Confessions of a Voyeuristic Mother Part 12

* * * * *
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.

* * * * *

Eleven year old Roger reluctantly agrees to help his Uncle Bob satisfy a college course requirement. The course requirements helped satisfy the mother’s voyeuristic desires for Roger.

Voyeuristic Mother 12—Sharing the Pleasure of My Sister’s Son

By, Running Bare

My name is Bob Jessup. I am the product of a “spring-fall” family of siblings. My sister Glenna was fifteen when I came along. I’m sure I was a surprise but never felt classed as an “unwanted” surprise by my parents. What I remember from my relationship with Glenna was that she was a smotherer when it came to me. I think she fancied herself as a mother figure until she finally married. I say the mother figure stuff because on more than one occasion I do remember her pulling down my pants and warming my little backside during those early years, and each of those times she had the blessing of Mom and Dad.

When I was seven Glenna married Richard Sellers. They wasted no time getting on the road to parenthood and within ten months, my sister gave birth to Roger. Two years later, Richard, the dick head, left the marriage to “find himself”. Whatever the hell that means. Last we heard he was in Alaska somewhere playing crew member on a commercial fishing boat. We don’t know for sure and really don’t care as the good for nothing never made contact with us, or with Glenna or Roger, after he left. Probably best.

When Roger was a baby up until well into his sixth year, Glenna would leave him with Mom, Dad and me when babysitting was needed. Memories of Mom as she bathed the baby boy in the kitchen sink come to mind. As I’d watch her coo and sweet talk him, my stare couldn’t be more glued on that baby’s boy appendage. It literally hung over his tiny little ball sack. One has to assume that was Richard’s genetic contribution as both Dad and I were what you might call average or normal in penile length. But, Roger, only months old, must have been close to three inches from pubis to the tip of his cleanly circumcised knob. It was so prominent Mom would often spend an inordinate amount of time washing his package. Shit, she even commented to the baby as her soapy hand slid around on it—“Oh, and such a beautiful peepee. We have to keep it clean. Don’t we? Don’t we?” Roger just smiled a broad baby grin as if he proudly understood what she was saying. This whole bathing scenario continued until he was six or seven. I know because Mom would always keep the bathroom door opened while she attended to his hygiene. The times I was present Roger would lay back in the tub and Mom would fondle his boy parts with her soapy hand, still cooing her complimentary remarks. Then she’d make him stay naked until bedtime to air dry.

I would often remember my bath times from when I was six or seven. She did pretty much the same things. She’d soap up her hand and clean my boy parts and then she’d slap my bare ass after the towel drying and I’d be denied any clothing until bedtime. She’d justify those periods of air exposure as healthy. Even Glenna, when she bathed me, would make me stay naked for the two or three hours prior to bedtime. That would often include being exposed to her visiting friends. Guess I just accepted it as the way boys got dried.

At eight or nine, even though I’d be sent to bathe myself, they would require that “air drying” afterward. It was during that time, I became a bit more self-conscious about that. I don’t know if it was the frequent times I’d pop a boner having to be naked as I watch TV or played on the floor before audiences of two to sometimes up to six or seven audience members, but I became much more self-aware and embarrassed. Maybe it was the comments on-lookers made about my nakedness, backside, package or legs, but I eventually won my modesty just prior to puberty and the whole naked thing became history.

At fifteen, I was first called upon by Glenna to watch Roger at her place. She had to work late that night and wouldn’t be home until well after midnight. Mom and Dad were apparently unable to accept the responsibility for the seven year old so I was next in line. Besides making me feel like I’d come of age, Glenna was going to pay me twenty bucks to watch him. Roger and I got along very well but I’d never worn the in-charge hat with him before.

Glenna gave last minute instructions--no sweets after eight o’clock, in bed at nine, make sure he goes to the bathroom before he hops in bed, etc. Then came some surprises. “After he bathes himself, I need you to give him a quick going over. Make sure he’s cleaned his boy parts and little butthole before you let him out of the tub. Wash him yourself if you think he needs it. Dry him off and let him air dry until bedtime.” Then she started out the door and shouted, “Roger, you mind Uncle Bobby. If you give him any trouble tomorrow you’ll get the belt.”

