Date: Sun, 17 Dec 2006 13:10:06 -0800 From: Bruce Bramson Subject: The Constant Grocer (Fiction) The confession of an obscure grocer on his death-bed in a small California town has solved a baffling medical "cluster" mystery. The town was the subject of numerous investigations and many reports about what became known as the "LDDCS": the Lincoln Delayed Development Cluster Study. I led most of the investigations: to our chagrin, neither I nor anyone else discovered the cause. But, let me start at the beginning. I worked for the California Department of Public Health office in Sacramento on various health related matters. One day my boss passed along a letter he'd received from a doctor in Lincoln, a small town in the foothills not far north of us. The doctor was puzzled by several instances of boys in his town who were failing to grow up normally. My boss, an MD himself, thought I should pay this doctor a visit, though he expressed misgivings about his credibility. Statistically, more than one such case in a town as small as Lincoln would have been an anomaly for sure. So it was that I found myself in Doctor Frank's office in Lincoln on a mild April day in 1955. The man was lean, friendly, about my own age, and clearly perplexed by events unfolding around him. He had a pile of folders on his desk, medical records of three boys he was sure were well behind their peers, and three others he suspected. He'd done his homework: his notes were meticulous. There were some blood-test results,but these were expensive in the 1950s, and precision was poor. However, absolutely nothing in the numbers told him anything: every constituent he measured fell squarely in the normal range. He had only one photograph for me, of Tommy, age 18, who clearly had not matured beyond about 14. Dr. Frank had taken and developed the photo himself, and said Tommy was utterly unabashed about posing in his birthday suit. So, there in full frontal nudity was a truly fine specimen of a pre-pubertal youngster. I confess something stirred in my pants as I studied the photo: the boy was exquisite. I wanted very much to have some time with him... "Of these six boys," Dr. Frank explained, "I delivered two right here in Lincoln: I'm still the only physician in town. One was born in Reno and moved here when he was four, the remaining three were all born in Sutter Hospital in Sacramento." "So you think these six are all of them?" "I'm also the physician for both schools, elementary and high. I see every child in this town at one time or another." "And the, um, 'phenomenon' is confined to boys? No girls?" "That's right! Any kind of factor at work in the general population should affect both. Yet, girls have been spared, at least so far." The Doctor dug into more piles of paper, pulling out elegant graphs and tables. "Look here: I've done all the usual physical measurements of these six boys. There's not one result out-of-line with the statistical average among the entire population of the United States! Yet, take Johnny here; he's the first in whom I noticed something strange: his chronological age then was 18, but his body was that of a 12 year-old. You see Tommy there, he's typical. Ben is chronologically 17, but only 13 in appearance. Those are the most definite ones. The spread between actual age and apparent age is not so wide in the others, but they aren't growing up; we've no way of knowing when their maturation might resume. And here's the really odd thing: Johnny is now 20, and pretty well caught up: he's a strapping young man now." "So, the condition does not last indefinitely." "Apparently not." "And, except for remaining in an extended state of youthfulness for some years, there are no other differences you can discern?" I asked. Dr. Frank's composure changed slightly: I detected a brief flash of pink in his cheeks, but he recovered quickly. "Um, well, there is one other common factor: each of them is quite aggressive." "Aggressive, in what way? "Sexually". "Can you be more explicit?" "In the regular course of making my measurements of the disrobed boys, each one became highly excited -- at the ages involved, not in itself unusual -- but they also exhibited more than the usual interest in me!" "That IS unusual: but is it a cause of their condition, or an effect of it? "I can't imagine it being the cause: there are lots of homosexuals who grow up perfectly normally. No, I think it may be related to their condition, but surely it is not the cause. But, dammit Jones, wracking my brain these few years, I can come up with no rational explanation." I spent the next few hours making notes to take with me. Copy machines were not ubiquitous in 1955, so it was all I could do. Departing, I assured Dr. Frank that I would get him help to study this perplexing matter. But, bureaucracies move slowly. I turned in a lengthy report on my visit to Dr. Frank, but my boss was not impressed. A year or so later, I called the doctor to apologize for the apparent lack of interest. "You need to talk to that boss of yours," he said emphatically: "the three doubtful cases I had when you were here seem quite definite to me now, and there are several more I'm beginning to suspect." "I'll come up to see you this weekend: I'd very much like to meet a couple of the boys myself." "I'll arrange it." The following Saturday I packed a small satchel and a doctor's-bag of items I might need and drove to Lincoln once again. The small hotel on the main street was not very elegant, but adequate. After checking in, I walked down to the doctor's office, stopping at Chico's Grocery to buy two candy-bars: nothing like sweets to get boys to let their hair down. The man behind the counter was a handsome fellow, rather dark complected. His appearance fit with the name of the store neatly lettered on the old-fashioned glass-paneled door. We exchanged the usual greetings, and I went on my way. Dr. Frank welcomed me. "I've cleared my appointments here this afternoon, so I can make house calls. Tommy will be here at 1, and Tony at 3: their files are out for you. This is a small town: I've left the door open, they'll just come on in. You can take it from there." With a few minutes to kill, I studied the