The Odd Saturdays with Simon (anonymous)

 

Owners of the Cove Tavern, Alan and Paul, years ago began a tradition of hosting a private lunch with three other couples in the area. We meet there in the banquet room, which is like the lobby of an old lodge with a river stone fireplace. Two winters ago there was quite a stir before the first December lunch, when emails flew about a young man who was turning heads at Rocky Bay Grocery. Bob and John had seen him first, but it was Roger, who works at the hatchery, who was able to inform the rest of us: the fellow's name was Simon J., a marine ecology student doing some research for the state and who was working part-time checking at the grocery store. By Saturday, December 5th, everyone had been in the grocery and seen him. Roy and I don't shop at night, which was when Simon worked, but were assured by Roger and Joe that we should "Go out and pick up a pint of ice cream." We would not be disappointed, they said. We weren't. Tall, mid twenties, dark hair, brown eyes, the creamiest complexion, friendly smile, and a slight accent, Simon was enchanting.

While we all shared impressions of Simon that odd Saturday, John said he would love to see Simon naked. Who wouldn't? It went with out saying, but John got something out of vocalizing such things. Four or five times that lunch he said, "Seeing Simon naked, that would sure be something." The last time he said it, Joe replied, "John, we should invite Simon to join us for the next odd Saturday. I'd like to see him naked too." "What do you mean?" John asked. "I'd really like to see him naked. I'm not joking." "Neither am I," said Joe. "I have an idea that is worth a try." Joe is clever, and Roger right away was behind it. Everyone agreed.

Roy and I developed a habit of picking up ice cream or a lottery ticket around 8:30 most evenings. "Feel like some rocky road?" one of us would say. "Feel more like Rocky Bay," the other would reply. After Roger and Joe had told us Simon had accepted the invitation, Simon seemed somehow even friendlier. With people who are that good looking, ordinary pleasantness can seem like more. When we stopped for something Thursday the 17th, he tapped the counter, nodded, and smiling said "See you Saturday."

Saturday the 19th we were all at the Cove in the banquet room when Simon arrived wearing dark jeans and a soft long-sleeved grey shirt. Wow, did he look great, and so pleased to see us all. It would be just fine if we never saw him naked, I was thinking. He is just great to be around. But Joe wasted no time in bringing up the subject of hypnotism. In a way that seemed so rehearsed that they had to have rehearsed it to be obvious, Joe and Roger asked Simon if he would be willing to be put into a hypnotic trance. "Well," Simon said, "Yes, but I don't think I am a good subject. I don't think it would work." "Leave that to me," Joe assured him. "If it doesn't work, what's the harm in it?"

Joe took Simon away from the table and over to the fireplace, where had Simon sit in a large wing back chair. There Joe spoke to him for several minutes while swinging a key chain about a foot or so before Simon's face. Sitting almost at the far end of the banquet table, we couldn't hear much, except when Joe's voice rose. Mostly what I heard was phrases like, "Do you understand, Simon?" and "Simon, do it." We saw Simon, whose eyes were then closed, raise his left hand and bring it down to the arm of the chair again.

After several more instructed motions of Simon's hands and arms, Joe spoke to Simon in a voice we could all hear. "Simon, when you hear a telephone ring, you will rise from this chair and walk over to the table, where, starting with John, you will shake his hand and say, 'I am Simon, and this is my right shoe.' Then you will remove your right shoe and hand it to John. Then you will thank him and move on to Bob, to whom you will say, 'I am Simon and this is my left shoe,' after you shake his hand. And you will continue to Roy and Martin and Alan and Paul around the table, each time shaking their hand, introducing yourself and identifying the article of clothing you give to them. When you have shaken everyone's hand, you will pick up the phone on the table and press this button, which is the speaker button. Whatever the voice on the phone tells you to do, you will do it. Do you understand, Simon?"

Simon's voice was as pleasant as ever, but there was a rather matter-of-fact tone to it. "I understand," he said.

Joe came back to the table and place his cell phone on it. He sat down and looked around the table at all of us and finally nodded to Roger, who produced a cell phone from his pocket and speed dialed Joe's phone, which in a moment rang with an excitement we all felt.

It was like a dream from which at any moment I might wake up. But my heart never pounded in a dream as it did when I watched Simon rise from the chair about seventeen or eighteen feet away and walk toward the table. He stopped and turned to John, offering his hand. The beautiful sound of Simon's voice with the slight accent drenched our ears. "I am Simon, and this is my right shoe." Unhurried, yet in one quick motion, Simon pulled off his right shoe and handed it to John. As he did so he thanked John. "You're welcome, Simon," John replied. Simon nodded and turned to Bob. A few seconds later Simon was shaking my hand and handing me his left sock. While Simon unbuttoned his shirt, which he did carefully after he had shaken Alan's hand, and I’m sure I was not the only one doing this, I counted. He was not wearing an undershirt. He would give his belt to Paul and that meant, even if he was wearing underpants, he would be naked after shaking Joe's hand.

We could see there was more than a bulge in Simon's briefs, when he handed his jeans to Roger. Simon had a serious hard-on and it got more so when he took off his briefs. Beautiful, uncut, arching and swaying. In a moment Simon was reaching for the phone and pushing the speaker button. The voice, which was Joe’s, instructed Simon to put the phone, which was on a cord, around his neck. When Simon had done that, Roger’s voice instructed Simon to put his hands on his hips and walk around the table slowly, on step at a time, counting his steps aloud. Watching him move and pause, his cock swaying, as he passed each of us at the table excited Simon as much as it did the eight of us. By the time he was closest to me, there was a bead of pre-cum at the tip of his cock. Like a jewel.

