Too Close to Home (Part 2)

When I look back, I guess it all really began oneway in "gym class".

The day was going normally (well, I guess you wouldn’t call any of this normal, but there was nothing extra weird), until I went to change my clothes in the “locker room.”

I went upstairs to my parent’s bathroom and closed the door behind me. I didn’t lock it. I wasn't allowed to. I tried that once before and my dad scolded me for it, calling it a “misuse of school property.” He was technically right, the locker room at school wasn’t locked during the day. To avoid another scolding, I just made sure not to do it again. But when I opened my gym bag, I realized my clothes weren’t in it, and I remembered that I had left them in my closet last night.

Now, as I said before, I had tried to go into my room during “school hours,” and it never went over well with my parents. So I just put everything into my locker and went back downstairs in my casual clothes.

When I walked outside where my father was waiting for me. In his T-shirt, cargo shorts, with a whistle around his neck and a baseball cap on his head, he actually did look like a gym coach. And unfortunately for me, he acted like one too. He wasted no time pointing out my dress code violation.

"Where's your uniform?" he said.

"I forgot it."

"You know the rules. If you don’t have your gym clothes, you spend class in your underwear."

“Very funny,” I said. I looked around. “What’s today’s lesson?”

He had a stern look on his face and said, "I'm not joking."

I saw the look in his eyes and knew that he was just crazy enough to be right.

"You can't be serious,” I protested.

"I assure you I am quite serious. What did you think would happen when you broke the rules?”

"I thought you would let me off with a warning or something. Look, it won’t happen again, I promise.”

"This is your warning. And I know it won't happen again, because you are going to spend today in your underwear. Now strip!”

I looked down at the ground.

“I can’t,” I said.

“And why not?”

“Because I’m not wearing any underwear.”

You see, earlier this year, when my mother was doing my laundry, she noticed that some of the older pairs, which I had worn for several years, were starting to develop holes in them. And I didn’t find out until a few weeks later, after she started making me do my own laundry, that she had thrown them out. So now I’m stuck with less pairs, and I keep forgetting to do the laundry, so I sometimes just go without, even at real school. I’m pretty sure nobody notices.

“Speak up,” my father said. “I can’t hear you.”

“I can’t strip down to my underwear because I’m not wearing any!” I said, conscious of the fact that I was outside.

“Well that’s too bad,” he said. “Now strip.”

“What?!”

“Rules are rules. If you have to strip bare-assed, that’s your own fault, but don’t go holding up my class.”

From the look on his face and the tone of his voice, I knew he wasn’t joking.

“This is ridiculous! Look, there’s underwear in my room, alongside my gym clothes. I can run and get them in two minutes.”

“No,” he said. “You are not allowed to go home.”

“But I am home,” I whined. “And you’re my father.”

“Yes, and as your father I happen to be aware that the underwear in your room is dirty because you forgot to do the washing this weekend.”

“But.”

“Do it, or I mark you as absent and give you an F.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Last chance.”

I looked around nervously.

“Right here?”

“That’s right.”

I let out a sigh and pulled my shirt over my head. I kicked my shoes off, then slid my shorts down, exposing my cock to my father. I bunched my clothes up under one arm and stuck my feet into my shoes. I was now fully naked outdoors.

My father’s face didn’t change much after witnessing my nudity.

“What do I do with my clothes?” I asked.

“Go put them in your locker.”

“What?! Then why did I have to strip out here?”

“What difference does it make if you’re coming back out here anyways?”

He had a good point. As I walked in, I was both relieved and disappointed that I didn’t run into my mother. Relieved because I didn’t want her to see me like this, and disappointed in the hope that if she had she might have put a stop to it. I went upstairs, put my clothes in my “locker,” and returned quickly, before I got in any more trouble.

I opened the sliding door and found myself naked outside for the second time.

“Good,” my father said. “Now we can finally get started. Stretches first. You know the routine.”

I did know the routine, and we went through every bit of it.

