Date: Mon, 16 Apr 2001 02:18:19
From: Erik Asman <erik2175@hotmail.com>
Subject: Brandon's Life 1: Brandon's Soccer Team Physical

     From the very first time he recalled getting a shot in the butt,
Brandon had hated doctors.  Sitting in the waiting room always made him
jumpy, and his stomach rolled with apprehension.  Trying to read the
magazines gave him a headache, and he ran a hand over his light brown
crewcut hair and sighed.  His appointment had been for 1PM.  The clock now
read 1:45PM, and although it had gotten him out of school, he wasn't happy
to be there.  Somewhere behind a closed door that led to the exam rooms, he
could hear some other child scream.  He jerked his tanned face up out of the
BMX magazine and gasped.  A man sitting across from him smiled.  "Tetanus.
Boy cut his finger at school in art class.  He hates shots."
     Brandon swallowed hard.  "He's not the only one," the boy replied.
     At 14, Brandon was an average, Caucasian boy.  He wasn't fat, he wasn't
slight - he was average.  All across America, there were thousands and
thousands of Brandons, that, if lined up, would be just another group of
boys that wouldn't rate a second look in anyone's book.  He was well tanned
from his time outside, and he had started the growth spurt of adolescence
that was beginning to make him a bit tall and gangly.  He hadn't begun to
lose his coordination yet, however, and that was why he was there at the
Doctor's office.  He was due for a physical for the soccer team.  A sharp
pain in his gut also reminded him that he was going to have to mention his
other problem.  He was distracted, however, by a teary-eyed little boy being
escorted by a woman - his mom, no doubt - out into the waiting room.
     The little boy, his right index finger wrapped in gauze and in a brace,
ran to the man who had spoken to Brandon and threw himself into the man's
arms.  "You'd think they'd cut his arm off," the lady said with a slight
drawl as she handed the receptionist her insurance card.  Brandon smiled,
and went back to his magazine.  He felt eyes on him.
     "What they gonna do to you?" a small, piping asked with a sniffle.
     "Huh?" Brandon asked, looking up again.
     "Don't go back THERE," the little boy said between sniffles, "He gives
you shots - in the BUTT."  The little fellow's statement of the obvious was
funny, however, and Brandon tried hard not to laugh.
     "All he's gonna do to me is look at me, soccer team physical.  You
know, just make sure I'm ok and all.  No shots."  Brandon felt his face
flush a bit.  As he answered the little boy, his voice warbled from his
little boy soprano to a medium tenor and back.  Usually when it went back,
it squeaked.  The little boy grinned at him as it squeaked again.  Brandon
grinned back and then sighed as they got up to leave.  His voice had begun
trying to break about 6 months before, and it cracked and warbled and acted
as if it couldn't make up its mind where to go.  Lately, however, it hadn't
been cracking as much.  It also hadn't been staying in the tenor mode;
Brandon was too afraid to ask, but over the past few months that his
changing voice had seem to slow down, his right testicle had begun to ache.
And since he was 14, and a typical boy, he had decided he'd rather die
before he mentioned THAT to anyone.
     "Bye!" he heard the small voice say.  He looked up and waved and
watched the couple depart with their son, the little boy's hand placed
protectively on his left butt cheek.  Brandon slumped back in his padded
chair and stretched.  He watched his arms and legs stretch out to their full
length, ignoring the very slight aches from deep in the joints.  "Growing
pains," his dad had called them.  Brandon smiled at himself, got up to get a
drink from the fountain, but stopped short as a hot pain stabbed at his
belly and very nearly doubled him over.  A flash of what felt like fire shot
up from his scrotum and spread into his abdomen.  Then it all just stopped.
He looked around quickly.  No one had noticed, and he hadn't yelled.  It
wasn't the first time, but it was bound to catch up with him.  Eventually,
someone was going to see it happen, or he was going to cry out.  He was
fighting with the dilemma when the receptionist called his name.  He visibly
flinched, a hand still on his belly.
     "Jumpy, aren't we?" she asked condescendingly.
     Brandon nodded.
     "Physicals are nothing to be jumpy about, son," she replied.
     "Maybe," Brandon said, "I dunno."
     Brandon followed the young and somewhat attractive nurse to an exam
room.  He could feel his cock getting hard as he watched her butt, and he
was almost sick with worry that she was going to make him undress in front
of her.  He noted that his erection was making something of a tent in the
front of his cargo shorts.  That also reminded him of something else.  Even
though he had been having jack-off sessions with a few of his buddies over
the past year or so, lately he hadn't felt up to it.  Literally.  The last
time they all gotten together, his best friend Logan had laughed himself
into an asthma attack when Brandon couldn't hold his erection for more than
a few moments.  Usually, Brandon was the center of attention at these
sessions, since he was the only one of his group of friends that was not
circumcised.  None of the rest of them had as much cock as he did, they
didn't look the same, and they all harbored some lingering resentment at
their folks for having their cocks cut on when they all babies.  Lately,
though, even his foreskin - which made him a 'star' - was giving him grief.