As beautiful as he was, I was most taken by his face. It had changed, but I wasn’t sure how. I know that Roger had done well to instruct Simon to count each step aloud. I can still see his mouth pronounce the shapes in the number twenty-three. His voice too seemed more resonant.

Simon, his hands on his hips, naked proceeded around the table and stopped where he had picked up the phone. Roger had slid his phone across the table to John, who then instructed Simon to rotate his arms like a swimmer doing the butterfly stroke. And the phone was passed back and forth as new instructions for Simon came to mind. I instructed him to touch his right heel to his left knee and touch his knuckles together with his thumbs pointing to the ceiling and positioned just below his chin. The curves of his forearms were so beautiful to see, the slopes of a pyramid leading to the face of a sphinx.

We did have lunch that day, but not at the usual time. Simon sat at the table naked with a red cloth napkin on his lap. Each time I saw him lift the napkin, Bob and Roger, who were on either side of him, looked at his cock. Later I asked Bob if Simon had had a hard-on throughout the meal. He said Simon was hard the whole time. That kind of amazed me, because Simon had carried on conversation on a number of topics. He had even made faces, his imitations of trout.

Simon was full of surprises. He asked many questions about us all, clearly having thought about us as couples. He liked that we enjoyed talking about him with each other, and he said that he had enjoyed watching our exchanging glances with each other when we’d seen him at the store. Of course, we asked him questions as well. We wanted to know if he had done anything like this before. He hadn’t, except with one man four times. The man had undressed him and had made him stand before a mirror while he touched him all over and eventually brought him to orgasm. Afterward, the man, who had remained clothed the entire time, had Simon look at the two of them in the full length mirror and answer questions about how he felt about what they had done and were doing. That, Simon said, aroused him so much that, when the man told him he would have to beg to be jacked-off, Simon said that he had begged. I don’t know why I asked it, but I did. “Simon, did he hypnotize you too?” “No,” he replied. “I’ve never been hypnotized.” He smiled and looked around the table.

The project Simon was working on was to be completed in mid May, about ten odd Saturday’s off. We invited him to join us for as many of them as he liked.

Cooperman (submitted by reader)

This story is not intended to be read by anyone under the age of eighteen years. All of the characters are intended to be at least nineteen years old.

This work is loosely based on a real life event that happened to me when I was attending a local community college. The names are fictitious of course. Some elements of the story have been embellished and some incidents in the real life event have been eliminated. Dialogue has been altered. As a result, this story is best described as a work of fiction. The names of the characters are not intended to be similar to or remind the reader of any real person. Any resemblance or similarity of any name to any person is unintentional.

I would appreciate comments or can answer any questions. I can be reached at haysjared10@yahoo.com . I will only communicate with adults. Please state your age in your email.

Cooperman

What happened to me several years ago made a lasting impression, both on me and I suspect, on several others who participated in the events. I think back now, with several years hindsight, and I don’t know what to think. Was it as bad as I believed at the time? Was it as frightening? I’m not sure. I only know that when I think back on it, and on several subsequent but similar events, my heart still races. Is it still fear? Embarrassment? Or something else?

The “events” as I have come to think of them, began when I was attending a local community college geared toward vocational skills. Everyone who went there had graduated high school and was at least eighteen. In fact I knew a number of guys in school from high school. Most of the guys (and it was overwhelmingly guys because of the type of trades taught) were there to learn a trade, in agriculture or as a lab assistant, computer tech, website design, auto and appliance repair, etc. I was one of the few in the liberal arts honors program, which made me stand out a bit. The school wasn’t really known for its academic excellence and there was definitely some hostility between the guys in the Honors program, many of whom were Jewish, and the rest of the school, who were not. For the record, I am only half Jewish on my father’s side and he died when I was young. I was raised Methodist but was left with a Jewish sounding last name.

It was the spring and like most of my classmates I was looking forward to the end of the semester. I was nineteen and in every respect a typical guy. I had good grades but was not a nerd, most certainly not. I was good at sports, but not on a team and didn’t qualify as a jock. I wasn’t rebellious; I didn’t have long hair (normal brown hair cut short); I didn’t sport tattoos; I had friends but certainly wasn’t the most popular guy in school. At 5’ 10” I was an average height and was neither fat nor skinny.

School was an eclectic collection of buildings, some old and few with a modern design. New or old, most were plain run down. The main building was over one hundred years old; it looked and smelled like an old school building, although in truth there were several additions that had been added on over the years as the student body grew. There was a smaller West Campus located about a mile or so from the main campus. It held a few small buildings, some of which were derelict and unused. The West Campus was primarily fields and some farm buildings and was used mostly for the Ag programs. Because it was the only school of its kind in the city, the community college was big and crowded. Bustling was the term the administrators used to describe it.

The class structure was set up similar to high school, with different periods for different classes. Gym or phys ed was required. I had gym class as a final period in the old gymnasium adjacent to the main building. Gym classes, like the school itself, were either old fashioned or modern, depending upon the instructor you were assigned to. Because of staff cutbacks, there were fewer gym teachers and fewer gym classes. That meant large, crowded classes with students, making noise, creating havoc and teachers left to do their best just to create the appearance of teaching being accomplished.