For some reason I felt a twitching inside my gut anticipating getting Roger to his naked state. I was determined he’d not have cleaned his boy parts sufficiently no matter how clean they appeared. I wanted the opportunity to feel his appendage myself and coax it to the state of stiffness partly out of curiosity and partly because I was drawn to just feel it. I had an opened door to my nephew’s body and it had me almost unable to swallow.

I couldn’t wait. It was only six thirty and I told him to go up and get his bath. He argued it was too early. I reasoned we could watch TV and he wouldn’t miss any shows if he got his bath while the news was on. Guess it made sense to him, and he went. On his way, I reminded him to call me before he got out of the tub so I could check him.

Fifteen minutes transpired. I was so excited I called up, “Roger, you alright?” He responded by telling me he was done and needed to be checked. I flew up the stairs to the bathroom. There was my nephew sitting completely exposed in the five inches of bathwater. I knelt down and ordered him to stand up. He did. I acted like I was really looking for dirt—lifted his arms, inspected his hands and nails. I traced over his pronounced six-pack and showed rudimentary interest in his “inny” sticking my little finger in as to examine its cleanliness.

At long last, next on the tour was his well-endowed appendage. I pinched the glans and lifted it as if to inspect his ball sack. He didn’t flinch. I rolled his bulbous tip around between my thumb and forefinger. I’d never felt his, or, for that matter, anyone else’s penis before and was trying hard not to show the extent of my interest in it. Then I suggested we should clean it up a bit more “Just to make sure”. After soaping up my hand, I rolled that boy snake around and then took the shaft and began sliding up and down from the pubis to the tip of that well pronounced glans. I was committed to bringing on erection to match what was going on in my pants, and harden he did. His rock hard penis reminded me of the pencils we’d had in kindergarten—almost the same thickness, solid and smooth. Almost proudly the giggling boy pushed forward at the hips thrusting his penis toward my face. I playfully slapped the rod so it bounced left and right and the giggling continued. As I attended to his small marble bag he kept that penis not four or five inches from contacting my face. At that point, I experienced a never before urge to engulf his stiffy in my mouth. The instantaneous thought of the social unacceptability of such a drive scared me. Suffice to say, the sight and feel was so arousing I couldn’t choke out any words.

After tracing down each of the boy’s muscular legs with my soapy hands on either side, I grabbed that bad boy and used it to turn him around so I could inspect his backside. I lightly traced down the boy’s spine and couldn’t resist the temptation to split those cheeks for a up-close look at the crack and hole. I remember pressing my thumb firmly against the opening, but not penetrating. Then I slid my soaped up hands down and over those muscular calves. The kid was beautiful.

After toweling him off, I playfully slapped those seven year old cheeks and directed him to the living room. Roger sat, naked as the day he was born, cross legged, his long boy appendage flaccidly draped over his testicles and the fully exposed glans rested on the carpet. Penis aside, I was intrigued with the meatiness of the boy’s legs. He sported a deep tan from his cute little feet, past his well squared knees projecting to each side, and halfway up the thighs. The whiteness of his backside and groin areas contrasted both those shapely legs and the resumption of the tan at his waist. Here I had this naked rambunctious kid completely under my control and I was visually glued on taking in his beauty.

As we sat he’d often turn my way with a smile on his handsome face. His baby teeth had given way to two half emerging “adult” front teeth. They still had a bit of spread between them. His oval face was highlighted by slight dimpling and framed by his short cropped black hair. But his eyes! Roger’s eyes were ice blue. They drew you in especially when he smiled that innocent boy smile. I’d challenge anyone not to want to take that kid into their arms and just hug the crap out of him.

Unfortunately, Roger’s naive days were soon to end. This boy who was almost eager to romp nude and allow authority figures full access to his entire body would, for some reason, suddenly morph into an overly modest ten year old. His modesty was almost clinical in nature. The kid even argued over wearing short pants. Though he’d wear swimsuits at the beach or pool, he always had a t-shirt on as well. He was insistent on closed bathroom doors and privacy when changing even if nudity wasn’t involved.

