My maternal grandfather was a gung-ho Nazi loyal to Hitler and all of his beliefs. I never knew him of course, but the pictures that exist pictures show him as a proud young officer in his peaked hat and immaculate uniform holding my infant mother in his arms, and later as a seasoned veteran in a saggy hat and grimy uniform standing in front of the tank in which he would eventually die.

My dad was stationed in Hamburg during the occupation when he knocked up my mother. We moved back to the US right after I was born, but Mom had trouble with English and spoke mostly German and I grew up comfortable with both languages. Dad stayed in the service and in 1970 he was posted back to Germany in command of a small US Army guard station along the Czechoslovakian border. I was fourteen then and a freshman in high school and wasn’t to keen on switching schools again. I had lived in Thailand, Spain, Turkey, and several different places in the US and wasn’t to keen on moving to Germany for a year. I lobbied hard to stay in Colorado and live with relatives, but mom insisted that I take the opportunity to experience my German roots.

Large overseas military installations include American schools but this was a small town, and seeing a how I was fluent in German I would attend a local high school. I would be like a Foreign Exchange student, sort of auditing the classes, and my parents figured that the experience would broaden my horizons and that the education would be just as good as an American school. What an education it turned out to be.

Kids say they want to be treated as individuals, but most only want to fit in and not be considered different. That shouldn’t have been too difficult. After all, I was half German, had been born in Germany, spoke the language, and could even claim German citizenship if I wanted to. Also, I looked like any other typical school kid, German or American, and I wore the same clothes and had the same hairstyle as all of my classmates.

It turned out that I didn’t really speak the language. Mom was from Hamburg and I spoke German with her Northern accent. Now we were in Bavaria and my Northern accent sounded just as strange here as if a proper Boston prep school lad’s might if he had been dropped in the middle of backwoods Alabama. There wasn’t really a communication problem, but you could definitely tell that I was from somewhere else and there was no concealing the fact that I was a foreigner.

The difference was also obvious when I showered after PE. I was the only one of the twenty-four guys in the room without a foreskin. That earned me quite a few stares and over the noisy dim I clearly heard a voice say ‘Fucking Weirdo.’ He was a tall, Aryan-blond kid my age that could have been a throwback to the Dark Days when Hitler’s brown shirted schoolboys got their rocks off by tormenting minorities. That really pissed me off. First of all, I had no religious affiliation, secondly, having been raised around military bases I had no prejudices, and thirdly I couldn’t fight him to defend my honor. Fighting was strictly forbidden both within the school structure and my family. “I’m not weird,” I told the boy. “Most Americans are circumcised at birth and I was born in the U.S. Army hospital in Hamburg. My mother was from there and my grandfather fought and died in the German army.”

“She must have been weird too,” he said thrusting his pelvis forward so all would get the point. “What’s it like only having half a cock?” The other guys didn’t join in his jibes, but they weren’t backing me either.

“Why don’t you taste it and find out?” I replied, half hoping he’d take a swing at me.

“Yeah, Rudi, taste it!” Someone else spoke up and the other boys snickered at my comeback and my antagonist’s face got beet red and he turned away. I had backed him down.

Despite the rocky start we eventually became friends. He lived with his dad in a modest apartment not far from where I lived. His mother wasn’t part of the household and he never talked about her. Rudi taught me the intricacies of soccer, which I had never played, and I showed him and the other guys a lot about American football and basketball, which were starting to catch on there. My German gradually improved and I lost the stiffness of my accent, and I also brought them up to speed on a lot of the common Americanisms left out of their English language courses.

“Rudi invited me to go skiing at Garmisch! Can I go?” I asked my parents. “His dad will be there.”

“Won’t that cost an awful lot?” Mom asked. Dad was a Major by then and we were well off by Army standards, but Mom had almost starved to death during the war and as a result she was extremely frugal.

“Rudi’s uncle has a cabin or something there and he says that there’s all kinds of gear I can use. Please?”

“I don’t see why not,” Dad came to my rescue. “After all, he’s here to be experience the country.”

I had met Rudi’s dad a few times and he seemed to like me, and it was actually the dad who extended the invitation for me to join them for the upcoming weekend. Rudi was also hot on the idea; he relished the chance to get me on the slopes and show me what a hotdog he was. Dad’s last posting had been in Washington State and I had not only learned how to ski but was pretty good, and I thought that I could hold my own with Rudi.

“Thanks Dad,” I said.

Rudi’s dad picked me up early Saturday morning and we headed south for the two-hour drive. Garmisch is in the Bavarian Alps not far from Austria and is a Mecca for skiers, hikes, and mountain climbers. The cabin was small, not much over fifteen feet square. A half basement served as storage for skis, backpacks, and mountaineering gear. The main floor included a basic kitchenette but was an open room except for a small enclosed lavatory. A nearly vertical ladder led to an open sleeping loft. We unloaded the car and brought up the skis, boots, and poles from the basement.

