Matt approached Irene's house early on Saturday morning, carrying a notebook. Wearing blue pants (not jeans) and a blue short sleeve shirt, and white sneakers, he was a bit nervous. No girl had ever asked him to visit her house before, even if it was just to help her with her homework.

He'd seen Irene several times at school: Irene was in the 7th grade where Matt was in the 8th. Irene had straight long red hair and always wore short skirts, and always had that "I'm better than you" attitude except when she was around her friends, who were mostly older and mostly male. Irene had that "rough girl" look, smoked cigarettes, and used profanity freely. She was tall and slim, with little but firm boobs (she'd been sent home more than once for not wearing a bra), and always wore her long red hair straight.

Matt, perhaps only 2 inches taller than Irene, slim, wearing glasses since grade school, was just the opposite. He did his homework, wore conservative (for a junior high school boy) clothes, kept his brown hair clean-cut (at the insistance of his parents), and was almost universally ignored by his classmates, with few exceptions, not all of them pleasant.

But one day, Irene had approached him, invited him (more like instructed him) to come to her house. "Listen, you're smart. Maybe you can come over Saturday and help me do some homework" Matt agreed, not really knowing why, but figured she must be very desperate indeed to have him help her. Perhaps she was about to be flunked, which would require her to repeat a grade or, worse, attend summer school.

Now the slender boy stood at her house. It was a small house, white aluminum siding, with a gray roof. It was obviously not kept in repair, probably because Irene's mom was too busy chasing boyfriends of her own. Irene's father, he had learned, ran off when she was a baby.

Irene opened the door and Matt's eyes popped open. He tried not to look her up and down. She was wearing shorts, showing off her long thin legs. The shorts were hip-huggers, low on the hips. Her entire waist and belly were exposed; the top she wore was a cropped t-shirt which fit snugly and was cut off halfway between her breasts and her waist. She was wearing a bra today, visible under the light blue shirt. He did not notice her shoes.

"Come in", Irene said, turning her back and walking, her small butt outlined nicely by the shorts. Matt gulped and entered, only now considering what he would say to her mother. "Mom's not home today, she's at work", Irene said flatly, and she led Matt to her room.

Irene's room was just a bedroom, with two windows, both old-fashioned sash-type, with screens in them. The curtains were old, and closed; apparently Irene liked it dark in the room. There was a bed, a dresser, a closet, and a small table with 2 chairs. There was one poster on the wall, some hairy rock star Matt couldn't identify. The room smelled of cigarette smoke. There were clothes on the floor, and some of them were underclothes which Matt tried to ignore. She, as an afterthought, kicked them under her bed. Her closet, the door open, was stuffed with colorful (but mostly short or scanty) clothes.

"Here," Irene said, "figure this out". She put down a book on the table, with a note obviously not in her handwriting outlining a rather extensive homework assignment. Matt looked at the book, and at her tummy, and at the book again, sitting in a chair and trying to be detached, wishing he'd not come. There were a lot of boys in school who would LOVE to be alone in a room with Irene, and Matt was not one of them. She sat next to him, a little too close, and lit a cigarette.

Matt looked over the assignment, simple enough, especially since he'd had the same class last year and still had his notes. "You wouldn't happen to have a typewriter here would you?" he asked.

"Yeah, Mom's got one. She never uses it. Be right back." Irene snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray and left the room. She came back a few minutes later carrying a typewriter which she placed in front of him. "Fuckin' thing's a piece of shit, Mom says."

"Do you know how to type?" Matt asked.

"Hell no."

"If you turn this in, won't the teachers expect...."

"Naw, I'll copy it later in my own handwriting. Make sure you mis-spell a couple of words and don't do anything fancy or use big words, or she'll know it wasn't me."

Matt sighed and began to type on notebook paper .. the only kind that was available. Oh well, she's gonna copy it over anyway. He resigned himself to the fact that he was doing someone else's homework. Well, maybe he'd get another good look at Irene's skinny tummy, and if she bent over, a look at her firm little boobies. Irene, he reminded himself, had flunked one grade already; she was his age and should be in his class.

Matt finished the first part quickly, since he didn't have to explain anything to Irene. Irene, in fact, didn't want to be taught anything; all she wanted was a paper to hand in. They took a break. She offered him a cigarette; he declined. She offered him a Coke, he accepted. She brought it to him in a can. Then he finished the assignment, showing her how she should put her name at the top of the paper and how she should arrange it. She simply took the papers, put them on a dresser, and said "OK". Not "thanks" or "thank you". As if anyone who went to school to LEARN was merely her servant, a nerd who deserved no acknowledgement at all. Unless it was to poke fun at him. Like many of her ilk did.