We had an odd system for phys ed. Because the classes were so large, several teachers taught the same class period, but within that period, different units were taught. Students were randomly assigned to a gym teacher. One guy in the class could be taking floor hockey with Mr. Reynolds, another could be taking baseball with Mr. Jansen and a third would maybe be assigned to wrestling with Mr. Kohler, known as Mr. K. There were at least four different teachers for phys ed. But not only were the phys ed units different, each of the gym teachers had a different approach. Reynolds was a younger guy and was not strict at all. He just couldn’t wait for the period to end. Jansen was an OK guy not strict but not a pushover. Mr. K. was a real old fashioned guy. He insisted that we dress appropriately for phys ed. That meant shorts with elastic bands, no cutoffs (not that anyone wanted to wear cut offs, except for the few really piss poor guys in school who couldn’t afford anything else), tee shirts with no logos and a jock strap, no briefs or boxers.

But if you had a unit rotation with Mr. K. it was different. It was awkward for me, embarrassing really, to put a jockstrap on in the locker room. It meant taking my underwear off and then trying to fit into a jockstrap, which as we all know usually takes some manual adjustments to get everything situated properly. Its bad enough to have to do that in a locker room anywhere, but in a crowded locker room with lots of guys you know (even if they aren’t your closest friends) its even more uncomfortable. Its worse still when you’re the only one in that particular row of lockers with a unit with Mr. K. So you’re the only guy standing there bare ass trying to not look uncomfortable while the guys around you are making jokes and sneaking glances. Some guys got around this problem by wearing their jockstrap to school under their underwear. In the locker room they would quickly pull off their boxers and pull on a pair of waiting gym shorts. Of course some dudes didn’t give a crap if everyone watched them climb into a jockstrap. These guys wouldn’t think anything of undressing completely (not like me, I would purposely keep my shirt on, preferably a longish shirt, to partially cover myself while changing), casually undressing completely then turning to face their friends while changing as if they were on line in the cafeteria. They were usually the school jocks and of course no one made a snide comment to them. There was an unwritten rule in school; bullies never picked on the jocks and jocks turned a blind eye to the bullying. One friend of a friend who was on the baseball team told me once, that if you were picked on you were a sap and probably deserved it. Empathy was not his strong suit.

Being Jake Cooperman, that’s me, I was totally conflicted by this situation. I hated changing into a jockstrap in front of other guys and found the whole experience totally embarrassing. But, I found the alternative to be worse. Going to gym class already wearing a jock strap put everyone on notice that you were in fact embarrassed by changing in front of them. I was more embarrassed about being embarrassed. I just wanted to be one of the regular guys and didn’t want to act like a pussy in front of everyone

It was late March. The class bell rang, signaling the end of gym class and of the school day. The basketball bounced off the backboard away from the basket. No points, another win for Team 4. Mr. K pointed to me and a few other guys; it was our turn to return the basketballs to the equipment room. I took my time and then stopped for a long drink from the water fountain. The gym had already cleared out, leaving an echo each time one of the maintenance guys closed one the movable bleachers. I left the gym and entered the hallway, heading towards the stairs leading down to the locker room. Because the locker room was downstairs, it was often referred to as the “dungeon”, by students and faculty alike. It looked and felt like it had been built a hundred years ago, possible given the age of the school’s main building. The hallway itself was cooler than the gym and felt good against my sweaty tee shirt. In the quiet hallway I met one of my teachers (Global Studies) and we chatted a bit about my plans for the future. What college was I attending? What was I planning to study? They were the usual sort of questions a teacher might ask a student, but it was still cool to talk to a teacher one on one and feel that he was actually interested in my future.

After my conversation, I walked down the rest of the hallway and saw a few stragglers emerging from the “dungeon’s” stairs, changed and ready to start their weekend. I had the impression that they were probably some of the last guys to finish changing. My buddy Tim came up the stairs and we talked for a few more minutes about the weekend. He had made plans for us and few other guys to play touch football later that afternoon at the main city park, Lantern Field. I told him I would meet him there.

By this time I knew the locker room was all but empty, no one had come up the stairs the entire time I was talking to Tim. I went down stairs and walked through the locker room doors and then walked almost to the very back , where my locker was located. I walked along the cinder block wall with the windows to the outside, set high in the wall. The windows were small and had a grating over them. They gave off some natural light into the room, but not much and were too high up for anyone to look out of. The walls were typical of a locker room, painted a battleship grey and the lockers were exactly what one would expect, metal, narrow, drab. I spun open the combination to my lock, and opened the locker. I heard a noise, I’m sure I did, but I remember thinking maybe it was a maintenance guy cleaning up.

When I turned around I saw Luis Karl (that’s right, a guy with two first names). I knew Luis from school of course; we weren’t friends for sure, I always thought of him as dumb and didn’t usually pay much attention to him, except when he hung with Chris Hutchins. Hutchins always disliked me, as far back as middle school. Always. And I never knew why. I never did anything to him. Never said anything to him. But for some reason the dude hated me and whenever he had a chance he said something or threw a piece of paper or did something annoying. I learned to ignore him, especially because he usually had a several friends with him. If we had been in high school, he would have been called a problem or something, but he was really just a bully. Hutchins was a about 5’11, a little taller than me with dark blond hair. He fancied himself an Aryan and he called his clique of friends the Iron Guard after some fascist group in Europe. All in all, a well adjusted guy.

