Miles's Revealing Clothing Teases

As we exited the staircase and entered the cafeteria, there was a collective gasp from a number of the senior class whose table had them facing our direction. Miles was a few steps in front of me.

"What are you doing?" asked Ryan.

"I was arrested," replied Miles.

Recognizing the confused look on a number of the seniors' faces, I explained, "We were in Mr. Vanston's class performing my play. I arrested Miles and had to bring him to the jail."

"But...why are you naked?" asked Christina.

I started to try to come up with an explanation, but Miles interjected. "My toga got ripped in the scuffle."

Miles then stepped onto an empty seat at the middle table and then stepped right up on the table. I couldn't believe it. Miles, rather than making any attempt to hide, was using the table as a stage.

It being high school, some of the guys started doing high school things. There were a few tater tots thrown at Miles, one bouncing off his chest, another bouncing off his stomach. Then Sean reached up to him and flicked Miles's penis with his banana. Brian came over and tried to place a few raisins on Miles's dick, but they slid off.

Suddenly, there was a piercing high pitched sound. The fire alarm was going off. I looked over at the wall where the fire alarm box in the cafeteria is located. Steve was standing right there with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. Oh my god, had Steve pulled the fire alarm?

As I was looking over at Steve, he reached down under his own toga, and I saw him pull down, then step out of, his black boxer briefs. "What is he doing?" I thought to myself. "In event of fire, remove underwear?" I could not make sense of Steve's actions.

Miles had jumped down off the table, barely managing to maintain his balance, with his hands still tied behind his back, upon landing. But the innate athleticism that he used to evade rushing linebackers gave him the inner core strength to twist and right himself just before landing on his feet. Students were now starting to press towards the staircase. I found myself immediately behind Miles. For the first time, I sensed a bit of fear, rather than sparkle, in his eyes. "James, I can't go outside like this!"

At that moment, Steve blended into the funnel of students converging at the door to the staircase. In a swift motion, he reached his arms up and pulled something over Miles's head. It was black. And then I realized it...Steve had pulled his own boxer briefs down over Miles's face.

"Stay with me," Steve said to Miles. The crowd behind began to push us towards the stairs. It was one short flight of stairs and then out the side door onto the lawn of the school. Each of the grades was assigned their own quadrant of the lawn as part of our evacuation plan. That put us seniors in the west corner along Wyoming Avenue facing Wendy's restaurant.

Miles could feel the fresh air and breeze against his skin, but he clearly could not see. "You can't take me outside," he said, although it was unclear whom he was talking to...me or Steve or anyone in particular.

"Follow me," Steve said. I looked down and realized that Steve had grabbed Miles's penis and was using it to pull Miles along in the crowd. I was puzzled what Steve's intentions were. Clearly we weren't going to be able to get away with parading Miles around naked outside.

But, Steve seemed to be mindful of the risks. He pulled Miles towards the outer edge of the crowd. In doing so, Steve was using the fellow students to shield Miles from passing cars on either Wyoming Avenue or Ash Street.

"Is that Miles Klarkson?" an adult voice calls out from our left.

I look up to our left and see Mr. Sykes, the art teacher, approaching.

Steve let go of Miles's penis in surprise. Many thoughts were running through my head. "Was I going to get in trouble?" "Was Miles going to get in trouble?" "How do we explain this?" "How had Mr. Sykes recognized Miles, when Miles was wearing a pair of black boxer shorts over his head?"

I managed to answer only the last question. It wouldn't have taken that much deduction for Mr. Sykes to figure out who our 'masked' prisoner was. Our school didn't have that many bronze-skinned male students with chiseled physiques. That, after all, was a subset of one to which Miles was the only member.

Looking down again, my eyes were drawn to Miles's nether regions. Of all the times I had seen Miles naked, one of the things that struck me was that his penis and balls always hung down to the exact same length. But, now Miles's cock was extending nearly an extra two inches beyond his balls. Clearly, Steve's tugging had caused it to stretch out.

Mr. Nolan called out, "All clear. Return to the building."

Mr. Sykes stopped in his tracks and turned back the other direction. "Saved by the bell," I thought to myself, as Mr. Sykes headed back towards the juniors whom he was responsible for monitoring during an evacuation.

