Date: Sat, 23 Feb 2008 02:36:05 -0500
From: Jeff A <parrafan@ureach.com>
Subject: Mothers' Club

Mothers' Club

a story by parrafan

Disclaimer: Need I say this story is fiction? Well, probably. I
made up the names, addresses and phone numbers of every
character in it. So you can blame me.

Dedication: This is for Miguel, who has never stopped believing
in me. And for Trey, of course.

* * *

Mothers' Club

Every boy suspects, doesn't he? Every boy, deep down, has a
sneaking niggle of suspicion, a tiny crawling termite of doubt.
That when he is at school, or at sport on a weekend, or
attending his scout troop meeting some evening, or perhaps
selling newspapers on his paper route of an afternoon, that his
mother is gossiping about him to other mothers.
Gossiping...discussing...disclosing...undermining... exposing.
Revealing things that no boy wants revealed. Personal things.

The sad truth is, these fears that all boys hold are well
founded. Mothers gossip about their sons all the time. It's one
of their favourite pastimes, especially if they don't have a
husband or partner to dump on.

What drives them to do it? How can they live with themselves?
We're going to have a peek at one such group of chatty mothers,
and listen in on what they are saying to each other about their
male offspring. Set your faces to 'stunned'...

Tale # 1 - New Undies

"He was getting far too big for his britches, that's all I can
say. Needed taking down a peg or two. And I was just in the mood
to do it", Mrs Kenthurst declared.

"What did you do, dear?" Mrs Baker asked solicitously.

"I used my ultimate weapon - I told him we were going shopping
for clothes! He absolutely hates that. But I refused to give in
and just let him buy things for himself, because he always comes
home with the most dreadful items, all mismatched colours and
incorrectly sized. That boy just has no idea - or maybe he does,
and he just enjoys tormenting me!"

"How old is Paul again?" Mrs Peterson chimed in.

"Thirteen and two months last Tuesday", Mrs Kenthurst rattled
off without having to think. "Gets one pubic hair and he thinks
he's Jesus Christ in a pair of Reeboks. Well, I fixed his little
red waggon for him."

"What did you do, pet?" Mrs Flannery asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, first off I phoned the menswear shop down town, you know
the one, they have that big marquee outside? I wanted to make
sure Rene was still working there. He was such a help with
Chelsea, you know, Paul's older brother, when he needed
outfitting for ballet school-"

"Your older son is named Chelsea?" Mrs Peterson inquired. She
had only been in the Mothers' Club a few months.

"What? Oh, of course not, dear, it's Kelsey. It's just that all
the other boys in his class called him 'Chelsea' for some
foolish boyish reason or other, and the name just stuck. After a
while, I was calling him that myself!  There was one summer when
I heard it all the time from one visiting classmate or other,
there was a virtual stream of them, going in and out of his room
every day it seemed like. Right through the whole vacation,
Chel- er, Kelsey would only appear at odd intervals to use the
bathroom and brush his teeth, then disappear back into his
bedroom. He was very popular, though, even though he didn't go
out for sports. Goodness me, I had boys coming and going at all
hours, asking for Ch- uh, Kelsey. The day before he left for the
ballet academy, all his school friends gave him a big send-off,
a sleepover party. Though I don't think he got much sleep, the
next morning he looked very tired and was walking very gingerly.
But where was I?"

"You phoned to ask if Rene still worked at Carson's Menswear",
Mrs Baker reminded.

"Oh yes, that's right. Rene had been such a help with Kelsey,
those ballet uniforms must be terribly hard to fit, he had to go
back again and again to Rene just to get the size exactly right.
Rene even let Kelsey visit the shop after it had closed, that's
how dedicated he is, letting him in the trade entrance at the
back and staying on for, oh, hours it was some evenings. That's
how I know Rene is thorough: he simply doesn't stop until the
job is done. That's exactly what Kelsey told me- 'Rene just
doesn't stop, Mom', he told me once. Anyway, they advised me
that Rene is still there, in the boyswear department. He's
almost a fixture there. He'd probably work for nothing, the man
is so loyal to old Mr Carson.

"So, I didn't tell Paul where we were going until we were in the
car. Gave him no chance to back out, or pull some lame excuse.
You should have seen his face when I told him we were shopping
for underwear at Carson's. Took the wind right out of his sails.
I told him he could begin buying his own clothing when I saw a
change in his attitude, and until then we were shopping for it
together"

"Quite right, too", Mrs Jensen added. "Did Rene give you good
service?"

"The best, as usual', Mrs Kenthurst replied. "As soon as we
arrived, he met us at the door and whisked us away to a fitting
room. I suggested that Paul needed to be measured for some new
underwear, and Rene agreed with me wholeheartedly. Such a
pleasure to be served by a male who understands these things! I
told Paul to slip his jeans off so Rene could get an accurate
measurement, and that's when the sulky face appeared. Can you
believe it, he didn't want to take his pants off in front of his
mother? Who had her own body bloated out of shape carrying him
for nine months!"

