Veronica Peeps

This time she got to see them undress. They stretched to pull their Tshirts off and did it slowly as if shy. "Get it off! Get it off!" she said to herself, impatient to see a replay of yesterday. She thrilled to see trim torsos decorated with pink or orange nipples, mostly hairless upper bodies apart from the delicate filigree of hair that, on some of them, ran like a treasure trail from navel to pubic bush. But two of them- Tommy McGregor and Jimmy Fraser- were different- brazenly, animalistically alive with fur. Then they shuffled and shucked out of their dungarees and jeans and, after pausing shyly, slowly pulled down their boxers and BVDs. Whisk! And stepped out.

They were suddenly nude.

Thrillingly, stripped off. In their birthday suits. Bare naked.

Mister Compton had been the first to strip- he seemed eager to get out of his clothes- and had stood there impatiently watching the others. Except for him, Veronica concluded, their pubic hair needed attention with scissors and razor. She would have volunteered. Like those lucky maidens of old Greece. She also noticed that as soon as boxer shorts came down the penis of a boy was likely to stretch. Even point straight out. At the lake. At the trees. At the other guys. Just pleased, as if it had a mind of its own, to be out in the open.

Veronica mourned the absence of the tapered organs of her Greeks but the "snipped" penis, she thought, had a clean cut appeal of its own. The binoculars took her to every last detail. Some testicles hung loose and she could see the testes clearly defined. Others were compact sacks without, it seemed, two compartments. Some were hairy, others lightly dusted, some bare as an egg.

On this day- and all the others during the summer- Veronica lasted perhaps half an hour before the fingering started. After six of these visits she would become confident enough to remove her skirt and fold it neatly. Naked from the waist she was thus equipped to wait on any particularly thrilling development and then masturbate with concentration and abandon. It might be a boy shyly separating himself when his penis lengthened and loitering near her hideout. "Oh don't worry about Glen," Timmy called out once. "He's hiding a hard-on!" And the rest of the boys had laughed good naturedly.

Glen- the boy who sat opposite her in church, whose fresh-scrubbed face shone as he sung Baptist hymns, the boy her parents adored- was indeed sporting a stubborn 45 degree projection. Away from church, here by the lake, with all his clothes off, wholesome, goody-goody, all-American Glen was a dark-minded sinner, forced to loiter in the grove because of a rearing erection caused by...dirty thoughts? Wicked desires? Perhaps the kind of dreams and fantasies that shook Veronica's nights? And right at this moment Veronica was greedily checking out every vein and contour of his penis through her binoculars, and with her free hand clawing herself to a ferocious but silent orgasm.

Glen's was only a little longer coming. The clean-living church-goer had taken himself to a corner and stood facing the foliage, his back to Veronica in her hiding place. His buttocks, small and fleshy, began twitching as his right hand worked at his groin and what jutted from it. For the first time she was watching one of her nudist schoolmates masturbate with his back to her and an arresting sight it was too, the dancing of his bottom cheeks when he reached his climax being the principal entertainment.

That afternoon the coach with his tanned, weight-trainer's physique and peroxide-blond helmet of hair, lingered until the boys departed and performed the same shameful animal act. Once again he flicked and fingered his prominent bullet-shaped nipples. Once again he busily rubbed his stiff petite penis. Once again she saw his tummy muscles tighten and slice his abdomen into six squares and his whole sculptural body double over and she heard the low "Ggggrrrrrrr...!" as he exploded and shot his sperm high into the air, dancing in zig-zag fashion.

Then the coach wiped his hands, went off to dress by the lake and took off home. She was then able to track down Glen's deposit, exhibited like police evidence on leaves and branches. She liked its fresh clean smell. Brazenly she put some on her tongue. After all, he was a clean-living church-goer, even though it made her feel disloyal to Timmy.

On another occasion tall lean Stevie Sullivan, the grocery delivery boy, with deep stomach muscles, played the role of the naughty boy who had his penis pointing to the sky. It was as long and lean as she might have expected. But on the tip was a heavily-ridged pagoda roof-shape, with upturned edges, lacquered bright pink, a spectacularly defined glans and corona. She stifled a giggle. Oh, if only their friendly, polite grocery boy knew she was studying his every detail- his most intimate and funniest parts- through binoculars! And laughing at him!