Then Mr. Sykes turned back and faced us. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. Two quick flashes of light told me that Mr. Sykes had just snapped photos of Miles. Granted, Miles's face was covered, and he was unaware of Mr. Sykes's actions. But, I was standing there terrified. "Why had Mr. Sykes taken pictures of Miles?" "Was he going to show them to Mr. Nolan?" I wondered to myself, "If he shows them to the principal, we're screwed."

"James!" "James," I heard Miles shouting.

"Right here," I responded.

"You've got to help get me back upstairs. I can't go to Miss Mancuso's class like this," he said, with just a little bit of cracking in his voice.

I grabbed his hand and said, "Follow me!"

"Get this scarf off my face," Miles exclaimed.

At that moment, I saw Vinny reach up and pull Steve's boxer shorts off Miles's head. "I wonder if Vinny realizes those aren't Miles's," I thought to myself.

We pushed back into the building. Most of the seniors who had been surrounding us headed down the stairs, returning to the cafeteria. Miles and I headed upstairs, back towards Mr. Vanston's classroom. We were the first ones to arrive there.

"Where is my sheet?" asked Miles.

I stared at the floor where I had dropped his toga some 20 minutes ago. "It was right here; I swear," I said.

As I was looking at Miles, again I found my line of sight redirected to his nether regions. I guess the 40-degree (Fahrenheit) March air had finally caught up to Miles. What struck me the most was how much his penis had shrunk. Like a turtle whose head is pulled back into the shell, it seemed that his entire shaft had disappeared, with just the button-cap jutting out from his pelvis. Even his balls, which typically hung down in a sack resembling a plump avocado, had diminished and were now barely the size of a ping pong ball.

We heard a clamor of voices and heavy footsteps in the staircase.

"To the bathroom," Miles shouted.

"What are we going to do," I asked, as we arrived in the men's bathroom.

"We need to make a toga for me out of toilet paper," Miles replied.

Our bathrooms were supplied with those massive industrial size rolls of toilet paper. While the large rolls were seemingly never-ending, they were also pathetically single-ply. When doing one's business, you generally needed to fold the toilet paper over itself five or six times to prevent your fingers from breaking through.

Miles stood just outside a stall. I started pulling and unrolling a spool of toilet paper. I started at his shoulder and then reached down between his legs and began creating a make-shift sash. With his hands still bound by the cable ties, Miles wasn't able to offer much assistance. I made seven or eight passes, wrapping toilet paper from his shoulder, down between his legs, and back around.

"This isn't going to work," Miles interrupted.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Look!" Miles said, as he dipped his head and beckoned my eyes towards the mirror hanging over the bathroom sink. "My entire side is bare. Miss Mancuso will know that I am naked."

Miss Mancuso, our Spanish teacher, was a man-hater. She was a misandrist...or whatever they call the opposite of a misogynist. She was in her early 40s and had never been married. It was certain that she, in her later years would become a 'crazy cat lady', but in her present condition she was simply a teacher that had an obvious bias against males in the class, particularly against those who came from a position of higher social standing.

"Start over," Miles said. "But you have to go from my shoulder to my hip. Don't go between my legs".

I hastily ripped off the toilet paper. It gave way without much force. I honestly felt a bit like a kid ripping open a Christmas present. I paused for a brief moment as Miles was once again standing completely naked in front of me. His left nipple had two hairs growing out of it; they seemed quite out of place on his otherwise smooth chest.

Then I resumed the task of trying to make a Charmin toga for Miles. I started at his shoulder and wrapped it diagonally across his body down to his hip. We quickly realized this alone wasn't going to work either.

"Then wrap it back across my waist," Miles directed me.

And so, I began a three-step wrapping process, in which I would go from his shoulder, to his left hip, then around his crotch and butt, circling back up to his shoulder. I was frantically pulling toilet paper off the roll, faster than even the most crazed cat would ever be able to accomplish.

"Brringgggggg." "Brringgggggg," the class buzzer sounded.

"I guess that will have to do," Miles said.

I looked at Miles and at my creation. Given the frantic conditions imposed on my design, I was reasonably pleased with my accomplishment. It was a plausible toga, albeit a very short one. However, if Miles could hide his legs under his desk, what Miss Mancuso would see, or not see, might be just enough to keep Miles out of trouble.