Karl looked at me and said, “Hey guys over here.” I didn’t know who he was talking to but almost immediately two other guys walked into my row of lockers, Emmet Hutchins and Brandon Hurig. Brandon was an odd guy to figure out. Sometimes when I ran into him outside of school, we talked and hung out a bit. He was a few inches shorter than me and not much of an athlete, but he seemed like a decent guy. We had been in a few of same classes and even shared notes sometimes. But when he was hanging with Hutchins he was a totally different person. If I ran into him with Hutchins, Mr. Aryan would start with his verbal bullshit and Brandon would laugh and join in, almost like he didn’t know me.

“What do we have here, an Honors nerd, my old friend Cooperman.”

I sensed that this was not a good situation. My first thought was to get out there as quickly as possible without looking frightened. That’s what bullies like, to know that someone is frightened of them. I didn’t want to give Hutchins the satisfaction of letting him know I was uncomfortable so my next thought was to ignore them and change into my regular clothes. I quickly changed my mind. There was no way I was undressing with those thugs standing there.

“Snap” Luis said and I knew for sure I was in a pickle. “Snapping” was a school term which meant something like pulling on the elastic back of a guys jock strap and letting go, creating a snapping sound. It also created a fair amount of pain. I turned my back to my locker and faced them rather turning my back to them. Before I knew it, all three jumped me. There was a scuffle, some shoving. I was banged into the locker, twice but eventually Karl had my arms behind my back, Brandon was doing I don’t know what but he was laughing a fair amount and Hutchins had me partially bent over a bench and tugged at my jock strap. “Snap” it went, just like they were expecting. Hoots and hollers came from all three. A second snap and more hoots and hollers and laughter. By the time he tried for a third, I was prepared and fought even harder, bucking with my back and legs to get away. My resistance seemed to anger Hutchins. Somehow in the ensuing struggle, my gym shorts got pulled down further and out of frustration with my kicking (despite Brandon’s lame attempts to hold my legs down) Hutchins smacked my now exposed ass. That created a much louder smacking sound and wow were they pleased.

They laughed and congratulated themselves on being able to make such a sound with a smack. While they lost their focus I was able to break free, but was only able to stand up and return to standing with my back to my locker (and my gym shorts pulled up).

There was a moment or two when all four of us just stood there looking at each other. Silence. And then the Aryan spoke.

“OK Cooperman. I’m feeling generous today. I’m going to make a deal with you. We won’t snap you today, not anymore at least.“ And here he laughed, of course, and why not, after all he was having a great time. “ Instead”, he continued, smirking, “we each get to give you ten swats” he paused for a moment, then added ”bare assed.” He seemed to think for a minute, then continued. “If you agree, we’ll finish it here and now. No fighting back or resisting on your part though. You kick pretty hard, like a girl. If you don’t agree, we’ll take our swats anyway, but not ten per person, maybe fifty each. Ouch that will hurt. Oh and we’ll beat the crap out of you, today and maybe next time you have gym class and maybe the time after that and maybe after classes tomorrow and on and on and on. It can’t be too difficult to get a hold of your class schedule. I’m sure we have members of the Iron Guard in the Registrar’s Office. We have more and more members every day You’ll be one sorry Honors nerd.”

“I’ll give you a minute to think about it.” I can’t remember whether it was Hutchins, or Brandon or Karl who started making a sound like a clock. “Tick tock, tick tock” the sound went. The three of them stood there staring at me, grinning. I remember Karl had his arms folded across his chest, casual and intimidating.. My brain and heart were racing. I knew immediately what I needed to do. I had to bolt out of there. They would try to stop me. There would be a fight. I would lose. If I was lucky I would hurt at least one of them. But at least they would see that I fought back and they couldn’t get what they wanted without a struggle. My plan was to make it not worthwhile to them. That is what you’re supposed to do with bullies. Then I thought about the next day and the day after and my mind was racing even faster. I put one foot forward getting ready to make a run for it and I said “Fine”

“Fine what?” Hutchins said. “I’ll do it” I said with my voice audibly shaking. Brandon imitated my quivering voice. “Fine” he repeated, holding his nose to create a whiny, nasal voice. For the record, I absolutely do not have a whiny or a nasal sounding voice.

“Right answer” Hutchins said. Karl was practicing his swing on an imaginary person, the way a baseball player would before approaching the plate. When his hand reached a certain point in the air, he shouted “smack.” Karl looked me straight in the eyes and pointed to me with his index finger. “Smack” he said. If his intention was to intimidate me, it worked.

I don’t know why I consented to being beaten (after all that is what they intended, they were going to beat me and they wanted my full cooperation) after deciding to make a break for it. Maybe I thought I couldn’t get away, maybe it was the thought of being beat up for the rest of the semester by these guys. When Hutchins said he had members of his group in the Registrar’s office I didn’t believe him. But I did know that other guys at school hung with him and associated with his group. I also thought that maybe it would be quick and easier in the long run. Honestly, I didn’t have any good options. I tried to listen if anyone else was in the gym, anyone who could help me. I heard nothing.

