Rodney and his Friends in Tights

Johnny's hand drifted to his erection.

Through the window, as he fondled his penis head, he watched as Mrs Dockweiler, standing behind her son, reached around him...and took hold of his forearms and tugged them to his sides and held them in place.

Suddenly in full view were Homer's heavy wrinkled penis stem and big, dish-like knob. As was his heavy hanging ballsac. There was a hush as the audience took it in. Mrs Dockweiler emerged from behind her son to stand, hand on chin, and look at him. No detail, it seemed, escaped her scrutiny: she may have been comparing the features of her boy with...whose? Her husband's? An old boyfriend's?

Johnny felt a surge of excitement. A shiver passed through him. Look at that, he thought, just look! The boy shamed...everything displayed...his pubic hair, his cock and balls...all open for view...females watching...shit, even Homer's own Mom.

Hell's bells!

Standing on the board, trembling with excitement, eyes pressed to the fly screen, Johnny moved his hand up and down his curved erection, to the familiar rhythm. A glance sideways at his companions showed that he was not alone: each of the fellas was excited and had started feeling himself, fixated on the scene inside the living room.

The guys were in ecstasy: the sight of a naked youth being manhandled by a mature age woman stirred them like no girlie magazine or lingerie advertisement.

Dr Speight steered poor Homer- tall, bean-stalk thin with heavy Elvis hairdo and with his tangled black chest hair and, yes, bare as a board- through the sea of motherly women. They parted for the pair, staring hard at the boy's midriff. His Adam's apple bobbed. He blushed like a fire hydrant. His hands tried to shield his dangling genitals. Ladies stared unabashed, while he strained to avoid eye contact.

Where was the doctor steering him? To an antique settee, it seemed, with towels spread out, and he was being guided to lie down...he looked white and faint as his head subsided...and he spread out, flat on his back, while the ladies arranged themselves for the best view.

"Useful, I think, to explore new punishment positions," opined Dr Speight. "This one is an old frontier favourite- yes, how our grandmothers loved it- and a nice alternative to over-the-knee. As you can see this young man is flat on his back. Let me invite his good mother to come forward..."

She did, sternly.

"...and, with one hand, raise his legs by the ankles...so his bottom tilts back...yes, as you notice in this position he is denied any modesty...oh, yes, doesn't he hate it...see him blush...yes, at the one time, his mother looks down on his intergluteal cleft that divides his bottom and his..."

There was a hush from the ladies. What nouns would she choose?

"...his penis...dangling from his groin..."

There was a straining forward.

"...and his scrotum..."

It sounded right out of a medical text book, with a whiff of hospital disinfectant.

The boy, Johnny thought, must be about to expire from shame. Imagine having your scrotum- your balls- exposed...more shaming than your cock even!

Your Mom seeing your scrotum! Her friends!

"...with its two testicles clearly outlined."

Oh god, thought Johnny, this is unbelievable! They're peering at the poor fella's nuts...in his sack!

The sea of ladies peered in closer. The older ones, thought Johnny, may not have seen a testicle in years. The old maids never. And now this boy, Johnny's own age- from the soda fountain, from a local church, from the neighbourhood- was bare as a board under their noses.

"Yes, lean in and see for yourselves: poor Homer is quite exposed. To us, to his mother. How different from the over-the-knee posture which would have afforded him some modesty, pushing himself into her lap, shielding himself from her eyes...and those of any observers while his mother punishes him. His mother is now in the perfect position to take this wooden hair brush...here, Mrs Dockweiler, take it...go on, it's for you...and commence to strike...at his exposed posterior."

Over the heads of Moms who had moved forward in their seats Johnny could just glimpse Homer's exposed crack which was- more shame- brimming with black hair. And he could see Mrs Dockweiler raise high her right hand with the broad wooden brush.

But then Dr Speight stayed her hand.

"But first...while your boy is here on the sofa...let's talk about how precisely he disappointed his mother. Then we can proceed."

Gerry's mother lowered her boy's ankles. Homer was now flat on the sofa. Nude, arms by his side, his genitals soft and mottled in his groin, perfectly dressed ladies looking down at him, peering over one another's shoulders, elbowing forward. Just like a naked patient, with nurses gathered around his bed...to learn how to shave a male before an appendix operation, thought Johnny...and shuddered as he stroked himself.

"I...would...like...that," Johnny thought, stroking faster.

