Water Polo Balls -- Pt. 1, by swimmboy4@aol.com

This story involves sexual contact between young males. If such stories are not appealing to you, or it is illegal to read such material in your jurisdiction, please do not continue reading.

His balls were beginning to ache and throb, but with barely two minutes left in the game, Derek tried to ignore the pain and make it to the end. The filthy bastard had delivered a nasty punch to his exposed nuts, but as usual, no ref caught sight of the vicious foul. No big surprise there -- probably 90% of fouls in water polo went undetected by the refs, whose underwater vision was pretty much non-existent. Derek's team held a comfortable 9-5 lead, so there was no fear of losing at this point. The low blow was probably a matter of pure anger and frustration on the part of his opponent, rather than an attempt to take Derek out of the game at this late stage. Still, Derek's seventeen-year-old body was full of rage, and he swore vengeance on the dude -- he would swim after him and give him a taste of his own medicine -- just as soon as the wave of nausea passed.

Hardwood Academy, located in the hills above a fairly large city in the southeastern U.S., was known throughout the country as a powerhouse in aquatic sports, and had the home-team advantage in this meet. With an enrollment of some 600 9th-12th graders, the campus was a teeming cauldron of jock-boy testosterone. Academically rigorous, the school had an excellent reputation for producing students gifted both mentally and physically. Derek Weathers knew he was part of an elite group -- boys from good families, who grew up in comfortable to wealthy neighborhoods, and who were fortunate enough to attend one of the finest private schools in the country. The swimming team was nationally ranked among private schools, usually in the top ten. Numerous guys from Hardwood Hornet teams were now swimming in colleges throughout the SEC, the ACC, and a couple Big Ten schools, as well as other, lesser-known institutions. Many divers were also now attending top-flight schools, and one current Hardwood diver -- David Sanderson -- was rumored to be a contender for the 2008 Olympic team, though 2012 seemed more realistic to those who closely followed the sport.

Water polo -- well, that was another story. While both private and public schools in California, where Derek was from, sported enormous polo teams, most schools back east did not. Kids there barely knew what polo was, although Hardwood had accumulated a small but dedicated group of enthusiasts who were determined to add a water polo trophy or two to the collection of swimming and diving awards proudly displayed in the school lobby. And Derek was planning to be a part of this new legacy, but first, there was a little matter of revenge he needed to take care of.

With barely 1:20 left to play, the visiting team had called a time out, and Derek seethed to see his nemesis climb out of the water and head toward their bench. "Damn it," he thought, "when the hell will I get a chance for payback?" As he slowly swam over to his position, ready to resume play, he was surprised to find himself confronted by a fresh-faced little scrub, waving his arms and hands in Derek's face, trying to block any attempted pass one of Derek's Hornet teammates might send his way. Derek was a scoring machine, and his opponents knew it. Once he had the ball, there was a good chance it would be sailing or skipping over the water and into the net at the back of the goal. Therefore, other teams did everything within their power to isolate him, block him, tie him up, even pound his nuts -- anything to take him out of his game plan. Usually, he could sweep around, under, or even over his opponent, get the ball, and make a score. But even the invincible Derek was no match for a well-placed kick or punch to the genitals. And he knew the kicks and punches would keep coming, for Derek also knew he was, as one of his teammates had said, `well endowed.'

He knew it to be true, and was damn proud of his large manhood. Yeah, he'd checked out other dudes in the locker room -- the showers -- and knew he was bigger than most. He also knew this made his privates a tempting target for his opponents. Derek wore two Speedo suits, as did most polo players. Why? They all did it for the same reason: polo was a rough sport, and it wasn't unusual to have your opponent try to strip your suit down your thighs, either to entangle your legs, or to embarrass the hell out of you and snatch the ball away while you desperately struggled to cover yourself. But Derek had an extra concern -- despite two layers of tight nylon, his suit bulged noticeably at his groin, and this drew the unwanted attention of any guy he went up against. While most players were decent enough, there were quite a few dirty players who would seize any chance to one-up his foe, and a well-placed sneak punch or kick to a sensitive spot like the gonads would certainly do the job. Derek had endured such abuse for nearly three years, but now, as a senior, he'd had enough. Even if it led to his ejection from a game, he swore this was the year he would get even with his tormentors.

