James’s Classmates See Him Naked

James’s Classmates See Him Naked

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*** Disclaimer – the events related below occurred when I was a senior in high school. I, as well as the other students mentioned below, were at least 18 years old at the time. ***

Throughout high school I was a shy kid. When I was in 9th grade, I was just 98 pounds and the only male in my class who weighed less than 100 pounds. The wrestling coach begged for me to join the wrestling team, despite my not really having an interest in wrestling. You see, our team had to forfeit the 106-pound bout, because the lightest guy on our team weighed around 110 pounds and thus competed in the 113 pound weight class. Coach Russo persuaded me to join, “Even if you get pinned, the outcome is no worse for us; we’ll just lose 6 points the way we are now. And even if you lose the match but can avoid getting pinned, then we would essentially earn 3 more points than we’re getting now.” He also spoke of camaraderie, of making friends, of school spirit, and other things. Eventually, my arm was twisted and I joined the team.

Wrestling really didn’t turn out to be the positive experience that Coach Russo had said it would be. While I did actually manage to not get pinned in a few competitions against other schools, I never really got embraced by my teammates as a ‘winner.’ Furthermore, during practice, there really wasn’t anyone ‘my own size’ to wrestle against, so I was always wrestling my classmates who were in the 113, 120, or 126 weight classes. During one simulated match in practice, I briefly had my ‘shining moment’ as I was wrestling Henry Korpusik and held a 7-6 lead in the third period. But, rather than cheering me on, my teammates were ridiculing Henry, “Come on, Henry, you can’t let Shade beat you.” “Come on, Henry, you can’t lose to a guy 20 pounds less than you.”

I guess there’s two things I need to explain here. First, my nickname. ‘Shade.’ So, I grew up on a farm. If I had had my way, I would have spent the summers of my youth on a beach working on my tan. However, growing up on vegetable farm, summers were obviously the busiest time of a year. I would spend my days weeding cantaloupe and watermelon vines, or bent over picking cucumbers from sprawling vines. Generally my dad spent the mornings picking corn, and he would be in a different part of the farm, such as the tomatoes in the afternoon. I was basically given my own sector and expected to complete the work in it. I figured if I was going to have to work, at least I was going to get a tan while doing it. So, I would get to my isolated part of the field, then take off all my clothes (yes, all of them), and then work naked the rest of the day. My parents were none the wiser, although I’m not sure they would have cared, as I wasn’t hurting anyone and no one could see me. Over the course of a summer, I developed a pretty dark tan, especially on my backside that was most exposed to the sun. Anyhow, after one of the first practices after I had joined the wrestling team, Coach Russo saw me in the shower, and hollered out, “Hey Hovan, how come your front side is a shade lighter than your backside?” Needless to say, my teammates found Coach Russo’s observation to be hysterical, and shortly thereafter I was no longer referred to by my last name, but by my new nickname, Shade.

Getting back to that match versus Henry. I had him under my control, with my legs confining his head and his arm pulled behind his back. While I didn’t have the strength to pin him, I could simply hold on to my position and ride him out for the last 30 seconds, and I would have won my first match. But Henry couldn’t face the embarrassment of losing to the ’96 pound weakling.’ I felt a sudden, piercing pain in my testicles. As an uncontrollable, natural reflex, my legs loosened their grip, and my hand let go of Henry’s arm. In that one instant, as my instincts directed my body to grab my balls, Henry surged out from my control, flipped me onto my back, and pinned me. And, like that, it was over. The bastard had bitten my testicles. But, no one believed me. The next day, I quit the wrestling team.

Over the next year, I finally put on a growth spurt. By 10th grade I had put on about 40 pounds. The hard physical labor of farming was beginning to provide secondary benefits. I had always been well tanned, but my chest was no longer flat; it had distinctive curves that formed the outline of my pecs. My arms were no longer ‘sticks’, but had distinctive bulges to them even when I wasn’t “making a muscle.” I had to laugh one day after gym class when a classmate Vince said, “Oh my god, Shade, you have abs!”

“No, I don’t,” I responded. My brain had not yet caught up and processed the transformations that were occurring to my body. In my head, I was still a 96-pound weakling, and I was still shy, in part, because of my perception of myself in relation to others.