folders: Tommy's I'd seen, with the picture, so I turned first to Tony. According to the dossier, his actual age was 16: Dr. Frank's measurements indicated he had stopped maturing at 13 or so. It was never easy to tell just when the usual progression from boy to youth came to a halt. His measurements, plotted against time on a piece of graph paper showed weight, stature and other parameters climbing steadily until around the middle of his 12th year, when the graph turned and flattened perceptibly. Comparing it with Tommy's graph, it was easy to predict that Tony's would flatten further for a while, then presumably head back up sometime in the future. This was exactly the pattern in Johnny's folder: Johnny, now the "strapping young man" Dr. Frank had mentioned at our first interview. "Hello?" No mistaking a boy's voice. "In here", I called back. Tommy strode purposefully into the room. His demeanor seemed at odds with his youthful appearance, but I recognized him immediately from the black-and-white photo. "You're Dr. Jones, I guess," he said. "Right you are! And you are Tommy B---------." "Nice to meet you." Despite having seen his picture, I was utterly unprepared for Tommy in the flesh. Physically, he could not have been mistaken for anyone over the age of 14, just on the edge of puberty, a precious bud waiting to burst into bloom. For some reason, at this point the wait had been going on for four years! "You want to know why I'm not growing up, I suppose." Tommy was quite matter-of-fact. In truth, had it been in my power to keep this boy in a perpetual state of pre-pubescence, I would have ordered it. He was exquisite, with unruly flaxen hair, grey-ish eyes and perfect, unblemished skin. I felt that familiar feeling in my groin... "A number of people around the State want to know, Tommy: your case is unusual." "Not so unusual: there's several like me here in town." "And THAT is the really unusual thing! You know others, then?" "Sure, know 'em all: this is a tiny place, everybody knows everybody else. Tony and I live on the same street, and Ben is near as well. We see a lot of each other." "Do other boys make fun of you?" "Oh, sometimes; it doesn't worry us much." "Well, Tommy, I would like to make a few measurements just to confirm those by Dr. Frank." I opened my bag, took out a tape measure, and slapped the examination table. "Up here, my boy." In a trice, Tommy was naked: he shucked his clothes so quickly I had no time to explain that he really didn't need to. He hopped up on the table eagerly. Some aspects of physical measurements can be tricky: establishing the exact circumference of a thigh, for example, requires judgement as to precisely where its girth is greatest, and inevitably as one manipulates the leg and measuring tape, one contacts intimate parts of the body. While I was not exactly a novice, I hadn't had to do this often since leaving med school. Additionally, having this youngster there before me in a completely relaxed condition, perfectly at ease with my touching him anywhere I liked, was exciting in ways I was not entirely prepared for... Tommy was not completely relaxed: my attention to him resulted in a fine erection. Of course, I had to measure that as well, just as Dr. Frank had done. Since seeing the doctor six months ago, Tommy had not added so much as a centimeter to his splendid little prick, exactly three and a half inches long when hard. But when Tommy's hand dropped over the edge of the table and groped the front of my pants, I was startled. "Feels like you gotta mighty big one in there, Dr. Jones," Tommy said. "Does it interest you?" I asked as clinically as I could, remembering Dr. Frank's use of the word 'aggressive'. "Yah! I love to see big peckers like yours," he replied. "Why?" "Dunno: I 'spose it's because mine's so tiny. Playing with Ben or Tony or Paul ain't much fun, they're no different from me. But yours..." By now he had expertly dropped my zipper and was actively seeking the contents of my shorts. He rolled on his side, unabashedly undid my belt and pushed my pants down. It had been many years since anyone had done this, and frankly, it felt very nice. It felt even nicer when he took hold of my rigid dick and stroked it gently... "Wow! That's a real whopper!" "Compared with whom?" "Oh... others. Mine, Tony's..." He was suddenly wary and evasive. I sensed he'd seen other men. "'N Dr. Frank's..." No surprise there. However, if he did not stop his massage, there would be a mess to clean up. I gently pushed him away, though I really didn't want to. I still had his arms and chest to measure: arms so splendidly formed, so anatomically perfect, and so incredibly smooth. He relaxed as I went about this, though his little hard-on stood proud without drooping. "So, Tommy, what do YOU think is the reason you and your friends are slow to grow up?" "None of us has the slightest idea! But we know Johnny did, so we expect we will too eventually." He sounded a bit wistful. "And Johnny's got the biggest pecker of any we seen! We got that to look forward to maybe." "You think that your delayed puberty might result in a larger than usual penis?" "What's 'puberty'?" "A fancy word for growing up." "Well, we only got Johnny as an example so far, but we can hope!" "Do you think its important to have a big penis?" "Sure gotta beat these puny things we got now!" He was fondling me again: it felt very nice... "Hello, you two!" Another voice, a few notes lower than Tommy's, but still unmistakably boyish. "Looks like you're having a fine time together." There was no way to finesse this situation! "You must be Tony D------." "And you must be Dr. Jones. Nice ta meetcha!" Once again, I noticed the forthrightness: no hesitation at all of the sort one might expect in a 13-year old. I also noticed how pretty he was, like Tommy. His eyes were dark brown, not quite black, and matched his hair. His complexion, flawless as it would be in someone his age, was several shades darker than Tommy. He exhibited darling little dimples at the ends of his mouth when he smiled. He was the sort of cute kid you wanted to pick up and toss over your shoulder and carry back to your lair for a long cuddly night's sleep... But, Tony