Michael, Book 1, Part 1

How it all began . . .

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Stripped For Florida: Michael
Book 1, Part 1

by Willie B

Intro

Before there was ever a Stripped For Florida program, or even the QS, or even before the DECENT treaty was passed, a certain dysfunctional family was going through its own private contortions in Miami.  True, South Beach had topless models and swimmers from Europe.  A bit farther north, Haulover was famous as one of the few legit nude beaches in the USA.  But, other than that Florida was a very conservative place, even in Miami.  Of course, today it is still conservative -- ha, ha! -- but nudity rules the tax rolls.  Read on and discover how it all happened.


Name: Mike

There was no swim practice after school today.  The coaches had a scheduling meeting or something like that.  I slipped in the back door hoping no one would notice I was home early, and sprinted up the marble steps two at a time.  In my room I looked down to make sure the pool was empty while I undid my belt.  Polished dress shoes went into the shelf at the bottom of my closet.  I made sure my uniform was properly hung, creases properly lined up on my navy trousers, dress shirt on its hanger with the private school emblem on the left breast. I pulled off my undershirt, socks and boxers, threw them in the hamper and pulled on my practice speedos before running barefoot down to the pool.

"Michael, Michael, could you come here for a moment please." That's my mother.  She's the only one who calls me Michael.  For some reason no matter where I am in this huge house I can hear her small, quiet voice, even while practicing laps.  I paused before getting out of the pool, watching the sunlight shafting through green and blue tinted glass, sparkling off the bromated water of the large indoor pool.  My mother calls me Michael. My stepfather is French and calls me Michael, which sounds like a girl's name, Michelle.  My friends -- if you can really say I have any -- are all on swim team and just call me Mike. 

"Coming, mother."  I pulled myself out of the water in one practiced motion and padded off to see what she wanted, dripping water on the marble floors as I went. The swimming pool and waterproof floors were the best things about this house. Everything is glass, marble and glinting metal railings without much to soften the bright Florida sunlight. I'm pretty proud of the way I can lift myself out of the pool with just my upper arm strength -- I've been practicing that!  I'm pretty good at swimming, too, which is good because it's about the only thing I do.

My mother was in what she calls the 'conservatory.' I guess it's what my friends would call a Florida room, except that not a single one of them have ever been over to the house. I stood behind the loveseat where my mother opens her mail, carries out her correspondence and does whatever else it is that seems to consume hours each day. Unlike the rest of the house, this room is somewhat softened by a huge collection of plants, 16 and 20 foot palms and fig trees in large earthen urns, giant hanging ferns, lots and lots of orchids from my stepfather. I watched the water drip down my skin and the spandex fabric of my racing suit.  "Yes mother."

"I need to speak to you," she announced.  We play this little charade almost daily. Me standing behind her while she speaks her thoughts without bothering to turn around.  These pronouncements fall into only three categories: observations to which I am not expected to reply, threats which I ignore, and edicts which I am to obey. The latter are supposedly orders passed along from my stepfather. He never gives me a single instruction and I have no idea if this stream of directives actually comes from him or are my mother's own ideas.

"your father, Michael, informs me that you will be spending next summer in France.  I think you are a very lucky boy.  You will not need to take anything with you except for a few toiletries and a pair of flip flops.  I suppose what you are wearing now is sufficient, if they will let you on the plane that way. Otherwise we'll have to let you wear an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt that you can give away to charity once you get there.  I have a pamphlet you can read if you want to know more.  Oh, and by the way, your stepsisters will be coming for Thanksgiving.  They can tell you more about France if you have any questions."  She picked out a glossy brochure from the tabletop and held it over her shoulder.  Before Michael could reach for it his mother spoke again. "Don't be so shy, come around here so I can get a good look at you.  No, all the way around.  Turn around, that's good.  You're growing quite nicely.  I don't think you should have anything to be ashamed of.  You are so shy.  Why don't you invite your friends over for a swim?  Anyway, I'm sure after a summer at the Cap you will feel much more confident in yourself.  Either that or I'll have to give you up for adoption.  Really, I don't know what your father expects me to do with you.  Perform miracles?!"

She picked up her gold Cartier pen and began making notations in her leather bound diary.  After a few minutes I started to leave.

"The pamphlet, Michael. Really, you are so forgetful."

* * *

Name: Sarina/Mother

My husband is adamant that Michael should become more a part of the family enterprise.  I love my son very much, but I despair of raising a boy.  It is really my husband's duty to see to this, but he will not take a more active part.  Therefore it is left to me to try to understand my husband's wishes and carry them out.  He says a boy should not be so bashful and shy.  He wants him proud of his body and more confident.  The plan is to send him to France for the entire summer next year.  He will stay with his stepsisters while my husband and I travel in France, Spain and Portugal.  They will stay in the same condo at Cap D'Agde where my daughter stayed with my husband's daughters last summer. I guess I should not be so worried.  The summer away did wonders for her.  Now she has no problem working as a model, no matter what the assignment; or in acting in any of the films my husband's company is producing.  I know very well the demands as I am also a model and actress in this enterprise. My son, however, is more introverted and I cannot  imagine him becoming more sociable by spending the summer in a naturist resort.  Oh, well, he may be bored with himself, but he will spend the entire summer nude, as per my husband's wishes.

