A streak of bad luck

This story is true and written from personal experience. What I set down now is exactly how everything unfolded in 1973, at a time when the phenomenon of streaking began to be popular. I was living on Long Island in a small town. I was 14 years old, and nearing the start of high school, in my freshman year, after completing junior high (what is now called middle school).

It was summertime, and me and my friends (two girls and two boys) were hanging out at what was to be our new school in only two weeks’ time. We rode our bikes to its sports track and sat in the bleachers looking out at the track, empty of runners, and the road that bordered the field.

We talked about the prospect of the summer’s end, beginning school, how we’d be in class and the teacher’s we’d have – the same ones who had taught our brothers and sisters before us, so we knew which ones were good and which were bad.

Then I changed the subject. I’d become fascinated by the stories appearing in the paper about streaking, and we began talking about the college campuses where those early streakers had made their mark, boldly baring it all, so naughty in their nudity, wearing nothing but a pair of sneakers. People cheering them on their way – the women’s breasts bobbing and the men’s cocks jiggling free of their briefs, naked as the day they were born.

“One of us should christen the track and go streaking,” I said. “Anyone up for that?” “Not me. No way!” Steve replied. “Me neither,” added Jimmy.

“Girls? How ‘bout it?” “I don’t think so, Adam. It wouldn’t feel right, being naked outside, where anyone driving by could see me. I don’t think it would be a good thing to do. It could be fun, I guess…”

“Don’t even ask me, Adam,” Mary interjected. “I’d have to be pretty shameless to do something like that. My mom told me those streakers should be ashamed of themselves, and I agree with her!”

Then Steve said: “Since you’re so fired up about streaking, Adam, why don’t you do it yourself?” “Well,I don’t know,” I replied. Maybe Mary…” “Oh come on, Adam. Don’t you want to? We know you do!”

I was surprised by this turn of events. I thought that Steve or Jimmy would do the deed, but now they were daring me and I was having second thoughts. Then Carol piped up, goading me on: “Yeah, Adam, I think you should do it – I think it’d be a hoot.”

There was a side to me developing because of those newspaper stories, like an obsession. I admired those streakers for their boldness. I thought about nudity in a whole new light. In a way, I knew that all I’d need was a little push and I’d strip off every stitch of clothing without a second thought. I wasn’t ashamed. I felt emboldened and free, and all I could think about was the feel of the sun on my bare skin, running outdoors in the open, bare-ass naked, with a smile on my face – and my face getting hot, just the same, with a combination of desire and inhibition.

Steve said: “Come on, Adam, –it’ll just be for us. We won’t tell a soul about it.” That small tingle of modesty I should have paid a bit more attention to just seconds before was replaced by a desire that was there all along.

“Okay!,” I said, “you can just watch me –here I go!” I began to unbutton my shorts as Mary looked on in disbelief. I lifted my T-shirt over my head, pulling it off, and dropping it to the ground, next to my bike.

“Oh, Adam, I can’t believe you’re going to do this,” Mary cried, “Aren’t you embarrassed at all? Stop, please!” This just emboldened me even further. I unzipped my shorts and let them fall to my ankles. My hands clasping the waistband of my underpants and tugged them down, and enjoyed the feel of the cotton slipping across the curve of each butt cheek.

“Oh, you’re really shameless!” Mary said. “Not at all, Mary – I feel great!,” I replied while bending down to pull my shorts and underpants out of each pant-leg, drawing them off each sneaker, then dropping them next to my bike.

Now, not wearing a stitch except my socks and sneakers, I turned with my backside facing my four friends and took off around the track. As I jogged around, a couple of cars passed, one of them honking its horn at me. Sweat began to form on my back – and then I felt my penis beginning to stir and I felt a flush across my face. I willed myself not to get an erection and was thankfully limp again before I rounded the bend and Mary and Carol could get an eyeful.

Then I saw. They had all gone. Their bikes had gone. And so had my clothes, apart from my underpants!

That’s when it hit me like a lightning bolt – Mary had done this to teach me a lesson. My only consolation was that they had at least left me my underpants, so I wouldn’t have to ride home completely naked. But it was bad enough.

I crept back into the house, which was filled with the scent of cooking. My mother initially had her back to me, stirring something on the stove. She turned around and her jaw dropped.

“Adam! Where are your clothes? What have you been up to, young man? Answer me!” I was frozen in place, at a complete loss for anything to say.

I reached down with my hands and covered my crotch. I was a classic picture of embarrassment, and my face was hot with shame.
“Adam, what happened?” I couldn’t think of anything to explain – there was nothing to say but the truth, and so that’s what I told her. I explained, as best I could, the stories I’d read in the newspaper, and how I’d become fascinated with the idea of streaking.

“You mean to tell me that people saw you, running around the track, stark naked?” my mother asked. “They could’ve recognized you! Everyone in town knows us! If I were you, I’d want to crawl under a rock. You seem way too proud of yourself, and your indecency.”

“Mary took my clothes, and I think Carol left me my underpants. They wanted to teach me a lesson…” “Well, Adam,” my mother replied, “The lesson, obviously, didn’t sink in.”

She turned around, took the wooden spoon out of the saucepan, turned off the stove and ran the spoon under cold water. Then she threw the spoon onto the kitchen table, walked over to me, and grabbed me by the earlobe. It was done so quickly, I was speechless, standing there, with a sweaty backside.

Mother tugged my underpants down to my ankles. “So you like being naked in public, showing yourself to the world, Adam? How do you like it now?” She gave me a a good, hard smack on my bare bottom, then sat in a kitchen chair and tipped me swiftly across her knees, my bare bottom centred and raised high.

She proceeded spank me with her hand, slaps alternating between my sweaty cheeks. Occasionally a sharp slap would catch my anus. I kicked my feet and sent my underpants flying across the kitchen floor.

“Please, Mom, I’m sorry!” I yelled. “You should be – you should be ashamed as well.” “Ow! Yes I’m ashamed, honest!” I wailed. My bottom was on fire.

“After this,” she said, picking up the wooden spoon, “I hope you will have learned your lesson, and every time you sit down you’ll be reminded of the consequences of your misbehaviour. And there’ll be no dinner for you tonight!”

Smack! Three times, with the wooden spoon, stinging each buttock in turn. “This punishment is between me and you only. I won’t tell your father about your shameless, naughty, indecent, behaviour – because, if I did, you’d get a second helping from him!”

The spoon continued to do its work, catching my now swollen anus several more times, but finally she was done.

“Now, there’ll be no more bold, unashamed streaking for you, young man – is that clear?” “Yes, Mom,” I stammered. “Good. Now go upstairs to your room – and don’t come out till tomorrow morning.”

She let me off her lap and, leaving my underwear on the floor, I ran up the stairs with my head down – streaking again in my sneakers and socks. I closed the door of my room and pulled off my sneakers and socks.

Then I turned myself around to look at my bottom in the mirror on my door. Each cheek had a round welt from the spoon, and my bottom was as red as a Jersey apple.

I went to my bed and laid down on my tummy. My mother had never spanked me before this – but on that day, I got exactly what I deserved. It was my first – and last – spanking.

Contributor: Adam

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