was actually 16 years old! By now his voice should have cracked, his secondary sexual characteristics should be apparent, and he should be well on his way to young manhood. But here he was, a cute 13-year old tyke with a mischievous glint in his eye, in a room with another boy and a much older man in a most compromising position! Tommy came to my rescue: "The Doc and I been fooling around after he took all those measurements like Doctor Frank does. You know how it gets ya going..." "Ya wanna measure me up, Doc? Tony asked, already unbuttoning his pants. "Yes, I really should bring Dr. Frank's data up to date." He was nude in seconds: my boner rose again at the sight of him, so utterly perfect in his proportions. His baby-fat was gone, his muscles were still those of a boy, and like Tommy, he was on the very edge of puberty. It really IS the golden age, an appearance and demeanor never to be seen again. In some the stage lasts a few months, in some a few weeks, but never a few years. I wondered how many adults in the town appreciated the gift they had in their midst... The boys exchanged places, and I proceeded with my measurements and notes. The task was more difficult because Tony was ticklish, and because Tommy kept playing with my cock. By the time my notes were complete, I was at a fevered pitch of excitement, which led me to bend over and take Tony's three-inch penis into my mouth. "Holy Moly! That feels FINE." Tony exclaimed. Tommy put his head up over the edge of the table and saw what I was doing. "Gosh!" was all he said, as he watch his companion's prick slide in and out of my mouth. Apparently, this activity was new to them both. I was not too old to remember the first time I got sucked and how great it felt: Father O'Brien was an expert. But when Tommy's head disappeared from my view, it was so he could try his best to take me the way I was taking his buddy. I sucked on Tony furiously, and soon had him bucking around under me in the throes of a dry orgasm: this brought me to the same point and I shot my wad in Tommy's mouth: a game lad, he stayed with it to the end, then let me droop and fall out. "Never thought to try 'n eat that stuff," he said as he wiped his mouth on my tee-shirt. "It has a flavor like nothing I ever tasted." "You've seen it before, then?" "Um... yeah, ..." He was being evasive again. "Johnny makes it, 'n maybe some others..." "Others?" "No one you'd know," he said with finality. The conversation on this topic was at its end. If the boys were playing with other older men, I was not going to find out about it, at least not on this first visit. "I've certainly enjoyed meeting you both. I'm sure I'll be back now and then, to see if Dr. Frank and I can piece together what's going on here in Lincoln. I think there will be more exams, and you kids might even be famous one day. Oh, and here's a candy-bar for each of you." The boys pulled on their clothes and scampered out, leaving me physically sated, but utterly in the dark about what might be causing the developmental problems. Problems I was loathe to see solved... Over dinner at the hotel, Dr. Frank and I compared notes. It seemed to us there had to be something all the boys shared. Things like drinking water, food, other environmental factors could be ruled out quickly, because everyone shared those. So we knew finding this commonality among such a small cohort buried in the population at large would not be easy. There were several hundred folks living in Lincoln. A comprehensive study designed to discover the cause of this odd pattern would be expensive and time consuming. We put together some ideas, but knew we'd need expert help to develop a definitive approach. Our meal concluded, I asked the doctor if there was any way to meet Johnny. He agreed to send him around the next day, it being Sunday. Promptly at ten a. m. there came a knock on my door. I was immediately swept away by the animal beauty of the lad, as mature in every visible way as the boys I'd seen yesterday were not. He stood a foot taller than myself, had strong, angular features, a neat hair-cut, and was nicely dressed in levis that were tight in all the right places. He entered the room, took in its few features, then purposefully seated himself on the bed, leaving the only chair for me. "Dr. Frank asked me to stop by: how can I help you?" he asked. "We are planning an investigation to see if we can find the cause of arrested development in some of the boys here in Lincoln. Seeing you now, I wouldn't believe you had been retarded in any way, but I understand that you were, um, somewhat delayed?" "That's right: I stayed around twelve for almost 6 years. No one has come up with an explanation for it yet, but now that I'm out of it, I guess there was no harm done." "You may not wish to discuss this with a complete stranger, but I am curious about your sex life, if any, while you were in the interruptus phase." "Well, you know every boy around that age gets a bunch of hormones going, and I seemed to have had the full complement: I was constantly horny and aggressed upon just about anyone I could. There were endless jack-off sessions with other guys my age, and even though I was much older in years, in body I was with the younger kids and we played around as all kids do." "And, how about now: everything works OK?" I already knew it did, for I'd been watching his crotch; as he talked about sex, something happened there: he rearranged himself a couple of times. "You wanna see?" He did not wait for my answer, and quickly opened his fly. He was wearing no shorts, so immediately there came into view one of the most spectacular cocks I think I ever saw. It was not so much that it was larger than average, which it was; it was just so perfectly formed, uncircumcised and firm. It engorged rapidly as he played with it: I was mesmerized. "This thing -- he waved it in my direction -- has been measured by that old Doc Frank dozens of times and I suppose you want to do the same." "Um, no, I'll take your word..." "Come on, Doc: it doesn't bite." He knew I could not resist: who could? A strikingly handsome horny lad in full rut is always spectacular to behold, and to hold. I rose