"I want...to...be...there...like him!" Johnny yearned, moving his fingers up and down.

Up and down, along the curved stem of his erection.

His companions on the plank were doing the same while they watched Homer's humiliation.

They're like me, Johnny thought, they like the idea- of a fella nude in front of females, dressed. Maybe they even want to be there, be him. Yearning for it, just like me.

Inside, Dr Speight addressed the boy's mother.

"Tell us how you found him, when you arrived home early last week, just as you described it to me."

"Well, the house was silent," she said. "I walked down the hall to see whether he or his sisters were home from school. His door was closed but I could hear heavy breathing so I opened it...and what I saw stunned me. He was lying on his bed. He was naked. And...and..."

"I know it's difficult, for a mother to talk about her boy."\

"...he was holding his penis and moving his hand and holding a magazine with the other, a magazine with pictures of women. Women in underwear, lacy underwear. I was shocked. I thought it was perverted. He was...you know..."

"Masturbating," summarised Dr Speight, brutally.

The awful, formal word hung in the air like an indictment from a sentencing judge. There was a collective intake of breath.

Before their eyes 18 year old Homer was lying naked as if on hospital bed, eyes clenched with shame. He was a masturbator. An exhibit.

"And this is the magazine."

Dr Speight whipped out a publication in garish colour with the title, Fling. The cover showed a naked blond clutching a white mink to her frontage, concealing the nipples but not the cleavage of her melon-like breasts, and smiling seductively. There was a groan of disgust from the Moms. Johnny felt acutely the shame the boy on the sofa must feel. He noticed that women, having digested the horror of the magazine, were staring intently at the contents of the boy's groin. Decisively the doctor opened Fling and folded back the pages. She opened at a two page spread in black and white of a woman posing lasciviously in a single piece of black, netted, neck-to-knee underwear, leering at the camera.

The boy's mother nodded.

"That was the page."

The doctor held it aloft so that all could see. The underwear was outrageous, vulgar- it was see-through and showed hints of what may have been nipple and shadows suggesting pubic bush. It was entirely obscene.

There were "tsk tsk" sounds from disgusted mothers. Not a few, thought Johnny, might long to ease such lingerie onto their bodies, even have men and boys admire them in it. Model it before their husbands, even their sons. But they would never admit it. Most, he guessed, thought this boy was a monster, a young pervert likely to mature into a dangerous sexual predator.

Johnny saw the young man twist with shame, turn his head, clench shut his eyes. Tears escaped. Johnny thought he must feel female eyes all over him. Exploring like insects.

Doctor Speight offered him the folded-open magazine, insisted he hold it. He had been rehearsed. He knew what was coming. He took it and held it above his head, at the right distance, just as he must have held it when his mother caught him at the shameful act.

"The purpose of this exercise is to create a resistance in this boy's brain to ever wanting to masturbate again. It is what's called 'aversion therapy' and it works a treat. We now ask Homer to do what he was doing when his mother came home and surprised him. In front of us. Well, son..."

He had been forewarned, even rehearsed, by his Mom.

His free hand fell to his sweaty organ.

The terrible act commenced.

He grasped the stem of his penis, the skin loose and bunched up.

He began to move his fist up and down.

And, noticed Johnny, his eyes were focused on the leering brunette in the shocking underwear. He was scared to look in the eyes of the women gazing down on him.

The audience, in their cinched waisted dresses and wide skirts or their pencil thin ensembles by Dior, hatted and gloved, were silent. All that could be heard- and the intimate sound carried to the boys at the window- was a watery flapping noise and, in time, a half-suppressed sighing.

The penis had stiffened. Risen out of his grip. The large, bowl-like head had turned purple.

How shameful, thought Johnny, this boy having to do this in front of his own mother plus all the other ladies. The evil thought thrilled Johnny even more. He shuddered with that familiar, strange excitement. Ohhhh! He empathised with Homer. Naked...in his birthday suit...being looked at...by dressed females! Ohhhhhh! The whole notion, for Johnny...being naked before the drama teacher, before the doctor, before the girls shaving boys at school...was terrible and wonderful at the same time! He tensed. Something surged up his penis shaft. And Johnny shot off a load- splash!- that splotched on the timber boards of the house.

And another shot flew out and splashed on the timber below the first emission.

And a third cannonade hit the wall, leaving a tail of milky emission dangling from his meatus, to swing in the air.