During those days, I’d often be privy to discussions about Roger’s modesty between Glenna, Mom and Dad. The content of those conversations was almost always Mom insisting such a well-proportioned good looking boy should want to flaunt it. Dad would shake his head and dismally declare how “abnormal” it was for boys to be so modest. He’d insist that Glenna force his nudity “or the kid’s going to turn into a fairy”. He even told her to use the belt if she had to and offered to do it for her if she felt incapable of spanking him. Glenna would tear up and speak of her frustration. Then Mom would comfort her and tell her that a therapist might help both of them. Frankly, I was just interested in seeing the problem solved. I wanted to see, and, if I was lucky, feel how things were coming along with Roger. Maybe I was dreaming, but I felt confident I could coax my nephew into nudity. The kid kind of idolized me.

Almost two years into my nephew’s modesty, I was a sophomore in college. At eleven, though he’d succumbed to his mother’s insistence on wearing shorts, which she intentionally hemmed about three inches above his knee, he still maintained secrecy in bathing and changing. Glenna was fine with that at home, but now the P.E. teacher at Roger’s middle school was complaining about his refusal to take showers with the other boys after physical education classes. He was going to fail P.E. Who does that? Dad was quick to jump on that problem with an “I told you so!”

My second semester I had to take the “art” component of my core sequence. The school required three credit hours in art of all undergraduates. We got to choose between three different courses--European art history, an intro course to modern impressionists, or artistic photographic composition. As the photography course was “hands on”, I chose it.

Dr. Wilma Cutter was the professor. As most artist types, she was a bit weird but nice. As she went over the syllabus she stressed we students would be graded on three separate presentations which were to be developed (historically before digital cameras) and projected on the big screen in the auditorium. She and we would critique each other’s work in the grading process. The first assignment was for us to use ten slides to demonstrate the effects of lighting on an inanimate object. Second was ten slides of architectural structures to demonstrate our understanding of creative composition. The final assignment was to be a twenty four slide presentation using both concepts with the human form. She stressed the “form” didn’t necessarily require nudity, but it didn’t rule it out either.

I was eager to get started and as with all my endeavors I kind of wanted to plan my course of action. I was determined to use Roger for my “human form” study and I was just as committed to making him present nude for the project. Now there was not only a beautiful subject, but a study in psychology as well. How to get this overly prudish, eleven year old to strip naked for me to photograph? I was determined if it took threats of physical punishment, I was going to do it. I mean it was for his own good, wasn’t it? Yes, my final presentation was going to be an artistic photo essay of my well-endowed, naked nephew and to further embarrass him it’d be publicly presented. My challenge was set.

Glenna was skeptical. She couldn’t see the whole thing ever getting off the ground. Roger was stubborn and she felt his almost certain lack of cooperation would cause me to fail the course. We both agreed that I would set up an alternative plan just in case. Mom and Dad were delighted that I would try to come up with a ‘cure’ for their grandson’s modesty. Frankly, I just wanted to see, feel and record the boy’s naked body. Add to that the thrill and arousal of presenting the photographs publicly and his accompanying embarrassment and I had the perfect project.

But, how was I going to get my soon to be twelve year old nephew to participate in the project? I mean he was a prude and I wanted to photograph him au naturel? I consulted with Glenna, Mom and Dad about my idea. I saw it as a win-win. I’d get nude photographs of the boy and he’d be forced to break his unreasonable modesty. It was an amazing concept but how was I going to tell the three of them I wanted to strip the boy naked, take photos of him in the altogether, and then share those photos with the whole world. Sounded pretty perverted in my head, but, hey, nothing else seemed to be working. One evening we were in the kitchen and Roger was out playing with the neighborhood kids, all of whom were clad in shorts by the way, in spite of Roger. I gently brought up that observation. Glenna just copped a frustrated look as if to say, “Don’t go there”.

I took the opportunity to explain the requirements for my final grade. Carefully I explained the “human form” situation and photo essay idea. I avoided telling them that “human form” didn’t necessarily mean naked. I let their minds go where everyone’s does when those words are combined in artistic formats. Dad was first to jump on the idea half-jokingly mentioning I might want to use my nephew as a subject. Everyone kind of chuckled at his remark, but I then admitted he was who I wanted to use. Of course, the others were skeptical that I could ever get Roger naked for such a thing. I explained my plan and I must admit the three of them were captivated.

