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Veronica Peeps

By: aaronburr



The girl walked briskly through the outskirts of town. She walked past the town dairy and milk processing plant, past the rail yards with their silos, past the drive-in theatre with posters for the latest Elvis movie, Jailhouse Rock. 

It was the 1950s in mid-West America.

She walked past the houses of the poor people, with rusted car bodies and dented ash cans behind chicken wire in their front yards. She waited till a lorry with Black Hawke Meats on its side roared past in the direction of the interstate and, not waiting for the exhaust to clear, she crossed the main road that led out of town. She left the road and entered the woods, on a pathway that snaked through thick forest of black spruce and red pine. It was dark and cool with the beating wings of an occasional waterfowl to rustle the silence and, very soon, the scent of water - of one of Minnesota's 10,000 lakes, one of six in the immediate vicinity of Brewer, the town she had lived all her 18 years.

Veronica was a plain girl. She feared her breasts were too heavy, her hips too full. She thought her body resembled that of a stone neolithic fertility goddess she had seen in an art text. That her Ancient History and Art teacher, Miss Simpkins, had started sympathetically taking her under her wing just made her fear she was doomed to share the spinster's fate. That she had started performing well at school - especially in Miss Simpkins' class - only isolated her from the girls around her. They saw her as an "odd ball."

She had begun fearing in the last year that she would never be with a male. Yet her heart yearned...and her body.

In the first warm weather of the season she had drifted onto this trail, headed in the direction of the lake. She wanted to get away from school, away from the other teenagers, out of town. To sit by the lake and be alone. To day dream. To play with her secret thoughts. Pat Boone's latest, Love Letters in the Sand, was going through her head. 

There were the first wild flowers - wild rose, indigo, bluebell, marigold- blooming in a celebration of fertility and renewal.

Fertility - it was a theme she could respond to since her favourite subject at school was the ancient world. Working under Miss Simpkins, she had spent a whole year on the ancient Greeks, their stories and mythology. Their sculpture and vase paintings. And especially the sculpture and vase painting of warriors and athletes.

If the truth be said, of nude warriors and athletes.

In one-on-one lunchtime and after-school discussions with the girl, Miss Simpkins lingered on the subject, gently nudging Veronica's attention to a book of photos of bronze and marble statues, noticing the girl's eyes dilate with interest. She saw Veronica gulp, tentatively turning the pages under her teacher's gaze. Pages of black and white photos of gods and men - of the Piraeus Apollo, of the spear carrier of Polyklutos, of a bronze ephebe, of the Farnese Hercules, of the Poseidon bronze. Each male figure naked without fig leaf- or shame.

Gloriously nude male figures.

As they gazed in admiration the teacher said nudity was "the costume" of Greek heroes and soldiers. This paradox seemed to quicken Veronica's interest. She shifted in her seat. Moved her thighs together. 

The teacher noticed the girl's gaze settle on the middle of each figure, to the space between navel and scrotum- Veronica had been looting anatomy and medical texts to learn these words- including the ridge that the Greeks chiseled from hips to groin; musculature, the teacher said, that was called "the Adonis belt" or "iliac grove"...a particularly decorative, sinuous muscle. Tantalisingly it ran down to the groin where dangled the elegant tapered penis...resting on a bulging globe.

And then the teacher talked about the Greek "cult" of male nudity - these words made the girl breathe still more heavily- a cult! Of going about stark naked! The girl- for so long repressed in her world of church and family- was almost swooning when Miss Simpkins delicately opened a book on black and red figure painting on Greek vases, the athletes in profile, muscles incised in sinuous lines. And- how quickly the girl's eyes found it- the same tapered tubes of flesh. They lolled atop what looked like pieces of ripe fruit. Big globes of ripe fruit waiting to be fingered, tested and plucked from the vine.

Miss Simpkins said, in a quiet voice, that the young men of ancient Greece had always exercised "fully nude"...and let the frisson hang in the air. The girl shivered, and continued turning the pages, head down. And her teacher had added that girls had been able to watch. Girls had been able to present prizes to the winning athletes. Her student visibly shuddered, clearly came close to gasping.

And once when one of their cosy sessions had ended and the girl, flushed and distracted, had left for her afternoon classes her teacher had noticed a telltale moistness on her seat. It was fragrant with a young woman's desires.

Her teacher filed it away to think about later.

Veronica was a girl from a Baptist family. She had never once seen a naked male. Because she had never swum, not even seen one with his shirt off. If she saw a male student from the basketball court she would avert her gaze from his hairy legs and exposed upper arms. Otherwise she might start imagining hair on other parts of his body, of white flesh too. Once a gardener with a naked torso shocked her and she turned her head rather than be caught staring at his chest and nipples, at his belly button and- horrors- the fuse of hair leading from it to his belt. She had shuddered. Hence these pictures of nude Greek athletes had set her on fire. Kept her awake. Stirred her imagination as she furiously stroked herself to orgasm beneath the blankets. Night after night.

Thus her heart had fluttered when Miss Simpkins quietly suggested she take the art books home. Averting her gaze she swiftly swept them into her school bag. She could do no other.

Then for weeks she would retreat to the privacy of the attic to lie on an old mattress and dilate over the illustrations. Or she might study them in her bed with a torch till midnight. At first she had fallen in love with the Spear Carrier. From the classic period, it was a marble statue of a naked soldier with a heavy upper body boasting a broad slabbed chest, a savagely defined central abdomen and decisive groves that started at his hips and tapered to the pubic zone - his "Adonis belt" as this muscular definition, so beloved of the Greeks, might be called- yes, to the groin where dangled a delicate tube of flesh- thin, tapered, like a new-born snake- resting on a spherical bag.

Then she might feast on a later piece, Hellenistic, from 200 BC, the so-called Barberini Faun or Sleeping Satyr. It was nothing other than a nude youth seated and sprawling back on a rock, legs provocatively spread wide so that any viewer's attention- certainly this girl's- was focused on, yes, the tube of flesh but, even more, the large lolling bag under it, not the perfect globe or sphere of earlier sculptures but a loose-hanging bag bifurcated- split in two- with a couple of distinct compartments. Loosely hanging between the muscled thighs. And when she chose to lift her gaze- after a very long time, admittedly- she sighed at the flatness of the tummy, its defined borders, the ribs exposed on his right because the right arm was stretched upwards to cradle his head...and then, with resignation, returned to the true object of her devotion, the display between his legs. More specifically, the loose sprawling bag. 

How she longed to feel one, a real one. Were they hard? Were they soft? Walking the corridors at Grover Cleveland High she now took sly glances at the trouser fronts of the hurrying boys- they ignored her, didn't know she existed- imagining the same structures hanging in their groins as on her loved statues. And how she longed to be able to stroke, to finger, to caress. Oh, she longed to know, what they felt like...the tubes, the spheres. To be a powerful Empress like Catherine the Great or Cleopatra and have at her command handsome male slaves like the youths in these sculptures...this was a night time fantasy, stimulated by her hypnotic study of the black and white photos of these Greek heroes.

Young men for the most part, but for a time her true love was the bronze Zeus or, as some experts claimed it to be, Poseidon the god of the sea. A mature man- his full beard confirmed it- but his body was as lithe as any youth's: feet apart, an arm lifted for a spear and the other pointing ahead to give him balance. His hair "down there" was very decorative: dense curly hair in a neat patch. His things were delicate, his bag was compact compared with the loose, lolling flesh of the Sleeping Satyr. His open stance, his proud bearing, made her think more than with any of the others, the phrase, "gloriously nude". Defiantly, fabulously, thrillingly...naked. 

A NUDE MALE!