Now, as the clock ticked down under one minute, Derek feinted left, then right, in an attempt to sneak past the punk. But the tenacious little guy hung with him -- not surprising since the kid was fresh off the bench, while Derek had played nearly the whole game and was getting somewhat winded. Spinning quickly to his right again, Derek made a lunge, but the kid spun with him, swimming even, kicking furiously. Derek cut back, twisted again, and was reaching to catch the ball hurtling his way, when --- oomph! --- the kid cut right, while landing a swift, powerful kick right into Derek's still-aching testicles. As Derek suddenly felt woozy with pain, his arms dropped weakly to the water, then he cupped himself in a futile attempt to protect his boys from any further damage. He cursed the kid aloud as the ball sailed beyond him and out of bounds. Catching his breath, and with fury in his eyes, Derek glanced in the direction he'd seen the kid swimming moments before -- but the water was empty. He would kill him -- or at least beat the shit out of him, Derek had decided. "Where did he go? Where the fu..." Derek suddenly realized he was not alone -- an arm had reached around his back and was leading him toward the side of the pool a few feet away. The pain had brought tears to his eyes, but blinking through them, Derek made out the face of the kid -- the little punk who'd just kicked him -- but instead of seeing a face gloating with superiority, he only saw worry and concern.

"Did...did I kick you...in the...well, in the balls?" came the plaintive question. "Man, I am SO sorry. I was trying to swim around you, when you suddenly turned and I felt my foot hit your thigh, and then something, well, not as hard as your thigh, and when I saw your reaction, I knew where my kick had landed. Dude, I am really, really sorry."

Derek was stunned -- was this kid for real? Was he apologizing? And taking himself out of play to help the `wounded' foe get to the side of the pool? The refs had requested substitute players for the last few seconds, and Hardwood held onto its 9-5 lead as the buzzer sounded. Derek, still shocked by the kid's kindness, allowed the smaller boy to assist him to the side, and his anger quickly faded when the boy asked him what he could do to help him. "Can I get some ice?" "Should I ask your coach to come over?" What can I do?"

"I...I just need to...to catch my breath and wait the pain out," Derek managed to say through clenched teeth, his mind still reeling with confusion over his opponent's obvious concern. Was this guy for real? Was the kid really helping him out of the water and up onto the deck? Derek glanced toward his own team's bleachers and saw two if his teammates -- Jake and Devon -- hurrying toward him, anger clouding their faces.

"Are you OK?" they yelled in unison as they approached. "Did this little shit just nail your nuts to the wall?" asked Jake, as he reached the edge of the pool, his large, muscular body towering over their smaller foe. "Yeah, did he kick you in the family jewels? We saw it! We know he did," said Devon, as he gave the smaller kid a nasty shove that sent the boy staggering back several steps.

"Dev, Jake -- it's OK," muttered Derek. "He did score a perfect hit on my boys, just as you said. But for the first time in recorded history, I believe it was an accident. He's been apologizing all over the place -- even helped me to the side of the pool." Derek smiled weakly at the two arrivals, and, despite his pain, found himself grinning at the change in expressions sweeping across his friends' faces.

"Uh...uh...apologizing?" was all Jake could utter, while Devon expressed shock at this turn of events. "You mean he didn't do it on purpose, Derek? How do you know -- I think he's lying, the little shit. I say get him now!"

"No, no guys, it's OK. I really believe it was an accident -- at least this time," responded Derek, as his friends' anger cooled. "What's your name, man?" he asked the kid, who now stood back several feet, not sure whether to stay or flee.

"Um...my name is Kirk. And I am really sorry I kicked you, especially, well, you know, WHERE I kicked you. I honestly didn't mean to do that." Looking Kirk square in the eyes, Derek knew the kid -- Derek judged him to be maybe 15 or 16 at most -- was being honest, and that the kick wasn't intentional.