Miles and I ran out of the bathroom, heading in separate directions. I deliberately was taking German, rather than Spanish. Officially my motivation for taking German was because of my Pennsylvania Dutch roots, but unofficially, I was terrified of Miss Mancuso and could not envision myself taking any of her classes.

I didn't have any other classes that day with Miles. As I was sitting in my German class, I was wondering how Miles was faring in Spanish class. Was he keeping his legs together? We never did get to 'test' his Charmin toga in anything other than a standing position. Would it ride up when he sat down? Would his balls poke out the bottom when sitting? Would any other students recognize that Miles's toga was a bit...unorthodox?

The next time I saw Miles was after 8th period. We hadn't planned to meet up, but he happened to be coming off the second floor just as I was descending from the third floor. The entire student body was headed to the gymnasium for an assembly. It was the start of the PIAA Track & Field season. Both our boys and girls teams had won the state championships last year, and so we were having a pep rally to kick off the start of this spring's season.

"Wow, it seems to have held up pretty well," I said to Miles.

"Yeah, just this tear in the back where I got it caught on a chair in Mr. Mullins class," he responded.

"Do you think anyone else knows," I asked.

"Oh, Shannon was staring at balls during History class," Miles said, with the familiar sparkle in his eye.

To keep things efficient, seating for our pep rallies was highly organized. Basically you filed in and went all the way down a row until every seat was taken, and then you were directed to the next row. There was no waiting to sit with your friends, although many of the girls did linger in the hallway before the gym trying to wait for their clique and then blend into the line. But, hall monitors were in place to quash that behavior as much as possible.

For better or worse, the bleachers had filled just as Miles and I arrived, and we were directed to the front row of folding chairs that had been assembled on the gym floor. As I sat next to Miles, I was astonished by just how much leg Miles was showing. I hadn't realized until then that he was still barefoot, and I was trying to remember when his sandals had been lost.

As I looked to my side, all I could see was thigh. There was a vast expanse of tanned thigh, dusted ever so lightly with silky black hair. I looked for, but could not see, Miles's balls or dick. While hidden from view by a layer or two of toilet paper, I imagined they couldn't be more than a centimeter or less from escaping the bottom of his toga.

The pep rally began with speeches from both the boys and girls Track & Field coaches. It was the typical blend of praise for the student athletes, thank-you's to the entire school for supporting the team, and pleas for us to come out and cheer on the teams again as we embarked on a quest to repeat as dual state champions.

I noticed that a television crew from WNEP was there. It wasn't that unusual for the media to be present at our school events, as the father and uncle of my classmate Jim owned the Times-Tribune media group. But, I did wonder why a pep rally would be considered newsworthy.

Their presence became apparent when the coaches invited Erin and Steve, the respective captains, to come join them on stage. The two coaches and the two student captains would be doing an Ice Bucket Challenge, i.e., dumping a bucket of ice water over their head to promote awareness for, and donations to, research for the motor disease known as ALS.

Coach Andrews and Coach Noll went first, with Mr. Nolan pouring the buckets over their heads. I always wondered what harm came to dry-clean only suits that were treated this way. Both Mr. Andrews and Mrs. Noll were dressed in suits, but other than the instantaneous chill of ice water pouring over their faces, seemed to withstand the challenge quite well. Next, Mrs. Noll would be responsible for dousing Erin, the captain of our girls' team.

"This could be interesting," I thought to myself. Erin was one of the hottest, if not hottest, girls in our class. She was wearing a light blue toga that was designed so that her left arm and shoulder were completely bare. Given the expanse of skin that was visible, I presumed that she wasn't wearing a bra.

When the rush of water came down, I would swear the left side of Erin's toga got pushed down for just an instant. "Was that a nipple I saw?" crossed my mind. My suspicions were confirmed, as Erin let out a shriek and reached down between her breasts to pull out two ice cubes. In doing so, she gave a second, and longer, peek at her left breast and nipple.

"Shit, did you see that?" I asked Miles.

"Hell yeah I did. That was fucking hot," Miles replied.

As I looked over at him, I instantly noticed that Miles was now showing more than just a lot of thigh. The brownish-purple head of his penis was poking out the bottom of his toga. "Did seeing Erin's nipple make him hard?" I wondered.