On that life-changing day she drifted to the lake.

She had made her way along a sandy path, a narrow track through the hardwoods. There were butterflies and bird calls and the smell of pine and plants.

There was the first smell of the lake. And suddenly the sound of voices. Young male voices. The croakiness of voices recently broken. Veronica halted, then moved forward warily. More voices. Timidly she edged off the trail. Moved deep into the darkness. Out of sight, she hoped, in the tall shrubbery. She stood still as a forest animal and listened. 

The voice of an older male rang out: "You fellas get yourselves in a line here! Fun's over. Practice starts!" Veronica climbed over a fallen tree and eased her way into a thicket, through arrowwood and bayberry shrubs. A coarse branch tore at a finger which she withdrew and placed in her mouth. She was...excited. By what? She didn't know. She crouched under the thick dark green foliage. She started crawling, heart beating, her face now close to the grass, lungs filled with the smell of moist, rich earth.

Male voices. In a forest. On a lake. She was...curious. Excited. She must keep herself hidden. Out of sight she could...watch. Observe. Peep.

There was a dense blocking wall of vegetation but she was squeezing through it- on hands and knees- even as foliage scratched her...and she saw a small gap and through it a glimpse of sky and water...she hauled herself to it.

She looked out. There was a small swade of grass and a clump of old pine. Then a pocket-handkerchief beach and the shallow water of the lake's edge...and on it stood half a dozen...Greek athletes! Greek warriors! 

They had walked out of the pages of Miss Simpkins' art histories and stood in the sun at this Minnesota lake! 

There were completely nude. 

Shockingly naked.

She checked again. Was she dreaming?

No! Boys...and a man, entirely one hundred percent stripped of everything! Stark naked! Buck naked! In their...( here she gasped!) "birthday suits!"

One youth stood with his back to her, facing the lake, and the bold globes of his cleft bottom were exactly those of bronze statues she had secretly worshipped. The grown-up man was in three quarters view, massively built with slabs of muscle and slashing ribs like Hercules or the Laocoon. And as naked. A youth faced the older man- and Veronica gulped down the view. He had broad shoulders and his torso tapered to a narrow waist, with his sex organ held up by his sphere. Jeepers! He was exactly like one of the kouroi from the antique period. 

And then in a flash she recognised them as boys from her school, some from her class- and the sports teacher who coached swimming, Mr Gordon Compton- yes, she remembered now, with his massive muscles from lifting weights in state competitions. And his funny, flattened peroxide blonde hair.

They were completely naked! She again mentally pinched herself. She was not dreaming. They...were...NUDE! A violent shiver passed through her. Her stomach fluttered as if with a thousand butterflies. Boys she sat with in class, who she passed in the corridors. Boys who went to the sock-hop with the other girls but would never consider her.

They were on nude display- for her!

The boy closest to her was Timmy- the cute snub-nosed letterman on whom she had a crush. With his swept back auburn hair- a "ducks bottom" cut- and his long fluttering eye lashes he was a heart throb, the charming class president who, she noticed, had moments of quiet reflection seeming to rise above the rowdiness of his companions. Above them, and above even the pretty girls who competed for his attention. In one single flash of revelation she was looking at him...without a stitch of clothing! 

She could see his small black bush in his groin, his tube of flesh with a wide blue artery down the middle and pink bulbous tip, a little sack behind. And his hairless white chest, his bare hips, his naked upper thighs! Thrilling in their absolute unapologetic nudity. 

The curve of his bottom in profile- its muscles thrust his posterior further out than his upper back! None of her buxom classmates could compete with curvaceousness like this and the crack( from researching the physiques of her statues she knew it as the "intergluteal cleft") ran deep. Real deep. 

Cleft indeed, "intergluteal" to be sure.

He was tensing, stretching, smiling - not knowing a plain girl with a secret crush on him was observing from the shrubs! Observing every inch of his naked form.

She felt such power! She felt a delicious lewdness suffuse her being. Her crotch quickly got damp. Never in her life had she imagined...

Two boys stood nude at the lake, then started wading into the water. She knew them from the school corridors- Colin Gray and Ernest Harris. She knew their sisters and mothers! And now she was staring at their white naked bottoms! Oh, how she could have loved to have got hold of them and prised apart their intergluteal clefts! Then- this seemed a gift from the Greek gods- they both turned back, to face her, in response to an order from the coach. Wow! she thought. Two nude slender 18 year olds seen full frontal- each as as softly shaped as the famous Getty bronze of an athlete from the late fourth century. Which she had spent hours worshiping in black and white photos.

She focused on Colin, a brunette, his hair in a Ricky Nelson pompadour. His muscles were barely defined except for the edges of his belly and a hint of a groove from hip to groin. In the groin there was a thick circular explosion of black bush, the only hair on his body, looking fresh, as if it had appeared overnight. The bulbous pink knob was big, the rest of his tube modest.

Another stepped out, and ran across the beach so that his tube shook wildly from side to side and up and down as did his small compact sack. Veronica thought of another bronze, this one of the first century BC, the Kyme runner. Tall and lean as a greyhound he was Stevie Sullivan and delivered their groceries. He was on their doorstep twice a week ("Hello Mrs Thompson! Hello Veronica!") and she had admired his long straddling legs and cheery smile. Now she was seeing him in his birthday suit- she couldn't believe this stroke of luck!

She was seeing Stevie Sullivan fully nude!

Let me relish this, she thought! Every delicious bit of him!

Stevie had large light brown nipples that would have satisfied any girl, with spidery wisps of hair around them, flattened with wetness. The rest of his torso was hairless apart from the line south from his navel and the burst of it in his groin. As for his things swinging too and fro, the tube was thin, the head wide. Like a snake, she thought. And his bag was loose and wrinkled. It had her, for some reason, thinking of a skinned chicken.

She wanted to corner him the next time he made a home delivery- when her mother was out. Threaten to allege he had exposed himself to her, blackmail him into stripping off all his clothes and reach out for those things dangling in his groin.

And Mister Compton! Under his funny peroxide-blond flattened hair he was a classic body builder, every muscle big, pumped up and defined. His thing looked a good deal smaller than those of the students. Perhaps because of his Herculean physique it looked tiny, perhaps he had grown up everywhere else but not developed there. Either way he was like her Greeks. And at the start of summer, at the very start- she shuddered over this- he was bronzed all over, including in his groin, over his upper thighs and across his globular buttocks. An even copper-tone. He had been going nude, a lot.

Then suddenly something else was happening...the boy closest to her hide-out had bent over to scratch a toe and his cleft had flared and Veronica had gasped at the intimacy. Virtually in her face, he was so close. His name was Tommy McGregor and he sat an aisle away from her and she was looking up the crack of his bottom, seeing into his obscenely parted intergluteal cleft...even seeing a red circle with surrounding wrinkles and radiating black hair that must be his little hole! 

Tommy straightened up and swung around, facing her, gazing at the tree tops to watch...what? A circling hawk? John Glenn's supersonic jet setting new records? And what a view Veronica now had! Tommy boasted a spray of auburn hair across his chest, even lapping at his throat. Like a wild beast. It narrowed on his tummy and descended like the trunk of a tree, to darken- become black- around his navel and spread out again across his belly. She stared hard to make out the bulbous purple crown at the end of his tube of flesh. The hair completely concealed his little bag- he may not even have one. And his legs- thickly furred, as if he were wearing animal skin breeches that ended at his ankles. 

What fun, in classroom or corridor, she would have from now on: stripping him naked in her mind's eye. Tearing his clothes off. In mentally inspecting his spectacularly hairy torso and shanks. Mentally running her hands through the boy's body fur.

