Water Polo Balls -- Pt. 2, by email@example.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.
Derek walked quickly to the infirmary and took a seat in the small lobby area. Nobody else was there, and the rooms leading off the lobby were dark. Derek thought it strange that Dr. Witherspoon had requested him to come to the infirmary -- surely, the examination he had just received back in the dorm was sufficient to tell the old man whatever he needed to know. What more could the old coot have to say? Had he found something wrong? Were Derek's genitals injured somehow, perhaps in some serious way the doctor did not want to discuss in front of Jake? Derek started to worry, fearing some bad news was on the way. He reached between his legs, touching his sex organ gingerly, trying to feel if maybe something WAS wrong down there, but, other than the usual mild ache that lasted a couple hours after one of those dirty kicks or punches, everything felt normal. Just then, the door from the hallway opened, and Dr. Witherspoon stepped into the room.
"Derek," he said, "glad you're here. Let's go back into my examining room." He led the way into the back room, flipping on the lights as he went in, then closing the door behind them. "Hop up on the table, and let me make some notes," he continued. Derek scooted up onto the examining table and sat, his long legs dangling over the edge while the man retrieved a notepad and pen from a corner table. "Now, let's see here. I need to get some general information for the file -- your school application has quite a bit of your medical history, but I need to update that. Please tell me your current age, height and weight."
"Well, I'm 17, sir, and about six feet even, and weigh, well, I guess maybe 170? I'm not sure exactly," the boy replied, his hands fidgeting slightly in his lap.
"Let's do this right," said the older man. "Hop up, strip to your underwear, and I will weigh you." Derek stood up, removed his tee-shirt, shoes, and socks, then slowly lowered his sweatpants to the floor, removing them one leg at a time. He stood on the cold floor in his briefs, looking for the scale, but saw none. "Oh, the scale is in the other room -- let's go down the hall." The doctor opened the door and waved the boy ahead, then followed him as he directed Derek to the scale. "174," he read aloud, noting it on the paper. "OK, let's go back to the other room now." Derek wasn't sure why, but he felt as if the old man was `checking him out' as he preceded Dr. Witherspoon down the hall. He started to retrieve his sweats, but the physician held up his hands. "No, please remain just in your underwear. There are a few things I'd like to check. I realized back in the dorm room -- what with Mr. Sanderson's, um, accident, that perhaps I should have brought you here to begin with. I apologize for any embarrassment I may have caused you. I'd forgotten how shy boys your age can be about nudity and such. Please get back onto the examining table and lie on your back."
Derek did as he was told, wondering what more there could be to examine -- hadn't the doctor checked everything back in the dorm room? Derek nearly jumped off the table when the old man's hands began to softly caress his thighs, rubbing along his inner thighs, then up to his hips. "I just wanted to check for bruises or soreness on your upper legs. There is some bruising here," he said, as he gently prodded a sore spot. "Did your opponent kick you here?"
"Um, yes sir -- his foot hit me there first, then slid down my thigh and right into my nuts...uh, testicles," the boy answered. The man's old, bony hand moved further up, finally stroking his upper inner thigh, his fingers brushing insistently along the edge of poor Derek's sac, causing his seed-makers to stir and jostle in their silken pouch. "And here, I see a small bruise here," stated the old man, continuing to rub and stimulate the teen's churning `nads.
Derek was alone, and began to feel panic rising within him, fearing he might get yet another erection if the touching continued. "Thank goodness I at least have my briefs on," he said to himself. Then, Dr. Witherspoon addressed him again. "Derek, please raise your hips slightly off the table. I need to slip your briefs off to continue my exam." Derek caught his breath -- once again, he would be naked -- totally exposed -- while the doctor touched and prodded him in the most embarrassing places. Well, at least Jake wasn't here. Closing his eyes, he arched his hips up as the old mans fingers grasped the waistband and slid his underwear down his thighs, then down his calves and over his feet. Derek wondered why the briefs couldn't have remained around his knees, but his thoughts were interrupted once again by the old man. "Now, that's better. Let's get down to business."
looked admiringly at the naked youth on the table before him.