The other women muttered agreement at this, all of them well
able to recall the tribulations of their own pregnancies. "So
what did you tell him, dear?" Mrs Flannery sniffed.

"I gave him a little reminder of who was the boss. I shamed him
into it. I said, loud enough for anyone within the store to
hear, 'who wiped your shitty bottom when you were a baby? Who
cleaned under your foreskin when you took your first bath? And
who do you think knows every inch of your body because she's
seen it naked since the day you were born, so now you can't even
take your pants off?! I bet you've got those ghastly boxers on
underneath again!' Oh, yeah, I let him have both barrels".

"Good for you, dear", murmured Mrs Peterson. "Did it work?"

Mrs Kenthurst smirked. "Damn straight! He knew that I would just
get a lot louder and a whole lot more personal if he didn't play
ball. He looked at Rene, as if to suggest that he shouldn't
undress in front of him, but I told him Rene was like one of the
family, and to get on with it. He unzipped the jeans, and, sure
enough, he had on this pair of boxers with some cartoon thing on
them. Some little kid with a head shaped like a football. I
don't know what they see in that crap. I told Rene he could do
his stuff".

"Was Rene as...thorough as you remembered?" Mrs Jensen asked.

"Oh, yeah, his hands seemed to be all over those boxers all at
once. He had that measuring tape of his flying around so fast it
could have taken your eye out, let me tell you. But the boxers
were awfully oversized, I think his uncle bought them for him
for Christmas, poor Rene was unable, try as he might, to get an
accurate set of numbers. 'Just pull the horrible things off', I
told Rene, and Paul actually started crying! Apparently, Rene's
few accidental touches had given Paul the beginnings of an
erection, and he was ashamed to let his own mother see it. Me!
Who had-"

"And what happened then?" Mrs Flannery interrupted. She didn't
really want to hear the saga of Paul's infancy again.

"I told Paul that I would leave the fitting room, on one
condition. That he immediately remove those ugly boxers and
allow Rene to measure him properly, and I would be waiting
outside no more than ten seconds for him to pass the boxers
through the curtain to me! And I counted out loud as well! Lucky
for him, I only reached 'six' before his hand poked through the
curtain and gave them to me"

"I think curtains on a fitting room are so much...nicer...than
those -ugh!- doors some places have. I mean, darlings, you just
don't know what might be going on behind a door! But a
curtain...", Mrs Peterson observed.

"Exactly! After I put the boxers in my handbag, I felt it my
duty to pull the curtain a little, just so I could peek in, to
make sure Paul wasn't being silly. Boys his age can be so...so
foolishly modest! And needlessly, I might add. I mean, they've
all got the same equipment, what's the big deal?"

The other women muttered their agreement. Mrs Kenthurst
continued her recollection. "So, when I glanced into the fitting
room, I saw that Rene had everything under control. He had made
Paul pull his shirt right up to his chin, and was measuring all
around his groin. I think the tape measure he uses must have
been cold or something, because Paul's little erection stood
right out! Kept getting in Rene's way, I gathered, because Rene
had to move it around, oh, quite a few times, this way and that,
to continue his task. Then Rene got Paul to turn around, and
made more measurements, this time of his bottom. There's nothing
worse than a pair of underwear that doesn't fit right in the
seat, I always say. Poor Rene was panting from exhaustion, it
sounded like. Then I had an inspired moment, girls. I saw a pair
of briefs on a shelf just like the ones I wanted for Paul, so I
checked the size, and ripped them out of their packet and thrust
them through the curtain. I think, by then, Paul was glad to
have anything on.

"I watched as Rene pulled them up Paul's thighs, then pulled
back the curtain. Well, I had to see them in the light, didn't
I? And those fitting rooms can be so gloomy. Naturally, Paul
complained, in that whiny voice of his, something about everyone
seeing him. Which was nonsense, there was only a handful of
people there, no more than about a dozen, maybe twenty, tops. I
pulled him out of there by the arm, and made him turn all around
so I could see if they were too tight. It was one of those new
seamless styles, like a pair of sheer swim trunks, only square
at the side, you know? I guess they must have been a little
tight, because his penis was sticking out fairly prominently.
When I said we should go over to the front window, where there
was more natural light, he whined again. So I offered him the
choice - here, in the store, or out on the street where there's
even more light?"

"Damn straight!" Mrs Jensen muttered.

"So, did you buy them, pet?" Mrs Flannery asked.

"Of course, dear, they were the ones I wanted to get him all
along - only the fitting room was now occupied, so I just pulled
the undies all the way down and off him and gave them to Rene to
wrap. Naturally he whined again, but he soon stopped when I
asked Rene if it came in more colours"

"Good for you, dear. Little brats need a firm hand, don't they",
Mrs Jensen agreed.

