Chapter 1

It was 1980-Something, and the NIS (Naked in School) program was sweeping the nation. It was a program designed to promote body positivity and desexualize the human body introduced at the High School and University Level. Naturally, it was very controversial, and many people thought it was shocking and indecent. We weren’t even sure a conservative school like William Penn would go for it, but it was the 1980s and people were trying new things. Sushi, Deloreans, Rubix Cubes, Mixed marriages! It was a free for all of new ideas.

There were parents who were deeply concerned about their kids walking around naked. My father was not one of them. “Look at this! Who-boy!” My Dad waved around the flyer that came home to tell parents that William Penn Prep Academy would be starting a pilot NIS program. He didn’t care about body positivity or educational awareness. The program included free tuition for participants and a full college scholarship as long as they met high enough academic standards. My dad was excited to be saving money! He could care less if one of us had to show our butts to get it.

“One of you dummies could be going to college!” He shouted from his recliner. He was sitting in his underwear as he always did after work at the Furniture store.

“I hope for the Ladies of Jenkins town that my hot body will be chosen and anointed for my bronzed chiseled muscularity as the male specimen!” my older brother Barry kissed both of his biceps and smiled proudly. He wasn’t exactly athletic or handsome but what Barry lacked in physical attractiveness he more than made up for in his imagined attractiveness.

I was just happy for the chance to see some REAL tits and ass! I had grown up on movies like Ghostbusters and Star Wars, but I had just discovered movies comedies like Porky’s and H.O.T.S.

They were comedic situations that usually involved skinny dipping cheerleaders who ended up in contests with rival schools playing strip football for charity. The Porky’s movies were an entire trilogy, but unlike Star Wars they were mostly about boys my age trying desperately to see boobs through peepholes in the girl’s shower. Their adventures usually involved them doing anything to get laid and never quite scoring. I identified mostly with Pee Wee, the awkward nerd in those movies.

The actors portraying teenagers were probably in their thirties when those movies were filmed, and the boobs were huge. My friends and I wanted nothing more than to see some bare tits jiggle and asses wiggle down the hallways of our school every day. The NIS program sounded like the answer to my fantasies come true.

“Well, I for one, think it is demeaning, humiliating and sexist!” Erica, my older sister, pouted. She had adorable brown doe-eyes, and she looked disgusted by the very thought of this new program.

“Sexist? What do you mean? They are going to choose one boy and one girl. There is nothing sexist about it!” My father shouted. Dad was always shouting, but this time, it was in excitement about saving money.

“No one is going to be looking at the boys whatever dumb slut volunteers for this are going to be the laughing stock and will never be able to live it down. She’ll appear in the Year Book naked. Imagine going to your thirty-year reunion and being reminded of how you spent a year at school?” she lamented.

“You can remind them that you became a Doctor with the free scholarship!” My dad reminded her.

“Look, if it meant free college for each of my babies, then I’d show my tush to whoever wants to look!” my mom sashayed into the room when she heard us talking. She was wearing one of her colorful bedazzled sweaters and some mom jeans. She wiggled her butt and danced around like an embarrassing mother. She had recently started taking dance lessons at the local civic center and was always dancing the Samba around the house. It was very awkward. Beverly Goldberg was considered hot by mother standards because she had a nice rack and flared out blonde Farrah Fawcett hair, but it was embarrassing watching her dance around. It would have been more embarrassing seeing her naked.

The rules that were sent home were simple.

“This sounds like a bunch of bullshit,” Erica said as she skimmed the flyer and set it down with a huff.

“Erica!” My mom demanded that her daughter use proper language. “Watch your fucking mouth!” she said. My mom tended to use vulgar language all the time without realizing it.

We didn’t talk about the program again that week. I managed to get a hold of the movie “Hot Dog.” It was Ground Zero for the equating of skiing and screwing in lustful teenage minds. It was most certainly the greatest film ever named after a ballpark refreshment. I was convinced that that women at ski lodges love going into hot tubs topless. The downhill skiing scenes are still fun, even if they’re just getting in the way of the nudity. I also discovered the joyful art of masturbation.

I knew about it. I had heard all about it in the movies; however, after Hot Dog, something just clicked. I jerked off in the shower. I jerked off in my sock. I jerked off in my hand. I jerked off in the morning. I jerked off at night. I basically beat my meat anytime I could.

The more I did, the more I thought about the hot girls at my school being chosen for the NIS program. I could just picture their lovely young tits bouncing down the hallway. I imagined Bo Derek with her beads bouncing up and down on the beach as she ran in slow motion towards Dudley Moore except Bo was completely naked and I was Dudley Moore.

My mom walked in “What are you doing Bubala?” she said as she walked in on me with my hand cranking my little johnson like I was trying to snap it off. “Oh! Oh? OH! Oi!” she said in shock. She didn’t leave, though. She stood there, staring at me while I pulled my pud. I didn’t notice because I was in the middle of re-watching the mental image of Pheobe Cates in slow motion as she gets out of the pool with her tits cascading from the water. The song “Moving in Stereo” by the Cars is playing, and she says “Hello Brad!” and smiles at me.

Only I heard, “Hello Adam! What are you doing?” in my mother’s voice just as Pheobe looked at me like a horny vixen with a come hither stare.

My mom knew exactly what I was doing, but she asked anyway.

