 |
| Muy sabroso, ¿no? |
When I was six, my mother, having no visible means of support and raising a young child, had no other alternative than to move back in with her parents. Her father, a man who despised my own father, immediately ordered me to take off the clothing which I was wearing...jeans and sneakers...which ended up being thrown into a blazing fireplace. Looking through the rest of my clothing, he then proceeded to burn all the things which he found offensive. When it came time to go to school, he attired me in that clothing which he felt was proper for a young man...white long-sleeved shirts, black knee-length shorts, black dress knee socks and black dress shoes. This was the only kind of clothing I was ever permitted to wear at home and at school while I was living under his roof.
I was seven when I wore shorts to school for the very first time. I remember looking around and noticed that I was the only boy wearing shorts and knee socks in the entire class. I got into trouble and was sent to stand in the corner. When the teacher noticed that I was looking at the class, she ordered me to turn around and face the corner at attention. I recall the humility I felt...to be standing there, facing the corner with my
kneebacks facing the entire class. I wept silently as I thought about the other boys staring at my naked kneebacks and giggling. When my period of punishment was finished, the teacher had me resume my seat, which I did while some boys who sat closest to me were still giggling and smiling while looking at my knees. At the end of the day, the teacher had me stay behind while she composed a letter of admonishment addressed to my grandfather. All would have been well and I would have hidden the letter or threw it away had the teacher not order that I return the letter to her the next morning...with my grandfather's signature on it!
That clinched it. The minute I brought that letter home and gave it to my grandfather, I would be punished. And if I didn't return it to the teacher with his signature on it, I would also be punished. So I had to make a decision...be punished by my grandfather by his belt against my butt or stand facing the corner for an entire day. I decided that it would be best for me to have my classmates staring at my kneebacks for six hours and being sent to the principal's office afterwards. However, I later found out that the principal called my grandfather and informed him that I had disobeyed the teacher. So the old man ended up lashing my butt with his belt in any case...while I laid face down upon my bed.
I continued to wear shorts and knee socks until my father got custody of me in 1983, when I was twelve years old. Even during the court proceedings, I had to wear shorts and knee socks. Me...a boy nearly thirteen years old, the age when I would be considered to be a man in my religion. My father won the case in absentia and, because he lived in Florida and the case was in New York City, temporary custody was awarded to his father's cousin, who happened to be my attorney. Under his guardianship, I received the first pair of trousers I had worn in six years...and it felt great!
When I finally got to move to South Florida to live with my father, I found that I would get to wear shorts again...at my own discretion. I found that I had started to love it while I was still in New York. I also found that I loved laying face down while wearing shorts. And when school started, I found that I wanted to wear shorts to school once again...especially since the average temperature at the time I started to attend school was anywhere between 85 and 90 degrees. The only difference between attending school in New York and Florida...I wouldn't be expected to have only my knees visible during cool times. I would be expected to wear trousers to school between the months of November and March. When I did my homework, I relished doing it while laying on my stomach with my kneebacks facing the ceiling. And when class was held outside on a warm, sunny day, I relished laying prone while being propped up on my elbows with my kneebacks facing the blue, cloudless sky. I also found that other students loved seeing me in this position and would deliberately come near so they could get a good look at my thighs, calves and kneebacks.
And I wasn't the only one who loved laying face down while wearing shorts. So did my dad! He loved wearing shorts every day in any kind of weather. Dad used to be a crossing guard and loved working while wearing shorts. He told me about one day where he went to work wearing his uniform shirt, black mid-thigh cargo shorts, white athletic knee socks and sneakers and how so many of the boys he crossed looked at his kneebacks as they walked behind him. He said that even many of the male drivers of the cars that went by also looked at his exposed legs. While I lived with him, he taught me how to better appreciate my legs by laying on his stomach and running his hands along the back of my thighs and calves, finally extending his tongue and licking my kneebacks. Then, I asked him which of my shorts he thought I looked best in...to which he replied my mid-thigh cut-offs with athletic knee socks and below-the-calf socks. And when I asked him which position he thought I would look better in to accentuate my legs, he answered "face down and at attention". I found out later on this was the same exact position he liked to lay down dressed in shorts!
When Jen came along, it was the happiest day of my life. It happened when the Academy of Dramatic Arts and her finishing school put a dance together. There were twice as many boys at the Academy at the time than girls...so it seemed only natural to do this. When I saw Jen sitting dejectedly in a seat at the wall, I wanted to go over to her. My friends tried to warn me off her because she was a third-degree black belted martial artist and none of the boys wanted to dance with her. I decided to take my chances. And I'm sure glad I did! I approached Jen, held out my hand and asked her if she wanted to dance. She lifted her eyes and saw my smile. She took my hand and slowly rose from the chair and started dancing with me. Of course she was a bit clumsy at first, stepping on my feet (and scuffing my highly polished shoes). But, I didn't mind. After all, I did get this beautiful wallflower on her feet for the rest of the evening. We were inseparable from that day on.