It itched and usually hurt when he peed.
     In fact, Brandon remembered, when he did get hard it made his right nut
hurt even worse than it usually did.  This time, it was no different.  Pains
began to shoot up out of scrotum, then stop.  Then they would start again.
The itch under his foreskin started up, and as the skin stretched as he got
hard, that hurt too.  Brandon sighed.  He decided that when the physical was
over, he was going home and going to bed.  He was tired lately, more so than
usual, and one thing he had been told to tell the Doctor was just that.  His
parents claimed that a 14-year-old boy should have more energy, and how
could he play soccer with all his aches and pains and being so worn out all
the time?
     Brandon was pulled out of his reverie, however, by the nurse's voice
telling him to strip to his shorts and get up on the scales.  Brandon pulled
off his light blue polo shirt, and kicked his navy blue over white Nikes
into the corner.  Nervously, he pulled off his tan cargo shorts. He left his
pushed down, white calf-high socks on, and secretly thanked the Lord that he
was wearing loose boxers and not tight briefs.  He quickly jumped up on the
digital scales, keeping his erect penis pointed in the opposite direction of
the nurse.  She recorded his height, weight, BP, pulse, respirations,
measured him here and there, took his temperature in the ear - for which
Brandon was profoundly grateful - and said that the Doctor would be in
shortly.  Brandon smiled at her and muttered, "Thanks," his face flaming.
She was no sooner out the door than Brandon had a hand in his shorts,
feeling at his tender and screaming nut.  "This just ain't right," he said
to himself, taking some comfort in the fact that he was, at 4-1/2 inches,
fully erect and it didn't hurt any worse than usual.  He considered a quick
whack off in the attached bathroom, but decided against it.  He hadn't been
whacking off much lately, mainly due to the pain but also due to the fact
that he wasn't getting it up as much as he had been.  He was also beginning
to run out of excuses for putting off his buddies who wondered where he was.
     At 14, Brandon's sex life had not even begun and he was already
worrying that it might be over.  His brows creased in concentration as he
ran his hand over his crewcut.  It was a nervous action that he was prone
to, but as his teachers had noted, at least he didn't bite his nails.  How
was he going to say it?  How could he ask?  "Doc, my balls hurt."  NO.
"Doc, I think I've got a..." NO.  "Doc, I can't seem to get hard and..."
DEFINITELY NO.  Brandon was still fighting with it, one hand on his stomach,
rubbing it, and the other brushing back at his short hair when the Doctor
sneaked in on him.
     "Hello, Brandon!" he announced jovially.  Brandon yelped and fell over
backwards on the exam table, the paper crinkling under his bare back.
"Jesus, you scared the shit outta me!" he barked.  One hand flew to his
mouth and he felt his face flush as he realized what he had done.  His dad
would have slapped him across the mouth by now, and his mom would be shoving
a bar of soap in it.  The Doctor only smiled and laughed.  He was an older
man of moderate build, and although he appeared a bit older than Brandon's
father, who to Brandon was OLD, he carried himself with dignity and his
posture showed that he once must have been quite a built man.  He adjusted
his glasses and looked at the clipboard.
     "Uh-huh.  Physical.  Soccer.  Run around in the green grass and kick a
ball and try to hurt each other as much as possible, turn each others' shins
black and blue, right?" the Doctor asked.
     "Uh, I guess," Brandon agreed.  His erection had since faded, and the
pain had settled into its usual dull ache.  Unconsciously, he was still
rubbing his belly.
     "Stomach ache?" the Doctor asked, moving over to the boy and pushing
him back down on the table.  He poked here and there and asked this and
that.  It was the usual.  Brandon knew what was coming, though.  The old
'turn your head cough' thing had to be next.  He was dreading it.  Then the
Doctor pushed on his stomach, on the left side.  The pain was enough to make
Brandon gasp.
     "That hurt?" he asked.  Brandon nodded.  He pushed harder.
     The pain that exploded up into Brandon's whole torso brought tears to
his eyes.  "Stop!" he choked, fighting back tears.  The Doctor, however, was
still poking and exploring down around the waistline of his boxers.  Then he
sighed.  "Brandon," he said softly, "be honest with the old man here.  When
was the last time you took a really good shit?"
