Date: Sun, 17 Dec 2006 13:10:06 -0800
From: Bruce Bramson <organs@bdcsi.net>
Subject: The Constant Grocer (Fiction)

The confession of an obscure grocer on his death-bed in a small California
town has solved a baffling medical "cluster" mystery. The town was the
subject of numerous investigations and many reports about what became known
as the "LDDCS": the Lincoln Delayed Development Cluster Study. I led most
of the investigations: to our chagrin, neither I nor anyone else discovered
the cause. But, let me start at the beginning.

I worked for the California Department of Public Health office in
Sacramento on various health related matters. One day my boss passed along
a letter he'd received from a doctor in Lincoln, a small town in the
foothills not far north of us. The doctor was puzzled by several instances
of boys in his town who were failing to grow up normally. My boss, an MD
himself,  thought I should pay this doctor a visit, though he expressed
misgivings about his credibility. Statistically, more than one such case
in a town as small as Lincoln would have been an anomaly for sure.

So it was that I found myself in Doctor Frank's office in Lincoln on a mild
April day in 1955. The man was lean, friendly, about my own age, and clearly
perplexed by events unfolding around him. He had a pile of folders on his
desk, medical records of three boys he was sure were well behind their
peers, and three others he suspected. He'd done his homework: his notes
were meticulous. There were some blood-test results,but these were expensive
in the 1950s, and precision was poor.  However, absolutely nothing in the
numbers told him anything: every constituent he measured fell squarely in
the normal range.

He had only one photograph for me, of  Tommy, age 18, who clearly had not
matured beyond about 14. Dr. Frank had taken and developed the photo himself,
and said Tommy was utterly unabashed about posing in his birthday suit. So,
there in full frontal nudity was a truly fine specimen of a pre-pubertal
youngster. I confess something stirred in my pants as I studied the photo:
the boy was exquisite. I wanted very much to have some time with him...

"Of these six boys," Dr. Frank explained, "I delivered two right here in
Lincoln: I'm still the only physician in town. One was born in Reno and
moved here when he was four, the remaining three were all born in Sutter
Hospital in Sacramento."

"So you think these six are all of them?"

"I'm also the physician for both schools, elementary and high. I see every
child in this town at one time or another."

"And the, um, 'phenomenon' is confined to boys?  No girls?"

"That's right! Any kind of factor at work in the general population should
affect both. Yet, girls have been spared, at least so far." The Doctor dug
into more piles of paper, pulling out elegant graphs and tables.

"Look here: I've done all the usual physical measurements of these six boys.
There's not one result out-of-line with the statistical average among the
entire population of the United States! Yet, take Johnny here; he's the first
in whom I noticed something strange: his chronological age then was 18, but
his body was that of a 12 year-old. You see Tommy there, he's typical. Ben
is chronologically 17, but only 13 in appearance. Those are the most
definite ones. The spread between actual age and apparent age is not so wide
in the others, but they aren't growing up;  we've no way of knowing when
their maturation might resume. And here's the really odd thing: Johnny is
now 20, and pretty well caught up: he's a strapping young man now."

"So, the condition does not last indefinitely."

"Apparently not."

"And, except for remaining in an extended state of youthfulness for some
years, there are no other differences you can discern?" I asked.

Dr. Frank's composure changed slightly: I detected a brief flash of pink
in his cheeks, but he recovered quickly.

"Um, well, there is one other common factor: each of them is quite
aggressive."

"Aggressive, in what way?

"Sexually".

"Can you be more explicit?"

"In the regular course of making my measurements of the disrobed boys, each
one became highly excited -- at the ages involved, not in itself unusual --
but they also exhibited more than the usual interest in me!"

"That IS unusual: but is it a cause of their condition, or an effect of it?

"I can't imagine it being the cause: there are lots of homosexuals who grow
up perfectly normally. No, I think it may be related to their condition,
but surely it is not the cause. But, dammit Jones,  wracking my brain these
few years, I can come up with no rational explanation."

I spent the next few hours making notes to take with me. Copy machines were
not ubiquitous in 1955, so it was all I could do. Departing, I assured  Dr.
Frank that I would get him help to study this perplexing matter.

But, bureaucracies move slowly. I turned in a lengthy report on my visit to
Dr. Frank, but my boss was not impressed. A year or so later, I called the
doctor to apologize for the apparent lack of interest.

"You need to talk to that boss of yours," he said emphatically: "the three
doubtful cases I had when you were here seem quite definite to me now, and
there are several more I'm beginning to suspect."

"I'll come up to see you this weekend: I'd very much like to meet a couple
of the boys myself."

"I'll arrange it."

The following Saturday I packed a small satchel and a doctor's-bag of items
I might need and drove to Lincoln once again. The small hotel on the main
street was not very elegant, but adequate. After checking in, I walked down
to the doctor's office, stopping at  Chico's Grocery to buy two candy-bars:
nothing like sweets to get boys to let their hair down. The man behind the
counter was a handsome fellow, rather dark complected. His appearance fit
with the name of the store neatly lettered on the old-fashioned
glass-paneled door. We exchanged the usual greetings, and I went on my way.

Dr. Frank welcomed me. "I've cleared my appointments here this afternoon,
so I can make house calls. Tommy will be here at 1, and Tony at 3: their
files are out for you. This is a small town: I've left the door open,
they'll just come on in. You can take it from there."

