Therapeutic Foster Care

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

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I never thought being protective of my boyhood would be frowned upon by so many adults. But it was. I found this funny because they who usually preached about ‘private parts’ to us kids decided I need to be taught to be a whole lot less ‘private’. As a result, I was placed in a therapeutic foster home where I would be forced to be less modest.

Therapeutic Foster Care
By, Running Bare

It was a horrific year for me. At eleven years of age I lost both parents in a Caribbean plane crash; my maternal grandmother who then took on the role of guardianship had to be placed in assisted living; and my mother's brother Pete was ruled “not suitable” as a replacement due to his loose lifestyle. In short, this kid was put into foster care, therapeutic foster care at that.

How it was that Jim Reynolds was chosen to become my foster father I don't know. I mean the guy was thirty-two, unmarried, and lived in a remote Montana cabin, five miles from a town of three thousand residents. That very cold winter day, when Mrs. Marks, the child services social worker, drove me to his home and introduced us, she told me he was a kind man who had a special way with young boys. He was said to have a calming influence and could tame the wildest kid. I really didn't understand as I was not, to my knowledge, ever consider a “wild” kid. It begged the question of why she said that in the first place so I asked. One of the remarks that she made, as we traveled an almost barren highway, was that he was one of the only foster parents who was given the authority to use a belt for discipline. In most foster placements parents were forbidden to use corporal punishment. She also mentioned he had a remarkable ability to desensitize kids from what the social workers considered counterproductive to healthy mental outlooks in boys my age. I wasn't aware of any unhealthy mental outlooks I had, so I asked “Why me?”

Mrs. Marks mentioned that Grandma had been concerned about my body image. She was a bit upset that I was so shy about being exposed to her, other adults, or even in situations where boys were required to be naked, or even partially so. She went on to ask why I was so resistant to dressing out and showering for gym classes in school.

I was perplexed as to how in the hell she knew that. Guess Grandma must have told her about her frequent conversations with Coach Collins at my middle school. Of course, I don't imagine that she mentioned that Coach Collins was a woman and that she frequently walked around the boys' locker room while we guys were stark naked patting our bare asses, or that she stationed herself so she could watch us in the shower often interjecting orders for one or another of us to “wash your boy parts” as she watched to make sure we did it.

She also couldn’t have known my penis was a bit longer than most of my peers'-- not considerably longer, but long enough for the other boys to make disparaging remarks like “Long Dong Silver” or make whinnying noises at me as I stripped or walked to the shower. To this day, I believe, any self-respecting kid would be embarrassed by such attention.

I'm sure Grandma never let on how Coach Collins would often have to inspect my cleanliness as I left the shower, and that would include her hefting my penis and examining my ball sack to make sure they were hygienically acceptable. I'm also sure she didn't hear how Grandma herself would wash them for me even at nine or ten-years-old. Or how, she'd find ways to make me expose myself completely naked to her friends or bridge group so they could comment on her grandson's “beautiful”, “handsome”, “gorgeous” or “perfect” little boy body. I'm sure she didn't tell her how many times one of her friends would say things like, “If he were mine, I'd make him stay naked all the time!” Or even, “What a beautiful penis. He's going to make some girl happy.”

Grandma also must have filled her in on my resistance to wearing short pants as well. Mrs. Marks brought it up in a non-judgmental tone, but I could tell she had made a judgmental call anyway.

In defense of the latter, I told her the shorts Grandma wanted me to wear were too short. They weren't the style boys were wearing and I often got teased about showing so much leg. Besides, I viewed wearing shorts as a little kid thing and I felt I'd passed that stage. Grandma used to always comment on my nice, perfect and shapely boy legs and how she wanted me to tan up and show them off. That kind of shit, even though meant to be complimentary, was embarrassing and did a lot to strengthen my resolve to avoid exposing them.

My defenses wouldn't matter as the social worker commented as she drove that boys, especially boys my age, shouldn’t be so shy about being naked. Girls needed modesty, but boys needed absolutely none. And, modesty was the enemy of healthy boy development. I listened but mentally commented “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bla, bla, bla. That's a woman's perspective.” At the same time, I had to admit many of my friends didn’t have near the modesty I did, and, in a way, I envied the boys who paid absolutely no attention to situations like Coach Collins examining or even watching them in the locker room, or swimming naked at the Boys' Club.

After we arrived, I noticed Jim was a soft spoken guy. He seemed nice enough. But, hey, he was a stranger and it would take some time for the two of us to bond. I didn't know how long, but I was sure Mrs. Marks rehashing our discussion about what she perceived as my shortcomings wasn't going to shorten the process. Jim just listened and nodded his understanding. As they chatted, I sat on the couch familiarizing myself with what I could see of the open space log home.