Oh, it was so much like before -- years before
-- at the private school in Ohio -- then the one in Pennsylvania - the boys'
schools where he had been a young doctor just starting out so many decades
ago. All those virile
young bodies, those boys, so fresh-faced and innocent, so trusting...until the
incident. Back then, such things
were swept under the rug, so to speak, and he was quietly dismissed to pursue
hospital work. Today, such an affair
would be nationwide news, lawyers and activists would be screaming his name --
but back then, well, nothing. He hadn't
meant to fall for the young swimmer, but oh, that boy Jason had had such a
smooth, muscular body, his few sparse hairs shaved away by his teammates for
the big conference championship, body shaving having just been introduced in
"Dr. Witherspoon, are you OK?" came Derek's voice from afar. "You've been staring at the wall. Are you OK?"
"Oh, um, yes, fine, fine, Mr. Weathers," replied the flustered old codger, as he regained his senses. "Now, let me see, where was I? Oh yes, bruised thighs. Now, I want to take another look at your scrotum, just to be sure." Derek laid back and closed his eyes as the slightly shaky hand began to once again heft his ballsac, gently squeezing and feeling it at will. Just like back in the dorm, Derek felt the fingers separate his nuts, gently squeezing and fondling each one in turn. "Yes, yes, I can feel the spermatic cord -- right along here," he said, as his fingers seemed to delve deeply into Derek's sac, stirring the poor youth's nuts into unwanted excitement. Derek could feel a tingling begin to spread in his groin, and squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut, trying to control his emotions -- to control his sex organ, keep it from reacting to the old man's touch.
"Is...is it OK, Dr. Witherspoon. My spermatic cord, I mean?" Derek asked quietly. The old man was silent for a moment, continuing to caress the teen's inner thighs and scrotum, searching, exploring, examining thoroughly.
"Yes, it is where it should be. The spermatic cord is nothing to be cavalier about, Mr. Weathers. Many young men have suffered irreparable harm to the testicles when the cord became entangled around the testes, or twisted into a non-functional position. Male athletes engaged in hard contact sports such as wrestling are especially threatened by such injuries. But I believe you are alright. Here, sit up a moment and look at this. Derek sat up, and found himself staring down at his male organ, resting comfortably atop his nutsac. "Now, watch," said the old man, as his withered hand began to caress along Derek's inner mid-thigh region on his right leg. As he did so, Derek could see his right testicle jumping and squirming slightly in his scrotal pouch. A stroking of his left inner thigh caused a similar reaction from his left testicle. "Muscles along this part of each thigh are connected to the scrotum -- stroking the thigh causes the testes to react. A spermatic cord injury prevents this reaction.
amazed to see his nuts responding to a touch on his thigh.
"Can I try,
"Now, lie back down and please let me continue my exam," stated the doctor, his voice somewhat husky. Derek did as instructed, and was shocked to feel the wiry fingers suddenly wrap around his penis. The physician lifted the limp organ upward, and began to examine it carefully. "I know you said no injury had occurred to your penis, but I just want to make certain, since we are here. But I believe it looks healthy," he said, as he gently held it, moving it to and fro under the light. For the second time that evening, Derek felt himself begin to respond. He could feel the blood flowing into his shaft, causing it to plump slightly, causing it to begin stretching and lengthening. As Derek's face began to redden, the old man smiled to himself, knowing he had the boy right where he wanted him. But, first things first. He released his hold on the teenager's sex organ, noting how it was now swollen, and wouldn't lie quietly over the sac, but began twitching and growing on its own.
Grabbing paper and pen, Dr. Witherspoon spoke again. "Tell me, Mr. Weathers...um, Derek. Let me call you Derek. Tell me, are you sexually active? Or are you still a virgin?"
Derek was dumbfounded by the question, but knew he should answer the medical man honestly. "I'm still a virgin, sir. I...I don't have a real girlfriend yet."
"I see. At what age do you recall having your first sexual emission -- that is, perhaps, your first wet dream, or seminal emission from stimulating your reproductive organ?"