"Well, OK, Kirk -- guess I'll live through it, though I may be singing soprano for a day or two," Derek joked, as color slowly returned to his face. "It's just that your kick was the second I received in the last three minutes of the game -- that brute #18 on your team's been ripping at my suit, scratching me, and finally nailed my gonads just moments before you joined the game. Guess I'm a little pissed at your team right now."

"18 -- that's Ron Forrester. He's a mean bastard -- and that's just the way he treats people on his own team! I don't want to even think how nasty he is to opponents. I'm sorry he did that to you. Please believe me when I tell you most of the guys at Mercer Prep are pretty cool, and really nice. But Ron...well, he's always ticked about something. We call him "TB" behind his back -- Time Bomb, because we're always waiting for him to go off over some little thing." Kirk filled the boys in on a couple of incidents that had recently occurred involving the Forrester kid, then quietly apologized to the three Hardwood athletes on behalf of his other teammates for any rough play or fouls Forrester had administered. Kirk admitted this was his first season on the polo team, and he was eager to learn the finer points of the game. But Forrester and his buddies had little time for newbies, and offered him few pointers. "Hey," Kirk said to Derek, "you have some amazing moves. Would it be OK if I e-mailed you with a couple questions -- you know, sort of picked your brain once in a while?"

Derek, though still in some discomfort, felt flattered by Kirk's request, and the boys exchanged e-mail addresses and even cell numbers before returning to their respective team bleachers. Soon, the pool deck was clear -- the Mercer team heading toward the "Visitors" locker room, and the Hornets toward their own locker room. But Derek paused for a few moments to admire David Sanderson's practice dives over in the diving well. "That guy is amazing," he said to himself as the diver spun twice and knifed cleanly into the water with barely a splash. "And such a nice guy, too," he thought to himself. David's room was just around the corner from the room Derek and Jake shared, so the boys knew each other fairly well from their constant interaction in both the dorm and pool.

Glancing into the stands once more as he pushed the locker room door open, Derek was surprised to still see the somewhat elderly Dr. Witherspoon, who was certainly in his 70s, seated in the upper row of seats. He had been there the entire game -- most unusual for a headmaster. In fact, in the three years Derek had been on the water polo team, he could swear the previous headmaster had never attended one of their games. Of course, Dr. Marsh had been too busy `cooking the books' to attend an insignificant home water polo match, Derek mused. After it was discovered that Marsh had stolen more than two million dollars from the academy's endowment, he had been fired and jailed on the same day only a few weeks ago. Dr. Witherspoon had been a sudden replacement, though in a school Hardwood's size, he was instantly recognizable. But the monetary scandal had taken it's toll on the school -- two members of the Board of Trustees had also been indicted, as had the school's on-site physician -- all had been part of some `get-rich' pyramid scheme, and now all were charged with numerous criminal counts. The remaining Trustees found Dr. Witherspoon to be a gift from the heavens -- he had recently retired from a medical college in New York, and had agreed to serve as both headmaster and school physician until full-time replacements could be secured.

Back in their dorm after a quick dinner, Derek was talking with Jake about their study plans for an upcoming geography exam, when they were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in," Derek yelled, thinking it was one of the boys from down the hall. He was astonished to look up and find Dr. Witherspoon entering the room. Both Jake and Derek quickly jumped off their beds where they'd been lounging and did their best to be presentable to the headmaster -- literally, the last person on earth either had expected. Derek was in a pair of white briefs, and Jake wore a pair of old, somewhat ragged striped boxers. Both boys had tossed their sweatpants on the floor in the far corner, assuming undies would be sufficient attire for studying, as usual. Now, both stood quietly, politely, silently wishing they hadn't been so quick to strip down.

Finally, Jake coughed slightly and said, "Um, Dr. Witherspoon, sir, we, we weren't expecting any visitors tonight. If you could give us just a moment, we pull on some pants and shirts and..."