Tale # 2 - The Masseur

The group went quiet for a moment, digesting what Mrs Kenthurst
had related about her shopping excursion with her second child.
Mrs Peterson decided to contribute her own little story to the
discussion. "Well, girls, it's funny we should be talking about
sons, and the trouble they are. My Ronnie has had some
difficulty making friends for, oh, ages now. It's only been in
the last couple of weeks that he's finally started to come out
of his shell a little, and is meeting new people".

"That's nice, dear", Mrs Flannery remarked. "How did you manage
it?"

"Well, it all came about in the oddest way, I can tell you. When
my husband, god rest his soul, was alive, he was a very...er,
virile man, if you know what I mean. In the first few years of
our marriage, I had to change the sheets of our double bed every
single morning" Mrs Peterson smirked, giving the other ladies a
knowing glance. "So after he passed on, for quite a while I was
bereft of that...er, special companionship that only, er...a man
can offer. I'm sure you girls know what I mean. Anyway, a friend
at the Golf Club, Cynthia, you know, the one with the totally
unsuitable hair, put me on to a very special masseur - one who
does house calls. Antonio is his name, and let me tell you,
girls, he is extremely, er...gifted. But so expensive! For a
two-hour, ah, session, he charges $200! naturally, I can only
afford one visit per week at that rate".

"So, is your son home when Antonio...visits?" Mrs Baker enquired
sweetly.

"Oh, Ronnie is very much a homebody. I just tell him that
Antonio is giving Mommy a massage, and that sometimes Mommy's
muscles might need a very vigorous..., ah, workout, and that if
he hears Mommy call out, he mustn't worry. Naturally, I keep my
bedroom door locked during Antonio's visit. I also told Ronnie
that sometimes he might see my clothing dishevelled afterwards,
but not to be alarmed".

"And he believes you, pet?" Mrs Flannery asked, incredulous.

"Oh, yes, he's very trusting, is Ronnie. So, anyway, after
each...session, Antonio often goes out to the family room to
pass a few minutes with Ronnie while I, er, fix my hair. I often
find the two of them chatting away happily, goodness knows about
what. A few weeks back, after a very thorough massage-" Mrs
Peterson smiled and blushed prettily to make sure that all the
women knew exactly what she was referring to "-Antonio suggested
that he would take 25% off his fee if he could spend an hour
with Ronnie."

"My dear, you must have been shocked!" Mrs Baker gasped.

"Shocked? I was outraged! I expected 30% at the very least! But
I managed to negotiate him up to 50% for ninety minutes. That
meant that I could afford two visits per week for the price of
one!"

"But darling, why on earth would a grown man want to spend
ninety minutes with a boy of...how old is Ronnie, dear?" Mrs
Kenthurst asked.

"He's 12. Well, it turns out, pet, that Antonio had been looking
for an apprentice: someone to whom he can pass on his trade. I
thought Ronnie was a little young to start learning a craft,
but...well, I said it would be alright, so I told Ronnie I was
going down to the shops for an hour and a half, and that Antonio
would wait with him while I was out, and to mind what Antonio
said. Ronnie doesn't like to be left on his own, so it suited
him as well. I left by the front door and crept around outside
the house to the living room window, to listen in to what they
were doing. Well, a mother has a right, after all!"

The other four women murmured their agreement, yes, she
certainly did have a right, never know what people might do
nowadays, plenty of weirdos around after all, and so on.

"But it was all quite harmless, you know. Antonio simply wanted
to sit and chat with the boy, about school, and books, and such.
I could see he had his arm around Ronnie's shoulders, which was
very friendly, and he patted his head and stroked his neck from
time to time, which I thought was very decent of him, you know,
to show an interest in a boy that isn't even your own. Well,
after ten minutes I felt rather foolish standing ankle deep in
the crocuses, so I went shopping. When I came back, all was
well, the two had gotten along splendidly. Ronnie told me later
that Antonio had given him a backrub, and he hoped that Antonio
could stay and talk with him after his next visit with me. I
told him I was certain of it.

"The following week - well, it was only three days later on
account of I could now afford a second, er, visit - Antonio
stayed back to talk with Ronnie, and I went to the shops. When I
returned, I let myself in quietly, and saw right off they
weren't in the living room. I heard some muffled noise coming
from my bedroom, and found them in there. All quite innocent,
really. Ronnie had his shirt off, lying on my bed, Antonio was
rubbing some essential oils into his back. He really is a
genuine masseur, you know, among his, uh, other talents. And
Ronnie seemed to be enjoying their time together.