from my chair, forgetting the effect this vision of loveliness had on myself: walking to the bed, my trousers were tented and there could be no denying the urgency I felt there. Johnny whipped off his shirt, revealing a muscled torso of thrilling proportions, then as I got to the bed, he attacked my belt-buckle. A lasting effect of the delayed maturity seemed to be sexual aggressiveness. But I was not one to complain: being attacked by a randy young stud didn't happen to me very often! When Johnny stood his levis dropped away, and I gasped in admiration. He could have been Michelangelo's model for the famous statue, except where David sports a fig-leaf that seems to cover nothing larger than a thumb, this lad sported equipment entirely appropriate to his gorgeous frame. Below his erection hung a pair of testicles of exactly the right size. I wrapped his elegant phallus in my palms, felt the warmth of his life-blood gathered there. His meatus oozed as his manly essence sought freedom from the confines of his dangling testes: I feared he would shoot before I could get into the proper receptive position. Pushing my hands away, he helped me out of my pants, then enveloped me in a muscular embrace that literally took me off my feet. Effortlessly, he turned and put me on the bed then went to work on my body in ways I'd forgotten were possible: he found erogenous zones I didn't even know I had. Despite the difference in our ages, he seemed content with what he had to work with, and wound me up until all the tendons in my body resembled twisted ropes. He got me off with his hand, yet his touch was so gentle and so experienced that I sprayed farther than I could recall doing for many years. This seems to have got him going as well, for as soon as I exploded, he proved to me that everything he had worked as intended: he pulled back his foreskin and shot his sweet nectar all over me, putting my measly exudate to shame by its volume. Then, as I lay sated, he licked up every drop of our combined effusions! "I'll be glad to help with that investigation as often as I can," he said as he pulled on his levis. "I suppose it would be good to find out what's behind all this." With that, he was gone. Once again, bureaucracy interfered with our plans. Dr. Frank and I wrote often to keep each other apprized, but there was never enough money to mount a truly good effort. We both presented papers at Medical Association meetings, but were met with scepticism. Meanwhile, my own career progressed, and in the fullness of time I transferred to the US Public Health Service which also had offices in Sacramento. The State DPH meanwhile moved to Berkeley to be close to the university there. My work now brought me into contact with "bigger guns", and especially, to people with access to money, which is to say, Federal Funds. In Lincoln, the "problem" was not going away: indeed, there was now about a dozen lads, if Dr. Frank's figures were right, whose ages hovered around 13 to 15, but who were chronologically somewhat older. Worse, Tommy, who by Dr. Frank's calculations ought to be coming out of it, was still resolutely -- even obstinately -- fourteen. By this time, he had remained so for 9 years. Yet, in the one-on-one interviews I arranged with him from time to time, he remained optimistic. Also pretty, aggressive, unfailingly horny, and willing to fool around, even with me. In 1962, I was finally able to get funds in the PHS budget to mount a proper study of the Lincoln situation. Statisticians were beginning to think in term of clusters: localized examples of higher-than-average occurrences of various diseases, and the LDDCS was born. I was subordinated to an "expert" from Washington who had the clout I lacked: I had the brains he lacked, but that's the way it works in any bureaucracy. Besides, where he spent all his time behind a desk, I got out into the field office we established in Lincoln, and did most of the leg work. For "leg work" of the kind I liked best, my office had a small room in back, ostensibly for the occasional physical examination that might be required from time to time. In actuality, I used it regularly to entertain the boys who were objects of our studies, and my attention. The study itself was straightforward: using school records, we identified as controls a group of youths who seemed to be on a normal path to maturity, and paired them up with the boys we identified as not on a normal path: we then attempted to follow all the boys in great detail: where they went, when, with whom, and so forth, hoping to find that elusive common denominator among our cohort of retarded boys. (While they were physically delayed, they were mentally right on target, so they all remained in school according to actual age-level). We enlisted the help of parents to keep elaborate records of the activities of all the subjects; teachers and pastors did the same. Before long we had mountains of paperwork and no means to digest it. The Service was setting up a first-of-its-kind computer center in Sacramento, so most of our paperwork went there to be somehow massaged into something meaningful. Reports we got back shed no light on the matter and were usually months behind. Because of my special rapport with the boys, mostly established through long torrid sessions in the back room, I could be seen going with them anywhere and no one thought anything of it. There was a small theater near the hotel where some of them and I would go up in the rear balcony and carry on wildly, jacking off, sucking each other, and so forth. No one ever noticed! Everyone, myself included, shopped for groceries and sweets at Chico's, the only grocery on the main street. Dr. Frank came to me one day in near panic: "I think one of our controls is bad," he said, waving one of his familiar graphs under my nose. Jimmy's graph was indeed beginning to inflect. By now, we were so familiar with the sequence of events that we could almost pin-point the time when his development was interrupted: in Jimmy's case, the data suggested sometime in May, 1963. I agreed to grill Jimmy, to see if I could spot anything. The interview took place a few days later, in my office. Since he was in our