But Dr. Witherspoon waved his protestations aside, saying, "Relax, boys. This isn't an official visit or room inspection." Glancing quickly around the dorm with a critical eye -- piles of dirty clothes, books and papers strewn haphazardly about, a poster half falling off the wall, used (but still usable) underwear tossed here and there -- Dr. Witherspoon sharply added, "Though perhaps a room inspection would not be such a bad idea in the very near future, if you get my point." Both boys, still standing at attention, nodded sheepishly. Dr. Witherspoon, slightly stooped with age, slowly stepped further into their room and quietly closed the door behind him. "Actually, the reason I am here is to check on you, Mr. Weathers," he stated as he nodded toward Derek.

"Me, sir?" Derek replied, unable to imagine why the older gentleman would have made such a statement, and shocked the old geezer even knew his name. "I...I don't understand," Derek continued, nervously. "Did...did I do something wrong, sir? Am I in trouble?"

Dr. Witherspoon smiled, suddenly realizing the predicament the boys found themselves in -- the most powerful authority figure on campus, the man who could make or break anyone he chose, had stepped into the boys' only sanctum of privacy, and they were terrified that somehow, somewhere, sometime, they had done something for which swift and sure punishment had finally arrived. "No, no lad -- no trouble. You misunderstand the reason for my visit. I am here as school physician, not headmaster. I would like to examine your testicles."

Derek stared at the elderly gentleman, not sure he had understood the previous statement. "I...um...excuse me, but...um...what did you say, Dr. Witherspoon?"

"Well," responded the older man, "I was at your match late this afternoon, and observed what seemed to me to be some rough contact. As I was leaving the natatorium, I overheard a couple of your teammates commenting on some apparently nasty blows your opponents aimed at your genital area -- some blows that apparently met their mark, causing you a great deal of discomfort. Is this correct, or did I misunderstand something?" As Derek stood there, mouth agape, saying nothing, the good doctor continued. "I had returned to the infirmary, believing you might come by for some assistance. When you didn't come, I decided to check on your condition. Were you, or were you not, punched or kicked in the genitals by an unsavory opponent?"

"Well, um...yes sir, I did get kicked in the nuts...uh, I mean, in the testicles, by one guy. Well, really by two guys, but the second was an accident, I believe," Derek replied.

"Mr. Weathers, this was the first water polo game I have ever attended. As both headmaster and school physician, I find myself running from event to event these days, including sporting events I have no knowledge of. I had no idea that your sport was so, well, so violent. I must ask, such kicks are certainly not legal, are they?" As Derek slowly shook his head `no', Dr. Witherspoon added: "I don't understand why the referee did not immediately take swift action. Obviously, he may not see the nefarious assault, therefore, you should have immediately notified him of this dirty action your foe engaged in. Why didn't you raise your hand and tell the referee?"

Derek and Jake stared at the doctor, looks of astonishment on their faces. Jake had to choke back a small laugh as Derek tried to explain. "Dr. Witherspoon, if the referee doesn't see the foul, it won't do any good for me to complain about it. Gee, if that were the case, every guy playing could call a foul every time he lost the ball or missed a shot. Why, we'd never get through the first period -- everyone would be serving penalty time and nobody would be playing!"

"Of course, of course you are right, young man -- what was I thinking?" asked the headmaster. "Nevertheless, it is an outrage that a young male would purposely attempt to injure a fellow athlete in such a despicable way. Well, be that as it may, injuries to something as sensitive as the genitals are nothing to ignore. Please lower your underwear so I may begin my exam." Dr. Witherspoon then walked over to where Derek was standing, sat on the edge of Derek's bed facing the teen, crossed his arms, and waited.

Derek glanced from the doctor to Jake, then back to the doctor, then back to Jake. Jake was stone silent, his mouth still wide open in surprise, but saying nothing at all. Turning to face the doctor seated before him, Derek slowly hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs, and gently slid the underwear down his thighs, allowing them to come to rest just above his knees. The doctor withdrew a pair of spectacles from an inner pocket of his tweed jacket, placed them on the tip of his nose, and peered intently at the sight before him.

