The Groaning Times Chapter 3: The Littlest Gauntlet

PLEASE NOTE: Readers who are new to this series may want to start with “The Groaning Times: Prologue”]

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Thus began our embarrassing and sometimes painful march to the school’s gymnasium. It proved to be crash course in humility.

The swarms of little underclass boys with armbands herded us out onto the sidewalk as if we were cattle. We had to walk with our hands clasped behind our heads like prisoners of war. In a sense we were prisoners of war -- a cultural war.

Yes, little Hispanic, Asian and black boys, some no older than 8, drove us naked Anglo teenagers along as if we were sheep headed for the shearing. The older underclass teens simply stood back holding their electric batons and commenting approvingly on the scene. I could see now that they were “mentoring” this swarm of mosquitoes tormenting us.

I also noticed some teenaged girls (mostly Hispanic and Asian and a small number of blacks) on the arms of the older teens who were overseeing this operation. The women wore a variety of outfits, mostly tight skirts or tight jeans with high heels. These young women appeared to be the girlfriends or wives of the older male teens. They all had the look of the gang about them.

There were, however, a few Asian girls in native dress. I assumed these were recent immigrants who had come to see what this modern, bloodless “revolution” had wrought. What an introduction to the new power dynamics of the country!

All these teenaged girls watched our exposed pubic areas intently, often giggling, squealing and whispering to each other as their eyes darted among us. Some held their index fingers apart as if measuring something. I could see they were discussing the sizes of our penises.

From the frequent exchanges between the children and the underclass teens, it also became clear that these little boys claimed older sisters, brothers and cousins among them.

But I saw no little girls, and I half wondered why that disgrace wasn’t being heaped on us as well. I was only later to learn the reason for pre-teen girls being kept away from this phase of our subjugation. I promise to address that issue in time.

It struck me how amicably the different ethnic groups seemed to get along with each other now. Asian girls were merrily chatting and giggling with Hispanic and black girls as if they were sisters. By the same token, the children also seemed to relate well. Prior to this cataclysm, these racial/ethnic groups had been at each other’s throats in competing for the country’s limited resources. I’m now ashamed to confess that we affluent Anglos counted on these interethnic conflicts to keep the underclass weak as a whole. “Divide and control” as they say.

But no more. Our conquerors seemed unified in victory.

I also realized that our once-sheltered campus was their realm now. Our stately stone buildings with the Latin mottos above the doors were theirs for the taking. We were the outcasts now, naked and marching to an uncertain fate.

And we dared not tarry in our marching, either. Seeing our fear and lack of resistance, the children herding us became bolder and bolder. It was clearly a heady experience for them to be lording it over us 14-17 year olds.

The “mentor” teens did little to restrain these kids, either. Indeed, they cheered them on.

The teen girls standing on the sidelines just giggled with amazement at the children’s clowning around. And I sensed that the little boys’ pranks were at least in part aimed at showing off in front of these young women. There was very much a Look-At-Tiny-Little-Me-Boss-The-Big-White-Boy tone to all this. I could only shudder to imagine the extra lengths to which these little boys might go in their antics to impress or amuse little girls of their own age (had they been present). We would find out about that only later, in the Prison.

Nevertheless, the kids’ antics on this day were more than a handful for us. As we were being lined up on the sidewalk, some little boys reached in to give “groaners” to two teens in front of me. They just darted up behind them, reached under their nude buttocks, and grabbed their testicles. Then they squeezed and held on. Indeed, they pulled the teens out of formation by their naked sacks, making them backpedal.

The two victims were Brent and Justin, age 16 and 17. They were my Lacrosse teammates. The teens were both 6 feet tall, slender, muscular, blue-eyed blonds from very wealthy families.

I didn’t envy my teammate’s dilemma. This time, collapsing screaming into a fetal position was not an acceptable reaction to a “groaner”, because the “mentors” had warned us Anglos to stay standing with our hands clasped behind our heads regardless of what the kids did. They also told us to maintain a “gracious” demeanor, which precluded the shouts and cursing a male would normally emit when his testicles are so roughly handled.

So, instead, Brent and Justin stood as immobile as they could and waited for the little boys to release their bags. I could see my teammates gritting their teeth and trying to suppress grunts as the boys’ tiny brown fingers worked over their big white testicles. The little boys seemed to be feeling the texture of their balls out of sheer curiosity.

Meanwhile, Brent and Justin bit their lips, winced, and curled their bare toes into the concrete as they waited for this painful exploration to play itself out. I could only imagine the ache they felt down there. It hurt my testicles just to watch their ordeal.

Yet, Brent’s and Justin’s penises remained erect, sprouting from amidst their pubic bushes like flesh colored bananas. How the Tingleroot ruled us, giving us such huge boners under such humiliating circumstances!

