Date: Mon, 19 Jun 2000 00:45:51 EDT
From: Tony Malone <B.Ricchone@verizon.net>
Subject: Give me a hand with this problem

Stefan was one of my fraternity brothers, a year and a half older than me;
he was starting his Junior year when I pledged. Stefan was a very beautiful
young man.  He stood about six foot tall. He had a rather narrow face with
straw-blond hair that often fell over his forehead,  bright blue eyes, an
undistinguished, slightly upturned nose, a full mouth with a somewhat
protruding lower lip, solid, regular teeth, and a cheeky smile. He was
half-German but looked like a Dutchman, a real Hans Brinker type.  He was
beautiful because he looked and acted intelligent, because he moved with the
unstudied, powerful grace of a young leopard, and above all because he had a
beautiful body. Stefan was an enthusiastic and talented athlete, an excellent
tennis player and a champion at skiing and water-skiing.  He had grown up in
Garmisch and, as he told it, had spent most of his days outdoors  before
going off to boarding school. Whatever genes for size and strength his
ancestors had left him had developed as shaped by the sports he practiced.
His shoulders were not especially wide; his arms, back, chest and abdomen
were well-shaped and sturdy but he had never weight-trained.  The result was
a smooth landscape of flesh that suggested, rather than spelling out in
detail, the underlying musculature. His legs, of course, were outstanding. He
had the thighs you would expect from a slalom specialist, but proportioned so
that the whole sweep of each leg, from foot to buttock,  had the rythm and
majesty of a grecian column. Blond hair grew thickly on his forearms and
sprouted in curly luxuriance from his ankles to  a point about halfway up his
thighs, leaving  his upper arms and legs almost hairless in comparison. The
wrapping of this package was almost the best part: his skin, ruddy below the
cheekbones, at the elbows and the knees,  was otherwise a delicate, creamy
gold.

In my fraternity we were all very close; the weekly chapter meetings, the
house traditions and the attitude of the older members created an
atmosphere which one could call brotherly love without being false or
ridiculous. But after a while I noticed that there were some brothers I
loved more than others, and that for a couple of them, Stefan in
particular, my affection was taking a most un-brotherly turn.  I was in
love with him. Stefan was quite a ladies' man and seemed perfectly oblivious
of the turmoil he was raising in his younger brother's heart. He was not
ostentatious with his body and he was quite circumspect in language, aside
from the ribald kidding that was daily fare around the house. There were,
however, two stories that he told that set my pulse pounding.

The first one was about a wilderness trip he had taken in the Minnesota
Boundary Waters region one summer while he was in boarding school. He and a
dozen other boys were on a week-long canoe trip far from civilization.  As
he told it, after a couple of days  they all started going naked.  So much
so that his balls got sunburned! The thought of his golden body paddling
naked, and the thought that some other boy, not me, sat behind him in that
canoe,  had me writhing in my bed at night.  "Dieux! Que ne suis-je
assise a l'ombre des forets!" One of the advantages of an expensive education
is a classical context for every misery. I knew exactly how Phaedra felt.

The other story was more recent and more immediate. According to Stefan
our college's assistant dean  for student employment had made a special
arrangement with the Athletic Department to have the pool kept open a
couple of nights a month so that he and a few friends could swim naked.
Otherwise, since our school was co-ed, bathing suits were required. Stefan
told us he had an open invitation to attend these sessions.  Many of
us had dealt with that dean and considered him a slimy but harmless
character,  so Stefan's announcement only provoked a couple of raised
eyebrows. That's what men of the world we were. But I was both
infuriated and tormented with jealousy. My heart's desire would have been to
swim naked with Stefan, and this rotter was enjoying it instead of me. In
fact, one night when I gathered Stefan was off for a tryst with the dean and
his buddies, I climbed high in a building overlooking the pool to get a
glimpse of the proceedings. But I must have misunderstood where Stefan was
going because I waited an hour, sitting on a concrete step in a dark
stairwell, and witnessed nothing.