I was already wearing my long underwear, so I stripped off my jeans and slipped into my ski pants, then looked up to see Rudi and his dad both standing there totally nude, selecting the underwear and ski suits that they would be wearing. That kind of surprised me. Rudi and I stripped down daily for PE, but I don’t think Dad and I had seen each other naked for several years, since before I entered puberty, and we certainly didn’t strip down together. Rudi and his dad acted perfectly nonchalant, as if they ran around naked together all of the time. The other thing that surprised me was Rudi’s dad. He typically wore baggy clothes that concealed his physique but now I could see that he was very lean and muscular, and also that he had huge, low hanging balls and a cock that looked twice as large as Rudi’s or my own. I couldn’t help but stare for a few seconds before turning away. Did Dad look like that naked? Would I someday? Rudi pulled on long underwear and ski pants while his dad stuffed himself into an incredibly small brief, like what we now call a thong, and then a skin-tight racing suit.

. The snow was wet and heavy, like that in the Washington Cascades, and my borrowed skis were longer than I preferred but I finally found my rhythm. I could easily leave Rudi far behind but his dad was another matter. He was clearly an expert and he not only skied like a pro but also looked the part. The racing suit hid nothing; the hang of each testicle and the profile of his massive meat were on display for all to admire. More that one good looking chick managed to ‘accidentally’ rub up against him, but it seemed to have no physical effect. I would have at least gotten hard and maybe even shot my load had those boobs been shoved in my face. More than one guy also acted pretty friendly towards him but he also brushed off those advances.

We got back to the cabin just before dark and Rudi and his dad performed another strip-tease act, carefully shedding their wet ski suits and hanging them to dry before donning dry underwear and regular clothes. The cold and wet had shriveled Rudi’s stuff to insignificance but it seemed to have little effect on his dad’s. He was still as massive as ever.

We went out to eat later and Rudi and I’d both had beer with our meals. They start in pretty young over there and it is common for young teenagers to be served small amounts of beer when accompanied by an adult. Mom would have shit bricks had she known I’d been drinking, but Dad always said that foreigners should ‘embrace the local culture’ and anyplace that I’d lived we always tried to adopt at least some of the native customs.

We sat around the cabin after dinner for a while before finally turning in. The lack of headspace in the loft made regular beds impractical, so instead there were just small pads on which to unroll sleeping bags. Rudi and his dad stripped nude but I retained my underwear and tee shirt, and I visited the bathroom while they were settling in. I finished up and climbed the ladder to find Rudi and his dad both lying on top of their sleeping bags. Rudi had a boner and was messing with his balls. His dad was also getting it up and his half-hard cock swooped upwards over his belly and looked to be at least nine inches long. My face turned red in embarrassment; I had been raised to respect other guys’ privacy, and while it was normal to strip down and shower together after PE it definitely wasn’t okay for fathers and sons to play with themselves in front of other people, and this was one part of their culture that I wasn’t planning on embracing.

I had just stepped across Rudi to get to my bed when Rudi’s dad abruptly reached up and yanked my skivvies down around my ankles. “No wonder the weird boy is ashamed of his dick,” he said, gesturing to my exposed crotch. I started to give him the same explanation for my circumcision that I had given his son on the first day we met, but he cut me off. “Did he really suggest that you taste that little thing, Rudi?” My ‘little thing’ was at least as large as his son’s.

“Yes Father.”

“Do you think he should get a taste of good normal cock?”

“Yes Father.” Before I could react Rudi’s dad had grabbed my balls and had used the ultimate form of leverage to force my face into his son’s crotch. I resisted and nearly passed out from the pain before accepting the inevitable. Seconds later a bright flash filled the room. I looked up to see Rudi holding a camera.

Can anything compare with the pain and embarrassment of being forced to do such a thing? I wouldn’t have thought so until Rudi’s dad mounted me. I begged and screamed and cried like a baby, but it made no difference to the outcome.

And so life went on. I couldn’t tell anyone; Rudi had the picture that was proof of my perversion. Mom noticed that I was walking a little stiffly, and I dismissed it as a pulled muscle from over-exertion. One of my other classmates noticed it too, and I overheard him tell his buddy that maybe I’d been skiing with Rudi, and they both chuckled. That got me thinking: Rudi’s dad had cautioned me when he invited me along to not tell any of the other boys, as they would be jealous because they hadn’t been asked instead. Maybe Rudi had pictures of other hapless classmates in compromising situations.

I saw Rudi most every day but I never spoke to him again. I only saw his dad one other time. It was the day we left Germany to return home. I had popped the lock on their apartment door and had caught them both asleep. Naked. In the same bed. A quick shot of the aerosol spray used to start cold Diesel engines ensured that they’d stay groggy long enough for me to tie them up, but I made sure that the father and son were fully awake before I carried out their surgeries. I would have removed their balls but I didn’t want the police to get involved, so I only circumcised them and flushed their pride down the toilet to consort with common turds.

Mom and I flew out that afternoon. Dad would oversee shipping the rest of our stuff and he’d join us in Colorado later in the month. I learned a lot about the land of my birth during the year I spent in Germany, some of which I wish I could forget. At least two of the people there learned something about me too, which they’ll never be able to forget.