Stefan was one of my fraternity brothers, a year and a half older than me; he was starting his Junior year when I pledged. Stefan was a very beautiful young man. He stood about six foot tall. He had a rather narrow face with straw-blond hair that often fell over his forehead, bright blue eyes, an undistinguished, slightly upturned nose, a full mouth with a somewhat protruding lower lip, solid, regular teeth, and a cheeky smile. He was half-German but looked like a Dutchman, a real Hans Brinker type. He was beautiful because he looked and acted intelligent, because he moved with the unstudied, powerful grace of a young leopard, and above all because he had a beautiful body. Stefan was an enthusiastic and talented athlete, an excellent tennis player and a champion at skiing and water-skiing. He had grown up in Garmisch and, as he told it, had spent most of his days outdoors before going off to boarding school. Whatever genes for size and strength his ancestors had left him had developed as shaped by the sports he practiced. His shoulders were not especially wide; his arms, back, chest and abdomen were well-shaped and sturdy but he had never weight-trained. The result was a smooth landscape of flesh that suggested, rather than spelling out in detail, the underlying musculature. His legs, of course, were outstanding. He had the thighs you would expect from a slalom specialist, but proportioned so that the whole sweep of each leg, from foot to buttock, had the rythm and majesty of a grecian column. Blond hair grew thickly on his forearms and sprouted in curly luxuriance from his ankles to a point about halfway up his thighs, leaving his upper arms and legs almost hairless in comparison. The wrapping of this package was almost the best part: his skin, ruddy below the cheekbones, at the elbows and the knees, was otherwise a delicate, creamy gold.
In my fraternity we were all very close; the weekly chapter meetings, the house traditions and the attitude of the older members created an atmosphere which one could call brotherly love without being false or ridiculous. But after a while I noticed that there were some brothers I loved more than others, and that for a couple of them, Stefan in particular, my affection was taking a most un-brotherly turn. I was in love with him. Stefan was quite a ladies' man and seemed perfectly oblivious of the turmoil he was raising in his younger brother's heart. He was not ostentatious with his body and he was quite circumspect in language, aside from the ribald kidding that was daily fare around the house. There were, however, two stories that he told that set my pulse pounding.
The first one was about a wilderness trip he had taken in the Minnesota Boundary Waters region one summer while he was in boarding school. He and a dozen other boys were on a week-long canoe trip far from civilization. As he told it, after a couple of days they all started going naked. So much so that his balls got sunburned! The thought of his golden body paddling naked, and the thought that some other boy, not me, sat behind him in that canoe, had me writhing in my bed at night. "Dieux! Que ne suis-je assise a l'ombre des forets!" One of the advantages of an expensive education is a classical context for every misery. I knew exactly how Phaedra felt.
The other story was more recent and more immediate. According to Stefan our college's assistant dean for student employment had made a special arrangement with the Athletic Department to have the pool kept open a couple of nights a month so that he and a few friends could swim naked. Otherwise, since our school was co-ed, bathing suits were required. Stefan told us he had an open invitation to attend these sessions. Many of us had dealt with that dean and considered him a slimy but harmless character, so Stefan's announcement only provoked a couple of raised eyebrows. That's what men of the world we were. But I was both infuriated and tormented with jealousy. My heart's desire would have been to swim naked with Stefan, and this rotter was enjoying it instead of me. In fact, one night when I gathered Stefan was off for a tryst with the dean and his buddies, I climbed high in a building overlooking the pool to get a glimpse of the proceedings. But I must have misunderstood where Stefan was going because I waited an hour, sitting on a concrete step in a dark stairwell, and witnessed nothing.
