Stripped For Florida 3

Stripped For Florida: Michael, Part 3

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Stripped For Florida
Michael, Part 3

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Name: Michael

"I told your swim coach that we might invite the team to our house for an informal get together -- and I did mention that you were not allowed to wear swim trunks at home, so we'll see."

"Mother!"

"Don't be ashamed of a thing. Now, new rules, strip down and don't let me see a stitch of clothing on you in this house again or I'll let your father take over. He tells me that naked is the only way to raise a boy."

That's how the conversation went two weeks after Thanksgiving and I have never been allowed to wear anything at home since. As usual, my mother issued this as a "directive" from my father.

As soon as I get in the door I am to undress completely and leave my clothes on the floor. My mother comes and takes them away. When it is time to leave the house for school she brings what I am to wear at the last minute, freshly washed and pressed. I've never had a friend come to the house for a visit. But I have to stay naked all the time no matter who else comes over. My mother's friends gather at the house twice a week to sip tea, eat delicate bites of pastries and worry about whether they are getting fat. They have now instituted the habit of having me wait on them, bringing cups of tea and water on a tray and leaning over to serve each one in turn. When they don't need food or drink they tell me to go swim laps in the pool, or practice diving. I should mention that I'm not only naked, but usually at least partially erect as well. Yes, it is the same gel from France. "Michael, rub some of that gel on yourself," orders my mother. "Don't you know my friends are coming over soon?" I'm used to being hard, naked and on display, but it isn't so enjoyable being a slave for my mother and her friends. It isn't like last Thanksgiving when we did seem to have a warm, cozy family feeling for the first time I can ever remember.

* * *

Name: Sarina

Michael is getting used to being naked. He never complains when my friends are over for tea and he must stay with us and serve us hot tea in the glass cups and saucers from France, or the tall glasses of ice tea, or the tumblers of water, or the small demitasse with rich Italian espresso; not the Cuban coffee so popular in Miami, but dark roasted coffee beans made the Italian style in the large copper espresso maker. He looks so cute with his tanned body and semi-erect penis going from one of my lady friends to another with the small platter of sweets.

"Would you care for another sweet, Mrs. Olivander. May I take your empty cup, Mrs. Desparto?"

"You're the sweet," teases Mrs. Olivander. I know she is tempted to tweak Michael's erection. I tell her to go ahead but she just laughs her high-pitched laugh and bats her eyes coyly. "You think I don't get enough at home, don't you? I know my husband isn't a hunk like yours Sarina, but he's good in bed!!!"

Actually my husband is quite good looking. He is good in bed as well. He insists that I perform well, too, and that is my job. I must look and perform well at all times. After all, am I not becoming an accomplished film star in my husband's business? He says Marina is getting better at it, but that I am a natural.

Now that Michael is nude at home all the time I make sure he gets enough sun to be nicely tanned. He applies the gel from France before my friends come over so that he will be hard. I am not sure if he is supposed to be hard at the Cap in France this summer. The time is coming up soon. I will need to consult with my online chat group and find out what reaction people will have to a boy being accidentally erect in public. If I had my way I would keep him that way all the time, but I have two complaints about the gel. It does not seem as effective as the first time the girls applied it to Michael's body, and it wears off rather quickly, in my opinion. Really, it keeps him only half-hard during our afternoon teas.

Irene -- that's Mrs. Desparto -- says she has to bring her daughter next week. Something about her housekeeper being away and not wanting "J" home by herself. I always thought girls were more self-sufficient, but if she's as incapable as my Michael I can understand. "Sure, bring her. I'm sure she'll be bored to death, but maybe she can bring a book to read." What kind of name is J, anyway?

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Irene remarks, "and there's always Michael to look at."

I'd forgotten that might be of interest to a young girl. "How old is she?" I inquire.

"Michael's age."