     Brandon was so taken by the question that he couldn't do anything but
stare.  "It says here, from where your parents called in for the
appointment, that you're tired, you hold your belly a lot, you sleep too
much, and you seem to be in pain somewhere.  Your voice has been breaking,
so we're pretty sure you're into puberty now.  You shouldn't feel THIS bad.
Now, let's just get it out into the open, because if I have to hunt, you
won't like it," the Doctor replied with a note of finality.
     The boy looked away, his face still flaming.  "I dunno, not today.  Not
last night.  Maybe three days ago?  Look, is this gonna keep me off the
team?"  Brandon's voice gave away his anxiety.  It squeaked once, and then
settled back into boyish soprano after the word 'team' came out in a
moderate tenor.  The Doctor smiled.  Brandon felt like everyone was laughing
at him, and he decided that if he lived through this visit, he was never
going to talk again.
     The Doctor stared at him, looking to Brandon like Death in a white
coat.  How could he tell him anything else ?  The fact that he hadn't taken
a dump for three days probably meant he was going to get a shot and some
stupid pills to take.  "Alright, get up then.  We need to go into the
levorotary, er, uh, bathroom if you will here, and get to the bottom of this
so to say.  Go ahead and get naked and get in there, Brandon.  We can fix
this right here and right now."
     Brandon just stared at him, his jaw open.
     "Brandon, take OFF your shorts, take OFF your socks, the ring on your
right index finger, and your watch.  Unless it's waterproof to 100 meters."
Then he laughed.  The boy did as he was told, and followed the Doctor into
the bathroom.  There was the usual sink, toilet, but there was also a padded
bench and a shower area.  White towels hung on the rack by the sink, and the
room smelled of soap and Lysol.  He stood there, naked and embarrassed, as
the Doctor rooted around in a cabinet.  He laid out some packets of
something, what looked like a tube of toothpaste to Brandon, then turned.
He seemed to be deep in thought.  "Well, yes, I remember that," he said
glibly, "You know, Brandon, you are one of the very few boys I know and
examine for sports every year that isn't circumcised.  Actually, I am a
strong fan of circumcision.  You know what that is, don't you?"
     Brandon nodded again, his hands going protectively over his genitals.
The Doctor laughed again.  "Don't worry, I'm not going to do THAT to you.
That is, unless you need it.  Is everything OK down there?  We still have to
do the cough-thing, you know.  Nice tan, by the way."
     "Yea, it's fine," Brandon lied, looking around the large bathroom.  He
could see himself in the mirror, and suddenly the fact that he was a white
boy, and that he was evenly tanned all over dawned on him.  He desperately
hoped that the Doctor didn't ask about that.  He really knew he could NOT
bring himself to say aloud, "My buddies and me swim naked, ya know, right
before we all get together and jack off."  But, the Doctor didn't ask.
Brandon took a moment to admire himself in the mirror, noting the light
dusting of pale hair around his cock.  He wished it would grow in faster, as
he was the most hairless of his jack-off peers.  Hell, even Logan, who was
blonde, had more hair than he did.
     "Go lay on the bench, Brandon, I'm looking for something."  Then he
picked up the office phone.  "Gloria, move everyone back an hour, I've got a
small problem in exam 2 here.  Yes, yes, thank you, Gloria."
     Brandon's apprehension was growing.  Whatever the Doctor planned to do
was going to take an hour, and that ruled out a shot.  He began to sweat.
Constipation, he knew, was nothing to be taken lightly.  He remembered when
he was little having Fletcher's Castoria spooned into him, and later on in
life, the salty stuff in the green bottle that kept him on the pot all day
long.  After the second round of the green stuff, he learned to keep his
mouth shut.  His heart nearly stopped, though, when the Doctor came back in,
after much door banging and swearing, with a red rubber bag in one hand and
a length of white tubing in the other.  Brandon stared at him, recognizing
the equipment.
     He was going to get an enema.
     Brandon knew what enemas were, of course, even though he had never had
one.  His friend, Logan, had mentioned it once during a jack-off session,
however. It had made them all hot, Brandon remembered, thinking about having
something stuck up your ass and filling you with water while you were
totally helpless to stop it.  Logan had described the entire procedure, as
it had been performed on him, but all of them had agreed that it didn't
sound like something they wanted to try.  Brandon remembered asking him, "Do
they really do that to YOU?" and that Logan had said 'yes'.  In fact, with a
blushing face, Logan had admitted that it was a monthly ritual, whether he
needed it or not.  For a while, then, Logan had been held in the highest
regard, just for surviving what sounded like the worst thing that anyone
could do to a boy.  He recalled that that had been a good day for jacking
off, and that later that night had been even better for more things.

     "Alright," the Doctor was saying, "I'll be just a moment and we'll be
ready."
