The Groaning Times Chapter 6: Meeting Our Public

PLEASE NOTE: Readers who are new to this series and desire more background may want to start with “The Groaning Times: Prologue” and work through the chapters from there.]

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Halfway out of the bathroom, and in a daze over Kyung’s remarks, I suddenly realized that my sling was still down at my ankles. I hadn’t given Wu a chance to pull it up. Of course, I had no ability to pull the garment up myself, because my hands were still shackled behind me. I looked around, hoping someone would help me out of this worrisome dilemma. I didn’t fancy going back out into the gym with my bare peter sticking out, because Lao had ordered us to “sling” our meat for the trek to prison. I was certain Tai’s brother would view my naked genitals as a defiant and disrespectful act. I definitely felt we Anglos were “walking on eggs” regarding his little sister’s honor. Indeed, he made it clear we were walking on eggs regarding the honor of all little girls of color. At this point, given that the Sword of Damocles seemed to be hanging over our penises, we needed to observe Lao’s wishes scrupulously.

A soft finger then tapped me on the shoulder. It was Kyung. She smiled, “Hey pee-pee boy, we’re a bit absent-minded, aren’t we? You don’t want to go out there with your big nude banana hanging out do you? If your dong is as yummy as you say it is, it might get eaten!”

I blushed and replied, “No ma’am.” It was so strange to address a girl my age as “ma’am.” Yet, it seemed the safe thing to do.

Kyung winked and said, “I didn’t think so either, preppie. We’d better sling this meat of yours, post haste.”

The beautiful Asian girl knelt and worked my sling up my thighs, pulling the front band outward so the garment would enclose my stiff penis. Then she let it snap back on my belly. She said, “There. Consider your meat fully slung.”

As Kyung looked at my full pouch, she shook her head and giggled, “Ya know, it’s a wonder these things can hold your big boners and balls. You Anglos really do have some big dicks and nuts on you. I guess all those stories were true after all. It really has my boyfriend pissed.”

I didn’t know what to say. Here I was, virtually nude, facing a fully dressed Asian girl who was casually commenting on the size of my genitalia, using such crude terms as “dick”, “nuts” and “meat.” Kyung seemed too beautiful and delicate to utter such slang, much less observe naked white males pissing.

My face reddened as I noticed a young Asian guy glaring at me. It was the teen who had made Kyung lower her hand when she volunteered to hold our dicks at the urinal. Apparently, Kyung had somehow sneaked into the bathroom without his knowing.

Not noticing her boyfriend at the entrance, Kyung patted my shaft and said, “Your better get out to the gym. Lao seems like a real crack-whip.”

Finally, Kyung looked up and saw her boyfriend. Her face grew as red as mine. She whispered to me, “Oh shit. I told Lon I was going to the ladies’ room. I don’t think he likes me in here with all these bare Anglo peters, if you know what I mean. You better go now.”

Wanting to disappear, I looked down and started walking. But Kyung’s boyfriend stopped me with a hand to my shoulder. He looked like one of those Asian martial arts experts. He growled, “What the fuck are you trying to pull with my girl, lover boy?”

I stammered, “Nothing, sir.”

Lon flicked his finger against my bag, making me double over in agony. As I grunted in pain, he snarled, “That’s just a taste, preppie. I’m gonna bust your Lily-white nads so bad you’ll be glad to lose them. And then I’m gonna give what’s left of your mashed nuts to Kyung to feed to her Pekinese dog.”

Kyung stepped in between us. She told her boyfriend, “Lon, there’s nothing going on. So please don’t ruin his balls, OK? This Anglo has been a perfect gentleman to Wu and me. I was just goofing off. You know how I like to goof off. So please let this stupid Lily-white go so I can get back to my little brother. You wouldn’t want me to leave my precious little Wu alone with all these big naked, pissing white boys would you?”

I was still bent over. Her boyfriend had really rung my bells.

Lon’s expression finally softened as Kyung caressed his hair and whispered more assurances. As I edged by the couple, Kyung shot me a look of exasperation. Lon was one of those possessive boyfriends, I guessed. But there was no question in my mind that this teenaged Asian girl had saved my nuts.

Still wincing from the blow to my testicles, I limped back out to the gym, positioned my big toes on the tape, and waited for the others’ pissings to conclude. Meanwhile, Kyung made her way back to Wu, where I assumed she resumed her post at that urinal. She clearly showed a passion for seeing males pissing or desperate to piss. Kyung would prove to be quite a complex young woman in many respects.