I did finally get to see Stefan naked, and up close, by a devious but
effective stratagem.  Every term we changed rooms and roommates, and it
happened that Stefan and I were both assigned to the "X-Wing," he to the
top floor and I to the lower.  The plumbing in the upstairs shower was out
of order, so Stefan and the others had to use ours. Once while he was
showering I waited  on the staircase to watch him go by, but he was
securely wrapped in a towel and I felt it would be too obvious to try it
again. Then I hatched my plan. Stefan was a Mathematics major, and a real
whiz at the subject.  I sat at my desk while he was in the shower and, when
I heard his wet feet padding down the corridor, I called out: "Stef, give
me a hand with this problem!'' He came into my study holding the towel
around his waist. There was technique of integration that I
honestly did not understand, although I could have picked many other times
to ask him about it. He was proud of his expertise and took the bait. When
I could not follow his verbal explanation he reached for a pencil. The
towel dropped to his side and there, at eye level,  no more than eighteen
inches away, were the objects of my curiosity.  In the unwitting generosity
of this nonchalant display he was like one of Parkman's Olgallalla braves
who "suffered the robes to fall from their shoulders" or "stood carelessly
among the throng, with nothing to conceal the matchless symmetry of their
forms." Of course I could not stare, but while Stefan calculated  and
scribbled I had time to sneak glances enough. It was worth the trouble.
Stefan's cock and balls were, in shape, color and proportion, the equal in
beauty of the rest of him. The balls were quite large, still tight from the
shower, and carried unusually high and forward. I understood how they could
have become sunburned. Pink and fuzzy, they were like two squashballs
sewn inside the skin of a perfect, ripe peach. His cock was only slightly
larger than average, but displayed prominently as it draped over his
superelevated scrotum.  It was gold, slightly darker than the rest of his
skin, with a rosy tinge at the tip of the foreskin.  I forced myself to
concentrate on the mathematics and was finally able to say: "Thanks, I  see
it now!''

That semester was Stefan's last before graduate school. He and I both had
jobs near the college, so we kept our rooms while almost everyone else cleared
out for the summer. It turned out that we were the only ones left in the
"X-Wing;" the half-dozen or so other summer residents all lived in the main
building.

To understand the rest of this story you have to know something about me.
Ever since childhood, I have had an obsession with being naked outdoors. My
parents were very conservative about clothing, I went to Catholic schools
and lived at home, so the only outdoor nakedness I experienced I had to
achieve myself.  There was a large stand of pines up behind my parents'
summer house; when I was a young adolescent I would steal up there in the
heat of the day and take off all my clothes. Sometimes I would lie in the
grass in a clearing and enjoy the feel of the sun touching my whole body.
Other times I would run, barefoot and bare-ass, over the twigs and pine
needles that carpeted the forest floor, or I would climb naked up in one of
the pine trees, relishing the dry and prickly underbranches as they scraped
my skin. Swimming naked was always a particular passion. I can still
remember my first skinny-dip. I must have been around twelve years old at the
time, but I can feel the voluptuousness of my unencumbered body meeting
the water as if it had happened yesterday. Another of my nudist pleasures was
to give myself challenges: at night, for example, to run naked once around the
outside of my parents' house. I would lie in bed beforehand weighing the pros
and cons but in the end I would always decide to try. I was never caught and
as far as I know I was never seen in one of my naked adventures.

Once, the summer I have been describing, I woke up around three-thirty in the
morning. The air was still warm, the streets around the fraternity house
utterly deserted. I challenged myself to a naked sortie. I would leave the
X-Wing door ajar, strip, sneak  up into the main house and out the kitchen
door. Then I would proceed, naked, down the back stairs, around two sides of
the X-Wing and back to my room.  I accepted the challenge, naturally, and went
about the task. I took off my pyjamas. I left the bed-lamp on in my room,
went up to the main house and pussy-footed through the darkness carefully but
casually. There was really no danger since the other summer residents slept
up on the third floor. I quietly let myself out the kitchen door and gently
let it lock behind me. I sauntered  down the stairs and along the sidewalk,
waving my arms about me a bit to enjoy the movement of the air against my
body, giving my gonads a shake from time to time to remind them that they
were free. A milk run, until I came to the X-Wing door which I had left open
but which inexplicably was shut. I was locked out.  Besides the kitchen, the
only other way into the house was the main entrance. If I had rung the
door-bell eventually one or more of the sleepers on the third floor might
have heard it and come down to let me in; the prospect was too embarrassing
to contemplate. In a couple of hours life would come back to the streets; I
would be spotted  and I might even get arrested. The only possibility was to
wake up Stefan, throw myself on his mercy and hope for his discretion.