     Brandon found what was left of his voice.  "Please, Doc, can't we do
something else?  Can't I just take Exlax or that green salty stuff or
something?"  Brandon pleaded.
     "No, Brandon.  You should have thought of this before it got this bad.
If you're in that much pain, you're clogged up good.  A few good flushes
outta have you up and going in no time."  And with that, the Doctor put on a
pair of rubber gloves, poured something out of one of the packets into the
red bag, and began filling it with water.  He placed a thermometer in the
stream, making sure the water was as hot as he could make it.  Brandon
watched in sheer terror as the bag filled, with a mound of soap suds that
smelled of coconuts gushing over the top.  The Doctor then attached the
tubing, made sure the clip was closed, and hung the bag up on a hook in the
wall over Brandon's bench.
     The boy stared up at the bag and his eyes followed the tubing down to
the Doctor's hand.  He held a tube of something.  Brandon could see the
label, and it said 'KY Jelly'.  He groaned.  "Roll over onto your stomach,
Brandon."  He knew what that meant.  KY Jelly combined with the words 'roll
over, Brandon,' meant - at home - that he was going to get his temperature
taken.  He sighed.
     Obediently, the boy did that.  He flinched when he felt the cool
lubricant being applied to his asshole.  That was nothing new, and he
desperately wished that his Mom would discover the ease and convenience of
the digital ear thermometer.  He yelped as the Doctor slid a well-lubed
finger up inside of him.   That was something new, and it didn't feel at all
like the small thermometer he was used to.   "Just relax," he said, "Does it
hurt or just feel odd?"
     Brandon decided that it felt odd.  He said so.  He also noted that he
was getting hard again.  The Doctor moved his finger around, then settled it
into one spot and pressed.  Brandon felt his erection grow, his cock feeling
like it was going to burst.  His nuts throbbed, and an intense wave of
pleasure, not unlike when he got off from jacking, spread through his body.
He moaned.  "Nothing wrong there," the Doctor noted, slowly pulling his
finger out.  Brandon felt as if he could have cum had the Doctor kept that
finger there, but he wasn't about to ask.
     "That, my young friend, was your prostate gland.  Every boy and man has
one.  It should feel smooth and rubbery.  If it is hard and lumpy, you got
problems.  You don't have a problem there." the Doctor announced, spreading
some lubricant on the hose.  Brandon watched him.  "Wh-what was that feeling
when you touched it?" he asked shyly.
     "A normal reaction," the Doctor replied, "That's where ejaculations
come from, pun intended."  Then they both laughed.  "Don't worry, boy,
everything feels fine in there.  Now all we have to do is get that hole of
yours back into business.  Now ... here's the plan.  I slide this tube up
your ass.  It will hit your rectum sphincter.  When I say relax, you relax
and make like your trying to fart or shit, really hard.  Then I'll slide it
on up some more.  When it stops, you tell me.  If it hurts, you tell me
fast.  Once it's in, I'll open the valve.  It will fill your colon - or
guts, if you will - with about 2 quarts of warm, soapy water.  You have to
hold it all in for at least five minutes.  If you can't, we'll have to start
over.  If you can't hold it, I'll have to plug you until the five minutes
are up.  After that, you can go like you have never gone before!  Then we
repeat the procedure.  Any questions?"
     "I guess not," Brandon replied dejectedly, his cock beginning to soften
and his right nut hurting.  Suddenly he wondered how Logan had felt, and how
much it had taken for his friend to talk about it.  He also wondered if the
Doctor did this to anyone else as he seemed to know what he was doing.  He
decided that when this was over, he was going to have a long talk with
Logan.
     "OK, then, now roll over onto your back."  Brandon did that.  He
watched as the Doctor let a bit of the soapy water out, and Brandon could
smell the coconut aroma.  "Now, there's no nozzle on here, Brandon.  This is
called a colon tube, if you ever want to share this story with your little
friends.  We need to get it deep inside of you.  Here we go."  And with
that, Brandon could feel the blunted tip of the tube being pressed against
his asshole.  Then it slid in.  He gasped.
     "Easy," the Doctor said, sliding the tube in further.  It was an odd
feeling as the tube went up inside of him.  When it stopped, Brandon said
so.  "OK, relax, Brandon.  And make like a good fart!"  Brandon did that,
and he yelped as he felt his sphincter open and the tube slide up inside of
him even farther.  It was not painful, but it felt strange.  Brandon
struggled with the idea that he might actually might like having his ass
stimulated.  It didn't seem right, though, with all the fun they made and
the dreaded, high power insult of being called an "ass-fucker."  There was
not a more powerful name, in his circle of friends, that one could insult
another with.  But wasn't he right there, naked, having his own ass fucked
first by a finger and then by a tube?  It was not the same as having his
temperature taken, and it worried him.  Brandon sighed again.