“Nothing! get out!” I screamed once I realized she had invaded my privacy and attempted in vain to cover up. I was jerking off into a JC Penny catalog with the bra section open, and it was still sticky from the times I had cum before.

“Look there is nothing to be embarrassed about,” my mom didn’t want to seem uncool, but there was nothing cool about standing over your son while his pants were around his ankles and he held his pecker in his hand when you caught him jerking off. My face was red, and I was mortified.

“Leave Mom!” I demanded.

“All this means is my little boy is growing into a man! Everybody does it. I do it. Your brother does it. I wash his laundry! Oh, do I know he does it,” she shrugged.

“Mom, I don’t want to hear this,” I said as I pulled up my pants.

“Look, you need an outlet! Let’s rap about it,” My mom said. She had heard “Let’s rap about it” on a TV after school special and thought that was what cool parent said when they wanted to talk to you. “You are having all these hormones telling you naughty, dirty thoughts, aren’t you?” she asked.

I didn’t want to answer. I zipped my pants and looked at my feet while trying to slide the JC Penny catalog away casually.

She picked up the catalog and sniffed it. “Yeah, this is gross!” she took it from me. “You can’t shake up a Sprite bottle day after day and then not expect it to explode,” my mom used a disgusting euphemism for a boy’s ejaculation. “I’ll buy you some proper dirty magazines. Would that help?”

“NO, MOM!” I demanded. It totally would have helped. I would have gone to my Pops (My grandfather) for something like that, though. Pop’s was cool and would be discrete. My mother was an overbearing, hyper-emotional shopaholic with no sense of boundaries and a big mouth that she’s not afraid to use! She would gossip this to all of her friends.

She certainly did. She told everybody about what a big boy I was becoming and how she caught me masturbating. My brother Barry wouldn’t let me live it down.

“Don’t worry! Spanking the Monkey is a Goldberg tradition! But wow, mom caught you, huh? Rookie mistake!” he laughed at dinner and slapped me on the back.

“In my day, we didn’t talk about this at the dinner table,” Pops lamented, but nobody listened to him.

Nobody founded it more amusing than my sister Erica.

Erica used to be nerdy and unpopular; she wore glasses, braces, and had dorky hair and clothes. Then she got rid of the braces, got contact lenses, shampooed with actual shampoo instead of bar soap, and learned how to take care of herself, and now she is extremely popular.

At school, she wouldn’t even be seen talking to me, but at home, she made it a point of continually mocking me and playing practical jokes on me. Once she learned, I was caught jerking off though she was ruthless and unrelenting.

“So, about your chronic masturbation problem,” Erica said as she blew on some of my mother’s cheesy mashed potatoes.

“It isn’t a chronic masturbation problem!” I demanded. I was so embarrassed that everyone at the table knew about my secret habits.

My father was the only one who wasn’t listening or at least he pretended not to pay attention. Dad would shake his newspaper when Erica crossed the line a little too far, and he became uncomfortable with the teasing. “Well, how many times do you masturbate a day? I would say more than a dozen, and it is a problem,” she pursed her lips into a sassy smile while my father rustled his newspaper uncomfortably.

It had been closer to twenty times a day, but now that I had been caught I was doing it at school.

“You know if you get chosen for the NIS program, you aren’t going to be allowed to walk around with a boner. You probably have to jerk off to release all that pent up man-seed!” she teased.

My father rustled his newspaper frantically to let her know that was enough.

“I won’t’ get chosen for that! They said it is going to be a Junior or a senior!” I said. It was a rumor I had heard that they wouldn’t choose underclassman for the pilot program because we were too emotionally immature, and for once I was glad to be considered immature. It suddenly dawned on me that with my luck I would probably be chosen.

My sister licked her lips with delight. She knew she could press my buttons and make me panic. “I bet if I talked to Principal Ball, you could get in with no problem!” Erica smiled slyly. My father was rustling his newspaper, but she reminded him that he himself was overjoyed to hear that there was free tuition associated with the program and he liked to point out how expensive William Penn Academy was. “Mom could definitely talk him into it!”

My mother was the PTA queen, and there was no teacher at William Penn that hadn’t heard how pushy she was. My mom always got her way when she put her mind to it.

“Erica, you are embarrassing your brother! Let him eat his spinach!,” My mom pet my hand reassuringly and then told me it would help me “recharge! You need your vitamins!”

My dad rustled his newspaper again to shush my mother’s big mouth.

“Murray, he is draining all the protein from his body. I don’t want him to have a vitamin deficiency!” My mom answered my father’s rustling with a story about a niece of a friend of hers who got a vitamin deficiency, and now she has no lips. My mother loved to tell stories like that people who weren’t paying attention or doing something she didn’t like and ended up with no lips, or no arms or to eat food through a straw.

“Don’t let Erica tease you too much, little bro!” my brother Barry stood up for me. “Everybody knows that if any Goldberg is going to be chosen it is going to be me!” He popped his shirt collar. Barry had recently taken to wearing TWO Izod golf shirts in layers and popping both collars up like a preppie.

“All I am saying is our brother has a chronic masturbation problem, and if he enters the NIS program, he is going to have to beat his meat before, during and after school because boners are absolutely not allowed,” Erica smiled.

My dad’s newspaper began to rustle uncontrollably, and even Erica knew it was time to stop teasing me.

That continued for the rest of the week, and the humiliating rumor followed me into the school. My best friend Dave Kim asked me if I needed glasses or had hair on my palms because he heard that happened when you jerk off too much.