Pretty Boys (Male Model Documentary) - Real Stories
Post a Comment. I am the user Ryansmith60 and here's a secret for anyone who knows of that account - it's fake. The story is fictional and I hope you enjoy it! Back in , when I was only a fifteen year-old boy, my extended family was visiting for one week in the summer. This included my two aunts who were in their forties, my two uncles also in their forties, my five cousins - a girl of twelve, a girl of fourteen, a girl of seventeen, a boy of fifteen, and a boy of thirteen - and my seventy-year old grandparents. We had a medium-sized house and, although we didn't really have enough space for all these people, my mom made it work. My male cousins stayed in my room, my female cousins stayed in my sister's room, my aunts and uncles took up the couches and a one of the guests rooms, and my grandparents got the larger guest room.
The huge rolls of skin had shrivelled due to dehydration until deep wrinkles and folds formed, running vertically along her body. One such wrinkle had formed so deeply on her chest that her left breast had actually been swallowed up between the folds of skin. Only a strict regimen of bathing, in warm salty water, for at least twelve hours a day, would allow her body to absorb enough moisture to bring back the robust, smooth surface of the skin.
The doctors did not approve, they stood there in their examining rooms with the silly, shocked expressions on their faces, blustering nonsense about healthy eating habits and the dangers of hyperobesity, but they did not understand. It was clear that they could never understand; clear in the way they squeezed the precious water from her arms, clear from the way they insisted she see a specialist. No, she had given up on doctors years ago. Opening the cabinet under the sink, Molly chose from among the cases of bath cubes, bath oil beads, bottles of bubble bath and bath salts.
For tonight, a dozen beads of mandarin orange would do, and a cube of lavender. Then a cup and a half There was enough hot water now; she turned on the cold. She went to the door and, opening it a crack, yelled, "Lillian! Come here.
Jan 10, Growing up naked. And when I do say here "growing up naked" then I do mean exactly that. I never thought anything odd about going naked all the time for most of the year - nearly - until I was about five old when gohja folks in the nude and proud of the fact that he was naked. He would have given anyone saying anything about him being rude. Stories by, for, and/or about Gay and Bi Young People. A SLEEPOVER TO REMEMBER. Rate This Story: Excellent Very Good Good Fair Poor: "Are you gonna be a good boy or a you gonna be a naughty good" Alex asked. I said "ok". Alex let my legs go and Mitchell slid down the sopping wet Goodnite. He got a wipe and and wiped me down then powdered me. "Hahaha I can't believe I'm doing this" Alex and.
Minutes later, when Molly had tested the water and found the temperature to her liking, there was a knock at the door. When she opened it and peeped through the crack, she saw a plate lying on the floor, with a mound of macaroni, a pool of beans in tomato sauce, and a pile of miniature egg rolls.
Beside the plate were the two packages of cigarettes. Making sure nobody could see, she pushed the door wider open, grabbed the plate and cigarettes, and closed and locked the door. She climbed into the bath with a sigh of relief, and devoured the food hungrily.
Molly lay in the bathtub for hours, occasionally rolling over to immerse a different part of her body. When the water cooled down she would use her feet to turn on the hot water tap, until the temperature was pleasant once more. She listened to Mozart, Vivaldi, the Temptations; she turned on the television and watched the game show channel, her favourite.
And while she lay in the tub, something wonderful happened. Molly's body began to grow. The wrinkles and craters slowly disappeared as her skin soaked up the life-giving water. The rolls and folds expanded and swelled, as when one puffs air into a wrinkled air mattress, until her skin inflated to its full capacity, and by this time Molly had grown so large that her buttocks, calves and feet completely filled the bathtub.
Refreshed and reassured, Molly slept. Outside the room childish wars were fought, insincere treaties agreed to, then broken, messes were made, expeditions were launched, and Molly snoozed on. A little girl of about seven years stayed up all night, doing load after load of laundry on the orders of an older sister, occasionally lapsing into temporary unconsciousness, slumped like a rag-doll in a smelly laundry basket, only to be awoken by the buzz of the washer or the ding of the dryer and, gummy-eyed, replace clean with dirty or dry with wet.
Jun 04, A free source of stories, photos, and more for men who enjoy small penis humiliation. Tuesday, June 4, Original Story: Naked in Front of My Entire Family Naked in Front of My Entire Family. This is an original story of mine that I wrote nearly an entire year ago. The dark haired boy stumbled and fell to his knees on the muddy street. Sweat ran in rivulets down his back and soaked his rain dampened shirt further. "Get up, boy!" the slave trader growled, yanking Micah to his feet when he didn't move. The boy lowered his eyes and mumbled an apology before continuing on his path to the Yard. An Appointment With The School Doctor is a Naked In School story. The "Naked in School" stories are a short series of stories connected by a common theme. Each story is entirely self-contained with its own characters and storyline. All of the stories include a teenage boy having to appear naked in some way in a school environment.