Then, the most astonishing spectacle ensued. A little Asian boy who looked to be around 8 years old ordered Justin and Brent back into formation. My two classmates bit their lips and tried to step forward, but couldn’t because the little boys behind them were still holding fast to their bags.

Finally, the boy behind Brent released his bag, allowing him to limp back into line. But the little black boy holding Justin’s bag wouldn’t let go. Indeed, he pulled back on my teammate’s sack, making him backpedal further from where we all stood.

The little Asian boy then grew irritated and began jerking on Justin’s erect penis to make him obey. My teammate could only stand there with his hands behind his head as the two little boys yanked his genitals in opposing directions. They had immobilized him.

The bystanders began to laugh wildly. One Hispanic teen yelled, “Make a wish!”

The little boys pulled harder. The black boy clutching Justin’s testicles actually dug in his heels as he held on with both hands. The boy holding his penis then started using both hands as he pulled.

At that point the little Asian boy discovered Justin’s foreskin. (In my day, it was fashionable among the WASP upper classes not to circumcise male babies. The rite of circumcision was thought to reduce pleasure sensations in sex, and my class was very much devoted to anything that could be considered “pleasure.” Thus, the “natural penis” became all the rage. By contrast, circumcision among the non-Anglo underclass was practically universal. The lower classes were, in this sense, more conservative and traditional than we. About 50% of the boys at our prep school, including me, were uncircumcised.)

Anyway, in yanking on Justin’s big cock, the little Asian boy had discovered the gliding of the teen’s foreskin. His curiosity was aroused. He began sliding the skin back and forth over Justin’s glans.

Soon, other little boys ran up to look at what he was doing. The little boy let his friends try it. More small hands began to fiddle the with white teen’s foreskin.

I could sense nothing sexual in these boys’ interest in my teammate’s penis; it seemed like pure, devilish inquisitiveness.

Justin’s face began to flush. His cockhead grew a darker purple. His peter now looked painfully erect. I knew he was headed for trouble by the partially glazed look in his eyes. He knew it too. My teammate was now battling the sensations that teased his shaft.

Justin looked over in desperation at an older Hispanic teen who was also watching this development closely. My teammate was hoping for a rescue. Justin whispered at him, “Please sir. Can you make them stop? I might..”

The older teen did nothing to stop the boy’s play. Instead he hissed at Justin, “You better learn to hold it in your nuts, white boy. If you cream on any of those kids, I’ll whack off your meat so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

More tiny fingers tried out Justin’s foreskin, sliding it back and forth, watching his glans swell and darken. Justin shut his eyes. He seemed to be trying to think of other things.

This astonishing sight began to play tricks with my mind. I could almost hear my sperm surging in my balls. Even though the Tickle Stick had tapped me dry less than one-half hour before, my testicles now felt fuller than ever. My penis was straining upward out of my pubic bush as if it wanted to kiss the sky. I knew I’d have to be careful myself.

The Tingleroot is like that. The herb can inject eroticism into the most unlikely sights and sounds, even in this mortifying scene. It can fill one’s nuts with cum until one would masturbate with sandpaper to achieve some semblance of relief.

Justin fought hard, but he was finally losing control. He soon gasped a warning at the little Asian boy now working his foreskin, “Please step back sir.”

The boy paid no attention. A few seconds later, Justin moaned and arched his back as a jet of his cum spurted onto a little boy’s tee shirt. The huge wad of sperm landed right on Tai Vu’s photo.

The little boy looked down, stunned at the white globs on his shirt. As Justin trembled with the violence of his first release, his penis released a second huge glob that landed on the boy’s sneakers. Once my teammate started cumming, there was no stopping it.

There was total silence for a few seconds. The teenaged girls put their hands over their mouths. The little boys just stared at the final white semen droplet clinging to Justin’s pee-pee hole. Obviously, they were too young to have seen this male function yet. Now they had seen it in all its shameless messiness.

Once Justin recovered, I could see that he knew what terrible trouble he was in. He began apologizing profusely to the little boy whose shirt he’d stained. He offered to buy him a new one. He offered to empty a toy store for him. It’s my guess Justin would have offered the child the moon and the stars if he had any chance of delivering them.

Meanwhile, selfishly, I prayed that any repercussions would be limited to Justin.

After this pause, the reaction was quick. Two Asian teens rushed in to pin Justin’s arms behind him while two other Hispanic teens grabbed his ankles and pulled his legs wide apart.

The tattooed Hispanic teen who had burst into our dorm room earlier then whipped out a switchblade and went between my teammate’s legs. Justin was gushing apologies now, writhing and begging the teen not to cut off his penis. He pleaded shamelessly for his dick, offering his family fortune to keep the knife away.

