Date: Fri, 23 Feb 2007 02:20:25 -0500
From: Jeff A <parrafan@ureach.com>
Subject: The Puer Research Institute

The Puer Research Institute

a story by parrafan

Disclaimer: The names and places in this story are fictional. The plot is
pure invention. The events described herein never happened in this or any
other universe. If you can accept all of that, have a nice read. Adults
only -- no minors allowed.

Dedication: This one's for you, Kent.

* * *

The Puer Research Institute

My journalism career was hanging by a thread. One more stuff-up, even a
small one, would see me being shown the door, probably with an accompanying
boot up my backside to help me along.

My own fault, I guess. I've always been a trusting person - sadly, I never
developed the skill of discernment regarding exactly whom to trust. And
that was my undoing. I wrote a series of feature articles on a drug dealer
and his family empire, with most of my inside info coming from a deep
throat within his organisation. Turned out that my trusted informant was
only passing on data that had been personally vetted by the drug dealer
himself. Some of it was true, to keep me on the hook, but there was enough
misinformation to cause his high-profile criminal trial to be spectacularly
aborted six months later. His lawyers even sought - and gained - a
permanent stay of proceedings, on the grounds that my series had made it
impossible to select a jury in the whole State which was untainted.

I counted myself lucky to avoid going to jail. I think my Editor-in-Chief
only kept me on because the owner of the paper asked him. But he made it
clear to me that I could never hope to return to the major crime features
desk, and I had better develop a sudden and sincere interest in flower
shows, pets and fashion, because that's the best I could hope for in the
next, oh, let's say ninety-nine years.

I hate pets. And flowers. My views on fashion are unprintable.

This meant that I had plenty of time to follow up leads for off-beat
stories. Articles that maybe won't make page one, or even page twelve, but
which might make a thought-provoking filler opposite the 'letters to the
editor' page from time to time.

Ideas for such stories came from a variety of sources - the Internet,
obviously; and the Courts, the Police, anonymous phone callers, the City
desk; but also from genuine members of the public (our loyal readers), who
received a $20 shopping voucher for every lead that resulted in a published
article. I was never at a loss for something to do.

The Fashion editor, who sympathised with my situation following the
drug-dealer fiasco (which was never mentioned again, but always hung
tantalisingly in the air, unacknowledged, like a fart from one's mother)
was nominally my immediate supervisor. She dropped a small printed brochure
on my desk one afternoon, with a little post-it note attached suggesting
'looks like your area, Steve - take a few days, come back with a story -
Janis'.

I found the glossy printed leaflet on my desk on returning from lunch.
Hmm. Two or three days? Or maybe more? Obviously I am no longer
indispensable around here (if I ever was). The brochure was a flyer for
some kind of rural college of higher education - but not a University -
called The Puer Research Institute. I smirked at the obvious spelling
mistake, and wondered how many of these had gone out to prospective
students or benefactors before somebody picked up on the error. The address
was an upstate one, about two hundred miles north of where I currently
stood. I thought it over for at least a whole minute before deciding to pay
the Institute a visit, maybe interview a few professors and students, write
fifteen hundred words, paste in a photo of some ivy-covered masonry (or
pristine concrete and glass, if that worked better) and generally take in
the scenery for a month.

* * *

The Institute looked like a typical higher education campus - a few
buildings of varying architectural styles surrounded by sports fields, an
artificial lake and a small forested area. The front gates proclaimed the
establishment's nineteenth-century origins: The Ganymede Foundation, it
proudly proclaimed in wrought iron, with 'Puer Research Institute'
underneath in much smaller lettering.

Maybe I got that spelling mistake bit wrong, I thought. Any journalist
should know enough Latin to translate puer, after all. I had contacted the
registrar earlier by phone, and was expecting to meet a Mr Paul Jericho at
the Admissions Centre, which sat at the end of the driveway from the gates.

"Mr Jericho?" I asked the youngish man leaning on the Ionic column at the
front of the first building I encountered since entering the premises.

"Please, it's Paul, and you must be Jim", he countered, sauntering over to
me with an outstretched hand, which I took. "Your car will be fine where it
is, there's not much parking I'm afraid. Come in, come in", he urged, and,
feeling encouraged, I followed him into the foyer of what I guessed to be
the reception building.

Paul led me to a small sitting room off the foyer, and offered me a
comfortable chair. I really felt like standing for a bit longer after the
drive, but I accepted graciously.

Paul took a seat alongside me, and pulled around a small table which held
some canapés and a water pitcher with a couple of glasses. Clearly, I was
being 'smooged' - given the treatment to ensure only positive publicity.

"So, what can the Puer Institute do for you today?" he asked genially, as
though he were a family G.P. inquiring after my health.

"Well, for starters, thanks for allowing me to visit. Some places don't
welcome reporters", I observed.

"You'll find we're not 'some places' here, Jim. The more publicity we get,
the better. Good publicity, of course. Any facility that relies on the
generosity of the public is always open to the possibility of negative, er,
reportage. Not that we would expect any from your good self, of course".

"Of course", I concurred, without really meaning it. "But can you describe,
in a few simple sentences - for the lay audience - what the Institute
does?"

Paul returned an enigmatic smile to my question. "Well, obviously, we are a
research institution, first and foremost; but like many facilities such as
ours, we also have a teaching function. No point finding out new knowledge,
making discoveries, if you don't pass them on, eh, Jim?"

I gave a half smile in response. Paul was giving me the impression that he
wanted to appear open and forthcoming, without actually giving anything
away.

Paul continued. "You see, Jim, we rely fairly heavily on our good name to
keep the researchers, and students, and of course, benefactors, coming to
our little school. We wouldn't want any ill-informed speculation clouding
anyone's mind about what we actually do here"

"What you actually do?" I replied, sensing a chink in his carefully
constructed facade.

"Maybe that came out the wrong way", Paul smiled blandly at me again. "I
only meant that we don't need anybody jumping to conclusions about our
research program here without getting all sides of the story. Take yourself
as an example"

"Me?" I replied stupidly. "An example of what?"

"Right after you phoned last week, I did a little research of my own, just
to make sure that you were the right sort of person to write a feature
about our Institute. It's amazing, what you can find out nowadays, with
powerful computer software and practically unlimited funds"

I stared at my host with a look approaching horror. This wasn't how it was
supposed to work! The journalist was supposed to be the one who did the
digging, uncovering the dirt, airing the soiled laundry - not the subject!

"And...what did you find?" I asked cautiously, fearing the worst.

Paul smiled that crocodile smile again. "That you are eminently suited to
write about our institute. You have certain...characteristics, or perhaps
interests...that make you the ideal person to write a positive, yet
insightful piece about the Puer Institute".

"Characteristics?' I parroted stupidly.

"Well, of course, the characteristics have to be deduced from...other
information, mainly gathered from remote interrogation of files on your
home and work computers. Such as, for example: the particular selection of
Internet Newsgroups you subscribe to; the websites you paid online by
credit card to join, the chatrooms you frequent; the stories you download
from... certain archives. Your enthusiasm for file shredding and encryption
software; the fact that you are single, and have made online purchases
of...certain items of an... intergenerational...erotic nature. Need I
continue?"

I studied his cheerful smiling face for a moment. For the first time I
understood what was meant by the phrase 'the smiling assassin'. He did a
great hatchet job on me, and didn't even have to raise his voice. "Let's
take it that I'm going to write a positive, upbeat article, and move on
from there, shall we?"

"By all means, Jim", Paul declared, still grinning, and rising from his
seat. "And on the subject of moving on, why don't we move on to the campus,
so that I can show you around. I'm sure a person with
your...passions... for learning, I mean...will enjoy it".

* * *

Paul led me back out through the foyer into the warm sunshine, to a neatly
trimmed, tree-lined walkway, an avenue I suppose the architect would call
it. As we walked further into the Institute's grounds, he pointed out the
salient features - a lecture theatre, gymnasium, accommodation buildings,
cafeteria, laboratories, tutorial rooms, in fact all of the usual
structures one expects these days in an establishment of this type. Just as
Paul was directing my attention towards a sporting field, a pleasant-
looking young boy of about eleven years or so, dressed in a pale yellow
polo shirt and matching shorts cycled past us and continued up the path. He
called out "Good morning, Dr Jericho, I love you" over his shoulder,
grinned, and continued on his way. The incident passed so quickly it seemed
to me to be almost hallucinatory.

"Er, courteous child", I remarked offhandedly, trying not to make my
interest too obvious.

Paul smiled. "Yes, most courteous, and affectionate, too, very
affectionate. Carl is in our intern program".

"Really? What can you tell me about that?", I responded, pulling my trusty
spiral notepad and pen out of my jacket pocket.

"Well, his clothing tells me he is one of our interns, but aside from that
I would have known anyway because I was the lucky person who gave Carl his
orientation interview two weeks ago when he arrived here at PRI".

"The clothing is colour-coded? Like a uniform?"

"Of course. And name-labelled. If he had stopped to chat you would have
seen Carl's name embroidered on his shirt. And his shorts. We find it
breaks the ice to know who you are talking to and what they do here just at
a glance. The clothes have to have laundry tags on them anyway, so why not
turn it to our advantage?".

"So, yellow indicates an intern. Can you go through any other colours for
me?", I prodded.

"Well, it doesn't have to be entirely yellow, as Carl was wearing. The
basic outfits are a plain white, with various colours added in amounts
desired or requested by the wearer. Let me see, the other intern colour
is... sky blue. You might also encounter lime green, that denotes a boy who
is from the local area but attends elementary school here. If a boy wears a
light pink colour, that indicates he is one of our residential
scholars. But it'll make more sense if I point them out as we go".

"Sure. Fine", I agreed, a little distracted by the increasing movement I
could now see around me. It was not exactly a busy campus, but here and
there small groups of boys could be seen, some walking alone, some in two
and threes. A few sitting under a shady tree, four taller boys cycling
around a small field. Before I had time to focus my attention on any
particular boy (from a distance, they all looked a bit like flavoured ice
treats in their coloured uniforms), Paul gently guided me towards the first
laboratory on the pathway.

"This is part of our Commercial division, where we hope to make discoveries
that are not only good for mankind, but also hopefully make the Institute a
buck", he explained, opening a doorway onto a long linoleum-floored
corridor. About half a dozen doors could be seen on either side, suggesting
individual rooms.

"Er, that boy, Carl, called you 'Doctor' earlier - would that be a medical
or academic title?"

Paul turned and flashed me his smile again. "Academic", he replied,
lowering his eyes a little to feign modesty, "But we do have qualified
medical staff on campus. Can't afford not to, considering the type of
research we do here. Okay, let's have a look at some of our ongoing
projects". We walked down the pristine corridor, pausing occasionally to
look at the names on the doors.