“Lose the gym shorts. And, hand them over.” Hutchins ordered. I was totally freaked out by this. The idea of being ordered to turn over my clothes to another guy was humiliating. While pulling my shorts down. Hutchins ordered me to take my sneakers off too.

“Take them off. I don’t want to get kicked by them again.” I pulled my shorts back up and bent down to unlace my sneakers. I wondered whether they would object to having pulled my shorts back up. But no one said anything and I was quietly proud of my small act of defiance. After unlacing my Nikes, I pulled them off as slowly as possible. I was stalling. When I eventually finished, Karl took a few steps towards me and with a sweeping motion of his feet kicked my sneakers away from me. In the process, he intentionally stepped on my feet and kicked my ankles a few times. It hurt but it was worse knowing that my sneakers were not within my reach anymore. It made me increasingly insecure. I stepped forward to retrieve them (I knew better than to try to put them back on) but Karl stepped in front of me and put his hand on my chest to stop me. “Get back” he growled.

I decided that the quicker I did what they wanted the quicker this nightmare would end. I pulled off my shorts and handed them to Hutchins, what I thought was the most humiliating act of my life. I didn’t want to look him in the eye when I surrendered my shorts like some sort of prisoner, so I looked down instead. Where I should have seen a pair of blue gym shorts, all I saw was the characteristic mesh pouch of a jockstrap, with pubic hair amply visible above the pouch. Without being prompted I turned around again and placed my hands against the locker, exposing my cheeks and bracing for the first blow. But for Hutchins and his crew this experience wasn’t so much about inflicting pain (although they seemed to enjoy that plenty) it was even more about inflicting real humiliation, about domination, about letting me know they were in charge, that they were superior.

“Coop, Coop, Coop I am disappointed. You don’t listen” I heard Hutchins say in a snide sarcastic tone. “You people just can’t be trusted. I mean, you’ve already broken our agreement already. We agreed, you would be bare ass naked. We can’t have anything interfering with a clean shot. Are you in fact bare assed naked?”

“No” I said.

“No what” he replied.

I instinctively knew where this was going and didn’t see any reason to fight him on this point. “No Sir” I answered.

“Better” he said looking at me with such contempt. “You nerds learn fast.”

Without turning around I pulled off my jock strap and climbed out of it, nervous and trying not to trip over myself . I didn’t want them to see me naked from the front with my equipment dangling out from under my tee shirt but I realized I would have to “hand over” my jockstrap to them. I tucked down on the front of my tee shirt in an unsuccessful effort to provide more coverage. When I turned around with my jock in one hand, I used my other hand to cover my crotch as best I could. That was a mistake. They saw how embarrassed I was. I handed over my jockstrap and when I went to turn around again, Hutchins put his hand on my shoulder to stop me. “The shirt too Coopy. You’ won’t be needing it” he said.

I never agreed to strip. I thought I was just supposed to pull my shorts down part of the way and expose my cheeks. This was a turning into a real nightmare but I had allowed it to go too far and there was no turning back now.. How I could run away when I was practically naked? Where would I go? I was out of options and it was my own doing. Although I was wearing socks, they weren’t doing much to cover me.

I lifted my shirt over my head and handed it to Karl who was closest to me, just two steps away. He looked me up and down and shook his head in contempt. Was I pathetic to look at or was I just such a loser to be following their every order? Brandon stepped closer to me, seemingly eager not to be left out of the action. He was shorter than the other two thugs and less naturally aggressive. He also looked me over but my hands had returned to cover my front.

“Give me your socks! Your not allowed to wear anything” he said. I had the impression that he was trying to prove that he was as mean as the other thugs. I looked at him for some sympathy and he just smiled and pointed at my feet. “Get your socks off now Coop, you frickin Honors nerd. We told you to strip naked. That means everything.”

For some reason this was the most humiliating moment. It shouldn’t have been. I mean I was already naked and degraded but this was a low point. There was no reason to force me to remove my socks. In a strange way I can understand making me take off my shorts and jock, they could arguably interfere with what they intended to do. The same with my tee shirt, maybe. But my socks? Brandon just wanted to prove that he could order me around too. He wanted to remove any shred of dignity.

Right around this time, there was a banging noise that came from the front of the locker room, unmistakably the sound of someone closing their locker. Everyone went quiet for a minute. Hutchins put his index finger to his lips, showing he wanted silence. I thought of making a noise of some kind to attract some attention. I could have yelled out, but for some reason I didn’t. Probably I didn’t want anyone to see me in such a humiliating situation. I stood there naked, a prisoner to these creeps but to my own embarrassment as well, frightened, shy and nervous. My sneakers were a few feet away, and my jockstrap, shirt and shorts were scattered about nearby within easy reach. But I just stood there frozen by fear and indecision, not knowing what to do. After a minute or so, Hutchins pointed to the floor and pushed down on both my bare shoulders, indicating that he wanted me to sit on the floor against the lockers. In all honesty. I I was relieved even happy to comply. I felt completely exposed and vulnerable standing there naked in front of them. At first it was uncomfortable sitting on the locker room floor on my bare ass. Who knew what kind of filth I was sitting on. After sitting down, gingerly, I realized I was no less exposed. I sat down and leaned against the lockers, as I as told to do. I drew my legs up instinctively, but when I looked down I saw that my ball sack and hose were tumbling out from between my legs. I closed my legs but that did little to lessen my exposure. Only after wrapping my arms around my legs and leaning in, did I feel somewhat less exposed. Did I think that they would forget about me if I made myself as small as possible? I knew better than that; I was like a mouse that a pack of animals toyed with before finishing the job.

