Date: Sun, 27 Mar 2005 06:28:50 -0500
From: g d <parrafan@ureach.com>
Subject: Doc For A Day

DISCLAIMER

This story is fiction. If you shouldn't be reading this (by
reason of age, religion, law or social  prejudice), don't. It
contains descriptions of sex between people of various ages, but
of the same gender: male.

DEDICATION

This story is dedicated to a prolific Nifty author, Paul Paris.
I have always enjoyed your stories, Shakesbeer, and this is my
little tribute to you. Also to a gaggle of generous and gracious
respondents and well-wishers: Mr Malaprop [see, first in the
list!], Sandra55, RHPSFC [what kind of a nick is that?],
Miguel, Rebel777, ulissnin, pipi3214, windrider, fecfec, Yagoh2,
Danny and El Chasqui. Cheers to all of you.

* * *

Doc for a Day

Even though I really despise people who define themselves by
what they do for a living ("Hi! I'm  Martha, I'm married with
three great kids and I'm a part-time console operator at the
Quik-E-Mart!"), I gotta start somewhere, right?

I'm Bill. I work for one of those costume supply outlets that
every big town has. We rent out all manner of paraphernalia for
parties, Hallowe'en, religious festivals, anniversaries, Bucks'
nights and the like. I'm low man on the totem pole at work as I
have only been there for six months. I don't see it as a
long-term prospect, but  it puts food on the table right now,
for which I'm grateful. After all, not many shops would employ a
disgraced former schoolteacher, right?

As for the disgrace, well, you know how kids are, right? They
have no idea of discretion. When they're happy and excited, they
want to tell the whole world all about it. And that's exactly
what a ten-year-old boy at my former employment did. Robert was
the lad's name, but all his classmates called him Rocket,
because he was a little hyperactive. He was delighted with the
way his Science teacher was helping him with his studies. Rocket
loved the way his Science teacher rubbed his shoulders and back
as they sat together after class for extra tuition. He
luxuriated in the feelings he got when his Science teacher ran
his hand under his tee-shirt and stroked his bare chest and
tummy every time he got a science concept right. Rocket couldn't
see anything wrong with it. It felt so good, so why should he?
Furthermore, why shouldn't he tell the blabbermouth school nurse
about the nice Science teacher who always hugged him and held
him and stroked his back and tummy and bare thighs below the hem
of his shorts? Fourteen years' gaol, that's why!

The school wanted to avoid a scandal. Well, they always do,
don't they? And after a hurried conference with me in the
preparation room of the Science laboratory, during which I
pledged to Rocket my undying affection, the boy flatly refused
to relate any further details of my dealings with him to
anybody, Headmaster and parents included. Even though they have
no idea of discretion, boys can be fiercely loyal. This boy was,
anyway, lucky for me.

So it came down to facing a courtroom with the third-hand
hearsay evidence of a school nurse (whom I had already traduced
as a frigid dyke to the cops - not true but she'll live) or
resign quietly and go away. Naturally I chose the safe option.
Who wants to risk his freedom with a jury nowadays, especially
in a child molestation case? The boy was physically unharmed -
lucky for me there is no forensic test to indicate oral sex from
a week before - and the school bent over backwards to hush it
all up, fearing for its good name and a huge compensation payout
to the owners of the boy, his parents. I say 'owners'
deliberately, because that's still how the law regards children:
as the property of their parents, however unworthy those parents
may be.

So, now I've put all that behind me and made a new career for
myself as a gofer for an indolent costume shop manager. I get
the occasional thrill from helping children who drop in and want
to be fitted for vampire outfits or Superman suits. One little
fellow wanted to be Tarzan, he was a delight to serve. You can
bet that his suit fitted him extremely well, considering how
much time and personal attention I invested in getting the
precise size and shape for him. By the end of it you could have
called me Jane and I would have answered (heh heh).

One of my daily assignments (how I hate that word now) is to
pick up the mail each morning. The Post Office lies between my
flat and the shop, so naturally the job fell to me. We have a
private box, number 671. I guess we would receive about two or
three pieces of mail a day on the average, so it's not an
onerous job, just a pain in the butt to have to stop on the way
to work.