The noise of juvenile activity diminished but never stopped and at seven in the morning, some grumpy teenaged girls began to make the family breakfast. After a heated discussion as to what would be an appropriate meal, they began to make a large batch of french fries. The lobster pot was placed on the stove and a pair of little boys were rousted from their beds and set to work peeling and slicing potatoes. Soon the oil was subtly boiling, and plates of french fries were passed to the far corners of the house, where tousled children crawled from various nooks and crannies to devour them.
But the making of deep-fried vegetable products has its hazards. A handful of raw potato was hurled too boisterously into the lobster pot, a dollop of oil splashed out, and soon the stovetop was in flames. With a lightning-quick assessment of the situation, a teenaged boy grabbed a tea towel and began to swat at the fire. The tea towel was joined by a soiled apron, wielded by another pair of eager hands and, amazingly, the flames were soon extinguished.
But the tea towel was now on fire.
With a gasp of mixed surprise and pain, the boy tossed the tea towel toward the back door. It landed on the patch of spilled garbage, and soon this mess, tricycle tracks and all, was alight and burning merrily. The mishap had been promoted to a disaster; it was now beyond the scope of the children to deal with it, and they began to run around in a panic.
Some of them ran outside to safety but, confused, ran back inside. Their sharpness of mind, normally well-honed due to too much independance, lost its gleam and they ran around in circles, willy-nilly, occasionally bumping into one another. All, that is, except Donny. The youngest at five and a half, perhaps he was too small to realize the danger of the predicament. He did not panic. He marched determinedly along the hallway to the bathroom, pounded on the door and shouted, "Mommy!
The kitchen's on fire! Molly did not hear him at first. She mumbled in her sleep and tried to roll over, but was too tightly wedged in the tub to move.
Her right arm flopped against the edge of the tub and knocked the ashtray to the floor. The sound of the ashtray breaking woke her and, blinking wearily, she heard Donny thumping on the door, and slowly perceived what the small, muffled voice was saying. Kitchen on fire. Molly snapped awake and sprang into immediate action.
She tried to get up, realized she was stuck, and pushed downward on the edges of the tub. Her buttocks emerged with the sound of two champagne corks popping, and she was free. Leaping to her feet, she rushed to the door and unhooked it. As the door swung open, Molly saw Donny rush crying into a nearby bedroom. Her sudden emergence had frightened him. The next thing she saw was smoke, filling the top half of the hallway.
At this point Molly began to scream blood-curdling war cries.
She sprinted along the hallway towards the kitchen, thinking nothing about danger to herself, driven only by the need to protect her children. The run along the hallway happened as if in a dream. It seemed to take forever to get there, as if time had slowed. Molly's feet crushed toys that lay in the hall.
The telephone table got in her way and was reduced to splinters.
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As she rounded the corner, still whooping, her knee banged into the wall and took out a chunk of plaster the size of a watermelon. When the children saw her coming they shrieked in terror and ran wildly to get out of her way. And wherever Molly touched, she left behind a splash of water.
Deep puddles showed where her feet struck the floor. In the cavity in the wall where her knee had gone through the plaster, a splash of water penetrated the worn insulation of some wiring and, with a flash, the ceiling light in the hallway went out.
Simultaneously six radios, two stereos, three televisions, and both washer and dryer fell silent. All that was left was the unfamiliar morning light from outside and the splashing sound of Molly's feet landing on the faded hall carpet, punctuated by her hysterical screeching. She skidded to a halt at the end of the hallway, where she could see through the open doorway into the kitchen. For a moment there was silence, except for the quiet crackling of the fire.
The children, shocked motionless by the appearance of Molly, huge, naked, and bloated with moisture to the point of bursting, stood there with their mouths hanging open, staring at her, unable to believe their eyes.
Molly gazed with horror at the pile of burning garbage, and her eyes roamed about the room, searching for something with which to smother the flames, but towels and tablecloth had already been burnt in futile attempts to put out the fire. There was no fire extinguisher. Desperate, Molly ran across the room, whooping and crying, and threw herself bodily upon the flames. The children gd in anguish as they watched their mother roll on the burning trash. As Molly's flesh pressed against the fire, water poured from her skin like from a soaked sponge, putting out the flames.
A great cloud of steam rose into the air, temporarily blocking the children's view of the terrible scene. As Molly fought the fire, still screaming like a banshee, she realized the power of her bloated body, and began to stamp and crush at stubborn patches with her forearms, her calves, her breasts.
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For a few moments she worried, feeling a rapid depletion of the precious moisture, built up over so many hours of careful attention, but her efforts won out in the end.
Using her buttocks to squish out a last patch of burning rubbish, she then sat and slowly caught her breath, as the steam began to disperse. The fire out, her panic gone, she finally stopped shrieking and took stock of her surroundings. The kitchen was damaged, but not as seriously as she might have feared.