"Well, after a few more visits, I wasn't really surprised to
hear Ronnie ask if he could visit Antonio at his house. They had
become firm friends, and I thought it was high time Ronnie
ventured out without me, you know what I mean. Can't have your
son tied to your apron strings all his life, he'll end
up...strange. So I said, Sure, of course, I'll help you pack.

"So, when he returned from his weekend at Antonio's on the
Sunday night, I told him to unpack his port and put his worn
clothes in the laundry hamper. He said that nothing needed
washing, since Antonio kept a naturist household and they didn't
wear any clothes the whole weekend. Oh? I replied, Tell me more.
So Ronnie tells me the details of his weekend.

"He said Antonio gave him a backrub as soon as he arrived, a
nice deep one. Then another one during the night, and again in
the morning. That's when Antonio explained that clothes were
unnecessary. Apparently, since he sees everything when he gives
a massage, there's no need for modesty anymore, and besides,
it's better for your body to let the air flow over it. So
Antonio told Ronnie, anyway".

"Well, I suppose they're both male, what harm could it do?" Mrs
Flannery observed.

"Quite right, dear, just what I thought", Mrs Peterson replied.
"So, anyway, after breakfast, Ronnie said a whole group of
people started arriving. They were all masseur friends of
Antonio's, apparently. Ronnie told me their names, too...now
what were they?...oh, yes, there was Claudio, Gilberto, um...I
think there was a Marco in there somewhere, oh, about half a
dozen of them"

"Goodness", Mrs Baker exclaimed. "Who would have thought there'd
be so many masseurs in our little town!"

"Apparently, there are more of them around than anybody
realises, so Ronnie said. But the good thing was, each of them
brought a nephew along for the weekend, so Ronnie had plenty of
company his own age. He became quite friendly with two of them,
er, Jared and...Taylor, was it? or maybe Tyler? Whatever. The
other boys were too busy, it seems the masseurs all wanted to
give them backrubs, not to their own nephews but to the other
boys. Ronnie said most of the backrubs took place indoors, but
Jared gave Taylor a backrub right out in the open, on the lawn
beside the pool. Ronnie said everyone gathered around and
watched, and called out encouragement and advice."

"Ooh, a pool! I didn't realise the massage business was so...so
rewarding!" Mrs Baker gushed.

"Well, from what Ronnie told me, they make a lot of their
additional money from instructional videos which they market on
the Internet. Antonio told Ronnie he might even find him a role
in one!"

"And what else did he get up to on his weekend away from home,
dear?" Mrs Flannery asked sweetly.

"Oh, they kept busy, according to Ronnie. I think some of the
boys, the nephews that came along, must sing, or recite poetry,
because Ronnie mentioned how talented they were with their
mouths and tongues. Antonio must have stables there too, because
I recall Ronnie saying how much some of the boys enjoyed riding
the pony. Some of them also practiced their gymnastics
exercises, I heard Ronnie mention some complicated manoeuvres
involving two men and one boy. Ronnie was quite weary when he
got home. Tired, but happy. On the Saturday night, they were all
so 'shagged out' as Ronnie put it, they simply collapsed
together in one big heap on the floor. Ronnie confided in me
that he might enjoy being a masseur when he grows up".

"So nice to see ambition in a boy nowadays. Most of them just
drift through their school years, with no ideas about the
future. Good for him, I say!" Mrs Kenthurst affirmed. "And just
write Antonio's name and phone number on this slip of paper for
me, dear, if you don't mind".

Tale # 3 - The Diary

"Coffee, girls?" Mrs Baker offered, as it was in her home that
the group had met. A chorus of 'Yes, please' and 'Black for me'
greeted her inquiry, and she slipped off to the kitchen to put
the kettle on. "Actually, I have a little something to share
with you ladies, but first I must be assured of your absolute
discretion", she explained on her return. "My Daniel would just
die if he knew anyone saw this, I'm sure", she continued,
pulling a small book from beneath her cardigan.

"What is it, pet?", Mrs Kenthurst asked.

"Well, it's my Daniel's diary. He mentioned at the start of the
school year that his English teacher encouraged everyone in the
class to keep a diary. I stumbled across it when I was cleaning
in his room".

"A boy - keeping a diary! How absolutely darling!" Mrs Flannery
gushed.

"Yes, well, you know, we all probably kept them when we were
schoolgirls, recording all our important secrets", Mrs Baker
related, "but I didn't realise how...deeply my Daniel felt
things before reading this. I'm sure he wouldn't want me to see
it, but he did leave it just lying around wrapped in a T-shirt
under four pairs of shorts in the bottom drawer of his
cupboard".

The mothers all looked at each other, wondering whether Mrs
Baker was actually going to open the diary, or just tease them.
Mrs Peterson broke the ice. "Well, are you going to show it to
us, dear, or shall we just use our X-ray vision on it?" The
other women tittered, Mrs Baker blushed and opened the book.