We’d rent a cabin on a remote lake, river or stream. The cabin would have to be primitive enough not to have bathing facilities. Glenna would pack nothing but a pair of short-shorts and a t-shirt for Roger to wear—no long pants, underwear, or swim attire—just the shorts and a t-shirt. When I picked the boy up for the ten day excursion, he’d have to be attired in similar clothing with underclothing all of which would eventually wind up destroyed. I’d offer him a hundred dollars to be my subject for the project, but he’d never be told of the nudity only the shorts which would be a big leap in itself. Getting him nude would be my problem, but I could guarantee results. Dad said he’d be glad to pay for the cabin rental, if his grandson would lose his modesty. Glenna even offered to pitch in the hundred dollars as it was cheaper than the therapist she was thinking of hiring for the boy. My only responsibility was to do it and provide copies of all photos taken for their own viewing prior to my presentation.

Sensing that final request was a form of possible censoring, I laid out my requirements. First, all negatives would belong to me. Second, eighty percent of the photos would be frontal and would include his penis both flaccid and erect and there would most likely be several of those in my final cut. I would be permitted to share those photos as I saw fit. In return, I’d guarantee the boy would be totally naked for a minimum of eight of the ten days. I also made Glenna promise to continue requiring periods of nudity from him, at least until puberty set in (which wasn’t far off), after he returned home. Finally, if needed, I could use a belt on him to gain compliance (though I didn’t anticipate such a need). It was agreed and I was relegated to negotiating the outing with Roger.

My plan was already formulated. That evening, the five of us were gathered at Mom and Dad’s for dinner. I casually brought up the photography class and the photo essay idea sans the “human form” component. I wanted to do a photo essay on a day in the life of a boy in the wilderness. I mentioned it would probably take ten days with the two of us living in a primitive cabin in the woods. Dad chimed in with “sounds like fun for some kid”. Then I sweetened the pot suggesting I was willing to pay the boy who volunteered a hundred bucks. Roger looked up from his food and quickly suggested he’d like to go.

Bingo! The door was opened. I shook my head and told him he’d probably not like to do it because the boy would have to spend the days very scantily clad—just a pair of shorts for some of it. Even though it would be a remote area, he didn’t like to wear shorts so he might not like the job. His mother and grandmother cast a quick glance the boy’s way. Mom smirked as she could see he was mulling the idea around in his head. Glenna, to avoid snorting a laugh, filled her mouth with another fork full of food. Dad took the opportunity to close the idea, “Well, your nephew wouldn’t mind being the subject. I mean a hundred bucks is a lot of spending money for the remainder of the summer. No, I think you should put family first and hire Roger. He’ll do whatever it takes. Won’t you Roger?”

The hook was set. The boy half-heartedly agreed. At the risk of blowing the whole deal, I stipulated he’d have to wear shorts and from time to time shed his t-shirt from that evening until we departed to enhance the tan on his legs and upper torso. Glenna chimed in, “For a hundred bucks and ten days in the woods, I don’t think there’s a boy alive who wouldn’t do that, except maybe Roger.” Thankfully, the boy took the challenge and told his mother affirmatively he would do it. At that dinner a milestone was reached, we’d broken the unreasonable modesty down to shorts. I’d leave the nudity for the first day at the cabin. I had already developed a plan to achieve that.

For the next two weeks, Roger spent time in shorts which Glenna shortened gradually—starting with Bermudas she eventually got him into cutoffs with no more than three inch inseams. Her efforts were not lost on the boy’s friends. Luckily their acknowledgement that “Hey, Roger’s wearing shorts,” was taken as an inclusionary observation rather than a humorous jab. When the shirt would come off he seemed to blend in perfectly with the neighbor boys and no further remarks were made to my knowledge. Roger browned up quickly and I was excited as the departure day approached. I must admit I was excited to see how well the boy’s genital area had developed over the last three years, and the time to do so was rapidly approaching.

