DEPANTSING ALAN

Author: Alan Paul alan@quest-net.com      

It happened in Maine.

Alan was a short, good-looking guy of about five foot four.  He wrote screenplays, and was fairly well known for his talent.  But the outstanding negative thing that people noticed about him – the thing that hit you right off – was his huge ego.  Snotty and supercilious as they come, he could never wait to tell you how clever he was or name-drop all the famous people he knew.  It was so obvious after the first five minutes of talking to him, all you could do was figure out how to get away – quick.

Well.

He’d been invited to a party by a new acquaintance who had no idea what he was like.  His name in movies was well known, and since he’d moved to Maine he was constantly asked to appear at gatherings (he didn’t catch on to the fact he was never asked back).  Anyhow, at this particular party – given by a rising movie star who was featured in one of the scripts Alan had written – Alan arrived in a beautifully tailored suit, dark with a subtle stripe, and a white shirt and tie.  Everyone else was in casual clothing.

By the end of the first half-hour after he’d arrived, he’d collared as many of us as he could with tales about Mel and Tom and Leonardo and Arnold (Schwarzenegger, naturally), making them all sound like bosom buddies.  Mike, the host, and the rest of us were thoroughly sick of hearing him brag – but the worst was when he lit a cigarette right there in Mike’s living room – with no ashtrays in sight and a ‘Thank You for Not Smoking’ sign on the wall!

Nobody else was smoking.  We had better sense than to ask for cancer; and Mike had occasionally had trouble with asthma, so smoking in his presence, especially after being asked NOT to, was really pushing it.  My friend Toby ambled over to Mike.

“What’re we gonna do about that little shit?  Lookit him!  Blowin’ smoke through his nose and acting like he owns the place!”

“And you with a breathing problem already,” I chimed in.

“I’ll ask him to put it out.”

Mike crossed over to where Alan was puffing clouds of tobacco at the guests – telling them he’d been asked to do a guest spot on the Tonight show.  According to him, he’d had to refuse because of so many other pressing engagements...

“Alan, would you please put out that cigarette – or go outside to finish it?  None of my guests smoke, and I don’t like the smell in my house.  I also have asth –“

“Tough,” Alan interrupted.  Then he blew smoke right in Mike’s face!  “Oh – SO sorry!  I’m almost finished, anyhow.”  He turned his back on Mike and continued smoking.

Mike was fuming.  When he rejoined us, Eric and Toby had their heads together.

“Wouldn’t quit, would he?” Toby said.

“N-no.”  Mike sputtered, coughing.  “He’s a real prick.”

“Snotty little bastard,” Eric commented.

“You’re telling me!  Wish I’d never invited him.  But how in hell can I get rid of that asshole now?”

Eric was grinning.  “Bet I know.”

“How?” I asked.  “Punch him out?”

“Nah.  Somebody would be sure to sympathize and stop us if we tried that.  But if we embarrass him enough we’ll not only get rid of him – he likely wouldn’t be so willing to appear at a gathering again...”

“You can’t embarrass that fucker,” Mike grunted.  “He’s so damn cocky he’d just turn up his nose and say something clever.”

“Not if we do what I’m thinking of.”

“Like what, then?”

“Take off his pants.”

Mike’s jaw dropped, then he began to grin.  So did I.  So did Toby.  What a great idea!

We drifted away from the rest of the guests and put our heads together.  A few minutes later, Mike approached Alan again.

Alan was in the middle of mouthing off to two bored girls about a screenplay he’d written for Harrison Ford, and how good it was.  “Harrison was hot for it,” he was saying.  “He wants to make it himself.  Direct AND star, of course.”

“Excuse me, Alan,” Mike said politely.  “You’ve got a phone call.  Probably from one of your important friends.”  He didn’t say who it was.  “You can take it out in the front hall.  Sorry, but my cell phone and my cordless are both upstairs.”

“Oh, thanks,” replied Alan carelessly.  To the girls he said, “That could be Harrison right now.  Wants me to leave this crummy party and fly out to finalize the deal, I bet.  I’ll be right back.”