While I had seen Miles naked numerous times, I had never seen his penis erect. I was now really curious what he looked like when it was hard. I became aware that my own penis was stiffening. Fortunately, I was wearing underwear beneath my toga, and thus the cotton holster prevented my arousal from betraying me. "Was I getting hard because I saw Erin's nipple, or was I getting hard because my best friend was sitting next to me with a boner poking out the bottom of his skimpy costume?" my self-questioning continued.

Coach Andrews was next. He lined up behind Steve. Steve was wearing a white toga with a bit of gold embroidery, but it was predominantly white. I knew something that few other students knew. Steve was commando under that toga. And, I had seen enough wet t-shirt contests on xtube that I knew what generally happens when water meets white fabric. My dick had now fully stiffened in anticipation.

Alas, my imagination turned out to be far grander than reality. Most of the doused water impacted Steve on his shoulders, with some dripping down his chest. While the portion of his toga across his shoulders did become semi-transparent, the rest of his toga remainder fairly dry. I looked over at Miles. His penis was no longer visible, having retreated back within its Charmin sanctuary.

There was one last surprise to the pep rally. Each captain was told to extend the challenge to one more classmate, who would then be doused on stage.

Erin selected Eileen. I can only speculate as to her reasoning. Eileen was a bit of nerd and not on any of our sports teams. At best, I can think that Erin choose Eileen by default, because she didn't want to subject any of her friends to being dreched with ice cold water. Being that Eileen wasn't terribly popular, the act of her being doused was rather anti-climactic and the energy of the pep rally began to diminish. The news crew began breaking down their equipment.

As Eileen was lining up for the challenge, I saw Steve's eyes scanning the crowd. I felt as if his eyes landed on me. "Oh shit, he's going to call me up," I thought, as I tried to slither lower in my seat. But it was hard to be inconspicuous sitting in the front row.

"Miles Klarkson." "I hereby challenge you to the ice bucket challenge." "Come on up!" exclaimed Steve.

Miles stood up and started walking toward the stage, with his hands still behind his back. "This isn't going to go well," Miles mouthed to me.

As he walked up to the stage, I was further amazed at just how skimpy Miles's 'handmade' toga was. My eyes scanned up from his bare feet, past his toned calves, the back of his knees, and beyond his hamstrings. I swore I could see the curvature of the bottom of his glutes appearing as he stepped forward.

"Wow, that's a rather short toga, Miles," Mr. Nolan exclaimed.

"Et tu, Brute," Miles responded, as a confused look appeared on Mr. Nolan's face.

Erin, who had already seen Miles paraded onto the west lawn, suspected Miles was in an awkward position. She leaned over to Miles. "Are you wearing anything under there? Do you want us to put a stop to this?"

"No, the show must go on," Steve interjected, as he grabbed an ice cube and started rubbing it on Miles's exposed nipple.

I looked over to my left and saw that Ryan, the morning news anchor, had interrupted packing his bags. For a moment, he seemed totally enraptured by the bronze, scantily clad male athlete who had just walked on stage. Then, he began frantically re-assembling his equipment.

Steve seemed to be stalling.

"Just do it already," Miles uttered.

Steve scooped a handful of ice cubes out of the bucket and pressed them against Miles's bare neck.

"Oh shit, it's cold," Miles screamed.

I swore from where I was sitting, I could actually see Miles's toes curl.

Unlike other ice bucket challenges, where the water is typically quickly doused on a person, Steve held the 5-gallon pail over Miles's head and slowly let it drizzle down on him. It helped that Steve was 6'6", as I suspect few others would have been able to hold a 40-pound bucket extended over Miles's head for that long.

As the water flowed out, it was quickly absorbed by the toilet paper. Dripping off Miles's hair onto his shoulder, the water was wicked downward by his toga. While one of Miles's pecs was already completed exposed outside his costume, it wasn't long before his other nipple became prominently visible through the water-logged paper. Water continued to flow from Steve's bucket, and as the toilet paper became super-saturated it flattened against Miles's body. From my front row seat, I could clearly see Miles's tan abs emerging, as the degree of transparency increased.

Steve continued to pour the water, and the occasional ice cube, onto Miles. It seemed the student body let out a nearly simultaneous gasp as the water wicked past Miles's belly button, and what had been a canvas of beige skin suddenly gave way to a contrasting jet black patch. The see-through zone had now extended down to Miles's pubes and few, if any, students had any remaining doubt that Miles was indeed naked under his toga.