"Ooh, look at that, girls!" Mrs Jensen piped up. "Little hearts
and...are those stars? all around 'Mr Davis'. Who is Mr Davis?"

"Mr Davis is my Daniel's Grade 9 English teacher", Mrs Baker
commented. "I guess all the other stuff is just doodling. This
is what they call a title page, girls, you're supposed to
decorate it. Now let's see what we shall see." She turned a page
and began reading.

" 'Oct 3 - Mr D called on me again today' . Hmm. Not exactly
'Call me Ishmael', is it, dears? Maybe it gets better" Mrs Baker
remarked.

" 'Oct 5 - Mr D asked me stay behind to clean dusters!!!'
Goodness. I wonder are all those exclamation points really
necessary? What's the big deal about the dusters? Let's read on
a bit further".

" 'Oct 6 - helped Mr D straighten the storeroom!!! XOX !!!'
Well, I have to admit my Daniel does seem to get very excited
over routine classroom chores. Pity he doesn't have the same
enthusiasm for cleaning his own bedroom! And what's the 'xox'
mean?" The ladies all looked at each other, but none could shed
any light on the mysterious code, if that's what it was.

"Read on, dear", Mrs Kenthurst urged.

" 'Oct 10 - OMG!!! Mr D gave me a B!!! Awesome!!!' My goodness,
my Daniel must not be very used to getting good grades if he is
so amazed at getting a B. Look at all the exclamation points',
Mrs Baker exclaimed.

"Perhaps this Mr Davis is a hard marker, and a B grade is quite
a rarity? if so, it's a pleasant change from those weak-willed
teachers who give out A's like jellybeans", Mrs Jensen sniffed.

"Yes, I expect you're right, dear', Mrs Kenthurst concurred.
"But what's an 'omg' when it's at home, I wonder? Maybe he'll
translate it for us at the end"

Mrs Baker read on. " 'Oct 11 - Another B! Better than
yesterdays!' Well, at least his schoolwork is on the improve,
two B's. Something Mr Davis is doing must really be sinking in.
I'm only glad my Daniel is taking it all in, it's such a rarity
nowadays, a boy who is grateful for whatever his teacher gives
him!"

" 'Oct 12 - Returned the favour to Mr D! Cleaned up and
everything' Sounds like he's referring to the storeroom again,
girls. Though I wonder what this 'favour' was... perhaps it was
driving my Daniel home after school that evening he stayed back
late to clean the dusters".

" 'Oct 13 - My first F!!! Hurt at first, but then...' Oh, dear,
the poor boy got an F - it hurt his feelings! It must have been
a difficult test or something, maybe it was a really hard one.
He seems to have taken it like a man, though, and you have to
admire that"

The other women murmured their agreement. Mrs Baker continued.

" 'Oct 17 - Two F's in one day!! Mr D so hard!!' Well, really!
You'd think after all the extra-curricular effort my Daniel puts
in, this Davis guy would cut him a little slack! Two failing
grades in one day? I have no problem with his teacher being
hard, I've always said that teachers should be firm, firm but
fair is my motto. What's the use of him staying back after
school to straighten the storeroom if it doesn't get him a
little...consideration now and then?"

"Read on, dear", Mrs Kenthurst repeated.

" 'Oct 18 - Greek today from Mr D - fabulous!!' Huh! I thought
he was an English teacher? Maybe he gave a lesson on the Greek
derivations of some words. It's so refreshing to have a teacher
these days who is trained in the Classics, and knows where the
language comes from, dears! " The other women tsked into their
coffees.

"Only one page left, girls - " Mrs Baker informed the group.
"'Oct 20 - Mr D gave us our final mark today - I got an A ! It
all paid off!" Well, I'm sure he means his extra study, girls. I
must say I'm quite surprised that my Daniel stuck at his task
for so long - he always struck me as a dreamy sort of boy - you
know, the kind that doesn't really know what's going on?"

The other ladies murmured their agreement.

Tale # 4 - Doctor Visit

"So, what have you been up to lately, dear?" Mrs Baker asked Mrs
Jensen as she handed her a mug of instant coffee.

"Oh, the usual, you know, housework, shopping...oh, and I've had
to take my youngest to the doctor's", Mrs Jensen explained.

"Ah, yes, your youngest, how old is he now?" Mrs Kenthurst
inquired. She asked this question every time the Club met, never
paying any attention to the answer.

"Sven is eleven now, nearly twelve. You know, when I fell
pregnant with him, I thought it was just the Change, girls. Took
me by surprise, I'll tell you. Imagine, all his older sisters
have left the nest, and now, here I am at fifty-seven, still
raising a little boy".

"And the doctor...?" Mrs Peterson urged.