“Hey guys, come look. Shade has abs,” Vince continued, as he beckoned classmates over to look at me. I wasn’t used to being the certain of attention. I tended to hide, or flee, bahis firmaları from attention, to be honest. Yes, I desperately wanted to be one of the ‘cool kids’, but I just didn’t think I had the stuff to be one of the cool kids.

Later that year, I decided to run for student council. Each of the top 6 vote-getters would represent one of the 6 homerooms. I knew I needed some activity to show prospective colleges that I was more than just a bookworm. One year on a wrestling team was not going to be enough extracurricular activities to suggest that I was a well-rounded student. Winning a seat on the student council would be difficult, though. Over 20 students ran for the position. Many of them had parents who were doctors and lawyers; thus, the kids had much nicer clothes than I did. And, what I dreaded the most was that each of us as candidates would have to give a speech to a full class assembly, essentially making our plea for votes.

I am not a natural athlete. I am not a natural comedian. These are the types of people who tend to win elections for student council. Let’s face it; it’s a popularity contest, and I was not a particularly popular kid. I never hung out with the “A-list” kids, but I did have a few friends who were legitimate B-list. I wrote a speech that I felt would demonstrate how I would represent my classmates on the student council. I spoke of my farm background; I spoke of bringing things to life and watching them grow. And I concluded my speech, “Good ideas, like good vegetables, need to be nurtured to grow. Let me be your fertilizer. Vote Shade for Student Council.”

It really was an innocent statement. I had no intentional innuendo in my concluding remarks. But, immediately afterwards, I had classmates who had never before spoken to me coming up, high-fiving me, and congratulating me. “Dude, I can’t believe you just said you want to fuck all of us, in front of all the teachers and principal. That was so awesome!”

And with that one unintentionally ‘brilliant’ line, I soared to the highest vote total among all 20+ students running for student council. However, in my mind, I was still unsure of myself. Had I really become one of the popular kids, or was this just a fluke based on a misunderstanding?

Junior and senior year were certainly better to me than my early high school days. I did become more confident in myself. I was no longer terrified of talking to people, although it did still take me a while ‘to come out of my shell’ in front of strangers. By junior year, I had become close friends with Brendan. Brendan was my first A-list friend. I don’t recall what his parents did, but they certainly had money. Brendan lived in an enormous stone house in the Green Ridge part of town. He had a in-ground pool, a game room, and even a mini move-theater in his basement. Brendan was also blessed with good looks. He was your prototypical ‘California surfer boy’ (despite that we lived in Pennsylvania). He had dirty blond hair that always seemed to be perfectly tussled in a ‘messed up’ look like a movie star. His blue eyes seemed like they had been cast in crystal from the waters of the Caribbean. Brendan was one of the few A-listers who wasn’t terribly athletic. He didn’t play on a single sport team for our school, other than being on our swim team, where he was a mediocre diver.

From my perspective, Brendan ‘had everything’. But, it was interesting as our friendship grew, and I got to know Brendan more and more, I discovered he had his own insecurities. To me they were irrational, but I suppose everyone has something about themselves they wish they could change. Brendan’s insecurity was that he was a pale, heavily freckled white boy who could not tan. He would turn red within 15 minutes of going out in the sun. Brendan revealed that he wished he could get tan the way I do. This naturally led to discussion about “how did i get so tan?”

Brendan had noticed in gym class that my butt was nearly the same color as my back, and that my back was nearly the same color as Hitesh’s skin. Hitesh was the only (male) Indian in our entire grade. And, Brendan was right, in the fall semester, after I had been working on the farm all summer, if Hitesh and I were standing back to back, our skin was essentially the same shade of golden brown. Brendan was very curious what my ‘natural color’ was, and commented, “your ass is too brown for a white guy.”

Brendan was the first person I told that I worked in the nude on the farm. It seemed natural to confide in him. He was coming from a position of weakness, having revealed his own insecurity to me. And, frankly, I didn’t think there was anything all that ‘odd’ about working naked. It wasn’t like I was parading around in front of a bunch of people. I was on a remote farm, where no one could see me. Brendan asked a lot of questions. “Aren’t you worried that someone’s going to see you?” “Doesn’t your dick get sunburned?” He even asked me, “Do you get a boner?”

The answer to all those questions kaçak iddaa was, “No, no, and no.”