     Then the tube stopped sliding easily.  He mentioned that it was
stopped.  The Doctor then turned his attention to the bag.  The boy heard
the SNAP of the shut-off valve being released, and could feel the warmth
traveling through the tube up inside of him.  As he lay there, the Doctor
reached down and cranked a handle on the bench, leaning him backward so that
his feet were higher than the rest of him.  "Gravity helps," the Doctor
explained.  Brandon nodded, feeling his already slightly bloated belly
beginning to expand.  The Doctor watched, slowed the flow and began to
gently massage Brandon's abdomen.  He worked in such a way that he was
actually pushing upwards, making the solution flow deeper into Brandon's
colon.  After about half of the bag had emptied out, however, Brandon cried
out, "Stop!  I can't!  I gotta go NOW!"
     The Doctor pinched the tube shut, and hit the clip.  "Brandon, you're
only half way there.  You HAVE to hold it in."
      Brandon shook his head, his sun bleached hair becoming wet with sweat.
  He was suddenly very warm, and realized it was from the water being pumped
into him.  Logan hadn't ever mentioned that.  The Doctor continued to
massage, and let the water flow again, slower.  Brandon groaned and
struggled, clamping his butt cheeks together as he watched his belly swell.
He was beginning to look pregnant, and his balls felt like someone was
stabbing them.  He glanced up.  The bag was almost empty, and the Doctor was
pulling the tubing out of him.  It felt good coming out, better than it had
going in, and he saw the bag flattening out.  Logan had said when the bag
was flat, it was over.  Brandon sighed a deep sigh of relief, then the first
cramp hit him.  He cried out again.
     "Soap cramp," the Doctor noted, dropping the end of the tube into a
pan, "Normal.  OK, Brandon, four minutes.  Hold on."
     It seemed like forever.  Brandon sweated and cried out when a cramp hit
him.  He had never had to go so bad in his life, but he wasn't allowed.  At
least the green salty drink had not hurt him, just made his guts make a lot
of noise as it cleaned him out.  Finally, he begged to relieve himself.  The
Doctor shook his head.  "Two more minutes, and remember, if you leak, we do
it all over again WITH the soap."  He sponged at Brandon's forehead with a
damp cloth, wiping the sweat from the boy's eyebrows.  He noted that they
were also sun-bleached and matched his hair.  For a moment, the Doctor
thought back on all the times he had seen Brandon - the shots, the injuries,
the illnesses _ but his reverie didn't last long.
     "I can't!" Brandon moaned, choking back the tears.  He had never been
so humiliated in all of his life.  This was even worse than when his Mom had
come home to find him and three of his buddies naked in the pool.  She had
laughed, and unbeknownst to them, taken a picture from the house when she
went in.  She hadn't just taken a picture though ... she had had a poster
made, and since there were no visible genitalia in her shot, it was deemed
legal.  That poster now hung in the room reserved for his parents' vast
collection of memorabilia.  Brandon was sweating, his stomach was distended,
and his balls were killing him.  His cock was hard, and it itched under his
foreskin, which had begun to pull back some.  "I'm gonna die!" he wailed.
     The Doctor laughed.  "No, you won't.  You may want to, but you won't.
HERE now, NO leaks, I said!"  As Brandon did just that.  He then felt
something being pressed into his hole again.  This wasn't the tube, though,
it was something larger.  He glanced up, from his inclined position, to see
the Doctor fitting his asshole with a large black cone-shaped plug.  He
pushed it in, and Brandon groaned.  "What's that for?" he demanded, not
wanting to admit that he was enjoying it.  His cock, however, betrayed him.
It was beginning to move with his pulse.
     "Since you can't hold it, you can relax now.  That plug won't come out
until I take it out.  It's snug enough so you can't leak, and you still have
two minutes to go.  In fact, since you leaked, I think you can wait for an
additional minute," the Doctor replied.
     Brandon's jaw dropped.  The cramps were tearing him up, and he was
getting nauseated.  All he wanted to do was to empty himself and go home.
He let his head fall back onto the bench with a THUNK sound.  "Shit," he
muttered.
     "Oh you'll shit, Brandon, believe me.  And if you think the soap enema
was bad, wait until we do the rinse."  Brandon stared at him.  "We have to
give you another one to rinse all the soap out, otherwise, you'll be walking
around with your guts on fire feeling like you have to go for days.  Rinsing
is the real benefit.  Hard telling what we'll knock out of there.  Used to
be, enemas were a regular thing.  You'd seldom see a boy who didn't get one
at least once a month just to keep him cleaned out.  Nowadays, nobody does
it.  Now when I was a boy..." he continued, watching the clock.