"Oh, yes. Sven asked me a strange thing last week. He said is it
possible to ask for a man doctor, or do you just have to take
the doctor you get. I told him it was completely in order to
specify what sort of doctor you wanted, after all, you wouldn't
want an Ob-Gyn looking at your throat, now would you? He didn't
get my little joke, but he did ask if I could take him to see a
doctor, provided it was a male doctor"

"Did he tell you why he wanted a male doctor, pet?" Mrs Flannery
asked.

"Well, he's always been a bit of a hypochondriac. He hedged
around the subject, when I brought it up. At first he said he
thought his feet were growing too fast. Then it was his hands -
his fingers were too long, he said, and they were clumsy. Then
it was his voice - he thought he might be getting laryngitis. I
told him I thought it was absolute nonsense, but I would take
him if he really needed to go. So I took him along to see that
nice young doctor at the new medical centre, you know the one,
it's on the corner there across from the shopping mall. We
waited for a good forty-five minutes before we were finally
called to see him, and then the little beggar has the hide to
ask me to wait outside!"

"Whatever did you do, dear?" Mrs Baker asked.

"I told him in no uncertain terms that I was not going to wait
outside like a poor relation. He was a child, and he needed
parental  supervision, whether he wanted it or not".

"Good for you, dear", Mrs Kenthurst agreed.

"Now I'm not a cruel woman. I know Sven, I know he can be a
little...sensitive about ...certain things, so I said to him
that the doctor could examine him behind the curtain, and that I
would be sitting right there in the chair. The doctor said that
would be fine, in fact, as his nurse had gone on her cigarette
break, he asked me to assist"

"How...versatile of you, dear", Mrs Baker remarked.

"Oh, yes, before I was married I turned my hand to many an
occupation. So...er, where was I?"

"Waiting outside the curtain, pet", Mrs Kenthurst reminded her,
with a sigh that suggested she was getting bored with the other
woman's dreary recitation.

"Oh, yes, of course. So, there I was, waiting on the other side
of a curtain in the doctor's room, listening to him go through
the routine, you know, deep breath, cough, does it hurt when I
do this, that sort of thing. Then the Doctor poked his head
around the curtain and said that everything looked quite
alright, and unless there was anything else, the boy was simply
wasting his valuable time. I saw Sven's head appear, and whisper
something into the Doctor's ear. 'Very well', the doctor said,
'take your trousers down and let's have a look, shall we?' "

"Ahh, he was having some problems with the, er, plumbing, my
dear?" Mrs Baker observed sagely.

"It was the first I had heard of it! Sven never mentioned
anything of the sort to me, ever!" Mrs Jensen replied
indignantly. "So, of course I absolutely had to see what it was
that Sven was so concerned about. So concerned that he could not
even tell me about it".

"What did you do, pet?" Mrs Flannery asked, totally captivated
by the other woman's narrative.

"Well, I waited. There's a tell-tall sound a zipper makes,
darlings, I'm sure we've all heard it. So, I waited a few
seconds after hearing it, thinking that he would have got his
pants down by then, and put my head around the curtain. What I
saw...well, it was quite a shock, I can tell you!"

"Well, don't keep us in suspenders, dear!", Mrs Kenthurst
exclaimed.

Mrs Jensen took a deep breath before continuing. "His...thing
was out. His... mechanism. The Doctor had his fingers on it,
twisting it this way and that, handling it...pumping it..."

"His...mechanism?" Mrs Baker asked, confused. "Did he have some
kind of...wind-up toy that he wanted to show the doctor?

"No, no, dear, it was his...er, his...you know, his...part." Mrs
Jensen struggled to find the right euphemism. "His,
er...instrument"

"He plays an instrument? What's that got to do with the Doctor?
Was he a musician too?" Mrs Baker pressed, either deliberately
or unwittingly missing the point.

Mrs Kenthurst could stand no more of it.
"It...Was...His...Penis!" She jumped up and declared in
exasperation to the group of women, Mrs Baker in particular.
"His Weiner! His John Thomas! His Prick! His Cock! His Doodle!
His Trouser Snake! Whatever name they give the vile things
nowadays!"

The other women shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Mrs
Kenthurst sank back down in her chair, her face flushed from
exasperation. "Well, I mean to say!...Really! ... It's obvious
what Mrs Jensen was talking about! If only she would get to the
point!"

"Phimosis! That's the word the Doctor used", Mrs Jensen
exclaimed joyfully, delighted to have recalled the Doctor's
diagnosis. "Little Sven had a case of phimosis. Of course, I had
to ask the Doctor what on earth that meant - whether it was
contagious, or anything. He laughed, and said it certainly
wasn't, and that it only affected some boys from birth, but
didn't show up until they approached puberty".

"What is it, dear? This...ferrosis?" Mrs Baker asked, in a
rather vague voice.

"Phimosis, pet, P...H...I...M...O...S...I...S. Apparently, so
the Doctor explained, it means a tightened foreskin. He said it
is especially painful when the boy tries to... er, retract his,
ah..."