Her prurient thoughts were racing.

Another boy, Glen Christopher, stood talking to the coach, unselfconsciously caressing his chest with one hand and idly fondling the edge of his little bag with the other. He by contrast was completely hairless apart from a little black bush. Not even a fuse from his belly button. Glen's thing was a wide one with a fat head on it, a small sack drawn up behind. This stark naked boy went to her church! He sat in the aisle opposite! Yet by a miracle as grand as any they learnt about at church he was on display to her, as gloriously nude as any of the Greeks in her books. Next Sunday she would swipe him with a glance and instantly strip him with her greedy eyes. She would fantasise about him while he sat there across the aisle, imagining him stark naked as he was now, his broad appendage with its well-formed cap and the little compact sack...displayed for all the worshippers to inspect, in the boy's lap. His face looking skyward, clean and wholesome, as he sang the Baptist hymns. Only, naked in the congregation, as nude as he was now.

Then- what a sight! No! it couldn't be! Striding out from the trees was tallest boy in the group, Jimmy Fraser. The best singer in the school choir. And a boy who thrilled and frightened Veronica to the core. He had the deepest register to his voice, a resounding bass baritone. His hair was jet black, swept back at the sides and curling over his forehead in Elvis style. His eyebrows were thick black bands plastered above his eyes, eyes flashing under thick eye lashes. And there, jutting obscenely from his neck, was that massive Adam's apple, every bit as big as an apple too. When he hit that low register Veronica thrilled to see it vibrate and felt a violent tingling all round her groin. 

His narrow chest was decorated with fierce black hair tapering to his navel and leading in a wide black fuse to his big bush where dangled a...thing...with a huge head, pink, with loose skin bunched above it.


Veronica Peeps



As he strode out, it swung. And the sack below it sagged low under the weight of what appeared to be heavy avocados hanging inside it.

She never adored him the way she did Timmy, the heart throb. But sometimes in her fantasies she had dreamt that Jimmy, this tall, gaunt baritone, was in her house, staying the night as a buddy of her three brothers, and when they were all in bed Jimmy stark naked steered his long gangling body down the corridor and into her bedroom. Here, in her fantasy, he had crept into her bed placing his big boney hand over her mouth and, pulling her nightdress up to her neck, rubbing his nude form all over her exposed body...

And as she dreamt of having Jimmy naked on top of her whispering in his bass into her ear she would quickly explode in one of her full throated orgasms, fearing that she might have woken the entire family.

And here he was, swivelling his body in the sun, totally one hundred percent stripped off.

Oh my God, she thought! These are boys I see every day at school! I'm looking at them stark naked!

Every fibre of the girl's being now throbbed. It would have taken a young woman with an iron resolve not to be fired up by the unselfconscious spectacle she was witnessing - the parade of naked maleness. Veronica, cooped-up for so long but captured by the romance of the world of ancient Greece, was not a young woman with iron resolve.

No, she was melting, in every way. Indeed she knew her underpants were drenched with thick torrential secretions. She would have to discard them before she got home. She could smell the outflow herself, musky and fishy at the same time. Moreover she could not resist the compulsion to stroke herself under her skirt.

The boys were arranging themselves in a jagged line - giving her a three quarter view - to face their coach. She savored the muscles on their flanks, like those of well-bred colts frolicking on the pastures. Again, she was struck by the defined stomach lines, by the high curved buttocks joining lean upper legs, by the spherical bags - like fruit hanging on trees. They were just like her ancient Greeks! Except...for one thing! Those tubes of flesh. They weren't tapered like those of her statues and vase figures but ended in round heads. A racial difference, perhaps.

Crouching in the thicket she watched as they limbered up under the direction of Mr Compton, then as they ran into the water- that sweet rear view, those moving bottoms- to swim in relays out to a buoy and back. Later with wide-eyed wonder she watched as Timmy walked from the lake, across the sand onto the grass and then to the wall of shrubs, only feet from her; she watched him take his thing, aim it and send a powerful yellow arc of into the vegetation. His urine drilled the foliage. She watched agape as he shook his thing dry. She had seen Timmy without a stitch...stand near her...hold his thing...and do a big wee!

For a full hour she watched them swim and work-out with their tubes and bags spinning and bouncing and, every now and then, in ones and twos, fall out to sink on the grass in front of her lying in the sun. It was Tim who gave her her most privileged view: lying hands behind his head, his thing flopped over his stomach. Her line of sight led to his little sack dangling in the cleft between his legs. 

She saw the soles of his long narrow feet topped with hammerhead toes. 

On his back he baked in the sun for 10 minutes. For Veronica it was a glimpse of Paradise. Her stroking- her paw had entered her slimy panties- reached the point of no return and, while she feasted her eyes on the boy, she stifled her gasps- it took a huge effort, she wanted to howl- as convulsions shook her whole frame. 

Spent, she felt scandalised, degraded, shamed, alive all over, grown up. 

Fulfilled. A woman.

And then, on cue...while all the others were swimming last laps to the buoy and back, she saw Buddy Holland. Oh my God! A short boy with a blond flat top crew cut. Buddy Holland- who she had always dreamt about mothering. Yes, another of this girl's fantasies about boys in her class. Bud- treating him as her little son! Suckling him- obscene fantasy though it was. Him lying naked across her lap, slurping away at her nipple. Worse, she had also played with the idea of having him lie nude on a bed while she had lovingly washed him with soap and water, dried him with a baby towel and sprinkled him with powder. Then wrapped him in a nappy.

Now, naked as in her lurid fantasies, he sidled off the sand and across the grass, growing larger in Veronica's field of vision till - so close was he to her hideaway - all she could see was his chest, belly and thighs. My god! A short compact body...but with unbelievably huge...nipples! Huge! Like wide copper coins plastered on his pectorals! She had never imagined...bigger than hers! Disproportionately big on so compact a physique.

She held her breath and watched...as his right hand took hold of his thing and his left settled on his hip. With a few fast strokes he had made his soft tube of flesh stand up. Point to the sky! For the first time Veronica was looking at an erection: the underside- or ventral side- of a stiff penis. He was so close that if she had leant forward and reached out she could have taken hold of his...of his...thing.

She would have loved to have done it. At this moment, given her right arm to have touched it.

So close, she did not miss a detail. She took in the curved shape of its pink helmet head- yes, the glans with its ridged corona- and the stringy skin stretched below it, the stretched neck- yes, neck was the word- of the boy's penis. The veins and arteries, of the ventral side of his reared-up organ. She saw corrugated contours on his bag, ridges and groves, the little ball of flesh now drawn tightly up. This bag- this cute bag- had a seam dividing it in two, as if it had been sewn. She thought this...silly, funny, inexplicable. Bud also boasted a big burst of black pubic bush, woolly and long- again, looking as if it had exploded on his body overnight and which seemed too much for his slight physique and at odds with his flat blond crew cut - different, too, from most of her Greeks with tidy, flat decorative patches.

A twisting in his torso suggested that as he stroked himself he was looking over his left shoulder to ensure his fellows were still in the lake. A few more deft movements and his body tensed...he groaned deeply and a stream of white fluid shot out and traced a trajectory in the air to land...oh my God! Splotch! On a leaf right in her line of vision and then- splotch!- another landed on another leaf and trailed off to the grass. Then there was a third, that sailed into her hideout and hit the exposed earth at her bent knees. She then watched transfixed as he squeezed more fluid out of his thing- bubbling out of a slit on the pink head. He wiped his sticky hand on his thigh and immediately sauntered back to the beach, very businesslike, as if proud of his work.

