HERITAGE DAY - Chapter 1

[Miguel85]

Heritage Day - Chapter 1

As the leaves began to turn outside tiny Willow Creek Middle School, excitement buzzed through the hallways. The annual Heritage Day Pageant was just around the corner — a celebration of family histories and a showcase of traditions passed down through generations, performed by that year’s outgoing 8th grade class. Ms. Johnson, the long-serving history teacher, wielded her authority with a vigor that was both amusing and almost fanatical. The school, almost entirely white, was a tapestry of European ancestry, showcasing descendants from various nations. Ms. Johnson called the planning meeting, and her enthusiasm dripped from every word.

“Okay everyone,” Ms. Johnson declared as she clapped her hands together, her voice booming in the cramped auditorium, “this is going to be the best Heritage Day this school has ever seen! Each of you will represent your heritage through a costume. I want you to embrace the rich tapestry of your backgrounds. This is your chance to shine!”

The students – a total of 74 for that year’s graduating class – had been waiting for this day for months. At Willow Creek, the Heritage Day pageant was a big deal, it gave most students what they really wanted: a chance to show off, to be a star, to be the center of attention.

“Can I wear my grandma’s Victorian dress?” asked Lydia, an excitable girl with golden curls and an abundance of confidence.

“Absolutely,” Ms. Johnson replied, noting down the costume ideas on her whiteboard. “And remember, let’s keep the historical accuracy in mind. I want to see real representation!”

Excited chatter erupted as students exchanged ideas. Timothy, with his Mayflower lineage, was thrilled to don a pilgrim outfit. "I'm going full-on Thanksgiving! A big hat and everything," he beamed. Next to him, Emma raised her hand, her sparkling blue eyes wide. “Can I dress as George Washington? I have a great coat at home!”

“Absolutely, Emma!” Ms. Johnson encouraged, her lips curling into a smile. The rest of the class chimed in, describing regal French gowns and Shakespearean attire.

Among the excited chatter, Carlos, a quiet boy from South America, lowered his gaze. He had recently immigrated with his family, escaping economic hardship and seeking a better life. But as the joyful laughter echoed around him, he calculated his heritage was the polar opposite of what his classmates celebrated.

“Ms. Johnson, what about me?” he asked timidly, his heart pounding beneath his chest. “What should I wear?”

“Carlos, darling, you’re from South America, right?” Ms. Johnson moved closer, practically beaming with the excitement of discovery.

The boy nodded. “Yeah, from… from Peru.”

“How thrilling! Well, so, you must represent your lineage!”

“I don’t know what my ancestors wore…” Carlos mumbled, his voice small. “I think my dad’s grand--”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it figured out!” she interrupted with exuberance. “Carlos, you're from South America, so that means your ancestors were Indians!"

The other students turned, glancing at Carlos, and he felt the heat rush to his cheeks.

Ms. Johnson continued: "And that means you'll be dressing up as an Indian!”

“Uh, I dunno, Ms. Johnson, I think we’re just… regular people… from Peru, so--” Carlos started, but Ms. Johnson cut him off.

“Now, now. We can’t mix things up, Carlos. Indians have rich traditions, and I think a traditional outfit would be fitting, don’t you?” Her eyes sparkled, but they were also empty of understanding.

"Uh," the boy mumbled. "I don't know, I – I guess, Ms. Th--"

“Oh, don’t be shy!” She waved her hand dismissively. “You’ll be dancing. Feathers! Everyone will love it!”

Carlos was absolutely not the type of student who wanted the spotlight, to show off, to be a star. He was naturally shy, and was mostly ignored by others, even though everyone knew him since he was the one student to stick out like a sore thumb in their midst.

[Miguel85]

Heritage Day - Chapter 2

Students were to spend the rest of the week researching, sketching, and gathering materials. Ms. Johnson helped out the students that didn’t have any clear ideas.

In the days leading up to rehearsals, the weight of his assignment grew heavy on Carlos’s shoulders.

The boy tried his best to explain that he wasn’t a Native American, he wasn’t “an Indian,” but Ms. Johnson wouldn’t hear of it.

Soon it became clear to Carlos that she had no idea what she was talking about. She showed Carlos pictures of Native Americans, but they were all stereotypes – brown people in face paint and headdresses and loincloths. "This is what you'll be wearing for the pageant," she said, handing him a picture of a Native American in a loincloth. “Look at this Indian, isn’t his headdress impressive!?” she said with a misunderstood air of appreciation.

