubt that!
‘Sit on the
table. Heels up to your bum. Hands on your knees.’
Then Eli
has them turn out all the lights except one: a spotlight trained on my
willy. The
photographers are eager. In those shots you cannot see my face. But
Willy sure
feels their eyes on him.
CHAPTER 5: more poses
[7]Alf is
our neighbor. He must be sixty years old. He has often paid me to mow
his lawn.
‘Sit here on the table,’ he instructs. ‘Lean back on your elbows. One
leg
hanging down on each side of the table.’
So I am
spread wide---on display.
Then he
takes a bowl of ice cream. And dumps it on my breadbasket. It is cold.
But
nice. As it melts and runs down everywhere on my body, they are all
making a
photo record. Everyone watches as my willy shrinks to its smallest
size. I
don’t want them to see that! But that’s how it is tonight: Even if I
want to, I
can’t stop them looking.
My pa
remarks that touching me with ice cream possibly violates the rules.
But no one
else agrees with him. Or maybe they are all enjoying the view too much
to worry
about the “rules”.
*
[8]Not all
poses are about my willy. Melissa: ‘Face that way. Hands on hips. Look
at me
over your shoulder. Now clench your bum!’
Someone
comments: ‘You always do bums.’ She answers: ‘So what if I like them?’
*
[9]My
sister, Emily. ‘I want goolies,’ she says. I didn’t know she is
interested in
that!
My lower
legs are on the desk, knees wide apart, but my upper legs and hips are
against
the side of the desk. My shoulders and head are on the floor. I’m
looking up;
it is a bit uncomfortable. My willy hangs down on my tummy. My goolies
seem to
know everyone is looking at them, since they contract. That leads to
happy
muttering from the voyeurs.
*
[10]Mo’s
mum has me lie on my back on the table. She allows me to put the towel
over my
crotch. I thank her a lot for that. My head is tilted back over the
edge, my
arms are beside my ears.
‘This is a
classic pose of the boy torso,’ she explains.
I relax
with my eyes closed while everyone catches large expanses of my fair
skin with
their cameras. By now, as long as my willy is covered, I don’t care if
they are
examining my body centimeter by centimeter.
*
[11]Caleb,
a boy in my class. ‘Time for bottom!’ he cries loudly. ‘Stand here.
Spread your
legs wide apart, lean down, legs straight, hold your ankles. Look at me
here,
through your legs.’
Everyone
seems appreciative. I don’t know what they see down there, but they
sure seem
to like it!
*
[12]Mo’s pa
puts on a white coat as a costume for his pose. ‘Sit on the table,’ he
suggests. ‘Lean back a bit. Legs down. Retract your foreskin.’
‘What?’ I
can’t believe it.
He
explains: ‘For this pose, I am a physician who must examine you.’
‘But
everyone is watching!’
‘You are
right. But of course that is the point of the thirteen poses: Everyone
watching.’ (His Pakistani accent makes it sounds charming.)
What choice
do I have? I hold my breath. I hesitate. Then I do it. I pull my
foreskin back.
My little acorn is on show. It is throbbing. It is red. But I think my
face is
redder! The photo-voyeurs come in for close-ups. Except for Ankit---his
camera
is on my face.
*
During the
break, I clutch my privates tightly with both hands. I pant, I try not
to faint.
Mo takes me to the side and talks to me quietly. ‘It is almost
finished. Just a
little longer. I know it’s humiliating. But it was worse for some of
us.’
I am
baffled. ‘How could it be worse than this?’
‘On the
Teenagers’ Web Site, take a look at the photos of me,’ Mo says. ‘For
Muslim
boys, the last pose is the khitan.’
‘What’s
that?’
‘Circumcision.
No anaesthetic, everyone watching, taking pictures. The “no touching”
rule is
suspended for the imam.’
I was never
so glad to be Christian before that moment! Now I wonder about Eli,
since he is
Jewish. But I recall that they are circumcised as babies. Ankit is
Hindu, I
guess. Do they do circumcision? Do they do Kama Sutra? I guess I will
find out,
in full color, tomorrow.
*
[13]Finally,
the last one: Heather.
‘Sit here
on the table,’ she instructs. ‘Lean back on your elbows. One leg
hanging down
on each side of the table.’
I am spread
wide---on display. Yet again.
‘Now look
down here at your thing.’ She is pointing to it. ‘Smile, like you are
proud of
it.’
I do my
best. It is Heather, after all. She has talked to me more today than I
ever
imagined. She has seen my willy from all angles. I think I love her!
‘Now make
it stand up.’
‘What?’
‘You know:
An erection. A boner.’ Wow, Heather talking dirty to measly little me.
‘But I
can’t do it just like that!’ I complain.
So she
leans over and whispers to me. ‘Tomorrow. On the Web. What will you
see? You
will see my naked pictures. Taken last month on my birthday. Imagine
that.’
As I
imagine, Willy stands up. Just like that. He has a mind of his own. Or
maybe he
listens to Heather and not to me.
‘Ooh!
Super!’ she purrs. ‘Now look down there at it. Admire it. Act proud of
it.’ So
I do.
All the
photo-voyeurs are gasping, mumbling, or even cheering at the sight.
But I
hardly notice them. All I care about is: Heather beside me, and---for
her
delectation---my willy proudly standing up.
EPILOG: ‘That’s private!’
Finally, I
complete the thirteen poses. I am in. They make me memorize the URL of
the Web
site, and swear never to write it down, never to bookmark it. ‘Be
careful,’
they say. ‘Renier Village has had this custom for ages. But “out
there”, beyond
the boundaries of the Forest, you could still get arrested for viewing
these
pictures.’
They tell
me I can go and get my pyjamas.
But I
decide to stay here---starkers, spread wide, on display---as long as
Heather
stays here looking at me. I don’t care if she is actually looking at
Willy, and
not Martin. Willy, pointing to the ceiling, dancing in time with my
heartbeat. Because
while she gawps at it, I can gaze into her beautiful eyes---admire her
perfect
lips---smell her lustrous black hair. I sigh. What a superb day!
Indubitably.
*
My reverie
ends when I hear my pa coming back into the room. ‘Too bad,’ he says to
Alf. ‘The
ruling is that your ice cream poses are not allowed.’ Some people
mutter
unhappily about that.
Alf asks,
‘What does it mean?’
‘Those
photos will not be on the Web. And you are banned from these events for
twelve
months.’
‘That’s
fair,’ says Alf. Then he smiles. ‘Maybe one of these days I will ask
the kid
what he would charge for “nude lawn boy” services.’ He winks at me.
*
Then my pa
talks to Mo. ‘Your pose is the winner.’
‘Thanks,’ replies Mo.
I see that
Heather is leaving. My willy is wilting.
‘The
surprise pose often wins,’ says my pa. ‘About 30 percent of the time,
more than
any other pose.’
Mo asks,
‘What does it pay now?’
‘Four euros a day.’
I turn my
head to ask, ‘Winner of what?’
‘Starting
tomorrow, my pose is the “cover boy”,’ says Mo.
I look
puzzled, so Mo explains. ‘Whenever someone goes to the Teenagers’ Web
Site, the
first thing they see will be a high-definition image of my pose:
“Martin Aloysius Stuart,
aged 13,
naked,
his willy in full view,
an astonished expression on his
face.”
I will keep
collecting the cash for it until there is a new cover boy---or girl.’
I gasp. ‘No!
Don’t show my middle name. That’s private!’
[the end]
(End of File)