"Mechanism?" offered Mrs Flannery.

"Exactly!" declared Mrs Jensen. "Of course, I immediately asked
the Doctor whether this problem arose as a result
of...self-abuse, of, er...playing with himself"

"And did it?" Mrs Flannery enquired sweetly.

"Well, the Doctor said it was quite the opposite - if Sven had
been playing with his, er, playing with his, ah, with...it...all
these years, he probably would not have had this...er,
condition. But as it is, he has it now. Just goes to show you, I
guess, there is no reward for virtue nowadays". The other women
sighed and nodded their agreement.

"What did the doctor recommend, dear?" Mrs Flannery persisted.

"Well, he gave me two choices. The first one, well, I was
against it from the start:  circumcision".

"Wouldn't that make your son a...a Jew?" Mrs Baker asked
hesitantly.

Mrs Kenthurst turned up her nose at such a ridiculous question,
and interjected before Mrs Jensen had the chance to reply.
"Rubbish. We eat fish on Fridays, and it doesn't make us
Catholic!"

All of the women chortled at this, the very idea of being made a
Catholic because one ate fish on a Friday, how absurd. Mrs
Jensen continued.

"Well, just at that moment, the nurse reappeared from her
cigarette break, filthy habit that, and pulled the curtain back.
Sven was a little put out, having the nurse see his, er,
apparatus, especially as the nurse seemed to know who he was"

"So, the nurse knew Sven, from...?" Mrs Baker asked.

"Well apparently, the nurse's younger sister is in the same
class as Sven at school, and quite the little busybody she is
too, the sister that is, by the sounds of it, poor Sven was a
little distressed that the whole class, and shortly the whole
school, would get to hear of his, um, inability to retract.
Happily, the doctor assured me that his nurse was the soul of
discretion, and would never dream of divulging confidential
patient information such as that. To prove how reliable the
nurse was, the Doctor asked her to take over his, uh,
ministration, while he discussed the second option with me. Poor
little Sven got even redder when that nurse began handling his,
uh..."

"Just say 'penis', dear, for goodness sakes", moaned a desperate
Mrs Kenthurst. "What did the Doctor suggest?"

Mrs Jensen blushed a delicate shade of pink. "Well, I was quite
taken aback, I can tell you, so many new things happening at
once. The doctor recommended that I permit Sven to, uh, play
with his..."

"Penis, dear", Mrs Kenthurst supplied.

"Yes, play with - it - for fifteen minutes a day. To loosen up
the band of skin, of course, not for any, uh, reasons of base
pleasure. Alternately, I could send him to a special clinic that
the Doctor conducts, where trained physiotherapists would, uh,
handle the, ah, handle...it. I asked him if it was expensive,
and he said there would be no charge, as it was a research
program with a University grant. All I had to do was sign a
consent form".

The women were silent for a moment, digesting this information.
Mrs Flannery was the first to speak. "So, you signed, of
course?", she murmured.

"Well, naturally. The alternative, telling Sven he had to play
with his...uh, play with it, every day mind you, was just too
ghastly to contemplate. No, I opted for the scientific approach,
and arranged for Sven to visit the clinic twice a week. He's had
four visits now, and I think it's having a beneficial effect".

"He's showing some improvement, pet?" Mrs Baker asked.

"Oh, yes. After the first visit, he came home a
little...flustered, but as I said, he's a shy little fellow, and
any new experience is bound to...well, be a little daunting. But
now, why, he is coming out of his shell quite a bit - he shows
interest in the people around him, he seems more confident in
himself, he's dressing with more...style, and he can't wait to
get to the clinic for his therapy - he's thriving! And, that
nice young doctor that Sven saw first? He's taking a personal
interest in Sven's case. Sven told me the Doctor - he calls him
Doctor Tim - has been at the clinic every time Sven has
attended. Isn't it nice to find a professional who takes so much
care over one of his patients!"

"That's nice, dear, that he's coming out...of his shell", Mrs
Baker murmured.

Tale # 5 - The Webcam

Mrs Flannery set her coffee cup on the table and sat up a little
straighter in her chair. The other women recognised these
movements as her customary preliminaries before speaking, and
waited expectantly.

"Well, girls, these have all been marvellous stories, you all
must be so proud of your boys. But I am afraid that my story
will trump the lot of you today". She smiled smugly as the other
ladies leaned forward to hear her account. Mrs Flannery loved
being the centre of attention.

"And what is your story, dear?" Mrs Baker enquired.

Mrs Flannery blushed modestly before beginning her revelation.
"You all know my Justin? I've mentioned him before. Well, he's
nearly 14 now, and honestly girls, I never thought he would ever
make anything of himself. Always in that room of his, hunched
over that computer. Night and day, mind you! I was nearly ready
to tell him I was confiscating the horrid thing, when he dropped
his bombshell!"