Paul stopped us at a door marked 'Dr Jeff Abel - Flavionics'. "This should
be a good one to start us off. Dr Abel is our food specialist. Hopefully he
can give us a few minutes of his time". Paul gave the door a perfunctory
tap and opened it, standing aside to allow me first entry. I wished he
hadn't, because I was totally unprepared for the shocking sight before my
eyes. A man, in his mid-forties I guessed, was leaning back against a
bench, being fellated - sucked off if you prefer - by a half naked boy of,
oh, I guess twelve or so, who knelt in front of him on a pillow. The man
wore a white laboratory coat, unbuttoned, over nothing, and the boy wore
only a shirt - mostly white with a splash of light green on it. The boy was
also stroking his own stiff little pecker at the same time.

The surreality of the situation forced me to focus on the mundane -
colours, whether the windows were open or shut, items scattered on the
benchtops - anything to keep my mind away from the sensuous activity right
in front of me. To compound my horror and confusion, Paul didn't seem to
mind!

"Ah, good morning, Doctor Abel. And James, isn't it? I've brought a
journalist with me today; this is Mister Jim Maddox, from the big city down
south. Jeff, I don't want to interrupt your work, but perhaps you could
give our visitor a quick rundown of what you're doing here", Paul prattled,
completely oblivious to the noisy blowjob the cute boy was administering to
the man he called Jeff.

"Certainly Doctor Jericho. James won't mind, will you my darling?", he
asked the boy, tousling his curly hair as he did so. The boy simply blinked
in reply, never removing his lips from Jeff's dong, slobbering up and down
the pole of flesh with gusto. Doctor Abel then turned his head towards me
and began a lecture! "Anecdotal evidence suggests that many boys are
reluctant to perform oral sex with men because of the undesirable taste of
the man's ejaculate. It has also been...ugh, good, James...reported that
the taste of certain foods can be detected in the man's semen in the
following twelve to twenty-four...oh, yes, baby, like that, unh...hours. My
project is a dynamic, linear study of a number of food essences, to
establish which flavours reliably carry through to the seminal fluid, and
can be considered palatable or even delicious by the boy. Aagh...looks like
you timed your visit to a nicety, Doctor Jericho, I'm just...urgh... about
to ...cum in James' mouth. Uhh, ready !
 my love?"

With that, the scientist groaned loudly and flexed his hips, pushing his
tool deeply into the mouth of the eager, kneeling boy. He cupped the back
of the boy's head and pumped his loins a few times, moaning as he did
so. The boy's cheeks puffed out a little, and, closing his eyes, the boy
allowed the man's cock to slide out past his lips, then slowly sloshed the
contents of his mouth around before tilting his head to allow the man's
secretions to slither down his throat.

Turning to us, James smiled widely. "Good morning Doctor Jericho, I love
you. Sorry I didn't greet you when you came in, but Dr Jeff likes me not to
stop in mid-suck, 'specially if he's nearly ready to shoot off. Good
morning to you too, Sir", James nodded politely towards me. I nodded
hesitantly back. The boy had stood up, and picked up a pair of skimpy
underwear off a benchtop. He pulled them up his fine thighs, then located a
pair of green shorts and drew them up his legs.

Ignoring us, Dr Abel picked up a clipboard and began questioning the
boy. "Okay, James, tell me what you detected today?"

The boy fluttered his eyes shut as he thought. "Definitely cloves, I
thought, Doctor Jeff, and chocolate, and...maybe cinnamon?"

"Excellent, my boy, well done. Now the rating?"

"Well, it wasn't too bad. The cloves were a bit strong, I thought, they
maybe overwhelmed the chocolate a bit. I guess 7 out of 10 all up", the boy
declared.

"Thank you my lad, now off you go to class, and I'll see you again tomorrow
morning".

"Bye, Doctor Jeff. Bye, Doctor Jericho", the boy recited as he headed
towards the door. He turned his head back towards us as he reached for the
door handle, blushing faintly as he looked me straight in the eyes, his
lips forming a tiny smile.

"How's the project coming, in your estimation, Doctor?" Paul asked the man,
who modestly buttoned up his lab coat before replying.

"Quite well, I think, Doctor Jericho, quite well. At last count, I've
isolated six combinations of natural spices and flavourings which produce a
rating of seven point five or better from James. The vectoring medium is
looking promising, for delivery of the spices to the stomach of the user
while bypassing his own taste buds. All natural, fat-free and non-toxic
ingredients, of course".

"Quite", replied a satisfied Paul. "What do you foresee as the next step?"

"Well, ah, taste is such a subjective factor, varying from one boy to the
next. After I have used James' assistance to identify twenty or so suitable
combinations of flavours, I'd like to run a large scale trial, maybe with a
dozen boys, to bring that number down to a more manageable four or five. We
could market them in a dispenser-pack, so the user could pre-select how his
semen will taste, and tailor that to the boy who will be sucking him".

"Great", remarked Paul. "What's your time-line?"

"Oh, I think we ought to be able to get it into the stores by Christmas",
Doctor Abel joked.

Paul chuckled, thanking Doctor Abel for his time, and ushered me out of the
laboratory back into the corridor.

"A fine mind, Doctor Abel", Paul explained, ignoring the look of amazement
on my face. "Typical of our faculty here. Now, let's see what else is
happening in here today. Hmm. Doctor Felix's laboratory should prove
informative - let's step in for a moment, shall we?"

We had progressed about thirty metres down the corridor and stopped at a
door which held the label "Dr E Felix - Lubricant Dynamics". I could make
out the faint sounds of groaning coming from within. Judging by the sign on
the door, I guessed it must have been some kind of machinery making the
groaning noise. For the second time that day, I was in for a shock.

Picture, if you will, a row of padded benches, equally spaced side by side,
five in all, each about the size and height of a coffee table. On each
bench, resting on all fours like a patient uncle waiting to give a beloved
nephew a horsey ride, was a naked boy, late pre-teen. The boys' bodies were
coated with a light sheen of perspiration, so that they glistened under the
fluorescent lights. Behind each kneeling boy stood an older boy, a teen,
nude from the waist down but wearing a light blue shirt. Each teen had his
hands on some part of the boy in front of him - hips, back, waist - and was
fornicating anally with the kneeling boy. Some of the younger boys were
groaning, as were some of the teens. The hips of the teens pumped in and
out more or less in time with each other, a steady pace around a hundred
pumps per minute (or just under two a second). Off to the side, a
bespectacled man in a white lab coat kept a close eye on the teens, while
making notes on a clipboard.

"Keep together, lads, please", the man (whom I took to be Dr Felix)
ordered, but not rudely. "Brent, just a little slower if you can, keep one
eye on Todd, he's just about maintaining an optimal stroke. Chris, try not
to wriggle your bottom like that, you'll bring Jarryd off too
quickly. Tristan, keep your feet still please, boy, if you rub them on
Terry's thighs like that for much longer, he's liable to get too eager. All
right, gentlemen, five more seconds...and ...withdraw!" He made another
notation on his pad, while the five teens pulled their slick dicks out of
the holes of the five kneeling boys. Much sighing and soft gasping ensued
among the group as each of the kneeling boys pivoted to sit on their
respective benches and were joined by the teen who had been fucking
them. Some of the older boys draped an arm over the bare shoulder of their
younger bench partner.

Dr Felix caught sight of us at the door and ushered Paul and me into the
room. " Ah, Doctor Jericho, glad you could join us this morning. My new
subjects have settled in very well and are providing some excellent data".

"Thank you, doctor. May I introduce Mister Jeff Maddox, who will be staying
with us for a brief period - Mister Maddox is a journalist with a great
metropolitan newspaper, and wishes to write about our Institute". Dr Felix
smiled and waved at me, then proceeded to walk down the row of benches,
questioning the boys and making notations on his clipboard as he did so.

"Thank you boys; the first variable is 'ease of entry'. Chris?"

The boy addressed as 'Chris' replied "Eight, doctor"

"Thank you. Shay?"

"Seven, doctor", came Shay's soft reply.

"Good-oh. Tristan?"

"Eight, doctor" piped up the boy who had been caressing his teen's leg with
his foot.

"What's actually happening here? What are they doing?" I whispered to Paul,
as Doctor Felix continued his friendly interrogation of the boys and
teens. He had moved on to the next variable: 'heat generation'.

Paul lowered his voice so as not to disturb the group. "This is one of our
more promising research projects. Dr Felix is developing and testing a
superior lubricant for anal use, designed specifically for boys. These five
youngsters are members of our scholarship group, so if they were wearing
their clothes, you would see that they would all be pink, to a greater or
lesser degree. The teens are from our older intern group, hence their blue
shirts".

"That's one of the things I just don't get", I started. "How do you get the
boys to...to participate?"

"Well, that all depends on the category of their membership of the
Institute. As I have mentioned, we run a fully accredited elementary school
program here, with about one hundred and twenty boys enrolled. Around
eighty of those are from the local area, but instead of attending their
County school, they have accepted our invitation to be schooled here, where
we have facilities and teachers far superior to that which the County can
offer. In return, they give us half an hour of their time per day as
voluntary research subjects".

"Another forty boys, who wear the pink uniforms, also attend the school,
but they live here full time because their homes are further away - some
even out-of-state. Since we provide all the necessities twenty-four-seven,
they provide us with two hours per day of their time as research subjects".

"The interns - the boys wearing blue - what's their story?"

"You'll get to interview as many of them as you wish, and anyone else you
choose. The interns live here for the ten weeks of summer, then return to
their homes all around the country. A few stay here during regular school
terms. The interns are grouped according to age. Older ones wear blue, the
younger wear yellow, as you saw on young Carl earlier today".

I tried to process what he was saying, but just then Doctor Felix finished
his data gathering and asked the boys whether they felt up to a further
round of testing. I could not discern a single voice of dissent among the
cheers of agreement from the group, both boys and teens. "Very well. I
applaud your eagerness, gentlemen. Off to the ablutions with you - teens, I
want the boys' holes thoroughly cleansed so as to minimise contamination
between samples; boys, make sure you clean those teen penises carefully -
every drop of the previous sample must be removed, but do not overdo it or
your teen will be in no condition to test the next sample - you know what I
mean". A chorus of giggles greeted his last instruction as the ten lads
edged off their benches and ran to the side door, teens stripping and
dropping blue shirts as they went.

"Ah, a moment of peace at last", Dr Felix murmured to Paul after the last
giggling boy, urged along by a laughing teen, exited by the side
door. "Mister Maddox, is it?"