On our departure day, Glenna handed me the backpack containing Roger’s necessities. She would later tell me, she did it because he’d have become suspicious at the lightness of the contents and if he looked would probably have backed out. The boy approached the car wearing his cutoffs and a pair of sandals. Other than the elastic top of his tighty whities, no other hint of clothing was apparent. He got in the car and we headed to the cabin my father had rented in the mountains of Maine. As we drove I finally couldn’t help myself and I found my hand securely placed on Roger’s upper leg. Trying to appear unconscious of touching him, I rubbed vigorously as I talked about how I anticipated our outing. He didn’t move to break the contact, but it was apparent he was aware of it and somewhat apprehensive. At a red light, I grabbed the boy and pulled him over to me fully embracing his bare upper torso. I kissed him on the forehead explaining how much his uncle loved him, followed by sharing my excitement of the time we’d have together. The light turned and he nervously reassumed the upright position in his own seat.

At this point, I suppose the reader is wondering, “How were you going to get this boy naked?” I know that’d be going through my head. Well, it wasn’t easy. After we settled in, Roger went to the bathroom for one of his classically long bowel movements. While he was in there, I relieved his backpack of the spare set of clothing and hid them in the log pile outside the cabin. After he finished his business, it was getting late and I suggested we go and take a bath to refresh ourselves and get ready to retire early. He looked somewhat perplexed and asked how we were going to bathe. He’d noticed there was not shower or tub. I grabbed two towels and a bar of soap. After tossing one of the towels to him we left the cabin for the mountain stream which was located a couple hundred feet out the backdoor.

“We bathe here and boy is it going to be cold!” Roger looked perplexed at first. I slid my shorts and underwear off and stood naked before the boy. Luckily my appendage was behaving. “Take your shorts and underwear off and come out in the stream. We need to make this as quick as we can.” The boy stood on shore looking at me as I soaped up. He’d made no move to strip. “Come on Roger, we’re alone here. See I’m naked and I’m not all scared and stuff. Nobody’s going to see us. Just take your clothes off and come on in.” He continued to watch with no movement to remove his attire. I then made a demand. “Roger, get your shorts and underwear off and get in here, damn it! At least clean your butt. I mean you took a shit and I’m sure there are cling-on’s. Let’s go, before someone comes.” Sensing my resolve, he reluctantly complied. With his hand cupping his oversized appendage, which was definitely erect at that point, he waded out into the cold mountain stream. Acting nonchalant I threw him the soap, which he almost didn’t catch. “Be sure to wash that butt crack.” As he bathed he turned his back to me which gave me the opportunity to stroll up to shore and make sure his shorts and underwear made their way into the rushing water. Sure enough, after bouncing off the rocks near shore they caught the stream and were soon gone from view. Roger was completely oblivious to my devious action.

To ensure the clothing was gone beyond retrieval, I re-entered the icy waters and playfully splashed the boy. He eventually became more interested in returning fire with the splashes than protecting his package from my view. His penis had relaxed. To my delight his scrotum was much fuller and it was evident the contents were no longer fixed tightly against the pubic area. Though drawn up tightly due to the water temperature, the sack was much larger than my last viewing and protruded prominently. Even with the expected shrinkage, his appendage was still developing girth but was longer than my mature equipment. We finished playing and climbed back on the shoreline. He dried himself alongside me. While I was slipping on my own underwear and shorts, he walked around eyes glued to the ground. I knew what was troubling him, but asked what he was looking for anyway. “I can’t find my clothes. I put them right here.” Jokingly, I suggested he may have put them too close to the water and they were washed away. He wrapped the towel around himself and we walked back to the cabin. His eyes continually scanned for his clothing.

Roger immediately went in his room and quickly came out. He was tearful. “Mom forgot to put some clothes in my pack.” I took the boy by his shoulders, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “Hey, not to worry, you were going to have to be naked for the pictures anyway. You don’t need clothes, nobody is around here. And, if someone happens by, most people have seen naked little boys anyway.” He immediately took on an angry tone and demanded we go home. I told him that wasn’t going to happen and we were going to stay for ten days. He was not going to wear a stitch of clothing during our stay so I could take the photographs, inside the cabin and out in the woods, so I could complete my project. He ran to his room and slammed the door insisting he wasn’t going to come out. And, for the rest of that night, he didn’t.