It was the very large painting gracing the fireplace that really caught my attention. It portrayed four totally naked boys, who appeared to be my age, at a wooded lakefront. One of the boys was wading out into the water, his bare ass prominently front and center and another was lying in the grass on his stomach watching the wader. Two of the boys were depicted with full frontal exposure, one standing and speaking to the kid in the grass. From my vantage point, his penis was fully erect. The other boy was just walking out of the water his penis appeared to be wagging to the side. It was so vivid and detailed you could actually see the two frontal kids were circumcised.

Now, I don't know about you, but it begged the question as to why children's services would feel placing a kid in a home where such a painting was proudly exhibited would be a good idea. It certainly made me uncomfortable.

It got worse. I asked where the bathroom was and Jim told me “down the hallway, last door on the left”. I cautiously walked down the hallway which turned out to be a veritable exhibition of what I presumed were boys he'd fostered in the past. There must have been thirty or forty framed photos adorning the walls. As I more closely examined the images, I saw a few kids looked to be as young as seven or eight, but the bulk appeared to be my age or slightly older. I was a bit jolted by seeing some of them were of boys in the shower. They were cropped, but none above the penis level. Their boyhoods were prominently displayed. Then there was a collage of two completely naked boys in the snow. Yeah, nude and rolling around in the Montana snow. Their skin was pink from what I presume was the cold, but they were laughing. What the hell? To be fair most were of boys wearing clothing, but none was in long pants. Not even the winter photos. The boys were in fairly short shorts with winter coats on but legs bare, excepting the six or seven photos and the collage of totally naked boys I'd mentioned above. At any rate, the kids seemed happy in all of them. How in the hell could any self-respecting boy be smiling or laughing while naked outside, much less photographed naked? I was a prude, but that was pushing an envelope I thought every normal person would have sealed. They were leaving me here? I was suddenly very apprehensive about this guy and what awaited me.

After peeing I again slowly journeyed back down the “hall of fame”. I was suddenly taken by an eight by ten, matted photo of Jim holding a nine or ten-year-old nude boy, spread eagle on his lap. Jim’s arm was wrapped around the boy and he was holding the kid’s erect penis between his thumb and forefinger with the peeled glans pointing right at the camera. Both he and the boy were smiling. I remember questioning whether Mrs. Marks or any of her predecessors ever took in the hallway exhibition. If they did, what in the world were they doing leaving kids here?

I was committed to going back with Mrs. Marks. I wasn’t about to spend one night in a house with this creep.

As I returned to the living room it was evident the adults were wrapping up the chitchat. I was committed to somehow coaxing Mrs. Marks to walk down that hallway. Turned out I didn’t have to work hard at it. Jim mentioned he’d framed photos of past boys and made an exhibit of them in the hallway. Mrs. Marks joined him to view the exhibit.

That eight by ten with Jim pointing the kid’s dick at the camera caught her eye. “Oh my God, is that Joey Lindamin? Look at that cute little peepee.”

“Yeah that’s Joey. He loved running around the place naked. I was teasing him in that photo and encouraging him to pee on Robin. She was taking a bunch of photos, but this one was just kind of fun.”

“That kid had very shapely legs too. I really enjoyed looking at him, but this is the first I’ve been able to see him naked.”

As she walked down the rest of the exhibit, she’d stop and comment on some of the kids in the photos. It was like old homes week.

She stopped at a shower picture. “Oh, look at Timmy. I loved that kid. If I could have, I would have adopted him and you wouldn’t have had the chance to work with him. For a seven-year-old, he was one of the most well-proportioned kids I’d ever worked with. Look, his peepee is soooo cute. Didn’t you want to just pinch it?”

“Well I did. And, yes, it was pinchable. He loved being naked, so I kept him nude almost 24/7 just to enjoy the view. The only time he’d wear clothing was to go to school or into town and then it was just enough to meet the dress code for where we were going. So many people loved to stop by just to watch the naked kid playing. Sometimes I’d let people bathe him so they could feel what they saw, if you catch my drift. He actually was an attraction for the neighbors.”

Marks’ response to that suggestive remark was, “I wish you’d have let me bathe him.”

Hearing that, my apprehension grew. It was increasingly more evident I was going to be placed here and what was to follow would not be a good thing.

“There’s nothing like naked little boys to keep one’s interest and spur an emotional bond. I especially like it when they are uncomfortable with being naked. What do you think, Jack? You like to be naked?”

Holy shit, this guy was talking to me. Not only talking, but strongly hinting at what was about to follow, and admitting it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Not really.”