When we came down to South Florida to stay with my father during the summer break, Jen got to see my well-built legs for the first time. Not a day went by that I didn't wear either shorts or swimsuits. Jen got a kick out of seeing me wearing mid-thigh shorts and athletic knee socks, laying on my stomach as I watched television or read a book or script. She would sit in a chair overlooking me, looking at my kneebacks and whatever of my thighs she could see. And when I was laying on my stomach either by the pool or at the beach, she relished putting sunscreen on my back and my thighs, calves and kneebacks.
When we started attending college at the University of Central Florida in Orlando, she went to visit her mother and father in Punta Gorda. I stayed behind to work on furnishing our off-campus apartment. I soon realized that the apartment was haunted by a savage spirit that loved the back of my legs, especially scratching, biting and eating them while I was hanged by an invisible rope. I passed out during the experience. When I woke up an hour later, I walked to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and noticed that my legs were in one piece and no sign of a rope could be seen around my neck. Nevertheless, I got on the phone and telephoned a parapsychologist who came over and proceeded to exorcise the spirit. When I told him that the spirit began its attack when I was laying face down upon my bed, he told me to take the same position. No sooner did I do so than the spirit started raking the back of my legs, digging deeper into my kneebacks. I blacked out from the pain. The parapsychologist started his work. When I woke up again, he told me that the spirit had been exorcized and to call him if and when the spirit should retrun. I never told Jen about my unseen attacker or the incidents which occurred in our apartment.
When the time came for me to finally meet Jen's folks, I decided that I would dress in a white long-sleeved shirt, white mid-thigh dress shorts, white dress knee socks and white dress shoes, finishing off the ensemble with a white sports jacket. People around Punta Gorda must have thought I was the "bee's knees" because all the men couldn't take their eyes off me...especially when my back was facing them, giving them a fabulous view of my kneebacks and lower thighs. I began to fantasize about what those men were thinking about...how some of them wish they could see me hanging at the end of a rope, dressed as I was and baring my visible legmeat to my viewing public and how others dreamed about licking my kneebacks and biting my thick, meaty thighs as I strangled to death. With these thoughts running through my mind, Jen and I proceeded to enter her parents's house to have dinner.
After dinner was finished, Jen decided to take a walk with her parents while I stayed behind, looking to see what was playing on cable TV. Then, an urge came over me...an urge to watch TV while laying prone on the carpet with my hands at my sides and my naked thighs and kneebacks facing the ceiling. By the time Jen returned with her parents, the urge had passed. They all found me sitting in the chair, reading the local paper. I stood up and welcomed them upon their return. Her father had quite a few questions he wanted to ask me. Jen and her mother went to make the guest rooms ready for us. When the news finished at 11:30, we turned off all the lights and proceeded to go to our bedrooms while Jen's father turned on the alarm so we would be protected while we slept.
The next day, I dressed myself in a shimmel shirt which bore my well-developed abs, mid-thigh denim shorts, ankle socks and sneakers and went with Jen and her parents to Busch Gardens. When other women, young and old, looked at me, I was greeted with wolf-whistles and occasional pinches on my butt. I didn't mind the attention...but it drove Jen a bit livid. Her father asked me why I even permitted other women to touch me in front of his daughter. When I told him that I was a model as well as an actor, he began to understand. Touchy-feely, as well as wolf-whistling, came with the modeling territory. But, I told him that since I first met Jen when I was 15, no other young women interested me. We finished talking and enjoyed the rest of the day at Busch Gardens before having a late dinner and returning to Punta Gorda.
When we returned to our apartment in Orlando, I found a letter waiting for me. I took it outside and read it under the balcony lighting. It was from the parapsychologist who exorcised the spirit that was attacking me in the apartment. It appears there were several others ghostly attacks of young men laying face down and wearing shorts in the apartment over the past thirty years. Each young man complained about a spirit who scratched and bit their legs every time they lay on their stomachs. Each time the spirit was exorcised and each time the spirit returned, renewing its attacks with much more vigor than before. One young student got so frazzled from the attacks that he went to Wekiva National Park and, dressed in a tennis uniform and athletic knee socks, hanged himself from a tall branch of a sturdy oak tree. Nobody knew about him until somebody complained of a stench like rotting meat. Where the smell was the strongest, they looked around and found the bloated, decomposing body hanging fifty feet above the ground. He told me that if this was the same spirit, it might return at an inopportune time...such as when Jen was present. He advised me to search for a new apartment near the university. Jen wondered about the need to search for another apartment. I was afraid to tell her for fear of what she might think...but I told her anyway. She immediately understood and we started searching for a new place near the college. When we found it, we informed the building manager about the haunting. He understood and tore up our contract. I allowed him to keep the deposit to hold him over until he was able to find another tenant...if he was able to. We took our furniture and clothing and moved out of the building and into our new apartment that same day. From that day, we had total bliss without any further attacks upon my legs, which had garnered so much loving attention when I played the sports in which they were displayed...especially soccer, where only my knees were seen.