Some scooping, some sweeping, and maybe a carefully placed carpet would be enough to hide the burnt patch of floor. The walls and ceiling were stained a sooty silver by the smoke, and that highlighted and carefully outlined all of the cobwebs, which were embarrassingly plentiful.
The children now stood motionless in a semicircle around Molly, their mouths hanging open, their eyes dilated with shock. They seemed to be somewhat overwhelmed by her physical appearance. She looked down at her steaming body, and was horrified at what she saw.
The gradual dehydration that built up over a normal day at work was nothing compared to this! Though unburned, her skin had seemingly lost every ounce of moisture it contained, and hung in drooping folds, which were prevented from drooping further by the presence of more drooping folds, and on and on from her neck to her ankles.
Why, she looked like a bald Shar Pei! Upset as she was to realize this, she was suddenly aware that she was sitting on the floor, totally naked, in front of all of her children who had not even seen her face in the previous five years, not to mention that there were at least a dozen children there who were complete strangers to her! She squeaked, and tried to cover herself with her hands. This inadequate display of modesty seemed to trigger the children into action.
Most of them withdrew from the room. Others fainted. Some just politely turned away. Molly climbed clumsily to her feet, and with dignity walked out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. She pulled the plug and allowed the tub to drain. Replacing the plug, she turned on the hot water and rummaged around in the cabinet, choosing vanilla bath cubes and lemon-scented bubble bath.
Recently, the old man had died and no one in the man's family wanted Micah, so he was to be 're-sold'. The street was filled with people yelling their wares or buying things, jostling each other occasionally. Peace-Keepers stood against certain parts of the wall that surrounded the market, with their muskets resting against their shoulders.
The line of slaves were herded into a stock yard and the gate was closed, while the five Traders moved to a stage that was set up in front of the pen. A man resplendent in his formal, gold lined attire, with frills at the cuffs and a pair of well shined boots on his feet, stepped up onto the stage and cleared his throat, motioning for a young girl to get the crowd's attention with her small, silvery trumpet.
The people fell silent, and those who wished to buy a slave shuffled closer. When he straightened, he had a gleeful glint in his black eyes. The crowd cheered and hollered.
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Micah swallowed, and ignored the jabbering of the nervous woman beside him, who suddenly grabbed him and pulled him down so she could whisper to him. Two Peace-Keepers jumped over the fence and took the screaming woman away, either to be executed or put in prison.
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A collective gasp went through the crowd, but it wasn't because of the lady. They all gave a rather rich looking ensemble a wide berth, stepping out of their way.
It had been years since anyone had seen around the markets and they never ever came to the Yard sales. George coughed softly and waved one of the slave traders forward.
Full online text of Molly's Bath by Doug Simms. Other short stories by Doug Simms also available along with many others by classic and contemporary authors.
Micah swore under his breath, just his luck; it was Jeremey, his slave trader. Jeremy was a harsh middle aged man, who almost never smiled and the only times he did smile was when he had money in his hand. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back into a low pony tail and he had a slight paunch. He limped up onto the stage, and pulled out his list. He is ten years of age, not too weak, pretty smart.
I am asking for thirty gold for him" he said, as a young boy was led out of the stock yard, chains nearly tripping him over when he walked.
Navigating the site You can use the above buttons to take you to an index of stories by either Gymnopedies or The Balrog, which also provides a short overview of each story. Alternatively, you can use the drop down menus in the menu bar along the top . May 03, The 11 Sleaziest Cinematic Pedophiles. but the heartache arrives when the confused boy asks if his father would ever make love to him. Stories of Man/Boy Love: "Molested" and glad. Personal Experience / Stories of Man/Boy Love: Letter to NAMBLA "Molested" and Glad! Letters addressed to the NAMBLA Bulletin: Dear NAMBLA, When I was 13 years old I had my first sexual experience with someone older: my adult camp counselor. He had been my counselor for three years, was a school.
Jeremy grinned to himself and his gray eyes swept the crowd as he asked for another offer. Nothing else came, so Lerium went to the man, shaking as he stumbled down the stairs. The smirking slave trader read the list again and gave a quick hand gesture to the men who stood at the gate, who stepped in and got Micah out, dragging him out while he just went quietly.
He was dumped on the stage, face down, so he struggled to his feet, brushing his dark fringe out of his storm gray eyes. He is sixteen, has six years experience on a farm. He is, as you can see, built well for strong-man work! A platinum piece was worth five hundred gold, or one thousand silver and it was very rare, hence the market value. No one challenged that, how could they when most of them were at the higher end of the poor scale or were middle class.
A servant completely different to slave hustled past him and went to Jeremy, giving him the coin then returning to the group. Everything I say, you must remember" the obvious leader of the household said.
You are going to help fix our gardens and do cleaning He hoped this family would be as nice as the old man had been, but realised that his dreams were faint and unrealistic. Review, please!