“Well, don’t worry, we’ll fix that. School’s out for winter break and we can cover a lot of ground before we have to get you enrolled.”

I don’t think Mrs. Marks’ exhaust fumes had cleared the neighborhood before Jim was patting the cushion on a living room easy chair and telling me to sit down. He said we needed to talk a bit. I sat and must admit had a mix of apprehension and curiosity surging through my head.

He told me that my file had indicated I was not a big behavior problem but could be stubborn at times. He dilly dallied about my parents and how much I missed them. How Grandma had to be placed in assisted living and how we’d go visit her as often as he could get away from work. Then he slid into my body shyness issues. He wanted to know when I started having problems with exposure and when and where those problems became a problem. When he asked if I knew why I was so shy, I was able to recount what I’ve already told you. My penis was a bit longer than average and my legs brought comments from many, especially women, who teased me about being good looking. I told him my penis brought the comments in the locker room and that I was shy about being naked in front of Coach Collins because she was a woman and sometimes handled my goods.

He told me that was okay, she was just looking out for my well-being and I should accept it at that. It was then he asked me to stand up and take off my clothes. As he put it, “We might as well get me seeing you naked out of the way right off the bat.” I stood but couldn’t bring myself to undress in front of him. I was scared and embarrassed.

Because of my hesitance, he started requesting specific clothing items. “Okay, take off your shoes and socks and give them to me.” I did as those were non-threatening items. “Now your pants. Just take them off and hand them to me.” I hesitated. “Look, Jack, don’t make me get the belt. I shouldn’t have to threaten you to do this.” I unbuckled my belt and slowly allowed my jeans to fall to the floor. “Okay, now take them off and hand them to me.” I pulled them off my feet and did as I was told. My heart was beating in anticipation of his next command. “Now the underpants. Off and hand them to me.” I wrestled with doing that. “Come on now, get the underpants off and give them to me. You’re going to have to do it sooner or later. Let’s just get it over with.” I slid them down freeing my stiff penis. “Give them to me.” I did. “Now the shirt.” I completed the job and was then standing totally nude before my new foster father.

“Now was that so bad?” My face was beet red and I shrugged my shoulders. “I want you to stay that way until I tell you to put something on. No covering that beautiful penis either. Let it hang loose.”
He beckoned me to him and gently took my stiffy into his hand. “This is mine as long as you live here. It’s attached to your body but it belongs to me. Understand?” I nodded affirmatively. “So are these”, he fingered my scrotum. “You are not to cover them for any reason. I can touch them whenever I want and anyone else I allow to play with them can do so, because they are mine, not yours. You get to carry them around, but I own them and can do whatever I want with them whenever I want to. Are we clear?”

What the hell could I do but nervously nod my agreement.

“I’m glad you’re cut so we won’t have to get that bad boy trimmed. Though, I do like watching the Doc cut the damned foreskins off. The intact boys are scared and humiliated when he does that. Guess, I’ll miss that bit of fun with you, huh?”

That was pretty mean. He actually looked disappointed I had already been circumcised. I guess I was never aware of any boy who wasn’t “cut” shortly after birth. But after finally seeing one, I can’t imagine the emotional stress boys my age would have if it was done to them.

My erection subsided as Jim made lunch for us. He spoke of taking pictures of me naked while we were living together. I got the impression those photos were his trophies.

After lunch he sent me out to the mailbox. I kind of questioned how I was supposed to do that naked. It was cold and there was a foot and a half of snow on the ground. His response was the cold and snow wouldn’t be a problem for that short distance out to the road to get the mail. The road? I was going out there naked with a strong possibility of being seen? He kind of laughed and threw me a pair of boots. “Here wear these until you toughen up.” As I put them on, “Remember, I really want people to see my new toys, so no covering up. You let that penis of yours swing free the whole time. I’ll be watching.”

As I left the house the temperature immediately hit me. It had to be in the teens, at most twenty degrees. Even with the boots on my feet were cold. You can only imagine the cold on the rest of my body. I can attest, shrinkage is real. My ball sack drew up into my abdomen and my penis shrank to a fraction of its normal length. I looked carefully to see if any traffic was coming up the road. Seeing none, I quickly withdrew the mail and ran back to the shelter and warmth of the house.

I pried the boots off and left them at the front door. My skin was pink from exposure to the cold. Jim guided me to the couch and began rubbing my skin under the guise of getting me warmed up. He wasn’t a bit hesitant about rubbing my balls and penis. “Let’s get these guys feeling warm again.” Though he’d stray from my crotch to attend to my legs arms or back, he’d quickly come back to my boyhood which was not only warm at that point but becoming hard as well.

“You know, I guess I could have put these in my mouth to warm them up. Maybe we’ll do that next time. What do you think? Would that bother you?”