Whenever we had a soccer game (and we lost because of me), I was ordered by the coach to lay face down on a bench in the locker room and to permit all of my teammates to lick, then cum, my kneebacks. To tell you the truth...I smiled whenever this punishment was inflicted upon me. Maybe it was because of a friend who drooled upon them when I was a kid in upstate New York when we played "Good Guy/Bad Guy". I really enjoyed feeling his tongue and saliva on my pre-pubescent kneebacks.
When Jen and I finally got married on June 25, 1999 I dreamed continually of when I would have a son to teach how to enjoy male kneebacks. Today, I am the lucky father of three sons...all of whom kiss, lick, bite and pin my kneebacks upon request and take pictures of their handiwork on their cell phones, making photographs of them on my printer. I now have ten photo albums of pictures of my kneebacks only...some of them showing my kneebacks being maligned by tongues, teeth, pins and flames (which are my favorite).
Today, I am 46. I will turn 47 on May 8th and will expect my male friends from childhood through college to attend a party where I shall lay face down in mid-thigh shorts and below-the-calf socks, making my thighs, calves and kneebacks available to their discerning palates, tongues and pins, topping the party off with utility lighters which they will skim along my meat.
I was seven when I wore shorts to school for the very first time. I remember looking around and noticed that I was the only boy wearing shorts and knee socks in the entire class. I got into trouble and was sent to stand in the corner. When the teacher noticed that I was looking at the class, she ordered me to turn around and face the corner at attention. I recall the humility I felt...to be standing there, facing the corner with my
kneebacks facing the entire class. I wept silently as I thought about the other boys staring at my naked kneebacks and giggling. When my period of punishment was finished, the teacher had me resume my seat, which I did while some boys who sat closest to me were still giggling and smiling while looking at my knees. At the end of the day, the teacher had me stay behind while she composed a letter of admonishment addressed to my grandfather. All would have been well and I would have hidden the letter or threw it away had the teacher not order that I return the letter to her the next morning...with my grandfather's signature on it!
That clinched it. The minute I brought that letter home and gave it to my grandfather, I would be punished. And if I didn't return it to the teacher with his signature on it, I would also be punished. So I had to make a decision...be punished by my grandfather by his belt against my butt or stand facing the corner for an entire day. I decided that it would be best for me to have my classmates staring at my kneebacks for six hours and being sent to the principal's office afterwards. However, I later found out that the principal called my grandfather and informed him that I had disobeyed the teacher. So the old man ended up lashing my butt with his belt in any case...while I laid face down upon my bed.
I continued to wear shorts and knee socks until my father got custody of me in 1983, when I was twelve years old. Even during the court proceedings, I had to wear shorts and knee socks. Me...a boy nearly thirteen years old, the age when I would be considered to be a man in my religion. My father won the case in absentia and, because he lived in Florida and the case was in New York City, temporary custody was awarded to his father's cousin, who happened to be my attorney. Under his guardianship, I received the first pair of trousers I had worn in six years...and it felt great!
 |
| Soon, legs would be seen again. |
And I wasn't the only one who loved laying face down while wearing shorts. So did my dad! He loved wearing shorts every day in any kind of weather. Dad used to be a crossing guard and loved working while wearing shorts. He told me about one day where he went to work wearing his uniform shirt, black mid-thigh cargo shorts, white athletic knee socks and sneakers and how so many of the boys he crossed looked at his kneebacks as they walked behind him. He said that even many of the male drivers of the cars that went by also looked at his exposed legs. While I lived with him, he taught me how to better appreciate my legs by laying on his stomach and running his hands along the back of my thighs and calves, finally extending his tongue and licking my kneebacks. Then, I asked him which of my shorts he thought I looked best in...to which he replied my mid-thigh cut-offs with athletic knee socks and below-the-calf socks. And when I asked him which position he thought I would look better in to accentuate my legs, he answered "face down and at attention". I found out later on this was the same exact position he liked to lay down dressed in shorts!
 |
| This was the first time I got Jen's butt, |
When we came down to South Florida to stay with my father during the summer break, Jen got to see my well-built legs for the first time. Not a day went by that I didn't wear either shorts or swimsuits. Jen got a kick out of seeing me wearing mid-thigh shorts and athletic knee socks, laying on my stomach as I watched television or read a book or script. She would sit in a chair overlooking me, looking at my kneebacks and whatever of my thighs she could see. And when I was laying on my stomach either by the pool or at the beach, she relished putting sunscreen on my back and my thighs, calves and kneebacks.