"Er, Jim, please", I replied, shaking the proffered hand. "Can you tell me
a little about your work here, doctor?"

"I take it you have just visited Doctor Abel? Well, as you have observed,
not all of the researchers get to take a hands-on approach with our test
subjects. Although in the early stages, there were some informal one-on-one
preliminary investigations. Have you met Carl? Very affectionate boy".

"Um, yes, I think we met earlier", I mumbled. "Paul was telling me that
you're working on a lubricant...?"

"Yes indeed, but not just a lubricant - the ultimate lubricant. One that
will sweep the market and render all other products second-rate. Our
anecdotal research indicated that all of the current brands were deficient
in one way or another - either the slipperiness was not sufficient, or the
taste was foul, or it was difficult to clean off, or did not retain its
effectiveness for long enough, or any of a host of other reasons. I have
set out to create and perfect the Acme of anal lubricants - so replete with
desirable qualities that other manufacturers will hang their heads in
shame".

"As you can guess, Doctor Felix is very dedicated to his work", Paul
remarked.

"I can see that. Uh, Doctor, just a question about your test subjects, the,
ah, boys. Did you find any, er, reluctance on their part to be involved in
this particular research, once they found out what it entailed?" I asked.

" Entailed - Hah! Good one, Maddox, I like your style! As for 'reluctance',
it appears that Doctor Jericho has not explained our test subject
procedures to you", Doctor Felix raised his eyebrows at Paul.

"We would have come to it in due course, I'm sure. One can't anticipate
every question, and you know how journalists are. As you actually work with
the subjects, why don't you explain to our visitor how the question of
volunteering is handled", Paul deflected smoothly.

"Very well. Jim, do you remember sports sign-up day from your own school
years? The day when every child at school had to choose a sport by writing
his or her name on a sheet of paper posted on the noticeboard in the
gymnasium?"

"I guess every child remembers that, it's a pretty traumatic event. Smaller
kids, like me, never got their first, or even their second choice".

"I'm happy to say that we don't traumatise our subjects here. The boys sign
up for the various research projects based on a fully published description
of the activities required, and only when a project has sufficient
volunteers is it approved by Doctor Jericho here. There is no inducement,
other than the overall requirement to give 30 minutes a week. Or two hours,
if the boy is a resident. Projects that don't attract test subjects simply
wither and die on the vine, or await a more propitious time. Survival of
the fittest, old chap".

"So - the young boys I just saw in here, being, er, reamed out by those
teenagers, they are genuine volunteers?" I gasped.

"Every one of them", Doctor Felix asserted confidently. "I happen to know
that those particular boys are all members of our residential program. They
come here from all parts of the country, mainly because they don't quite
fit in at their regular schools. Usually they are sexually precocious, or
just plain horny. We offer them a place to learn without harassment from
'normal' children - in return, they give us what they would otherwise have
simply given away anyway. A couple of hours a day of steamy sex keeps the
boys happy and satisfied; their parents are happy because the boy is away
from the temptations of his neighbourhood; we're happy because we get our
research done; our benefactors and investors are happy because the school
produces commercially sound discoveries and good academic results!"

The side door opened to admit the ten boys after their showers. I could see
a smile on every face as the boys resumed their seats on the padded
benches. On the surface, everything Doctor Felix said appeared to be
true. Maybe too good to be true.

Paul interrupted my reverie. "Perhaps we should leave you with your work
Doctor Felix. We have more departments to inspect before dinnertime", he
added gently. As I left, the boy named Tristan caught my eye, and winked.

Back out in the empty corridor, Paul offered me a choice. "There are
several more projects going on in this building, but maybe it's time for
some fresh air". Seeing the hungry look in my eyes, he amended his
suggestion "Well, maybe we have time for one more. Ah, yes, the biometrics
lab. This way, Jim". We walked another twenty metres to a doorway marked
`Dr R Henzen -- Biometric Studies'. Again, Paul tapped lightly on the door
before entering.

Unlike the other laboratories, this door opened onto a long corridor which
ran parallel to the outer corridor we had just left. The opposite wall was
completely taken up with an enormous viewing window, and I immediately was
reminded of a hospital's neonatal ward, where the new parents come to coo
over the new babies. Paul depressed a small button, which initiated a soft
light seemingly from within the window itself, allowing us to view behind
the glass. I had the sensation that it was one-way glass.

I could see about ten hospital-style beds, each with a boy lying naked on
it. A few wires ending in small round pads were affixed to various parts of
the boys' bodies: foreheads, wrists, and so on. The most obvious feature of
the medical devices was that each boy's little penis was surround by a
cuff, like an expandable tube. Several wires ran from the cuff back to the
monitoring machines. Alongside each boy was a teen, and each teen was
stimulating some part of the boy's body with either lips or fingers. I held
up my hands in puzzlement to Paul, afraid to make a sound in case I
disturbed the bizarre experiment I could see behind the glass.

"It's alright, it's double-glazed, they can't hear or see you. I wanted to
show you this project because it illustrates a lot about our procedures
here. I must admit, I was skeptical about the value of this particular line
of research, and was reluctant to approve it".

"What changed you mind?"

"The boys. When they read about it on the sign-up sheets, nearly every boy
volunteered to be a test subject. So at least it passed the popularity
test. But I still have some reservations".

"Oh?" I prompted.

"When Dr Henzen -- Roy -- first came to me with his idea, frankly, I thought
it was on a par with phrenology or palmistry. I couldn't see any scientific
merit in it. But if he's right, and can prove it with objective data, then
I guess I'll have to accept it".

"Just what exactly is his theory?" I pressed. I watched through the glass
as I spoke, seeing the little penises in their cuffs erect and soften as
the boys were stroked or tongued on one or other part of their bodies. I
had to tear my gaze away before I began to drool.

"Well, the first part of his research is straightforward and
non-controversial - from a science viewpoint anyway. He has developed a set
of monitors which are able to make a complete map of a boy's erogenous
zones. As a side-effect of the research, he presents each boy that
completes the research with a personalized map of their own erogenous
zones. The boys like to use them as Christmas gifts for their uncles and
teachers, I'm told".

Lucky uncles, I thought jealously.

"The second part is the worrisome bit. Doctor Henzen believes that there is
a consistent, predictable link between certain obvious physical features of
a boy, and his primary erogenous zones".

I was puzzled. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"Well, Roy thinks that, for example, if a boy has hazel eyes and blond
hair, then there is a 95% chance that his earlobes are a primary erogenous
zone. Or, if a boy has full lips and rounded shoulders, there is a strong
possibility that he will be aroused to a complete erection by being tickled
for thirty seconds under the armpits".

"Sounds, er, fascinating", I remarked, turning back to watch the row of
cots, and the naked boys, and the teens hovering over them, stroking,
licking, kissing; and the boys' little tools in their clinical white cuffs,
stretching, thickening, then softening; their little testicles lifting in
their scrotums, then dropping back down. I wrenched my face away from the
glass, shaking my head to clear the thoughts I was having.

Paul took me gently by the elbow. "Maybe now is the time for that fresh
air", he suggested gently. We exited the inner corridor quietly, out into
the larger one, then retraced our steps to the front door. "How about we
wander over to the athletics track?" I shrugged my agreement. Two boys,
wearing yellow shirts and shorts, jogged past the front of the building and
waved at us. Specifically, I think they were actually waving at Paul.

"Good afternoon Doctor Jericho, we love you", they chanted breathlessly as
they swept up the path towards the gymnasium. Paul smiled and waved back at
them politely.

"That's something else that's been...bugging me. If you don't mind my
asking, what's with this 'I love you' and 'we love you' jazz?"

"Why Jim, I'm impressed. Fancy a journalist worrying whether a question
might offend the interviewee! Maybe our Institute is starting to rub off on
you a little! But I can understand your, ah, surprise. Let me try to
explain how it came about".

"As you know, educational institutions in this country are either secular -
that is, run by the State, or religious - run by or responsible to some
church body or other. A few are based on a military motif. For the PRI to
flourish as a research establishment, we require a steady flow of students
and interns moving through the school. So the School and the Institute are
a symbiosis - we need each other to survive, and we give each other the
requisites for survival. But all schools need a guiding philosophy. The
obvious one is the pursuit of knowledge - that's what the Institute is all
about. But that's only satisfactory for adults: researchers,
scientists. They get off on pursuing knowledge. Most kids don't. So I put
something else in place of that".

"Every single boy that comes here has been personally admitted,
acclimatised and accepted by me. I tell each and every boy when I interview
him that he is here because I love him. I tell him that Love has the power
of ten armies, and of fifty religions. That love transcends all barriers,
borders and boundaries. And that all I expect of him while he is here is
that he tells me every time he sees me that he loves me back".

"In most happy families, the children know that they are loved. They don't
have to be told every day. Most of the boys here come from unhappy
families, or at least from families where the parents don't know how to
accept their son's differentness. Here, his differentness is what makes him
a part of the group. And we all long to be part of something... don't we,
Jim?"

I wasn't sure what to say. Journalists aren't usually lost for words. I
felt a deep regret that I had not heard of this school when I was
twelve. Things might have turned out differently for me.

Changing the subject, I said "I think I'm beginning to understand why you
let me visit your Institute, Paul. Is what you said, about me staying here
for 'a brief while' true? Can I really stick around? Because there's plenty
I'd like to learn about the place. In order to write a balanced article, of
course".

"Jim, I think you're nearly at the stage where I can let you get on with
your visit by yourself, and not need me to chaperone you around the
place. I've got a mountain of paperwork in my office that Sergei Bubka
himself couldn't pole vault over. I'll just pin this tag to your shirt
here", he mused to himself as he clipped a plastic I.D. to my breast pocket
that read 'Mr Jim Maddox - Visitor of Dr Jericho'. "But maybe you still
need a guide".

We had arrived at the athletics field. About thirty boys of various ages
(and shirt colours) were practicing the different disciplines that make up
track and field. The main difference between this and hundreds of other
schools, was that here I could see no overweight, balding, underachieving
coaches to yell at the boys. From my vantage point, the boys seemed to be
coaching each other, giving tips and encouragement, applauding effort, and
generally having an enjoyable, if strenuous time. Two boys jogged over to
the small rise we were standing upon to check us out.

"Hi Doctor Jericho, I love you", greeted the first boy, a lad whom I had
not seen before. Paul smiled at him and ruffled his hair lightly. The boy
gave me a shy grin, then wrapped an arm around Paul's waist, clinging to
him.

"Hi Doctor Jericho, I love you" came the second boy's voice, but this lad I
recognised. "Hi Mr Maddox", he read from my nametag, then stood beside me
and took my hand in his.