The other ladies leaned forward a little more, keen to hear
about the bombshell Mrs Flannery's son dropped. "What was it,
dear?" Mrs Baker whispered.

Mrs Flannery beamed at them. She spoke slowly, so as not to have
to repeat herself. "My Justin...at 14...is well on his way...to
becoming...a...millionaire!".

Mrs Flannery slumped back in her seat, as thought the effort of
announcing this news took all her energy. The other women
gasped, then all began speaking at once. Of course, this was
exactly the effect Mrs Flannery hoped for. Holding up her hand
for silence, she let the other women in on the secret of her
son's success.

"It all started a little over six months ago, but I only found
out about it last week. A bank statement arrived in the mail for
Justin, and I thought 'that's odd - why would Juss be getting a
bank statement from First Federal Trust - we don't even have any
accounts there!' So I thought it had to be a mistake - maybe
there's another Justin Flannery and we got his mail by mistake.
So naturally I opened it"

"Naturally", the other ladies concurred.

"Well, girls, when I read the pages of figures, I just couldn't
believe it! Money, coming from all over the country, being
deposited in this account. It couldn't possibly be my Justin -
it had to be a mistake!"

"Er...how much money was it, dear?" Mrs Jensen enquired.

"Well, the individual amounts started out quite small, only
twenties and fifties going in, maybe the occasional hundred. But
as I read through, there were more and more hundreds, and less
twenties. Girls, there was over seven hundred thousand dollars
in the account!"

The other ladies gasped, a sound which made Mrs Flannery the
happiest woman in the room.

"But...but...was it really your Justin's money?" Mrs Peterson
asked.

"I confronted him that afternoon, as soon as he walked in the
door. He had been down at the Mall, probably haunting that
computer shop. That's the only other place I can guarantee he'll
be, if he's not in his room. He was very annoyed that I opened
his letter, he said, and so I knew I had him - it was definitely
his account. So I demanded a full explanation".

The other ladies had put down their coffee cups and were hanging
on Mrs Flannery's every word. She was enjoying being the centre
of attention immensely.

"It turns out Justin has a thriving home business in - wait for
it - personal training!" Mrs Flannery declared, smiling
triumphantly.

Puzzled looks crossed the faces of some of the women. Mrs Jensen
looked completely baffled.

"I know what you're wondering", Mrs Flannery continued, before
anyone else could get a word in, "I thought the same thing - how
could he do this...training...from his room? Well, as Justin
explained to me, the answer is simple. He uses a webcam"

The looks of puzzlement around the coffee table did not abate by
very much, and Mrs Flannery smiled inwardly at her superior
knowledge. "A webcam is this little camera that sits on top of
his computer screen, girls. What happens is, he advertises his
services as a personal trainer, and people from all over the
country sign up and pay him their subscription fees. He switches
the camera on, does his routine, situps or whatever, and the
subscribers watch on their computers and...they get fit, I
suppose".

"But who on earth would pay all that money for...for that?" Mrs
Baker exclaimed.

Mrs Flannery had the answer ready. "Justin told me that most of
his customers are older men, some of whom are maybe a little
overweight, and who are too busy to get to a gym. So they...sign
up with Justin, and get...personalised training. Like those yoga
classes on the TV, or those Jane Fonda exercise videos. It's all
the rage nowadays, girls, this personal training".

"So, why did the subscription fees rise, dear - you said they
gradually rose until there were more hundreds than twenties?"
Mrs Kenthurst piped in.

"Justin explained that to me as well. Some of the clients were
asking for a little more than just watching Justin go through
his routine, so Justin asked another boy from school, his friend
Josh, to help out. With two of them, they have a wider range
of... 'sets' he calls them...than with him alone. Josh comes
over a couple of times a week to do the routines with Justin. He
seems a nice, friendly boy. He's about twelve, I think, probably
your Ronnie's age", she answered, looking at Mrs Peterson.

"And have you ever seen them doing these...'sets'?" Mrs
Kenthurst pressed.

"Well, I haven't actually seen them at it - but I've heard them.
It sounds very strenuous, from all the grunting and groaning. In
fact, Justin said it was not worth the bother to watch, it would
only make me tired, and besides, they would both be sweating a
lot, he said, and the room would be a bit stinky because of
that. Which is true, because they both dash to the shower right
after a session, and the room does smell a bit...well, boyish".

"But to earn so much money...", Mrs Peterson sighed.

"Just goes to show you, dears, what a boy with the right
attitude can do on the Internet nowadays", Mrs Flannery grinned.

* * *

Well, there you have it. These five women are typical of mothers
all over our country today - interfering in their sons' lives,
then blabbing about it to their coffee-club cronies. Oh, if only
they knew!

end