WEARING SHORTS IN MY FAVORITE POSITION

Muy sabroso, ¿no?

     I have been wearing shorts almost every day since I was living with my maternal grandparents. Here's how it happened to be.

     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!

Soon, legs would be seen again.

     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!

This was the first time I got Jen's butt,

     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.

What I wore when arriving in Punta Gorda.

     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 I played soccer, these lovelies were licked and cummed
by my teammates! And, guess what? I loved it...and still do!

     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.

See you then!

FACE DOWN ON A DINNER TABLE

Can you imagine looking down at these beauties?

     Can you picture yourself looking down at deliciosities such as those in the picture above?

     Can you imagine that the deliciosities you are looking at are my beautiful legs...with me laying face down on a dinner table?

     Now, imagine, if you will...I am dressed in a black long-sleeved sweatshirt, black mid-thigh cargo shorts, black below-the-calf socks and black sneakers and my beautiful thighs, calves and kneebacks are just begging to feel a mouthful of teeth biting the muscular thigh and calf meat and a wet tongue licking the kneebacks. Or imagine your lips gingerly kissing the back of my legs from shorts to socks.

     Sounds deliciously blissful, doesn't it?

This 20-year-old was one lucky guy!

     Well, Douglas Beahm was the one guy who, out of all the male college students throughout the United States, was the winner who was chosen in a contest for me to visit his college where he would first kiss my meat, then bite my thighs and calves and lick my kneebacks and end the night by licking my meats from the shorts to the socks. He was also the one who was unlucky enough to be taken into the locker room, dressed in his gym uniform and hanged six feet off the floor, receiving six arrows in his chest and back...a Cicero-style death as in Gladiator.

MY SABBATH HANGING

Looking handsome in a Sabbath hanging suit!

     It was Saturday, December 25, 2010.

     Christmas Day.

     A perfect day to hang in a shorts suit.

     I woke up at 4 in the morning and looked out the window of my five-star hotel room in Mumbai, India. It was nice and dark...and silent. I looked left and right and found not a solitary sole lurking about. Then, I turned and looked at the thermostat on the wall near the the window. The temperature was a balmy 80 degrees. And, according to the local news station, it slated to be a hot day, with a high of 90 degrees.

     Smiling, I turned and walked into the bathroom. I turned on the shower, stripped myself down to my birthday suit, opened the glass door and walked in. I then proceeded to thoroughly clean myself for my day's event. Once I was absolutely certain that my whole body was 100% clean and dried, I returned to the bedroom and dressed myself in a pair of clean white boxer shorts. I then walked over to the closet and took out my clothing of the day...a white long-sleeved shirt and black mid-thigh dress shorts. Perfect!

     I put the shirt and shorts on and went over to my bureau and extracted the best socks that would go well with the clothing...black knee-length dress socks. I sat down upon the bed and pulled the socks onto my legs all the way up to my knees. Then, I put on the jacket which best suited this ensemble, finishing with my shiny black dress shoes. Standing before the mirror, I admired my reflection and looked especially at my naked lower thighs and knees...and smiled once again.

     Then, I approached the desk, sat down and proceeded to write a note on the door hanger for the housekeeper...in Hindi. When I had finished, I rose, walked to the door, opened it and put the hanger on the outside knob, locking the door from the inside. The note read:

     "I will be out of town until next Wednesday. The suite has already been cleaned. Do not enter until Thursday morning. Thank you".

     Once I was satisfied with all the preparations for the day's event, I opened my suitcase and took out the final ingredient...a hangman's noose, complete with the traditional thirteen loops. I looked up at the ceiling and smiled again. There was the main reason why I requested a top-floor suite...a rafter of solid oak. I threw the noose over the rafter, then took the remainder of the rope and, opening the closet door, anchored the rope to the cement pole within. Making certain the rope was tight, I situated a stool beneath the noose. Then, before I would proceed with the day's event, I sat down at the desk once again and wrote a second note. This one was addressed to the hotel's manager. I propped it up against the desk's mirror before standing up.

     I climbed the stool, stood on tiptoes and put the noose around my neck. When I lowered myself, the noose was tightened perfectly. I reached into the pocket of my shorts and removed a pair of handcuffs. I put one on my right wrist, placed my hands behind my back and placed the other cuff on my left wrist. I then smiled a smile of finality before tipping the stool over.

     When the housekeeper saw the note on the door-hanger, she proceeded to do every other suite on the floor, unaware of the sight she would have been greeted with when she opened the door next.

     And what greeted her on Thursday morning?

     The housekeeper opened the door and was greeted with the sight of my naked thighs and kneebacks as they were being attacked by maggots which always covered rotting meat. She frantically called the manager on her cellphone.