As rehearsals approached, Carlos was filled with dread, gripping his notebooks and scribbling notes that would never fully express his anxiety. He spent a few days working on the only part of his costume that actually needed work – the headdress. He carefully cut dozens of feathers out of construction paper, and glued them in various rows, creating something surprisingly impressive. But mostly he was consumed by his nerves: he was gonna have to dance in front of the entire 8th grade, wearing nothing but a loincloth, face paint, and a paper headdress? That sounded like maybe the most humiliating thing he could do, he did not want that kind of attention on him, on his… body.

By the end of the week, it was time to finalize the costumes. Ms. Johnson gathered the students in a tight circle.

While some were still sketching ideas, many were already busy creating their themed costumes—the honor of wearing royal attire from Europe, or suit up as explorers and brave stewards of history.

“This is your chance to showcase true heritage!” Ms. Johnson boomed.

“Let’s talk about Emma’s costume. Emma, stand up!” she motioned to the girl, who happily hopped onto her feet, in complete George Washington regalia, wig and everything. “Now, Emma is… well, she’s practically done, aren’t you Emma?”

“Yes, Ms. Thompson,” Emma said smugly, “I borrowed my great-grandmother’s coat and I got this wig at the costume store...”

“See, now that’s what we’re looking for here, class, that sort of…” she looked at Emma proudly, beaming “...that sort of dedication.”

Carlos swallowed dryly. He had a headdress… and that’s it. He couldn’t bring himself to ask her any questions about… loincloths.

"Ok, now, let’s talk about Carlos’ costume.”

Carlos’ felt his face turn red.

“See, Carlos’ ancestors were Indians, so he can’t come in just any outfit, it has to be something authentic, something that will really make an impact!”

She pulled out a National Geographic magazine and flipped through it. She found the page she was looking for and held it out for everyone to see. A wave of giggles swept through the room. This wasn’t the picture she had shown Carlos before, it was two Native Americas standing side by side. The headdresses was similar, the face paint was similiar, but there was one glaring difference: these guys were not wearing loincloths.

Carlos broke into a cold sweat.

“Wait, wh-wh-wa-what ab-ab-about the uhhhh.. uhhh… t-the loincloth, right, I was thinking, maybe I can wear a speedo or ma—”

The stuttering made a dozen nearby kids giggle. Ms. Johnson continued:

"No, no, Carlos. I thought this over all week, and you’ll wearing face paint and a headdress, just like this, and that’s it!"

“Uhhh… wait, and nothing else? Bu-bu-bu-but, y-y-you showed me a p-p-ph-picture, and and, and the guy had on a lo-lo-loin—”

The loincloth… which felt like the most embarrassing part of this 10 minutes ago, was now a lifeline the boy desperately clung to.

“Yes, but I did some more research, and class, it turns out, that real Indians, they don’t wear anything at all!” she said matter of factly.

Carlos felt his vision go black. Was this really happening?

“No, it’s ok, Ms. J-J-Johnson, I’ll wear a loincloth, I think tha-tha-that’s really au-au-authen-- authentic!”

“No, it turns out, it was the white man who made them wear those loincloths, because the white man were imposing their rules on the Indian!” she said ‘white man’ like they were the villains in this story. “But in reality, the Indians wore absolutely nothing, because they were comfortable with their bodies!”

“It’s okay, Ms. Johnson. I can wear something from home, my ancestors were just regular peop--,” Carlos pleaded, hoping to diffuse the conversation.

“Nonsense! You will dance in traditional attire… your... lack of costume will be your costume!” Ms. Johnson announced with a grin, a manic energy flickered in her eyes as she added, “You already created a beautiful headdress, Carlos, all you need now is some face paint, and… maybe a spear!”

Carlos' entire body burned with embarrassment.

Carlos’ voice cracked, laughter bubbling from the others. “You want me t-t-t-to go... nuh-nuh-nuh... naked?”

“Of course! It’s authentic! Imagine the impact!” she insisted, clapping her hands again. Giggling and stifled laughter went through the auditorium.

The boy couldn't believe what he was hearing.

[Jonjon2]

A great start to this story. I can't wait to see what costume he ends up wearing as an Indian. I'm sure his teacher will help him with his costume. And if your other stories are anything to go by, I'm hoping he will be embarrassed by not being a well endowed Indian and that that will become obvious to all the onlookers.

[NudeBaG]

Similar premise to my story Heritage Day Gone Wrong.
A really fun premise.