Alan headed for the front hall, and Mike followed.  I waited for a couple of seconds, then followed along too.

The front hall was spacious.  Mike had a beautiful old colonial house on property that included its own beach, and he’d restored it.  There was black and white marble tiling on the floor here – not the vinyl stuff but the real thing.  A graceful, curving staircase led to the second floor with a grandfather clock set in the curve, and there was a big old European wardrobe as well as a statue on a pedestal and a potted plant or two.

Alan was looking around for the phone.  There wasn’t any.  He turned back angrily to Mike.

“What the hell are you pulling?  Where’s the phone?”

“Uh – sorry, Alan.  No phone here, I’m afraid.  But there is a message, and it’s right behind you...”

At that moment, Eric and Toby burst out of the big old wardrobe.  Alan spun around, but before he had time to squawk, Eric had his arms under Alan’s armpits and his hands clasped behind Alan’s neck.  Toby and I each grabbed one of his flailing arms.

“HEY!  CUT IT OUT!  What’re you DOING?” Alan yelled.

Fortunately there was so much noise from the music and babbling back in the main room, nobody could hear us, and nobody was attracted by Alan’s yells.

“You must’ve worked up quite a sweat in there, trying to remember all your famous friends,” Eric snarled in Alan’s ear.

“Yeah,” Toby grinned.  “So we thought we’d help you cool down some by taking off some of your clothes...”

Toby and I both let go of Alan’s arms, and each of us grabbed one of his legs.  We lifted him right off the floor so he was almost horizontal between the three of us.  Then Mike started to undo Alan’s belt.

“HEY!  STOP THAT!  WHAT’RE YOU DOING?”

“Better shut up,” Eric advised.  “Or do you want everybody running out here to watch what’s happening?”

Alan’s face was getting red.  Mike had his belt undone.  He unfastened the top of Alan’s trousers and pulled down the zipper.

“NOOO!”  Alan had lost his bravado.  “Come on!  Cut it out!  Don’t take my pants down!”

None of us paid any attention.  We all sniggered when Mike pulled Alan’s pants down, exposing a pair of white silk boxer shorts with red stripes under his shirt-tails.  Alan tried to spread his knees as far apart as he could with us holding him – but Mike easily got them down over his knees, down to his ankles – then pulled his pants right off over the shiny black Italian shoes!

“NO!  NO!  PLEASE!  GIMME BACK MY PANTS!”

We let go of his legs, and his feet hit the floor with a thump.  He was wearing garters to hold up his silk hose.  Still in his suit coat, with his white shirt and tie, he looked even more ridiculous without his trousers than he would have stark naked.  We all laughed – we couldn’t help it.

He was blushing furiously.  “PLEASE, guys!  I – I’m sorry about the smoke!  I won’t smoke in your house again, Mike – honest!  Please – just gimme back my pants!”

Eric let him out of the hammerlock.  “Sure,” he laughed.  “You can have your pants back again – after we treat you to a couple of little surprises...”

“NO!  C’mon!  This isn’t funny!”  Alan made a grab for his pants, but Mike swung them out of reach.  Then Mike headed back down the hall for the living room.

Before Alan could do anything – even if he could have – Mike was at the open door of the main room and waving Alan’s pants by the back of the opened waistband.

“LOOK EVERYBODY!” he yelled.  “LOOK WHAT I GOT!  WE TOOK ALAN’S PANTS OFF!”

The racket stopped abruptly.  Then suddenly there were cheers, hoots, whistles and laughter.

“Where is he?”

“Bring him out here so we can see!”

“Let’s have a look at the little creep without any pants on!”

“Come on out, Alan!  Tell us how great you are!”

“Where are you, Alan? Too shy to talk about your famous friends?”

“Bring out the pompous little jerk!”

“Let’s see him without his pants!”