Occasionally, the drones that work on sorting the mail for the
private boxes overnight make a mis-sort. That's what they call
it anyway. It's actually a mistake, but the Postal Service
cannot bring itself to admit that they make mistakes, so it goes
down in the books as a mis-sort. As a result of last night's
mis-sort, I found a letter in the shop's box that had been
addressed to Box 761. Hmm. Close, but no cigar. I was about to
put it into the mis-sort slot by the service door (tells you
something, doesn't it, that they would actually provide a
mis-sort slot) when I noticed the return address on the front.
The letter was from Grey's Academy, a private school which I
recalled from my previous career was even more stuck-up and
snooty than the one from which I had been fired.

Just before I slipped the letter into the mis-sort slot, my
curiosity got the better  of me. I wondered who owned Box 761. I
had not read the addressee's name earlier as my eyes had gone
straight to the distinctive school crest of Grey's. But now I
looked at the letter more closely.

The letter had been sent to the Malham Clinic. I was surprised
that they had a post box in this suburb, as the Clinic was some
twenty miles out of town. Everyone in the area knew of the
Malham Clinic - it wasn't the Mayo, but its clients were every
bit as wealthy as the Mayo's. Typical of Grey's to correspond
with others of their lofty social standing, I thought. But what
was the subject of the correspondence? Again I moved to push the
letter into the idiot slot, and again I hesitated. My mind
immediately proposed a dozen reasons why I should keep the
letter: it wasn't registered; no-one who know where it went; if
it was important, Grey's would write again, or phone; if the
Postal Service didn't want the mail to be intercepted it should
be more careful; maybe it's some juicy scandal about a Grey's
senior boy contracting some filthy sexual disease. At my
previous school, the senior boys joked "If you can't get a
woman, get a Grey's boy", but I suppose the Grey's seniors spoke
similar ribald insults about my former students.

Intense curiosity got the better of my common sense and I jammed
the letter into my jacket pocket.

* * *

I waited until my first coffee break at around 11 to pull the
crumpled envelope from my pocket  and inspect it more closely. I
felt a bit guilty, but due to my earlier bad experience I was
poorly disposed towards education authorities in general, and
towards Grey's just on principal. I began to gently tease the
sealed flap loose, then realised that I was probably never going
to reseal it and send the letter to its correct destination, so
I just went ahead and tore it like a bride's knickers.

The contents were mildly surprising. Apparently, the Year 6 boys
of Grey's Academy receive an annual physical exam from one of
the medical underlings at Malham. The powers that be at Grey's
could not possibly risk the dignity of their fine establishment
with any lesser authority, such as the local GP or the
State-funded free clinic, so they went straight to the top. The
letter invited Malham Clinic to send one of its medical officers
(it expressly requested a male officer) for the yearly check-up.
It specified date and time, and demanded a phone response to
confirm the arrangements.

At this point, an idea sprang into my mind. One of those
once-in-a-lifetime ideas. A chance for me to exorcise my
schoolteaching demons, get some revenge on educational
authorities, and fool around with some tasty boys, all in the
one grand scheme. I ran to the shop's storeroom to verify that
we had the necessary props for my great illusion - I wanted to
nail a few items down right away because the scheme had popped
practically full-blown into my mind. Sure enough, I quickly
found all I needed: a white lab coat, a medical bag, wig,
black-framed glasses (fake of course), stethoscope (the
old-fashioned type with a listening cone at the end), reflex
hammer, thermometer, blood pressure cuff, pencil light, tongue
depressers and other assorted and sundry medical claptrap.

While in the storeroom, I used my mobile phone to call the
school.

"Good Morning, this is Grey's Academy, how may I help you?"

"Hello, this is Dr Geoff Woodbery from Malham Clinic? May I ask
to whom I am speaking?"

"Oh, good morning Doctor, this is Jenny in the front office, are
you the one who is coming out to our Year Six boys tomorrow?"

"That would be me, Jenny, yes. But I have a request to make. I
note that I am scheduled to begin the physicals at ten thirty?
I'd like to come out at nine thirty so I can do a proper review
of the boys' med files before I begin. Can you have those ready
for me at that time?"

"Certainly Doctor, come straight on up to the office when you
arrive. I will have them waiting for you."

"I'd also like to have a word with the class teacher, if I may?"

"Yes of course, that's Mrs Schwitt. Hold on, I'll put you
through to the staff room, you can ask for her there. Good day,
Doctor." The helpful Jenny pushed buttons and clicked switches,
and I found myself listening to another ring tone.

"Staff Room", a male voice answered.

"Oh hello", I replied. "May I speak to Mrs Schwitt, if she's
there please?"

"Uh, yeah, I think she's here, wait on". I heard the clunk of
the receiver being droppped onto a benchtop, then a voice
yelling in the background. Shortly thereafter a female voice
spoke.