     The three minutes finally passed.  Brandon listened to the Doc's
reverie of what sounded to him like childhood torture.  Then he helped
Brandon to his feet, led him to the toilet, and pulled the plug out of his
ass.  The boy didn't get sat down before he began to evacuate.  He made
quite a mess, and the smell was ghastly.  "I'm going to step out and let you
relieve it in peace, son.  It will be a while before you're done.  When it
stops, lay down on the floor.  Don't strain.  When you feel it hit again, go
again.  Once you're finally done, take a shower.  Then we'll give you a
rinse."
     Brandon did as he was told.  What came out of him was disgusting.  He
couldn't believe that he was hauling that kind of stuff around INSIDE of
him.  When he was done, he got up and went to the sink.  He splashed some
water on his face, and remembered he was to take a shower.  He did that,
letting the water cool him off.  He was suddenly tired again, and his ass
ached.  He felt like this should really have him in the mood to whack off,
talking about it did, but he found his cock had gone back to sleep.
Nervously, he informed the Doctor that he was done.  "Dammit, boy," the
Doctor laughed as he came back into the room, "No wonder you feel so bad.
DEATH begins in the colon, you know!"  Brandon stared at him.
     The Doctor looked the boy up and down, noting his lengthening arms and
legs, his beginnings of musculature, the way his genitals hung, and also his
nice, even tan.  He also noted the boy's now-flattened stomach.  He
remembered being young once, and sighed.  Brandon looked fine to him.  He
hoped that there wasn't anything else.  If there was one thing that he hated
to do, it was to tell a child like Brandon that there was something badly
wrong.  "Alright, back up on the bench," the Doctor stated, "one rinse and
then the cough test and you can go home, all fit and ready for the soccer
team!"
     Brandon laid back down on the bench as the Doctor refilled the bag
after rinsing all the soap out of it.  He was filling it with plain salt
water.  He repeated the procedure, but this time, when the bag was finally
flat again and Brandon lay there with two quarts of hot salt water inside of
him, he quicky pulled the tube out and immediately inserted the butt plug.
He began timing, and massaging.
     The feeling wasn't the same.  This time, there were cramps, but they
were not sharp and stinging as the soapy water had been.  In fact, the
feeling of urgency wasn't there either.  Brandon felt as if he had to go,
but he also felt that he could hold it.  With a bit of confusion, he also
realized that he liked the feeling that the plug was giving him.  He also
realized that he was enjoying the relaxation that the massaging was giving
him.  "You have got to be the tensest kid I've ever seen," the Doctor
stated, as helped Brandon to the toilet again.  "Why don't you walk around
the room once?"
     Brandon looked at him in confusion.  Walking over to the toilet had
produced some pretty strange feelings, and he had no idea why the Doctor
wanted him to walk around.  He did, however, watching in embarrassment as
his cock got hard again as the plug rubbed at his prostate.  He also noted a
bit of clear fluid leaking from the tip of his uncut cock.  It was beginning
to itch again.  When he made his way back to the Doctor, he had changed
rubber gloves.  Gently, he bent down and pulled Brandon's foreskin back.
This time it was his turn to sigh.  "I knew it.  I just knew it.  Brandon,
you have GOT to take better care of this thing!  Being uncut means you have
to make sure you keep that thing clean under there.  How long has it been
itching and hurting when you pee?"
     "I dunno, a while," the boy said, "How'd you know?"
     "This is bad, Brandon, see how red it is?  And the rash?"  He squeezed
the exposed glans.
     "Ow!" Brandon yelped, flinching.
     "This isn't good at all.  Well, we can deal with it later.  Now turn
around."
     The boy did that, and felt the plug being pulled.  He sat down and
relieved himself with a great sigh of relief.  When he was done, he showered
again and walked naked back into the exam room.  This was the part he really
hated.  He had survived the enemas, but now came the cough test.  The Doctor
was waiting, and Brandon knew the routine.  The Doctor carefully felt around
his scrotum, pushed up at the top of the sack and told him to cough.  He did
that.  Then he did the other side.  Very gently, he felt the man's fingers
rolling his balls around.  The left one didn't bother him, but when he put
some pressure on the right one, Brandon doubled over and yelped.  A hot pain
seared up through his belly and he gasped.  With a great effort, he
straightened up and let the Doctor finish.
     "Alright," the man said as the boy collapsed back onto the table, "How
long has THIS been going on?  Talk, boy, don't be afraid.  I HAVE to know.
You said everything was fine down there."
     "I-I, uh, I lied."