The next morning, he had to come out for his morning pee. He had that towel wrapped around his waist and his morning wood was peeking out from between the folds. I greeted him, but he ignored me, did his business and returned to his room notably slamming the door. Fifteen minutes later I knocked and told him breakfast was ready. He needed to eat up because we had a busy day planned. He yelled, “I’m not coming out!” I told him to suit himself.

After I finished eating and cleaning up the small kitchenette, I again knocked on the door and announced the need for us to go hiking. He made it clear he wasn’t going to go. With that, I pushed the door open and told him to lose the towel and get his ass outside. He grabbed the legs of the bunkbed and was determined not to go anywhere. We then discussed his contract with me. He’d agreed to submit to my photographic needs and I would pay him “generously” for it.

He didn’t want my “stinking money”. He wanted to “go home”.

It was then I told him that wasn’t going to happen until we’d finished what we came for. I again told him to let go of the bed and get his ass outside. He cried and tightened his grip. I retreated to my room and retrieve a size thirty four leather belt. Doubling it as I walked into his space, I told him I didn’t want to use it but if he didn’t do as I told him, he was in for the whipping of his life. He didn’t relinquish his hold on the bed and the tears were still pumping out of his captivating eyes. I again threatened him and told him because he was on his back, I wasn’t the least bit hesitant to whip his penis and ball sack if he didn’t do as he was told. The kid was stubborn. I swung the belt hitting the shaft of his penis and apparently slamming it into the contents of his sack. He screamed out in pain and grabbed his package with both hands as he rolled around shielding them from further attack by pressing his groin against the mattress.

I threatened to whip the fire out of his backside if he didn’t comply immediately. After thinking about it, he stood still clutching his package, tears flowing freely and as he walked out of the room he threatened, “I’m telling my Mom.” Little did he know, she was a co-conspirator.

After walking up stream for about a mile, I couldn’t help but reassure him. “See, nobody’s here to see you. (Thinking to myself hopefully someone will happen by.) We need to even out that tan a bit so for the next couple of days, we’ll do a lot of hiking and you will do a lot of sunbathing.” He didn’t react to my comments. The 35mm camera swayed back and forth from its strap encircling my neck. Occasionally, I’d raise it to photograph the handsome kid and he’d shield his jewels. “Hey, no sense worrying about your boy parts, they WILL be in most of the pictures I take. You keep hiding them and we’ll have to stay even longer.”

I must admit, the next couple of days were filled with many photographic opportunities. On more than one occasion as Roger would try to hide his penis from the lens, I’d reiterate, “Hey, you know what people want to see, get your hands away from your penis.” He was especially shy when he was sporting that sizable boner. A quick threat and he’d allow it to bounce into the picture, literally.

On the third day, he’d really tanned up his backside and pubic area. It wasn’t the same dark hue as the legs and torso, but it certainly was no longer creamy white. It was time to start taking the photos I’d use in my presentation. I told Roger he was not to ever cover up his boy parts. They would be in most of the pictures, and, yes, I’d be showing them to other people—“so get used to it.” On the hike we took on days four and five, I photographed him carefully traversing rocks in the rushing stream, climbing trees and cliffs, looking out from hills, urinating, unconsciously pinching his penis tip as he stared off into space, and many other activities. The whole time the boy’s tan deepened and that made the composition even more interesting. It suggested he spent a great deal of time running in the sunshine naked as the day he was born. Surprisingly, on day four he seemed to be at peace with his situation and much less self-conscious about his body.

That was the evening I decided to take advantage of his newfound comfort level. Picking up his legs, I plopped down on the living area couch, and placed the outstretched limbs across my lap. He was on his back reading a comic book I’d packed for him. Cautiously, I began lightly stroking his legs—ankles to groin. My hand eventually lightly brushed the boys loosened ball sack. His marble like testicles slowly moved on their own as if to avoid contact. On the next pass I lightly rubbed them. His penis reacted to the contact and began rising to the occasion.

“You know, when you were little, I used to massage you every time I babysat. You loved having your boy parts rubbed. I’d do your whole body and you’d take my hand and push it down on your penis and testicles and ask me to ‘rub here some more’.” He just kept reading after spreading his legs slightly wider as if to invite such attention that night.