As with many boys his age, Derek was somewhat shy about nudity. He usually showered after a match in his suit, then wrapped a towel around his waist and changed beneath it. Even here in their own room, Jake and Derek had only caught a couple of very furtive glances of one another's maleness between underwear changes, though each had a good guess of how much the other was `packing' -- morning wood was hard to disguise between roommates sharing beds only a few feet apart. But now, Derek found himself totally exposed before not only Jake, who was enjoying his first good view of Derek's dick, but also Dr. Witherspoon, who was casting an inquisitive eye at Derek's equipment. To make matters worse, the doctor was now -- "No, he wouldn't he couldn't," screamed Derek's mind silently -- but he was -- the doctor was now reaching his wrinkled hand toward Derek's groin, and cupping the youth's scrotum, then gently rolling the testes between his gnarled, bony fingers. Derek thought he would die, but there wasn't time, for now Dr. Witherspoon was addressing him.

"Let me see here," crooned the old man authoritatively, "tell me if this hurts you, or causes pain or discomfort." He squeezed Derek's left gonad -- gently at first, then slightly harder, rolling the orb between thumb and forefinger, as Derek's four inch shaft dangled above, actually grazing against the back of Witherspoon's hand.

"Just a little -- it hurts just a little," squeaked Derek, who was mortified to glance at Jake and see his roomie staring at his cock and balls as they were touched and squeezed by the old man. "Oh...OH!" Derek exclaimed, as the doctor switched to the right testicle and repeated the procedure. Here, the young athlete felt a great deal of pain, telling the doctor, "Yes, that one hurts quite a bit, even when you barely touch it." Instinctively, Derek tried to pull back from the grasping hand causing him the pain, but Dr. Witherspoon reached around the boy's narrow hips and placed his other hand at the top of Derek's bare buttocks, and firmly held him in place. Derek could feel the man's warm fingers pressing against his ass, and, was it possible? It almost felt as though one of those digits was pressing downward, right between his ass cheeks, as though seeking entry between the boy's blushing mounds, into his...well, into his...Derek had to stop thinking about it -- it was simply too bizarre, too unreal, too embarrassing. But it FELT like the old man's finger was slipping into his crack, and even inching downward, downward... "NO", Derek's mind screamed, "focus on what is happening!" What was the old man saying?

"...you need to be extra careful of penile and scrotal injuries," Witherspoon was saying, "and be examined whenever this area of your body has suffered trauma." Glancing downward, Derek watched in utter shock as the elderly fingers continued to jostle and fondle his nutsac. The doctor's fingers caressed and again squeezed the right testicle, sliding it about as Derek squirmed slightly, though the pain was now less intense. "I believe it has simply been bruised," he said, looking up into Derek's red face. He continued to heft and fondle the boy's pouch, leaning in closely for a better look. Derek could feel the man's breath blowing softly across his genitals, and was shocked to suddenly feel himself start to "stir" down there from the stimulation he was receiving. "...this is good -- I apologize if I am making you somewhat uncomfortable, young man, but I am examining your right testicle for signs that perhaps your spermatic cord had become entangled around the testicle. Do you know about the spermatic cord?"

Derek had barely heard the question, so focused was he on maintaining his composure, willing -- no, DEMANDING that his dick not dare stir into an erection during the exam. "Um, my spermatic cord?" No, doctor, I'm not sure what that is." Nor did he want to know, for new sensations were now pulsing through his body. As the doctor continued to jiggle and fondle his squirming `nads, Derek could feel his cock shaft beginning to lengthen, stretch, and harden. And now, the old man's hand was positioned so that the base of his thumb was rubbing along the exposed undershaft of Derek's stiffening prick. "No, NO, NO," Derek's mind screamed, begging his own body not to respond to the stimulating touch. But it was no use. A small gasp of pleasure escaped Derek's lips as the stimulation continued. Shyly glancing downward, the teen was horrified to see his dick was now nearly erect, pointing straight out, and even beginning to arch upward toward his taut belly. "Oh, please don't let me cum," he silently cried out in desperation. As he looked across the room, Derek was shocked to see Jake staring at his growing member, and -- was it possible? Jake was slowly rubbing and touching his own groin through his boxers -- boxers that were now tented by Jake's erect penis! Derek couldn't believe it -- Jake, the dude who bragged incessantly about all the `townie girl' pussy he had nailed, was completely turned on by the gonad exam the old geezer was giving his bud! Derek now found himself both shocked and confused -- shocked by the embarrassing predicament he was in, and confused by the blatant interest his buddy and roommate Jake was showing in his erection, and the obvious excitement he was experiencing.