study, I knew all about Jimmy. I had pages and pages of detailed reports from his parents and teachers. Poring over them, I could find nothing that was in any way unusual for a twelve year-old boy. Everything about him: his likes, dislikes, hobbies, abilities, failings; his IQ; and all he had done for many months was there. In every respect, he was as normal as any kid his age. He hated carrots, but loved spinach. His tonsils were still in place. His father had even noted the size of his penis, though noterect: an inch and a half. Somewhere in this mass of data there might be a clue, but it was not obvious. I wondered if questioning the boy would turn up anything. I also had a picture of Jimmy's face. He was another exquisite boy; masses of curly hair surrounded his cherubic countenance. Perhaps a little baby-fat still evident, but (at least until recently) he was moving right along on the usual path to puberty, youth and manhood. "So, Jimmy, how have you been feeling lately?" I thought it was an appropriate question. "Feeling what?" he asked mischievously. "Um, I mean, have you been ill or anything like that?" "Nope." "Have you had any kind of accident lately, over the last few months. For example, did you fall down at any time you can remember?" "Nope." "Anybody beat you up, hit you on the head, anything like that?" "Nope." "Has anyone given you anything unusual to eat?" "Nope. ... Uh, well there was one thing..." "Yes?" "Can you keep a secret?" "You know we can. Was it some unusual food?" "Nope." "Well, then, what was it?" "A weenie." "What's unusual about a hot-dog?" "Not a hot-dog: a weenie!" I had a sudden realization. "You mean, someone else's weenie, Jimmy?" "Yep." "Can you tell me whose weenie it was?" "Can you keep a secret?" "You know we can..." "Johnny's." Unfortunately, my mouth got in gear before my brain did: "That's no weenie," I blurted out, "that's a giant sausage!" His face fell: "you can't keep a secret, can you?" Getting out of this was not going to be easy! "Look, Jimmy: we doing this study know a lot of things about everybody in this town. We don't pass it around as gossip: it's just data, facts, figures, knowledge we hope will solve a riddle. So, yes, I happen to have seen Johnny's 'weenie', and I myself wouldn't call it that. But you can call it what you like, and I won't argue with you. Now tell me how this event came about?" "Paul told me Johnny had a big one. I asked Johnny to show me, and he did." You can't get much more straightforward than that! "Where did this happen?" "Theater." "When?" "Oh, coupla weeks ago, I guess." "You tasted it, you said." "I ate it. And what came out of it." "Whose idea was that?" "Mine. And I'm going to do the same to you in a minute." That aggression again. "Several kids have told me what goes on in here." He was unbuttoning his trousers. "It seems others can't keep secrets, either." "You know how kids talk. Bet you got a big weenie, too." He stood, and let his pants drop to the floor. Once again I was rendered helpless in the presence of such magnificence. His erection poked out the front of his Y-fronts so tantalizingly that could not prevent myself pulling them clear and pushing them down. His father should have measured his boy's penis in this condition: I judged it to be close to four inches, large for a kid his age. Casually, as if it happened every day, he unzipped my pants and pushed them down. My cock did for my shorts what his had done, and he extracted me from them easily. He did not have to bend far to suck me into his mouth. I made a mental note of the aggressiveness with which he had approached me before abandoning myself to his attention. He certainly could not be called skilled, but he knew what he wanted: with one small hand under my nuts and his other helping his mouth, it was not long before I came copiously: he took it all, and smacked his lips when he was done. "You don't taste the same as Johnny," he said. "Tell me, Jimmy: did Johnny suck on your weenie?" "No, he didn't seem interested. Are you?" "I'm sure you know I am, if you've been talking with the other kids." Clearly, he had been: he ran to the back room and was up on the exam table in seconds, and I was down on him at once. When I had him breathing hard, I stopped to ask, "Who else has done this to you?" "Oh, ... only one or two... nobody you'd know." Evasion again. I went back to work, and soon had him writhing in agony. Though only twelve, he produced a few drops of tasty ejaculate as he thrashed around as if having a fit. "Golly, that felt swell!" he said as he calmed down. Sure enough, Jimmy's graph flattened out and he stopped growing. Nothing could be found to suggest a cause. He was one of the most aggressive among his peers (and with me); his condition lasted nearly ten years. His steady friend, Toby, had been one of the first Dr. Frank noticed. After seven years at 12, Toby turned into a ravishingly beautiful youth seemingly overnight. At 21, all measurable characteristics of his body were spot-on normal except for the toad-stabber between his gorgeous thighs: that fell into the "bigger than average" category, and he loved to use it with the other boys and occasionally even with me. The evasiveness of the boys whenever I mentioned older men told me there had to be someone, and my suspicion soon fell on the high school Phys Ed teacher. He was a dour, ascetic man, never seen in anything but a rumpled business suit; by no stretch of imagination a coach. He had five children, all girls, and was a religious nut. But whenever I mentioned his name, the boys said they had nothing to do with the teacher they called "the ice man". They thought he was a wimp, and hated his day-in day-out regimen of calisthenics: they wanted body-contact sports, but of course the very idea of boys and body-contact was anathema to Mr. Murray. So it came as no surprise to me when I overheard some of the boys talking about Billy and Mr. Murray in the same breath. Precocious little Billy was not in our program; he couldn't serve as a control, because he was an outlier: every community has one. According to Dr. Franks, Billy had entered puberty late in his tenth year and by the end of his eleventh, was