The Hispanic teen paid him no mind and took hold of his penis.

With looks of mixed horror and fascination, the Hispanic, Asian and black teenaged girls stood on their tiptoes to see “it” done.

The Hispanic teen pulled Justin’s cock out away from his body and, with a look of disgust, shook it until the last cum drop fell to the pavement.

At that point another teen, an Asian boy with an armband, rushed up and halted the proceedings. The Asian teen carried some sort of pamphlet. He showed the Hispanic one of its pages.

The Hispanic teen looked annoyed, but finally put away his knife.

I could see that there were rules or protocols as to when an Anglo penis could and could not be removed. As it turned out, removing a teen’s penis prior to “initial indoctrination” was not allowed.

Yet, the boy with the knife had the last word. Before walking back to his girlfriend, he gave Justin’s balls two ferocious snaps with his middle fingers. My teammate’s body stiffened and he pointed his toes hard as he let out a long, low groan. He tried to draw his feet up in the instinctive fetal position, but the boys still held him tight.

After Justin grunted and winced through the worst of his agony, he was finally let down and allowed to limp back into formation. His balls looked swollen.

Finally, we were told to march to the gym.

This section of the journey, as short as it was in terms of the distance we had to travel, proved to be yet another gauntlet. As we walked, little boys yanked out strands of our pubic hair and slapped at our protruding, bobbing cocks. One little Asian boy darted in front of me and slapped my erect dick so hard it flew upward and bounced off my belly. Then he caught me straight on my cockhead with a punch. It felt like he’d ruptured my dick, but thankfully it was ok. That unexpected blow brought the perils of a stiff penis personally home to me.

Of course, we weren’t permitted to shield ourselves from this abuse. We had no choice but to walk with as much composure as we could muster.

Within a few minutes, all 50 of us were lined up shoulder to shoulder in the gymnasium. Once in the gym, our overseers made us stand at rigid attention with our hands still clasped behind our heads. A long strip on yellow tape had been laid on the floor. We were told to keep our big toes on that tape and look straight ahead. As we were soon to learn, our conquerors insisted on order and precision from their new white subjects. Yes, there were to be rules, lots of rules, enough rules to give us all splitting headaches.

I immediately noticed one major difference in our gym’s decor. We stood facing a giant color poster of Tai Vu, nearly 10 feet tall. It was the same photo as the one on all the tee shirts. The poster hung in place of our Year 2134 Lacrosse Championship Banner.

I wondered if that pretty little Asian girl knew that we stood naked here due to her. I wondered if the child had any inkling of the havoc she had unwittingly wrought on our once privileged lives. This event was obviously in her honor, but did she have any clue what was being done in her “honor”?

And it wasn’t just us. This was happening to thousands of teens of my social class all over the country.

[When I asked Tai about this issue in the preparation of my memoir, she said she only knew that we teens were going to be punished. She said, “I had no clue of the mass public nakedness that was being mandated in my name. I was still so much in awe of you rich white boys and your fine clothes at the school. I never imagined that such powerful people as yourselves were having to go nude because of little ol’ me. And, of course, at that age I didn’t even know about penises.”]

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that our gym was now crowded with non-Anglo teenagers and their girlfriends from the inner city. And there were even more little boys, many without armbands. These kids looked like they had just arrived.

The teens hurled insults like “donkey dick” and “dangle nuts” at us as their girlfriends giggled. All we could do was stand silently and take it.

The new kids soon teemed around us, inspecting and giggling at our big, upward curved penises. The big dicks and pubic hair of us 14-17 year old Anglo teens obviously fascinated them.

As I explained in the Prologue to this memoir, our superior nutrition had endowed us with larger cocks on average than the underclass, as well as bigger testicles. That fact had been documented in a confidential medical study that received much press. Our slenderness and low body fat (as was fashionable with those of my affluent class) further accentuated the plumpness of our genitals.

Then there was the Tingleroot. That little food additive made us feel as if we had Kielbasa sausages with Kiwi fruit hanging between our legs.

Our larger genitalia had once been a secret source of pride among males of my class. Now it was our Achilles Heel. If there was any unifying theme on the part of the underclass’s male contingent, it was resentment of our ample Anglo genitals. They argued that we had earned our heavy “endowments” by centuries of exploiting the downtrodden. The abuse they inflicted on our cocks and balls this day proved how these males felt. It showed their determination to administer some “social justice ” between our legs.

And now, as we stood naked before the victors, Tai Vue’s two brothers, age 12 and 11, entered the gym. We would soon know the plan for the rest of the day and our young lives.

[Next: Chapter 4: (Name being developed)]