     The manager and the hotel's security team came up to my suite, followed by Mumbai's finest and the prefect's medical examiner. While my body still hung in the center of the suite, the M.E. snapped pictures of my five-day old corpse, mostly of the maggots eating away at my thighs and kneebacks and my face, with a sardonic grin upon it...a grin of the decomposing. As he was doing this, the manager saw the note I had left for his eyes only. It read:

     "I leave it to your auspices to dispose of my remains in the fashion of your country".

     After several hours, the police lowered my body and, with my hands still cuffed behind my back, placed it face down upon a gurney, covering it from just below the knees to the head...undoubtedly to keep the other guests from seeing my rotting thighs and kneebacks and possibly retching their heads off...and removed it to the prefect's morgue, where, according to my wishes, it was placed in the furnace and cremated.

     One thing still puzzled me as I roamed in heaven, attired in an all-white version of my death clothes: if I hanged myself facing the suite's door, why was it my thighs and kneebacks which greeted the eyes of the housekeeper, manager, security, police and the M.E.? I could only think that, somehow, the action of my hanging forced my body to turn and face the window.

"Adieu to my handsome meat!"

LEGMEAT FLAMBE!

Picture these babies alone making a beautiful blaze!

     When I was attending the University of Central Florida in Orlando, I chanced to take a trip up to Wekiva Springs State Park near Apopka. The trip was a short one...only fifteen miles away from the campus. Brian McKendrick, the college's top tennis player, and a couple of other friends, Sean O'Riley and Danny Wilson, went along with me. It was a very warm late spring day with the temperature hovering around ninety degrees. We all went to the park wearing shorts. I wore coral blue mid-thigh cargo shorts. Brian was attired in a complete tennis outfit, displaying his deliciously handsome, meaty and hairless legs. Sean wore mid-thigh cargo shorts. Danny wore knee-length denim shorts. With the exception of Danny, who wore white athletic knee socks which accentuated his handsome kneebacks, we all wore white atheltic below-the-calf socks, exposing seventy-five to one hundred percent of our tanned, handsome legs.
.
     While we were eating our lunch, from off in the distance came the sound of what we perceived to be gunshots...six of them. At first, we were scared, thinking that whoever was firing the gunshots might venture into us and, after forcing us to lie prone at attention, shoot us in the back and depart, leaving our kneebacks facing the clear blue sky and our exposed meats for the birds, crabs and insects to devour. Luckily for us, though, whoever fired the shots came nowhere near our encampment. We were safe and went on to finished our lunch, after which, we decided, we would venture forth to seek out the possible victim of the gunshots...if any.

     When we had finished eating, we rose to our feet and decided to go off in four different directions in search of the reason of the gunshots and their victim. Each one of us had a cellphone and promised that if, and when, we came upon the reason of the gunfire, we would inform the other three.

     Lucky me!

     I had come across the freshly-murdered body of a young man...no older than sixteen...stretched out face down, hands tied behind his back and his feet tightly bound at the ankles. He was white...handsome...well-built...attired in mid-thigh shorts, below-the-calf socks and sneakers. Four fresh bullet holes were clearly visible in the direct center of his back. Two more bullet holes were found behind each ear...undoubtedly the fatal shot or shots. The body was still a little warm, indicating that the youth was killed within the past half-hour.

     I called Brian, Sean and Danny. Within five minutes, my friends joined me and, together, we looked down at the dead meat between the shorts and socks. We asked ourselves what we were going to do. It was Danny who came up with the best idea any of us ever had. We would get the gas can from my car, douse the leg meat and set them afire, lay face down at attention around the dead youth and murmur how we would wish we could be incinerated likewise if we are found dead in shorts.

     I had the honor of pouring the gas upon the dead youth's meat. Brian lit a book of matches and tossed it upon the glistening meat, setting it ablaze. We fell face down upon the ground, slapping our palms against our thighs and snapped our own meats together...four live pairs of kneebacks facing the sky. I chanced to take a deep breath, getting a whiff of the smell of roasting almonds as the youth's meat burned down to the bone. It was an invigorating odor...really sweet.

     We rose from the dead body with the legs still burning and returned to my car, taking the empty gas can with us. That night, we watched the early evening news, listening for any word about the dead youth being found...without legs.

HEAVEN, BLESS THESE MEATS!