"Hi Carl", I replied, a little gobsmacked that a boy I had only met once
would do such a thing.

Paul draped an arm over the first boy's shoulder, lightly tickling the
lad's chest through his shirt, then remarked to Carl "Your two hundred
seems to be coming along just fine, Carl. What did you time out at today?"

The boy holding my hand smiled broadly and answered "Twenty-five point
eight, Doctor Jericho. Nicky timed me", he added, nodding to the boy who
was wrapped around Paul's waist.

"I see. Is Nicky your new training partner?"

Carl nodded. "He was by himself, so we hitched up. I help him with his
broadjump. He's pretty good, for his size", the boy replied confidently.

"Could you two boys do me a favour, if you've finished training for now?
Mister Maddox here is my guest at the Institute, and he's looking at
everything we do here so he can write a newspaper story about it. Can I
leave him in your capable hands, to show around for the-" he consulted his
watch "-two hours that remain until dinner. Then bring him to the dining
hall with you. Is that okay?"

"Sure thing, Doctor Jericho" Carl replied cheerfully. Ricky also agreed
with a nod, unwrapped himself from Paul and took my other hand. Paul strode
off in the direction of the reception building, leaving me alone with the
boys. "So, what things have you seen so far, Mister Maddox?" Carl asked,
using both hands to pull me along.

I wasn't sure whether to invite the boys to call me `Jim', so I just left
it at `Mister'. "So far I've seen the main reception building, or at the
least the front of it, and some rooms in the laboratory building", I
replied, enjoying the sensation of being led by the hand by these two lads.

The boys on either side of me looked at each other, made some wordless
agreement, and started leading me towards a tall rectangular building about
a hundred metres away. "Let's go to the gymnasium, then!" Carl
suggested. "We're all hot and sweaty anyway, and there's a pool in
there. Did you know that the word `gymnasium' come from the Greek word for
`naked', Mister Maddox?".

"Uh, I guess I must have heard that at some time, yes", I stumbled out a
reply. The boys grinned at each other as we neared the double doors. I
could hear the sounds of boys and splashing inside the building, but as we
approached the main entrance, a massively-built security guard took a step
across the doorway and completely filled it. He was of Pacific Islander
appearance, and looked as though he wrestled elephants in his spare time.

"It's okay, Fu'oni, he's with us", Carl laughed as he felt my trepidation
through my hand. The giant checked my name badge, just to be sure, then
smiled inscrutably as he stepped aside to let the three of us pass. I got
the impression that the boys would never be in any danger from him, but
unfamiliar adults (such as myself, for one) were another matter. What was
he guarding anyway, Aladdin's cave?

An inner door led to a spacious room that house a 25 metre pool. No-one
else was present, though the water was disturbed. I could now hear the
clunking sound of weights and exercise machines being used in (I guessed)
an adjoining room. "Come on, down here", Carl urged, the two boys dragging
me to the shallow end. Wooden bench seats were affixed to the wall on three
sides, and it was on one of these that I sat, resting after my walk. "You
can't sit down, you have to come in with us", Carl urged, pulling his shirt
over his head. Ricky did likewise.

"I can't, I'm not wearing a bathing suit".

"Neither are we -- remember what I said about `gymnasium'? Doctor Jericho
told us that in the Golden Age, young Greek boys all used to exercise
together naked", Carl explained patiently.

"But I don't have a towel".

Carl sighed in exasperation. Ricky had removed his remaining clothes and
was now nude. "There are fresh towels in that big box near the door. We can
get them after we've cooled off. I can go in anytime, but Ricky has to have
a grown-up watching him `cause he's only nine. You can watch him better
from the water!"

"Maybe I should watch from here, and keep an eye on both of you", I
countered, not a difficult assignment since Carl had now also removed his
shorts and underwear to reveal a quite nicely proportioned body.

Carl relented, unable to wait for a swim any longer. "Well, okay, but you
have to have dinner at our table tonight to make up for it. And you have to
dry us after our swim, and-"

"All right, all right", I laughed, giving the cheeky boy the lightest
possible slap on his bare buns to send him on his way. "You and Ricky have
a swim, I'll get the towels and watch you at the same time". The two boys
shrieked with delight as they threw themselves into the cool blue water,
Carl executing a neat shallow dive, Ricky just jumping in. I kept my eyes
on both boys as I edged around the pool to the towel box, pulling out two
plain white towels. Carl was demonstrating his ability to do handstands
underwater, while Ricky was content just to jump and splash.

"Did you see me do a handstand, Mister Maddox?" Carl yelled when I
returned. I guessed he had water in his ears and didn't realize how loud
his voice was.

"Yes, very good Carl", I supplied the standard response. "And what tricks
can you do, Ricky?"

For an answer, Ricky pinched his nose between finger and thumb and ducked
his head under the water for three seconds. Resurfacing with a splutter, he
looked to me for approval. "Bravo!" I called out, Carl also offering the
boy generous applause, swimming over to him and patting him on the back.

"I s'pose we should get going soon, Mister Maddox", Carl announced
ruefully, saving me from another potential drama -- how would I have gotten
the boys out if they didn't want to leave? Carl's next remark did surprise
me, though.

"Um, Mister Maddox, would you be embarrassed if Ricky or me got stiffies?
Only we can't stay in here till they go down, is all."

I put on my most disarming smile and picked up a towel, spreading it out
between my hands to receive the first wet boy. Carl helped Ricky out of the
pool, and the little fellow rushed into the towel, shivering a little
either from the cool air or the feel of rough fabric. I gave him a cursory
drying-off, watched intently by Carl who leaned on his elbows on the side
of the pool. If Ricky had an erection I didn't notice it. I finished his
legs and gave him a little slap on the bum, the boy scooting over to the
seat where he had left his clothes.

Carl levered himself out of the water as gracefully as he entered it, after
I held out the fresh towel for him. He was a bit old to be getting an adult
to dry him, but since I had already dried young Ricky it would have been
churlish to refuse Carl. I instantly understood the import of Carl's
stiffie enquiry -- I bumped it about eight times as I dried the boy, each
nudge bringing a high-pitched giggle from the boy. Eventually (almost
regretfully) I indicated I was finished with his drying-off, freeing him
from the towel. Before stepping over to his clothes, he bent down (I was
seated) and gave me a peck on the forehead, whispering "Thanks for being
nice to Nicky".

I was, not for the first time that day, speechless. To add to my amazement,
Carl gave me a great full frontal view of his naked body while he took an
inordinately long time to pull his shirt back over his head. The dark pink
head of his pointy penis poked through his foreskin and jiggled as he
struggled (?) with the shirt. Did he want me to help, or was he just
performing? Nicky had finished dressing himself, and was sitting quietly on
the seat alongside me. He tapped me on the thigh and nodded his head
towards Carl, leaving me no choice but to `help' the pre-teen with his
troublesome shirt. Of course, I had to finish the job and help with his
pesky undies, followed by his naughty shorts. It seemed that my clumsy
forearms, wrists, hands and fingers bumped Carl's stiffie several more
times before I finally pulled his shorts up his thighs.

"Where to now, boys?" I asked jovially, adjusting my own trousers as I
stood. Carl and Ricky did that unspoken mind-meld thing again, and
simultaneously announced that we should visit the residential
quarters. Carl explained to me that Ricky was not a residential student,
going home at the end of each day, and he had never seen the residences
either, so we would both experience something new. (As if the whole day
hasn't already been an experience, I thought to myself).

We rejoined the path outside the gym, and I began to quiz the boys on their
impressions of the research programme at the Institute. Specifically, I
wanted to know what research they had already participated in, and how they
felt about it.

"You go first, Ricky", Carl urged the smaller boy.

I was afraid Ricky might be too shy to say anything, but he proved me
wrong. "I done four experiments so far", he whispered. I did the eron- the
erong-"

"Erogenous zones?" I suggested.

"Yeah, that. It was cool. My map showed I got my main zones on the back of
my neck, and behind my knees, and uh, my belly button", he explained
proudly. "I also done an hour with Doctor McDeans, and a half hour with
Doctor Santos, and an hour with Doctor Feall".

Carl piped up at that point. "Yeah, I did an hour with Doctor McDeans
too. He's nice".

"What is he trying to discover?" I asked Nicky.

"Well, I don't `zackly remember, but all you have to do is give him a kiss,
then lie down while he gives you a back rub on your legs, then after that
you kiss him again".

"A leg rub?" I asked, not sure what the boy meant.

Carl spoke up again. "I think his theory is that a boy's kissing ability is
enhanced by manual stimulation of the lymphatic system". We both looked at
Carl, who seemed embarrassed to say something so brainy. "Or that's what I
read on the sign-up sheet, I think".

"Oh...er, good", I answered, uncertainly. "And what about Doctor Santos?
What is his research about?

Nicky described his experience of Santos' research session in glowing
terms. "It was fun. We were paired up with an older boy-"

"One of the teen interns", Carl interjected.

"Yeah. We just had to play with his penis while he wrote out some stuff on
a sheet of paper, but we weren't supposed to let him shoot. I kept mine
hard for the whole half hour, and he never shot!"

I turned to Carl for an explanation. "I think Doctor Santos wants to prove
that when teens are sexually stimulated for extended periods, their brain
gets smarter. Something about the effects of testosterone on the brain, he
said. My teen only lasted about twenty minutes".

"Gosh", I replied feebly. "Sounds like some pretty, er, interesting
science".

"I think Doctor Feall's was the best. What do you think, Nicky?" Carl
asked.

"Yeah, it was pretty good. That was the one with the little plastic, er,
dicks, wasn't it?"

I looked to Carl again. "Doctor Feall is trying to perfect a dildo that can
be modified to suit the position of an individual boy's prostate", he
explained. "He first sticks it in your, uh, bottom and finds your
prostate-"

"Yeah, your special spot" added Nicky.

"Yeah, then he uses some kind of fast-setting resin to make the mould stay
in that shape. He lets each boy have one, as a kind of souvenir,
afterwards. Mine's in my room, I'll show you if you want. We're nearly
there".

We had arrived at the first of several large houses, which looked like
modern suburban homes, only slightly larger. "Come on, we've only got about
half an hour before dinner", Carl urged. We followed him down a hallway to
a bedroom and entered.

"Your room's wicked, Carl", Nicky enthused, launching himself onto Carl's
bed, casting admiring glances at the posters and hanging models of the
solar system. He lay splayed on his back, and slowly raised his shirt hem
until it reached his tiny nipples, then said "You can play with my zones,
if you want, Mister Maddox". Carl, who sat to one side out of Nicky's
line-of-sight, nodded and smiled at me, signalling his approval.