Just then, Derek noticed his testicles suddenly felt cool, and he realized Dr. Witherspoon had removed his hand, was looking awkwardly at his long, tapered shaft. Then the old man began to speak, coughing to clear his throat. "Ahem...um...is it normal for you to become so aroused when your doctor examines your scrotum, Mr. Weathers? You have suffered a kick of some severity which has bruised your right testicle. But I noticed no redness or bruising on your penis as it, well, how can I say this? As it began to lengthen before my eyes just moments ago. Do you have any pain in your shaft? Did either of the kicks strike you there, or did your scrotal area absorb the entire blow?" Again, the old man took hold of Derek's dangling sac, gently cupping and squeezing it.

"My nuts...I mean my scrotum, took the blow, sir," Derek responded quietly. "I don't have any pain anywhere else down there. I usually position my dick, I, I mean my penis, in an upward position in my suit, and since my suits are pretty tight, it sort of stays there. But I guess that left my testicles somewhat exposed, and they got hit pretty hard." Feeling embarrassed to be talking so openly about his testicles and the way he positioned his equipment in his Speedo, Derek's face flushed an even deeper red. Furtively glancing across the room at Jake, he could see the bigger boy had a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes, as he stared blankly back at Derek, his hand still resting on his crotch, though no longer rubbing or stroking himself there. Derek was praying the humiliation was over, but the evening was just warming up.

"Put your dicks back in your pants boys, and stop beating your meat -- company's here!" So came the unmistakable voice of the diver David from just outside the door a second before it flew open and he stepped into their room. "I knew I'd catch you fags playing with yourselves sooner or later and it looks like...um...oh...um...excuse me. I...I...I didn't know you had a...um...visitor," squealed the flabbergasted youth as his eyes registered the presence of the headmaster in Derek's and Jake's room. David Sanderson's face went from goofy grin to utter shock in a split second when he realized the headmaster was facing him, an angry look on his face, while his hand cupped his friend Derek's nutsac.

"Mr. Sanderson," began the older gentleman calmly, "is it necessary for you to barge into a room and greet fellow students with such crude vulgarity? Please step back into the hallway, knock politely, and wait to be invited inside. Then greet the occupants of this room without profanity or references to any private acts of sexual gratification!"

David meekly replied "Yes sir" as he dropped his head, quickly turned away, and dashed out the door, closing it behind him. For a moment, he thought of just running around the corner and returning to his room, but knew Mr. Witherspoon could easily find him, so he might as well just face the music and get it over with. He knocked, waited to hear Jake's voice say "Come in", then opened the door and sheepishly stepped inside. David had thought his eyes were playing tricks on him the first time, but now, he realized what he had seen before was accurate: Dr. Witherspoon was seated on the edge of Derek's bed, while Derek stood right in front of him, briefs pulled down to his knees, his cock stiff and jutting outward toward the old man's face, while Jake was seated on his own bed in just his boxers, hands on his groin. David opened his mouth to say a polite greeting, but no sound came out.

"Good evening, Mr. Sanderson," Dr. Witherspoon finally stated. "I am just finishing my examination of young Mr. Weathers here -- seems he took a nasty kick or two in a rather private place during the water polo match earlier, and I wanted to make certain he was alright."

"Good evening Dr. Witherspoon, Jake, Derek," David managed to squeak out, though it was barely audible. "I just came by to say hi to the guys, tell them what a great game they played today." David continued to stare into the elderly man's eyes, not daring to glance downward at Derek's naked, aroused genitals, though his peripheral vision certainly gave him an adequate view. "I...um...I guess I should go now. And, sir, I'm sorry about my inappropriate language a few moments ago." David turned to leave, but the headmaster held up his hand.