In hindsight, I didn’t realize how my innocent revelation was going to change high school for me. I didn’t feel like I had confided a secret in Brendan. I had simply shared a matter-of-fact reality.

But, in high school, even when requests are made to keep a secret, it doesn’t take long for gossip to spread. Brendan clearly had told his other friends about my “roaming around naked on the farm.” Shortly thereafter, my nickname of Shade was retired. The A-List kids now called me “Naked Farm Boy.” I could never tell if it was a term of endearment or a term of ridicule. Despite having developed into a muscular young man, I still didn’t play any school sports. I focused on my academics rather than goofing off, and I still came from meager financial means. Although I had been voted to Student Council three years in a row, I never really added any A-List friends, other than Brendan.

Near the end of our senior year, Brendan hosted a graduation party. His parents really went all out, rented a carnival tent for their big back yard, catered a barbeque with a giant portable smoker including a full roasted pig. Of a senior class of about 180 students, I would estimate about 75 attended. After dinner, Brendan gathered us all into the basement movie theater. He had prepared a “Memory of our Scranton Days” video montage, with photos of classmates over the 4 years set to music. It was definitely a slick production. I was impressed. But, I had mixed emotions. The video ran about 15-20 minutes. There were photos from our high school football games, photos from the prom, photos from Great Adventure. But, there were no photos of me. It seemed like the video included photos of everyone who attended the party, except me. In all of the photos, my classmates were having the times of their lives. But there were no photos of me.

One of the guys from the football team shouted out, “Hey, Brendan, how come there were no photos of Shade?”

Brendan responded, “Umm. Gosh. I dunno. I didn’t have…”

Then Brian interrupted, “It’s ok Brendan. I have some.”

Brian started walking up towards the front of the room. Brian was not in my circle of friends. Brian was a very athletic guy. He played football, wrestled, and played baseball. He was on the wrestling team when I was a freshman, but even in 9th grade he already had a man’s body, and he wrestled in the 145 pound class. Given our weight difference, I had never wrestled against Brian and didn’t really know him that well. However, after one wrestling class, as I was waiting for my brother to arrive to give me a ride home, Brian reached down, flipped open the lid of my personal cooler, and took out the Milky Way I had been saving all day. “Hey, that’s mine,” I had said.

Brian just arrogantly replied, “Thanks for giving it to me.” Then he reached down and took a swig of lemonade from my canteen. I’ve always been somewhat of a germophobe, and even though Brian ‘left’ 90% of the lemonade for me, there was no way I could drink it knowing that his lips, and his germs, had been wrapped all around the lid.

So, one night after a football game against our rival Dunmore, a fight broke out between guys from Dunmore and guys from my school at Buona’s Pizza which straddled the boundary of our two school districts. A Dunmore kid had gotten on top of Brian, grabbed his ears, and was banging Brian’s head on the ground. Now – any other classmate, I would have jumped in, bloodied my knuckles, and fought for him. But, not Brian. I didn’t like Brian.

Anyhow, back to my story. Brian is walking up to the front of the room. I’m standing near the back of the room, thinking, “How could Brian have many pictures of me? We don’t hang in the same circle of friends.”

Brian walks up to the 82-inch flat screen and slides a SD card into the side of the TV. On the screen appeared an image of me speaking at a school board meeting petitioning that seniors should be allowed to go off-campus for lunch on Fridays. That wasn’t a bad picture. The school board voted against it, but still, it wasn’t a bad picture. Then there was a picture of me at the junior prom with Caroline. I wondered where Brian had gotten that photo, but then I realized it was the same photo I have in my facebook album. The picture montage continued with ‘stock photos’ taken from my facebook, rather than photos that Brian had taken or collected himself. Then Brian said, “Brendan, give me the remote.”

Brendan tossed the remote over to Brian, who then announced, “Who wants to see what Shade did last summer?”

I had a puzzled look on my face. Various classmates shouted out, “Show me! Show me!”

The next image to appear on the screen appeared at first to be a nature photo, rather than a portrait. There was grass, there were trees, there were bedrock outcroppings. I knew exactly where that photo was taken. But it was clear that nearly all my classmates kaçak bahis did not. “What’s that?” Hurlow shouted.

“Where’s Shade?” asked Mike.

“Oh, let me zoom,” responded Brian.