Somebody in the crowd grabbed Alan’s pants from Mike, and they disappeared inside the living room, passed laughingly from hand to hand.  Alan gave a wail and what sounded like a sob – then Eric motioned to Toby and me.  The three of us got Alan and dragged him down the hall to the main room.  He resisted with every ounce of strength he had – kicking at us – but we got him to the door and pushed him right into the center of the crowd.  He was surrounded immediately by gleeful faces, catcalls, whistles, and sniggering.

Mike brought them a length of twine, and they bound Alan’s hands together behind his back, and there he stood in the middle of a circle of grinning, snickering faces, all dressed up – without his pants.  His face, although sullen, was now beet red.  Mike elbowed his way up to him with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Have a smoke, Alan,” he said.  He stuck a cigarette in Alan’s mouth and lit it.  “Smoke all you like.  We’ll just watch...”

Alan spat out the cigarette.  Toby snatched it up before it had a chance to burn Mike’s carpet.  He glowered at Alan.

“You’d better do as you’re told, scumbag!  Stand there and finish this cigarette!”  He pushed it back into Alan’s mouth.

Alan had to stand there, red-faced and smoking, without his pants, while everybody made remarks about his striped boxer shorts, his garters, and also made a number of rude comments and suggestions...

“Hey Alan!  How come you haven’t got any pants on?  Loan ‘em to Mel?”

“Sexy undershorts, Alan!  Gonna wear ‘em in your next movie?”

“Lookit – he’s wearin’ GARTERS, fer Chrissake!”

“Nice legs, Alan!  Easier to spread without your pants, I bet!”

“Yeah!  Let’s pull down those boxers and stuff a banana up his ass!”

“Yo Alan!  Here’s your pants!  Want ‘em?”

More hoots, sniggers and whistles.  The crowd kept bringing the trousers right up to him, then snatching them away again.  Alan’s face was red to his ears.  He finished the cigarette, and I took the butt from his mouth,

throwing it in an empty glass.

          The guests were definitely getting rowdy.  Somebody goosed Alan.  He screamed and bucked – and that did it.

          “HEY!”  Toby hollered.  “Let’s see if this little man is REALLY a man!”

          “YEAH!  YEAH!”

          “Let’s have a look and see if he’s got one!”

          “NO!”  Alan howled.  “NO! PLEASE!  LET ME ALONE!”

          “He’s yellin’ because he doesn’t want us to know he ain’t got a pecker!”

          The few women and girls present were giggling.  And there weren’t any objections to what happened next.

          Toby reached up behind Alan under his shirt, got his hand on the waistband of Alan’s boxer shorts – and in the next second they were yanked down to Alan’s knees!

          Alan’s face crumpled, and he spun around, but of course no matter where he turned, there were people to see.  Eric spread Alan’s shirt-tails apart in front, and I lifted them up in back, while Mike held red-faced Alan still.  Everybody got a good look at his bare bubble behind and his six-inch bare penis!  Laughing, Eric flipped his finger under Alan’s dick, giving Alan an instant woody!

          “Oooooo!  Lookit that, girls!”

          “Let’s hear you brag about your pecker, Alan!”

          “Jesus – that cock ain’t even big enough to crow!”

          Alan was ready to bawl, and his rod had gone limp again, but the crowd was really warmed up now.  Alan had turned into the major entertainment for the evening, and they were ready to approve anything anyone wanted to do with him!

          “Now, Big Man, it’s time for your next surprise!”  Eric faced Alan, smirking.  “Can you guess what it’s gonna be?  Bring him over to this nice comfy big armchair, guys!”

          We frog-marched Alan over to one of the big overstuffed armchairs near the fireplace.  At almost every step somebody would reach out under Alan’s shirt-tails and goose his bare asshole.  He’d jerk forward, his cock would lengthen and poke out between the tails in front and the crowd would go wild.  By the time we got to the chair I was really glad it wasn’t me they were tormenting.