essentially a man. His secondary characteristics were fully established and very much in evidence. Our subjects in the study doted on Billy, and included him regularly in their little games. Billy, whose growth was accelerated, had not the same sort of interest in me the other boys had, but he tolerated some of my less serious perversions, and had no qualms about opening up when I asked him what Mr. Murray had done. "He takes me in his office, makes me undress 'n jacks me off." "That's all?" "I think he wants me to do it to him, but he can't keep his pecker hard. I think he's mad 'cause mine's bigger'n his." "How often has he done this?" "I guess a half a dozen times now. He's a really ugly man!" I typed up this information and had Billy sign it. Photocopies were sent to Mr. Murray and the high school Principal. A real coach was quickly found, a much younger man. He immediately got all the boys interested in sports; most of them preferred wrestling... The LDDCS dragged on. The Public Health Service became the Center for Disease Control. The lead investigator moved up (as all inept folks do) and was replaced by someone almost as inane. The investigation plodded on, perpetuated by sheer inertia if nothing else: we found, in general, the period of arrested development hovered around five years, though Tommy remained behind for just over ten, and another boy, particularly splendid and beautiful was held back for nearly fifteen. I was loathe to leave the study because the mystery had still not been solved (and I was having so much fun in the back room). One day in August, typical summer weather ran a bit hotter than usual: uncomfortable in my little office, I'd consumed several cans of soda to cool off . Suddenly Eddie showed up: he was one of our subjects, a stupendous 15 year-old. His retardation had begun rather late: he was well into puberty when his growth-spurt was arrested, leaving his voice uncertain but his body particularly lithe and muscular. Now actually 19, he was taller than most of his peers, and as I quickly found out, had a lovely muscle close to five-and-a-half inches long between his legs. Unlike most of the boys, he could ejaculate, and liked to fire off long stringy white projectiles at every opportunity. Brash like the rest, he burst in without knocking. His fuzzy legs emanated from skimpy shorts; other than keds, he had nothing else on. "The others here yet?" he croaked. "What others?" "Toby told a bunch of us to be here at 1 o'clock: looks like I'm the first." "What did he have in mind?" "Didn't say: just said we'd have some fun. Jeez, it's hot in here!" "Who else is coming?" "Dunno. Paul, I hope, and probably Bud: he and Toby spend a lot of time together." I hoped Paul would show up as well: if I had a favorite among the boys, it was Paul, perpetually 13, perpetually horny, and spectacularly pretty. Answering my wish, he just then burst in along with Bud, Toby and Phil. Toby carried a large plastic bag and a twelve-pak of cokes. "Hi Eddie; Hi Dr. Jones, sorry we're a little late. Had to stop for cokes at Chico's." He dropped the package on the floor. "No problem: what's up?" I replied. "Why, the same old thing is up, that's what," he leered. "But it's way too hot to stay in here with our clothes on." He swung the sack over his shoulder and headed for the back room: the boys followed their Pied Piper, and after locking the door I joined them in our inner sanctum. From the sack, Toby withdrew something made of plastic, a small inflatable bath-tub of the sort made for back-yard use in summer. Toby applied his mouth to the rubber hose, and blew into it: more accustomed to sucking, he was soon winded and passed it along to one of the others. The tub slowly took shape, and when filled with air was circular, perhaps five feet in diameter. The boys, working to fill the thing, had quickly shed their flimsy summer shorts and were prancing around as usual, nude and glistening with sweat "We've no water to fill it," I exclaimed. There was a tiny bathroom nearby, but no hose or bucket. "Don't worry, Doc: I've got all the boys primed, and there'll soon be water enough to go around. But you still have your clothes on: you must be sweltering." Truthfully, I was overheated, partly because of the temperature, but mainly because having these youngsters running around bare had its usual effect. Toby, of course, having survived his own retardation, now towered over the others, and was a fine specimen in every respect and very well endowed. He had a light dusting of hair and a crotch full of it. As I undressed, my eyes were drawn as usual to Paul. It was difficult to put my finger on exactly why he was my favorite: for one thing, he never objecting to my putting my finger (or anything else) on him, anywhere! Had he been a cat, he would have purred whenever anyone touched him. He was one of the few I'd occasionally managed to pry away from his parents so we could sleep together. Not that I got much rest: I spent most of those nights pawing at his sleeping form and reveling in its flawless beauty. Bud was yet another winner: he'd been 14 for several years. He was blond and pale, his skin so translucent bluish veins showed through in many places. He had thick peach-fuzz all over, and even the beginnings of a mustache. He had a surprisingly long penis that drooped, and very loose balls that dangled alluringly below: they flopped around dangerously when he ran, but I knew from experience that he loved to have someone swallow them. Our group was rounded out by Phil. Where Bud was blond and pale, Phil was dark and swarthy. Judging by his father, when he grew up he would have hair everywhere, and would be stocky running to fat. But now one of the youngest at 11 going on 15, he was a glabrous bundle of energy with the cutest little dingy and wonderfully shaped limbs. "Into the tub, guys," Toby ordered. They all hopped in, giggling and groping themselves and each other. They seemed to know what was coming next, but it surprised me when Toby cut loose with a stream of piss from his lovely garden-hose, and the four kids were soon gleaming with wetness. Under the circumstances, my sodas having worked through, there seemed no reason not