As I said, I knew exactly where that photo was taken. I have no idea how Brian, or someone, had taken the photo though. I knew what awaited me on the big screen as Brian was about to enlarge the image. But, I was too far at the back of the room to be able to run up and rip out the SIM card or even to make a mad dash and unplug the screen. Surely, Brian would have intercepted me, regardless.

That photo was a photo of the sheep pasture on my farm. And I was in the sheep pasture. What would soon be irrefutably evident to 75 of my classmates was that I was stark naked in the sheep pasture. You see, in addition to laboring in the vegetable fields in the nude, I also completed my afternoon chores, which consisted of feeding the sheep and checking on the overall health of the herd. The sheep pasture was also remote, on a hillside behind our barn, and shared a forested boundary with our neighbors. There was nothing indecent about it. I was in the middle of nowhere, trying to get a tan while I worked. No one could see me.

Brian zoomed in on the photo. My classmates let out a collective “ooooh” as they realized what they were seeing. There I was on the big screen. My tanned chest was completely bare. My legs were completely bare. By my good fortune, there happened to be a branch of a shrub that intervened between the photographer’s perspective and me. While it was readily apparent that I wasn’t wearing anything, as one could see flesh straight down from my head to my toes, uninterrupted by any sort of fabric, the branch of the multiflora rose was positioned such that this photo might still obtain a PG-13 rating.

“Aww, move the branch!” shouted Vince.

“Your wish is my command,” said Brendan as he pressed the remote and advanced to the next photo.

I couldn’t believe it. There I was – this time 100% completely naked. Every inch of skin, every part of the front of my body was in plain view. Full frontal. On an 82″ screen. I don’t know how Brian could have gotten this photo. Unlike the first image, which appeared to have been taken from a stone wall along our property line, this photo was clearly taken from within the sheep pasture. It had a bit of a slight overhead perspective to it. Perhaps it was taken by someone sitting in a tree stand? perhaps by a drone? perhaps by a motion-sensing game camera?

Brian continued to advance the screen, showing more photos. But they all essentially showed the same thing. My face, my chest, my stomach, my dick, my legs – everything. “Show us the back!” came from a voice I did not recognize.

As if on cue, Brian touched the remote and there appeared a photo of me walking though the sheep pasture from behind. It was a far less ‘incriminating’ photo, as you could only see the back of my head, my back, the back of my legs, and my butt. It was my backside completely exposed, but there aren’t really any ‘tender bits’ on the backside, so it was far less revealing than the pics Brian had already shown.

“Hey Shade, your butt’s as tan as the rest of you. Do you go naked everywhere?” called out a kid Paul. He was a C-lister and I’m not even sure how he got invited to the party. Paul’s circle and my circle never really overlapped, and I doubt Paul had any clue of the backstory how I had ‘earned’ the nickname Shade four years earlier.

“He should get naked now, don’t you think?” asked Brian.

“Strip! Strip! Strip!” came shouts from the crowd.

I wanted to hide. I wanted to run. But someone, or multiple someones, were now pushing me to the front of the room. I was now nearly face to face with Brian, with 75 of my classmates standing by in anticipation of what might come next.

“Yeah, Shade. You should strip. Just pretend we’re all sheep,” Brian said, but deliberately loud enough that everyone in the room could hear.

“No, Brian…,” I started to say. But Brian put his arm around my shoulder, and turned us around so that our backs were to everyone.

“Strip now, or I put this next photo up on the screen,” said Brian.

I looked down at his phone. I couldn’t believe my eyes. No, no he could not show 75 of my classmates that photo. I would do as Brian demanded. I rationalized to myself that my classmates had essentially already seen me completely naked. If I stripped naked now, they would not be seeing anything that they hadn’t already just seen on the 82-inch screen.

I turned around and faced my classmates. I lifted my polo shirt over my head. There I was standing shirtless in front of my classmates. And while I had worn less clothes while swimming, and worn considerably less clothes when working on the farm, I never felt so naked as when I was standing shirtless in front of 75 of my classmates, with 150 eyes just staring at me.

I unbuckled my belt, lowered my shorts to the floor, and stepped out of them. There I was, in just my white Hanes underwear. I made one last look over to Brian, thinking that he might intercede and stop this now. But, it was clear that he had no intention of doing so.

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