Like I could object even if I wanted to. I was still scared and still quite embarrassed. He’d already made it clear those parts belonged to him, not me anymore. I suppose he could do whatever he wanted. I did think it was kind of a perverted idea for him to do it to a kid, much less a male kid. I did wonder if he did that to all those boys in the photographs on the wall of the hallway. I rationalized that they had lived through it, I guessed I could too.

The rest of that day I was naked. My foster father had massaged my entire body, including my (his) parts of interest each time. I was bathed by him to ensure my hole was thoroughly cleaned and sent to bed nude. I don’t ever recall sleeping naked prior to that, but as awkward as it was, I did kind of enjoy the naughty feeling it gave me.

The next morning, I awoke to something lightly tickling my ass cheeks. It was Jim doing the honors.

Beginning that morning, Jim had me straddle his lap with my legs splayed, and, as we watched the morning news, he fondled my package. I wish I could say it didn’t bother me, but it did. Though it felt very good, my emotions were playing with me. For years we kids are taught this kind of contact was wrong. In fact, criminal. Well, maybe not. Mrs. Marks let on that this Jim guy was specifically chosen for me based on my reported problems. She wasn’t a bit put out by the naked photos adorning the hall of fame. In fact, she reveled in looking at the nude depictions of the little boys she’d placed with Jim on prior occasions. Maybe this guy was exempt from the “good touch, bad touch” rules.

All that aside, even more concerning was the thoughts of how other boys would antagonize me, if they ever became aware of these sessions. “HOMO” was the mildest chide I’d receive. You can imagine the other accusations and remarks that’d be hurled my way. Again, I have to say, it felt good to have Jim rubbing my woody. I actually found myself spreading my legs further apart to allow him as complete access as I could in the way of encouragement.

He dropped another bomb on me after I returned from my mailbox errand that second day. While massaging me to “warm me up”, he told me he planned to invite a bunch of the kids from my grade at the local middle school to come by and meet me and on another day perhaps some of the teachers. I have to admit, the first thing that came to mind was whether he intended to relax the continual nudity requirement, or if I’d have to entertain them while naked. I was afraid to ask. I think I was afraid of the answer I’d get.

It was on the third day Jim announced our need to visit the grocery store in town. I called his attention to the fact I was naked and asked if I had to go to town that way. To my relief he told me that I would be allowed clothing to go to town. What he didn’t tell me was the clothing included short shorts with no underwear, those damned boots with no socks, and what turned out to be a mesh t-shirt which left my upper torso visible for the most part. He did, however, allow me to wear a quilted winter jacket with an attached hood that hung about five inches below my waist. My legs were fully exposed for the most part as the shorts barely covered the bottom of my bottom.

I considered complaining about the skimpiness of what he provided, but felt doing so might result in alterations that would make it worse.

I’m not gonna lie. My legs were cold as we walked to the truck. The leather seat was freezing on the lower part of my ass that was bared as I sat down. But by the time we got to town, I’d warmed up. Then we had to get out again. The store was nothing like the grocery stores in my old hometown. It was quite a bit smaller, but seemed well stocked.

“Hi Jim, and who do we have here?” The lady was middle aged and seem quite likeable.

“This is Jack. He’s going to be my foster son for the next couple of years at least. Jack, this is Audrey. She’s the clerk here. Well, she’s the real boss anyway.”

“You can say that again, Buddy. You know Jim, I really love how you make these boys dress. Look at this one’s legs. Good God, he’s a cutie.” With that she took the opportunity to give me a slight pat on the ass which was tempered by the quilted coat.

“Jack, show Audrey the ‘third leg’.”

I was perplexed and must have looked it.

“You know, my toy I let you carry around with you.”

Still drawing a blank I just stared at him.

“Show Audrey our penis.”

I couldn’t believe he was so bold as to suggest such a thing. I just stood there as both he and this lady I’d known for all of five minutes waited for me to follow the directive.

“Just pull your shorts down in the front there and let her have a look. You don’t have to take the shorts off.”

I gulped and complied. I know my face was red with embarrassment, but my penis didn’t have time to stretch out. Audrey peeked at it as if she was inspecting produce or something.

“Oh, Jim, he’s beautiful. Are you keeping him naked at home like you did with some of the others?”

“For sure! Why don’t you stop by sometime and we’ll let you cuddle with him? He needs to let his guard down about his body.”

“I’ll give you a call next week.” She was truly excited at the prospect. I wasn’t.