She watched the muscles of his tight little bottom- thrillingly divided by his intergluteal cleft (a bottom she had fantasised about gently soaping and drying and wrapping up in a nappy) as he crossed the grass.

Coach Compton, back on land, barked an order for the boys to dry themselves and dress. Veronica watched crestfallen as they dived for their clothes- this idyll was ending- and, within minutes, yelling and yelping at one another, she saw them jogging off into the entrance to the sandy track towards town. Mr Compton, still nude, yelled out that he would see them here Friday. Their footfalls faded in the distance. The coach paused, standing under the pines, his flattened artificially blond hair like a helmet, his hand stroking his pectoral muscles that bulged on his chest like halved coconut shells. He seemed to be...yes, flicking a nipple while thinking deep thoughts. 

Now he started squeezing the nipple- it was jutting and elongated- and gently stroking his tummy. Veronica noticed his petite tube of flesh rise parallel to the ground. Smaller than Bud's but just as stiff and quickly rearing and pointing to the sky. She noticed his hair- his hair "down there" in his groin- was black unlike his bottle blond crop above- and was markedly different from the boys. It wasn't long or woolly. It looked as if it had been trimmed and flattened and styled.

Then Veronica saw him stroll to a corner of the glade, his sticking-out penis pointing the way. She had to reposition herself to keep him in sight. Then, as with Bud, she saw him start to finger his thing. She noticed he had his eyes clenched shut and his left fingers working his left nipple. Somehow his nipples- both now very pointy and bullet-like- gave him pleasure. Were they, Veronica wondered, in this respect, just like girls' nipples? Again, despite his massive physique, she could confirm, his thing was indeed small, indeed tiny, just as in the statues, Hercules huge muscles contrasted with a tiny tapered tube.

Taking only a moment longer than the boy Mr Compton thrust his tummy forward- the girl could see its magnificent muscles clench: an oval line that defined his abdomen and, within the oval, three deeply cut horizontal lines slicing his stomach into six squares. There was a deep furrow from his hips to his groin, a marvellous iliac grove, just like on all her Greeks. Just as on the bronze statue of Poseidon, the mature, bearded but lithe god of the sea. 

Maybe gods did this too, flinging their fertility across the landscape. Out shot his white fluid, not flying in an arc but dancing in the air, lots of it zig zagging- like a milky fireworks display. He released a loud "Ggggggrrrrrrrrr!" and doubled over. The fluid kept bubbling out of the stiff little stick. Then after a slight pause he straightened, wiped his sticky fingers on his thigh, he took a deep breath, retreated to the beach and briskly dressed. In seconds he was gone too, his footfalls thumping along the sandy track.

Veronica crouched, her body tingling. She could not go home in her panties, drenched and pungent as they were. She peeled them off and flicked them into the shrubbery. As carefully as she could she eased herself out of the thicket, through the undergrowth and back onto the track. She entered the glade, the scene of the wonderful things she had witnessed. Like stepping onto an empty stage after a play. She explored the footprints on the sand where they had done their jumping jacks and push-ups, showing her their bottoms, their tubes and spheres spinning in their groins. She found traces of Buddy's fluid on grass and shrub and of Mr Compton's on grass. She examined the sticky deposits with a twig. And then- feeling nostalgic for all she had been privileged to witness- she started back to town.

A demon possessed her.

She quickened her pace and arrived at the town library where she hunted down an anatomy text.The muscles that had been thrilling her in the books and in real life at the lake all had names- "pectorals" were Mr Compton's breastplate glory. Just seeing references to "abdomen" and drawings of its muscles set her heart racing again. And as for the term, "intergluteal cleft" it was powerful enough on the page- especially with the illustration- to bring her to the brink of orgasm. And that was before she ventured into more intimate space. She absorbed the nomenclature of penis...glans...penis stem... prepuce...testicles...testes...scrotum...frenulum...corona...meatus...and what she had seen in the art books and in the forest fell into place. Except for this mystery of prepuce. There was none on the American boys who had stripped naked for her delight. And on her Greek heroes there were no knobs.

She hurried home, with the dark closing in and the sounds of The Mickey Mouse Club being broadcast from the houses in her neighbourhood, the blue light of television sets illuminating the front windows. She resolved to sit down with Mrs Simpkins before next Friday.

And, after school on Thursday, in the senior teacher's study, did just that.

The art book was open at a photo of the Piraeus Apollo, Veronica's favourite of all the statues of nude youth known as kouri. She adored their broad shoulders, tapered torsos, narrow waists. In addition, this favorite, now in the Piraeus Archaeological Museum, featured a swollen chest and tiny decorative nipples, his hair in plaits, his face alert and his arms outstretched in welcome. Even the hint of a smile. The penis on this Apollo was the smallest of any of the kouri, even smaller than Mr Compton's, a mere sliver of flesh with a pointy end. But it sat, like a baby snake, on top of a fat bulging sphere, the most generous of any of the scrotums she had seen on statues- and bigger and rounder than that of any of her romping schoolmates.

She summoned up the courage. Taking a deep breath she placed a tentative finger on the Apollo's pubic hair. The curls were flattened and were shaped in a neat half oval, rising at the sides curving down in the middle. "Is that...realistic?" She asked in a quaking voice.

Her teacher beamed. "Oh dear girl! What an astute question! No, not real...but realistic. That is, in this period the young aristocrats had their hair down there elaborately stylised and sculpted. It showed they were privileged. His slave boy would have had his in unruly woolly tufts...just like that you've seen..."

Here Veronica blushed.

"...on your father and brothers."

The girl shook her head meekly.

"No? No nudity at home? We moderns are such prudes. So he wears his pubic hair shorn, shaped, as a lavish bodily adornment. In the later democratic phase in Athens they stopped doing it. Let it grow wild as did the common men. To show there were no class differences.You see that later still, in the Hellenistic period, on the Laocoon for example..."

And she quickly located another of Veronica's favourites: the huge muscular father struggling to free himself and his two sons from two sea serpents.The contrast in the physiques of the father and his sons reminded Veronica of what she had seen at the lake, the coach with his heavy weight-trainer's build and the slender boys. But Miss Simpkin's argument was valid: on the Laocoon the pubic curls grew wild.

As they did on her Sleeping Satyr, legs sprawling open.

"Still, I prefer our young aristocrat, proud of his styled curls, trimmed and razored. Oh what a brazen show-off! How he adores displaying that shaped pubic bush! His mother would have worked very hard on that..."

Gasp! Veronica nearly swooned. "You mean his mother got to..?"

She sensed what the girl was yearning to hear. The teacher sallied forth,"Oh yes, his mother- and his sisters performed the depilatory chore, plucking away at his groin...

Here Veronica's eyes filled with gluttony.

"...any of his young female admirers. Until he was shorn and styled. The woolly curls trimmed. Plucked and shaved with female fingers. His reaction would have been glorious to witness. Embarrassment? Excitement? Unconscious arousal? Oh, there are vase paintings that record blazing erections on our young Greeks. The females also got to oil down his body before a race, to present the prizes when he won and to scrape the oil off with a stirgil. But back on the hair. Trimming it so radically has the effect of drawing our eyes to the fecund sexual organs- of which he would also have been so proud."

The two gazed at them in prurient awe.

"With good reason," she added.

With good reason, Veronica thought, staring gluttonously.

Nearly quaking, she could not hold back. "But...is that...realistic?" Her finger hovered above the sliver of a penis with its long taper. She dared not touch.

"What, dear?"

Blushing, Veronica, product of her Baptist education and puritanical family, took a deep breath. In a quailing peep of a voice she panted,"His...penis."

Saying it nearly fractured her.

"My dear girl, where have you been peeping?"