[tim409]

Heritage Day - Chapter 2



Carlos’ voice cracked, laughter bubbling from the others. “You want me t-t-t-to go... nuh-nuh-nuh... naked?”

“Of course! It’s authentic! Imagine the impact!” she insisted, clapping her hands again. Giggling and stifled laughter went through the auditorium.

The boy couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Sounds like a good ah great plan to me. Many of the Indians did go naked but it was mostly males and some of the women did go topless but they did practice a CFNM lifestyle which would be great to do today but make it a pure CFNM lifestyle with the women and girls being modestly dressed while all the males are naked.

[NickTwisp]

When I was in Scouting, we had the Order of the Arrow pledges perform at campfires. In the warmer weather they just wore loincloths. Usually, they wore briefs (or sometimes jock straps) under the loincloths...but not always. If there was a breeze that night some unintentional exposure could occur.

[Jeepman89]

"And if your other stories are anything to go by, I'm hoping he will be embarrassed by not being a well endowed Indian and that that will become obvious to all the onlookers." I vote for him to be well endowed actually. The onlookers would have more fun seeing his big cock rather than a little peepee. Keep in mind that he will be embarrassed just the same having a big dick.

[tim409]

When I was in Scouting, we had the Order of the Arrow pledges perform at campfires. In the warmer weather they just wore loincloths. Usually, they wore briefs (or sometimes jock straps) under the loincloths...but not always. If there was a breeze that night some unintentional exposure could occur.

I remember hearing about two boy scout troops camping out at a lake and they skinny dipped when they went swimming. They found out a girl scout jamboree was being held at a spot a mile away from them. Someone suggested they invite the girls for a cook out so they did and about 30 boy scouts and 40 girl scouts got together and before the cookout began they went swimming. The boy scouts asked the girl scout leaders if it would be OK for the boys to swim nude and they said it would be OK if THEIR scout leaders swan the same way with them After some pleading, all the males ended up swimming nude much to the delight of 40 girls and 8 women. The boys were from 12 to 18 and the girls were from 8 to 14 I think. I would have loved to be one of the boy scouts so I would know if it was true or not.

[Miguel85]

Heritage Day - Chapter 3

The first day of rehearsal soon arrived.

In order to keep things as orderly as possible, each Heritage Pageant rehearsal class would be 1-hour long, once a day, and the group of students, 74, had been split into a more manageable two classes of 37 each.

Carlos felt the weight of resignation and fear strangle him as he sat among his peers in the bleachers of Willow Creek’s gymnasium. Ms. Johnson had given him a VHS tape of Native American dances on Friday for him to study over the weekend. He couldn’t imagine doing any of those moves… doing anything… in public, naked. The sound of laughter and excited chatter filled the large room, magnifying his nausea.

“Ok class, settle down, today we’re gonna see where we all are with our costumes, and maybe do a quick little run through of our performances.” She looked down to her clipboard, then back up at the students. “Lydia, you seem to have it figured out, would you come down here and share what you have with us?

Lydia, dressed in an opulent Victorian dress, proudly walked down the bleachers towards the center of the gym where Ms. Johnson stood. Besides Ms. Johnson there were two trunks full of clothes, a wig rack, and even a makeup table borrowed from the drama club, with a CD player on top.

Lydia twirled around, showing off her outfit, and read through a short speech based on her great-grandmother’s life.

Timothy went next, wearing full Pilgrim regalia, and gave a speech about Thanksgiving.

Emma, dressed as George Washington, recited the Newburgh Address.

The rehearsal continued, one white student after another, one proud European lineage after the next, while Carlos sat there, barely able to focus, a sweaty bundle of nerves.

When it was finally Carlos’ turn, Ms. Jonhson clapped her hands together, summoning his attention.

"Okay, Carlos, it's time for you to get into costume," she said, her voice firm. "And that means taking all your clothes off."

Carlos went pale. He swallowed dryly and spoke from his seat. “Um, can’t I at least wear suh-suh-something just for r-rehearsals?” he asked hesitantly. Giggles spread through the auditorium.

"Nonsense, Carlos. You're an Indian, so, get on with it, be an Indian! Now, come on down!" She said excitedly, like a talk show host. Carlos was mortified. He got up from the bleachers and slowly made his way down, stopping at the bottom step.

The boy stood there for a moment, feeling trapped, then looked back at the sea of students… 36 boys and girls his own age, all eagerly watching. Ms. Johnson put her hands on her hips. “Well? Let’s see that proud Indian in all his glory!”