"This is Mrs Schwitt."

"Oh, hello Mrs Schwitt, this is Dr Woodbery from Malham. I
understand I'll be visiting your classroom tomorrow."

"Oh, yes, Doctor, good of you to call. I'll expect you at ten
thirty, shall I?"

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, Mrs Schwitt. I
will be arriving prior to that time to review the boys' medical
documentation so that I can make an informed analysis of their
health history. I wonder, what resources may I call upon for the
purposes of my investigations and subsequent examination of the
boys themselves?"

"Our class, indeed our school is at your disposal, Doctor. If
you would like to tell me what you require, I will arrange for
it to be at your disposal."

"Excellent, thank you Mrs Schwitt. I'm relatively new at Malham
so I am not aware of the customs and practices that have applied
in the past for these physical exams."

"Well, Doctor, as none of these boys has been in Year Six at
Grey's before, whatever happens will be new to them as well.
Don't worry yourself over it, just advise me of your
requirements."

"Thank you Mrs Schwitt, I appreciate your co-operation and your
candour. Is there sufficient space in the classroom for a corner
to be screened off with a temporary curtain?"

"You'd like to do the exam in the classroom?" the teacher asked
in a slightly incredulous voice. Damn! I might have blown it.
Hafta bluff my way through.

"Certainly," I blustered. "I think it will put the boys more at
ease if they don't have to leave the psychological comfort of
their own room.May I ask how many boys I will be examining?", I
added, trying to change the subject.

"Year Six has twenty three boys, Doctor. At Grey's we do not
believe in streaming, so we only admit sufficient boys to allow
one teacher per cohort. As such, you will not find a 6A or 6B or
6C at Grey's. There is simply Year Six". It sounded to me as
though she was reading from the school prospectus. Probably
memorised it. Maybe even wrote it herself.

I changed tack again. I suspected that Mrs Schwitt was a woman
who had a high respect for order and authority, so I tailored my
approach towards those goals. "Mrs Schwitt, would you think it
improper to ask the boys to ensure that they wear underpants of
some sort tomorrow? If I remember my own childhood accurately,
some days such items were, uh, overlooked."

Mrs Schwitt's haughty tone assured me that I was on a winner. "I
would not dream of Asking the boys, Doctor. I shall Tell them
what is required of them. May I ask why you think it necessary?"

"Of course, Mrs Schwitt, and I am happy to be guided by your
experience" A little sugar might sweeten the old bag up, I
think. "My plan is to interview and examine the boys, one at a
time, behind a curtained-off area within their own class. I
would like a few boys at a time, say five or so, to undress to
their underwear and sit in their seats until they are called up
one by one. After I have finished each examination, the boy can
return to his desk and dress himself. I will write up my results
in the boy's file, while the next boy is moving to the front.
That should minimise time wasting and reduce disruption to your
classroom. I hope it will not embarass you to have the boys
partially undress in your room?"

"Doctor, I am a mother and grandmother several times over. I
assure you, these boys will have nothing with which to shock me.
Your plan sounds quite proper, and I will see to its orderly
implementation."

* * *

I arrived at Grey's Academy at twenty five past nine the next
morning. The night before, I convinced the manager of the shop
to let me have a day off, which he was happy to give, as it  was
my first in six months. I was last to leave the shop, so nobody
saw the bag of accessories that I clutched to my side.

My shirt collar was a little tight. I had not worn a tie since
my teaching days. I hoped my outfit looked convincing,
particularly my wig and glasses, but I need not have worried.
The moment Jenny in the front office saw my white lab coat,
stethoscope draped around my neck, dorky glasses and bad hair
she hurried out of her seat to greet me.

"Doctor Woodbery, come this way, please", she gushed, hustling
me over to a side desk on which were stacked a pile of manila
folders. I could see the words "Confidential - Med Hist" stamped
on the cover of the topmost folder. "Here are the files you
requested. If you would like to follow me, I will show you to
Mrs Schwitt's room". I gathered up the bundle of files and duly
followed her down a corridor to a doorway, at which she knocked,
then smiled at me as she turned and departed for the front
office. A boy opened the door, took one look at me then looked
back across the room towards his teacher, yelling "Mrs Schwitt,
the Doctor's here".