"Um, gosh sir, I guess I was about eleven or twelve. I used to have dreams, and, well, I would wake up, and my briefs would be all sticky and gooey inside from stuff coming out of my dick...uh...my penis."
"And do you now gratify yourself sexually?" Seeing Derek's look of confusion, the doctor clarified: "That is, do you masturbate -- manipulate your sex organ until you have an ejaculation? At what age did you begin the practice, and how often do you do it now?"
Derek's heart was pounding. He wanted to be honest, but what should he say? Would the doctor think he was some sort of perv or weirdo or something? The doctor was waiting for answers, and Derek could not think of anything to say but the truth, so he told about himself. "Well, um, sometimes I maybe touch myself `down there', and, well, make myself shoot my load. I first did it at my cousin Ricky's house -- it was his 13th birthday, so I was nearly 14 -- I'm about eight months older than him, I mean, than he. We had to share a bed in his room, and, well, we were wrestling, pinning each other, playing like we were going to pull each other's underwear down. My, um, penis started getting real hard. Ricky started touching it through my underwear, then he did pull them down, and then he was rubbing on it. I pushed his hand away, but it had felt so good I started doing it myself, faster and faster, and then, well, that white sperm stuff started shooting out. That was my first time."
Barely able to catch his breath, old man Witherspoon's hand was shaking as he recorded this information. Then he whispered, "And now? How often do you do this activity?"
Derek was blushing crimson now, furious with himself for telling the old man such a personal story, but he was still afraid of the headmaster, and knew better than to lie. "I guess, well, maybe, I do it about three times per week, sir." With eyes downcast, the boy added, "I'm sorry, sir. I know I shouldn't do it."
Dr. Witherspoon had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from smiling. How many times had these lads admitted that they were ashamed of something so natural? The guilt seemed to be contagious -- boy to boy, generation to generation. The looks of shame and humiliation on their faces were always the same -- so sweet, so innocent. Clearing his throat, he spoke again. "Derek, it is not something to be ashamed of. A boy your age, well, his body has needs and desires. When you are hungry, you eat. When you are tired, you sleep. When you feel an overwhelming need for sexual release, you will find a way to attain that release. You see, generations ago, boys did not mature as rapidly. Studies of early medical records indicate boys began to develop sexually -- that is, reached puberty -- about age 16 to 18. By 20, many of them had found release -- they were married and starting families of their own. Today, perhaps due to better health and nutrition, boys reach puberty at age 11 or thereabouts. But what's a boy to do? He still has six or seven more years of public schooling, then maybe four or more years of college. Creating a family may have to wait until he is 25 or 30. All those years of sexual stimulation, yearning, needing -- well, if a boy didn't find release, I suspect he might just go crazy! Wouldn't you agree, Derek?"
Derek smiled slightly, then meekly said, "Yes, sir. I guess maybe a guy would go crazy."
"Now, Derek, this may sound unusual, but I need you to tell me, then demonstrate exactly how you go about touching and pleasing yourself. I must make certain your actions will not be harmful to your bruised scrotum. Are you usually lying down when you masturbate?" When Derek quietly nodded in the affirmative, the doctor said, "Please tell me when you perform this act -- under the covers at night? When you are alone in your room? Then please demonstrate for me exactly what you do."
Derek could feel his cheeks burning. He was mortified to be in this predicament, but Dr. Witherspoon WAS a doctor, and he was concerned for Derek's health and well-being. So, though the request was unusual, perhaps it was necessary -- or so Derek told himself. "Well, um, usually I , um, well, I take care of that when Jake is gone -- sometimes when he's down the hall visiting some buddies, or when he's at the library or someplace."
"The library?" said Dr. Witherspoon, "Judging by his grades, I didn't think your roommate even knew our school contained a library." Derek chuckled at the remark, then continued.
"Anyway, I usually get onto my bed, and then, well, I just do it." Derek shrugged his shoulders, hoping his explanation was enough, but the elderly physician wanted more information. He raised his hand and waved toward the examination table, indicating Derek should give a more detailed demonstration of the techniques he used to `satisfy' his needs. Meekly, Derek stretched out on the table, still nude. Shyly, he reached down, slipping his right hand over to his genitals, then wrapping his fingers around his hardening cock. "I just grab it and start doing it," he told the man sincerely. "After about a minute or two, I start shooting."