“You can put it away now, Jack. Let’s grab a cart and get what we came for.” I let the elastic waistband snap back into position back at my waist. My mind was still on the invitation he’d just made. It was bad enough having to allow him, still a stranger for the most part, to manhandle my boyhood, but now he was inviting other people to do it too. Audrey was actually invited to handle what Grandma never, in recent history, had touched. In fact, I could honestly say she hadn’t seen it since my ninth or tenth year either.

“Hi, Jim. Who’s this?” The middle-aged man with a running nose greeted us. I could see the vapor from his breath in the cold.

“Bill, this is Jack. He’ll be one of the students in your school. I’m enrolling him next week. Jack this is your principal, Mr. Whitaker. And he has a huge paddle so you better mind your manners.”

The man offered his hand and shook mine.

“Well I must say you’re a good looking little guy, Jack.” The he shifted his attention to Jim, “The kid has a set of impressive muscular little legs there. Pretty solid kid”. He then turned his attention back to me, “Jack, do you play any sports?”

“Not really.” I was feeling kind of timid.

“Jack hasn’t really had much time to settle down. I’m hoping we can provide some stability for him. Hey, I thought I’d invite you and some of the teachers to come by and get to know him a little better before school restarts. Maybe sometime next week.”

“That’d be great. I’d love it and so would they, if they’re in town. Let me know and I can make some of the contacts for you.”

At least the guy parted without me having to show “our” penis to him. Guess I couldn’t complain.

That said, the cold air was still working on my genitals actually circulating up the legs of the shorts. Not having underwear on, the light cotton offered little if any protection from the drafts. My legs were just short of burning as they pinkened from the low temperatures. Jim seemed unconcerned when I complained of being cold. His response to my complaint, which I was to become accustomed to, was “you’ll get used to it”.

I can honestly say I was the only kid in that town wearing shorts especially in the cold winter weather. I saw many kids at stores and on the street, but all had on long pants. I made my observation known to Jim and he explained that very few of the boys in that part of Montana ever wore short pants. “Rancher kids only wear jeans. They don’t wear shorts. You’ll probably be the only kid in the school in shorts, but you’ll get used to it”. As I said, there was that “get used to it” line again.

My mind shifted to thinking of the taunting scenarios that being the only kid so exposed would cause. You can imagine the teasing some eleven or twelve-year-old kid would be subjected to by his peers if he was the only kid in the school denied long pants. Or, to put it another way, some eleven or twelve-year-old boy who only wore shorts short enough to frequently expose the bottoms of his ass cheeks. And in the middle of winter at that. I mean, by his admission we lived in a community where none of the other boys wore shorts even in the summer months meant I was destined to be a standout among my peers. It was apparent Jim had no empathy for my situation. Maybe, just maybe, he’d at least allow me underwear when I dressed for school.

“Jim, I think I’d rather dress like the other kids. I’ll be embarrassed to go to school like this.”

“Oh, nonsense, after the kids come to the introduction party next week and see you naked, they’ll be used to it.”

“I’m not going to do that. That be at the party naked thing. That’s just too weird. I’ll come to the party but I’m going to have clothes on. You can’t make me show up naked.” I was absolutely not going to allow the bullshit to go that far. I was very firm and adamant about it.

“You need to watch how you tell me what you will or will not do. There are three things you need to remember, Kiddo. First, I’m your father. Maybe just foster father, but father non-the-less. Second, I will whip your bare ass with a belt whenever I think you need it, and telling me what you will or will not do is right at that line. Third, I own your penis, and your testicles, and, for that matter, your ass hole, too. I think I made that clear. You get to wear them, but they are mine. I will decide who gets to see and play with my toys, not you. So, you might want to rethink what you just said.” He was pissed or at least sounded so. “Now put on the boots, no, don’t wear the boots. Get your bare ass out there and go up to get the mail. I’ll be right behind you taking some pictures of you naked in the snow. Mrs. Marks will be impressed at how well this is coming along. Oh, and don’t even think of covering that penis. I want it showing in the pictures. Got it?”

“Why are you going to take pictures?”

“A, because you’re a good looking kid. B, you’re well hung for a little boy. C, I like seeing naked boys your age and so do a whole lot of other folks, including Mrs. Marks. And D, I may like to post them on the internet so everyone in the world gets to see your body. It’d do you good to have nothing left to hide. Besides, seeing a naked boy playing in the snow on a cold day is stimulating to everyone. Just get your ass out there and get the mail, before I feel like getting the belt.”

I was pushed out the front door and felt the cold snow on my bare feet, not to mention the cold air on my genitals and bare ass. I tried not to look at Jim as he clicked away with his cellphone. The only defense I could attempt was positioning myself so the photos weren’t too explicit, but that was difficult to do, and, from the review of the shots he took suggested it didn’t work anyway. At least it was cold enough that an erection didn’t happen. The shrinkage alone was enough to pull my penis down to the appearance of being normal. Of course, the skin all over my body was pink from the cold and I was shivering holding the mail in one hand and arms crossed at my chest.