We did stretches. Bend over, lunge, reach for the sky, etc. I was allowed to sit down on my mother’s spare yoga mat when it wasn’t too muddy out. I could feel the material on my bare ass as I alternated touching toes.

And if that wasn’t thorough enough to expose every inch of my bare body, the warm ups were next. Jumping jacks, high knee runs, and even jumping rope. All of which caused my genitals to flop around wildly. And my dick slapping into my thighs, balls, and stomach so many times have me an erection. Thankfully my father didn’t mention it, although the couldn’t have missed it.

I couldn’t tell if any of our neighbors were watching me because of the gleam on their windows. I tried to notice a curtain or shade moving, but craning my neck while running hurt too much. And besides, even if they did see me? What could I possibly do about it at this point?

“Take a lap around the track,” meant run a circle around the inside of the fence that enclosed our yard. It took me a little too close to other people’s property for my comfort, but it was tolerable.

“Take a lap around the school,” however, meant run around the whole house, which meant going around to the front.

"What if people see me?" I asked, pleading not to go.

"You just ignore them and keep doing your laps."

I could see in his face that he meant it and knew there was no point in arguing. He was really going to make me do this, just for leaving my gym clothes in my closet.

I walked over and opened the side gate. Then I peered out both ways really quickly to try and see if there was anyone walking by before they would see me, but the street was empty as far as I could see. Behind me, my father was yelling at me, telling me to get going. I left the safety of the yard and started running. The way I saw it, if I ran across the front lawn and slowly jogged back through the yard, I could minimize the amount of time I could be seen from the street. I darted across the front lawn and around the cars parked in the driveway (they had to be for the garage to be clear), then reached the safety of the yard once more.

At first I hoped none of the neighbors looked out their windows, but I soon realized that it was futile. I was gonna run in front of them for the next half hour at least. And the fast-slow-fast technique was killing my legs, so I started running at a steady pace. I was seen by a few people. One was an older gentleman in his mid-thirties, who was jogging shirtless, although that didn't make me feel any better. There was also a guy a few years older than me, about college age, going by on a skateboard. I hoped he didn't know any of the people I went to school with, because I would die if they found out. But the worst might have been the two women going for a walk, because they were moving at a slower pace, and therefore I completed several more laps in the time it took them to reach the end of the street and turn the corner. And they almost certainly talked about me. I could see them pointing, but I tried to look ahead and ignore them. Once I tried to stop to "catch my breath," but my father wouldn't accept it, and I had to continue.

I was relived when the time was up and I could get dressed again. I was dripping in sweat and it stained my clothes a little. I guess that's why there is such a thing as gym clothes.

It was lunch time, but I went to visit my mother, who was preparing her lesson in the garage. When I walked in she was sitting in her chair (she didn't have a desk yet), reading some papers in her lap. I tried to get her attention.

"Mom," I said.

She just kept shuffling papers, ignoring me.

"Mom!" I repeated.

“I told you, it's Mrs. Gregory,” she says.

I sighed. "Fine. Mrs. Gregory?”

"Yes, Michael?"

"Dad--I mean--Coach, just made me run around naked in front of the whole street."

"Yes, I saw from the window."

"So you knew?" I said. "And you didn't do anything about it?"

"What was I supposed to do? It's his class, not mine. Coach can do as he likes."

"But it's not fair!"

"What's not fair about it? Did you remember your gym clothes?"

"..."

"Did you?"

"No," I said, holding my head down in shame.

"You knew there would be consequences, and there were. Now go to lunch, and make sure you are back here in time for our lesson. Go on now. Shoo."

Fortunately, the rest of the day was pretty normal. Classes went okay, and "I went home" to do my homework and come down for dinner. I didn't bother complaining to them about what happened that day, not like I could if it actually happened at school. I knew they would only tell me that what the "teachers" did was right."

I did sure to get a load of laundry done before the next day, and to remember my gym bag with my clothes in it. I wasn't going to make that mistake again.