He stood up and she looked at him, and at the clock. "Mom's gonna be gone all day. Want another drink?"

He thought about it and then thought maybe it might be useful having this girl for a friend. She might put in a good word with some other girls for him, or maybe talk the older, bigger boys into not picking on him so much. So he accepted, and she brought him another Coke, but this time in a large plastic glass.

As she walked in, she stumbled over some shoes or something on the floor. The Coke went right down his back, soaking his light blue shirt. He stood up, surprised, and she apologized. "I'm sorry, gosh, I ruined your shirt. Oh, you'll be all sticky. Here, take it off and I'll wash it out"

He would not have expected it. For her to say "oh, shit" and hand him the remainder of the drink would have been more like it. But she was apologizing and even unbuttoning the shirt for him. He put one hand up, as if to stop her, but she insisted. "Here, let me take it and wash it, so you won't be all sticky. If I get it washed fast, it won't stain."

She took his shirt down to the basement, to the laundry room. He felt silly standing there with his shirt off, and went to the bathroom, to wash his back off with a wet washcloth. He used the toilet, which wasn't exactly filthy, but wasn't clean either. He was almost afraid to flush. When he came out, she was in her room looking over the typewritten report. She looked up.

"You know, you look pretty cute with your shirt off", she said. "Come here"

Matt blushed. "Aw, I always thought I was too skinny," he said. In fact, he was slim and lean, but because of shoveling walkways in the winter and cutting grass in the summer, he had what his mom called "boy-muscles" and was actually pretty shapely. Not a damn hair on his chest or belly or armpits; not one damned pubic hair. He wished he had at least SOME indication of manhood, like many (most) of the boys in his Junior High School. Next year he'd have to go to Gym Class, and shower with other boys, in the 9th grade. He hoped he had some hair somewhere, lest he get further teased or even roughed up by the jock-mentality.

Irene stood right in front of him, staring at his chest. "Pretty cute. Turn around"

"Why?"

"Oh, come on, don't be embarassed, you're a cute boy. Turn around and let me see you. I like boys with their shirts off."

After looking him over again, she got close to him. He was excited; the thought of being this close to a girl, any girl, especially dressed the way Irene was, was a matter of fantasy for him. He wanted to put his hands on her bare waist.

"You know what I REALLY like?" she asked. He shook his head. She got closer, within inchest of him, putting a hand on his bare rib cage and saying in a low voice: "I like to see boys with their shirts off and with their hands tied behind their backs."

He just looked into her bluish eyes through his glasses. "Uh, yeah, uh ..." he stammered. She looked down at his chest again.

"Really," she said. "You know, like Johnny Quest in the cartoons, or Tarzan's boy ... or even Tarzan. Captured and with no shirt. I'd really like to see a boy with his shirt off and his hands tied behind him. It would be worth ... maybe ... a kiss. Or two."

Matt hesitated. But a moment later, he was standing, shirtless, his back to her, his wrists crossed behind his back, and she using a length of clothesline to tie them together. She started over once, apparently not satisfied with what she was doing.

"You don't have to do it for real, you know," Matt said. "Yeah, but I want it to at least LOOK real, so you don't pull out right away. I never tied up a boy before, so gimme a break".

She finally turned him around. He felt pretty silly and helpless ... and excited... with his hands behind his back and his shirt off. She began to stroke his chest. He, embarassed, backed away. She actually smiled, not a sweet smile or a happy smile, but a mean smile, and he began to get worried. What if one of her punk boyfriends came over? He began to struggle. She seemed delighted when he couldn't get his wrists free, and he knew from childhood games a few years ago that his arms were too short for him to get his hands in front of him by slipping them over his butt and stepping through.

"Oh, you look so cute that way", she said. "I love a boy tied up with his shirt off." And she began to turn him, pressing him backwards until he was against her bed, pressing him down to is and rubbing his chest and belly. She looked at the clock again. "You're like ... my prisoner! Yeah, that's is. My prisoner. You can't run away like THAT!"

True, he thought. In this neighborhood, he'd have to free his hands quickly and hope no one noticed that his shirt was off. But hopes of escape, if hopes they were, were further decreased when she pulled off his sneakers.

