Story-Portal

The entire Naked series in one book. A fantastic collection of three stories, revealing inner thoughts of three different boys coming face-to-face with the scary prospect of being naked.

Part One: Naked a Camp Freedom "Mitchell's Story"

I think I'll die when my big brother says I'd have to shower naked with other ten and eleven-year-olds at Camp Freedom. Then I met Xander. I can't decide if it's because he does as many wild and crazy things as I do at home, or if it's because he calls me "cute" the first time he meets me. But with him, I know things are going to change.

Part Two: Naked "Russell's Story"

Mitchell from my swim team moved in next door and he and his two brothers can't keep their pants on. Mom always told me it's shameful not to keep covered up, but how can I follow Mom's orders when they want me to join them, exposing my willy to entire world? I hope Mom understands when I pull the prank of my life to save my swim team from getting into a major fight.

Part Three: The Naked Club "Drew's Story"

As if finding a hidden fort in the woods behind my house wasn't cool enough, I discover my favorite friend Mitchell, who recently moved away, lives just on the other side of the woods. Things get interesting when my cousin Ryder convinces me to make this fort the Naked Club, inviting friends over to play in the buff. But when Kent, a boy a year older from my middle school, does the unspeakable, things will never be the same.

Quote:He walked off. As boring as he was and as much as I never really spoke to Dad, I would have rather sat next to him on the bench than be trapped here with Mom. But I knew that would never happen.
She pulled out one pair of pants. “Here. Try this on.”
I grabbed it, hesitating. “Mom.”
“Go. Fifth grade starts in a few weeks and we need to be ready.”
I sulked off toward the dressing rooms. I feel like a little girl’s dress up doll anytime I had to try on clothes. Each time I’d go find a room, change my clothes, step out, Mom looks me over tugging and patting the clothes, and hands me something else to try on. This repeats until I’m almost dead.
In the tiny changing room, I closed and locked door, tossed the new pants on the bench in the corner, and looked at myself in the mirror. My disgusted, brown eyes stared back at me. “What are you looking at?” I whispered to myself.
I breathed deep and kicked off my shoes. I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, letting them fall to the ground. Stepping out, I looked at myself in my shirt, socks, and underwear. I made fists and flexed my arms like a wrestler, growling silently at the mirror. I pulled off my shirt and repeated the game.
I was way too skinny. Most of the boys on the swim team had muscles. Some like Roger, the fastest butterfly swimmer on the team and our team captain, looked like he was flexing all the time, even when he sat on the bleachers waiting for practice to start.
I sucked in stomach. My ribs poked all the way up the sides of my body. I looked down. With my stomach in, I could see part way down into my underwear. I stuck my thumbs into the front of the elastic band and pulled it out a little. My willy lay peacefully against my balls.
My heart rattled inside me with excitement.
I turned toward the door. I couldn’t hear anyone approach, just the distant muttering of voices, tapping of shoes against tile, and the horrible overhead music.
I stopped sucking in and looked at myself in the mirror. If my underwear was smoother and a little tighter, it would look like the small, tight swim shorts a lot of the other boys wore on the team.
I folded down the elastic band and pulled up on the bottom, making my underwear appear a little smaller and tighter. I tried to smile the way Mitchell always did as he stood at the edge of the pool. For some reason, the sight made laugh a little.
I folded down my underwear a little more. I twisted my back toward the mirror and saw my butt crack emerging from my underwear. I looked at my front. My eyes focused on my skin just above the folded elastic band. I pushed down on the band.
The door clicked and swung open.
A girl my age stood there and gasped.
I covered myself with my hands and dove to the back corner of the tiny room.
She laughed, still holding the door open.
I grabbed the handle and forced it close.
I heard the girl call to someone, still laughing.
With my hand still gripping the handle, I struggled pulling on my shirt. Forgetting the new pants, I pulled on my jeans, stepped into my shoes, and raced out of the room.
I found Mom and ran up to the cart, gripping the side like it was my lifeline. I shook so much I felt like crying. I held it back.
“What…” Mom’s face tightened. “Those are your old jeans. Where’re the pants?” She looked me up and down.