"Are you nude or wearing your briefs when you perform this task?" questioned the doctor.
"Well, sir, usually I keep my briefs on, just pulled down onto my thighs. I, well, I don't pull them all the way off because, well, you know, if Jake suddenly comes in and wants to play a trick on me like jerking the covers off, I have my briefs there so I can yank them up real fast and be covered." Derek looked sheepishly at the older man, and bit his lower lip in embarrassment and shame.
"I see. Yes, that does make sense. Now, please proceed as you would back in your room, and show me what you do," said Dr. Witherspoon, his voice cracking slightly.
Derek was resigned to his fate. He knew it would be foolish to disobey the headmaster's orders, and, since the man was making the request for medical reasons, he told himself it was probably alright to demonstrate what he did. He slowly lowered himself flat on his back with his hands covering his genitalia, hoping to maintain some small amount of decorum and decency. Then, he wrapped his fingers around his hardening pole, and went to work.
The rather quiet, seemingly shy boy was suddenly transformed into a sex-starved male in rut. With an almost ferocious abandon, Derek began whipping his hand up and down his shaft, pausing to spit onto his palm for lubricant before returning to the fray. Faster and faster he went, jerking and yanking his cock to and fro as his momentum began to build. He closed his eyes and continued to assault his own penis, rubbing and jerking his poor member with reckless fury. But the assault was short-lived, as Dr. Witherspoon, his hands quivering, stepped up beside the table and quickly placed his own hand over Derek's thrashing fist.
"No, no, here now, stop," cried the old man. "You'll injure yourself for sure at that rate -- shaking and jerking your genitals like that. No, Derek, no, be gentler, kinder. "Why are you attacking yourself so furiously?"
"Dr. Witherspoon," Derek said, "this is the way I do it. I just sort of rub and beat my dick until it shoots. Am I doing it wrong?" Derek rested on the table, lowering his arms and hands to his sides, while his male member jutted upward from his groin, pointing toward the ceiling, the fleshy tube red stiff and swollen with excitement.
The elderly doctor smiled weakly, shaking his head. "No, no, my boy. There is no `wrong' way to pleasure yourself. It's just that there are gentler ways to touch yourself, bring yourself stimulation, arousal, and ejaculation. Here, let me show you." And suddenly, as he reached down to touch the teen's genitals, all those lustful, wicked desires he had struggled so long to hide -- to deny -- swept over Dr. Witherspoon like a rogue wave hitting a ship broadside. With hands shaking, he reached down and slowly enveloped Derek's hard shaft with his wrinkled hand, holding the turgid tube, feeling its warmth and power. He had to close his eyes, and grab the edge of the examination table with his other hand to steady himself. "Oh, yes," he thought to himself, "just like that first time, so long ago." Forcing himself to calm down, he opened his eyes to see the young student peering anxiously back at him, so trusting, so vulnerable. Slowly, he worked his fingers along the hard shaft, caressing the mushroom head, tracing the veins, the swollen urethral tube along the undershaft, feeling the silky skin shifting beneath his fingers. "Like this, Derek, like this," he whispered, as he softly fingered the stiff organ, touching it, teasing it to yet further hardness.
"You can slowly bring yourself to the point of climax, then ease off, allowing yourself to cool down, to regain composure, before once again coming to full arousal," he stated, as he continued to feel and fondle Derek's dick. "You can also play -- but gently, due to your injuries -- with your testicular sack." Now, the man's hand slipped off the straining lovetube, and slipped between the boy's legs to hold and heft his heavy sack. He lightly ran his fingertips over the wrinkled skin, absentmindedly tickling the boy's scrotum, his fingers noting the few stray hairs.