When we started attending college at the University of Central Florida in Orlando, she went to visit her mother and father in Punta Gorda. I stayed behind to work on furnishing our off-campus apartment. I soon realized that the apartment was haunted by a savage spirit that loved the back of my legs, especially scratching, biting and eating them while I was hanged by an invisible rope. I passed out during the experience. When I woke up an hour later, I walked to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and noticed that my legs were in one piece and no sign of a rope could be seen around my neck. Nevertheless, I got on the phone and telephoned a parapsychologist who came over and proceeded to exorcise the spirit. When I told him that the spirit began its attack when I was laying face down upon my bed, he told me to take the same position. No sooner did I do so than the spirit started raking the back of my legs, digging deeper into my kneebacks. I blacked out from the pain. The parapsychologist started his work. When I woke up again, he told me that the spirit had been exorcized and to call him if and when the spirit should retrun. I never told Jen about my unseen attacker or the incidents which occurred in our apartment.
 |
| What I wore when arriving in Punta Gorda. |
After dinner was finished, Jen decided to take a walk with her parents while I stayed behind, looking to see what was playing on cable TV. Then, an urge came over me...an urge to watch TV while laying prone on the carpet with my hands at my sides and my naked thighs and kneebacks facing the ceiling. By the time Jen returned with her parents, the urge had passed. They all found me sitting in the chair, reading the local paper. I stood up and welcomed them upon their return. Her father had quite a few questions he wanted to ask me. Jen and her mother went to make the guest rooms ready for us. When the news finished at 11:30, we turned off all the lights and proceeded to go to our bedrooms while Jen's father turned on the alarm so we would be protected while we slept.
The next day, I dressed myself in a shimmel shirt which bore my well-developed abs, mid-thigh denim shorts, ankle socks and sneakers and went with Jen and her parents to Busch Gardens. When other women, young and old, looked at me, I was greeted with wolf-whistles and occasional pinches on my butt. I didn't mind the attention...but it drove Jen a bit livid. Her father asked me why I even permitted other women to touch me in front of his daughter. When I told him that I was a model as well as an actor, he began to understand. Touchy-feely, as well as wolf-whistling, came with the modeling territory. But, I told him that since I first met Jen when I was 15, no other young women interested me. We finished talking and enjoyed the rest of the day at Busch Gardens before having a late dinner and returning to Punta Gorda.
When we returned to our apartment in Orlando, I found a letter waiting for me. I took it outside and read it under the balcony lighting. It was from the parapsychologist who exorcised the spirit that was attacking me in the apartment. It appears there were several others ghostly attacks of young men laying face down and wearing shorts in the apartment over the past thirty years. Each young man complained about a spirit who scratched and bit their legs every time they lay on their stomachs. Each time the spirit was exorcised and each time the spirit returned, renewing its attacks with much more vigor than before. One young student got so frazzled from the attacks that he went to Wekiva National Park and, dressed in a tennis uniform and athletic knee socks, hanged himself from a tall branch of a sturdy oak tree. Nobody knew about him until somebody complained of a stench like rotting meat. Where the smell was the strongest, they looked around and found the bloated, decomposing body hanging fifty feet above the ground. He told me that if this was the same spirit, it might return at an inopportune time...such as when Jen was present. He advised me to search for a new apartment near the university. Jen wondered about the need to search for another apartment. I was afraid to tell her for fear of what she might think...but I told her anyway. She immediately understood and we started searching for a new place near the college. When we found it, we informed the building manager about the haunting. He understood and tore up our contract. I allowed him to keep the deposit to hold him over until he was able to find another tenant...if he was able to. We took our furniture and clothing and moved out of the building and into our new apartment that same day. From that day, we had total bliss without any further attacks upon my legs, which had garnered so much loving attention when I played the sports in which they were displayed...especially soccer, where only my knees were seen.
 |
| Whenever I played soccer, these lovelies were licked and cummed by my teammates! And, guess what? I loved it...and still do! |
When Jen and I finally got married on June 25, 1999 I dreamed continually of when I would have a son to teach how to enjoy male kneebacks. Today, I am the lucky father of three sons...all of whom kiss, lick, bite and pin my kneebacks upon request and take pictures of their handiwork on their cell phones, making photographs of them on my printer. I now have ten photo albums of pictures of my kneebacks only...some of them showing my kneebacks being maligned by tongues, teeth, pins and flames (which are my favorite).
Today, I am 46. I will turn 47 on May 8th and will expect my male friends from childhood through college to attend a party where I shall lay face down in mid-thigh shorts and below-the-calf socks, making my thighs, calves and kneebacks available to their discerning palates, tongues and pins, topping the party off with utility lighters which they will skim along my meat.
 |
| See you then! |