“Here give me the mail.” Jim reached out and took it out of my hand. “We’ll stay out here for a while and get some shots of my naked boy in the snow. Get over there to that snow pile. Climb up on it and spread your legs.” I looked over to the pile of snow he’d plowed from the driveway. I was really cold.

“Can’t we go in. I’m freezing. Please, Jim, let’s go in.”

“No! I told you to get over there and climb up on the snow pile. Now, do it and quit arguing.”

My feet were killing me. I couldn’t feel the cold in my toes. They actually stung. My teeth were chattering from the cold. Not to mention I didn’t want him taking pictures of me naked. My temper got away from me. “I’m goin’ in. I’m not staying out here. It’s too cold.” And off I went, into the house slamming the door in anger.

Jim came in within seconds, “That’s it. I have just the thing to warm you up.” He slid his belt from the loops on his jeans. I knew immediately what that meant. He pulled me over to the arm of the couch and bent me over it. I tried to negotiate telling him I’d go back out when I’d warmed up. Didn’t help though. My frozen pink butt had a sting across it that rivaled nothing I’d ever felt before. It stung like all hell. Then another. And, another. In total I’d guess he planted ten red stripes over the already pink background. I was crying and begging for him to stop. He finally did. It was then I completely understood the term parents used when they threatened to warm their kids butt. Mine was burning.

Still angry Jim asked me what I’d learned from that. I was crying so hard, I couldn’t speak. It took me awhile to be able to verbalize “to do what you tell me”. I retreated to my room and lay on the bunk holding my penis and balls and imagining running away. Where could I go? I was nude and had no access to clothes, and even if I did, how would I get away? We were in the middle of nowhere. As usually happened after whippings, I calmed down in an hour and the vivid planning for running away quickly tempered to feeling sorry for myself.

As I lay there my playing with my appendage had caused it to stiffen. It’s amazing how polishing my knob when it topped an erection felt so stimulating. There were two softened knocks on the door before it swung opened. I immediately released my hold on my penis so as not to get criticized for playing with it. Jim came in and sat beside me on the bed.

He explained that he was truly saddened having to whip my backside, but my arguing and non-cooperative behavior couldn’t go unpunished. He hoped he’d never have to do that again, but stopped short of telling me it wouldn’t. He reached over and started rubbing my penis as he talked. I’m not going to lie. I liked the feel of someone else stimulating me there. After about fifteen minutes he did an odd and unexpected thing. He leaned over and kissed the glans right on the pee slit. Then he kissed it again. That was followed by a pat on the side of my hip as he told me dinner would soon be ready. I halfway forgave him for the whipping and followed him down to the kitchen.

For the longest time the penis kisses bothered me. I’d never had anyone kiss my dick before, at least that I could remember. I wasn’t worldly but that definitely fit my preteen definition of gay. No straight guy would kiss his kid’s penis, would they? It was then I thought that maybe I was gay, because, though I half resented what Jim had done, I liked it, too. At any rate the recurring portrayal of what had happened, kept that bad boy hard as a rock for as long as I replayed it in my mind.

That night I was splayed over Jim’s lap while he spent the bulk of my massage time working on my rock hard penis and soften ball sack. Occasionally, he’d reach between my legs and poke my hole with his index finger. I was almost encouraging him to push it in, but wasn’t sure I wanted it done. No one had ever penetrated my hole with anything, but the teasing he did by pressing on it made me long for him to penetrate it. Was it curiosity that drove that or was it my hormones at play? I didn’t know but the idea that someone would do that was also a bit disgusting to my mind.

After a half hour or so, his penis play went from simple stimulation to being more aggressive. He’d put a strangle hold on it and yank it hard. It didn’t hurt, but I did worry he’d pull the damn thing right off. I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t need to piss him off or be reminded it was his and he could do whatever he wanted with it.

That was followed by an action that all but confirmed my new foster father was a bit gay. In fact, had the terms pedophile or boy lover been in my vernacular at the time, I’d have used the labels for him. He engulfed my penis in his mouth and rubbed the underside with his tongue. Then he slowly drew his lips up the shaft until I could feel his teeth at the cleft between my shaft and glans. For a moment, I was scared he was going to bite it, but he didn’t he just sucked it a little bit and pulled his mouth away. It was really a great feeling for me. I wanted him to do it again, but was afraid to acknowledge the act. I mean, in school we’d been told such things were serious and inappropriate for anyone to do to us. But I was confused. What was so awful? It felt incredibly good to me and weren’t adults supposed to make their kids feel good if they could?

