» Unexpected Nudity

"The Box" or, how I learned to stop worrying and love my penis
Thankfully, most of the nudity in my life has been pre-planned and, in some cases, as a joyous result of many months of hard work. Well, all apart from one year where any party, pub vist, barbeque or bored afternoon in front of the television seemed to end up with an episode of streaking but thats a much less interesting story than it sounds.

Anyway, The Box.

My encounter with the box, and its contents was a brief one, never to be repreated and never to be forgotten. I had spent the past 5 years of my life in an all boys school and was some months away from successfully negotiating the mine field of a mixed-sex sixth form to provide my peers with affirmation that I was not, by default, a raging gay. As a result, the source of many of my encounters with the opposite sex stemmed from joining an internet forum, much like this fine community, dedicated to the now sadly deceased easyworld. As a result of shit-awful record company backing, easyworld were perpetually touring and this provided a number of opportunities for meet-ups. So, on one tour, the Liverpool date comes up and me and my partner in crime are due to be meeting up with a couple of girls we'd met at easyworld gigs over the course of the summer during the day before heading off to the gig.

Being sixteen, skint and possessed with the social imagination of... well, skint sixteen year boys, we were at a bit of a loss for what to do on our way up to Lime Street Station to meet the girls off the train.

Then we saw the box.

The box was a large wooden frame, clad in sheets of perspex, set up in the courtyard of the Bluecoat Arts gallery (for anyone who knows Liverpool) and gave no clue as to its purpse other than a sign promising that it would play host to an episode of 'performance art' by two gentlemen of oriental extraction later on in the afternoon. With no other options, we added this to our non-existent itinerary and continued on our way to the train station.

Roll on a few hours and we've taken up front row seats in front of the box which is now beginning to look like some sort of self-service buffet. Bottles upon bottles of condiments, liquids and pretty much anything that could feasily come in a tube were being placed into the corners of the box.

Soon enough, the performers came along, all respectably turned out and looking more like a pair of businessmen than a pair of performance artists. A short bow to the audience and one another and we were away. Wielding sauces like shotguns and bottles like bazookas, these previously respectable gentlemen began covering themselves, the floor and the walls in all manner of condiment. Within minutes, they looked like a foodfight in the heinz factory and were proceeding to remove items of clothing. Off came jacket and tie, shirt and trousers until both were wearing just a vest and boxers. At this point, a slow realisation was dawning across the crowd (bear in mind that this was an saturday afternoon about a week before the end of the school holidays) that this was not the final state of undress to be attained by our entertainers. Sure enough, away were the boxers and vest and we were confronted, bollocks and all, by a pair of gentlemen engaging in about of nude sumo wrestling in what looked like the leftovers of a paintshop bukkake night.

Despite all this, the prevailing thought going through my head was not one of digust, nor horror at the fact that we now appeared to our guests to be afficionados of naked paint wrestling. No, my thoughts at the time

"Phew, thank god my cock is bigger than that"

Length? Ain't no mighty oaks growing from those acorns, lets put it that way...
(Sun 31st May 2009, 13:53, More)