"What about Carl, won't he feel left out? It's his room, after all", I
protested. But Nicky had all the answers.

"He gets to have you after dinner. I have to go home then. Please?"

I can resist anything except temptation, I mused. Sitting on the bed
alongside Nicky, I rested my hand on the boy's chest; I could feel his
thready heartbeat as I traced a single finger down to his bellybutton,
circling around it. Carl sat on his chair watching me, smiling sweetly. I
couldn't help but notice a livid scar running vertically between Nicky's
sternum and navel, about three inches long. I glanced at Carl, who gave me
a look as if to say `I'll explain later'. I'm not sure this is what Doctor
Jericho had in mind when he asked these two to take care of me, I thought,
but then I realized that it probably was exactly what he had in mind.

"Well, all right, but you have to tell me if I do anything you don't like,
okay, Nicky?" The boy smiled and nodded, waiting for me to
continue...continue what? That was the nub of my deepest problem. Namely
that even though I was approaching thirty years of age, the two boys in the
room with me probably had gained more sexual experience in one laboratory
session that I've had in a lifetime.

A lifetime of looking at pictures of boys on the `Net. A lifetime of
watching movies downloaded from newsgroups; movies mostly involving
emaciated Russian orphans pretending to enjoy gay sex with each other and
with men. A lifetime of reading stories about `alternative sexualities' --
but never, ever, having the courage, the lust (or whatever it takes) to
chat up a real live boy. And here was a real live boy, lying on the bed in
front of me, asking me to play with his erogenous zones. What was supposed
to happen after that? When I got him aroused?

I ran my fingers up and down Nicky's scar before returning to his navel. He
gave me a small but encouraging smile. I decided to delay the inevitable,
and asked Nicky would he like to roll over so I can reach his other
`zones'. His smile was a little more eager this time, and Carl helped by
bringing a pillow to the middle of the bed so that Nicky could position his
hips across it. Instead of going straight for his neck, I ran my fingers up
underneath his shirt all the way along his spine -- it felt like the natural
thing to do. Nicky moaned softly as I caressed the nape of his neck with my
fingertips, his hips making almost undetectable pushing motions into the
pillow. What now?

Nicky lifted his hips up off the pillow a couple of inches and let them
fall back. I decided he was trying to give me a hint, so I ran my hand back
down his spine to the small of his back, then let it linger on his
shorts-clad bottom for a moment. His butt gave a little wriggle under my
hand so I moved my other hand to join it and caressed both cheeks at
once. He sighed. Now, if ever, was the moment to do what I had only dreamed
of. My fingers crept to the waistband of Nicky's shorts, turning it
outwards so I could get a better grasp of it. I felt Nicky's hips lift off
the pillow slightly -- it seemed he had a better idea of what I was doing
than I did.

Carefully, I eased the elastic waistband downwards, dragging it slowly over
the boy's undies. It made a sound as it descended -- a soft, uniquely
erotic, swooshing sound that I'll never forget. I released the waistband at
the top of Nicky's thighs, the swell of his bottom stopping it from
springing back upwards. Carl grinned at me again, as if urging me on. I
palmed Nicky's underwear-clad buttcheeks for a few seconds before reaching
for the narrower waistband of the smaller garment and pulling it, slowly,
over his bottom and down to join his shorts.

There it was. A boy's bottom. Only a few inches from my enraptured
eyes. Only this was no movie, no photographer's artifice. Even though I had
seen it at the pool earlier, it seemed different now, somehow. Then, it was
just a bottom. Now, it was an available bottom, a kissable bottom, a bottom
of exquisite promise. Even Nicky's crack was a thing of beauty. How it
started shallowly at the top, like a dimple, then deepened, falling into a
shadowy cleft.

I shamefully confess that lust overtook me, and I gave the near cheek a
quick peck with closed lips. Nicky shimmied his hips, as if begging me to
continue (I hoped). At that point, I lost it. I covered his smooth bottom
with kisses, sloppy ones with plenty of drool. I ran my fingertips through
his crack, then abandoned kissing for licking. Nicky moaned and rolled
over, offering me his little spike of flesh. He moaned as I tongued it,
making a noise like an asthma patient.

"Wow, you sure do like foreplay, Mister Maddox", Carl giggled as Nicky
pushed his overstimulated dick up into my mouth. "Finish him off now, or
we'll be late for dinner".

* * * *

Nicky held my hand tightly as we walked from the residence to the dining
hall in the approaching gloom of evening. I held his just as firmly. Carl
skipped alongside us, allowing us a bit of space, still grinning at me.

The dining hall was unexpectedly well-appointed. A visitor could easily
have mistaken it for a restaurant. All the tables were round, seating
either four or six. Not an ergonomically sound arrangement, but certainly
conducive to conviviality. Nicky let go of my hand (reluctantly) to go and
sit with some friends his own age, other local boys who returned to their
homes straight after their meal.

Carl led me to sit with him at a table for six. The other diners already
seated with us were two more adults, a teen and a boy I had seen earlier in
the day, Tristan, the boy who winked at me. Dinner was a `set' menu, so
there was no time wasted making choices and summoning waitstaff. Food
servers simply brought adult-sized or child-sized portions to our
places. As the dishes arrived, I introduced myself to the table at large,
hoping to strike up a conversation. One of the other adults, who introduced
himself back to me as Doctor Julian Parrish, began to wax lyrical about his
research.

"Of course, I don't have a full fellowship as yet, Doctor Jericho has only
offered me a small grant and an office, for a feasibility study, you see".

"Oh", I replied noncommittally. "What, er, is your area of interest?"

"I'm glad you asked", he replied briskly, and I began to think I had put my
foot in it. "As a journalist, you will know, of course, of the modern
phenomenon of self-publicity, in such media as MySpace, and YouTube. Young
people, even pre-teens, are advertising themselves in huge numbers, some in
quite erotic ways".

"Er, yes, I suppose so", I replied. I had heard of YouTube, but had never
bothered to check it out. I guess I thought it was only for lip-synching
home-made music videos, which held no interest for me. "What direction is
your research taking?" I asked, just to be polite.

"Well, my theory is that modern youth, particularly boys, will react
positively to any stimulus which suggests that they are the star of one of
these self-promoting. I have an experiment fully worked out. In it, there
are three rooms laid out like waiting rooms. The subject has been invited
to participate in some piece of research, and on arrival is asked to wait a
short while in private before the test begins. What he doesn't know is that
the waiting is the actual test. The first room has an obvious camera and a
monitor, so the boy can watch and hear his every movement. The second room
has a camera, but no monitor. The third room has neither. All three rooms
have a coffee table with some magazines. My theory is, that the boys who
are waiting in the camera-and- monitor room will spontaneously perform for
the camera because they can see themselves on the monitor, more than the
other boys in the non-monitor rooms".

I gave him a half-smile. "Sounds reasonable. But what possible applications
can this knowledge have?"

"Well, that's why Doctor Jericho didn't give me full funding. I can't
imagine what earthly use this research could have, even if I'm right. But
it's a fascinating topic, isn't it?"

I had an instant stab of sympathy for Paul Jericho. Imagine having all
these brainy scientists constantly begging you for money to conduct
research that was never going to benefit mankind (or even a small portion
of mankind -- the boyloving community) or have any commercial outcomes
whatsoever. I left Doctor Parrish to his meat and three veg, and turned to
the lone teen.

"I see by your shirt that you're an intern, uh, Greg", I ventured, peering
at the name embroidered on his blue shirt. He looked up from his plate and
smiled at me. "May I ask what research you have been involved in recently?"

Greg finished a mouthful of food before answering. He glanced at my
namebadge to remind himself of my earlier introduction before composing an
answer. "I've just had straight classes today, Mister Maddox. But
yesterday, I had a good session with Doctor Henzen. He's got this machine
that measures where a boy gets horny, and I had to, you know, stimulate the
boy. It's a bit tiring, but".

"Ah, yes, Doctor Henzen -- the erogenous zone mapping research, I know
it. Tell me, what do you do afterwards, if you're feeling, er, unsatisfied
yourself? If you don't mind my asking".

"No, that's okay, I don't mind. Sometimes I go to the gym, and pump
weights. Or just swim a few laps. Or if I haven't signed up for any tests
that involve, er, getting off, I just go back to my room and, you know,
palm it".

It took me a moment to realize what Greg was saying. Not many teenaged boys
would admit to a group of strangers, including adults and younger boys,
that he jerks off when he gets too worked up. But maybe that's a positive
thing. For a moment, I had a brief flash in my mind of an alternate
universe, one in which I was a teen again, and my mother asked me at the
breakfast table whether I slept well, and I replied that I had a bit of
trouble relaxing so I jerked off a couple of times and then fell asleep,
and she smiled her approval and said that was a good technique for getting
a sound night's rest. I shook my head to clear it of such idyllic
fantasies, and turned to the adult I had not spoken to as yet.

"May I ask what you do here, Sir?"

He looked up from his meal and smiled. "You're the newspaper fellow, aren't
you?"

I nodded. "Are you a scientist here, Sir?" I repeated politely.

"Certainly. But I don't engage in any research projects. I'm more of a
`behind-the- scenes' type of guy. I'm Steve Akers. I'm Doctor Jericho's
consultant psychologist. My role is to ensure that all the other scientists
-- and the boys -- are mentally healthy and well-behaved. Nothing destroys a
research foundation faster than a rogue scientist, or a deranged test
subject. I monitor the projects, and the subjects, and the researchers, for
their mental stability. Sex is a pretty powerful driving force, after all".

"I thought Doctor Jericho was the guy that, er, vetted the researchers and
subjects", I responded.

"Initially, yes. But once they are accepted, it's up to me to maintain them
in a stable environment. I keep everyone on an even keel, as far as
possible".

"Hmm", I murmured, because I couldn't think of anything else to say. The
only person at the table to whom I hadn't spoken thus far was young
Tristan, the boy I first saw in Doctor Felix's lab getting his ass
methodically fucked by a teen whose name escaped me. Clearly he was a boy
with no sense of embarrassment at his activities at the Institute, sitting
there, brazenly smiling at me. I wondered what his impressions were of his
rather unusual schooling.

"Er, Tristan, ah, I remember you from Doctor Felix's lab. What did you
think of that, uh, experiment?"

The boy smiled at me, and his eyes twinkled. "I liked it so much I signed
up for another session, Mister Maddox. I think it's very important to
discover the perfect lubricant. Think of all the people who will benefit
from it".

Shit, I thought, where did Jericho find all these articulate kids? To
Tristan I said "Do you have any other, er, research work coming up soon?"