• • •

Name: Michael

When I woke up this morning I stood looking down at the blue of the swimming pool, the water flashing reflections of sunlight and glass. Now that I don't have a bed to make, pajamas to change out of, clothes to change into, or laundry to sort, I feel lost at times. For an introvert like me it is difficult to have very few routine chores, like sorting clothes and getting dressed. I don't have friends, not really.

It used to be just my mother--my mother and a succession of various men who passed through our lives as we moved from one cheap apartment to another in the armpit districts of South Florida's endless sprawl. This glass house is part of what my mother married into: husband, stepfather, career, home, mansion . . . all part and parcel of what she calls her "life solution." Before hitting upon the current combo she tried temporary jobs, get rich quick schemes, lottery tickets, pyramid schemes, alcohol, ecstasy, and a lot of sex. Through it all I was shunted from one school district to another, met more teachers, counselors, academic deans, vice-principals and fellow students than an entire school of kids should have met in a lifetime. Let's face it, to survive I'd learned to keep my own counsel, keep my grades okay and stay in the pool. Swimming was my haven. If someone as introverted as I had become could be said to have friends, they were my fellow swimmers. I wasn't one of the boisterous, towel-slapping locker room types. I didn't crow and show off on the diving stand. But all the swimmers knew who I was. After all, as many schools as I'd been at in those few years, I'd been on almost every swim team in the district!

My mother promised or threatened to invite the swim team over and to show off our indoor pool and my enforced home nudity, but that has yet to happen. She tried to get me stripped for school, I think. That attempt was unsuccessful. The experiment that did work was buying custom made Australian nylon swimsuits for the team. They even sport the school colors.

While no one could actually see into my bedroom, I could see every inch of the pool area. At this moment in time my stepfather walked boldly into the room, scanned the water and dived cleanly into the water. He was a fit man, and from a swimmer's point of view I admired the dive and the style of his strokes as he knifed across the pool. His skin was tanned in the way that comes from wearing little or no clothing in the tropics; his dark hair had just a few traces of silver -- a full head of hair and a masculine covering of fine dark hair across his body. Yes, my stepdad was nothing shabby in the physical appearance category. Obviously he had a knack for making money. He had a strong sense of style, from the modern lines of this house to the fine details of cutlery and cuisine. He also had strong opinions, and no one in his life escaped them, from those related by blood or marriage to those who received a pay check from one of his numerous businesses.

Knowing I am one of those under the closest of scrutiny I try to keep a low profile.

• • •

Name: Papa

My daughter Marina is really developing as an actress. Of course, she is not as naturally talented as my wife, but youth and practice will make up for that. Michael is getting used to being nude around the ladies. I think he will benefit from the summer in France. Nudity is much more accepted there and of course he will also meet some girls. If you could only know the difference between my experience with girls at that age! Perhaps we have let him lead too sheltered a life. My wife mentions that the daughter of one of her friends is coming over next week. Still, I think it will be in France where he will become more comfortable with his own body and with members of the opposite sex.

• • •

Name: J

I wasn't looking forward to going with my mother. Another tea party, really! "I can stay home, mom, really. It isn't like Dolores does anything when she's here."

"That's not the point," retorts my mother. "Dolores keeps an eye on you. I don't know what mischief you'll be up to if she isn't there."

So, I have to tag along on one of my mother's endless social rounds, listen to gossip, drink tea, discuss the latest minuscule changes in fashions. Besides, what mischief does my mother think I can get into at home. I can't drive, have no car, no money. It isn't as if the place is stocked with drugs or cute boys. No, it is just me, my iPod, the TV, the pool. The stupid pool. I don't really like swimming all that much. I mean, it's okay but it is boring to swim alone.

So, at first I thought, wow, another millionaire mansion, although I have to admit this one is more interesting than most places that cost a bundle in Miami. This edifice isn't made of faux granite and tall pillars and tan and orange stucco. From outside it is all blue green glass and angles and sharp corners. Flashes of light caught the triangular panes of glass as if reflected off water. Inside, I quickly ascertained that this was true. An indoor pool took up a major amount of space to the left of the soaring entry area. Marble floors reflected light, glass caught the light, water shimmered in the light.