Within a few minutes we heard the locker shut again and the locker room door slam shut. Brandon ran to the front of the locker room and gave the all clear. I have come to realize that each time I failed to act or resist, it became more and more difficult the next time an opportunity arose. Until it was impossible.

Karl and Hutchins approached me from both sides. Each took me by the arm to lift me up from my seated position, ending a few precious moments of relative safety. Karl’s hand went between my elbow and bicep. Hutchins placed his hand right under my left arm pit into a shallow bush of armpit hair. It didn’t seem to bother him at all. Personally, I had never placed my hand under another dude’s armpit; I still have never done so. At that moment it felt like a huge invasion of my personal space.That may seem like an odd thought to have had at that time, considering I had already been beaten, stripped (almost completely) and humiliated. But Hutchins and his crew had a different perspective. I wasn’t entitled to any privacy or modesty or personal space or whatever you call it. If Hutchins or Karl or even Brandon wanted to smack me around or whoop my bare ass or even grab my balls, it was their right to do so. Why then would they even think twice about grabbing me by my arm pit?

Brandon returned to the back of the locker room. He seemed annoyed that I had kept my socks on.

“What the fuck” he said. “Didn’t we tell you to take everything off?”

My low cut socks came off easily. Something about my bare feet touching the tile floor increased my feeling of exposure. The tile wasn’t very cold; it felt dirty, if that is possible. Feeling it against my feet was almost too much. Instinctively I looked down and saw that my toes were curled. My three tormentors stood there watching. I handed my socks to Brandon but he refused them. “Roll them into a ball” he ordered, adding “now” for good measure. I did as I was told. Brandon grabbed them and casually tossed them over his shoulder, over the lockers into the next row. “All gone” he laughed. “Now hand over your watch and necklace.”

Karl looked first at Brandon then at Hutchins, as if to see if Hutchins was OK with Brandon’s demand. We all seemed to realize that this newest demand crossed a line. Apparently, it was one thing to beat and degrade someone but another to steal or appear to steal their possessions. Hutchins seemed to consider this for a moment.

“Do what you’re told” he said to me. He stepped over to Brandon and patted him on the shoulder.

“Good job Brand” he said. “Be thorough dude. They need to obey orders we give them.”

My thoughts turned to something I had read about World War II. The Germans made their victims strip naked and hand over their valuables before shooting them. I knew I wasn’t going to die but that thought seemed, and still seems, oddly appropriate. I handed my watch over to Brandon who smiled when I gave it to him. He seemed pleased with his new found authority and with Hutchins’ approval. He looked at my watch carefully. Was he planning to keep it? Then he pointed to my necklace. In order to remove my necklace, I had to raise both hands behind my neck, fully exposing myself. I unhooked the chain.and surrendered it. It had been a gift from my favorite aunt and that was the last I ever wore it.

“Hey Cooperman” Karl said, “How big are you?” he asked”

“5’10” “ I answered.

“That’s not what I asked you” he said with rising anger and gave me a shove, sending me crashing into the lockers.

“Come over here” the Nazi-in-training said. I moved forward a few steps, and stood in front of him. He waited a moment then slapped me. Holy shit that hurt. I wasn’t crying but I could feel a tear in my eye. Probably some automatic bodily response.

“Place your hands over your head” he yelled and I could feel a faint drizzle of his spit reaching my face. He waited for me to comply. “ You look uncomfortable. Is there anything wrong? Relax. Guys does he look unhappy to you?” he said and patted my face gently.

Hutchins inched closer to me. “He does look a little unhappy. Huh, I wonder why that is? C’mon now, give us a smile”

I responded with silence, but pretended to smile. I would have done anything at that point.

“Good. Now I’ll ask you just one more time. How big are you?”

“I don’t know.” I added “sir” as an after thought, hoping that would spare me another stinging slap. “I’m guessing five inches, but I’m not sure.”

“That’s not five inches, dude. You must be fucking blind. ” .

An hour or so ago, my big concern was about being embarrassed when changing quickly in the locker room. Now I was standing there nude surrounded by three bullies, with my hands over my head like a prisoner of war, having been forced to strip naked, forced to surrender all my clothes and valuables, having been beaten, humiliated, and tormented. I could have never imagined how dramatically my situation would change in just an hour.

“Are all you Honors nerds so small?” he asked, as if he was asking a serious question.

“I don’t know” I answered softly

“We should measure you to see just how small it is. Brand do me a favor and check his locker to see if he has a ruler.”

I was about to answer that I didn’t but I chose to keep my mouth shut. It was safer. In fact there was a small ruler inside one of my small loose leaf binders but I didn’t want them to find it. Earlier, I had opened my gym locker when I entered the locker room. It was still wide open. Brandon walked over to it and immediately began pulling things out, dumping them on the floor. My jeans came tumbling out, then some books, he flipped through some notebooks and some loose papers fell out. He found my boxers and tossed them aside. In no time, there was a pile of clothes and books and papers scattered on the floor.

“No fucking ruler” he said.

“No fucking big deal” Hutchins said, accentuating the word “big.”