"Well, that was why I had dinner at this table tonight. I saw you at the
lab and wanted to meet you before tomorrow"

"What happens tomorrow?" I replied dumbly.

"Well, tomorrow, after breakfast, I'm your guide for the day. I signed up
for it this afternoon".

I stopped, mouth agape. So, there was a sign-up sheet with my name on it,
just as if I was some kind of experiment. I should be mad. Hell, I should
be flattered. Truth was, I didn't really know what I should be. It made a
kind of sense, though. Obviously Doctor Jericho was far too busy to spend
hours wandering around the campus with me, so he arranged for some of his
students to do the job. I wonder what would have happened if no boy wanted
to be with me? Carl interrupted my reverie before I began to slide into
dark, dangerous regions.

"If you're finished dinner, we could go back to the residence now", he
half-asked. I excused myself and allowed Carl to lead me away. With one
last glance back I saw Tristan smiling sweetly at me.

On our walk back, I had a million questions for Carl, and couldn't organize
them in my mind to ask the most urgent ones first, so I just plunged
in. "Carl, do you know how Nicky go that scar?" I guess my unspoken fear
was that he had been injured here at the Institute.

I sensed Carl nod in the dim evening light. "Before he came here, Nicky
went to the local school. One day four bigger boys grabbed some girl, and
held her arms, and dared Nicky to put his hand down her, uh, panties. He
refused. So they double-dared him, and said he would be a chicken if he
didn't. He refused again, and ran for it. They let go the girl and chased
him. When they caught him, two held his arms, like they did with the girl,
and the other two just punched him. Like a punching bag. They ruptured his
spleen, Mister Maddox. He had to have it removed. His Mom took him out of
that school. When Doctor Jericho heard what happened, he offered Nicky a
place here".

That gave me quite a bit to think about. We reached the lights of Carl's
residence, where I realised that Carl was holding my hand. I suppose it
felt so natural I didn't even detect it earlier. We entered, and made
straight for his room. Carl offered me a fresh toothbrush and we sloshed
and gargled at his handbasin.

Sitting on Carl's bed, where I had pleasured Nicky only an hour before, I
continued grilling my host. "And what about you, Carl? How did you come to
be here?"

The boy smiled. He was seated in the same chair he had used when the three
of us were in here this afternoon. "I knew you'd ask me that sooner or
later, Mister Maddox. It was my Mom's idea, really. For the last, um, about
twelve months I'd been having an affair with my Uncle, that's my Dad's twin
brother. Mom came home unexpectedly one afternoon, you know, the old, old
story. She caught me and Uncle Mike, uh, together. There was no way we
could bluff our way out of it, `cause we were both naked, on her bed, and
he was loving me doggy style. I was kind of yelling stuff out, you know,
dirty stuff, to make him more excited, not that he needed it.

"For a second I thought she mistook Uncle Mike for Dad, from the look on
her face. She was pretty pissed, uh, upset. She told Uncle Mike to get out
of the house, to get out of the State. When she calmed down, she talked it
over with Dad and they offered to send me here, to the Institute. She'd
heard about it from another student's Mom, that it was a good place to go
for boys who were sexually active with men or other boys. I guess they were
pretty understanding, really. I stay here most of the year. I think Mom's
sort of afraid that if I was living at home I'd try to get it on with Dad,
heh heh".

"Ah", was all I could think of to say. "Do you keep in touch with your
Uncle? I mean, do you keep in contact with him" Aargh! Reporters are
supposed to be good with words, idiot!

Carl smiled. "Mom told him to stay away from me, but we email each other
about once a week. He's asked me to go on a holiday to Europe with him when
I turn twelve, that's only eleven months away! He's a bit like you,
really".

"Oh? How so?"

"Oh, lots of little ways, I guess. See, it was me that made the first move
on him. I think if I waited for him, I'd be old and grey. He was shy with
boys, kinda like you. He could never tell when a boy wanted to be, you
know, pleasured. I had to teach him from scratch". I had begun to relax,
and lay stretched out on Carl's bed, my hands behind my head. He got out of
his chair and climbed onto his bed, positioning himself alongside me, not
touching, but not far off.

"How did you know I'd end up in your room tonight? I mean, I guess I'm
sleeping here, uh, with you, that's the plan, isn't it? What if I turned
out to be a different kind of person, and expected a room by myself?"

"Then you would be staying in a motel in town tonight", Carl answered
simply. "Did you book a room in a motel for tonight?"

"No", I replied honestly.

"Then you're in the right place. Right here, with me. Now, no more
questions until I get a kiss!", the boy declared, letting his eyes close
lightly and inclining his cheek ever so slightly towards me. I took the cue
and leaned over him, gingerly brushing my lips over his.

"Are you teaching me from scratch now?" I murmured.

"That's another question. It'll cost you a hug. And don't stop `till I tell
you!", Carl ordered. Who was I to refuse? I rolled him towards me and
enfolded him in a cuddle, adding another little peck on the lips for good
measure. Carl seemed satisfied by my hug, and sat up in bed after I
released him.

"I know you're new at this", Carl began gently, "so let's get the
nervousness and embarrassment out of the way now. Let's assume you've
seduced me, and from here on I'm a willing partner in whatever happens. I
just need to know, would you like me to undress myself, or would you like
to do it? I'm guessing, the way you took Nicky's shorts down before, that
it's a big turn on for you, so you might like to do it. You're probably
still hard from all the stuff you've seen today, and maybe you're worried
you'll shoot off in your pants. If it happens, don't panic. I'm very
understanding, and you'll get plenty more chances tonight."

The only sound in the room, apart from a tiny squeak as Carl got off the
bed, was the sound of my jaw dropping. I could only wonder, what good deeds
had I done in some previous lifetime, to deserve such a boy? He stood at
the side of the bed and waved me towards himself. I swung my legs over the
side so that I was sitting on the edge, with Carl standing between my
knees.

"Smile!", he ordered, grinning. "This is supposed to be fun. Don't
worry. If you're afraid of what the scientists here call `performance
anxiety', you needn't be. My Uncle once told me I could give a plaster
statue a boner! He called me `walking viagra'. Now, take my clothes off --
slowly!" I could only comply, freeing the bottom of his shirt from his
shorts and pulling it over his head. I had seen his bare chest at the pool,
but somehow it seemed sexier now. "Now my shorts", Carl directed, as I
grasped the elastic waistband. My hands were actually trembling! Carl put
his own soft small hands on top of mine. "Slowly -- you don't want a heart
attack!"

I eased his lemon-yellow shorts down, again hearing that extraordinary
`shsh-ing' sound as they rubbed his undies on the way down. I let them go
at knee-height, and he shimmied his legs to drop them to his ankles. "Now
my undies. Don't stop now, Mister Maddox, you're doing pretty good for a
beginner". Carl's combination of teasing and instruction was helping to
calm me down a little as I took a long breath and grasped the hem of his
underwear, slowly pulling it outwards and down, as I could see his penis
was erect (again) and I knew how painful it can be to pull underwear down
over a stiff dick. The undies soon joined his shorts, so Carl kicked them
both off his feet.

"Now, do you want to undress yourself, or would you like me to do it?" Carl
whispered.

Being in totally foreign territory I really had no idea what I wanted, so I
just said "You tell me". In answer, Carl reached for my shirt's top button
and undid it, followed by the remaining ones. He pushed the shirt off my
shoulders, leaving me to pull the sleeves free of my arms. I was a little
ashamed of my not-so-manly chest, but Carl simply smiled and said "Now
stand up!"

You would think there was nothing threatening at all about standing in
front of a naked eleven-year-old who is undoing your belt and zip, but let
me tell you, I was glad there was a bed behind me in case I passed
out. Before I knew it we were both naked and on the bed. "Congratulations!"
Carl beamed, "You passed the first test -- you've got this far without
blowing off too soon. Now, just out of curiosity, what's the most number of
times you've climaxed in one, ah, session?"

His question threw me, probably what he intended, so I answered
truthfully. "Once when I was about fifteen, I jerked off four times in one
night. That's the most I ever did".

Carl rolled on top of me and wriggled his hips to get comfortable. "Hang on
to your hat, Mister Maddox -- tonight you're shooting for the record! Now, I
got a confession to make: when I did the erogenous zone mapping study with
Doctor Henzen, he discovered that I have what he called an `ultrazone'. If
it gets stimulated enough, I get so horny I become insatiable. Doctor
Jericho might have to call an ambulance for you tomorrow morning if you
find it". Carl wriggled again, rubbing his tummy against the underside of
the head of my dick.

"So", I said, catching on to his meaning, "would you like me to find this
`ultrazone' by accident, or will you just tell me where it is?"

"Kiss me first, while I think about it", he whispered.

* * * *

The warm sun splashed across our bed. It's been a few years since I slept
past 7 a.m., and it's been forever since I woke up with a boy in my
arms. An exhausted boy. I don't know what Carl's record was, but I reckon
he must have broken it last night (and early this morning). I felt that
heaviness of limb one sometimes experiences after prolonged exertions,
especially exertions which the body is not used to. By the way, if you're
ever in the area and are lucky enough to visit the Institute, Carl's
`ultrazone' is between his...oh, wait, I think he's waking up.

"Morning, Mister Maddox", he mumbled sleepily. At least he didn't call me
Uncle, for which I was grateful.

"Morning, love god", I murmured in his ear. I had loosened up quite a bit
since yesterday evening. "Can I get you breakfast in bed? Maybe trim your
toenails, or bathe you in asses' milk? Do your homework for a year?"

Carl giggled. What an enchanting sound. "Silly", he said. "Don't you go
falling in love with me. I've got classes to go to this morning. And you're
getting a new guide -- Tristan. We better have a wash before breakfast -- I
smell like I've got your semen all over me"

"Only on the beautiful parts", I countered. But I released him from my arms
and watched him glide off the bed into his tiny en-suite. He turned and
waved at me to join him, and I felt myself getting hard -- incredibly --
again, as I slid off the tousled bed.

Seeing my hardening member, Carl giggled and wagged a finger at me. "No
naughty thoughts! Shower only! You've got to save some for Tristan. My poor
bottom needs a rest!"

"Aye aye, Captain", I gave him a mock salute, and followed him into his
little shower receptacle, not really large enough for two but we managed.

We seated ourselves at a four-setting table for breakfast, and were quickly
joined by Tristan (who must have been on the lookout for us) and a teen I
didn't recognise. "Hi, Mister Maddox", he greeted me, checking my
namebadge, "I'm Gerard. I just wanted to meet you before tomorrow".

I smiled, now a little more comfortable with the Institute's routines. "Are
you my guide for tomorrow, Gerard?"

"Actually I start after dinner this evening, sir. Tristan has you until
then".

