Nude and Erect

At Grover Cleveland High the swimming classes were held in the vast echoey basement pool, smelling of chlorine. There were bleachers rising on both sides to be packed out in the event of a competition. There were Corinthian columns and painted windows in the upper walls. The atmosphere was gloomy and...

Well, full of possibility.

For one reason.

Classes were segregated. As at other pools in the 1950s- those at YMCAs, for example- the boys swam in the nude. As the note to parents specified, "swimming for boys is conducted unencumbered by swimming costumes." In many households sisters dwelt on this particular rule over the dinner table, with the intention, it seemed, of seeing their brothers squirm and blush and hang their heads with shame.

"Oh boys don't care about those things," a helpful mother might intervene, while her son sat scarlet, twisting in his seat not looking anyone in the eye. "They're not modest- like you girls." And sisters would giggle and nudge one another, their imaginations racing with pictures of their brother and his friends, performing exercises stripped off. The girls' crotches would twitch, their panties dampen.

Girls, of course, swam with swim suits, secure and superior. And fantasised and dreamt and gossiped about the possibility of entering those sacred precincts when a class of boys was there, in the buff, their every secret on display. Trapped in their birthday suits. Girls fully dressed, boys naked as jays. Oh, sweet thought. Sweet, sweet thought.

No girl dreamt about this more than Karen Strawbridge. With her cats-eye glasses and red-hair in plaits, she was freckle-faced and had a body already running to over-weight. Pound for pound she had more prurience pumping through her than any female classmate and would give the foulest-minded boy a run for his money.

Night after night she- who had no brothers or boyfriends- constructed fantasies where tall, broad-shouldered 18 year old fellas from school- like the "dreamboat" Danny Bristol Junior with long eye lashes and ducks tail brushback hair style- were forced at her command to peel off tee-shirts, pulling them slowly over their heads, and face her shirtless. She carefully looked them up and down while they trembled at what might come.

Her next icy command always caused them to protest before reluctantly accepting her authority (in these day-dreams she might be doctor, nurse, police-woman, cruel mother) and unbuckling their belts. Looking woeful they would then stretch their belts open and shake their jeans loose and glance at her for instructions.

She would tell them to pull them off. Down their trousers would slither. Slowly, shamefully. They would be blushing like fire hydrants. And their underpants would have to follow. They would look around like frightened deer and then, slowly, down they'd pull them, thumbs hooked in the elastic...down their furry legs, then always jamming their splayed hands over their private spaces. She would icily tell them to hang their hands behind their backs or place them behind their heads. Always a delicious moment. She would then savour the revelations, hungrily, as a female who had never seen a naked male. In her fantasies she would longingly inspect a totally nude Danny Bristol Junior while his long eyes lashes fluttered with embarrassment, and other boys as well.

Lying in bed she would imagine Danny with his Elvis hair or Charlie Hodgson with his crew-cut and swimmer's physique or other boys, whose flies she had greedily stared at in the corridors, now standing bare as a board, shaking with shame. At his moment she would explode in one of those earthquake orgasms that would shake the mattress and threaten to wake her parents.

Driven by these desires to see naked boys Karen haunted the furthest reaches of the old school building. After much searching she found a peep hole that gave her a fleeting glimpse of nude swimmers as they walked from change room to pool. She saw them side-on, moving fast, thrillingly clothes-free- the very first sight made her panties moisten. She saw flanks like those of young colts, floppy or pointy things in their groins. Like cocktail sausages. Or dangling fruit. Fleeting glimpses, none of the details she craved. And not Danny or her other favorites. But these illicit peeps whetted her raging appetite, fuelled those all-consuming fantasies.

She longed to catch them, to trap them, during a swim class. Them, hopeless, caught in their birthday suits. She, with other girls, and a female teacher, of course, to make it more humiliating for the boys.

The shame and humiliation of the caught males were a big part of it.

One day it happened.

Boys got up from their seats to leave for swim class. It happened twice a week. Girls had never- never ever- got in.

This time, however, Karen's careful preparation had resulted in an actual plan. First, she and 10 other girls waited 15 minutes and then discretely slipped out of the unsupervised study class. Down to the basement corridor they crept where they met, as planned, the young teacher they worshipped: Miss Ada Braithwaite, an attractive 50s something, gray-blond independent woman with- shall we say- a somewhat healthy attitude to matters of reproduction, a lively interest in what in those days were lubriciously referred to, with a smirk, as "the birds and the bees."