Veronica hung her head.

"Never mind. We can talk about what we've both witnessed later. I'm not averse to ladies peeping. But it's another good question. Let's see. How shall I put this? All boys are born with a flap of loose skin that covers the penis tip. Very funny- a ridiculous flap of skin. In America these days it is snipped off at birth. This is called circumcision. For hygienic reasons. Boys are so dirty apparently they can't be relied on to lift that bit of skin and soap under it. Snipping the flap off leaves the penis head exposed, a round pink knob on the end of the stem. What you'll see on our boys if you venture into their showers after sports- oh don't worry they'll shout at you to leave. They don't like us seeing their secrets. Except on their terms.

"But the Ancient Greeks thought circumcision was abhorrent. And they loved a long prepuce or foreskin. They hugely esteemed it. Thought it was a natural decoration of the body, like nice rounded buttocks. Or a styled pubic bush. They even tied string around it to stretch it out, making it even longer. Here I've got some fabulous illustrations of boys doing that, tying their foreskins up. And it worked for them, darling boys. In some vase paintings the prepuce is three quarters of the organ. Oh yes, these Ancient Greeks have their little pink heads like our American boys but hidden under the tapered covering skin. Under a little cloak, if you like.

"Here...a painting of Archilles binding up the wound of Patrocles. They are dressed, not nude, but the painter exposes the genitals of the wounded warrior, making them hang below his tunic, drapped over his right leg. Exposed it, for its sheer beauty. Look, it's all long slender tapered foreskin. Delicately small. By the way, they considered large organs vulgar and comic. And Veronica, you know the wonderful thrilling thing? This too was body decoration- this worship of the long prepuce.To excite themselves- just as they excited themselves by shaping beautiful chest muscles and buttocks. And to excite us, the observers. Right to this day."

She sighed. "That's why we love them."

"How do you know so much about it?" asked the girl, amazed.

"Oh, a very good old fashioned American college education. Studying art history enabled me to focus on any subject of my special interest and I chose the Greeks. All their art was about nude men and I was a healthy young woman, like you..."

Here Veronica blushed but willed her teacher to continue.

"...I even submitted a special assignment entitled "Prepuce Adoration Among The Ancient Greeks" which caused a convulsion in the art department. This was the 1930s after all. But the research was most interesting. For example I and my supervisor decided I needed to look at some of our nudes- American athletes- and that attending training sessions of our male swim team was the way to do, to take notes and make sketches. So I did, for a whole semester and was that an experience! But what they didn't know is that from school with my interest in art- Greek art- and my normal female appetites I had been checking out boys' swimming. All of it, at school, college and local YMCA's done in the nude. Right across America. Did you know that?"

"I had heard rumours. Some girls talk about it. Even tease boys when they went off to swim class. Made them blush. I didn't know whether it was true. But...like the Greeks, I guess, their costume is nudity."

"Yes, in the raw, in the altogether, in their birthday suits! While we females have always had to wear costumes for males naked swimming is the rule. Very interesting for us girls, potentially."

Enough for the day. The teacher invited the girl to spend an evening with her so she could show her collection of books and sculptures and even talk more about the subject of girls peeping. She planted a kiss on Veronica. On her lips. The females parted.

On Friday Veronica was at the lake one hour before the boys were due, concealed in her thicket. She unpacked a Hershey Bar, two bottles of Pepsi and- a $3.99 purchase from Bigley's General Store- a heavy pair of World War disposal Navy binoculars. Her cover story to her mother was that she was undertaking a bird watching assignment for biology. And a pair of gardening shears- she set about hollowing out the thicket to render it comfortable while reinforcing its walls with fallen branches so that nobody would see her. Oh, and she removed her panties. And heart beating, lay in wait.




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.




Veronica Peeps



She knew their bodies now, down to the last dimple on a muscular buttock, to a seam dividing a scrotum, to the sculptural effect of a penis glans, to the blue veins that stretched on an erection. She knew the pattern and colour of their pubic hair. She knew the ones who took longer to jack off, those who did it like monkeys- over in a flash.

And like a spy she was overhearing conversations.

One between Mister Compton and Buddy, for example, the day they lingered in the grove after the others had shot through.

Naked they were strolling across the grass, in no hurry either of them to pull clothes on, clearly relishing their nudity. Perhaps being nude...with one another. The newly muscled boy now like a shorter version of his coach, only with those emblematic large nipples and the explosive burst of black pubic bush, and his crewcut- unlike the hair of his coach- a natural blond. And his penis meatier than the man's.

"Bob Mizer pays, pays well. He owns it, the Athletic Model Guild. For a model like you...around fifty bucks a pop."

"But I gotta be naked, right? What if my Dad or Mom saw?"

"Aw, no! You wear a posing strap. They're real neat. My Mom sews them. All colors. Different sizes. Or...a Red Indian loin cloth. Or a Roman centurion skirt- Bob loves them. And there's no way your folks would pick up Physique Pictorial. Can't get it in this town. I get mine from a magazine store in St Paul. And if your Dad goes there he wouldn't be letting on to your Mom!"

They chuckled.

"And then there's Grecian Guild Pictorial. I'm a member. Share their philosophy- we should be more like the ancient Greeks. They'll buy photos of you posing as a Greek athlete, throwing a discus or even wrestling another fella..."

"Aw, coach, I don't have muscles...not like you."

"Listen Bud! The workouts here by the lake and, then, after dinner three times a week, joining me at the Y...look at yer..."

Here the coach stood inches from the boy, and stroked his shoulders, both shoulders with both his hands. 

"These trapezius muscles of yours. Strong shoulders! Out on the sides, too. We've got you real standout deltoids, front, side and rear. And down here..."

He now stroked Bud's sides. Under his arms. Veronica thought the boy would start feeling ticklish.

"...these latismus dorsi, really giving you that V shape we fellas all hunger for, the tapering physique even the ancient Greeks held up. Just feel that...now that's real muscle, Bud."

He grasped hard at the boy's sides.

"But these are your glory, boy, these big pecs we got you with all those bench press workouts..."

The coach stroked the boy's hairless chest with the back of his hand and seemed to linger on one of Bud's outsize brown nipples. Nipples like medallions.

"Feel the pounds packed into there! And you gotta nice smooth chest, too. Won't have to shave it like me."

And Veronica noticed that as the coach's palms felt the 18 year old's torso, Bud's penis thickened and sprouted from his body parallel to the ground. This hardon was making the boy embarrassed and he detached himself from the coach and, turning his back to shelter his erection- now climbing to point up at 45 degrees- pretended to be examining a leaf.

Softly he said,"Naw, nobody's got muscles like you, coach. I reckon..."

Here under his blond crew cut and still facing away he struggled with embarrassment.

"I reckon you got the best physique...the best anyone could ever have. None of the guys we work out with at the Y have got your bulk or definition, your V shape..."

"Why, thank you Bud, that's real generous." And, encouraged, the coach reached out and had both hands on the back of Bud's shoulders. He said, "Boy oh boy, fella! Your rear delts...they're really comin' on..." Veronica twisted to enhance her view and saw that now Mister Compton's penis had stretched parallel to the ground, to poke at the boy's bottom.

Suddenly Bud swung around, his curiosity getting the better of his shyness. And facing the coach, his penis nearly touching Mister Compton's, he blurted,"Hey! Bet you posed for Physique Pictorial! Coach, I bet you did!"

The boy was grinning wide.

Coach now took his turn to be embarrassed, at the accusation. Or the exposure of his little erection poking straight at the boy.