That comment made me revise my timetable with Tristan, who hadn't stopped
smiling at me since he sat down. "You look different this morning Mister
Maddox", he observed, between spoonfuls of rice bubbles. "More relaxed, or
something. Must have had a good night...'s sleep". I smiled at his cheek,
to let him know I got the joke. I did wonder, though, why a boy who was
getting plenty of physical attention during his laboratory sessions would
want to hitch up for a day with some visitor, a stranger with no obvious
qualities. Like me. I guessed I would probably find out soon enough.

Tristan led me from the table as soon as I finished my coffee. I had to
hold him back so I could give Carl a little peck on the cheek, and I didn't
care who noticed. We left the dining room and strolled hand in hand down
the avenue to the sports field. "I usually take a walk after breakfast, to
help my digestion", Tristan's piping voice explained. "I've got a lab
session later -- would you like to come and watch?"

"Er, sure, Tristan, I'd like that". Sensing an opening, I made a general
enquiry about Tristan's life and how he ended up at the Institute. His
answers saddened me as much as Carl's story about Nicky, but in a different
way. Tristan recounted his story in a very mundane way that belied its
tragedy. He was the product of donor sperm and egg, having been fertilized
in vitro. He jokingly said that he was a walking science experiment, but I
felt this was only banter to cover a deep sorrow. By the time he was old
enough to understand the concept of his Mom having boyfriends, he began
acting out towards them, usually by exposing himself. Needless to say, this
alienated both the boyfriends and his Mom -- the first few times might have
been cute, but the novelty wore off quickly. As son as he was old enough he
was packed off to boarding school, but by then his cute routine had become
habitual -- he easily seduced any male adult he found himself near, and this
resulted in a succession !
 of expulsions and removals.

Out of desperation, his Mother sent him to the Institute, unwilling to try
counselling for little Tristan because she feared exposure of her own
neglectful and selfish parenting as the root cause of his precocious
behaviour. Tristan related all of this to me in such a casual manner that I
was caught off-guard by his next statement: "Would you like to be my Daddy
-- just until dinnertime?"

I didn't need letters after my name to grasp the concept that throughout
his short life, Tristan was simply looking for a male parent figure; he
just didn't know a socially acceptable way of getting one. Before the
silence that greeted his question lengthened beyond repair, I said "Sure,
I'd love to be your Dad for today, Tristan. In fact, it would be my
pleasure!"

The ten-year-old squealed with delight, nearly rupturing my eardrums. "Can
I have a horsey ride, Daddy?" he begged, not waiting for my answer and
climbing up onto my shoulders as I stooped a little for him. Of course, the
conventional horsey ride was on the back of the adult, with little legs
wrapped around the waist and little arms around the neck, but Tristan was
still small enough to sit on my shoulders (for a superior view).

We reached the gymnasium, so I had to lower him down to fit under the
door. I nodded at the forbidding form of Fu'oni, who did not block my path
this time. Holding Tristan's hand, I quickly found what I was looking for,
the equipment locker. I selected a football and took boy and ball back
outside. We were going to do a Dad-Son thing: play catch.

Easier said than done: Tristan dropped the first three balls I lobbed to
him from only a few feet away, and the whole Dad routine was about to
implode. I could see the beginnings of tears forming in the boy's big eyes,
so I said "Wait, wait, my fault. I forgot that Dads first teach their sons
to catch, before playing catch. Hold your arms out like this, Tristan, and
let the ball hit your chest, then just cover it up with your hands. It's
okay, the ball won't hit you in the face, just let it arrive, that's
it. First we do it in slow motion, okay, now we'll speed it up a bit..."

Within ten minutes I had him catching like a...well, not exactly like a
pro, but at least not like a girl. His smile of achievement was like rain
in the desert. Catching sight of a boy cycling by on the pathway, I had
another idea. We put the ball back in the locker and took off to find Carl.

"Can you ride a bike, Tristan?" I asked as we walked hand-in-hand towards
the school buildings.

"Nobody ever showed me", came his sad reply.

"Until today!" I replied, which took the frown off his face. We located
Carl and asked permission to use his bike. He agreed, rather cheekily
adding that his bottom was still sore from recent activities so he wouldn't
be riding for a day or two anyway. I blushed, which made Tristan laugh, as
we collected Carl's bike from the shed behind his residence.

Tristan wobbled around, giggled, shrieked, laughed, and generally enjoyed
the hell out of his first cycling lesson. He only fell off twice, but a
kiss on his scraped knee took the pain away. Chasing him along the pathway
quickly got tiring for me, so Tristan took pity on his old Dad and returned
the bike. He promised to keep practicing after I had finished my visit to
the Institute and returned to my home.

Lunchtime loomed up on us suddenly, and Tristan suggested a picnic. "You
can get sandwiches and a drink instead of a sit-down meal", he
explained. "Just add a blanket and you've got a picnic. I've seen them on
TV, but I never had one before".

"Picnic it is", I agreed, and soon we were sitting comfortably on our plaid
blanket (from Carl's bedroom) eating sandwiches and drinking fruit juice,
underneath a maple tree at the side of the sports field. Between sips,
Tristan grinned his huge smile at me, not the shy one but the very
exuberant one he'd been keeping hidden for too long.

"What?" I asked, mouth still half full.

"I'm just so happy I could burst", Tristan explained, setting down his
juice container.

"I can fix that. Come here and let Daddy give you a hug". He scrambled over
to me and fell on top of me, knocking the wind out of me.

"Sorry, Daddy", he smiled as I gasped for air. I smiled back, trying to
cover the pain, wrapping my arms around him as he lay on my chest.

A few minutes passed in silence, apart from the gentle rustle of the maple
leaves in the tree above us. I had a sudden thought. "Tristan, have you
ever been in an experiment here where you had have an injection or swallow
any pills?"

He lifted his head off my chest. "Doctor Jericho wouldn't permit it. He
told every boy when they first come here that no scientist was allowed to
drug us, and if any of them tried, we had to report him immediately. He
made us promise".

I felt a lot better hearing that. I still hadn't completely convinced
myself that the whole line of research here was even remotely ethical, but
at least it wasn't chemically invasive.

Tristan checked his watch. "It's nearly time for my experiment. Do you want
to come and watch, Daddy?"

I could hardly say no, since observing the research projects was the
primary reason for my visit to the Institute. "Certainly, er, son. Who is
the researcher, and what is he, um, trying to discover?"

"It's Doctor Kormel. He's been here forever. He's got a big laboratory over
behind the gym. The other boys told me his experiments were cool, but until
now there hasn't been an opening on the sign-up sheet". After packing up
our picnic things we walked slowly past the gym and I got my first look at
Doctor Kormel's lab -- it was indeed in an older style than some other
buildings, more graceful somehow, but still obviously a science facility.

`Kormel -- Biology' said the simple sign adorning the front door. There was
nothing simple, however, in Doctor Kormel's setup. He had a team of
researchers occupying rooms spread throughout the building, though not
surprisingly, his own lab was the largest and best-equipped.

Tristan seemed to know where he was going, so I followed him. "I hope this
is as good as Doctor Felix's', Tristan remarked, blushing prettily. We
entered a long room reminiscent of the biometrics lab on the other side of
the campus, only this time the long glass window was plain glass. "I have
to go down this way. You stay here, Daddy; you'll be able to see me through
the glass".

As Tristan left the room, an elderly scientific type joined me to observe
the action behind the glass. He introduced himself as Robert Kormel, Head
of the biology section of the Institute. I shook his hand, and invited him
to tell me about his work.

"As you can see, I have ten subjects using the sports apparatus at this
time". Indeed, there were ten teenaged boys on the other side of the glass,
exerting themselves on typical gym machines: treadmills, bikes, rowing
machines, ski-ing trainers and so on. They were all naked, a fact that was
becoming almost unremarkable to me the longer I spent at the Institute.

"The teens are beginning to perspire -- it is time to admit the boys", he
mused, pushing a red button on the wall. A door opened somewhere behind the
glass, and ten young boys (Tristan among them), all about Tristan's age and
all similarly naked, entered the room. Each boy had a clipboard, and
positioned himself alongside one of the teens. Tristan stood next to a teen
on a rowing machine, a handsome lad with dark hair and bulging biceps.

"Now we see the boys detect and mark down the scents of the teens", Doctor
Kormel muttered, as much to himself as to me. I watched in utter
fascination as each boy took a long whiff of some part of the body of the
teen he was assigned to, and made a notation on his clipboard. I saw
Tristan kneel beside his teen, presumably to bring his nose closer, and
inhale deeply near the teen's armpit. He made a little mark on his page,
then sniffed the teen's hair. Jotted another notation, then reached between
the older lad's legs and held his flaccid penis to his nose, giving it a
long smell. I noticed that Tristan's own penis, a smaller model of the
teen's, pumped up to an erection. Several other boys also had partial
erections, either waxing or waning.

This activity was repeated all over the laboratory: boys were smelling
every part of their assigned teenager, sometimes getting stiff, and making
notes about it. I turned to the Doctor, who smiled at my bemused
look. "Pheromones, Mister, ah, Maddox", he exultantly explained, checking
my namebadge. "The boys are detecting pheromones. In particular they are
looking for androstanedione. They probably couldn't spell it, but they can
certainly smell it", he added, chuckling at his own wit. He pressed the red
button again, and the boys all turned over the page on their clipboard and
moved to a new teen, and started smelling again.

"I have spent a lifetime looking for a verifiable human male pheromone",
the Doctor explained, now that the experiment was running smoothly. "What
is it that attracts some boys to men? Is it the man's build? His face? His
voice? Perhaps it is some unconscious need deep within the boy. All of
these are possible. I choose, however, to pursue the notion that the male
gives off a special scent, only detected by a certain type of boy. You see,
not all of the boys here at the Institute are homosexual in their
inclinations. Some are simply precocious, others are highly
extroverted. But we do not characterize the boys in that way, except where
it assist the research. The project I am running here aims to match only
the homosexual boys with the scents they detect. The other boys are merely
controls".

"So, you know which of these boys are homosexual?" I asked, nodding towards
the glass.

"No, no, that would not be proper", he countered. "The computer knows,
because it has their psychological test results. All I need to know are the
matchups, not who made them. It's better science if the researcher holds no
personal views about the subjects".

I watched the scene behind the glass as the scientist pressed the red
button again. I could see Tristan was fully erect, but seemingly oblivious
of his condition as he spread the hairy buttocks of a teen on a ski-trainer
and smelled his crack. Just watching him was making me horny as well.