Chatting with her young admirers she had referred several times to the Kinsey report on female sexuality and to Sigmund Freud and "penis envy." She once daringly said that women had a right to "sexual fulfilment." She might suggest to the girls that such-and-such a boy, with snub nose and fluttering eye-lashes or broad shoulders and narrow waist, would look "interesting" without his clothes.

The 18 year old girls tittered, imaginations racing, none more lubriciously than Karen...who paused a moment and then secreted a suggestion.

"Maybe, Miss...we can walk in on a swim class."

"Soooo..." said the teacher, who had only arrived at Grover Cleveland some months earlier. "Boys here swim nude?"

The girls excitedly confirmed this.

"Even their coach, Mister Compton," added Karen. " He's a body builder- and they say he's a...nudist. Some say he's an exhibitionist."

The teacher seemed subsumed in thought, her eyes far away.

"Leave it to me, girls," she said with the broadest of smiles.

So they found themselves on this day meeting Miss Braithwaite on the steps that took swimmers down to the basement corridor that led to the pool. From different senior classes 20 other girls had gravitated to their ranks, as carefully organised by Karen. A heavy cast iron door stood before them, closed. A shudder ran through the little army of females.

They were, of course, all dressed. They wore skirts that fell below their knees, some half way down the calves in the fashion of the 50s, many pleated. Some wore blouses with Peter Pan collars, some tucked-in sweaters, cashmere or lambswool. Some,like their teacher, wore a string of pearls. Some had head bands.

Behind this door were 18 year old boys wearing nothing...

...beyond some newly- sprouted curly hair around their groins.

Apart from that, they were naked, from their hammerhead toes on the ends of their boney feet to their crew cut or Elvis haircuts.

Totally, one hundred percent stripped off.

In the buff.

In their birthday suits. Nude.

There wasn't a girl who was not fluttering in her insides.

They took a collective breath as Ada smiled at them and reached for the door handle. She turned it. She swung to the girls and smiled again. They grinned breathlessly. Then she slowly pushed open the door. It was heavy. It resounded with a great clang. The smell of chlorine greeted them and the heads of 15 boys swung in their direction, shocked. As if the one thing they had long dreaded...was about to happen.

Just by their side- on their right as the girls entered- were half a dozen boys seated on a bench facing the pool, recovering from a race. The boys were trapped one hundred percent naked! No towel, no swimsuits. Looking in horror as a big group surged in front of them. And displayed in their laps were...well, their pricks...lying on squished-up testicles...and groins with brand-new patches of pubic bush.

And the boy closest...the first to suffer close inspection...was the school's newest arrival...Samson Douglas, an athletic negro boy, from rural Alabama...who just cowered with shame as the wild exploring female eyes devouring his mahogany skin, every last inch of it!

He squirmed, trapped.

The girls feasted themselves on the elephant trunk including his loose, relaxed foreskin. Laura Greensleeve, very superior in blouse and pleated skirt, a hand held to her throat, was particularly excited by the bulge of a big rounded glans sheltering inside the black-grey tube...like a victim in the belly of a sated python. She lent in close to inspect it, pointing, incredulous, with index finger. "Look...at...that!" Her mouth was open in amazement and she called the others to join her.

He felt as he were an exhibit at the zoo and withered with embarrassment. He couldn't believe they'd let girls in! Back in Alabama he and his friends would venture into the streams and bogs, the watery realms of the state's wild bottomlands and, after they scrambled out of overalls, they would romp naked as jays, fishing from logs, swimming and sunning themselves. More often than not, flaunting bold erections without embarrassment, jutting from their groins like broomsticks. Holy Jesus, if any white girls had ventured on them they would have dropped dead with shame! And here he was now- totally "nekked"- a party of white girls with greedy eyes staring down at him. And Laura, so stylishly decked out in that blouse and skirt, just stayed bent over him. God, her eyes were wide as saucers! And he felt her excited breath on his penis and in his groin!