There was nothing left to take off. I turned again to face the lockers and put my hands out front to brace myself. Surprisingly, the first blow did not hurt much. It wasn’t a swat or a smack but more of a punch. It didn’t hurt but it did push me forward into the lockers. It wasn’t what they intended. It didn’t make a satisfying sound or make my cheeks red. The thugs then stood around me discussing how to improve their results. I thought back again to what I read about the World War II or maybe it was a movie I had seen. A group of Jewish men of various ages, some older, some clearly in their twenties were in an open field, partially huddled together in fear, having already been stripped naked. The Germans were standing around with their machine guns and pistols casually discussing how best to execute them.

I was now surrounded by all three. Their closeness made me tense, well tenser than I was before. One of them, Karl I think, moved my feet further apart, with his heavily booted foot. I looked own and for a moment I saw his boot (not quite a jackboot) next to my bare foot and leg. The comparison was striking, making me realize how I exposed I was. Someone else, Hutchins probably, place his hand under my arm, near the underside of my bicep and moved my arm to angle it higher. He then placed both hands on my torso to adjust my position slightly. Together they moved me around like a naked compliant prop. I didn’t resist and I didn’t complain, not once.

And then it came. Suddenly, sharply, stinging I could feel my ass cheeks begin to glow. Clearly, the resulting sound was to their satisfaction. I heard one of the creeps say “awesome”, elatedly. There was real excitement in their voice. For a moment the smacks came in quick succession. It was painful and I adjusted my right arm to serve as a buffer between my head and the locker. A further discussion ensued about how to best adjust the Jew to improve their results. Its nice to know that some people are still passionate about their work.

I was pulled back from against the lockers and instructed to crouch on the bench, placing my hands and elbows flat on the bench. I obeyed. If I had thought that I couldn’t feel any more vulnerable. I was wrong. Being the perfectionist that he was, Hutchins was not satisfied.“Pull your elbows in more Coop, little buddy. And lean forward on your hands” My toes were flat on the bench but the soles of my bare feet were pointing up. For them it was a game of twister, for me something very different. As I leaned forward on my hands, as I was told to do, my ass ended up higher in the air. It felt like even my hole was now exposed. I prayed that I was clean. Its odd what thoughts pop into your head even at the most extreme moments.

Hutchins almost had what he wanted. He made some further small adjustments to my positioning. He had one hand on my gut and another on my lower back, adjusting me a little here, a little there. When he touched my back and stomach with his calloused hands it was better than being beaten. As crazy as it sounds, I was almost eager to cooperate, going so far as to suggest a better position. I hoped to prolong the time when the hitting resumed. My suggestion brought a snort of contempt from Karl. I should have realized that I wasn’t going to make any friends here. When I think back now how I actually tried to gain favor with them by making a suggestion like that, I cringe. And, when I turned a bit in the wrong direction, Hutchins didn’t hesitate to smack my right cheek. Eventually, he had me with my chin planted on the bench. I could even smell the bench and could clearly read “Ginny gives head” lightly carved into the wood. I wondered for a moment whether “Ginny” ever got her ass smacked.

Karl and Hutchins briefly discussed whether they could get my legs far apart enough so that my balls would be visible from behind. Karl wanted to see them swinging back and forth when he smacked me. The problem was the bench. It was not wide enough for my legs to be spread apart and I wasn’t able to angle my legs to get them the desired results. They soon gave up but not before one of them whipped me several times with my own jockstrap. In comparison with the previous smacks, I barely felt it.

They were ready again and Karl (I think it was Karl) took a huge swat at me, knocking me sideways off the bench. Great bouts of laughter came from my thuggish companions but I was not really hurt, other than my now redder ass cheeks.

I got up from the floor and Hutchins put his arm around me in mock friendship.”Guys” he said to his friends, “we can’t kill the nerd.”

I remember thinking that when this ordeal began every sound brought some hope to me that someone else was in the locker room and would put an end to this. Now I dreaded the thought of anyone else seeing me like this. I didn’t want anyone else to walk in on us. I just wanted them to finish and be done.

A cell phone rang with one of those annoying chirping ring tones. It startled me at first until I realized what is was. It came from Hutchins pocket. He stepped aside and said to his friends “Guys. Its Greg. I have to take this. Make sure he stays where he is.”

Hutchins answered his phone, facing me, keeping an eye on his prisoner, but letting me listen in to his part of the conversation. Karl and Brandon then moved to either side of me, with Brandon holding on to my arm the way a guard might escort a prisoner. By this point I wasn’t going anywhere. What was I going to do? Run naked into a hallway with a bright red ass? How would I explain what happened? I had more modest goals. I tried to keep my crotch covered with both hands. I also stopped looking at my guards in the eye. It was too humiliating. I kept my head down and stared at my feet.

Greg I knew would be Greg Mandley, another Iron Guard creep and Hutchins’ good friend. He was twenty and I remembered him from high school too.

“Dude you won’t believe who I have here. Our good friend Cooperman. Yeah, we’re giving him a bare-assed whooping. Seriously dude. I’m not shitting you. “

Mandley didn’t believe him. Hutchins explained that we were in the gym locker room and that Brandon and Karl were with him. Both of them shouted hello good naturedly in the direction of the phone.

“His ass is bright red dude. I’ll prove it to you. Hold on.” he said to Mandley. Then to the other guys he said, “Turn him around. I want Greg to see our handiwork.” They turned me around and I heard a click of a cell phone camera from behind me.