"The teens take a thorough shower before exercising, to remove traces of
deodorant or aftershave", the doctor pointed out. "Closed-circuit cameras
in the ceiling also record each exercise station so that my staff can
cross-reference each boy's erection with the body part he is smelling. All
tapes are destroyed after the data is extracted, of course".

I thought for a minute before formulating my question. "What commercial
applications do you envisage from this research, Doctor Kormel?"

He joined his hands behind his back and stooped slightly, as if
lecturing. "If we can isolate a reliable male pheromone which arouses boys,
and synthesize it, I should think we would have a world-wide market. Think
of the size of the boy-loving community".

"But, er, would such a discovery be, ah, beneficial to mankind? Would it be
ethical to make such a, uh, substance, available to such men?"

"You asked about commercial, not beneficial. Most times you can't have
both. As for ethical, who can say nowadays? Would you shut down all
fertility research just because some lesbians make use of their services to
get pregnant? Would you forbid chemists from developing anti-impotence
drugs just because some gay men might use them? Maybe you might have a
point if I brought to the market a substance that attracted all boys --
including the straight ones -- but like most reputable researchers, my study
is finely tuned. In any case, there will always be people who misuse new
inventions for their own stupid or selfish reasons. How many people have
died in auto accidents since the internal combustion engine was invented?"

I had a lot to think about. Maybe if I was a politician, or a clergyman, I
would have argued the point with him. But reporters are not debaters, they
are observers. So far, I was leaning towards the view that, while unusual,
the Institute seemed to fill a niche, no-one was being mistreated or held
against their will, certainly no Government money was being wasted...but
how to write a feature story about it?

I was still sitting and thinking when my temporary son, dressed again,
entered from the side door and joined me. "Hi Daddy", he greeted me, and I
was shamefully glad Doctor Kormel wasn't nearby to hear it. "What did you
think?" he asked, taking my hand and leading me to the front door.

"I thought you did very well, son", I commended him, knowing that praise
was part of a Dad's job, regardless of the achievement. Back out into the
afternoon sunshine, we strolled towards the pool. We both appeared to catch
a whiff of chlorine on the air at the same time, because we turned to each
other and grinned. "Can you teach me to swim, Daddy?" The shy, insecure
Tristan seemed to have returned.

"Of course, son". I was in the mood for a swim today, unlike yesterday with
Carl and Nicky. The pool was again unoccupied, probably because classes
were in progress. Tristan and I walked to the far end of the pool, then
disrobed in front of each other. This would be the first time he saw his
`Daddy' naked, and I hoped to make a good account of myself. He stared
openly at my hairy torso, licking his lips as he did so.

"You've got lots of hair, Daddy", he observed, as I jumped in and stood
waiting for him, my arms out and ready. His little tool was still
ramrod-stiff, and I wondered whether pre-teen boys needed to get off when
they had persistent erections, like teens, or whether they could just
ignore them. My own childhood was too far back to remember such important
details.

We had fun for the next twenty minutes, Tristan learning to hold his breath
underwater, float on his back, kick his feet, tread water, all the
micro-skills needed to learn to swim. I got a few gropes of his hard penis,
and he gave my soft dick the occasional brush. I eventually called a halt,
and suggested we take a shower together, presuming there would be one at
the other end of the pool. We collected out clothes, and picked up fresh
towels on the way to the shower area.

Soaping each other up was another Daddy-son moment we both enjoyed. Hugging
a soapy, slippery boy is not easy, but I was determined to make a go of
it. The feel of Tristan's little fingers running through my chest hair, his
face beaming up at me is one I'll not forget quickly. Almost enough to make
me give up bachelorhood.

Before I knew it -- before I could think to savour every minute - we were
rinsed, dried off, dressed, and seated in the dining hall. We took a table
for four, Carl and Gerard rounding out the group. I was rather glad that
there were no new faces at this meal. I had a feeling I'd be weeping
copiously before long, and I would prefer not to do that in front of
complete strangers.

Tristan was quiet. I guess he really set himself up for disappointment by
hanging out with me all day. Kids never really understand that good times
always have to end. I lowered my voice so I couldn't be heard at the
adjacent tables, and tried to say a few words of comfort to him without
turning on the waterworks myself. "Tristan, you know when I first saw you
it was at Doctor Felix's lubricant experiment. You were having your lovely
little bottom speared by a teen, um, I think his name was Terry. I have to
go back home tomorrow, and I'm going to miss you a terrible lot. But if you
miss me, I want you to sign up for another session in Doctor Felix's
project, and when you're being dicked by one of those teens, I want you to
shut your eyes and imagine it's me loving you. And maybe sometime you can
send me a photo of yourself if you want, Doctor Jericho knows how to reach
me. I'll keep it in my wallet, just like a Daddy would".

Tristan's bottom lip trembled as he lay his little hand on top of mine on
the table. "I will, Daddy, I promise. I'll sign up for every one I can".

The remainder of our meal was quite sombre. Carl tried to cheer us up by
relating a funny incident that happened in Doctor Parnell-Jones' laboratory
this afternoon. Apparently this particular study has been investigating the
textural properties of a proposed new condom for pre-teens.  Five teenagers
were sucking the dicks of five boys (one of whom was Carl) who wore the
prototype dicksheaths.

"So, heh heh, I'm getting sucked by Jesse, he's pretty good at it too,
Grant was alongside me, he was getting sucked by Larry, you know that guy
with the dreadlocks, heh, and anyway, Grant turns to me and says, hah hah,
Grant says `what happens if ya gotta pee?', ha ha, and so I like, start
giggling, heh heh, and he starts giggling, ha ha, and Larry, ha, Larry, he
thinks Grant is starting to cum, so he starts suckin' faster, only Grant
can't hold it back so he starts peein', ha ha ha, and poor Larry, the
condom is filling up in his mouth and he, ha ha ha, he d-doesn't know what
to do, so, hee hee, Grant jerks out of Larry's mouth, but he's still
peein', and it goes on Jesse's back and everywhere, ha ha ha, you should
have seen it, Mister Maddox, ha ha ha".

Gerard smiled, probably because he knew the protagonists. Tristan sighed,
but at least he looked less tearful. I told Carl it was a good story, but I
wasn't really in the mood. We finished our meal quietly, I gave Carl a kiss
and Tristan a long hug, then left with Gerard before I made a scene.

"This your last night here, Mister Maddox?' Gerard asked me politely as we
walked to his residence, which was two behind Carl's. I nodded, still
thinking about Tris. And Carl. But I still had a job to do, personal
sadness notwithstanding.

"You're the first teen I've had the chance to have a talk to, Gerard. Tell
me candidly, what do you think of the Institute, and its, er, practices?"

"Well, to put it frankly, I'd rather be here than anywhere else. There's
not many options for a gay teen in a regular school. Act straight or get
bashed, that's about it. And there's some useful work done here"

"Yeah?" I replied. "Like condoms for eleven-year-olds?"

Gerard chuckled. "Well, maybe not that, but some of the stuff they do is
useful. Like Doctor Harrison, for instance. He's got this theory that
millions of litres of water are wasted every day by teenaged boys jacking
off in the shower. He's close to finding a way to get them to do it
somewhere else. That's got to be a winner, right? I mean, maybe he should
get a medal or something for it".

I laughed. Gerard was right. Maybe it was all a matter of perspective.
Still, I couldn't help picture the look on the faces of my readers on
seeing a newspaper article from me entitled `Scientist Takes Gold in
Clean-and-Jerk'. We had reached Gerard's residence and walked down the
hallway to his room, similar to Carl's only messier. Plus he had a bigger
bed. Gerard gave me a fresh toothbrush and we brushed our teeth at his
handbasin.

"I'm afraid I won't be very good company tonight, Gerard", I remarked as I
sat on the edge of the bed. "You're a fine boy and all that, but my heart's
just not in it".

Gerard grinned like a light bulb had gone off in his head. "Wait right
there, I've got just the thing for you. You'll like it, I promise", he
said, racing back out the door. I reflected that the only thing worse than
having Gerard try to cheer me up was having Gerard leaving me here all by
myself, alone in my misery.

The teen returned in just under ten minutes. "Sorry I took so long -- I had
to get permission from Doctor Jericho"

"For what?" I asked glumly.

"For this!" he replied jubilantly, stepping aside to allow Carl and Tristan
into the room. Tristan squealed, leapt through the air and landed on me,
knocking me backwards onto the bed. Carl hugged Gerard. He's a very
affectionate boy, after all. Tristan and I kissed and cuddled and laughed
and cried -- we were oblivious to Gerard and Carl, who were undressing
beside the bed. I did not notice them until Tristan let me up for breath,
when I saw that they were alongside us on the bed, Carl sitting atop a
prone Gerard, head thrown back, riding his dick, while Gerard held his
waist.

"Come on you two, get naked", Carl urged between moans, rocking his hips
and pinching Gerard's nipples to urge him on. Tristan and I jumped off the
bed and raced each other to strip off. Naked, Tristan asked me if I'd like
to do what Gerard and Carl were doing.

"Only if it's with you, loverboy", I grinned cheekily, as I climbed back on
the bed and helped Tristan settle on my dick.

"Hurry up, Tris, you're one cum behind already", Carl joked. "I bet I can
make Gerard cum before you can squeeze one out of Mister Maddox!"

"You're on!" my little jockey agreed, and the race was on!

* * * *

We were a much happier bunch at breakfast, the four of us, even though I
was ending my visit to the Institute in under an hour. Last night's sharing
was just what the doctor ordered, and I suspected that particular
prescription was signed `P Jericho'. I waved goodbye to the boys as I drove
out the gate, after receiving a small but unexpected souvenir from Doctor
Felix: a one-hour audiofile on CD of the sounds made by the boys and teens
in his lubricant research. I could play it at night to lull me to sleep,
imagining which of the moans and sighs belonged to my Tristan.

* * * *

"I read your piece on that Research Institute up north -- not your usual
style, Jim. Aren't you the guy that finds government waste and cronyism in
everything?" my editor, Janis niggled a few days later.

"Well, maybe I've grown up a bit. Some places out there do good work, you
know"

"I'm not sure we'll run the piece anytime soon -- it reads too much like a
promo, and we charge for advertising around here", she replied.

"That's cool. By the way, is your son still nagging you about taking him to
a ball game? He's, what, eleven now?"

"Hah! Organized sport! I'd rather eat a live rat than attend a baseball
game"

"I've got two tickets for this Saturday night's double header. Tell him
I'll pick him up at four. And tell him to pack some pyjamas and a
toothbrush. Take the night off. I'll drop him back after lunch Sunday".

Janis looked at me speechless (first time in her life!) for a moment, then
smiled. "He'll be ready! You'll like him - he's a very affectionate boy"

End

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