Peering over the boy's head, I had my first look at Mrs Schwitt,
and her appearance confirmed all my premonitions. She bore a
startling resemblance to the actress who played the role of
Professor McGonigal in the Harry movies, if that helps the
reader form a mental picture. Mrs Schwitt looked over her
bifocals with a withering stare at the lad who opened the door .
"Kindly do not shout across the room like a barbarian, Master
Hobbes. Show the Doctor to his desk."

I followed the boy to the front of the room where a temporary
consultation area had been set up. I felt every boy's eyes
drilling into my back as I strode confidently forward, slipped
behind the portable screen and deposited the medical files on
the desk. I quickly noted the furnishings with which Mrs Schwitt
had outfitted my little consulting room. The desk I mentioned
had a blotter with three pens and a pencil neatly aligned, a
lamp, a pitcher filled with water and a clean water tumbler. In
front of the desk there were a couple of chairs, a low table
covered with a sheet, and a clean, neatly folded towel.
Satisfied that all was well, I emerged from behind the screen
and walked straight up to Mrs Schwitt's desk, strategically
located in the middle of the opposite wall, as though I had a
right to be there. She graciously stood and extended her hand
limply for a shake. I smiled and suggested that we get right to
business. I indicated to her that I would need about an hour to
review the documents, but that occasionally I would like to "put
a face to a name" and requested that the boy whose file I was
reading would stand in his place so I could identify him.

Mrs Schwitt approved of my suggestion immediately. She adressed
the class in a businesslike way. Tapping her ruler twice on her
desk to gain the boys' attention, she proclaimed "Boys, this is
Doctor Woodbery. He will be conducting your annual physical
examination, as I advised you yesterday. I trust you all took my
suggestion of last evening to heart regarding your
undergarments. If not, your folly will soon be revealed". A few
boys giggled at that, but were silenced by a stare. "Doctor
Woodbery's instructions are to be followed instantly, and
without question. If the Doctor should call your name, you are
to rise in your seat until he motions you to sit. I will advise
you when the first five boys are to (ahem) undress. Every boy
not being examined by Doctor Woodbery will occupy himself with
his Geography project, or with quiet reading until I direct
otherwise. My instructions yesterday and today have been
perfectly clear, so I anticipate there will be no need for
questions." She glared around the room, as if daring any boy to
have the temerity to raise his hand to ask a question, but none
called her bluff. With a nod and a small smile towards me, she
resumed her seat. I gathered that I had been dismissed, and
returned to my mini-surgery.

* * *

Boys' medical records contain all sorts of information, some of
it not strictly medical. I picked up the first folder and leafed
through the pages containing the medical history of one Blake,
Roger. His date of birth put his age at a month past his twelfth
birthday. He had a broken leg at age 7 but no other
hospitalisation. His height and weight were within the bounds of
average for his age, his blood type was A+, he was circumcised,
all of his permanent teeth had come through, he had no bodily
scars but did have a small mole on his inner left thigh since
birth. Parents divorced, lived with mother, no siblings.
Slightly below average intelligence. I popped my head around the
corner of the curtain and, taking my lead from Mrs Schwitt,
proclaimed "Master Roger Blake?", looking to the middle of the
room.

To my slight surprise, the boy directly in front of me
immediately shot up in his place and stood, waiting. Mrs Schwitt
saw my surprise and explained "I took the liberty Doctor of
arranging the boys in alphabetical order, for your convenience".
I smiled at her, then nodded at the boy to sit. He did so and
resumed colouring in a map of Africa.

I picked up the next file and glanced through it. I was not
really sure what I was looking for, but it was fun finding out
personal details about the boys, especially as they had to know
I was reading all about their little secrets. Paul Carter had
his appendix out at age 11, at which time a clumsy surgeon
slipped with his knife and left Paul with only one live
testicle. An implant was added three months later to replace the
dead organ. Julius Chitworth had an allergy to peanuts which
caused him to break out in a rash. The last such outbreak
(following a peanut butter sandwich during a sleepover at his
friend's house) left a scar on his chest between his nipples.
John Dakers had a deformity of the penis, the result of a prank
with a soft drink bottle when he was 8 years old. I put my head
around the corner and asked for him to stand, which he did,
blushing prettily. He shook his head to get his long blond bangs
out of his eyes, and looked away from my frank stare. He must
have known what I was reading, and I wondered if any of his
classmates knew of his plight. Having had my fun, I invited him
to be seated. The document did not describe the exact nature or
appearance of the deformity, but I was already looking forward
to seeing it. Jaiden Hobbes, the raucous boy who answered the
door, had premature pubic hair at age eleven and three months,
according to his file, but no other adult sexual development.
The doctor who made this startling discovery must have thought
himself quite witty because he noted in the margin "All dressed
up and nowhere to go!".