[I talked with Kyung in the preparation of this memoir. She joined Tai in sharing her memories of those times with me. She admitted to me her “fetish” for seeing males’ pissing uncontrollably. She explained, “I had been fascinated with the idea since I was a little girl. So when Lao picked my little brother to hold your dicks while you pissed, I tagged along after him. I was on the verge of an orgasm at that urinal. I just wanted to go somewhere and play with myself, but I couldn’t tear myself away from all those big peeing dicks. I know my fetish proved to be a bit hard on the Anglos at the Prison, but I couldn’t resist the look on a guy’s face when he was about to bust and begging some little boy to let him urinate.”]

As soon as we were all assembled, Lao had us march single file through the double doors of the gymnasium. It was a warm, sunny day outside and, at first, it felt good to be in the open air. But that momentary pleasure evaporated when we saw the crowds on both sides of the sidewalk. Yes, in their eagerness to see us, some of the newly empowered citizens of the underclass had flooded our campus.

I could see that the vast majority of this mob was composed of young people of color, all the way down to little children of both sexes. Some of the little boys and girls stood at the front, while others had been hoisted on the older ones’ shoulders. I saw Kyung there with her brother Wu and a pretty little Asian girl. I later learned that the female child was named Yali, age 7. She was Wu’s biological twin sister. The little girl stared at our sheer-nylonned crotches with her wide, almond-shaped eyes as Kyung leaned over and appeared to be explaining things to her. Obviously, little Yali had never before witnessed a spectacle like this.

The other little girls seemed to be in the same boat, wide-eyed and curious. I noticed them just staring with their mouths open, mesmerized by our nakedness. One tiny Hispanic girl sucked her thumb and gawked at our slings as she sat on what appeared to be her older brother’s shoulders.

[Kyung later recalled Yali’s amazement, “As you probably remember, Yali had never, ever seen any male’s genitals before then, much less white men’s dongs. She was bug-eyed and dumbstruck at first. But my little sister was so cute that day. She was soon full of questions about your peters. Your dicks and balls were so totally obvious, Michael. Honestly, I don’t know what the Manners Committee was thinking when it prescribed those silly slings. They were supposed to be ‘modesty’ garments. Hello? Where was the modesty? We could literally see your pee-pee holes and even the center seams of your scrotal sacks through those things. Anyway, it was an eye-opener for Yali and all the other little girls.”]

Though Lao had forewarned us of the little girls’ presence along the route, we still blushed deeply at the prospect of having to march by them in our g-strings. By so dramatically exposing our powerlessness, their presence made the downfall of my social class seem utterly final. Nonetheless, our only option was to keep walking past the gawking little girls with as much composure as we could muster.

I was not that surprised at the predominance of young people in this crowd. The underclass of my day tended to have huge families at young ages, but their life expectancy was lower than ours due to their lack of affordable health insurance. The average age of the underclass was thus very low. So, I could see why this crowd was predominantly composed of young adults, teens and their young children or siblings.

If this multi-cultural revolution had any single dominant ruling force, it had to be the teenagers. They were the zealous enforcers of the new order, and had the muscle to keep us in line. But if the revolution had a “most pampered” class, it was the pre-teen children of color. The older ones had empowered these children in every way, to prepare them to inherit the new order in which we elite “Lily-whites” would be the slaves. I can only attribute this nurturing attitude to their strong family bonds forged by hardship. The families of the underclass were very close-knit, with big brothers and sisters considering themselves the protectors the young. For this reason, we would soon learn the wisdom of honoring and serving all of our new “masters” and “mistresses”, down to the youngest of them.

Anyway, the comments, jeers, hoots, taunts and threats from this mob began the moment the first shackled Anglo bare foot touched the gym’s outdoor steps. First, it was a chorus of “boos.” That sound left us, especially the members of my Lacrosse team, shaken enough. We were used to cheers rather than jeers.

Then a Hispanic teenaged girl squealed, “Oh god, you can see their dicks and balls through those things!” A black girl held her hands apart and yelled, “Oooweee and what big ol’ dicks and balls these white boys have, too! Hot!”

Our faces reddened with shame to have our genitals discussed so crudely in front of all those wide-eyed children.

A Hispanic male then angrily retorted, “To hell with their donkey dicks! Let’s cut their peters off and see how hot they are then!”

Another guy yelled, “Peters only? Shit, man, let’s stomp their freakin’ balls and cut them off too!”

Another Hispanic girl shot back in a teasing tone, “Cut ‘em, off? Hey, no fair. You macho guys just don’t want us girls to see how big the Anglos are down below!”