          We positioned him in front of one of the overstuffed chair arms.  Mike disappeared briefly, then reappeared from his study with a sturdy wooden frat paddle.  He handed it to Eric.  Alan couldn’t see what was coming, of course, but he must’ve guessed when the crowd chortled its approval.  We pushed Alan down until his face was into the seat cushion, and his rear was elevated over the chair arm.  Then Toby pulled up Alan’s suit coat and shirt-tails in back.  There was Alan’s bare, round ass, sticking right up and just begging for the paddle!

          “LET ME UP!  NO!  NO!”

          “Oh, you’ll LOVE this, Alan!” Mike told him.  “It’s just a little game.  We’re gonna see if we can make your behind as red as your face, that’s all!”

          “NOO-OOO-OOOO!”

          Then Eric swung the paddle.  It landed squarely across Alan’s bare, upturned bottom with a CRACK! that must’ve been heard down the street! Alan screamed.  The crowd cheered.  They pressed close so as not to miss a single smack of the paddle on Alan’s bare ass and egged Eric on.  Every smack of the paddle stung Alan’s bottom crimson, but his yells and crying were completely muffled by the sound of the paddle and the roars of everybody looking on.

          Eric paddled Alan for a good five minutes – which probably seemed more like an hour to Mr. Smart-Mouth getting his bare butt tanned.  Then Eric handed the paddle to Mike, who took revenge for getting smoke blown in his face.  Then it was Toby’s turn while Eric and I held Alan down.  He had mixed tears with sweat by now, blushing and squirming to get away from that remorseless paddle, but he got spanked soundly.  I was last – and even though a number of others wanted a chance to smack that paddle across Alan’s bare behind, I figured enough was enough... So after I swung about twenty-five good ones, smacking that bubble butt enough to make it sting while Alan howled and kicked, we let him up.

          Alan’s behind was now even redder than his face, if that was possible.  His bottom also sported some stars and stripes.  Patriotic!  Or at least, educational...

          “Woweeee!  Lookit the Little Big Man now!”

          “Gonna tell Leonardo how we took your pants off, Alan?”

          “Gonna tell Harrison how you got your bare heine paddled with everybody watching?”

          “Poor Alan!  How’s it feel to get smacked on your bare ass, hey?”

          “Want another cigarette?”  That was Mike.  “Try blowing’ smoke in my face NOW!  Toby’s just waitin’ for another reason to grab that paddle again!”

          “Why don’cha brag about how red your bare ass is, Alan?”

          “Yeah!  Tell us all!  Is it maybe on fire?”

          “C’mon, Alan!  Make some clever remarks about gettin’ paddled bare-ass in front of us all!”

          Snickers and whistles.

          “Let’s have another look at his paddled bare behind!”

          They held him and lifted his shirt-tails again.

          “OOOO!  Lookit how red his cute lil’ butt is!”

          “Too bad your ego’s bigger than your cock, Alan!”

          They goosed him again, and laughed when he bucked and blushed, with his bare cock poking out. 

          “Anybody got a camera?”

          “NO!  NOOO-OOO!”

          But Mike brought one out.

          “Record this for posterity!  Get Alan’s steaming posterior!”

          “Get a shot when we goose him and his pecker sticks out!”

          We held Alan while Mike took Polaroids.  His bare cock poking out from his shirt-tails while he blushed (I goosed him just before the shutter clicked) – his bare red bottom turned up – and just standing there without any pants on.  We finally untied him and gave him back his trousers.  He pulled up his boxer shorts, and put his pants back on.  Nobody stopped him when he headed for the door, but I bet he heard the laughter all the way home.

          What a great party!  Everybody said so.

          Nobody saw much of Alan after that.  Mike had enlargements made of all the photos he’d taken and gave copies to everybody who wanted them – which was just about everyone at the party except Alan himself.  Some framed the pics and had them hanging prominently in their homes.  So it wasn’t long before everybody in that Maine town knew about Alan; how we’d taken his pants off at a party and paddled his bare behind right in front of the crowd!

          It doesn’t pay to be a smart mouth.

          Alan could tell you.

          If he ever comes out of hiding.