I spent the next forty minutes skimming through the remaining
files, looking for a family connection. I had a little plan that
I hatched while lying bed last night. I wanted to find two boys
in the class who were related, and by the time I got near the
end of the files, I  found them. Preston Ryvell and Franklin
Ryvell were cousins. I restacked the files in alphabetical order
and popped my head around the corner again.

"I'm ready, Mrs Schwitt. Please ask the first five boys to
undress now." Without being asked by their teacher, the column
of boys in front of my curtain all stood, and began pulling at
their ties, belts and shoelaces. A few of the remaining boys
looked over at the undressers, but a short sharp rap from Mrs
Schwitt's ruler got them back on task. I caught Roger Blake's
attention as he was unbuttoning his shirt and smiled at him,
saying "You can come straight in when you're undressed, Roger".
He blushed fiercely and looked at the floor, continuing to
fumble with his buttons.

I returned to my curtained hideaway to await Roger. This Doctor
charade is a whole lot more fun than I even hoped. I wonder
whether it's a criminal offense to impersonate a doctor, same as
it is with clergy and police? Too bad if it is. Just as I began
to wonder whether Roger might need some help removing his
trousers, he appeared around the corner, hands clasped nervously
in front of his underwear. I smiled and waved him towards me. He
took only a couple of tentative steps, so I  beckoned him with
more urgency, upon which he gave up his reluctance and stepped
all the way over to stand right in front of me. His hands were
still firmly in place over his groin, and I wondered whether he
might have been hiding the Crown Jewels in there, he guarded
them so nervously.

"Don't be nervous, Roger", I began, but I may as well have said
"Be as nervous as you like, Roger" for all the notice he took of
it. He would have been quaking in his boots, if he were wearing
any. I had only budgeted six minutes per boy, including time to
scratch some scanty notes in the med file to show any nosey
parker that I had actually earned my fee, and my very first boy
was going to blow my budget. I had an inspiration. "Just go back
to your seat for a minute, Roger, please?" The boy quickly shot
back to his seat with a sigh of relief. Premature, I might add.

I strode over to Mrs Schwitt's desk and caught her attention.
"It seems, Mrs Schwitt, that I have unwittingly startled the
natives, so to speak. May I ask your indulgence to give the
class a little demonstration of what precisely the health
examination entails - in that way they will be more relaxed when
their turn comes and valuable time may be saved. I fear I have
already terrified poor Master Blake, and I don't wish to inflict
more psychological trauma than is necessary."

The snobbish teacher, who apparently was looking for just such
an opportunity as this, nodded vigorously and declared "Quite
right and proper, Doctor, if I may say. Children must always be
clearly shown what is expected of them. However, I believe that
your demonstration may be construed as an integral component of
the Doctor-patient relationship, and I hold its privacy as
sacrosanct. I think it appropriate therefore to remove myself to
the staff room until you have completed your interviews".
Turning to the class, she proclaimed "Boys! The Doctor will be
giving you a short instruction in what to expect when you
venture behind the curtain for your health assessment. It was
possibly remiss of me to omit it during my briefing to you of
yesterday. Nonetheless, you are to take the Doctor's advice to
heart in all respects, and carry out his instructions as though
they were a direct order From Me. The Doctor has my full
authority to put any boy who disobeys, or even falters in
instant obedience, over his knees for a thorough spanking. A
spanking which I might add, will be duplicated By Me upon my
return. Any boys who, on my return, are found to be standing
bare-bottomed in the corner will Feel My Wrath". She turned to
me and added "You may send a boy along to the staff room to
advise me when you have completed your work". With that, she
strode from the room as though she were Queen Victoria. I was
now alone with the boys, five of whom (in the first row) were
stripped to their underwear - or at least so I assumed, because
all I could see were five bare chests over the tops of their
desks.

I walked to the front of the room alongside my curtained area
and stood before the class. "Well, boys, I think the first thing
to help you all feel more comfortable is that the remainder of
the class should undress down to their underwear, so these five
here won't feel so different". There was a moment of instant
turmoil as the remaining eighteen boys started to stand up and
talk and strip all at the same time, so I raised my hand to call
for their attention. "It shall be done silently", I added. I had
meant to say Silently, but I did not have Mrs Schwitt's gift for
capitalising certain words. Must be a teacher thing. The noise
level dropped from dull roar to whispers.