"Nonsense," he said, "don't leave. I'm sure the boys would like to hear your opinions about their victory in the pool. I'm nearly finished with my exam anyway." Now facing Derek, the doctor stated: "I am going back to the infirmary in a few minutes. I'd like you to follow me there, since I have a few things to say that should perhaps be stated in privacy. It's alright for you to now pull your underwear back up and get dressed." As Derek nodded his head in agreement to the doctor's request, the man turned toward David, and his eyes were drawn down to the diver's privates by the activity he noticed there. David, who was shirtless, had remained standing quietly by the door, and had dug his hands deep into the pockets of his cargo shorts, and was absent-mindedly scratching his genitalia through the thin material of the pockets. It had lately become almost a habit of his, as Derek and Jake could both attest -- on numerous occasions, they would be talking with him when he would suddenly scratch himself in his small red Speedo at the pool, picking and tugging at the tight lycra, or go `fishing' or playing pocket pool in his pants or shorts pockets. "Mr. Sanderson," the man stated inquisitively as he nodded toward David's mid-section, "do you have a problem `down there'?"

David froze in mid-scratch, renewed panic on his handsome features. "Oh, um, no sir. I, well lately I just seem to itch a lot down there."

"Please come forward and let me take a look. Perhaps you have a case of fungal infection -- I believe you lads might call it jock itch. Please lower your shorts." David slowly unbuckled his belt, unhooked the top button, and slowly pulled down his zipper. His shorts dropped to the floor, leaving him in just a pair of Hanes briefs -- an older, slightly frayed pair that appeared too small for his body. It wasn't that they didn't cover him, it was just that the front pouch was quite stretched, obviously concealing something of quite some size. Something that seemed inordinately large on his narrow, athletic frame. David stood there -- and stood there -- in his small white briefs, until an exasperated Dr. Witherspoon finally said, "I can't very well examine you through your briefs. Please lower them also."

"Oh," David muttered. He placed his thumbs along the sides of the waistband and began tugging his underwear downward, but then stopped, as he glanced nervously around the room at Jake and Derek.

"Come now, Mr. Sanderson," said the good doctor, "surely you are not too shy to be seen by your fellow athletes? Why, good grief, you boys must see each other nude in the locker room several times a day! Hurry now, I haven't got all night." At that, the older man reached forward and grasped the side of David's little briefs and began helping him to pull them down.

Neither Derek nor Jake had seen David `nude', for, like many teen aquatic jocks, the diver showered in his suit, then changed under a towel. But his small, form-fitting suit left so little to the imagination that both polo players were well aware of David's ample masculinity. Still, the sight they now beheld made both boys suck in a quick breath. David's long, slender penis flopped out of his briefs, and it had to be a good five inches in length. And his balls were just huge -- a good bit larger than either polo jock's. The boys couldn't help but stare. Even Dr. Witherspoon seemed momentarily taken aback, at a sudden loss for words, until he exclaimed admiringly, "Well, you certainly are quite the he-man, aren't you?" David's face turned beet red, and his eyes flickered open and shut as he struggled to swallow. It was obvious the poor boy was unaccustomed to being `on display', so to speak, and his entire body seemed flush with color. Color that only deepened as old Dr. Witherspoon reached forward and grasped his testicular pouch and began to move it to and fro, trying, in the room's poor light, to get a good view of the youth's entire genital area. "Usually, the fungus will grow here, along the area where your thighs join your body along the sides of your scrotum. It's warm and dark here -- fungus likes those conditions. Gently pulling David's sac up and to the side, the old man did not notice that David's long shaft now rested along his jacket sleeve, where the itchy tweed fabric was working magic on the naked underside of the boy's shaft.