With a few minutes to kill, I studied the folders: Tommy's I'd seen, with
the picture, so I turned first to Tony. According to the dossier, his
actual age was 16: Dr. Frank's measurements indicated he had stopped
maturing at 13 or so. It was never easy to tell just when the usual
progression from boy to youth came to a halt. His measurements, plotted
against time on a piece of graph paper showed weight, stature and other
parameters climbing steadily until around the middle of his 12th year,
when the graph turned and  flattened perceptibly. Comparing it with Tommy's
graph, it was easy to predict that Tony's would flatten further for a
while, then presumably head back up sometime in the future. This was
exactly the pattern in Johnny's folder: Johnny, now the "strapping
young man" Dr. Frank had mentioned at our first interview.

"Hello?" No mistaking a boy's voice.

"In here", I called back.

Tommy strode purposefully into the room. His demeanor seemed at odds with
his youthful appearance, but I recognized him immediately from the
black-and-white photo. "You're Dr. Jones, I guess," he said.

"Right you are! And you are Tommy B---------."

"Nice to meet you."

Despite having seen his picture, I was utterly unprepared for Tommy in the
flesh. Physically, he could not have been mistaken for anyone over the age
of 14, just on the edge of puberty, a precious bud waiting to burst into
bloom. For some reason, at this point the wait had been going on for four
years!

"You want to know why I'm not growing up, I suppose." Tommy was quite
matter-of-fact.

In truth, had it been in my power to keep this boy in a perpetual state of
pre-pubescence, I would have ordered it. He was exquisite, with unruly
flaxen hair, grey-ish eyes and perfect, unblemished skin. I felt that
familiar feeling in my groin...

"A number of people around the State want to know, Tommy: your case is
unusual."

"Not so unusual: there's several like me here in town."

"And THAT is the really unusual thing! You know others, then?"

"Sure, know 'em all: this is a tiny place, everybody knows everybody
else. Tony and I live on the same street, and Ben is near as well.
We see a lot of each other."

"Do other boys make fun of you?"

"Oh, sometimes; it doesn't worry us much."

"Well, Tommy, I would like to make a few measurements just to confirm
those by Dr. Frank." I opened my bag, took out a tape measure, and slapped
the examination table. "Up here, my boy."

In a trice, Tommy was naked: he shucked his clothes so quickly I had
no time to explain that he really didn't need to. He hopped up on the
table eagerly.

Some aspects of physical measurements can be tricky: establishing the
exact circumference of a thigh, for example, requires judgement as to
precisely where its girth is greatest, and inevitably as one manipulates
the leg and measuring tape, one contacts intimate parts of the body.
While I was not exactly a novice, I hadn't had to do this often since
leaving med school. Additionally, having this youngster there before me
in a completely relaxed condition, perfectly at ease with my touching
him anywhere I liked, was exciting in ways I was not entirely prepared for...

Tommy was not completely relaxed: my attention to him resulted in a
fine erection. Of course, I had to measure that as well, just as Dr.
Frank had done. Since seeing the doctor six months ago, Tommy had not
added so much as a centimeter to his splendid little prick, exactly
three and a half inches long when hard.

But when Tommy's hand dropped over the edge of the table and groped the
front of my pants, I was startled. "Feels like you gotta mighty big one
 in there, Dr. Jones," Tommy said.

"Does it interest you?" I asked as clinically as I could, remembering
Dr. Frank's use of the word 'aggressive'.

"Yah! I love to see big peckers like yours," he replied.

"Why?"

"Dunno: I 'spose it's because mine's so tiny. Playing with Ben or Tony
or Paul ain't much fun, they're no different from me. But yours..." By
now he had expertly dropped my zipper and was actively seeking the
contents of my shorts. He rolled on his side, unabashedly undid my belt
and pushed my pants down. It had been many years since anyone had done
this, and frankly, it felt very nice. It felt even nicer when he took
hold of my rigid dick and stroked it gently...

"Wow! That's a real whopper!"

"Compared with whom?"

"Oh... others.   Mine, Tony's..." He was suddenly wary and evasive. I
sensed he'd seen other men. "'N  Dr. Frank's..."

No surprise there. However, if he did not stop his massage, there would
be a mess to clean up. I gently pushed him away, though I really didn't
want to. I still had his arms and chest to measure: arms so splendidly
formed, so anatomically perfect, and so incredibly smooth. He relaxed
as I went about this, though his little hard-on stood proud without
drooping.

"So, Tommy, what do YOU think is the reason you and your friends are
slow to grow up?"

"None of us has the slightest idea! But we know Johnny did, so we expect
we will too eventually." He sounded a bit wistful. "And Johnny's got
the biggest pecker of any we seen! We got that to look forward to maybe."

"You think that your delayed puberty might result in a larger than usual
penis?"

"What's 'puberty'?"

"A fancy word for growing up."

"Well, we only got Johnny as an example so far, but we can hope!"

"Do you think its important to have a big penis?"

"Sure gotta beat these puny things we got now!" He was fondling me again:
it felt very nice...

"Hello, you two!" Another voice, a few notes lower than Tommy's, but
still unmistakably boyish. "Looks like you're having a fine time together."

There was no way to finesse this situation! "You must be Tony D------."

"And you must be Dr. Jones. Nice ta meetcha!" Once again, I noticed the
forthrightness: no hesitation at all of the sort one might expect in a
13-year old. I also noticed how pretty he was, like Tommy. His eyes
were dark brown, not quite black, and matched his hair. His complexion,
flawless as it would be in someone his age, was several shades darker
than Tommy. He exhibited darling little dimples at the ends of his mouth
when he smiled. He was the sort of cute kid you wanted to pick up and
toss over your shoulder and carry back to your lair for a long cuddly
night's sleep...