His colleagues ran- muscular backsides, deep intergluteal clefts and flaring thighs- to splash into the lake. But he retreated deeper into the perforated shade of the dell, bringing himself very close to the secret observing girl. Then checking over his shoulder, he started stroking his long skinny penis. Lovingly stroking it. Enjoying every dirty second.

Veronica had a up-close view, a ringside view, of his midriff. She watched fascinated: an intimate close-up of the chest and belly and groin of their delivery boy! Who turned up on their back porch twice a week! ("Hello Veronica! Things sweet with you?"). And she was looking at him stark naked, his hand running forcefully and fast up and down his long, skinny increasingly red penis! Skinny and long and stiff. With the pagoda head- with upturned borders- jammed on top. She could see a thick artery running along the ventral side of its shaft and strong inflamed veins running off on both sides of the artery like a suburban street map. The neck of his penis- what the textbook called a frenulum- featured taut, stretched, stringy tissues, like banjo strings, running up to the curved underside of the glans. And she noticed a clear fluid was trailing out of its meatus (oh, how even thinking that word made her tremble!)

Stevie started grunting. Then groaned- the urgency and self-absorption of the sounds nearly made Veronica laugh out loud. He suddenly sent a heavy arc of sperm to splash into the bushes. Then another, landing on a big leaf in front of her, and trailing off to the ground. Then a third that landed in the grass and still more that bubbled out and streaked down his slightly furry thighs. He paused, exhaled and then squeezed some remnants out and wiped his hand on his leg. His penis subsiding, he swung around, his lean muscled bottom filling her view and then he strode back across the grass onto the beach and jogged into the shallows.

On another blissful occasion she had watched Timmy and Colin Gray, the boy with the Ricky Nelson pompadour. They were sunning themselves between workouts, lying on their backs on the grass and talking lewdly about Colin's date with a girl from their class called Lauren. He told Timmy about an encounter with the girl in the back seat of his Dad's 1952 All State A-230 Sedan or his "chariot". He said he had been enjoying some "back seat bingo"- when she had agreed to let him see her breasts but only if he accepted a dare and took ALL his clothes off, every stitch. "It was like wow! Like crazy!" Both the boys' pricks immediately stiffened, just swelled out and reared up on their bellies- as they lay on their backs. Veronica thrilled to the mechanical force of this topographical change.

Timmy propped himself up on his elbows- the muscles in his stomach clenched- and punched the grass demanding to know whether his friend had done it. "I did it in a New York minute!" Colin declared. "Everything! All my gear off in the back seat! And it sent her wild! I was pretty cranked myself. She had never seen it before and her hands were all over it...and me! You should have felt her pussy under her skirt! It was like warm honey." And they both laughed- and, when Colin propped himself up too and they looked at one another's erect organs, positively guffawed.

Colin asked Timmy, "Hey, you got a girl?" And Veronica thrilled to his reply, "Nope, saving myself, I guess."

No girlfriend for her Timmy. Her dream boyfriend was saving himself.

Then Timmy continued. He was curious. "But that story...making you strip off...sounds great! How did it make you feel? Was it...a thrill? And...did you get it?"

"Listen bud, let me tell you, I was on Cloud Nine. She stayed dressed, I was completely stripped off. That was reaaaal cool! Me being stripped bare and she staying completely dressed. But I only got a quick pull down of her bra. Just a peek. And, nah, she just jacked me. She loved seeing the spunk fly everywhere. Hit a window, and my forehead! Pal, it was the best 'parking' I've ever done. C'on, lets get rid of these stiffs in the cold water!"

And they sprang up and, with rigid members bouncing in front like artillery on a warship, they jogged to the water. But about half an hour later Timmy separated himself from the swimming. He appeared in the glade and she noticed his penis was standing up, rigid, its pink tilted tip pointing skyward. It was bigger and stronger that Buddy's and much bigger than Mr Compton's little penis. He glanced over his shoulder and then, stroked himself savagely. And he was muttering, with his eyes clenched shut, "Take it all off...take it all off...take it all off!" The words Colin had used, quoting his girlfriend's demand. Timmy was...imagining...what it must have been like to have to strip...in front of a girl! And he loved it! Fascinating!