Derek was beside himself with fear and desire. He was terrified he would lose control, and start shooting a load of spunk on the old man's hand -- shooting recklessly and haphazardly as David had done a short while ago. This fear was the only thing acting to suppress his need for release. Yet he also found himself so erotically charged, so primed for a good, long nut-draining squirt, that he was afraid to even breathe, fearing the sudden chest movement would trigger something further down his anatomy. The youth closed his eyes, trying to think of something -- anything -- that would dampen his growing desire, but all he could sense was that quivering hand holding his nutsac -- no, now massaging his hard shaft, stroking his silken cockhead, so tenderly, lovingly -- oh, it was pushing him over the edge, and he knew -- he just knew -- that his willpower would not hold out much longer.
Witherspoon's old hands were trembling as he continued to gently touch and stroke the teen's hard meat. He could tell young Derek was almost beside himself with lust, and had an aching need to release his pent-up load. He knew the confusion that was tormenting the poor boy -- the shame at being sexually manhandled, the embarrassment at being so naked and vulnerable in front of the older man, and the fear the kid had to be feeling -- of being caught enjoying himself, or of losing control of his own sex organ and helplessly shooting his semen. The septuagenarian smiled to himself, enjoying the power he held over the virile young athlete, now writhing helplessly, his hips thrusting slightly, his breath coming in short gasps as his arousal continued to build toward a crescendo that would undoubtedly leave both of them spent and weakened. "I must say something to calm him, to let him know it is alright," thought the schoolmaster. "I must convince him this is simply a medical procedure, something designed to help him." In a husky and quaking voice, he told Derek: "I know you are feeling confused about this, Derek. Please, be patient -- in a few moments, you will ejaculate. I will take a small sample of your semen to the microscope, and together, we will evaluate the sperm you have produced -- the quantity of the spermatozoa, to determine if the injuries you suffered have impacted you in a negative way. Here now, here, just a few more moments and this will be over."
Derek looked into the old man's eyes, and saw a hint of the lust the older man was trying to hide. But he also saw kindness and concern, and he forced himself to believe the physician was doing this for his own good. He groaned aloud, sank back onto the examination table, and allowed the doctor to complete the procedure. He knew it was no use to resist anyway -- his cock was now totally engorged -- swollen and red, feeling ready to burst -- and Derek could suddenly feel his cockhead growing damp as his precum began leaking from his piss lips, coating the bulbous cap with a drizzle of fluids.
"Yes, yes, you are almost there," crooned his tormentor. "Your body is releasing its sexual lubricant now. Tell me Derek, are you feeling any sharp pain in your testicles, or just the dull ache you had early on? I'm asking because I notice your testes have begun to pull up toward the base of your penile shaft, indicating your body is nearly at the point of orgasm. This is as it should be, but I want to make certain there is no unusual pain in your scrotum."
"Um...no...I don't feel any unusual pain, sir," the boy hissed through clenched teeth, as he struggled hopelessly to keep calm despite the overwhelming need he now felt to shoot his burning load. "Oh, how much longer can I take this?" he wondered to himself. "How much more can I endure?"
And then, the old man's finger began to lightly scratch his undershaft in that oh-so-sensitive spot only Derek himself had touched before. And Derek knew this was it -- he had lost control of his own body, and his sexual emission was now being directed by the headmaster. A few more gentle scratches, and light rubbing of his hard gonads tightened against the base of his shaft, and Derek surrendered completely, losing all control. He groaned deeply, closed his eyes, and felt his cock twitch and jump frantically as it began to spew its load of hot teen seed. Shooting erratically, Derek felt the warm spunk spraying onto his abdomen and chest. Opening his eyes, he was amazed to see a fountain of white, thick cream shooting from his stiff dick -- arcing up and over as the doctor held the squirting hose, finally guiding it toward a paper cup he'd grabbed. Acting quickly, the older man was able to catch several healthy squirts of ropy semen in the cup, though Derek noticed his old hands were trembling so much he could barely hold the cup steady at all. "There, there now," cooed the old coot, "try to catch your breath, Derek. That was fine, just fine. We have a wonderful sample to test under the microscope."