I did finally get to see Stefan naked, and up close, by a devious but effective stratagem. Every term we changed rooms and roommates, and it happened that Stefan and I were both assigned to the "X-Wing," he to the top floor and I to the lower. The plumbing in the upstairs shower was out of order, so Stefan and the others had to use ours. Once while he was showering I waited on the staircase to watch him go by, but he was securely wrapped in a towel and I felt it would be too obvious to try it again. Then I hatched my plan. Stefan was a Mathematics major, and a real whiz at the subject. I sat at my desk while he was in the shower and, when I heard his wet feet padding down the corridor, I called out: "Stef, give me a hand with this problem!'' He came into my study holding the towel around his waist. There was technique of integration that I honestly did not understand, although I could have picked many other times to ask him about it. He was proud of his expertise and took the bait. When I could not follow his verbal explanation he reached for a pencil. The towel dropped to his side and there, at eye level, no more than eighteen inches away, were the objects of my curiosity. In the unwitting generosity of this nonchalant display he was like one of Parkman's Olgallalla braves who "suffered the robes to fall from their shoulders" or "stood carelessly among the throng, with nothing to conceal the matchless symmetry of their forms." Of course I could not stare, but while Stefan calculated and scribbled I had time to sneak glances enough. It was worth the trouble. Stefan's cock and balls were, in shape, color and proportion, the equal in beauty of the rest of him. The balls were quite large, still tight from the shower, and carried unusually high and forward. I understood how they could have become sunburned. Pink and fuzzy, they were like two squashballs sewn inside the skin of a perfect, ripe peach. His cock was only slightly larger than average, but displayed prominently as it draped over his superelevated scrotum. It was gold, slightly darker than the rest of his skin, with a rosy tinge at the tip of the foreskin. I forced myself to concentrate on the mathematics and was finally able to say: "Thanks, I see it now!''
That semester was Stefan's last before graduate school. He and I both had jobs near the college, so we kept our rooms while almost everyone else cleared out for the summer. It turned out that we were the only ones left in the "X-Wing;" the half-dozen or so other summer residents all lived in the main building.
To understand the rest of this story you have to know something about me. Ever since childhood, I have had an obsession with being naked outdoors. My parents were very conservative about clothing, I went to Catholic schools and lived at home, so the only outdoor nakedness I experienced I had to achieve myself. There was a large stand of pines up behind my parents' summer house; when I was a young adolescent I would steal up there in the heat of the day and take off all my clothes. Sometimes I would lie in the grass in a clearing and enjoy the feel of the sun touching my whole body. Other times I would run, barefoot and bare-ass, over the twigs and pine needles that carpeted the forest floor, or I would climb naked up in one of the pine trees, relishing the dry and prickly underbranches as they scraped my skin. Swimming naked was always a particular passion. I can still remember my first skinny-dip. I must have been around twelve years old at the time, but I can feel the voluptuousness of my unencumbered body meeting the water as if it had happened yesterday. Another of my nudist pleasures was to give myself challenges: at night, for example, to run naked once around the outside of my parents' house. I would lie in bed beforehand weighing the pros and cons but in the end I would always decide to try. I was never caught and as far as I know I was never seen in one of my naked adventures.
Once, the summer I have been describing, I woke up around three-thirty in the morning. The air was still warm, the streets around the fraternity house utterly deserted. I challenged myself to a naked sortie. I would leave the X-Wing door ajar, strip, sneak up into the main house and out the kitchen door. Then I would proceed, naked, down the back stairs, around two sides of the X-Wing and back to my room. I accepted the challenge, naturally, and went about the task. I took off my pyjamas. I left the bed-lamp on in my room, went up to the main house and pussy-footed through the darkness carefully but casually. There was really no danger since the other summer residents slept up on the third floor. I quietly let myself out the kitchen door and gently let it lock behind me. I sauntered down the stairs and along the sidewalk, waving my arms about me a bit to enjoy the movement of the air against my body, giving my gonads a shake from time to time to remind them that they were free. A milk run, until I came to the X-Wing door which I had left open but which inexplicably was shut. I was locked out. Besides the kitchen, the only other way into the house was the main entrance. If I had rung the door-bell eventually one or more of the sleepers on the third floor might have heard it and come down to let me in; the prospect was too embarrassing to contemplate. In a couple of hours life would come back to the streets; I would be spotted and I might even get arrested. The only possibility was to wake up Stefan, throw myself on his mercy and hope for his discretion.
Of course Stefan's windows were on the second floor. There was no fire-escape or ladder leading near them, and I was not a good enough climber to attempt scaling the building even with boots and equipment, certainly not naked. I decided to try the age-old pebble against the window pane. I scraped around in the gutter and found a few small bits of debris. I tossed them up one by one; most of them missed completely but a few grazed Stefan's window with an audible click. Audible to me, but apparently not to Stefan. There was no response from above. Then I heard an automobile engine and saw a set of headlights coming down the street towards me. I slid back towards the kitchen steps and cowered behind the garbage cans, hoping that my movement had not attracted attention. The car came closer and slowed down, but then turned the corner and sped away. My whole body was shivering from excitement and fear. I forced myself to breathe regularly, and slowly stroked my arms to control their trembling. I came back below Stefan's window, groped around the base of the building, and managed to dislodge a small wedge of crumbled pavement that seemed massive enough to do the trick. I tossed it up underhand, but it skittered against the side of the building and bounced down off the sill. I tried again and again; the trembling was coming back and I was starting to have trouble coordinating. Finally I psyched myself by imagining I was trying to shoot a basket with the rim halfway up the window. A penalty throw. In overtime. Win or lose. I pitched it up and watched it strike the pane with a sharp crack, followed by a sickening tinkling as shards of glass fell to the sidewalk. Lose.