Of course Stefan's windows were on the second floor.  There was no
fire-escape or ladder leading near them, and I was not a good enough
climber to attempt scaling the building even with boots and equipment,
certainly not naked. I decided to try the age-old pebble against the window
pane. I scraped around in the gutter and found a few small bits of debris. I
tossed them up one by one; most of them missed completely but a few grazed
Stefan's window with an audible click. Audible to me, but apparently not to
Stefan. There was no response from above. Then I heard an automobile engine
and saw a set of headlights coming down the street towards me.  I slid back
towards the kitchen steps and cowered behind the garbage cans, hoping that my
movement had not attracted attention. The car came closer and slowed down,
but then turned the corner and sped away. My whole body was shivering from
excitement and fear. I forced myself to breathe regularly, and slowly stroked
my arms to control their trembling.  I came back below Stefan's window,
groped around the base of the building, and managed to dislodge a small wedge
of crumbled pavement that seemed massive enough to do the trick.  I tossed it
up underhand, but it skittered against the side of the building and bounced
down off the sill. I tried again and again; the trembling was coming back and
I was starting to have trouble coordinating. Finally I psyched myself by
imagining I was trying to shoot a basket with the rim halfway up the window.
A penalty throw. In overtime. Win or lose. I pitched it up and watched it
strike the pane with a sharp crack, followed by a sickening tinkling as
shards of glass fell to the sidewalk. Lose.

I heard a shout from the room and saw Stefan's face appear at the
window.  He looked slightly dazed and very angry. I whispered: "Please let
me in," pointing towards the X-Wing door. He shook his head in bewilderment
but then nodded.

When I came to the door Stefan was already there. He opened it, pulled me
in roughly, and shut it behind me. "Go to your room!" he ordered. This
sounded bad, like a re-run of Hell Week. He followed me into the room. In
the lamplight I could see he was wearing a tee-shirt, boxers and athletic
socks, all white, his customary sleeping attire. He began to berate me.
"Don't you understand that you could have made this fraternity the
laughing-stock of the campus?" He went on: "If I report this to the Chapter
President I'll be embarrassed and so will he. But you have to be punished,
you realize that." He paused for a moment, and then said: "Lie on your bed
face down and hold on to the bedposts." I climbed unthinking onto the bed and
followed his instructions, as if he were the pledge-master and I was again
the powerless freshman. The wool blanket scratched my skin unpleasantly. I
watched him sideways looking around the room, Finally he bent down, picked up
my khakis and pulled the belt out of the loops. This was much worse than I
expected, but I was too shaken and numb from my ordeal outside to think of
how to object. He folded the belt in half, held it by the free ends, and
slapped it against his palm. "Ten lashes should be enough," he said. "Hang
on to those bedposts." My whole body bucked as he cracked the belt, hard,
across my buttocks. "One!" he called out. My belt was of braided leather and
I believe I could feel every strand of the braid bite into my skin. Another
crack, another blast of pain,"Two!" Tears came to my eyes. By "Five!" they
were coursing down my nose and onto the bed. He distributed the blows evenly,
not favoring either buttock, and landed a few especially painful ones at the
top of my thighs. At "Ten!" he added "That's all!" and stepped back. My
chest was racked with great, gasping, hiccuping sobs and I felt half out of
my mind with pain, anger and sorrow. All my hopes of becoming Stefan's
friend, all my fervent fantasizing about becoming even more, I could see them
now as the baseless dreams they had always been. I stood up with my nose
running and tears trickling down my face, knowing that part of me had died.
As if I wasn't humiliated enough, my cock had shrivelled into a pimple of
foreskin at the base of my groin. What I then said I could never have uttered
in any rational state, but out it came, mixed with my sobs and sniffles.
"Stefan, I'm so sorry, I'm a virgin, I've never even masturbated, I really
love you, please forget about this, I'm so sorry."

Stefan stared at me as if startled; his face took on an enigmatic
half-smile.  As I watched dumbly, digesting the enormity of what I had just
said, he slowly raised one foot along the other leg, up to the level of his
knee. I could not grasp the significance of this gesture, but it seemed
ominous. Without ever taking his eyes from my face, he bent down, and
pulled off his sock. He repeated this maneuver with the other foot. Still
gazing into my eyes, he methodically unbuckled his wristwatch and reached
behind himself to place it on the dresser. Then in an instant he peeled off
his shirt, pulled down his shorts, stepped out of them and stood before me
mother-naked. His elbows were at his sides and his forearms half raised
towards me, palms upturned. His golden cock had grown into a golden
erection, bolstered on his beautiful balls, dancing around before him with the
residual motion from his undressing. The foreskin had stretched back to
show the tip of his glans glistening lilac-colored in the lamplight. He took a
half-step towards me; I stumbled forward, fell against his chest and steadied
myself by holding on to his shoulders. Then I felt his forearms squeezing my
back, and his fingers digging into my sides. I felt the stubble on his chin
rub against my neck, and the hair on his legs brushing against my thighs. My
cock had gone from zero to six point oh in five seconds flat, and prodded his
groin just as his prodded mine. My last hiccup came out as a gurgle of relief
and happiness. Stefan stepped around me to my bed, turned down the covers,
slid in, moved over towards the wall and patted the space beside him. "Come
on in," he said. "We'll fix the window in the morning."