"Shit! Look at Marcello!"

Rickey's voice was full of admiration. He quickened his own stroking.

The other boys on the plank were masturbating, eyes wild as they watched the boy on the sofa hypnotised by the magazine, stroking his erection. Quickly following Johnny's example they shot their loads: naked young men, standing on the plank, unloaded against the side of the house. Brad doubled over, and exploded in one giant continuous splash. Rickey's shot was a narrow spurt. It flew right up and plopped on the window sill, like a dropping from a migratory goose.

From the long fella with the dainty prick- Whooosh!- a fire works display danced in the air, before splashing on the fur of his thighs and the side of the house. The short guy with the cocktail sausage dick sent a spray high in the air. It seemed to fall earthwards at a leisurely pace, to splatter on his shoulders and speckle the wall. And the Negro boy- erect, his mahogany, red-tipped prick had assumed a bludgeon shape- let fly with a long thick column of cream that splotched on the timber. To be followed by another and another. Splotch! Splotch! "Ugg!" he exclaimed.

The nude fellas, with their ejaculations, were sluicing the wall of Maison Reilly. Their cum drained down the timber and the tart, lime fragrance of teenage sperm flavoured the air.

While inside skinny Homer was stroking fast. Under the gazes of his Mom and the ladies.

Up and down.

Flap, flap...skin against skin.

Breathing huskily.

Flap. Flap.

More and more urgently.

Clearly the pressure was mounting.

Ladies were breathing deep, as if in unison with the boy. Breathing in time with the boy in his birthday suit. Lying on the sofa before them, stroking his penis, holding up with his other hand the disgraceful magazine.

Then...

...his eyes closed.

His hand holding the magazine dropped to his side.

His body tensed.

His stroking quickened.

Whoosh!

An explosion- and a stream of milk shot from the meatus of his penis to fly over his prone torso and splash into his greased Elvis hair.

Ladies gasped. There was a sound from them, like a wave moving over a shingle beach.

His mother looked as if suddenly electrocuted.

Dr Speight broke into the most self-indulgent of smiles.

A look at once prurient and cruel assumed the features of Mrs Reilly.

Homer kept stroking. Another bolt of sperm flew from him and splashed onto his sternum.

He gasped.

So did his audience.

A third cannonade landed on his tummy.

A lazy residue drained from his urethral opening- guilty and incriminating.

There was a disapproving murmur from the women. Again, a sound like a wave moving across a shingle beach.

"So ladies there is it..."

The boy had subsided, seemed to be melting into the sofa. His eyes were shut. He felt the mess in his greased locks, the stickiness on his chest hair and tummy.

"...that's the mystery of the male sex drive, revealed for us all. And now the next step: the punishment. Mrs Dockweiler, ease his ankles up...his legs into the air...that's it, high...forward a little to make that bottom tilt up...yes, he's nicely exposed. You've got his front and back in view at the same time. Now the hairbrush, dear, big and flat and wooden..."

Mrs Dockweiler knew exactly what to do next and the hairbrush descended with terrifying force on to Gerry's "sit spot." She followed quickly, striking cruelly again and again, around and around the exposed globes. Even from the window the watching boys could hear references from the other women to how Mrs Dockweiler "had been a champion tennis player in her day."

Johnny thought the watching ladies must have found it so funny- those red patches emerging and spreading. And she now moved up the poor youth's exposed thighs. Slam! Slam! Slam! "Owwwwwww!" he yelled. "Mommy! No! Oh no, mommy!"

His raised legs went wild trying to kick free. His mother couldn't restrain him. The spanking halted. Dr Speight calmly summoned Mrs Reilly to grab an ankle and, from the other side of the sofa, summoned Miss Gladys Hotchkiss, a powerfully-built spinster lady whose interest in the proceedings had been, well, lively. She moved fast and secured the other ankle with both hands. So two women now secured Gerry's legs, making sure they were stretched high in the air. They enjoyed, as a side benefit, a deliriously funny view of the fella's genitals, deflated and loose, pooled together and dangling towards his belly button. At the same time the lucky ladies could peer right down into his intergluteal cleft, bursting with black hair. And they could see the drying, matted emission on his tummy, chest and coiffure. Even catch a lingering tart, fresh aroma.

Miss Hotchkiss, secretary to the manager of Sleep-Tite Pyjamas, had not enjoyed such a close-up view of adult male private parts in her 55 years, and behind her wireframed "granny" glasses, her eyes danced with lewd enjoyment.