But, Tony was actually 16 years old! By now his voice should have
cracked, his secondary sexual characteristics should be apparent, and he
should be well on his way to young manhood. But here he was, a cute
13-year old tyke with a mischievous glint in his eye, in a room with
another boy and a much older man in a most compromising position!

Tommy came to my rescue: "The Doc and I been fooling around after he
took all those measurements like Doctor Frank does. You know how it
gets ya going..."

"Ya wanna measure me up, Doc? Tony asked, already unbuttoning his pants.

"Yes, I really should bring Dr. Frank's data up to date." He was nude
in seconds: my boner rose again at the sight of him, so utterly perfect
in his proportions. His baby-fat was gone, his muscles were still those
of a boy, and like Tommy, he was on the very edge of puberty. It really
IS the golden age, an appearance and demeanor never to be seen again.
In some the stage lasts a few months, in some a few weeks, but never
a few years. I wondered how many adults in the town appreciated the
gift they had in their midst...

The boys exchanged places, and I proceeded with my measurements and
notes. The task was more difficult because Tony was ticklish, and
because Tommy kept playing with my cock. By the time my notes were
complete, I was at a fevered pitch of excitement, which led me to
bend over and take Tony's three-inch penis into my mouth.

"Holy Moly! That feels FINE." Tony exclaimed.

Tommy put his head up over the edge of the table and saw what I was
doing. "Gosh!" was all he said, as he watch his companion's prick
slide in and out of my mouth. Apparently, this activity was new to
them both. I was not too old to remember the first time I got sucked
and how great it felt: Father O'Brien was an expert. But when Tommy's
head disappeared from my view, it was so he could try his best to take
me the way I was taking his buddy. I sucked on Tony furiously, and
soon had him bucking around under me in the throes of a dry orgasm:
this brought me to the same point and I shot my wad in Tommy's mouth:
a game lad, he stayed with it to the end, then let me droop and fall out.

"Never thought to try 'n eat that stuff," he said as he wiped his
mouth on my tee-shirt. "It has a flavor like nothing I ever tasted."

"You've seen it before, then?"

"Um... yeah,  ..." He was being evasive again. "Johnny makes it,
'n maybe some others..."

"Others?"

"No one you'd know," he said with finality. The conversation on this
topic was at its end. If the boys were playing with other older men,
I was not going to find out about it, at least not on this first visit.

"I've certainly enjoyed meeting you both. I'm sure I'll be back now
and then, to see if Dr. Frank and I can piece together what's going
on here in Lincoln. I think there will be more exams, and you kids might
even be famous one day. Oh, and here's a candy-bar for each of you."

The boys pulled on their clothes and scampered out, leaving me
physically sated, but utterly in the dark about what might be causing
the developmental problems. Problems I was loathe to see solved...

Over dinner at the hotel, Dr. Frank and I compared notes. It seemed
to us there had to be something all the boys shared. Things like
drinking water, food, other environmental factors could be ruled out
quickly, because everyone shared those. So we knew finding this
commonality among such a small cohort buried in the population at
large would not be easy. There were several hundred folks living in
Lincoln. A comprehensive study designed to discover the cause of
this odd pattern would be expensive and time consuming. We put
together some ideas, but knew we'd need expert help to develop a
definitive approach. Our meal concluded, I asked the doctor if
there was any way to meet Johnny.  He agreed to send him around
the next day, it being Sunday.

Promptly at ten a. m. there came a knock on my door. I was immediately
swept away by the animal beauty of the lad, as mature in every visible
way as the boys I'd seen yesterday were not. He stood a foot taller than
myself, had strong, angular features, a neat hair-cut, and was nicely
dressed in levis that were tight in all the right places. He entered
the room, took in its few features, then purposefully seated himself
on the bed, leaving the only chair for me.

"Dr. Frank asked me to stop by: how can I help you?" he asked.

"We are planning an investigation to see if we can find the cause of
arrested development in some of the boys here in Lincoln. Seeing you
now, I wouldn't believe you had been retarded in any way, but I
understand that you were, um, somewhat delayed?"

"That's right: I stayed around twelve for almost 6 years. No one has
come up with an explanation for it yet, but now that I'm out of it,
I guess there was no harm done."

"You may not wish to discuss this with a complete stranger, but I am
curious about your sex life, if any, while you were in the interruptus
phase."

"Well, you know every boy around that age gets a bunch of hormones
going, and I seemed to have had the full complement: I was constantly
horny and aggressed upon just about anyone I could. There were endless
jack-off sessions with other guys my age, and even though I was much
older in years, in body I was with the younger kids and we played
around as all kids do."

"And, how about now: everything works OK?" I already knew it did,
for I'd been watching his crotch; as he talked about sex, something
happened there: he rearranged himself a couple of times.


"You wanna see?" He did not wait for my answer, and quickly opened
his fly. He was wearing no shorts, so immediately there came into view
one of the most spectacular cocks I think I ever saw. It was not so
much that it was larger than average, which it was; it was just so
perfectly formed, uncircumcised and firm. It engorged rapidly as he
played with it: I was mesmerized. "This thing -- he waved it in my
direction -- has been measured by that old Doc Frank dozens of times
and I suppose you want to do the same."