She watched a powerful arc of sperm shoot from his penis, then a second, and a third. The force made him double over.

Veronica got so excited she responded by taking off her shirt and bra, folding them neatly with her skirt. Then she sat back on her legs and corkscrewed a Pepsi bottle into her slimy, soaking vagina. She was so drenched its head slid in effortlessly and the lips of her vagina pouted over the thick body of the bottle. She quickly brought herself to her own explosion, watching Timmy's thrusting curved buttocks power back to the sand and the lake.

She barely stopped herself from groaning and squealing as she did every night in her own bed. She would have to be careful.

On another day she focused her binoculars on Jimmy Fraser, the tall baritone with his skinny form and his riotous black body hair. Jimmy was lying on his tummy- his front pressed into the warm grass- with legs splayed and cleft opened. She was fascinated. She could see a clump of hair hiding his hole. But Jimmy did display a magnificent mound of flesh- she recalled a name from the anatomy texts she had looted- something like "perenium" and he had put it on display for her. And below it, his bunched up scrotum. But just as she started to claw her vagina with her left hand her view was suddenly blocked by Jimmy, who had sprung up and Tommy, who had strolled from the lake, both guys with hairy torsos and legs, who walked right up to her hiding place.

From her lookout she would see their midriffs, they were so close. Standing side by side as if on cue, and continuing to talk baseball, in deep, manly, baritones, they took their organs- both boys' penis heads this close-up looked HUGE- and aimed right at her bush- right at it- and sent two thick powerful streams of urine drilling into the thicket. The foliage distributed it all over her, running down her shoulders and hair, running down her breasts and descending in a stream from her nipples. She never imagined it could be so yellow and hot and smelly or delivered in such strong flows. Or take so long. More and more came her way. She dared not move, to scramble out of the rear of her hideout and there was no room to shift inside it. And then Jimmy, still talking sport, redirected his aim and sent his stream right onto her forehead...her nose...her lips. The yellow flow- boiling hot because of his exercise in the sun, she guessed- streamed all over her naked body. She was repelled. Shocked. Degraded. And so...very...very...excited.

As the boys shook their penises dry and turned back to the beach- even soaked with their water she savoured the view of muscles working in their bottoms- she jammed the bottle firmer into her vagina. She reached down and scooped up streams of fluid and spread- no, lavished- secretions onto her much-loved pleasure button and massaged it. She exploded quickly and this time did not manage to stifle the groans. Luckily all boys and the coach were out of ear shot.

She would have to guard against her noisy orgasms.

When they were gone- only after the coach had lingered and retreated to the shadow of a she-oak for a lingering masturbation that sent his sperm flying higher and further than ever- Veronica dressed and exited her hideout. She went to the water's edge. Standing there viewing the gentle waters of the lake she contemplated stripping and diving in. But she decided to go home with the sweet tang of the hairy men's urine. That night in their kitchen as she helped her mother with the dishes her mother accused her of having perfume. She denied it. But her mother insisted her daughter was wearing something "sickly sweet."

Most days she would witness a masturbation, a quick retreat by a boy or the coach to a secluded corner and a frantic burst of self pleasuring. So regular were the occurrences that before long she had seen everyone of the boys do it, Timmy more than once. Some days she would see a masturbation show twice. One of the boys, then their coach. The coach every day. When they all went home she would trace the deposits, like a detective on a forensic mission or an historian searching for documents. And with a twig, pick up the white sticky material to sniff or, when it was Timmy's, or- to be honest- baritone Jimmy Fraser's or cute little Buddy Holland's- taste it on her tongue: creamy, with a salty after-taste.

As the summer burnt itself to a climax all the males had gotten fitter, still slender, skinny even, but muscles had defined themselves. Triceps stood out on upper arms. Buttocks were bursting. Some boys had chests outlined in perfect half circles divided by a groove, some of their arms were corded with thick arteries pumping under skin. None more than short, compact Buddy. Now those huge brown nipples- big enough for any lactating mother- were decorating pectorals that resembled half coconut shells.

All their skins had darkened with glowing all-over tans without even a hint of white around their groins or their bottoms or on their flanks. Thus, she thought, the skins of her heroes of ancient Greece must have turned bronze from exercising outdoors at the gymnasium- the word meant "going nude"- and competing naked in the games.