     "I noticed," the Doctor replied dryly.
     "Do I got a hernia?" Brandon asked.
     "No," the Doctor replied flatly, "What you have is a lump.  There's a
knot on your right testicle, and judging from your reaction, it hurts.  A
lot.  I'll be straight with you Brandon, when one finds a lump like this, it
isn't good.  Didn't you know that your balls should be smooth and round?"
     Dumbly, Brandon nodded.
     "You haven't been checking, have you?  You have to check yourself,
Brandon, that's part of being a man."
     "Is it bad?" the boy asked, "'cause I can stop whacking off, if that's
why."
     "That isn't the cause."
     "But, I take a bath every day!" the boy protested, his mind suddenly
realizing that the end of his cock was in danger, as well as his balls.
     "Yes, but you didn't keep it clean underneath, and now it's a mess.
And your balls, well, that's another story.  THAT was nothing you did or
didn't do.  It's just bad luck."
     "It's not gonna get better, is it?" the boy begged, his eyes pleading.
      The Doctor shook his head and continued.  "Brandon, what I have to say
isn't going to be easy.  You're in pain.  You're tired.  You're having
problems that teenage boys DON'T have.  The constipation had nothing to do
with it, just bad timing.  But, to be honest, 99% of the time a lump like
this is cancer.  Your cord doesn't feel right, and the other side is
beginning to feel knotty as well.  It's also smaller."  He squeezed
Brandon's left ball again.  The boy did nothing.  "I was afraid of that."
     "WHAT?!" Brandon demanded, his face going pale.
     "That squeeze wasn't half of what I did to the right one, and you
almost fainted then.  Brandon, I think we need to call your parents in here
now.  You haven't been looking after your manly parts very well, and now
they're in bad shape.  Brandon, you've got to be circumcised to clear up the
penile infections, and you've more than likely got testicular cancer.  I
think, in fact, that your left nut may already be dead.  How long did IT
hurt too before it stopped?"
     "I dunno, most of the winter, I think.  Then it just stopped.  I
thought this one would too."
     "Did it feel like the other one does now?" the Doctor asked.
     The boy nodded.
      "It might also explain the voice breaking slowdown and the fatigue it
shows here.  Your balls have been putting out a lot of male hormones,
puberty you know, but they're slowing down, I think.  Testosterone falloff
can do that.  Now, are you having erectile problems too?"
     But Brandon had gone white in the face.  He nodded.  Tears welled up in
his eyes, and he began to shake.  "Wh-what can y-you d-do?" he stammered.
     "Well, it's really out of line, I think, Brandon, but it might help.
We can run a test on it too, but to be honest, well - we can take a semen
sample."
     Brandon's face flamed.  "I, well, I don't think I can.  It hurts too
much, and NOT in front of you or anything."
     "Is that why you're avoiding your little whack-off friends?" the Doctor
asked with a grin.
     Brandon gasped.  "I - we - what I mean is ... how'd YOU know?"
     "I was a boy once myself.  You think I was born old?" the Doctor asked.
     "Guess not," the boy replied.
     "Anyway you don't have to, son.  You remember when I lubed you up for
the enema?"
     Brandon nodded.
     "What I can do is do that again.  If I press on you, up in there, and
do it right, you'll shoot.  We can take a sample, test it, and freeze it for
later in life, just in case this all goes bad.  Now, it's going to be
embarrassing, I know, and you might not like it, but if you cant' jack off
for me, Brandon, we'll have to do it this way."
     Brandon considered his words, and realized that his penis really didn't
feel being bothered anymore.  He thought about the lubing part of the enema,
and surprisingly, he heard himself say, "OK.  Let's get it done then."
     The Doctor nodded and put on another set of rubber gloves.  Brandon
knelt on the exam table with his butt presented.  As he had with the enema
prep, the Doctor lubed him once again and inserted a finger.  He instructed
Brandon to make sure his discharge hit the collection cup.  Brandon agreed.
As the Doctor's finger once again found his small prostate, he felt the
waves of pleasure shooting up through his body.  Very slowly and gently, the
Doctor rubbed at the small rubbery disk as Brandon began to tremble and
sweat.  It felt like it took forever.  He felt like he was going to cum, but
then he didn't.  Having done plenty of prostate checks, but never on one so
young, the Doctor was ready when Brandon's asshole began to tighten around
his finger.  The boy was shaking and moaning, and discharge was only seconds
away.  He glanced at the cup.  It just kept building, until finally, with a
cry of relief, Brandon shot a rather impressive load into the collection
cup.  Jet after jet of penned up semen shot out of him, and although he was
scarcely aware of it, almost all of it made it into the cup.  The last
stubborn drop, however, refused to drop off.  The Doctor pulled his finger
from Brandon's quivering hole and pulled his gloves off.  "Clean up," he
ordered the boy, taking the collection cup.  Then he stopped.