I heard a shout from the room and saw Stefan's face appear at the window. He looked slightly dazed and very angry. I whispered: "Please let me in," pointing towards the X-Wing door. He shook his head in bewilderment but then nodded.
When I came to the door Stefan was already there. He opened it, pulled me in roughly, and shut it behind me. "Go to your room!" he ordered. This sounded bad, like a re-run of Hell Week. He followed me into the room. In the lamplight I could see he was wearing a tee-shirt, boxers and athletic socks, all white, his customary sleeping attire. He began to berate me. "Don't you understand that you could have made this fraternity the laughing-stock of the campus?" He went on: "If I report this to the Chapter President I'll be embarrassed and so will he. But you have to be punished, you realize that." He paused for a moment, and then said: "Lie on your bed face down and hold on to the bedposts." I climbed unthinking onto the bed and followed his instructions, as if he were the pledge-master and I was again the powerless freshman. The wool blanket scratched my skin unpleasantly. I watched him sideways looking around the room, Finally he bent down, picked up my khakis and pulled the belt out of the loops. This was much worse than I expected, but I was too shaken and numb from my ordeal outside to think of how to object. He folded the belt in half, held it by the free ends, and slapped it against his palm. "Ten lashes should be enough," he said. "Hang on to those bedposts." My whole body bucked as he cracked the belt, hard, across my buttocks. "One!" he called out. My belt was of braided leather and I believe I could feel every strand of the braid bite into my skin. Another crack, another blast of pain,"Two!" Tears came to my eyes. By "Five!" they were coursing down my nose and onto the bed. He distributed the blows evenly, not favoring either buttock, and landed a few especially painful ones at the top of my thighs. At "Ten!" he added "That's all!" and stepped back. My chest was racked with great, gasping, hiccuping sobs and I felt half out of my mind with pain, anger and sorrow. All my hopes of becoming Stefan's friend, all my fervent fantasizing about becoming even more, I could see them now as the baseless dreams they had always been. I stood up with my nose running and tears trickling down my face, knowing that part of me had died. As if I wasn't humiliated enough, my cock had shrivelled into a pimple of foreskin at the base of my groin. What I then said I could never have uttered in any rational state, but out it came, mixed with my sobs and sniffles. "Stefan, I'm so sorry, I'm a virgin, I've never even masturbated, I really love you, please forget about this, I'm so sorry."
Stefan stared at me as if startled; his face took on an enigmatic half-smile. As I watched dumbly, digesting the enormity of what I had just said, he slowly raised one foot along the other leg, up to the level of his knee. I could not grasp the significance of this gesture, but it seemed ominous. Without ever taking his eyes from my face, he bent down, and pulled off his sock. He repeated this maneuver with the other foot. Still gazing into my eyes, he methodically unbuckled his wristwatch and reached behind himself to place it on the dresser. Then in an instant he peeled off his shirt, pulled down his shorts, stepped out of them and stood before me mother-naked. His elbows were at his sides and his forearms half raised towards me, palms upturned. His golden cock had grown into a golden erection, bolstered on his beautiful balls, dancing around before him with the residual motion from his undressing. The foreskin had stretched back to show the tip of his glans glistening lilac-colored in the lamplight. He took a half-step towards me; I stumbled forward, fell against his chest and steadied myself by holding on to his shoulders. Then I felt his forearms squeezing my back, and his fingers digging into my sides. I felt the stubble on his chin rub against my neck, and the hair on his legs brushing against my thighs. My cock had gone from zero to six point oh in five seconds flat, and prodded his groin just as his prodded mine. My last hiccup came out as a gurgle of relief and happiness. Stefan stepped around me to my bed, turned down the covers, slid in, moved over towards the wall and patted the space beside him. "Come on in," he said. "We'll fix the window in the morning."