“Did you get the photo? Its true its him , he’s with us now. What do you mean you can’t tell its Cooperman?” A pause, then “ OK, OK, I can fix that. Not a problem.”

Listening to Hutchins speak with Mandley I had the idea that it wasn’t Hutchins but Mandley who was their group’s leader. Brandon and Karl seemed to take orders from Hutchins, but Hutchins seemed to take orders from Mandley.

“Guys” Hutchins said, “turn the Honors nerd around again” I turned around without resisting even though it wasn’t difficult to know what was coming next. I concentrated on keeping my head down and my hands in front of me, not an easy task with the other two goons holding onto my arms. Brandon and Karl stepped back to get out of the photo, giving Brandon one more opportunity for a satisfying smack. The camera clicked again.

“Did you get the picture dude?” Hutchins asked Mandley. “What do you mean you still can’t tell its him? OK, OK, I’ll take care of it Greg. I’ll call you right back.”

“Brandon, get over here. Don’t worry, our friend isn’t going anywhere. Just look at him standing there, pathetic like.” Hutchins gave his cell phone to Brandon and walked over to the pile of my clothes on the floor. He picked up something and walked over to me. He stood to my left and placed his right arm over my bare shoulder. My boxers hung from his right hand and he dangled them in front of me. Hutchins handed the polo shirt I had been wearing before gym class to Karl who stood to my right. Karl also put his left arm over my shoulder and held my shirt up with his right hand. At the same time, Hutchins clamped his free left hand around my chin, squeezed hard and lifted my head up so that I looked squarely into the camera.

“Greg wants to make sure its Cooperman. OK Coopy, look straight at the camera, hands to your side. Don’t be shy now. No hiding your equipment. Greg wants to see you, all of you. Little pecker and all. Guys, this will be like a trophy photo, like my dad takes when he shoots a deer.”

Brandon snapped the photo and several more for good measure. After the photo shoot was over, I managed to return my hands in front of me. Brandon gave Hutchins his phone back and the three of them looked over the photos, laughing and high fiving each other. They happily showed me each and every photo but were careful not to let me touch the phone. Hutchins then forwarded the pictures to Mandley.

Mandley called back quickly. I could hear him hooting over the phone as he spoke to Hutchins. “Fucking unbelievable” I heard several times. Hutchins passed the phone to Brandon and then after another minute or so Brandon passed the phone to Karl. Mandley congratulated each of them. Unexpectedly, Brandon came up to me. Greg wanted to speak with me. I was terrified. I stood there naked and I remember shivering, visibly so. What’s interesting is that without any clothes on, you not only feel more vulnerable, you are more vulnerable. You can’t hide anything. Every wart or blemish is visible. If you’re cold and you shiver or have goosebumps, people can see it. If for some reason I had had an erection, that would have been visible too.

Brandon held the phone to my ear.

“Cooperman. Are you there?” he asked.

I took in a deep breath and answered “Yes”

“Well it seems I missed the little party my buddies thew for you. I’m so, so sorry. I would have like to have lent a hand.” And he laughed at his own clever pun. “Anyway Coop maybe sometime soon me and Chris and Lewis and Brandon and some of our other friends could throw another party for you and some of your other Honors nerd friends. Wouldn’t that be fun? We’ll have to plan for that real soon. Well it was good talking to you. I’ll see you real soon.”

With that, my session with the Iron Guard ended. They talked to themselves and then just walked away. Nothing dramatic, no more smacks. Hutchins did yell from somewhere near the front of the locker room “We’ll see you again soon loser.” And then the doors slammed shut and they were gone. For a moment I couldn’t believe it. I stood there, numb, waiting for them to return. But then my good sense returned and I looked around wildly for my clothes. I found everything except my socks and necklace. As soon as I had my boxers on, I began to feel like a person again. As for my missing things, I was too anxious to get the hell out of there to give them much thought. I later saw my chain around Karl’s neck. I never said anything to him or anyone else about that.

I walked out of the locker room and up the stairs, half expecting the goons to be waiting for me in the upstairs hallway. They were not. I went home to my apartment and crashed on the couch with the TV, a laptop and the stereo all on at the same time, trying to forget the day.

Prologue:

I woke up the next day relieved my ordeal was over, thinking about it like it was some sort of nightmare. I was reflecting on what had happened in the locker room and I was struck by what I had NOT felt. I was in turn nervous, frightened, terrified. I was embarrassed, humiliated and degraded. Oddly, I don’t recall being angry; as if on some crazy subconscious level I accepted their right or their authority to do what they did.

I poured some cold cereal into a bowl and sat down at the small kitchen table, when the phone rang.

“Hello” I said.

“Cooperman. Guten Morgan. Its Commanderl Mandley, you remember me of course.” Apparently he was now a self-styled Commander in that crazy group of his. “I’m hanging here with my good bud Chris just looking at some pictures. I’m calling to schedule a time for me and you and Chris and some of our other buds to get together with you and some of your Honors nerd friends. We can pretend like its a study session. You guys love to study. But maybe we’ll find another use for all your books. Anyway, let’s say a week from Friday, after classes. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your precious classes. We want you and at least three nerds from the Honors program. You get to pick and choose. You’ll confirm their names by no later than the Wednesday before. If we have to round of some of you people ourselves, it will go even worse for you. See you at school. Aufwiedersehen.”

It was suddenly hard to breathe.

The End.