Jim almost apologetically got up and excused himself and left the room to retreat to his bedroom. I looked down at my hardon that was glistening from the saliva he’d coated it with and had a sense of amazement. A few minutes later he came back down to me and told me he shouldn’t have done that, but he felt I needed some lotion of something to sooth my penis during the massage and he was just too lazy to get up and get the lotion, so he used his saliva. Frankly, I didn’t care. I hoped he’d stay lazy and do it that way every night, but I didn’t dare say so.

When he took me to bed that night, he asked if it’d be alright for him to kiss me down there to say good night. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders to tell him I didn’t care. Actually, I was confused again. After all, if he “owned” those parts, why would he ask for permission to do that? He could damn well do whatever he wanted to them at least according to his rant a few days earlier.

He peeled the top sheet and blanket back exposing my penis that had erected in anticipation of its good night kiss. He kissed the tip and then my ball sack, and covered me up. I felt naughty for enjoying it so much, I’d been taught never to allow it. But, hell, if that’s as bad as it got, my lips were sealed.

The bedside good night activity was to remain the same procedure every night and was sometimes a part of the awakening in the morning. Much to my chagrin, Jim wouldn’t engulf my penis in his mouth again until months later. I was too shy to request him to do it.

Three days after all this transpired, a party was held at our place for kids I’d be going to school with. I had to meet and greet wearing just a pair of shorts and athletic shoes. I’d open that door when there was a knock and the cold air would engulf my chest and drift up my legs to my penis and balls each time. None of the kids or adults commented on the half-naked kid which was a bit curious to me. As the party progressed one of the boys asked if Jim was going to make me go to school in shorts. I acted ignorant rather than answer him still hoping I’d be able to change Jim’s mind. I did ask the what made him ask me that.

His response was that all the boys who had lived with Jim had to wear shorts all the time. He also noted they weren’t allowed to wear underwear either. He told me the girls and a lot of the boys liked looking up the legs of their shorts to see their junk. He also told me that when other kids would come over to play or visit, the boys who lived with Jim had to be naked the whole time.

I got worried with that information and asked what about if there were girls present. The kid said it didn’t matter--boys, girls, parents--the boy would have to be naked. And, then he added, and the boy would have to let anyone who wanted to play with his kids’ junk. I left that conversation happy that I’d been allowed to wear the shorts and shoes. It could have been worse.

Then it got worse. An hour or two into the gathering the boys and girls in attendance were assembled in the large family room. Some sat on chairs or the couch, some sat cross legged on the floor leaving a circle in the middle. I sheepishly stood behind the crowd. It appeared they knew what to do, but I had no idea how to react.

“Jack, please come here and stand in the center of the circle.” I had a sudden feeling of dread. I was literally being summoned to be the center of attention. I slowly pushed my way through the seated kids and stood beside Jim. He looked around at the twenty or so guests and said, “Crystal, you can do the honors.”

The ten or so year old girl just beamed when he announced that. As she anxiously jumped to her feet, Jim grabbed me from behind and held me. Crystal approached and without hesitation whisked my shorts down to my ankles. Not having underwear on my boner popped straight out. There was a sudden gasp from the crowd. I struggled to free myself from my foster father’s hold to no avail. One of the other girls said, “Geeezzz his is long!” and most everyone laughed.

“Yes, Susan it is. It’ll be fun for you guys to play with, don’t you think? Crystal take them off the rest of the way.” Jim instructed. With that Crystal pulled the shorts off my ankles. “Take his shoes off too.”

Then one of the boys asked, “Can we all feel him, Jim?”

“Sure Cliff. Why don’t any of you who want to feel his boy parts just line up here and I’ll hold him for you.”

Cliff was first in line. He appeared to be my age. One would think he wouldn’t be into feeling other boys’ penises, but apparently no one saw fault with it. He put a choke hold on my penis and rubbed my ball sack. All I can tell you is he wasn’t gentle. “My Dad would probably put a castration band on his balls.” All these farm kids laughed. I had no idea at the time what the asshole was talking about, but I knew it wasn’t a good thing. After learning about gelding from some of the other kids later on, it turned out Cliff’s humor was a bit sick.

After the “party”, Jim told me that he purposely made me present myself naked before my future classmates for two reasons. First, he wanted me to lose all my modesty, and, second, he wanted the kids in my classes to know what my goods looked like so they’d pay better attention in class. He reasoned, “After all, if they’d seen my junk and actually felt it, they wouldn’t spend time trying to catch a glimpse while they were supposed to be paying attention to the lessons.”