She thrilled to those golden skin tones. They advertised that the owners of these bodies had been getting around outdoors wickedly stripped off. A lewd secret, she thought, for males to go around school or home or church dressed- but with copper-colored skin underneath, a Masonic secret, like a hidden tattoo, advertising a sensual obscene life going about stark naked- without a stitch- by a lake. As if, under their clothes, they were primitive tribal males who lived bare-bottomed in the outdoors whenever they could get a chance. Bare bottomed, diving for pearls, tracking across the savannah, treading through forest.

She arrived at Miss Simpkins' beautiful old fashioned two storey Minnesota brick and timber home on the outskirts of town. It was a Saturday night, dripping with heat, the hottest night of the summer. They ate in the parlour, books spread everywhere, books that had one theme: the male in art. And the girl devoured all that her teacher put to her, her inhibitions melting in the heat.

The teacher told her about her deep, life-time love of YMCAs and males swimming and exercising nude. It was the closest to the ancient Greeks, a bit of their legacy that stretched to our own puritanical times. And she confessed that- here she took a deep breath- she and other mature ladies in this town had a sort of informal club: Ladies Who Love the Y, they joked.

"And we peep."

"How?" asked Veronica, breathless.

"Half a dozen loose bricks in the wall of the pool area. A painted-out window in their change room. Big holes in the wall above the tiered seats. Best of all- an observation booth above the pool that everyone thinks is abandoned. And that gym-where they workout totally nude, well, next to it is an abandoned store room with loose bricks in the walls and another old painted window. During swimming competitions and workouts there's too much activity for them to notice our peeping, probing eyes."

She forked some more turkey.

"My friend Coach Compton, of course, is an ally."

"Coach Compton!" she gasped.

"We met years ago teaching in Illinois. In a school with a great swimming reputation. Of course, in the pool our 18 year olds swam nude. And, you might say, Coach was very obliging. Many opportunities for me to burst in with messages or errands and catch a whole class buck naked, doing stretching or frozen on the blocks about to dive, or trapped seated on the benches. All the better when I was able to bring in a whole class of girls- pretending there was a mistake with the timetable. Veronica, can you imagine the thrill, for me, for the girls, of catching a whole class of boys stark naked? There is absolutely nothing to compete with Embarrassed Naked Boys! Their humiliation is total, devastating, exquisite...at their age, understand, to have women- and girls from their class- get to see all their secrets. Oh, to see the ritual with cupped hands! There are some things they can't cover..."

"But why would the coach want you to see him? I presume he was naked too."

"I know Gordon very well. He likes showing off his body, like at weight builders' competitions crammed into those posing straps his mother sews for him. He may have posed for so-called physique magazines. Used to be a visitor to nudist camps. And- how shall I put this- along with his other oddities he's one of those men who likes being surprised, even humiliated by clothed women. So when I and a class of girls bustled in he was thrilled to be trapped without a stitch. Actually has trouble hiding it. He is also thrilled by the knowledge that when he's naked at the Y, lying totally exposed on his bench or straining away in front of a mirror, I and my ladies are peeping, seeing his every inch."

"Does that mean..." Here Veronica was being cunning. "...he's got a large penis and wants to show it off?"

"Ah, smart girl. That's the story with exhibitionists as a rule. All their self-esteem comes from letting us know they may be ugly social failures but they have grand pricks like salami hanging from their groins. But Gordon has what we might call a Grecian penis- Grecian, except for that brutal circumcision that awful mother inflicted on him. It's small, delicate- a contrast with that massive build. And, you know, I think he relishes the frisson of humiliation when a female sees it and says to herself that's a tiny pecker, smaller than my brother's or boyfriend's. At that moment he wilts and savours the sweet shame of exposure. A sweet humiliation for him.

"But Coach's deeper erotic impulse lies somewhere else and is very Greek- he likes being with athletes in the outdoors exercising in the sun, the sweaty workouts with males in smelly old YMCAs, skinny dipping in the great outdoors. No females. Just fellas together."

Veronica resolved not to tell her teacher about her own peeping because one thing was certain: Miss Simpkins would insist on joining her, even bringing her lady friends. Veronica was not going to share her splendid secret life with other females.