I watched with pretended disinterest as the eighteen doffed
ties, shirts, belts, shoes, socks, singlets and finally,
trousers. One little fellow got right down to his trousers
before a look of panic scurried across his face. His eyes,
widened, darted around the room at his fellow Year Sixes,
looking for succour, but there was none. He put up his hand, and
at a nod from me stepped to the front.

"Please Sir, uh, Doctor", he began, "I forgot my underwear". I
knew it. There's always one, isn't there? The little lad bit his
lower lip, he was on the verge of tears. I couldn't help but
revel in his misfortune for a moment.

"Did you forget Mrs Schwitt's instructions from yesterday?", I
enquired, almost gently.

"Please Sir, I mean Doctor, I was away yesterday. Violin
recital", the poor chap explained. I was inclined towards
graciousness.

"Ah, a musician, and a good one too, I bet, playing in a
recital. Tell you what, er...?"

"Poskins, Sir, Anthony Poskins", the boy supplied.

"Tell you what, Master Poskins. Come with me behind the curtain
and I may be able to solve your dilemma". The class had almost
completely finished their disrobing and were quietly continuing
with their Geography assignments, or whatever it was that the
old battleaxe had told them to do. I led the shirtless boy
behind the curtain and grabbed the towel from the table. I had
thought I might need to use it for cleaning myself up if any
boy's beauty produced a sudden ejaculation in my own underwear
(a possibility which was still on the table), but the Good Book
urges us to cast our bread upon the waters, so I whispered to
Anthony "Slip your pants off and wear this", holding the towel
out for him. His face glowed with relief and happiness as he
unzipped and dropped his trousers to his ankles, kicking them
off his feet. I noticed a tiny little set of gonads on the boy,
which I was determined to enjoy when his turn came. Wrapping
himself in my towel, he scampered back to his seat.

I returned to the front of the room, carrying one of my chairs,
and cleared my throat to get their attention. Twenty three pairs
of eyes looked up at me.

"Boys", I began. "I realise now, judging by the terror I caused
to poor Master Blake here -" At this point the class all looked
at Blake, making his agony worse - "that I should have explained
to your all what exactly a health examination involves, so that
you are put at ease. I think the best way to do this is to give
a brief demonstration, and then we shall proceed with the exams.
We don't want you sitting around in your underwear all day, now,
do we." Some feeble chuckles greeted my attempted joke.

"What I need now is a volunteer to act as a model". A few hands
half-heartedly rose up around the room but I had already picked
out my mark. "Master Philip Evertsen, I presume?", I enquired of
the slightly built boy right in front of me. Recalling that the
boys were in alphabetical order, I calculated that Evertsen had
to be in the front of the second column. I had noticed a mention
in his file that his family were practicing nudists. I hoped for
his sake that he also practiced.

The boy nodded and stood up. I motioned him forward and he
joined me at the front of the class. "Hop up onto this chair,
please Philip", I asked, holding out my hand to assist his
balance. He ascended the chair and faced the class. He seemed at
ease, given that he was wearing only a loose pair of striped
undies. His head was now level with mine. I began my spiel.

"I will now demonstrate on Philip all of the tests that I will
conduct on each of you, so you need not be frightened of
stepping behind the curtain with me. Philip, are you ready?" The
boy gave me a small smile and a nod. I think he was enjoying his
15 seconds of fame. For now.

"The first test is for blood pressure. I will use this cuff
which I will place around your forearm," (at this point I
produced the first of my medical props and made out like I was
taking Philip's BP). "You will feel a slight constriction of
your bicep, but that's about all. Next," (I flourished the
stethoscope) "is something I am sure you have all seen on telly"
(a few murmurs of agreement from the boys). "I will listen to
your heartbeat" (I placed the earpieces in my ears and the cone
on Philip's left nipple), "and to your lungs" (I moved the cone
to Philip's lower breastbone), "and to your digestive sounds" (I
positioned the cone at various places around Philip's tummy and
lower abdomen). "In doing this, I may need to move your
underwear a little so that I can hear all the gurgling noises
that your bowels make" (I pulled the side of Philip's undies
down over his left hip and placed the cone about an inch above
his pubic bone). A couple of muted gasps around the room
indicated that we were approaching the moment of truth for some
boys.