The coming out party for the principal and teachers was somewhat similar. The only difference was I had to answer the door nude and was cautioned never to cover my penis for any reason. I have to say the first time I was summoned by a knock, I was hesitant to open the door. Jim swatted my ass as I stood there with my hand on the door handle and ordered me to open it. There was a really pretty, young teacher smiling at me. She wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she was checking out my penis and ball sack. I was humiliated.

“Oh, aren’t you beautiful, young man. I’m Miss Arnold. I’ll be your math teacher.” Jim joined us at the door. “He’s gifted, Jim. This is one cute boy.”

“Feel free to explore wherever you’d like. He’ll have to greet each newcomer, but, in the meantime, you and fondle the hell out of him if you wish, Carla.”

She took me by the hand and pulled me over to an easy chair where she seated herself. She didn’t hesitate before cradling my erect penis in her hand and patting it with the other. “My, Jack is it?” I nodded. “You have got one good looking little boy piece here, and those legs. Those legs are really muscular. I’ll bet you were a bike rider weren’t you? Most of the boys around here spend their time on horses, but some have bicycles, too. Those are solid, well-proportioned legs, though.”

There it was again. All the compliments about my body was embarrassing. I wanted a place to hide.

Fifteen minutes later I was greeting Mr. Whitaker. Remember him? The principal. He eyeballed my package at the door and wasn’t a bit surprised I was in the all together. What in the hell was it with this town? They were not a bit shocked to see me naked, they kind of just expected it. “Hi Jack, remember me? We met in town. I see you have quite the body there, Buddy. I was impressed with the athletic build I saw in town, but I never expected to see such a well developed package too.”

Now that was embarrassing. He was actually talking about my genitalia. When women did that it was halfway expected, but who’d expect a man to make mention of it?

Jim joined us. “Well, Jim, has he been introduced to your belt yet?”

Now, what kind of question is that? Who’d ask that kind of thing in front of the kid?

“Well, we had a round a couple of days ago. I think you’ll find he won’t need it much at school. He’s a pretty good kid when it comes to compliance. But, you know, if you or the teachers thinks he needs it, don’t hesitate to do it.”

“Oh, we won’t. But I’m glad to hear he behaves himself.”

“Remember, if he needs it, I want him naked when you do it and I want it done with a belt not that fucking paddle. These boys need to know they’ve been tagged. They don’t need to be pampered.”

“Now, have I ever gone easy on one of your boys?”

“No, but don’t start now. Just remember naked and with a belt and don’t stop until you leave stripes.”

I don’t know if it was just banter, but I got the message.

After a half hour or so all fifteen of the teachers and administrators I’d come to know arrived to meet me and check out my naked form. It was clear that the other kids at the school weren’t treated the way prescribed for me. I came to doubt any of the other boys in that school were paddled, much less whipped with a belt. I can honestly say there was never a time I became aware of any of the other kids ever getting nailed on his bare ass either. It was a method reserved for Jim’s foster sons and it was definitely something those educators looked forward to doing to them.

One of the more memorable lines during my exhibition that evening was when Jim told them the penis, ball sack and asshole they saw adorning my body belonged to him, and, as with any mannerly toy owners, he liked to share his toys. He told all those other people all they had to do was to tell me to break out “Jim’s toys” and I was to comply. He also said, as with all his boys, no questions would be asked if they did so.

He massaged me every day at least once. He continued to kiss my penis and ball sack at night until well into my twelfth year. On a few occasions he slipped into the sucking action, but I didn’t complain. Some of my teachers took advantage of time to tutor me and would reach up the legs of those shorts and fondle “Jim’s toys”. That never rose above being a bit awkward, except when Miss Arnold did it. She’d keep me after school, make me take off all my clothing, sit me on her lap and twirl my rock hard penis and massage my scrotum while she reviewed the math lessons. It felt strange to be nude in her classroom, but I was scared to object.

I spent four years in Jim’s care. I must say once pubic hair developed very late in my twelfth year it was shaved off until I was late into my thirteenth year. After that it was allowed to bush out. The times I’d have to stay naked at home or at school lessened as I aged. And notably, during my stay with Jim, he must have taken thousands of images of me, most of me naked.

I do remember the day Mrs. Marks picked me up to move me to a boys’ group home. She walked the hall of fame again, but purposely commented on the select few images of me naked, which he’d posted there. Each time she acknowledged the size of my penis, especially in the two or three of me sporting an erection while standing knee deep in the snow or my penis hanging side-saddle while I was mounted on a horse.

What was interesting was her remarks didn’t hurt anymore. They gave me a small sense of pride instead. Whatever Jim did over all that time, must have worked to break my hold on modesty.

(End of File)