He reddened, seemed to think and...confessed. "Ah! Got me in one, fella. Out of the naval reserve, back in LA, I had a pal at the downtown Athletic Club who started talking to me when we were taking steam or in the showers, about doing modelling for the Guild. Praising my progress with my physique and telling me to share it. And get paid. Black and white pics...bought by other body builders for inspiration and by art students...and anyone who appreciates the athletic male...Some fun poses...leaning against a fake column...or sitting on a motor bike...some up in the Hollywood Hills where I could also work on my tan...yep, bare ass naked in the outdoors, just like here..."

"Wow!"

Veronica thought she saw Bud's penis throb. Mister Compton's certainly did, now jutting at the sky.

"Became one of Bob Mizer's favorites. Listen, I'll bring some posing straps next Tuesday, and my Kodak Brownie Hawkeye Flash Model. When the other guys leave we'll get you to pose...in among these trees...spread on the grass...on your tummy on the sand...Develop the photos myself so its just between us. Make you a star. Even get you on the cover..."

"The cover! Of Physique Pictorial! You gotta be kidding, coach!"

"Or Grecian Guild Pictorial. Or Young Adonis. Or American Apollo."

Then the coach had an improvisation.

"Say, instead of hitting the Y tonight- queueing for the weights with all those beer-belly slobs who hang out- you come to my place. Mom'll cook us a real nutritious meal- body builders' food, like chicken breast or chopped liver and then we go down to the basement. We'll strip off just like here and at the Y, and use my bench and barbells. In between sets I'll show you 10 years of Physique Pictorial- they'll really inspire you...and my other collections of muscle mags..."

Coach's penis was definitely throbbing. The fading light caught moisture on the end of it. Veronica noticed the same clear fluid now streaming from the boy's inflamed glans, trailing to the grass, his penis also at a hard-as-a-board 45 degrees. Their eyes took in the other's excitement.

"Coach, that's real cool. I'll...I'll bring flowers for your Mom."

"Nope, no fuss. I do it all the time, having pals around to work out in the cellar. She reckons it's better than having her son chasing loose women or coming home drunk like my father. A guy has no friend like his 'ole Mom."

They faced one another, cocks reared.

Anything could have happened at that moment.

But nothing did.

They turned and walked off the water's edge to dress.

Then at the next gathering Veronica overheard Timmy and Colin Gray as they stood stretching their muscles right in front of her hideaway. As they twisted and strained they were talking again about Colin's nighttime adventures with Leanne in his "chariot."

"Still do it? With her? You bet!" Colin was saying. "Only...only it's got more interesting."

"Yeah? You mean...?"

"No, not what you're thinking. No, but she really likes getting me stripped but she's gotta stay dressed. At the passion-pit, the drive-in..?"

"Yeah?"

"...at the drive-in last Saturday she made me strip off my jeans, boxers, shoes and socks and throw them over into the backseat. So I was sitting there in my T shirt...until the lights went off..."

"And then?" Timmy was excited. Veronica noticed his perfectly-formed penis was stretching, poking to the grass at an angle.

"...then she made me take the T shirt off too. And she could do whatever she wanted with me. And she did- that was good. pal, I blew three times! But every time the screen lightened up I was afraid people in the other cars would notice. And when the girl came round selling ice cream I jammed my hands in my lap real fast."

"Holy smoke!" Now Timmy's penis was jerking to full stand.

"And another time when we were playing back-seat bingo near the cemetery she made me strip completely and whisked it all out of the car and into the boot! I was bare ass naked. Hey, Tim, lemme tell yer- there's nothing like deep kissing a pretty girl in the back seat when you are stark naked and..."

"...and she's fully dressed." Timmy sighed and added,"Wish it was me."

His penis was bolt upright and streaming a clear fluid, trailing out of his slit all the way to the grass. And Col's had reared to jut out, parallel to the ground.

"Pal, you find a girl who likes it and we'll go double dating. Think about it. The two of us, parked at the drive-in, bare as boards but the girls fully dressed. The four of us crowded on the backseat, us boys in our birthday suits! Meanwhile..." Col pointed to his friend's throbbing erection. "I'll leave you to it!"

He strode off.

Timmy stood looking down at his upward pointing appendage, somewhat forlorn. Veronica's heart beat for him. It was a moment when she might have emerged from the shrubbery and declared that she would join him for these specialised adventures and games anytime he liked- in cars, drive-ins, forest-glades, lake-side beaches. He could name it. She would keep her skirts on and he could stay naked as Adam.

Timmy glanced over his shoulder to see Col striding off to join their mates swimming relays to the buoy and, with the clump of trees blocking their view, began to stroke his rock-hard member. And with parallel, echoing gestures Veronica stroked away as well.

It took barely a minute. For each of them.

This time, however, Veronica was extremely excited and a squeal broke from the girl's throat as she exploded.

And, Timmy, just recovering from his own eruption after flinging three fat pulses of sperm across the grass...

...and just beginning to wipe his sticky fingers on his thigh...

...heard it. 

A girl's squeal close-by.

He started- like a frightened forest animal.

She saw the fear in his eyes. Eyes that looked right into her dark hiding place without seeing her but terrified all the same.

And then he bolted to the lake.

Heart pounding Veronica pulled pants and skirt on and hauled herself out along the well-worn route to the fallen fir tree, up and over it, through knee-high grass and onto the sand track. She ran as hard as she could, panting back across the road into town and by the dairy, the waterworks and the drive-in, through the shopping strip and to her home.

In her room she reflected that this was not the first time. A few weeks back, after all the boys had cleared out, she had started for home and was crossing the main road. Something made her look over her shoulder and there, on the other side, just emerging on the track, was Timmy. Their eyes met, just for a second, and she quickened her pace. He never drew even with her. But how had he managed to stay back unnoticed? Had he, for example, fallen behind the other boys and diverted into the woods for one of his masturbatory rituals? 

A week later she was walking home, twigs and leaves plastered on her dress and binoculars around her neck instead of in her shoulder bag. As she passed Winklers Soda she looked in and saw Timmy and four of the boys in a window booth. The others ignored her but Timmy looked right at her with a frozen questioning look.

And- holy cow! Today, in her panic to get out and away, she had left behind in her hideout those binoculars. Plus her notebook. And a fragrant Pepsi bottle. But...she quickly reassured herself. Nobody could winkle his way into that secure burrow. Still, she would have to be more careful. That questioning look in Timmy's eyes...the boy had been thinking, putting together evidence. And now he had heard a squeal, an orgasmic squeal, coming from the wall of bushes.

The day of the next gathering she was super careful, getting into her hideout early and weaving dead branches through the facade of shrubbery to make it even more secure. 

Summer was ending and the boys seemed to sense it, their nude displays becoming more brazen. For example big Jimmy Fraser, skinny, tall, black-haired baritone, came upon neat hairless Glen Christopher dozing on his tummy in the sun, his pert bronzed bottom on display. Jimmy stood there s moment admiring the view. He even fingered the bunched up loose skin behind his huge pink penis glans. Then he declared, his Adams apple vibrating, "I could screw you, I could screw anything!" And sprang on Glen and bolted him to the ground, seeming to shove a stiffening penis between his thighs. "Hey!" Christopher protested but Jimmy began moving frantically emitting theatrical grunts. "OOOH! What a juicy ass!" Christopher pleaded for him to stop- but then showing he was playing along too started yelling "Help! Help! Rape! Rape!" Then Jimmy rolled off him in helpless laughter, showing his big thick penis bolt upright. "Bet you enjoyed that, buster. Remember, if there're no girls around I'm in the sex business, boy or girl, dog or cat!"