Leaving Philip's underwear askew, I looked around the room. "I
would be happy to answer any questions at this point, to set
your mind at ease. It's a health check after all, not meant to
be an ordeal", I added. The boys were reluctant to ask, maybe
because of the warning they got from Mrs Schwitt. Hmm, 'Schwitt'
- I bet they made some good sport out of her name behind her
back.

I decided, in the absence of any queries, to lay it on the line
for the boys. "Next, I am required to check your masculine
development", I declared, grasping the sides of Philip's
underwear and pulling them down to his knees, exposing his
crotch to the room. Letting his undies go, they continued under
gravity's relentless influence and dropped to his ankles. To his
credit, Philip only flinched a little, from surprise rather than
embarassment. I grasped Philip's modestly proportioned dick,
holding it in my fingers as if I was weighing it. He flinched
again, but didn't fall off the chair, which was lucky for me. "I
have to be sure that you are all maturing at an age-appropriate
level", I advised the boys. Apart from a few gasps, the boys
were shocked into silence. I let go of the tasty little morsel
and cupped Philip's scrotum. "Genital development is a very
important part of a boy's overall physical development", I
lectured, fondling Philip's nuts in front of the gobsmacked
class.

So now every boy knew the truth. At some point this morning,
each and every one of them was going to have his dick and balls
exposed and played with in the name of medical science. Some of
them were probably thinking by now that it might have been
better to have not known the details of the examination. As it
was, if your name was near the end of the alphabet you had about
ninety minutes of anticipation of a grope behind the curtain.
One boy timidly put up his hand for a question. I called on him
immediately. "Yes, young man, what would you like to know?"

Looking around at some of his cronies with a small smirk playing
around his lips he asked "Uh Doc, what if we get a st- um, if we
get excited during the checkup?"

"A perfectly reasonable question. For the benefit of those boys
who didn't hear it, your classmate is asking 'what if a boy gets
an erection while he is naked during the exam?' Well, to answer
briefly, an erection, or 'stiffie', is a normal response for a
boy's penis, so I would just tick on your medical file that your
reflexes are normal. Simple as that. In fact" - to rub it in a
bit - "it would make the examination of your scrotum and
testicles easier if you had an erection, because then I would
not need to hold your penis out of the way while I examined your
balls; it would stand out from your body by itself." At this
point I demonstrated on Philip by holding his half-stiff penis
out from his abdomen. Several jaws dropped as they watched me
fondle Philip's slender tool with one hand as I tickled his nuts
with the fingertips of my other hand.

"The next exam is of the spinal column, to check for scoliosis.
Turn to the side please Philip," I manouevred the boy around so
that he was standing in profile to the class. "Bend over and
hold your knees, please Philip". He did so, his undies still
gathered around his ankles. I ran my fingers down his spine.
"Feet apart a little, please Philip". The boy complied.
Addressing the class again, I explained that growing boys must
be extra careful about posture, to ensure correct development of
the spine. To illustrate the point, I ran both my hands down
Philip's back, from his shoulders to his bottom, finishing with
a little squeeze of his fleshy cheeks. A few boys groaned
softly. As the finale to my demonstration, with both my hands
still on Philip's delectable butt cheeks, I pointed out to the
class that I can also check their anus in this position, and if
required by the medical history in their file, their rectum. I
turned Philip's bottom towards the class and exposed his anus to
the room by spreading my thumbs. Several boys reddened but did
not look away. One boy started to sniffle. I released Philip's
bum with a little pat on his cheek and thanked him for his help,
saying he could pull up his undies and resume his seat.

"So, now you know the worst of it, let's all put on a brave face
and get this over with", I stated cheerily, enjoying myself
thoroughly. Honestly, if the cops came bursting through the door
right now to drag me away, I would regard it as all worth it. I
picked up the demonstration chair with one hand and held out my
other hand to poor Roger Blake, who now knew without any doubt
what was in store for him behind the curtain. No doubt many a
condemned man has gone to the gallows with more cheer on their
face than poor Roger had at that moment.

* * *
One good sign was that Roger was not as obsessive with his
modesty this time around as at our last encounter. I was able to
put the cuff on his arm, pretend to take his blood pressure,
then place the stethoscope on his chest and tummy, making out
that I was listening to his heart and lungs.  When it came to
his lower abdomen, he kept his arms at his sides, allowing me to
lower the front hem of his undies down to his pubis. I did not
expose his wedding tackle straight away, but allowed him to stew
in his juices a little longer. After prodding about a bit with
the stethoscope, I grasped both sides of his underwear and
jerked them down suddenly to his knees. Roger gasped, but
remained standing like a good little soldier. His doodle and
balls were now exposed, and I wasted no time in groping them to
keep up the appearance of a medical exam.