I believe my husband knows best as he himself has nudist experience, both as a child in France and here in Florida.  This is all very new to me and mostly in the nude modeling business. However, as my husband simply gives me directives and leaves the details to me I am undertaking to obtain advice from those with greater experience.  I have joined several online chat groups to discuss Michael's situation. 

So far the best recommendations have been to start slowly with some exercises that will help Michael become a little more used to his body before leaving for a summer at Cap d'Agde, Quartier Naturisme, France.  Otherwise he may be in shock upon arriving there and have a very hard time adjusting.  I am going to suggest to my husband that perhaps Michael be nude during the time that his stepsisters are visiting over Thanksgiving.  This would also be a good time for him to get used to being naked with them since they will be in charge of his care for most of the time that he is in France.  After all, my husband and I have a lot of travel and business to take care of and cannot be there all the time for Michael.  It is my opinion that he has one year to really become a contributing part of this family in every way.  Otherwise we are paying for his food and lodging, his clothing, travel, entertainment, you name it.  I realize he is only 13, but he has no way to give anything toward any of these expenses.  That is why for the summer we will give him a place to stay at the Cap but otherwise it will be a cheap nudist lifestyle for the boy.  His sisters will have some money to buy him food, but other than a few toiletries he will have nothing: no clothes except a pair of flip flops, no iPod, or books, or gameboy or anything else. He may be bored following his sisters around while they shop, but he can swim, or sleep, or walk around.  All in all it should be a boring but pure nude experience for him.  I will propose this to my husband as I am sure it will make him very happy. 

* * *

Name: Michael

Every day mother issues more of her "instructions" on how I am to spend next summer.  By now she has gone over so many miniscule details of how I am to spend my  every waking (and even sleeping) minute that I simply glaze over while she is talking and memorize the shapes of various ferns and orchids as I look over her shoulder.  The glossy brochure was less than informative.

"Cap D'agde, cite naturist" read the heading. Below it was a photograph of a large concrete apartment block of the unfortunate type that mar the scenery of far too much of the coastlines of France and Spain. Hundreds of people thronged the area in front of the building.  Whether clothed or not was impossible to tell from the scale of the photo.

Inside, the brochure was illustrated with equally unenlightening photos of apartment interiors, storefronts, restaurant ads, and one bizarre photo of a young lady selecting cold beverages from a supermarket cooler while wearing nothing but pink clogs.

The text was somewhat more informative, conveying in French the gist of Cap d'Agde: a naturist city supposedly nude-mandatory by daylight but encouraging full formal dress at fashionable dining spots by night.  Evidently there are also a variety of clubs where various states of fashionable partial dress is the norm.  Singles, couples, the adventurous, the kids, the parents, the entire family are all welcome in a lavish display of French tolerance.  The beaches are well-patroled to insure safety, the shopping is fine, the food excellent, the sun guaranteed all summer, the buildings charmingly decaying modernist concrete, and the whole thing nude!

Well, my take on the whole thing was that next summer was a long way away.  Maybe by then everyone's fascination with the subject would be over.  Or, I could hang out on the beach on my swimsuit.  That would be fine with me.

* * *

Name: Jeannette

The flight from Paris was fairly uneventful.  Our father had provided first class tickets on Air France as was his usual custom.  The Florida coastline looked bleached from too much sun as we peered out the windows.  The Airbus circled in a wide arc and came in for a smooth landing.  My father is generous, but very forceful in his wishes.  As his daughter I was used to playing my part in the family enterprise.  This time my sister Claudine and I were expecting a little more of a relaxed time than many of our assignments.  We'd both met his new wife -- well, I guess new is the right word, they've been married for nearly three years already -- and spent part of last summer 'breaking in' her daughter Marina.  But we'd never met her son.  Getting to play with a 12, nearly 13-year old boy was much more appealing than another modelling stint, movie, or management task.  I also had a suspicion that he would be a lot more innocent and good-natured than his rather snobby and ornery sister.

Flight attendants were now taking their places in the aisles, soft music coming over the speakers, and passengers were starting to unbuckle and pull piles of luggage from the overhead bins.  We stretched our limbs and were glad for the best perk of first class: first off the flying aluminum box!

Claudine and I travel light, just two wheeled valise like airline employees use.  With a quick pass through immigration we headed out of the glass doors.  There was papa, looking roguish and tanned -- and a little uncomfortable all dressed up!  There was his mousy-looking wife, too much make-up, frizzed hair, a "Florida" tanning salon tan.  Next to her was the young woman we'd spent way too much time with last summer.  So, the boy dressed in creased slacks, shined shoes and dress shirt must be the son.  He stuck out as way too formal and very subdued.  On the other hand, this was no out-of-his-body nerdy pre-teen.  In a strange way he looked as uncomfortable as my papa to be all dressed up.  Very interesting!  I hadn't expected this twist.  My mind quickly made some adjustments in plan.