In a small voice, fighting back tears, Carlos spoke: “B-b-b-but I… I… I don’t wanna be nuh-nuh-naked in fuh-fuh-front of everyone...”

Mrs. Johnson was unsympathetic. She swung her arms out theatrically as she walked up to the boy.

“No clothes! We need to show the true essence of the Indian.” Her expression was fervent, as if she were under some misguided impression that she was preserving culture through his humiliation.

“B-but...”

“Just face paint!” she insisted, almost gleeful at the thought. Then, to the class: “Everyone, let’s bring Carlos in on the spirit of Heritage Day! Let’s give him a hand!” she started clapping, and the students did too. She grabbed Carlos by the shoulders and gently pushed him towards the center of the gym.

She spun him to face the crowd. The boy stood there, on fire, mortified, incapable of processing what was happening.

“Off with everything, Carlos!” she insisted, eyes set in determination. “It’s important to feel the culture! The first part of this journey is shedding the modern man’s cloth. Do it for your ancestors!!”

How could this be happening? He felt like he had no choice. Feeling like a fool, like a spectacle, he slowly peeled his t-shirt off, to giggles from the class. “Give it here,” Ms. Johnson took a step toward him, and he obediently handed his shirt to his teacher.

The terrified boy looked over his at classmates, then to Ms. Johnson with pleading eyes.

“C’mon Carlos, we don’t have time to waste, gimme the rest!”

Hesitating, he turned away from his peers and grabbed the hem of his shorts. The room fell silent. He turned back slightly to look at his classmates, their gazes heavy, filled with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and snickers—a moment waiting to explode.

Finally, he lowered his shorts, exposing his tightie whities. A wave of laughter cut through the room.

“Class, please!” The teacher said, not too seriously. “Carlos, will you get on with it?”

Hands trembling, he allowed his underwear to drop, exposing his naked rear end to the entire class, the cool air hitting his skin like sharp daggers. The room went quiet at the shock of what was happening. He quickly ducked down, grabbed the bundle, and held it in front of his privates.

“What a big ass,” a voice from the back of the room, plain as day.

More laughter, more giggles. Carlos felt his face burn even hotter. He knew he had rather wide hips for a boy, which made his slightly plump butt appear quite big on his otherwise lanky body, but he never expected his classmates would be seeing it, commenting on it.

Snickers filled the room. Ms Johnson sighed heavily. “Class, let’s show some respect. Carlos, the clothes?” she gestured towards the boy holding on to his last bit of modesty.

As he handed Ms. Johnson his shorts and underwear, he cupped his hands over his privates, keeping them hidden, for now. His respiration sped up as the realization crashed over him; he was about to perform naked in front of nearly 40 kids his own age.

As he stood there, trembling, Mrs. Johnson began to apply paint to his face and chest. The boy was nearly out of his body with shame, feeling everyone’s stares burning into him.

"There, that's perfect," she said after a couple of minutes, stepping back to admire her handiwork. Then, she remembered: “Oh, your headdress? Where did you leave that?”

Carlos swallowed dryly… the headdress was on the bleachers, where he was sitting earlier.

“Can somebody bring down Carlos’ headdress for him?” Ms. Johnson asked casually.

“I will, Ms. Johnson!” Samantha, a pretty redhead with braces that Carlos had long admired from a distance, said excitedly. She grabbed the headdress and bounced down the stairs, then jogged over to the middle of the gym.

She handed the construction paper headgear to the boy as she smiled, then whispered: “nice ass.” Carlos blushed a shade brighter.

“Thank you, Samantha! Now, let’s get this on you..” Ms. Johnson grabbed the headdress from the dazed boy and affixed it atop of his head. "Ok, wonderful! Look at that, class, that’s really beautiful work, Carlos!”

Carlos wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

Then, she spoke the words that would change the course of Carlos’ life forever: “Great, now let's get started on the dance!”

The boy looked at her stupidly, pleading, then to the students watching intently, waiting for his hands to move, waiting for the big reveal. Carlos knew he wasn’t very big down there. He was 14, and he knew many kids his age had already gone through puberty, but if he had, there were no clear indications of it.

“Alright, everyone, give Carlos a hand!” Ms. Johnson prompted, her clapping mimicking the rhythm of a conductor heralding an orchestra.

As laughter bubbled up, Carlos’s heart raced, lungs constricting like a vice, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t move, just look down at the floor, his hands desperately covering his privates, completely naked save for his headdress.