     Every time I wear short shorts...I mean really short shorts that expose the entire meaty package...and below-the-calf socks, I love to wear them with a matching long-sleeved shirt and look at myself in a full-length mirror before throwing myself face down either on my bed or a plush, grassy part of my back yard. But before I put my face in the pillow or grass and place my hands at my sides, I look up towards heaven and say this prayer:

     "Lord, may You and all the angels in heaven look down upon my handsome legs which You in Your infinite wisdom saw fit to grant me with since I was a child. May those of my sex who I invite onto my property take advantage of my legs, bite deeply of my thighs and calves and lick my kneebacks. May they enjoy the taste of my skin and the muscles beneath. May their tongues stay long upon my kneebacks which I have longingly loved to expose to the public on stage and screen and wherever I walk. May I enjoy the pain which I would feel as they bite my meats and the wetness as they lick my kneebacks. Bless these meats while I live upon this earth and grant me the will to expose them after my death to the flames of the furnace of my neighborhood crematorium. Amen".

     Then, I put my face deep within my pillow or the grass of my yard and my hands at my sides while all men and boys enter and, opening their mouths, place their pearly white teeth and tongues upon my meats. As they bite my thighs and calves, I raise my head and release a prolonged "ahhhhhhhhh" of deep satisfaction. As they lick my kneebacks, I smile and lower my face back into the position of repose.

     When they have finished biting my meats and licking my kneebacks, they take the dart pistols which I had previously placed on a nearby table and shoot the thin darts into my thighs, calves and kneebacks, pulling the darts out and permitting my iron-rich red blood to exit each hole. Putting the pistols back upon the table, they would then prepare to leave, while rivulets of blood run down the sides of my thighs, calves and kneebacks.

     After I had been laying face down at attention for a aforementioned amount of time, my eldest son would use an ammonia capsule to awaken me while his brothers would take advantage and lick the blood off my meats. They would then leave me in my prone state to admire the pain which had been inflicted upon my meats. Resting my head on the side either upon the pillow or grass, I would smile and recite the following prayer:

     "Thank you, Lord and all the angels in heaven, for permitting my brothers to enjoy partaking of my meats. Amen".

     I would then stay upon my stomach, waiting until sunset to rise to my feet to dress in cleaner shorts and go to partake in my evening meal.

I hope you all enjoyed reading this delicious story of tasty male pulchritude!

SWEET KNEEBACKS SONG

YUMMY!!!

     Kneebacks!

     They look so great when they're owned by a handsome and well-built young man without a bit of hair on his legs. That description fits me to a T.

     I am handsome...or so I'm told by every woman I have ever worked with. Whether it's onscreen, onstage or before the photographer's camera on a modeling assignment.

     I am well-built. Well, after all...I was a model ever since I was fifteen. I have been working out constantly since then, building myself up to be a model of physical perfection. That meant improving not only my mind but my body as well. Every inch of it. And every actor I have worked with said that they would give their eyeteeth to have the type of body I have got. The last film I worked on, which was made in France, had so many women watching from the sidelines that, whenever the director called for a break, I was bombarded by so many of them that I couldn't breathe. And when I appeared onstage in Orlando as Atahuallpa in THE ROYAL HUNT OF THE SUN, my lack of clothing drew the eyes of everybody not only in the audience but onstage as well as backstage.

     I may not be young anymore. I am well past forty...forty-six at my last birthday...but I still have the face and figure that belie that fact.

See what I mean?

     Whenever I dress in a swimsuit, women whistle all around whatever pool I am about to dive into. And I mean women of all ages. The youngest woman was a mere ten years old. The oldest one who approached me in France was well into her eighties!

     But, the most wonderful thing which I thoroughly enjoy is when I wear mid-thigh shorts and below-the-calf socks, lie face down at attention and have men and boys, friends and strangers alike, stick out their tongues and lick my handsome kneebacks. Every time that is performed on me, I get a euphoric look on my face and give my trademarked "AHHH!" Sometimes I love it so much, I ejaculate smooth white cum in my briefs.

     But in what ways do I enjoy having my kneebacks licked?

     Many ways! One of my favorite ways is when my kneebacks are smeared with a layer of sweet honey. So sweet that many of the tongues which lick my kneebacks linger on them just to enjoy their taste. Sometimes my "confectioner" (a friend who takes charge of the event) spreads the honey upon my meaty thighs and calves so that many of those who lick my kneebacks can bare their teeth and bite those firm pieces of meat. And when they do, I close my eyes and grit my teeth while enjoying every delicious, mouthwatering bite! Do those who perform this act upon my meats do the same? I sure hope they do!

     Another way that I love having my kneebacks licked, kissed and tasted...is when my three sons place freshly-cooked Manwich on my meats and lick it (and the ground beef cooked with it) off for lunch. Sometimes, they even invite their friends over for lunch. Their friends are certainly surprised to find that my delicious legs are the bases for the lunch. I especially love it when they unintentionally bite my thighs, calves and kneebacks to get as much Manwich in their mouths. When they all finish, I take a shower and find that it takes me almost an hour to get the Manwich tint and smell off my meats. But I love it all the same.