"Um, no, I'll take your word..."

"Come on, Doc: it doesn't bite."

He knew I could not resist: who could? A strikingly handsome horny lad
in full rut is always spectacular to behold, and to hold. I rose from
my chair, forgetting the effect this vision of loveliness had on myself:
walking to the bed, my trousers were tented and there could be no
denying the urgency I felt there. Johnny whipped off his shirt,
revealing a muscled torso of thrilling proportions, then as I got to
the bed, he attacked my belt-buckle. A lasting effect of the delayed
maturity seemed to be sexual aggressiveness. But I was not one to
complain: being attacked by a randy young stud didn't happen to me
very often!

When Johnny stood his levis dropped away, and I gasped in admiration.
He could have been Michelangelo's model for the famous statue, except
where David sports a fig-leaf that seems to cover nothing larger than
a thumb, this lad sported equipment entirely appropriate to his gorgeous
frame. Below his erection hung a pair of testicles of exactly the right
size. I wrapped his elegant phallus in my palms, felt the warmth of his
life-blood gathered there. His meatus oozed as his manly essence sought
freedom from the confines of his dangling testes: I feared he would
shoot before I could get into the proper receptive position. Pushing my
hands away, he helped me out of my pants, then enveloped me in a
muscular embrace that literally took me off my feet. Effortlessly,
he turned and put me on the bed then went to work on my body in ways I'd
forgotten were possible: he found erogenous zones I didn't even know I
had. Despite the difference in our ages, he seemed content with what he
had to work with, and wound me up until all the tendons in my body
resembled twisted ropes. He got me off with his hand, yet his touch
was so gentle and so experienced that I sprayed farther than I could
recall doing for many years. This seems to have got him going as well,
for as soon as I exploded, he proved to me that everything he had
worked as intended: he pulled back his foreskin and shot his sweet
nectar all over me, putting my measly exudate to shame by its volume.
Then, as I lay sated, he licked up every drop of our combined effusions!

"I'll be glad to help with that investigation as often as I can," he
said as he pulled on his levis. "I suppose it would be good to find out
what's behind all this."  With that, he was gone.

Once again, bureaucracy interfered with our plans. Dr. Frank and I
wrote often to keep each other apprized, but there was never enough
money to mount a truly good effort. We both presented papers at Medical
Association meetings, but were met with scepticism. Meanwhile, my own
career progressed, and in the fullness of time I transferred to the
US Public Health Service which also had offices in Sacramento. The
State DPH meanwhile moved to Berkeley  to be close to the university
there. My work now brought me into contact with "bigger guns", and
especially, to people with access to money, which is to say, Federal
Funds.

In Lincoln, the "problem" was not going away: indeed, there was now
about a dozen lads, if Dr. Frank's figures were right, whose ages
hovered around 13 to 15, but who were chronologically somewhat older.
Worse, Tommy, who by Dr. Frank's calculations ought to be coming out
of it, was still resolutely -- even obstinately -- fourteen. By this
time, he had remained so for 9 years. Yet, in the one-on-one interviews
I arranged with him from time to time, he remained optimistic.
Also pretty, aggressive, unfailingly horny, and willing to fool around,
even with me.

In 1962, I was finally able to get funds in the PHS budget to mount a
proper study of the Lincoln situation. Statisticians were beginning to
think in term of clusters: localized examples of higher-than-average
occurrences of various diseases, and the LDDCS was born. I was
subordinated to an "expert" from Washington who had the clout I lacked:
I had the brains he lacked, but that's the way it works in any
bureaucracy. Besides, where he spent all his time behind a desk, I got
out into the field office we established in Lincoln, and did most of
the leg work. For "leg work" of the kind I liked best, my office had a
small room in back, ostensibly for the occasional physical examination
that might be required from time to time. In actuality, I used it
regularly to entertain the boys who were objects of our studies,
and my attention.

The study itself was straightforward: using school records, we
identified as controls a group of youths who seemed to be on a normal
path to maturity, and paired them up with the boys we identified as not
on a normal path: we then attempted to follow all the boys in great detail:
where they went, when, with whom, and so forth, hoping to find that
elusive common denominator among our cohort of  retarded boys. (While
they were physically delayed, they were mentally right on target, so
they all remained in school according to actual age-level). We enlisted
the help of parents to keep elaborate records of the activities of all
the subjects; teachers and pastors did the same. Before long we had
mountains of paperwork and no means to digest it. The Service was
setting up a first-of-its-kind computer center in Sacramento, so most
of our paperwork went there to be somehow massaged into something
meaningful. Reports we got back shed no light on the matter and were
usually months behind.

Because of my special rapport with the boys, mostly established
through long torrid sessions in the back room, I could be seen going
with them anywhere and no one thought anything of it. There was a small
theater near the hotel where some of them and I would go up in the rear
balcony and carry on wildly, jacking off, sucking each other, and so
forth. No one ever noticed! Everyone, myself included, shopped for
groceries and sweets at Chico's, the only grocery on the main street.

Dr. Frank came to me one day in near panic: "I think one of our controls
is bad," he said, waving one of his familiar graphs under my nose.
Jimmy's graph was indeed beginning to inflect. By now, we were so
familiar with the sequence of events that we could almost pin-point
the time when his development was interrupted: in Jimmy's case, the
data suggested sometime in May, 1963. I agreed to grill Jimmy, to see
if I could spot anything. The interview took place a few days later,
in my office.