“Carlos, now don’t be shy, remember, we have to make this authentic. Hands up, start dancing!” with that she hit play on the small CD player and the sounds of Indian chanting and drums beating started.

His instincts screamed at him to flee. Desperation clawed at him; what was he doing? His heart raced as he realized he was completely exposed, save for some useless face paint, and his strategically placed hands.

Carlos needed to do something, to take one last shot at getting out of this insane mess, to make Mr. Johnson understand. The boy was visibly shaking as he spoke.

“Buh-buh, you wouldn’t make E-E-Emma get nuh-nuh-naked, or, or, or Jaaacob!” he was openly crying now.

Ms. Johnson put her hand to her chest, as if shocked at the suggestion. “Why, of course not, dear boy, Emma is of proud European heritage, she couldn’t dance..” she lowered her volume. “… naked. Just look at her! And Jacob, oh, Jacob’s great grandfather immigrated here and became a Senator!”

Carlos couldn’t believe this, this was straight up racism, or something.

“But you…” she paused to think for a moment. “You see, class, we are dressing like our ancestors, that’s the point of this whole show, and Carlos, well, your people are used to being naked, so it’s no big deal! See, people like you are in National Geographic!” she picked up the magazine again from the makeup stand.

“Now, dance, Carlos!” Ms. Johnson shouted, her voice carrying over the rhythm.

Carlos hung his head and continued crying, occasionally moving one hand away from his privates to wipe at his face.

“Oh, for goodness sake, I’ll help you, here…” with that Ms. Johnson walked over to the boy, stood behind him, grabbed each of his arms and with very little effort raised them both up and started waving them around, leaving the crying boy completely exposed in front of his class.

Carlos didn’t fight back. He looked at his classmates with pure terror in his eyes, his mouth distorted into a terrible grimace.

Laughter erupted like a wave; a cacophony of disbelief and mockery.

"Oh my god, look at his little peepee, wiggling back and forth!" Emily said, giggling.

“Aw, it’s so little and cute!” Samantha said.

“He’s completely hairless!!” a boy’s voice.

“That is so small… that is SO small!” another girl’s voice, laughing.

“You see, it’s no big deal!” Ms. Johnson said, as if not hearing the laughter and comments coming from the students. “Now, I’m gonna let you go, and you continue dancing, ok?”

Slowly, sadly, Carlos began to move, to sway his arms, his movements lacking the pride of anyone’s ancestry, but rather reflecting devastation and confusion. The boy felt like he was being torn apart, his humiliation growing with every passing second.  He could barely hear the rhythm of the beating drums in his head. All he saw were faces, mockery etched into smiles that once felt a little friendly.

Then Carlos spun and turned, stepping with one foot, then the other, trying his best to mimic what he had seen in the videos Ms. Johnson had given him. The students broke into a new chorus of laughter at seeing the boy’s rear end again.

"Look at him shake his big booty!" Jake exclaimed, laughing.

“Ew, it’s so jiggly!” Lydia giggled uncontrollably.

Carlos could feel how his butt jiggled whenever he landed from a jump or a leap, and could only imagine how ridiculous he looked, hopping around and gyrating nude in front of his 8th grade class.

The dance seemed to go on forever, with the class laughing and mockingly cheering the boy, whose entire face and back was now covered in sweat.

“What a show! Look at him go!” Ms. Johnson shouted, oblivious to the boy’s mortification.

"Okay, Carlos, now it's time to really get into character. Let's see your best Indian warrior yell!" Carlos felt like he was being forced to perform like a circus animal, and he just wanted it to be over.

“RAAAHHHH!!!!” he shouted, trying to be fierce, but really on the verge of letting his crying turn to full-on sobbing.

Thundering, mocking applause punctuated his unceremonious end as he dashed towards his clothes, desperate to cover himself.

"Great job, Carlos. You're a natural!" the teacher said as the students headed out of class later.

“Yeah, a natural girl!” one boy whispered.

“Carlos is a natural girl, with that big butt!” Emily added.

“Yeah, did he even have a dick?” another boy said to more laughter.

"Aw, I thought his dancing was kinda cute, even if he is really small!" Carlos overheard Samantha say.

Carlos couldn’t stop blushing, couldn’t stop sweating. He wanted to die.

[TeenFan]

The scenarios and situations are interesting and would definitely be most embarrassing to be in.
However, every boy in these stories have the same physical description. They all have a fat ass, even when the rest of the body is slender.
They always have a hairless and small weenie, even when being fourteen when there should be more to be seen.
If all the kids are twelve years old then this would be more believable.