     He stared down into the cup, his heart pounding.  The impressive amount
of yellow-ish and white semen was flecked with black spots and a copious
amount of fresh blood.  As Brandon cleaned himself up from what must have
been his best orgasm to date, the Doctor groaned inwardly.
     Brandon came back from the toilet, his step a bit unsteady.  The Doctor
couldn't help but wonder if the boy would ever cum like that again.  He
showed Brandon the sample before calling for the nurse to come and take it
away.  The boy gasped at what he saw.  Like the discharge from the enemas,
he couldn't believe that it had come OUT of his body.  "Hop back up there,
son," the Doctor suggested, pointing at the exam table.  Brandon's face
flamed as Gloria came in to take the sample.  Brandon, however, almost spent
from his orgasm, didn't get hard.  He blushed, and looked away.
    "Oh come now, I've seen naked boys before!" she said teasingly, and with
that, she was gone.
     The Doctor sat on the table and pulled the still-naked boy close.  He
could feel the shivering, but there was no point in having the boy dress.
He was going straight to the minor surgery room as soon as his parents could
be reached.  Very quietly, he answered the boy's question.
     "It looked so bad," Brandon whispered.
     The Doctor nodded.  For a moment, he said nothing; he just stared at
the floor, occasionally having his view obstructed by one of Brandon's size
7 bare feet swinging back and forth.
     "I'm afraid that if the test comes back positive, and I know it will,
Brandon, there's only one option.  Maybe if we'd caught it sooner, but then
again, I don't know.  The only viable treatment is castration."
     The boy gasped, swallowing hard.  "You m-mean you have to c-cut my
b-balls off?" he choked.
     The Doctor nodded.  "And your foreskin as well.  THAT's only going to
get worse too."
     Suddenly Brandon was angry.  He had come in for a physical for soccer,
and in the course of an hour, his whole world had come crashing down on him.
  He was 14.  He was fine.  He was just a bit tired.  Puberty was rough,
they all told him ... he'd live.  And now here he was, naked on an exam
table, being told that he had to have half of his cock AND his balls cut
off?  No way was he going to take that.  "You can't!" he screamed, jumping
off of the table and going for his clothes, "I won't let you!  My Dad won't
let you!   No one's gonna cut MY balls off!"  Brandon's face was now red,
and the sweat poured from his bleached out hairline in rivulets.  Tears ran
openly down his face as he fumbled with his boxers, unable to turn them
right-side-out.  The Doctor walked over to him, and calmly took his shorts
away from him.  He handed him a white gown, the type that ties in the back
and doesn't close all the way.  Brandon shook his head defiantly, not sure
of what to do.
     "Brandon, Gloria's called your parents.  They're on their way here now.
  I know you're tired, and I know you hurt.  You want to take a nap?  I
promise nothing will happen to you..." but Brandon cut him off before he
could finish.
     "WHY?!  He screamed, pulling away from the Doctor's embrace, "So you
can cut on me while I'm out?  That's what you wanna do ain't it?  Put the
boy to sleep and cut his balls off while he's out cold.  NO WAY, MAN!"
Brandon screamed, throwing a shoe at the Doctor, who dodged it with skill.
"I want a second opinion!"
     "That's about enough, young man!"  The Doctor demanded, picking up the
shoe and throwing it back at the boy.  He missed.
     Brandon was so taken that he didn't know what to do.  "DO YOU think I
WANT to castrate you for FUN or something Brandon?  How dare you?  I've
tended to your injuries and illnesses all of your life!  You hide your
problems from everyone until it's too late to save you, then you blame ME?
I wanted you circumcised when you were born, young man.   But, 'Nooooo',
your parents said, no circumcision for their son.  'He can learn to take
care of it,' they said, well ... obviously you didn't.  And as for your
balls, well, let me tell you this ... cancer is nothing to mess with.  Why
in the hell you didn't mention it sooner is beyond ME.  If it spreads, and
it will..."
     But Brandon had already given up.  His shoulders slumped and he leaned
heavily on the table.  Hard sobs racked his small body and he shook
violently.  His tirade cut off in mid word, the Doctor quietly came to the
boy's side and jabbed a needle into his right butt cheek.  Brandon gasped,
but didn't protest.  A million different thoughts raced through his mind at
once, none of them good.  He let the Doctor hold him until the sedative took
effect, pulling him down into sleep and washing away the horrors of the
afternoon.

       When his parents arrived, he was asleep in the minor surgery room
with an IV in one arm and a blanket covering him.