Since he was in our study, I knew all about Jimmy. I had pages and
pages of detailed reports from his parents and teachers. Poring over
them, I could find nothing that was in any way unusual for a twelve
year-old boy. Everything about him: his likes, dislikes, hobbies,
abilities, failings; his IQ; and all he had done for many months was
there. In every respect, he was as normal as any kid his age. He hated
carrots, but loved spinach. His tonsils were still in place. His
father had even noted the size of his penis, though noterect: an inch
and a half. Somewhere in this mass of data there might be a clue,
but it was not obvious. I wondered if questioning the boy would turn
up anything. I also had a picture of Jimmy's face. He was another
exquisite boy; masses of curly hair surrounded his cherubic
countenance. Perhaps a little baby-fat still evident, but (at least
until recently) he was moving right along on the usual path to puberty,
youth and manhood.

"So, Jimmy, how have you been feeling lately?" I thought it was an
appropriate question.

"Feeling what?" he asked mischievously.

"Um, I mean, have you been ill or anything like that?"

"Nope."

"Have you had any kind of accident lately, over the last few months.
For example, did you fall down at any time you can remember?"

"Nope."

"Anybody beat you up, hit you on the head, anything like that?"

"Nope."

"Has anyone given you anything unusual to eat?"

"Nope. ... Uh, well there was one thing..."

"Yes?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"You know we can. Was it some unusual food?"

"Nope."

"Well, then, what was it?"

"A weenie."

"What's unusual about a hot-dog?"

"Not a hot-dog: a weenie!" I had a sudden realization.

"You mean, someone else's weenie, Jimmy?"

"Yep."

"Can you tell me whose weenie it was?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"You know we can..."

"Johnny's."

Unfortunately, my mouth got in gear before my brain did: "That's
no weenie," I blurted out, "that's a giant sausage!"

His face fell: "you can't keep a secret, can you?"

Getting out of this was not going to be easy! "Look, Jimmy: we
doing this study know a lot of things about everybody in this town.
We don't pass it around as gossip: it's just data, facts, figures,
knowledge we hope will solve a riddle. So, yes, I happen to have
seen Johnny's 'weenie', and I myself wouldn't call it that. But
you can call it what you like, and I won't argue with you. Now
tell me how this event came about?"

"Paul told me Johnny had a big one. I asked Johnny to show me, and he did."

You can't get much more straightforward than that! "Where did this happen?"

"Theater."

"When?"

"Oh, coupla weeks ago, I guess."

"You tasted it, you said."

"I ate it. And what came out of it."

"Whose idea was that?"

"Mine. And I'm going to do the same to you in a minute."  That
aggression again. "Several kids have told me what goes on in here."
He was unbuttoning his trousers.

"It seems others can't keep secrets, either."

"You know how kids talk. Bet you got a big weenie, too." He stood,
and let his pants drop to the floor. Once again I was rendered
helpless in the presence of such magnificence. His erection poked
out the front of his Y-fronts so tantalizingly that could not prevent
myself pulling them clear and pushing them down. His father should
have measured his boy's penis in this condition: I judged it to be
close to four inches, large for a kid his age.

Casually, as if it happened every day, he unzipped my pants and
pushed them down. My cock did for my shorts what his had done, and
he extracted me from them easily. He did not have to bend far to
suck me into his mouth. I made a mental note of the aggressiveness
with which he had approached me before abandoning myself to his
attention. He certainly could not be called skilled, but he knew
what he wanted: with one small hand under my nuts and his other
helping his mouth, it was not long before I came copiously: he took
it all, and smacked his lips when he was done.

"You don't taste the same as Johnny," he said.

"Tell me, Jimmy: did Johnny suck on your weenie?"

"No, he didn't seem interested. Are you?"

"I'm sure you know I am, if you've been talking with the other kids."
Clearly, he had been: he ran to the back room and was up on the exam
table in seconds, and I was down on him at once. When I had him
breathing hard, I stopped to ask, "Who else has done this to you?"

"Oh, ... only one or two... nobody you'd know." Evasion again. I went
back to work, and soon had him writhing in agony. Though only twelve,
he produced a few drops of tasty ejaculate as he thrashed around
as if having a fit. "Golly, that felt swell!" he said as he calmed down.

Sure enough, Jimmy's graph flattened out and he stopped growing.
Nothing could be found to suggest a cause. He was one of the most
aggressive among his peers (and with me); his condition lasted nearly
ten years. His steady friend, Toby, had been one of the first Dr. Frank
noticed. After seven years at 12, Toby turned into a ravishingly
beautiful youth seemingly overnight. At 21, all measurable
characteristics of his body were spot-on normal except for the
toad-stabber between his gorgeous thighs: that fell into the
"bigger than average" category, and he loved to use it with the other
boys and occasionally even with me.

The evasiveness of the boys whenever I mentioned older men told me there
had to be someone, and my suspicion soon fell on the high school Phys Ed
teacher. He was a dour, ascetic man, never seen in anything but a rumpled
business suit; by no stretch of imagination a coach.  He had five children,
all girls, and was a religious nut. But whenever I mentioned his name,
the boys said they had nothing to do with the teacher they called "the
ice man". They thought he was a wimp, and hated his day-in day-out regimen
of calisthenics: they wanted body-contact sports, but of course the very
idea of boys and body-contact was anathema to Mr. Murray.