"Hey!" he said. "Oh, hush ... you can't have your shoes on the bed can you?" "Uh, yeah, I guess not ... but why don't you just ..."

She cut him short by pulling off his socks too. Then she scooted up over him and leaned over and kissed his lips quickly. "I like you like this. You're so ... so helpless! Yeah. Like, I can do what I want with you."

"Yeah, why don't you untie my hands now?" he said, obviously nervous realizing he was stuck. He looked up hopefully. "I ... I want to put my arms around you."

"Oh no you don't. You don't get your hands free. Not yet. I like you this way." Another look at the clock. What was she waiting for? She stroked his chest some more which embarassed and excited him at the same time ... and then there were steps in the hallway. He looked up just as Mindy came in.

Irene sat back. "Here he is, Mindy. All yours, helpless like you wanted."

Matt wanted to crawl under the bed. Here was Mindy Lincoln, cute slim little Mindy, 12 years old, 7th grader, almost no boobs, short dark hair, wearing tight little hip-hugger jeans and a cropped tank top, the girl he'd talked to a couple of times in class, a girl who was usually very quiet, made reasonably good grades. What was she doing here in Irene's house? But then, what was Matt doing here, too?

Mindy looked at him. "You sure he can't get loose?" she asked.

"If he could get loose, he would have done it by now," replied Irene. Here he is, just like you wanted. No shirt, hands tied behind his back. And I even got my homework done.

Apparently these two had some arrangement. He'd do Irene's homework, she'd get him tied up ... with his shirt off ... and Mindy would get to see him. Matt kinda liked Mindy, never really thinking he'd get to talk to her or go walking with her or anything. He really thought her boobs weren't big enough, though she had a cute face and pretty hair.

So, apparently, it was MINDY who liked boys ... at least this boy...tied up with his shirt off. He never would have guessed.

Mindy wasted no time, crawling onto the bed with him and immediately running her hands over his chest. "You can try to get loose if you want, Matt," Mindy instructed, "but don't try to kick or fight, because ... because ..."

Irene interjected: "Because you're helpless like that and we can get your BALLS!" She put her hand on his pants, over his nuts, not gently, which made Matt worry even more and, to the delight of the girls, squirm with his helpless hands. He was of course quite helpless with his hands behind him, and barefoot, he didn't think he'd get far anyway.

Irene whispered to Mindy something while Mindy was kneeling next to Matt on the bed, stroking his chest, fascinated with the tied-up shirtless boy. At first Mindy shook her head, but Irene whispered something else and then said "Come on, then he'll be all yours".

Mindy laid across Matt's chest. Fingers went for his belt buckle. "NO, no, not that! Come on, not my pants!" Matt said, struggling, but Irene had his pants off. Matt was wearing those stupid white briefs that boys often wear, the ones with the fly in the front that no one used (every boy Matt knew, including himself, just pulled them down and peed over the top), the ones that fit kinda baggy and never looked good like girl's underwear. At least he wished he'd had underwear like Ben Grimm on the Fantastic Four wore, blue stretchy ones that could pass for olympic style swimming trunks.

Matt squirmed and begged and even faked a bit of laughter as his pants went down his legs and off his bare feet. But when Irene's hands went for his briefs, and Mindy laid across his bare chest (which excited him at the same time he was horrified at being stripped by and in front of two girls), he tried to sit up and began to kick with his legs. A set of fingers around his balls caused him to freeze; even at 13, Matt knew how vulnerable a boy's balls are.

"OK, Mindy, he's nekkid," Irene said. She laughed. "He's not even got any hair down there! You sure you want him?"

Mindy leaned up and began kissing Matt's face. "Yes, he's the one I want."

"Want me to tie his feet?"

Matt looked around. "NO, no more!"

Mindy giggled. "Yes, go ahead .. I can always untie them later." She looked at Matt and kissed his chest. "But not your hands. Your hands stay BEHIND you!"

A moment later, Matt was laying completely naked on a bed, hands tied behind his back, ankles tied together, and four young female hands stroking his naked body. Irene looked at the clock and stood up, pushing her feet into some shoes.

"OK, I gotta go now. Remember, Mom comes back at nine, so you better have him out of here by then."

Matt looked from one girl to the other, hands still trying to come around to his front, redfaced and very frightened, when Irene picked up her little purse with the long strap and left the room. A moment later, the door to the house slammed. He was alone with Mindy, who was already exploring his young helpless body.