Later she saw Colin and Ernest saunter into the grove. "Let's take a piss in these bushes," Colin said. After drilling the leaves and branches with their urine they shook themselves dry. Ernest said,"Hey, that cock of yours looks like it could do with a helping hand!" And he reached out and took it- with its well-defined pink knob- and began stroking. Instead of objecting Colin just closed his eyes and dropped his head back and sighed, "Pal, that feels real cool." And Ernest said in a real low voice "Reckon that's what pals are for...helping a buddy get rid of all the tension...just think of Lauren in the back seat of your Dad's sedan and her nice pink teats...her white tummy...that black hair...and what it feels like when you slip that tip in..." Colin groaned while Ernest stepped up the rhythm and then let forth three decisive emissions, shooting into the fernery. Splop! Splop! Splop!

But the real shock was Timmy. The others in the lake, he carefully placed himself in front of her bush hideout and, like an actor, started playing a role. Not just stroking his penis, with its wide blue artery down the middle- it was bolt upright in a second- but running his hands all over his torso, eyes clenched shut. And tweaking his nipples, as the coach always did when he was at it. And- jeepers! Turning his back, bending over...and parting the cheeks on his beautifully rounded, sticking-out bottom, stretching apart his intergluteal cleft, to display his twinkling hairless little hole! 

He held the pose.

Then he fell to the ground, on his back and grasping the backs of his knees hauled his legs up and back. He thus exposed his entire bottom, the glutes spread apart, his hole advertised. Then he sprang upright again, jutting out his chin...clenching eyes shut...tilting his groin obscenely forward...and stroking fast. 

"Like my cock?" he said in a whisper.

"Like my balls? Like my crack? My little hole?"

Veronica's stomach flipped. The obscenities were meant for her.

And he shot, heavier and further than ever before. One pulse of sperm sailed through the leafy roof of the girl's canopy and trailed down to streak her face. She immediately scooped it into her mouth while she saw Timmy fix one eye right into her hideout. "And like my spunk?" he whispered into the dark, and turned and strode off.

At the end of the next workout by the lake Veronica lay in wait. It was only a moment. All the other boys had scampered off. Coach and Buddy appeared, naked, pumped up and golden-skinned. Coach carried a Pan Am shoulder bag which, he was explaining, came from a holiday on the Greek islands his mother had paid for.

"I made a great buddy on the island of Mykonos. And guess what? We could swim nude off the beaches, just like here."

"That would be real cool. Swimming and working out at the Y is one thing but I reckon this going nude outdoors- in the sun- is the whole deal," Buddy declared.

"It makes me...excited," he added quietly.

Coach was bending over to take things from his bag. His back was to Veronica and she saw his bottom- his intergluteal cleft- flare obscenely open and, planted in it, she saw Mr Compton's hairless suede-coloured zone and within it a tiny circle of puckering lips. His...sphincter!

He straightened, holding a camera.

"Now...to make you a star. I've brought you some of those posing straps I showed you in the basement."

"Wow! Keen to try them..."

Buddy was clearly enthused, hovering there, with his penis starting to lengthen.

"...it was great working out in them. Only...I sure got embarrassed when your Mom came in on us, you on the bench, me sitting on you to hold you down... just wearing these things."

"Naw! She's used to that. She just wanted to make sure we got a glass of milk...Hey! This is the one we'll start with. Look!"

He held up a waistband string with a triangular patch of white fabric attached and stretched it out for the boy to step into it. As he did the two figures almost embraced. When Bud pulled it up his legs his stubby penis jerked upwards and pointed to the sky. He's excited to be wearing the strap, Veronica realised! And she saw coach was looking at the erection as the cloth stretched over it, flushed with excitement himself. His own small penis- it really looked derisory on a grown man and a muscle man, at that- was lengthening,Veronica noticed, as he reached for his camera. 

He suggested Bud pose by the tree, arms stretched over his head. Bud's stubby erection shoved the posing strap forward but both affected not to notice and, in any case, the coach's penis was now jutting out at 45 degrees, rock-hard, as he snapped away with his Brownie talking all the time.

"At college I and some buddies worked out all the time, serious about getting the best physiques. The best. And a few of us got to thinking about the ancient Greeks. About how they worked on their bodies, how they knew all the muscle groups, how they oiled themselves down. And...put your hands on the back of your head now, pal...yeah! Show off those abs! Good one...perfect shot...now another...just lower the strap...lower still..."

Veronica noticed that Buddy had lost his long woolly pubic locks. His bush was now...flattened, shorn, tidied-up.

"...whoa! That's it...perfect shot. Say, Bud, aren't you glad we got you trimmed down there? Again, that's just what the ancient Greeks did, to decorate their bodies..."

"Yeah, think its great. Only I was real shy when your mom got out that razor and scissors and started doing it ...Jeepers, when she pulled my strap down! Boy! Did you see me go red?"

"Naw, fella! Mom's real used to it. Lends a hand at rehearsals for the body building comps...Hey! Let's get that strap off and try another..."

The posing and photographing went on for another three quarters of an hour in the perforated shade of the grove, with the two males mostly erect or semi-erect, and with trails of clear fluid streaming from their penis tips. Veronica, of course, knew the correct word: from the urethral openings...the meatus...the meatus...on their glans. As always, the anatomical exactitude thrilled her.

Some of the posing straps were like nappies and covered all the boy's secrets while coach snapped away. Others were the tiniest. One was white netting- see-through! And Buddy loved them all. Now Mister Compton declared it was the last one, reached into his Pan Am bag and produced the tiniest of the straps so far...and it was a bright PINK!

Buddy's eyes popped. And his penis, sticking forward parallel to the ground, jerked instantly upward.

In a low, breaking voice he breathed,"Boy! I love...this...one!"

"Yeah, real cool, ain't it? It sorta says, pink's not just for the girls. Fellas can like sweet colours as well."




Veronica Peeps



And he tried it on, pulling it up his thighs. His cock was absolutely rigid pointing skyward, the v-shaped cloth too tiny to cover it. The elastic snapped, but the penis neck and head were trapped, flattened to his razored pubic bone. The boy and the man just stared, and laughed.

"Fella, unless you can get that little man of yours to go down and fill out this poser...then we're wasting our time snapping pics. No way Bob Mizer can print photos of you with a proud hardon sticking out of a strap...much as he'd like to!"

There was silence and then Bud looked his coach in the eye and said in a low, slow way, "Mister Compton, you an' I know there's only one way we gonna make both our stiffies go down."

The two naked males looked one another.

It happened in a flash, and Veronica copped a close-up view.

The coach walked right up to Buddy and pinched both his nipples and immediately Buddy responded doing the same to Mister Compton. The two males held one another's nipples- it seemed to the girl- real hard. Both their eyes had closed. "I...like...that," she heard the boy whisper. "I...love...that," said his coach. "Only...you can do it harder with me." She saw the boy frown with concentration and his fingers tighten. The coach winced. And groaned, throwing his head back. She heard their breathing, deep breathing. 

Then the coach sunk to his knees and drew the pink G-string down the boy's legs and off from his feet. He then...reached out and guided Bud's stiff member...right...into his...mouth. His lips seemed to suck the penis with reverential care and his cheeks hollowed. The boy, for his part, started a low moan. "Ah, coach, whaddya doin' to me?"

Stopping his loving ministrations, the coach looked up and said,"I'm sucking your beautiful boner, pal...I'm gonna suck your teenage jism right outta that cockhead and all you've gotta doing is stand there and let it happen." 

And he resumed his loving duties, lips softly moving up and down the penis stem and over the corona and glans, making them slimy, his cheeks drawn in.