What I wasn't expecting was the naked boy. He's terribly shy! I tried catching his attention when we first arrived, but he was busy being ordered about by my mother's friends. "A glass of tea, Michael. Please bring me another demitasse. Those sweets are just terrible for my figure, so Michael, make sure I only eat one." When they were done with that they ordered him to swim. He seemed relieved to dive into the water and get away from all of them. His tanned body sliced the water cleanly and he stayed under for so long I was afraid he'd drowned. When he came up he looked embarrassed to see me sitting on the edge of the pool right near him. Come to think of it, he probably stayed under so long to avoid me as well.

I smiled at him and waved. His eyes got big, like he didn't know what to do and he dove back under and swam to the far end of the pool. Still, I stayed and watched him and smiled each time he surfaced. I didn't even mind that he was naked or that his thing was so . . . hard. For some reason, on him, it seemed normal and nice.

• • •

Name: Sarina

My son is very shy with girls. I watched him when my friend's daughter came over the first time. I asked Irene to bring J back the next week. I think Michael will have to get used to being around girls. After all, if he is to be part of the family business I'm not sure he can only do it with boys! That is just a joke. My husband assures me that there will be no problem with Michael after he spends a summer in France. We leave in two weeks and everything is prepared. It is especially easy to get ready to take Michael since he will only be taking a pair of flip flops, cut off shorts and a tank top. Oh, yes, also a toothbrush. I will purchase the remainder of his toiletries in France. He is to be absolutely naked all summer with nothing else to distract him from being in his own body. Except for food, drink, sunscreen, soap, toothpaste and shampoo he will have nothing. Claudine says she will keep him shaved, so he does not need to be in charge of his own razor.

I am not sure about J. She seems to like Michael, but I will decide when we return whether she is a good influence for my son, or not. Perhaps my husband will be able to advise me. Oh, I also have decided that Michael will not have any condoms this summer. I have informed my online chat room that I do not think he should have that much fun -- it may be a distraction from being a pure nudist boy. Oh, dear, that means I'll have to let my husband inform him that he should not get some girl pregnant just because he has no condoms. He is not ready for that activity yet.

• • •

Name: Michael

The fateful day has arrived. We are leaving for France tomorrow. My stepfather has supposedly decreed that I am to be dressed in a pair of flip flops, very short cutoff denim shorts, and a tank top. I have been given a small bag for my passport and a toothbrush.

"We'll buy you some toiletries when we get to the Cap," informs my mother. "Other than that you will have nothing. Your step-sisters are to watch over you, but I have given them strict instructions not to spoil you. You are to be a perfectly naked boy with no money and no entertainments. If you get bored then you will have to get used to just being by yourself. Your stepsisters will probably enjoy trying on clothes, shopping, getting some make-up, but they are to get you nothing except healthy food to eat and the necessary toiletries."

My mother says "toiletries" as if they are some magical substance available only in France. As for being used to just being myself, what else have I been doing all these years? Anyway, I like Jeannette and Claudine. My mother and stepfather will be traveling in Spain and elsewhere in France for most of the summer, so I'm actually looking forward to getting a break from their machinations.

We drive to the airport, go through security, wait in the lounge, board the plane. My mother places me along the aisle of the plane. The flight attendant is making sure that everyone is securely buckled in, tray tables up, seats upright.

"Aren't you a little cold, young man?" she asks me.

I shrug. In fact, the air conditioning is rather uncomfortable, but what choice do I have.

"He's going to spend the entire summer as naked as the day he was born," announces my mother quite loudly. Heads turn from rows away. "So, he should start getting used to it now. We have dressed him in old, raggedy clothes that can be thrown away when we arrive at Cap d'Agde. Then he will be a nudist boy with nothing to wear. I would strip him here if it were allowed."

The flight attendant smiles indulgently at my mother. "We do require the minimum attire while on board, ma'am. He's fine the way he is."