My hand travelled down his legs working his calves and thighs. Finally, the rubbing would make its way to his erection. Still Roger didn’t react visually or verbally, he just spread wider and acted like he was deeply into the comic book. We both knew he wasn’t. He was passively requesting more attention to his genital area. I was more than happy to oblige. I couldn’t help but think how funny it was that I really enjoyed pleasuring the boy, but I had no desire to sodomize him or orally stimulate him or for him to do either to me. I was perfectly content to fondle him. The only other desire I had was to be a voyeur (and photographer) as he was exposed to and handled by others.

We had arrived at a point where I wanted to introduce his naked body to the general public. I was especially hoping he’d have to wiggle that appendage in front of some young girls his age, but having to stand naked in front of anyone would be an accomplishment. This was not so much for photographic reasons, though I wouldn’t hesitate to record the incidents on film, but more the arousal I would get from his embarrassment and humiliation. Besides, that was the goal of the trip’s financiers.

As my hand gently rubbed the hairless groin and eventually encircled the stiff five inch shaft, I said, “Tomorrow we’re going to drive to another area for the day. There will be other people there and you’re going to have to be naked in front of them.”

He dropped the comic book and insisted he wasn’t going to do that. I reminded him I would make the decisions, and he’d do what he was told. I reassured him that no one who might see (or hopefully touch) him would know who he was and would probably never see him again. That was lost rhetoric. He kept insisting he wasn’t going to do that. I kept reiterating that “Yes, you will.”

In the end my nephew won out. I took him to a stream where I was certain he’d be discovered by someone, but after three hours of photographing him as he climbed the rocks on the shoreline, waded in the cold rushing water, and submerged himself in shallow pools not twenty feet from the hiking trail no one had come by. I was disappointed in being denied the enjoyment of the boy’s embarrassment, but convinced myself there’d come a time.

As it turned out our entire ten day excursion was very private. Much more so than I’d hoped. Roger had evened out his tan, was definitely less shy about his nudity, and spent less time with a raging hard on than he had those first couple of days. I had shot thousands of photos of his naked excursions and he had become less aware that I was doing so. That final day we got the gear together and began our trip home. As planned, Roger was still completely nude on the return trip and would end up greeting his mother in that condition when we got home. She was ecstatic to see him in the altogether and couldn’t stop thanking me. Roger was oblivious as to why.

I headed to my darkroom in Mom and Dad’s basement and began the arduous task of developing the sixty or so rolls of film I’d taken. I was a bit worried that I’d make some developing errors and lose some of them so I was sure to use new chemicals every three rolls. Ten of the rolls were color and would have to be sent out for developing. I tried to imagine the interest the employees at the photo shop would have as they inspected what they pulled out of the chemicals. Even though, back then, photos of naked children were not a big concern, I did worry in passing about what they would think of me when I went to retrieve them a week later.

The black and white positives (a process in developing which allowed for the projection of the images), all seven or eight hundred of them, did turn out. Of course, some were not worth keeping and were discarded.

After carefully narrowing them down to a hundred or so of the best as far as lighting, capturing the spirit of “boyhood”, and composition, I staged a preliminary showing for my parents, my sister and my subject. Using Dad’s slide projector and a bed sheet I was able to present them almost life sized. The adult comments would be used to narrow those hundred or so slides closer to the twenty four I would present in class. A good ninety percent of the shots were frontal in nature including a few of Roger in a fully aroused state. Mom questioned whether I thought it a good idea to share pictures of the boy with a boner. I defended the choice by reiterating the whole theme of the photo shoot. After all, having a stiffy was part of “boyhood” wasn’t it?

Roger did question if I really HAD to show those to other people. More accurately he tearfully begged me not to. His discomfort with the idea did relight my inner arousal especially when I told him “yes” I had to show them to lots of people.