Veronica, now the perfect voyeur, watched transfixed, watched the devotion of Mr Compton to Bud and his penis- his worship of the boy's penis- watched the boy's shut-eyed rapture, watched his body gently rock.

So she ignored the rustle in the undergrowth behind her. Dismissed from her mind the sound of branches being drawn back.

Mr Compton had stopped sucking Bud's dick and was now easing the boy down to kneel with him. And Veronica- even as she registered the scraping sound in the shrubs- looked on goggle-eyed as the two males kneeled facing...and their mouths closed on one another's...two males kissing! Veronica gasped. She had never seen this, never imagined this. And while they slobbered into one another's mouths they started fingering one another's stiff, poking cocks.

Saliva drooled from the locked mouths of coach and student, ran to the grass, and with the two of them the fondling of penis became more frantic...

...and Veronica froze.

There was some breathing. Behind her.

Astonished and terrified, she swung round and faced a stiff cock...a pink penis head with a slit...a rubbery erection and one she had seen many times...right in her face. 

She looked up, into the eyes, and the cute snub nose and the fluttering eyelashes, of the love of her life...Timmy.

The boy flashed her his winning letterman smile and put a finger to his lips. Then he pointed to her spy hole in the vegetation and crouched next to her.

He must be dreaming...but, no. What was happening was right and ordained. His nude thighs touched her skirted ones, his penis jutted from his groin and he wore only a wicked grin.

He parted a branch so they could both enjoy the action on the grass.

The coach had guided the boy to lie down and had rolled him over onto his tummy. And was now...unbelievably...lowering his face into the crack in Bud's bottom, into his intergluteal crease. Veronica and Timmy looked at one another wide-eyed. "Holy cow," Timmy whispered. And grinned wider than ever. Veronica noticed he was clasping his erection. 

In profile they saw Buddy, lying on his tummy, head jerk up with surprise, eyes popping with shock and pleasure, as the crouching man licked and sucked and slobbered lovingly at his bottom.

"Coach...is...like...a...pig...at...a...trough," spluttered giggling Timmy into her ear. His arm fell around her shoulder and his other hand moved slowly up and down his erection. "We got ourselves quite a show here!"

Then Mr Compton lifted himself and positioned himself to lie on the boy's back.

Which brought forth a plaintive urgent whisper.

"Oh no, coach...that's gonna hurt me! I let that Jimmy Fraser do that to me this summer and it hurt real bad!"

Coach was astonished. He froze. "Jimmy? You let that..?" Then remembered the urgency of his own needs.

"Naw, Buddy. I'm not entering ya little hole! I'm gonna do it to you Greek style...between your muscled thighs! That's how they did it in ancient Athens."

Then he repositioned himself lower and started moving his midriff on the boy's thighs in a rhythmic motion, at the same time slobbering into his ear, while a relieved Buddy, propped on his elbows, twisted and turned his head with pleasure.

Then the coach forced his powerful bronzed arms under Buddy's chest, grappling the boy- which seemed to transport both to a new plane of rapture.

"So...(pant )...you...(pant )...offered...your...little...(pant )...asshole...to Jimmy? You're...a...real...(pant )...little...slut, fella."

Lick, lick, lick- deep into Buddy's ear.

"Yeah...but only while I was waiting for you to make me an offer, coach! And shit it hurt! Never again!"

"Mean that? 'Cause...if...I...catch...you..."

Suddenly Mr Compton groaned "Grrrrrrrrrrr!" He stopped moving, expired on the boy's back and seemed to go to sleep but only for a moment. He rose, his penis trailing a mess of sperm. He rolled the boy over and...

Here Veronica and Timmy watched transfixed...

...scrapped a fistful of his ejaculate from his penis and groin, and lavished it on Buddy's own stubborn erection. Up and down on the lying boy's prick.

The boy was pop-eyed, wondering what was happening next.

The coach lifted his powerful, muscled rear...and squatted, lowering himself on to the boy's rearing prick. Letting the boy's erection penetrate him: he...was...sliding it, Buddy's erect now-lubricated prick, into...his...own hole! Then he sat flat on the boy's middle. Buddy was all the way in!

"Like that, pal? You're right up me!"

Not hesitating for a second the prone athlete started jerking his thighs, propped up on his elbows, his face in a grimace.

"That's it fella, give it to me!" urged the coach.

Buddy was lifting his hips rhythmically. Thumping against the coach's bottom.

Then suddenly it was his turn to clench and groan and flex.

He had exploded in the coach's hole.

They collapsed and fell apart onto the grass.

Gasping at the performance, Veronica and Timmy stared. The boy's arm tightened on the girl's shoulder. He turned and whispered in her ear, "What a neat show!" And his breath tickled the girl and thrilled her. She looked down and Timmy's penis head smiled up at her. She smiled back. Any minute, she thought, I'll reach out and at long last...feel it!

They watched the two males sort themselves out and stroll to the water, coach's arm over Buddy's shoulder. "Jimmy, hey?" the coach was asking. "Any of the others?"

"Aw, only Colin, I reckon, but he only wants jack-off sessions in the attic. Won't kiss or nothing. And, coach, he don't have no muscles."

"That's my fella, that's my Buddy."

They saw them quickly bath, then dress and set off, beaming, on the track into town.

The sun was setting, with just a hint of freshness in the air. Veronica and Timmy lingered by the lake. The boy was still buck naked and his penis still reared.

"I always sensed someone was watching," he was saying. "And then I started putting clues together. And one day I held back- it was the day you saw me leaving after you- and searched the shrubs. Well, there was just the hint of a track and I poked around. A certain little girl's panties gave the game away, and the cleared space, and the Pepsi bottles, and the perfect view through a gap in those branches. Yes, I thought, she would see everything. Everything.

"Ya' know, Veronica, I've reached the view that everyone is at heart a bit of a sex maniac. Everyone thinks about it as much as you. Or me. Everyday. And I read these books I found at my uncle's. By Doctor Kinsey? He did surveys and people are having sex all the time. With neighbours, relatives, animals...themselves! Holy cow! Just think of what we just saw!"

They both laughed.

"Yep, coaches too. And art history teachers," she added. "I've got a bit to tell you about Miss Simpkins."

"Boy! Wanna hear that! But another conclusion I've reached this summer. It's just this: world's divided into those who wanna watch..."

Here in pointed a forefinger at Veronica's breast.

"...and those who wanna be watched."

And he pointed at his own chest.

His naked chest, the girl reflected. And then they found themselves talking about all the masturbation Veronica had witnessed by Timmy's friends and Veronica's love of the Greeks and she explained their view of male nudity as costume and she told all about Miss Simpkins' relish for female peeping and how Mr Compton fitted into all this. Shyly Timmy rehearsed his dream of a foursome in the backseat and getting naked with a girl in a car at the drive-in and established to his very obvious joy that Veronica loved the idea too. Even- here he ventured cautiously- getting naked, at the movies...in the back, or the very front, on a poorly attended matinee...peeling off pants and shirt and boxers and handing them over to his cruel girlfriend...until he was naked.

"In your birthday suit?"

He nodded blushing.

"Buck-naked? Bare as a board?"

He nodded again.

"Without a stitch? Like one of the ancient Greeks? An athlete, a warrior, a god?"

His splendid penis jerked and, Veronica noticed, it was drooling.

"Yes..."

And he added a pleading, urgent request.

"Just like I am now...please."

The sun was fading fast, shadows lengthening. A coolness came off the wine-dark lake. Bird wings beat their evening passage.

At its perfect 45 degree angle, the boy's projection looked imploringly, its head shiny.

It too seemed to be saying please.

Veronica reached for it, her Athenian moment.

It felt...perfect.

The world was perfect.