So it came as no surprise to me when I overheard some of the boys talking
about Billy and Mr. Murray in the same breath. Precocious little Billy
was not in our program; he couldn't serve as a control, because he was an
outlier: every community has one. According to Dr. Franks, Billy had
entered puberty late in his tenth year and by the end of his eleventh,
was essentially a man. His secondary characteristics were fully
established and very much in evidence. Our subjects in the study doted
on Billy, and included him regularly in their little games. Billy,
whose growth was accelerated, had not the same sort of  interest in me
the other boys had, but he tolerated some of my less serious
perversions, and had no qualms about opening up when I asked him
what Mr. Murray had done.

"He takes me in his office, makes me undress 'n jacks me off."

"That's all?"

"I think he wants me to do it to him, but he can't keep his pecker hard.
I think he's mad 'cause mine's bigger'n his."

"How often has he done this?"

"I guess a half a dozen times now. He's a really ugly man!"

I typed up this information and had Billy sign it. Photocopies were sent
to Mr. Murray and the high school Principal. A real coach was quickly
found, a much younger man. He immediately got all the boys interested
in sports; most of them preferred wrestling...

The LDDCS dragged on. The Public Health Service became the Center for
Disease Control. The lead investigator moved up (as all inept folks do)
and was replaced by someone almost as inane. The investigation plodded on,
perpetuated by sheer inertia if nothing else: we found, in general, the
period of arrested development hovered around five years, though Tommy
remained behind for just over ten, and another boy, particularly
splendid and beautiful was held back for nearly fifteen.  I was loathe
to leave the study because the mystery had still not been solved
(and I was having so much fun in the back room).

One day in August, typical summer weather ran a bit hotter than usual:
uncomfortable in my little office, I'd consumed several cans of soda
to cool off . Suddenly Eddie showed up: he was one of our subjects,
a stupendous 15 year-old. His retardation had begun rather late: he
was well into puberty when his growth-spurt was arrested, leaving his
voice uncertain but his body particularly lithe and muscular. Now
actually 19, he was taller than most of his peers, and as I quickly
found out, had a lovely muscle close to five-and-a-half inches long
between his legs. Unlike most of the boys, he could ejaculate, and
liked to fire off long stringy white projectiles at every opportunity.
Brash like the rest, he burst in without knocking. His fuzzy legs
emanated from skimpy shorts; other than keds, he had nothing else on.

"The others here yet?" he croaked.

"What others?"

"Toby told a bunch of us to be here at 1 o'clock: looks like I'm the
first."

"What did he have in mind?"

"Didn't say: just said we'd have some fun. Jeez, it's hot in here!"

"Who else is coming?"

"Dunno. Paul, I hope, and probably Bud: he and Toby spend a lot of
time together."

I hoped Paul would show up as well: if I had a favorite among the boys,
it was Paul, perpetually 13, perpetually horny, and spectacularly
pretty. Answering my wish, he just then burst in along with Bud, Toby
and Phil. Toby carried a large plastic bag and a twelve-pak of cokes.

"Hi Eddie; Hi Dr. Jones, sorry we're a little late. Had to stop for
cokes at Chico's." He dropped the package on the floor.

"No problem: what's up?" I replied.

"Why, the same old thing is up, that's what," he leered. "But it's way
too hot to stay in here with our clothes on." He swung the sack over
his shoulder and headed for the back room: the boys followed their
Pied Piper, and after locking the door I joined them in our inner
sanctum. From the sack, Toby withdrew something made of plastic, a
small inflatable bath-tub of the sort made for back-yard use in summer.
Toby applied his mouth to the rubber hose, and blew into it: more
accustomed to sucking, he was soon winded and passed it along to
one of the others. The tub slowly took shape, and when filled with
air was circular, perhaps five feet in diameter. The boys, working to
fill the thing, had quickly shed their flimsy summer shorts and were
prancing around as usual, nude and glistening with sweat

"We've no water to fill it," I exclaimed. There was a tiny bathroom
nearby, but no hose or bucket.

"Don't worry, Doc: I've got all the boys primed, and there'll soon be
water enough to go around. But you still have your clothes on: you
must be sweltering."

Truthfully, I was overheated, partly because of the temperature, but
mainly because having these youngsters running around bare had its
usual effect. Toby, of course, having survived his own retardation,
now towered over the others, and was a fine specimen in every respect
and very well endowed. He had a light dusting of hair and a crotch
full of it. As I  undressed, my eyes were drawn as usual to Paul. It
was difficult to put my finger on exactly why he was my favorite:
for one thing, he never objecting to my putting my finger (or anything
else) on him, anywhere! Had he been a cat, he would have purred
whenever anyone touched him. He was one of the few I'd occasionally
managed to pry away from his parents so we could sleep together.
Not that I got much rest: I spent most of those nights pawing at
his sleeping form and reveling in its flawless beauty.

Bud was yet another winner: he'd been 14 for several years. He was
blond and pale, his skin so translucent bluish veins showed through
in many places. He had thick peach-fuzz all over, and even the beginnings
of a mustache. He had a surprisingly long penis that drooped, and very
loose balls that dangled alluringly below: they flopped around
dangerously when he ran, but I knew from experience that he loved to
have someone swallow them.

Our group was rounded out by Phil. Where Bud was blond and pale, Phil
was dark and swarthy. Judging by his father, when he grew up he would have
hair everywhere, and would be stocky running to fat. But now one of the
youngest at 11 going on 15, he was a glabrous bundle of energy with the
cutest little dingy and wonderfully shaped limbs.