Next to him was short Stevie Lynton- oh, so embarrassed, so deeply embarrassed! One of the girls, Sally Wainwright, lived in his neighbourhood and had grown up with his sisters and was friendly with his mother- and, jeepers! He was so shy about that burst of black hair on his chest and around his tummy, so deeply shy that he was never seen at home with his shirt off. Being hairy like this- and the shameful follicles had shot up only in the last year- made him terrified of being teased by his two sisters, both taller, who treated him like a little boy and patted his head and accused him of hankering after their girlfriends.

Stevie had waves of hair on both chest muscles that seemed to clash tempestuously where the two branches joined and, like foamy froth, shot up to his neck; hair, spreading out in wavy strands from the centre of his trunk, a savage pelt on his abdomen growing, it seemed, right out of the packed bush of his loins. When his mates had noticed this transformation they had called him "a hairy monster." Little as he was, he was the hairiest of any at the pool.

If his sisters find out he will never hear the end of it! When his voice became baritone they teased him for a year. They teased him in front of his Mom and the household maid, Magda. "Ohhh, our little brother's growing up," they'd coo, and wonder out loud if he was maturing under his clothes and whether he would ever get taller like "normal" boys. They threatened to catch him in the shower and check on his "personal hygiene." Once he had heard them ask their Mom why she had to launder his pyjamas every day. Once he had surprised them checking his sheets and giggling.

Stevie also knew he had a small penis, a dramatic and shaming contrast with the big brown buck from Alabama slumping next to him. And...oh, Jesus! There was Sally Wainwright- right in front of him- looking him right in the eye, and smiling. And then dropping her gaze to his lap again.

He felt his insides turn to water. So did the four other boys on the bench to his right. Each seated, hopeless and trapped, with their treasures spread in their laps for the intruders to inspect.

Now most girls swarmed like a flock of geese to view boys trapped on diving blocks at the head of the pool. Trapped! Up on the blocks, with girls closing in...able to look at their private parts...at eye level! The one closest nearly fell off with shock. With his brushed-back "ducks tail" hair style and his cute eyelashes, Danny Bristol Junior had suffered females trying to get him out of his pants for as long as he could remember: sisters, their friends, local moms, lubricious aunts- all had an interest in catching him in the bathroom without a stitch or seducing him with tongue-kissing on a sofa or tickling his backside when he delivered groceries. Danny had no interest in females...for a reason that would become clear...but now had a big joyful party of them staring, eye level with the lily-white equipment dangling from his groin.

Oh my god, gasped Karen Strawbridge, after all this time there he is! That...ball! As globular as a nice...big...peach. At that moment she would have done anything to have been able to take it in her paws and play with it. And what a treat that this handsome boy was now, trembling and cowering, up on that block! Looking sick with humiliation with the girls beaming up at him!

Jason Cho, the Korean exchange student, was in a line of boys doing warm-ups, and wasn't he embarrassed! Because they had caught him already "suffering" a full erection. Nothing had prepared him for American girls seeing him one hundred percent stripped off...his trim well-shaped body, somewhat coffee-colored, standing there...and, as happened from time to time, his neat five inch penis standing at full erection, pointing proudly to the ceiling at an angle of 45 degrees.

Susie Smyth, mousy haired with freckles and glasses, looked fixated on the the broad brown mark around the middle of his jutting appendage. Oh, and that cute little helmet on the end! She, like most of her friends, had never seen a grown-up penis. Just look...those helmets!

Well, not on the negro boys.

The two of them. Because- deliciously- there was another negro boy, his family also just settled from the South.

Tom Wilson stood stock still while white girls and their teacher now concentrated on the sight of his shimmering black skin -black as coal- with heavy genitals hanging from his groin and a fully defined, fat dorsal artery right down the middle of his broad black penis. Yes, a fabulous bulging artery. Just before reaching the puckered gray tip it diverted to the left. And his groin boasted...oh, this was a delight...tight curled wire, not woolly hair like that of the other boys. His hair was...kinky.

To run my fingers through his little wires! This was the wicked thought of Ada. Fingers, through that wire-like pubic hair, and all around that thick coal-black penis, was the teacher's fantasy. How she shuddered at the prospect.