That same week I was able to retrieve the color slides from the processor. Thankfully, the clerk hadn’t been one of the reviewers and no mention was made of the content. Those too were presented to the closed audience. My sister made it a point to tell me which ones she wanted prints made of. Mom just said, “Make two sets”. Roger did get embarrassed at that point and whined his displeasure especially when Glenna told him some of the eight by ten nudes would be framed and grace the mantle of the living room fireplace. His mother and grandmother rubbed it in even more vowing to make sure the kids in the neighborhood would see them as well. Glenna made sure to mention showing the little girl living next door to them in particular.

On the day of my presentation to the class at the college, I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t somewhat apprehensive about presenting my work to “strangers” for the first time. That apprehension was driven by a concern over what my viewers would think about me. I reconciled the feelings by mentally comparing them to the excitement a flasher must experience just before he exposed himself to unsuspecting viewers. But, after giving it a lot of thought, I decided, hey, this was an art class and what they thought was their problem. To make matters worse the first four students had presented innocent slides of clothed and partially clad adults and what one might call Americana material. There wasn’t a nude among them. No, I would be the first to unveil the first nude and it was to be an eleven year old boy. That only added to my apprehension.

I remember getting a sudden feeling that I needed a glass of water as I mounted the slide tray on the projector. I had a dry lump in my throat. That feeling of apprehension was to become a part of my overall arousal. The first slide--the title slide-- was of Roger’s nude posterior as he faced the setting sun while standing knee deep in that stream. The reaction of the class was immediate. There was a collective gasp that could have been taken as intrigue and approval, or, on the other hand, very possibly distain. I explained the composition and lighting as well as introduced my subject. Much to my relief, Professor Cutter was more complimentary in her critique of that slide than she had been with any of the slides of my predecessors. Her comments put me somewhat more at ease.

Of the remaining twenty three slides, my classmates would be treated to seventeen with full frontal nudity including five with Roger sporting an erection, four side shots of him sitting on boulders and two more back shots. None appeared posed. The first slide depicting the boy with a stiffy did meet with the same question Mom had feared might come. Luckily my response of “erections are a part of being a boy” not only quieted the questioner but drew Dr. Cutter’s verbal approval of my reaction.

After spending that half hour getting critiqued, Dr. Cutter thanked me for the courage to photograph and present nudes. She went on about the beauty of the human form and in a compliment told me I’d done the subject justice. She did make a quip, which drew some laughter, about Roger being well endowed for an eleven year old. What would have made the whole presentation more meaningful to me would have been if I’d made Roger attend the showing. I know his embarrassment and humiliation would have increased my enjoyment. All in all, I got my “A” for that class.

I submitted many of the color photos to the publisher of a softcore magazine called “All Boy”. The A from class was great, but the royalty check was better. I made enough money from the publication to pay tuition for two years. The August issue was almost one hundred percent about Roger. They must have printed close thirty photos of him in that issue. A frontal close-up of Roger climbing over a boulder at the stream was the cover shot. His penis, ball sack and legs almost presented a 3D depiction of him looking like he was climbing out of the photo and into the reader’s domain. The color was great. I purchased ten copies from an adult bookstore in community to make sure my sister and parents got to see it. None of the family including Roger knew of the worldwide public debut and I could hardly wait to share the new found notoriety. Needless to say Roger was devastated. All my mother could say was, “Well, Roger, you have nothing to hide anymore. The whole world knows about your penis.” My sister shared the magazine with Roger’s friends, both boys and girls, then and long after our photo session. Right up to this day, that magazine is prominently displayed on Glenna’s coffee table.

You, my readers, may have been unknowingly treated to seeing Roger’s penis as well. Any of you who have visited naked boy sites on the net have probably seen him at least once, but more than likely you’ve been treated to the sight of many of the photos I took of him that Spring. I freely distributed them just to see my nephew’s humiliation. Mom was right. He really didn’t have any secrets to hide after that.

Maybe, if you’re interested, I’ll get around to sharing my second biggest naked boy challenge—photographing Patrick and Timmy with you. They were the ten and twelve year old sons of one of my mother’s friends. That shoot was both studio and outdoors. Talk about arousing, that was one for the books. The female witnessed staged wrestling session will be etched in my memory forever. Much to their mother’s amusement and their displeasure, during that session they were forced to touch each other more intimately than they were comfortable with or even I anticipated.

(End of File)