Some of the teenaged boys started moving towards us, chanting, “OFF WITH THEIR PRICKS! OFF WITH THEIR PRICKS!” Then the little boys started clapping their hands and joining in the chant. Of course, we were trembling at this mass hostility towards our genitalia. Facing a mob that greeted us with shouts about wanting to give us all penectomies is not an experience I would recommend to any male.

The underclass males seemed half serious and half kidding with their threats. Clearly, they were exhibiting some jealousy over their females’ remarks about the size of our genitalia.

Some of the teen girls tried to drown the boys out by shouting, “SAVE THEIR DICKS! SAVE THEIR DICKS!” Looking back, we have the girls to thank for those of us who would survive the Prison with our cocks and balls intact. So many of the male teen underclass would have butchered our pale meat off the first day. [Kyung later confirmed that her boyfriend at that time, Lon, wanted to cut off all our dicks and balls as a defensive measure.]

As this banter continued, I could see the crowd edging closer as we walked by.

Lao and the other teen guards held up their hands to keep the mob at bay, assuring them we would receive plenty of public punishment at the Prison.

We were marched single file outside the school’s front gate as the crowd followed along on both sides. Underclass teenaged boys with electric batons, as well as preteen boys, walked at intervals beside us. I was relieved to see that the little boys had not been given Tickle Sticks. They had proven mean enough without them.

We headed out onto the main avenue, which was also lined with spectators, but fewer than I expected. We heard scattered boos and taunts as we walked down the center of the street. A lone vendor was selling hot dogs, drinks, and Tai Vu tee shirts. Banners with Tai Vu’s photo hung on all the lampposts. It was taking on the atmosphere of a festival.

I cringed to see we were heading south, towards the large underclass ethnic enclaves comprising the inner city. The thought of our being paraded in slings through that area caused a knot to form in my stomach. But I also expected we had to turn eastward at some point before then, towards the County Correctional Facility I assumed would be our new home. It was the only prison in the area. Thus, I thought perhaps we would be spared the humiliation of having to march through the ghettos.

As I said, the crowds waiting on this street were much thinner than I expected. There was, however, a din of voices and laughter off in the distance that suggested a much larger gathering. We were marched down this street towards that roar.

The noise grew louder as we approached a large public park. I heard a band playing. This was starting to sound like a football rally. Or perhaps a Roman-style “triumph” would be more accurate.

As we followed a slight bend in the avenue, I saw a sight that took my breath away. The park’s large athletic field hosted an array of naked flesh. They were all males as far as I could tell from the bulges between their legs. As it turned out, these comprised the rest of the elite prep-school Anglo teens from the Eastern seaboard, flown in that very morning on chartered cargo flights. There were nearly 3000 of them I later learned, standing 10 teens abreast in several formations. They stood at rigid attention on the close-clipped grass, with their erect genitals slung in sheer nylon just like ours. Underclass teens and little boys patrolled their ranks. Large and noisy crowds of all ages stood on the sidewalk bordering this field, except for an area that seemed to have been kept open for our approach.

As we marched closer, we saw groups of what looked to be female elementary school children accompanied by their teachers. There were hundreds of them. It looked as if every school in the ghetto had been let out for the day.

I was aghast that a display of conquered and near-nude teens would be the subject of “field trips” for 7 to 11-year old girls. I now wondered if there were any limits on how profoundly we could be humiliated. I felt like a zoo animal at this point, lower than a slave. The sheer-nylonned farce that cradled my turgid privates mocked me and made me feel even more naked than naked. My sling might as well have been ripped off my loins for all the good it did for my dignity.

A shout arose as we drew nearer to the athletic field. They were chanting the name of our prep school. Apparently, the mob had been awaiting our arrival, waiting like a hungry beast for the Lily-white boys from the institution they blamed for the affront to Tai. My hands grew clammy at the realization that we were being singled out like that, as the lowest of the low. I frankly wondered if we would survive this march to prison.

We were directed to the front of this huge g-stringed formation. They made us form ranks of 10 abreast facing a large, empty parking lot. Apparently, my classmates and I were to be the vanguard of this massive march to imprisonment.