However, she looks at me with a little more interest and her eyes run along the length of my long, tanned legs.

• • •

Name: Papa

It is wonderful to have the entire family together again. We go out for dinner each night and spend hours trying the different appetizers, going through each course in a leisurely manner, and enjoying one another's company. I feel that Michael is a little quiet, but perhaps that is just my imagination!!! Of course, we had a little trouble when we first arrived as the finest restaurants at the Cap require formal dress in the evening. "But this is a nudist resort," I explain to the maitre d'. I am rebuffed with the particular disdain that can only happen here in my own country. But all was solved when I made an impression on the manager of the best restaurant at the Cap. "It is only my son who is to be nude. I am in formal dress, as you can see," I explained to the manager. "All day I am in the nude, as is my custom, but in the evening I put on the finest. Of course, my wife, and daughters, they are in beautiful miniskirts and high heels. Who can complain? You see, it is only my son who is to be naked. He is in training to be a fashion model for my company and can wear no clothes at all this summer."

"A fashion model? Naked? C'est vrai?" The manager raises his eyebrows.

"Yes, of course, it is for my company -- films, you see. The women are in fashions, the boy is naked. Even when the women are naked, the boy is still naked."

"Ah, I see. Your company, it is in Paris?"

"Paris, London, Miami."

"Monsieur. There is no problem. You are welcome any time. Just make sure your son is naked, eh?" The manager winked. The next time we dined I had a packet of DVDs sent up to his office. I am sure he appreciated the "fashion models."

• • •

Name: Sarina

When we go to dinner everyone is formally dressed. We dine at the fanciest restaurant at Cap d'Agde. My husband explains that he has selected this particular restaurant because this is the only place where Michael can be naked while everyone else is dressed. We eat for hours each evening and he must stay nude. I wear a short white dress with very high heels. Claudine and Jeannette have mini skirts and also wear high heels. My husband looks very handsome in a well cut summer weight linen suit. I see one of the girls at another table eyeing Michael.

"Have you spoken to the girl over there?" I ask Michael. "What's her name?"

He shrugs and looks away. "I don't know, mother. I never talked to her."

"Go over and say hello. Don't be so shy." I nudge Michael and then order him to go speak to the girl. He gets up and actually walks over to the other table and mumbles a good evening to the girl. She laughs and says something to him. He nods and rushes back over to our table.

"What did she say," asks Claudine.

"Um, her name is Marie. She says she's seen me around and will find me tomorrow to hang out."

"Ah, you have a girlfriend," remarks Jeannette.

Michael looks down and says nothing.

• • •

Name: Marie

The "naked boy" came over to our table and mumbled something this evening. I'm pretty sure his mother put him up to it, or one of those older girls that are always with him. But I've been watching him for some time. It is funny to say the "naked boy" when we're at the Cap, but he is always naked. There are a few other kids who are almost always naked, but as odd as it might seem, nudity is mostly for the daytime and sunshine. In the evening everyone dresses. Some of the clothing is pretty provocative -- sexy straps and leather outfits, chains, stiletto heels -- the rest is summer formal. Only little kids are naked at all in the evening, and no one else in this very fancy restaurant. So, "naked boy" stands out.

I found him the next day, which wasn't difficult. If he isn't with the two girls he says are his step-sisters he's almost always at the same pool --swimming, diving or sunning.

"Naked boy. I told you I'd find you today!"

"Oh, hello. So it is you."

"What's your name?"

"Michael."

"Hmm, I'm Marie -- I told you that last night."

He's so cute when he nods without speaking. So shy!

"So, you like being naked?"

He shrugs. "I don't have any clothes. It is my mother's idea -- or perhaps my papa's. Anyway. I am not allowed to have clothes this summer."

I sit down beside him and run a finger up his penis. That's right. I'm not particularly shy when I like someone.

"Want to take a walk," I ask, standing up and reaching for his hand.

• • •

(The End)