"Yes, yes, I see quite a bit of redness, and some flaky skin. Here, and here," he said, as he rubbed his finger tips along the side of David's sac. As the man continued to jostle and shift David's pouch, his tweed sleeve continued to brush the boy's sensitive shaft, all the way from base to glans. Immediately, David's cock started to engorge, the stimulation was so great. Within seconds, five inches had become eight, and the soft appendage had become hard as steel. Apparently unmindful of this, the doctor continued to eye the area around and beneath David's nuts, even grasping his entire scrotum and running his fingers along the sparsely-haired sac. Now moving the pouch toward the other side so he could investigate further, his sleeve again brushed insistently along the diver's hard penis, rubbing against the boy's stimulated g-spot. David was gritting his teeth, as he struggled to maintain his composure. Both Derek and Jake, upon seeing the look of torment and excitement on David's face, became fearful of what might happen next. When they saw David squeezing his eyes closed and biting his lower lip, they knew what was coming next. And cum it did.

David couldn't stop the ejaculation, though he was trying as hard as he could. It had just been so long -- so long since he'd had any sexual relief -- that the boy simply could not control himself any longer. David's body convulsed, and he gasped for air. Dr. Witherspoon, suddenly alarmed, look up at the young man's face, wondering what on earth could be wrong. He had just released David's nutsac when the first spurt shot from the red, aroused penis. Then another and another -- great gobs of thick white boy-cream shot from David's dick, splattering across the sleeve of Dr. Witherspoon's fine tweed jacket. "Well...what on earth...well I never...oh my goodness", sputtered the old man as David futilely grabbed his long prong, attempting to cover the spurting head and catch his sperm before any more shot onto the physician's arm and jacket. But there was just too much sperm to contain, and it dripped between David's fingers and splotched the doctor's nice wingtip shoes, and the carpet nearby.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Dr. Witherspoon," David mumbled as his cock continued to erupt uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry." Derek and Jake could only stare, dumbfounded, as the diver unleashed a massive load of spunk. The doctor was nonplused, as he tried to pull away from the fountain of semen that seemed to squirt on and on and on. David finally staggered back a couple steps, nearly falling as his feet became entangled in his briefs and shorts. Quickly kneeling, he grabbed his briefs and yanked them up, though by now it was too late -- his seed pods had been drained, and only a small dribble continued to seep from his cockhead. Then, he quickly pulled up his cargo shorts and fastened them. Reaching hurriedly into his pockets, he pulled out a tissue, then began trying to wipe his seed off the sleeve of Dr. Witherspoon's jacket, but he only succeeded in smearing the sticky spunk across an even larger area.

The old man pulled away, telling the youth not to bother, that he would have to get the jacket cleaned. "What, what happened, David?" asked the doctor, addressing the boy by his first name.

A red-faced David choked out a reply. "My...well, my penis was...I mean, your sleeve -- the fabric was so rough and itchy, and it kept rubbing against my penis when you were...well...when you were examining me `down there'. All of a sudden, I could feel it building up inside me. I thought I could hold it, that you would be finished any second and I could leave, but then...but then...well, it just started coming out. And when that happens, I lose all control. Once the first spurt comes out, I'm helpless to stop it, Dr. Witherspoon. I'm so sorry. I will pay for your cleaning bill"

"That won't be necessary. I've just never seen anything like that -- for a young man your age to lose all control like that. Good gracious, what a thing to have happen during a medical examination," the headmaster stated as he stood and headed for the door. But as he walked away, Derek was astonished to notice a major tent had formed in the old man's trousers, and he couldn't help but wonder if the man had somehow enjoyed the `accident', despite his protestations. "Mr. Weathers", said Dr. Witherspoon, now addressing Derek, "please remember to meet me in the infirmary after I've had a few minutes to go to my quarters and acquire a clean jacket." Derek nodded his head, not trusting his voice to speak aloud.

After he was gone, Jake and Derek glared at David, who hung his head ashamedly

and refused to look the other boys in the eye. Then Jake started to chuckle, then laugh out loud. "Dude," he said to David, "you totally spooged the old geezer! You spermed all over him! Shit -- I've never seen anything so rad in my life! You know what? The way you hosed him down, squirting his jacket, his shoes. From now on, I'm calling you `Squirt'!"