Claudine rushed ahead and was hugging papa, accepting pecks on the cheek from our stepmother and Marina.  I let myself be held in close by papa and then turned to my task at hand.

"Ah, you must be Michelle -- as my father calls you -- but you are, what?  Mike?"

He nodded.

"You do some sport, I am sure. You look fantastic!"

"I'm on the swim team." he acknowledged.  "It is very nice to meet you."

A polite boy, too!  "Ah, a swimmer . . . I can't wait to see you without all those clothes on!"

He blushed red and looked down at his feet.  So cute!

• • •

Name: Michael

My experience with girls is fairly limited: my sister who barely acknowledges my existence.  My mother who rules my life.  And . . . well, I go to school with girls but I don't really know any of them beyond saying hello or passing over a pen or piece of paper in class.  I'm on the boys' swim team and that's, of course, all boys.  So, I'm just saying that all this attention from Jeannette and Claudine is really confusing.  Is every remark supposed to be so embarrassing?  Am I really supposed to stay with them in France next summer? 

Fortunately the drive from the airport finally ended.  My mother showed the girls to their guest quarters and I had a chance to be alone.  After a bit my mother came up to my room and asked me to do a few laps.

"Michael, you don't have swim practice all this week, and with Thanksgiving and guests here you will probably be eating extra and exercising less.  Why don't you please do you laps now while everyone is unpacking and settling in.  After that we'll be spending some time visiting together as a family."

I was a little worried about everyone staring at me in the pool, but on the other hand it is where I feel most relaxed.  Knowing that everyone was otherwise busy, I neatly hung my clothes, slipped on my practice speedo and headed down the stairs.  After a quick glance around the room full of glass and light I could see that I was alone.  I sliced the water with a racing dive and began to swim.  Immediately I felt better and paid no more thought to the rest of the world.  You can imagine my shock to face a round of applause when I surfaced from a final underwater swim. 

"Bravo, merveilleux, Mike," cheered Jeannette.  My sister stood listlessly bored beside her, but Claudine was clapping and hopping up and down on tip-toe.  If I could have dissolved into pool water I would have done so right then.  "Come, we have presents for you," smiled Claudine, extending her hands and offering to pull me out of the pool.  I thought of her falling into the water instead and blushed at the unbidden image of her body in wet clothes.  To distract myself I pulled myself out of the pool in the single move I'd been practicing.  I sluiced the water off my face and self-consciously felt the drops cascading down my chest and speedo. 

I was trying to figure out how to get up to my room to change, but Claudine and Jeannette were instantly on either side of me talking and laughing and caressing my arms, shoulder and back as they led me into the other room.  I'm not sure what you would call this room.  In the succession of cheap apartments my mother, sister and I had inhabited before my mother's marriage--what she called her "life solution"-- there were always defined, small, cramped and rather shabby spaces: living room, kitchen, "breakfast nook" where we'd take all our meals. Bathroom and bedrooms rounded out the options.  In this mansion of glass and steel everything was at angles and wide open spaces.  Even my bedroom included a wide open panoramic view of the pool below.  We now sat in modernistic gray fabric and steel chairs arrayed around a transparent glass table top that seemed to float in space.  This room also included low couches, a stainless steel kitchen with a huge island for food prep and/or eating, and a rather exotic south Florida feature: a large fireplace with a chimney of black basalt soaring up to the blue-green glass three stories above.

Jeanette pulled me onto her lap as she sat, holding me close with surprisingly strong arms, my naked wet body and bathing suit against the white cotton of her summer dress.  "Claudine, let's show them all the presents we brought, cheri, what are you waiting for?"

Jeannette lightly stroked my stomach with her finger tips while Claudine pulled out cheeses, bottles of wine, small pastries, paté, fruits, and other edible delicacies.  She reached over and put a bite of cheese in my mouth and laughed while I struggled to eat it gracefully!  Everyone started eating, talking, catching up on details of people I didn't know, plans for future events I had no part in, and acting like any other family -- I supposed.  Except that in the middle of this familial group I was nearly naked, being stroked and massaged while everyone else was conspicuously dressed.  Even my stepfather who is habitually nude at home.  In fact, my family was nothing like what I supposed was normal, either on a daily basis or today!!!

"Did you think we forgot you?" Claudine interrupted my thoughts. "We brought this little present just for you. Let Jeanette show you!!"  Claudine opened a small tin, about the size of those round containers of mints they sell in convenience stores.  Jeanette let her finger swirl delicately on the surface of the gel inside and resumed teasing my belly with the tips of her fingers.  A strange warmth infused my flesh at every touch.  She added a little more of the gel to her fingers and continued massaging my belly, moving down to the upper parts of my legs.  My mind could no longer follow the conversation, but seemed to be melding into the same infusing warmth that was filling my body.  Too late I realized that I was in a complete fog of reverie and that blood was about to fill that place on my body that was covered with speedo fabric but suddenly far too obviously on display.

In the back of my mind I heard my mother say, "Go ahead and strip him now."  With a swift motion Jeanette had my speedo off my hips. Claudine finished the motion of the fabric down my legs.  I sat there with the most rigid hard-on I'd ever had in my life.

• • •

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