Dedicated to Bellyboy (let's hear it for Pooch!) and Joe Kari (let's hear it for Uncle Jack!)
Every year, our college has their week-long Renaissance Festival. This is topped off by the Renaissance Fair on Saturday which the fraternities and sororities run, in full costume. It has the usual stuff, games, rides, etc. Each year the Mighty Brothers keep the same costume theme - Roin Hood and his Merry Men (though I think the era is off, but me and my aching butt are not going to voice an opinion). Us Butts get to be the Sheriff of Nottingham, Prince John, and two assorted Prince John nameless flunkies.
You'd think grown men would be embarrassed about running around in full regalia but the Mighty Brothers are born exhibitionists. They dress full on - white and brown short tunics, prop bows and arrows, pointed caps, soft boots, and yes - tights. They actually love showing off their well-muscled legs (and packages) in their pantyhose to the dim-witted sorority chicks who vie to look the most like Maid Marion. Ugh. But I suspect the Mighty Brothers most enjoy showing off their muscular legs, butts and dicks to each other, you didn't hear that from me, though.
The two biggest unofficial events of Renaissance Festival are called the Night Before the Fair (you figure out when it is) and something called the Hunt, which is like top-secret. The Night Before is a huge kegger that the brothers throw at our frat house, inviting practically the entire school before the cops shut it down. And the entertainment? You guessed it - the Butts! Me (being Scotty, a. k.a. Buttplug), Buttface (my best bud Gil), Buttcrack (Joey), and tubby Buttpie (Spike). Our humiliating (for us anyway - you'll probably find it amusing) tale opens a couple of hours before the soiree...
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"GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!" The MIGHTY BROTHERS chanted.
"Dude, clench your cheeks!"
"I'm trying!" Spike whined.
"Dude, your buns have the muscle tone of jello!" I hissed angrily over my shoulder. Spike and I were bare-ass on our hands and knees, spreading our buttcheeks with our hands, assholes winking at each other. Well, actually I had a record clenched in my asscheeks, and I was trying to pass it to Spike's butt. We were competing in Evan's "TOP 40" race. A relay race with record albums as the batons, the object? Get the record back and forth around the room twice - but we could only hold it in our asses. Somewhere a flashbulb went off and we all groaned. Gil's butt is as tight as a monk's jockstrap and him and Joey were passing their record ass-to-ass like you would hand somebody a pencil. Unfortunately, I had been partnered with Spike, whose ass had it's own atmosphere and was about as tight as Monica Lewinsky's lips.
So Joey and Gil are zipping along the floor, _c_o_c_k_s flopping, their record sticking out of their buttcracks like a dark shark's fin, wobbling with their efforts. red-faced from exertion and embarrasment. the record feels sharp in my buttcrack and kind of slippery. Spike isn't grabbing it right. Guess what? We lost. Our punishment?
"Okay, Buttplug, Buttpie...these records look a little sweaty. Howzabout we give them a little cleaning. You guys should learn to take care of vinyl. It's pretty rare," Dean said with a evil grin. Spike and I didn't have to be told, we looked at each other, crestfallen, crawled over to Dean (who had both records, one in each outstretched hand) and each took one of the records. We each began licking our record clean. Ewwwww...Gil and Joey chortled in the corner. I swear to God Spike had a boner, how the hell could he get off on this _s_h_i_t_? The name of my record? I don't know, but I'll hazard a guess....The Sweaty Ass Waltz? Buttcrack Baroque?
Once Spike and I were finished with our "record-keeping" we stood and bent over, grabbing our ankles. WHAP! WHACK! Our buns jiggled under the paddle swats. I felt the cool air enter my hairy ass crack after each swat. My eyes started watering. Luckily, the penalty was only ten.
Our punishment swats ended, and the two of us hopped foot to foot, rubbing our bums, and moaning. The brothers laughed. Evan stepped forward. The Butts lined up.
"Tonight as you know is The Night Before party. It's the biggest party of the year and the Butts are going to be our serving drinks, hors deurves, etcetera...we expect you to be on your best behavior tonight. Anyway not complying with our wishes or even any of our favored guests' wishes gets the job of pumping the kegs all night..."
We looked at each other. That didn't sound so bad. But with Evan, you knew it wouldn't be just the keg getting pumped. Evan had a talent for turning even the most potentially mundane situation into a bobbling buttcheek free-for-all. OUR bobbling buttcheeks.
"You'll find your serving uniforms upstairs on your beds...we took into consideration that it's spring-time and it's a little hot out. Plus, white is a good color for spring-time....STEP TO IT, BUTTS!"
Hooting and hollering, they spanked us up the stairs, balls bouncing and _c_o_c_k_s flopping. Ricky got off an especially good one on Spike's wounded ass and he howled much to the Brothers enjoyment.
I walked to my room with the others, on the way we mused over what our uniforms would be...
"French maid's, I bet.." Joey said.
"No, dumbass, he said they were white. Ten bucks they're white tutu and tights with the butt cut out or something..." Gil said, pessimistically.
"This Hell Year thing is starting to get REAL tired, Gil. this IS all your fault for talking me into pledging, dickhead." I said, crossly.
"Dude, you're just mad cause you can't hold a record with your ass like me and Howdy Doody here..." Gil said, and Joey and Spike laughed.
"_f_u_c_k_ you," I said, but smiled. If the guys back home in Southie could see the _s_h_i_t_ I was going through now - they'd make me get my Fighting Irish tatoo removed...
I entered my room, scanning for the uniform. No french maid's, no ballet outfit. No bodysuit with a bullseyes painted on the butt. On the center of my bed was simply a can of Redi-Whip.
"You gotta be _f_u_c_k_ing kidding me," I said to no one in particular.
So the other guys joined me, and we gave ourselves whip cream bikinis. We even gave Spike two patches on his big fleshy tits. The whip cream was plenty cold on our butts and balls. And it looked like we were wearing diapers full of marshmallow stuffing, or we had enormous asses or something. Joey is well-hung, and his dick kind of swung low under the whip cream, so we slathered it up pretty good so it wasn't noticable. There was a lot of squirming and yelping, you can be sure. We all silently prayed to ourselves that we wouldn't get a stiff one. So the four of us, in our whip cream underwear carefully stepped downstairs to the cheers of the Mighty Brothers. I wore my gold shamrock pendant around my muscular, tanned neck I figured it set off my redi-whip bikini nicely.
"WHO-HOO! NOW THAT'S MY IDEA OF SUNDAE TOPPING FELLAS! OH, WE'RE FORGETTING ONE THING..." Evan boomed. Dean stepped forward and mock-daintily placed a maraschino cherry on our whipped creamed crotches, right where he assumed the tips of our dicks would be. He also put two more cherries on Spike's redi-whipped fat man boobs, so it looked like Spike had two swollen nipples. Spike blushed red, to match his and my spanked asses.
"Let the party begin!" The Mighty Brothers yelled.
End of Part 1, please e-mail me with any comments, sorry it's taken so long to write again. The whipped cream bikini idea comes from some guys I saw on MTV's spring break spectacular. Did anyone see those guys? WHOA!