Especially as the mother's blows rained down and she and Mrs Reilly had to cling to Homer's ankles with both their hands, holding his legs rigid and upright while his thighs turned a blazing red and Mrs Dockweiler moved in circular fashion to freshen up his globes.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

"Oweewwwwwwew!"

Homer squealed.

"Oh, I'm enjoying this!" thought Miss Hotchkiss. "This dirty-minded fella is like every male I've ever spared a glance. Vain! Think of that Elvis hairdo and the time he must put into that oiling and plastering...and the arrogant way he takes hold of filthy literature for his self pleasuring. But right now he's nude, bare as an egg, and I'm looking right into his hairy groin as I tug hard on his right leg and keep it high in the air while his dear mother spanks away. Slap! Slap! Slap! Oh, look at that apparatus of his- his ORGAN, as I think they call it- hanging limp now, that roomy sack- goodness, imagine having that hanging between one's legs! And that cylinder of flesh with the head like a tin helmet flopping around, yes limp now, not like it was a moment ago when it stretched and stiffened. And his bottom, it's now perfectly scarlet. Getting still redder if anything, as she slaps away. And my partner there is stretching even harder to lift his other leg high into the air and keep his ass up and exposed and I, too, will give his leg an extra tug. There! A real yank...higher now...I've got his ankle as high in the air as it can go...and we can see his ugly red bottom hole surrounded by all that hair...and his business in front...Oh my god, she's slapping away hard! And he's bubbling over with tears now..."

From the windows Johnny and his buddies- stark naked themselves- were stiffening again as the drama of Homer's nude spanking continued before the rapt audience of mothers and spinsters.

Johnny stared at the audience of women. They looked like they might have been headed to church, all hatted and gloved, in suits and broad skirts or pencil skirts, with little jackets. With one bare-nude fella in their midst: this astonishing fact made Johnny shudder. At once, he longed to be in Homer's position- stripped and being spanked. And at once dreaded it. As he resumed fingering his revived erection Johnny noticed how intently all the females jostled and elbowed to get a closer glimpse of Homer's bright red ass and flopping genitalia. He noticed how hard Mrs Reilly and Miss Hotchkiss pulled on his ankles, lifting the boy's bottom from the sofa and giving his Mom more acreage to punish- although, his bottom blazing, she was focused now only on his legs, all the way up to his knees. His thighs were turning a bright, fire hydrant red.

All that could be heard was the slapping...and the muffled sobbing of the boy...and, yes, heavy breathing from well-dressed females.

Homer was pleading for his mother to stop.

"Mommy...mommy..."

The infantilism was pathetic and did not deter her one iota.

She kept up the fusillade.

"...oh mommy please, I...can't...take...any...more..."

And still she kept it up.

Until Dr Speight quietly placed a hand on her arm and the punishment ceased.

"Time to scat!"

The boys on the plank scrambled off. Two of them bundled it and the sawhorses back to the garage. Brad and Rickey gestured Johnny to follow them along the pathway back to the grove.

"This is where the real fun starts," said Rickey. "The fun for us!"

"Yeah, ya gonna love it," added Brad. "We'll get to show off our pricks! Wait till you see their eyes pop!"

Both their erections bounced as they walked barefoot on the sun-warmed pathway.

I have a decision to make, thought Johnny, an insistent curved erection rising from his own bare, shaven groin. Yes, a big decision.

The three of them entered the corner defined by the trellises, the rose bushes, the flower beds.

They could smell the rich, fertilised soil, the aroma of roses, the sun-warmed shrubs.

From the house drifted the sound of excited female voices leaving the sitting room and crowding the hallway. Soon the ladies would be bustling outdoors, down the stairs, headed their way- ladies, in hats and skirts and gloves, with their cameras at the ready.

Brad planted himself in one corner holding a rake. His other hand was fingering his white wide-beamed cock. He had positioned himself facing the pathway, ready for the women to burst around the corner of the high hedge. And see him buck naked. Nude and erect.

He winked at his companions.

There was the sound of the door of the house being flung open and ladies spilling down the front steps.

Wild-eyed Rickey looked at Johnny. "Just wait till these old ducks are standing stock still, shocked...and staring at your dick. You'll love it, pal...any guy would."

The bellend of his penis throbbed.