I noticed several huge hibachi grills had been set up along both sides of the parking lot. Teen girls and boys were grilling bratwurst and Kielbasa sausages. Giggling little Asian, Hispanic and black girls and boys were lined up in front of these grills. The cooks walked the little girls to the front of the line. They seemed to have priority. The children held up open buns as the teen cooks forked over the curled, reddened meat and offered them bowls of onions and mustard. The children ate eagerly as they resumed their staring at us. I noticed Yali eating a big bratwurst. She had taken it out of its bun and was chewing on one end, tearing chunks of meat away with her baby teeth. Under these circumstances, the sight sent a twinge of pain through the head of my penis

The scent of all this roasting meat made my stomach growl. It was getting near noon, and we hadn’t eaten anything all that morning. But seeing that little Asian beauty tear into that big sausage still made me queasy, given the role sausage had played in the incident with Tai. I ruefully remembered how my roommate Lyle had foolishly begrudged Tai that pack of bratwurst. Now little underclass girls were enjoying an embarrassment of such cuisine, as we stood virtually naked before them. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me.

I then heard a huge roar from the crowd facing the parking lot. The people began clapping and cheering, “TAI! TAI! TAI!”

A long, white limousine pulled in from a side street. Its rear and front were piled high with white and red roses. It looked like a parade float. I caught a momentary glance of a pigtailed little female head in its rear seat. The head bore a shiny tiara. Even without seeing her face, I sensed this was Tai Vu.

The crowd greeted the little Southeast Asian girl as if she were royalty. They began tossing flowers at her vehicle as it pulled up into the lot.

Lao, who was now carrying a megaphone, screamed at us to bow deeply. All 3,000 of us bent over 90 degrees at the waist and stayed there.

What a turnabout this was! We, in our designer clothes, had dismissed Tai as a thieving waif not so many days before. Lyle had contemptuously called her a “little fortune cookie.” Now, the little girl had 3,000 barefoot, g-stringed white teens bowing like slaves at her arrival. Of course, the spectators cheered lustily to see us that way.

Lao finally told us to return to upright attention. We obeyed, but our faces were still red with humiliation at his having made us bow to his 7-year old sister.

The sight of Tai seemed to turn the mood of the crowd further against us white teens, especially my classmates. Some teenaged girls held up the sausages they were eating. They began shaking the big half-eaten wieners at us and shouting, “PETER SAUSAGE! PETER SAUSAGE! CUT US SOME BIG WHITE PETER SAUSAGE NOW!”

Kyung soon took up the chant, though she was giggling more than the others. Then the little girls joined in, aping the teens.

I then remembered one of the male teens offering to cut his girlfriend some “peter sausage” back in the gym. I now sensed there may have been something more significant to that phrase. Hundreds of underclass girls were shouting this term as if it was their mantra.

[During the preparation of this memoir, Kyung told me that the “cult” of peter sausage was already gathering steam among underclass women by then. Shortly after arriving at the Prison, I learned that this cult started with a female Asian “natural medicine expert” who had written an article claiming that the human penis, if prepared and eaten with certain spices, would dramatically increase a female’s fertility and life span. This expert also suggested that the extra-large penises of blueblood Anglos like us would be especially potent for that use, and that the Reparations Act allowed the freedom to harvest our dicks for that purpose. As instrumental as Kyung was in saving my skin, the Cult of Peter Sausage had already seduced her by the time we met at that urinal. This terrifying cult would prove to be one of many often-conflicting challenges shaping our lives at the Prison]

At that point, little boys emerged pulling four little red wagons. Each wagon bore a good-sized planter containing a small tree. The trunks and limbs of these trees exhibited the unmistakable dark purple tint of those rare plum trees at our school. But these were mere saplings, and thus a long way from bearing plums. The little boys lined the four wagons behind the Tai’s limo.

Lao then stepped before us and said that the boys whose names he was about to read should step forward. As soon as he had arrived at the fifth name, I realized he was summoning our Lacrosse team.

Lao divided us up into four groups and told each group to stand in front of a wagon. We promptly obeyed. It was becoming very clear that we would be pulling these plum trees behind us. I just had no idea how difficult Lao would make the task.

Lao ordered us to bend over with our legs apart.

Uneasily, we obeyed. At that point pairs of teenaged boys walked up with some long leather straps. I felt hands between my legs as a strap was looped around the base of my nylonned penis and testicles and then pulled tight, making me wince. Looking down between my legs, I saw the teens hook the other end of the straps to an eyebolt on the front of the wagon. Then they repeated the process with the other teammates assigned to my wagon. Yes, we were going to have to pull these plumb trees with our cocks and balls.

[As I prepared this memoir, Tai recalled that she had asked her brothers for plum trees. But she said she had no idea that we Anglos would be made to pull them for her in that fashion. She said the flowers were piled up so high on the back of her limo that she could hardly see us at all. She was barely four feet tall at the time.

Tai, as darling as she was, would ask for many things that her brothers would translate into excruciating ordeals for us.]

Once we were harnessed, the procession to the Prison began.

[Next: Chapter 7]