to join in, so I watered down the boys as well. "You've done this before," I chortled to Toby. "Oh yes! It's a handy way to get cool on these hot summer days. We just wanted you to join in, and you've wasted no time. In the tub below us, the four slick cutties frolicked in the accumulating fluid. Phil was the first to add his effluent: propped against the side of the tub, he went first on himself then on the others, and seemed to take forever to empty. Toby opened cokes and passed them around. Paul and Eddie peed at the same time, aiming first at each other then at the others. Soon there was an inch of liquid under the glistening bodies; the boys splashed it over themselves with complete abandon. They licked it off their fingers, tasting the combined nectar and washing it down with more cokes. Toby soon released another pint or two of frothy pee, and before long I did the same. There was not room for us in the tub with the others, but it was exciting just to stand and watch them having fun. Between emptying his bladder, Tony worked up his cock by playing with it, and kneeling beside the tub could get one or another of the boys to suck on it. Then he would get one of them to stand, so he could reciprocate. How long this orgy lasted I no longer remember, but one by one the boys slowed down, usually after having reached a soggy orgasm. As usual, Eddie stood while all three boys pawed at his frame and fired off his little rockets of jizz which the others spread over themselves. Then Toby, towering over them all, whipped his penis furiously and showered them again. "Your turn, Doc," he said, breathing heavily. I needed no coaxing, and quickly added my own potion to the sparkling bodies in the pool. I also don't recall how on earth we cleaned up the mess! The youngsters left in their shorts, with piss and cum drying all over them: they probably skinny-dipped in the stream that ran through town. Toby did not seem quite satisfied, though: I sucked his splendid tool to a second climax before he departed. I was still around when Tommy's graph began to creep upward: by 1965 he had grown an additional 18 inches in height, and a good five where it counts most. Like Johnny, he evolved into a typical youth in appearance, and also like Johnny, not much interested in girls. We finally decided it was part of the pattern. But whether they were homosexual because of the interruption of their growth, or because the causative factor led them to be aggressive with other boys and men and hence established a preference, we never found out. The last to be affected were the J------ twins: they were 17 years old when the hiatus in their development began, and it lasted only three years. Well on their way to maturity, they found each other irresistible and hence had little time for the younger boys who nevertheless pestered them mercilessly. Identical, the only difference between them was a small birthmark on the younger (by minutes) who thus came to be called Mark, even though their given names were Melvin and Mervin. Soon after discovery of their entry into the special class of kids in our study, their parents urgently requested a meeting with me. Mrs. J------, clearly distraught, explained that she had discovered her sons in flagrante dilecto. Mr. J------ had apparently been unable to convince his wife that the boys' behavior was not unusual. "They have separate beds in their room, but there they were in the same one," she complained, "and they were... they were..." she couldn't say it. "Sodomizing," George said for her. This was no surprise to me: Mark and Merv had spent many afternoons in my back room rutting like rabbits. If there had been a way to screw each other simultaneously, they'd have found it; instead they 69-ed constantly, but always ended their sessions corn-holing and spraying their jizz-bombs all over each other: they were exciting to watch! I also knew they had seduced their father on several occasions: I'd have done the same (he was a nicely set up guy in his early 40s) if I weren't regularly satisfied by the youngsters. "You won't like the question I'm going to ask you, Martha, but I need to know: does George, here, perform adequately in bed?" Martha bristled: "That's none of your business," she said testily. But as she searched for a response, a pleasant glow suffused her face: clearly, the answer was yes. I turned to George. "And, George, did you masturbate when you were the age your sons are now?" "Of course: every day, sometimes two or three times!" "Maybe now and then with another fellow about your own age?" "Yeah, there were lotsa circle-jerks in our neighborhood. Even now I jack off alone once in a while." Martha looked at him questioningly: "You DO?" "Martha, every man takes himself in hand now and then, no matter how good his wife is. You know, there's times you don't feel 'up to it' when I do. I just relieve the pressure: there's no harm done. And the boys and I..." Martha's eyes flew open and her jaw dropped. "...have the same problem: the twins have to 'relieve the pressure', too!" I filled in quickly. George had almost spilled the beans: relief flooded his face, and his eyes thanked me for covering for him. "Don't worry about your boys, Martha, and don't try to stop what's going on: even though its taking them a bit longer than some, they'll grow out of it." I tried to sound convincing, though I was pretty sure I was wrong. The LDDCS, after spending millions, really established only two things: there really was a cluster of boys experiencing varying periods of temporarily delayed maturation in and around Lincoln, California; and, no causative factor could be established. It seemed that the earlier in life the condition began, the longer it lasted, but there were exceptions. Eventually the problem went away without intervention of any kind. The failure to find a cause brought an end to several careers in the USPHS and the CDC: by simply arresting my own career at the investigator level, I avoided similar stigmatization. Besides, I didn't want to move up: it was far more fun going down. But, by the eighties, the study got whacked out of the budget. As most of the boys were grown up and quite normal by then, no one