Derek finally felt his pounding heart begin to slow down, and he watched with interest as the doctor scurried about the small office, scraping some of his sperm out of the cup and placing it on a glass slide. Noticing the boy watching him curiously, he said, "Can you stand yet? If so, come on over here to the microscope and we will take a look at your `Junior Dereks' to see how they are doing." Derek slowly rose from the table and then stood up. He shyly reached for his briefs which were located nearby. He started to pull them up, then, noticing the semen clinging to his chest and abs, he removed them and wiped his body clean as best he could. Then he quickly pulled his sweatpants and socks on, and padded over to the table where Dr. Witherspoon was adjusting the microscope. Not certain what to do with his soiled briefs, he finally wadded them up and thrust them into his pocket. Now, standing beside the physician, Derek felt the growing excitement of someone in on a secret, or a new discovery.
"Hmmm...looks very, very good, young man," said Dr. Witherspoon, as he peered through the eyepiece. "Your semen is milky white -- no dark stains from possible blood, not that that in and of itself would be cause for concern. Take a look." Derek leaned forward and looked into the scope, and was amazed to so many little tadpoles wiggling to and fro. "Those little guys are your sperm, Derek," said the doctor. "Amazing how they carry all the traits that make you what you are -- all the genes that determine hair color, eye color, skin complexion, muscular traits. And by the look of things, your testicles are very healthy, indeed. You have produced a prodigious amount of spermatozoa -- all swimming about happily. Look at those little fellows go!" Derek pulled away from the scope and looked into Dr. Witherspoon's smiling face. "Derek, I see no sign of any testicular injury or trauma. You are an amazingly healthy and fertile young man. As vigorous as these little fellows are, I'm almost surprised you don't get a young lady impregnated just walking near her!"
Derek blushed, then smiled broadly. "Thanks, Doc -- I'm glad to know everything `down there' looks OK. I appreciate your checking all this stuff for me, especially at this hour when you should be off work."
"Nonsense -- my work is never done. Keeping track of the lives and health of several hundred teenaged males is a full-time, round-the-clock operation. Now, tell me Derek, are you feeling alright, or are you a little weak from, uh, well, from giving me this sample. Do you need to lie down for a little while?"
"I think I'm OK, Dr. Witherspoon. I guess I will head back to my room now, if it is OK with you, sir." Hearing no argument, Derek retrieved his shirt and shoes, and completed dressing.
"Now Derek, as I understand it, you have another water polo game next weekend -- is that right?" Derek nodded that it was. "Good," continued the doctor. "I will need to conduct another complete physical after next weekend's game. Tell me, Derek, do you think you could resist um...how can I put this delicately? Can you resist relieving yourself, um, that is, masturbating, until after I've examined you next week? It's important that you not stimulate yourself too much until then."
"I...I think so, sir," Derek said hesitantly. "But sometimes, well, if I don't beat my mea...I...I mean, if I don't relieve myself, I sometimes have wet dreams at night. Could that hurt me?"
"No, no, not at all. Just do me a favor if you would -- when you awaken from such a dream, check yourself. Examine the semen you have ejaculated -- note it's color, see if it has any brown or dark red spots, see if you feel an unusual pain in your scrotum. If so, let me know first thing the following morning. Will you do that for me?"
"Yes sir, I will," the boy replied seriously, eager to be on his way. "Otherwise, I will see you after our next game, Dr. Witherspoon."
"Oh, you will see me AT the game, Derek. I will be there to keep an eye on you athletes. Don't want any injuries at the game, now, do we?" said the headmaster. Derek smiled and shook his head, relieved to finally be on his way out the door. "Good-bye, Derek," he called as the door closed softly behind the teen. Gerald Witherspoon sank slowly into the nearest chair, and was amazed to see how his hands were still trembling as they lay in his lap. "Oh dear, dear me," he whispered quietly to himself. "I'm going to have to be very careful with this one. Oh, he is so sweet, so beautiful, so perfect."
Back at his room, Derek walked in as Jake glanced up from his school book. The husky, muscular teen noted the strange look on Derek's face as he entered. "Where have you been, Derek? Did the old man give you the once-over? Are you healthy, or at death's door?" he joked.
"Jake, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," Derek answered.