"Into the tub, guys," Toby ordered. They all hopped in, giggling and
groping themselves and each other. They seemed to know what was coming
next, but it surprised me when Toby cut loose with a stream of piss
from his lovely garden-hose, and the four kids were soon gleaming with
wetness.  Under the circumstances, my sodas having worked through, there
seemed no reason not to join in, so I watered down the boys as well.

"You've done this before," I chortled to Toby.

"Oh yes! It's a handy way to get cool on these hot summer days. We just
wanted you to join in, and you've wasted no time.

In the tub below us, the four slick cutties frolicked in the accumulating
fluid. Phil was the first to add his effluent: propped against the side
of the tub, he went first on himself then on the others, and seemed to
take forever to empty. Toby opened cokes and passed them around. Paul
and Eddie peed at the same time, aiming first at each other then at the
others. Soon there was an inch of liquid under the glistening bodies;
the boys splashed it over themselves with complete abandon. They licked
it off their fingers, tasting the combined nectar and washing it down
with more cokes. Toby soon released another pint or two of frothy pee,
and before long I did the same. There was not room for us in the tub
with the others, but it was exciting just to stand and watch them having
fun. Between emptying his bladder, Tony worked up his cock by playing
with it, and  kneeling beside the tub could get one or another of the
boys to suck on it. Then he would get one of them to stand, so he
could reciprocate.

How long this orgy lasted I no longer remember, but one by one the boys
slowed down, usually after having reached a soggy orgasm. As usual,
Eddie stood while all three boys pawed at his frame and fired off his
little rockets of jizz which the others spread over themselves. Then
Toby, towering over them all, whipped his penis furiously and showered
them again. "Your turn, Doc," he said, breathing heavily. I needed no
coaxing, and quickly added my own potion to the sparkling bodies in the
pool.

I also don't recall how on earth we cleaned up the mess! The youngsters
left in their shorts, with piss and cum drying all over them: they
probably skinny-dipped in the stream that ran through town. Toby did not
seem quite satisfied, though: I sucked his splendid tool to a second
climax before he departed.

I was still around when Tommy's graph began to creep upward: by 1965
he had grown an additional 18 inches in height, and a good five where
it counts most. Like Johnny, he evolved into a typical youth in
appearance, and also like Johnny, not much interested in girls. We finally
decided it was part of the pattern. But whether they were homosexual
because of the interruption of their growth, or because the causative
factor led them to be aggressive with other boys and men and hence
established a preference, we never found out.

The last to be affected were the J------  twins: they were 17 years old
when the hiatus in their development began, and it lasted only three years.
Well on their way to maturity, they found each other irresistible and hence
had little time for the younger boys who nevertheless pestered them
mercilessly. Identical, the only difference between them was a small
birthmark on the younger (by minutes) who thus came to be called Mark,
even though their given names were Melvin and Mervin. Soon after discovery
of their entry into the special class of kids in our study, their parents
urgently requested a meeting with me.

Mrs. J------, clearly distraught, explained that she had discovered
her sons in flagrante dilecto. Mr. J------ had apparently been
unable to convince his wife that the boys' behavior was not unusual.

"They have separate beds in their room, but there they were in the
same one," she complained, "and they were...   they were..."  she
couldn't say it.

"Sodomizing," George said for her.

This was no surprise to me: Mark and Merv had spent many afternoons in my
back room rutting like rabbits. If there had been a way to screw each
other simultaneously, they'd have found it; instead they 69-ed constantly,
but always ended their sessions corn-holing and spraying their jizz-bombs
all over each other: they were exciting to watch! I also knew they had
seduced their father on several occasions: I'd have done the same (he
was a nicely set up guy in his early 40s) if I weren't regularly
satisfied by the youngsters.

"You won't like the question I'm going to ask you, Martha, but I need
to know: does George, here, perform adequately in bed?"

Martha bristled: "That's none of your business," she said testily. But as
she searched for a response, a pleasant glow suffused her face: clearly,
the answer was yes. I turned to George.

"And, George, did you masturbate when you were the age your sons are now?"

"Of course: every day, sometimes two or three times!"

"Maybe now and then with another fellow about your own age?"

"Yeah, there were lotsa circle-jerks in our neighborhood. Even now I
jack off alone once in a while."

Martha looked at him questioningly: "You DO?"

"Martha, every man takes himself in hand now and then, no matter how good
his wife is. You know, there's times you don't feel 'up to it' when I do.
I just relieve the pressure: there's no harm done. And the boys and I..."

Martha's eyes flew open and her jaw dropped.

"...have the same problem: the twins have to 'relieve the pressure', too!"
I filled in quickly.  George had almost spilled the beans: relief flooded
his face, and his eyes thanked me for covering for him.

"Don't worry about your boys, Martha, and don't try to stop what's going
on: even though its taking them a bit longer than some, they'll grow out
of it." I tried to sound convincing, though I was pretty sure I was wrong.

The LDDCS, after spending millions, really established only two things:
there really was a cluster of boys experiencing varying periods of
temporarily delayed maturation in and around Lincoln, California; and, no
causative factor could be established. It seemed that the earlier in life
the condition began, the longer it lasted, but there were exceptions.
Eventually the problem went away without intervention of any kind. The
failure to find a cause brought an end to several careers in the USPHS and
the CDC: by simply arresting my own career at the investigator level,
I avoided similar stigmatization. Besides, I didn't want to move up: it was
far more fun going down. But, by the eighties, the study got whacked out of
the budget. As most of the boys were grown up and quite normal by then,
no one lamented the study's demise. I decided it was time to retire, and
moved to Lincoln, where I kept in touch -- literally -- with many of the
youngsters. In the nineties, Lincoln was enveloped by the rapid expansion
of Sacramento, and it is now a bedroom community for the State Capital
and a retirement home for many other seniors.