lamented the study's demise. I decided it was time to retire, and moved to Lincoln, where I kept in touch -- literally -- with many of the youngsters. In the nineties, Lincoln was enveloped by the rapid expansion of Sacramento, and it is now a bedroom community for the State Capital and a retirement home for many other seniors. In 2001, I received a note from Dr. Frank in Florida, where he had retired soon after I did. With the note was a notarized copy of a confession, and a cover letter from some lawyer I'd never heard of. Here is the confession, in full: SWORN STATEMENT My full name is Andre‚ de Souza Chixtitixotl. I was born in Brazil around 1920: my exact age is not known. My mother was a full native of the Benowami tribe which existed then in the jungle. My father was Don Andre‚ de Souza M. When my mother was a girl, she broke her right leg; the bone healed leaving her leg badly twisted: she was a cripple, and in the custom of the Benowami, she was abandoned. By chance, my father, owner of a large ranch adjoining the jungle, found the girl near death. He took pity on her and took her to his hacienda where his wife, Donna Teresa nursed the tiny girl. With help from a local doctor, they broke her leg again and re-set it. When it healed, my mother walked almost normally. Although she took many years to reach maturity, Chichi (as she became known) made occasional contact with her tribe (who thought her healed legmiraculous), but remained in the hacienda as a servant, learned Brazilian Portuguese, and eventually turned into a very beautiful young woman. With full knowledge of Donna Teresa, Don Andre impregnated Chichi, the object being to get another female servant. However, I arrived. Later, Chichi produced several daughters who remained in Brazil. Like my mother, I took a long time to grow up: I remained at the physical age of 13 for five or six years, then quickly matured. When I was twenty, Don Andre‚ sent me to the United States, to be cared for by a brother who was already there. He sent me with a modest amount of money. I sailed from Rio, went through the Panama Canal, and arrived in San Francisco in 1932. My Uncle, who I called "Tato", met me and took me in a big old car to Lincoln, California: he had a ranch near the town, and I have never left the area since. Just before I left Brazil, my Mother gave me some seeds of the Gwanalati plant, and told me about its remarkable properties. She said the extract from the leaves had been used on her, and she had used it on me. She thought I would find it useful in my new home. Tato and I did not get along well: he believed I was just another ranch-hand. I was tall and good-looking,and he worried about my running off with some woman. He made life quite uncomfortable for me. After two years of this life, during which I learned enough English to get by, I ran away into the town of Lincoln. There, using my father's little stake, I bought a small grocery store. The shop was in front with a small apartment behind, and a tiny plot of land behind that. I lived in the apartment for the remainder of my life, ran the grocery well and kept it open late so I could live comfortably. People in the town treated me well: since no one could pronounce my name (appended in the Spanish fashion after my Father's name), I became known to everyone as "Chico". At first, I was attracted to some cute young girls in the town. Many children came into my store alone or in groups: no one thought about it in those days. So, I eventually planted some Gwanalati seeds in my little yard, where they thrived in the warm summer climate. They were not unusual in appearance: no one ever thought anything about them. One day I prepared a special gum-ball for my machine: it was heavily laced with the extract of the Gwanalati leaves. Since I owned the machine, it was easy to put a special ball into it. That day, Jennifer and her brother came into my shop to buy a few things for their mother. After ringing up the purchase, I gave Jennifer a penny and told her to buy a gum-ball. However, her brother already had a penny, and he bought the tainted ball and popped it into his mouth. After all, there was no way I could interfere with his purchase without giving myself away. So, it was Jennifer's brother Johnny who became the first person to experience the effects of the Gwanalati plant in the United States. He was twelve years old at the time, and he remained twelve for the next seven years (my mother had been somewhat vague about dosage), much to the surprise of his parents and sister. It was even more surprising to me, for up to then I had not realized how truly beautiful -- and seductive -- young boys can be. A few months after his development stopped, he came into my store just before closing-time, wearing only a swim-suit and clogs. He said he wanted to see where I lived, so I took him to my little apartment. Without any coaching from me, he took off his tight little speedo and pranced around quite naked: he encouraged me to do likewise and I did and we frolicked naked together, culminating in a wonderful ejaculation for me brought about by his beautiful little hand on my penis. By now, readers of this confession will know that in the years that followed, something like thirty boys in the town of Lincoln benefitted from my doses of the Gwanalati extract. Three of the prettiest boys got repeated applications, and so remained boys for longer times. I, meanwhile, reveled in their puerile beauty, and in their attentions. The twins were the oldest: they got the extract in ice-cream bars. No one ever suspected me of anything, although the town eventually became the subject of many studies of the odd group of youths whose development was temporarily delayed by a means that was never discovered. Now, on my deathbed, I want the world to know what really happened. However, I have carefully destroyed all of the Gwanalati plants. Signed the 20th day of March, 2001 Sworn before me this day in Lincoln, California. George H. Johnson, Attorney at Law Attested: {illegible signature} ( SEAL ) Note: Andre de Souza C. passed away March 23rd, 2001 {illegible initials} ( ) ( SEAL ) ( ) ******************** Copyright BRUCE BRAMSON 2006