To tell the truth Ada Braithwaite had a history with black men, or rather with one, going back to her time at Abigail Adams College, residing in the womens' dorms. There one of the senior girls took a liking to the feisty sophomore and shared with her a secret passed from year to year to a handful of privileged girls. It was this: the dorms had a black-Cherokee mixed blood maintenance man called Boone Freeman, aged in his early 40s. He was tall, lean, deep brown in complexion and spoke with a rumbling bass that made the air vibrate around him. Some of the more liberated females had taken to "using" him sexually and it had congealed as a college tradition.

She had effectively joined a queue, to visit Boone in his attic bedroom, to lie on his discoloured mattress and be licked by his broad, questing tongue...her vaginal entrance prised by his caring fingers...to be pinioned by his veiny brown dick, legs thrown over his shoulders. The nicest practice was Boone idling in the college corridors, fixing radiators or light bulbs, late on Saturday nights when young women, frustrated with the clumsiness of young boyfriends- or their uninteresting pricks or abrupt ejaculations- could make eye contact with the maintenance man, and trail him upstairs to his lair. To be fucked good and proper.

So she studied naked black Tom Wilson hungrily.

Next to him, shrivelling with shame, was Carl Harlson, muscular and blond as a Viking, a boy every girl wanted to have take her to the sock hop, but absolutely stricken. For one reason: despite his movie star looks and broad shoulders there poked from his groin only the shortest and thinnest of cocks and the daintiest little sack. Really a boy's equipment! And now he was bare as a board, in front of girls and- holy cow! - a lady teacher, taking in his teensie weensie secret with ravenous eyes and broad smiles that said, "Gotcha! We know what you look like now, fella!"

And behind them was a platoon of boys- all aware that their inherently funny maleness was being inspected and smirked at. Made them feel ashamed of their maleness, like hair on their torsos and legs...like their BALLS, what shameful freakish things, either snuggling or dangling...and their pricks...different sizes, different shapes, some half erect...those silly useless chiseled helmets on the end!

The girls were goggling them. And grinning.

Then a the boy joined Jason Cho with an erection.

Wow! Quickly girls were giggling and pointing.

He was Kerry Fulbright, fair haired, medium height with a chunky athletic build that featured a chest divided into two squares and a tummy with a muscle cleaving his midsection top to bottom, and...to match, a chunky penis that jutted out at an angle...gesturing to his right. Yes, his erection pointed off to the right. He stood hands on hips, like Donatello's David, chewing gum, astonished at the intrusion by the females.

Oh my goodness, thought Ada, how fetchingly angled! And she could not stop herself sending the blushing boy a superior smile that made him tremble with a nameless emotion. His penis, she thought, is positively..."jaunty" like John Wayne wearing a tilted Stetson, brim at an angle. Or a cigarette dropping to the side from the lips of James Dean. She felt a fresh surge of lubricious excitement:, a "jaunty" penis jutting sideways from this bold 18 year old exposed in the nude.

And Gloria Smedley, thrilling to the same sight as her teacher, wondered if Kerry, who incidentally lived in her street, was able to "will" his thing, to stick out, to point up, to jut to one side or the other. To swivel it? If she had a boyfriend, would she be able to make him take his pants off and make his penis point and move in an arc from side to side, like a ship's gun? Meanwhile Kerry, hands on hips and chewing gum, began to...well, savor...yes, tentatively enjoy, being on display.

Five boys including Rodney Ricketson were floating in the water, holding the pool's edge practising their kicking. And their tight white bottoms were arranged there in a line, just on the water's surface, rising now above it, then sinking just below, while the boys frightened astonished faces looked up...at the beaming females who had so decisively trapped them.

And who were laughing at them.

Hell, each knew that floating on the water surface were displayed his two punchy glutes and the crack that cleaved them- yes, displayed, like a cannibal banquet. The boys just had to stay put, clinging to the edge, moving their legs slightly, keeping afloat. Blushing bright red and helpless.

And the females loved it. Not just the view, no- although five naked boys' bottoms floating just before them were a delicious sight. But the trapped, shameful humiliation of the distressed boys. My oh my, just look at their expressions! Totally...one hundred percent...trapped.

To tell the truth Karen's silk panties were soaked as great globes of fluid now disgorged from her vaginal lips. This was a bonanza, like winning a lottery. The humiliation and shame steamed off the cornered males.