In 2001, I received a note from Dr. Frank in Florida, where he had retired
soon after I did. With the note was a notarized copy of a confession,
and a cover letter from some lawyer I'd never heard  of. Here is the
confession, in full:

                          SWORN STATEMENT

My full name is Andre‚ de Souza Chixtitixotl.  I was born in Brazil around
1920: my exact age is not known. My mother was a full native of the Benowami
tribe which existed then in the jungle. My father was Don Andre‚ de Souza M.

When my mother was a girl, she broke her right leg; the bone healed leaving
her leg badly twisted: she was a cripple, and in the custom of the Benowami,
she was abandoned. By chance, my father, owner of a large ranch adjoining
the jungle, found the girl near death. He took pity on her and took her to
his hacienda where his wife, Donna Teresa nursed the tiny girl. With help
from a local doctor, they broke her leg again and re-set it. When it healed,
my mother walked almost normally. Although she took many years to reach
maturity, Chichi (as she became known) made occasional contact with her
tribe (who thought her healed legmiraculous), but remained in the hacienda
as a servant, learned Brazilian Portuguese, and eventually turned into a
very beautiful young woman.

With full knowledge of  Donna Teresa, Don Andre impregnated Chichi, the
object being to get another female servant. However, I arrived. Later,
Chichi produced several daughters who remained in Brazil. Like my mother,
I took a long time to grow up: I remained at the physical age of 13 for
five or six years, then quickly matured. When I was twenty, Don Andre‚ sent
me to the United States, to be cared for by a brother who was already there.
He sent me with a modest amount of money. I sailed from Rio, went through
the Panama Canal, and arrived in San Francisco in 1932. My Uncle, who I
called "Tato", met me and took me in a big old car to Lincoln, California:
he had a ranch near the town, and I have never left the area since.

Just before I left Brazil, my Mother gave me some seeds of the Gwanalati
plant, and told me about its remarkable properties. She said the extract
from the leaves had been used on her, and she had used it on me.
She thought I would find it useful in my new home.

Tato and I did not get along well: he believed I was just another ranch-hand.
I was tall and good-looking,and he worried about my running off with some
woman. He made life quite uncomfortable for me. After two years of this life,
during which I learned enough English to get by, I ran away into the town of
Lincoln. There, using my father's little stake, I bought a small grocery
store. The shop was in front with a small apartment behind, and a tiny plot
of land behind that. I lived in the apartment for the remainder of my life,
ran the grocery well and kept it open late so I could live comfortably.
People in the town treated me well: since no one could pronounce my name
(appended in the Spanish fashion after my Father's name), I became known
to everyone as "Chico".

At first, I was attracted to some cute young girls in the town. Many children
came into my store alone or in groups: no one thought about it in those days.
So, I eventually planted some Gwanalati seeds in my little yard, where
they thrived in the warm summer climate. They were not unusual in appearance:
no one ever thought anything about them.

One day I prepared a special gum-ball for my machine: it was heavily laced
with the extract of the Gwanalati leaves. Since I owned the machine, it was
easy to put a special ball into it. That day, Jennifer and her brother came
into my shop to buy a few things for their mother. After ringing up the
purchase, I gave Jennifer a penny and told her to buy a gum-ball. However,
her brother already had a penny, and he bought the tainted ball and popped
it into his mouth. After all, there was no way I could interfere with his
purchase without giving myself away.

So, it was Jennifer's brother Johnny who became the first person to
experience the effects of the Gwanalati plant in the United States. He was
twelve years old at the time, and he remained twelve for the next seven years
(my mother had been somewhat vague about dosage), much to the surprise of
his parents and sister. It was even more surprising to me, for up to then
I had not realized how truly beautiful -- and seductive -- young boys can
be. A few months after his development stopped, he came into my store just
before closing-time, wearing only a swim-suit and clogs. He said he wanted
to see where I lived, so I took him to my little apartment. Without any
coaching from me, he took off his tight little speedo and pranced around
quite naked: he encouraged me to do likewise and I did and we frolicked naked
together, culminating in a wonderful ejaculation for me brought about by
his beautiful little hand on my penis.

By now, readers of this confession will know that in the years that followed,
something like thirty boys in the town of Lincoln benefitted from my doses
of the Gwanalati extract. Three of the prettiest boys got repeated
applications, and so remained boys for longer times. I, meanwhile, reveled
in their puerile beauty, and in their attentions. The twins were the oldest:
they got the extract in ice-cream bars. No one ever suspected me of anything,
although the town eventually became the subject of many studies of the odd
group of youths whose development was temporarily delayed by a means that
was never discovered.

Now, on my deathbed, I want the world to know what really happened. However,
I have carefully destroyed all of the Gwanalati plants.

Signed the 20th day of March, 2001

Sworn before me this day in Lincoln, California.
George H. Johnson, Attorney at Law         Attested: {illegible signature}
                                                     (   SEAL   )

Note: Andre de Souza C. passed away March 23rd, 2001 {illegible initials}

                            (              )
                            (     SEAL     )
                            (              )


                          ********************

Copyright BRUCE BRAMSON 2006