"Does your penis get stiff, Roger?", I asked, luxuriating in his
discomfort.

"Y-yes, doctor, sometimes", he replied, faltering a little.

"And what about your balls? Do they feel swollen to you, or just
normal?" I gently rolled his testicles about in his scrotum,
noting that it would not be too many more months before young
Roger was belted about the groin by the puberty stick.

"Uh, they feel a bit full, doctor", came his hesitant reply.

"Perfectly normal, Roger. Your body is maturing, and you should
enjoy it as it does so. Feel free to play with your dick
whenever you want. It's perfectly healthy".

"But- but isn't it wrong to- to play with it?" Roger gasped as I
toyed with his stiffening dick. "My Mom told me it was naughty
to play with it".

"Is your Mom a doctor?", I asked him rhetorically. He shook his
head, seemingly enjoying the satisfaction that I was imparting
to his boytool. "Then perhaps you should take my advice instead.
I suggest you play with it whenever you want. Ten times a day if
you like. Give it a good tug whenever you feel the urge.
Anywhere you like. School, home, especially in bed. It will do
you the world of good". Roger's eyes brightened, and a smile
began to form on his lips. He had been given permission to play
with his dick whenever he wanted. Life suddenly became a whole
lot better.

I released Roger's cock and let him stroke it a few times for
himself. "Pull up your undies, Roger, and go back to your seat".
Grinning from ear to ear, the boy dragged up his underwear and
returned to his seat to dress himself. The next boy, seeing
Roger's happy and contented visage, was heartened somewhat and
came forward to the curtain with a little less trepidation.

"Master Carter, I presume", I addressed him. While he nodded, I
wasted no time in applying the BP cuff, then prodded his chest
and tummy with the stethoscope. I pulled his undies down
peremptorily, exposing a stiff dick and a full scrotum.

"How is the implant working out for you, Paul?", (for he was the
boy with the prosthetic teste). I  massaged the boy's scrotum
while he gulped and admitted "It feels okay, Doctor".

"You should not fear to enjoy your body because of your
misfortune," I counselled. "Your penis feels quite robust, and
your remaining testicle should be quite capable of performing
when required ". Paul's features brightened as he comprehended
what I was saying. I actually felt his hips pushing forward into
my hand. I let him root my hand for a few strokes then asked him
to turn around and grab his knees. He presented me with a fine
view of his handsome tail, too good to pass up, so I began my
'check for scoliosis' routine. Hey, I was getting pretty good at
this- maybe I had a future in pediatric medicine?

I ran both hands down either side of Paul's bony spine to his
fleshy bottom. It's funny how skinny boys, who you would think
should have tight muscular buns, often have really soft pillowy
buttcheeks. Rocket, my young friend from school was like that
too. After giving Paul's cheeks a couple of gentle squeezes, I
pulled them apart with my thumbs to expose his little rosebud.
Mmm, delicious, but I had to keep up the medical pretense.

"All looks fine back here, Paul", I told him, patting his
bottom. "You can get dressed now".

"Thanks Doc", he replied with a little grin as he pulled up his
underwear and headed back to his desk. He was only past the
curtains a second when another boy arrived. The next file on the
pile was labelled "Chitworth, Julius", so I addressed the lad as
"Julius?", to which he nodded in response.

Julius was a shortish boy for his 12 years and 1 month. He had a
very long, plain face, with a mouth that looked unused to
smiling. He was more bony than thin, and looked like he could
have used a good feed. I put the BP cuff on his arm and before I
got it pumped up it slipped down below his elbow. Julius turned
his mournful face and looked at me as though he thought it was
his fault, so I smiled and said "Clumsy me!" to reassure him,
and proceeded to apply the cuff correctly. After pumping it up,
then deflating it, I began the stethoscope routine. I put my
free hand behind his back to steady him while prodding the
listening tube over his chest and tummy.

Julius favoured boxers, and was wearing a Simpsons motif on his
brightly coloured polyester shorts. I pulled the front hem down
a few inches and touched the cone to his lower tummy area.
Julius shut his eyes and gave out a little sigh, so I pulled the
front of the garment down far enough to expose his tool. From a
position of repose at about the size of my little finger we both
watched (me with amazement and pleasure, Julius with
embarassment and trepidation) as his penis pumped from soft to
hard with each heartbeat. The whole erection process took about
twenty seconds, and his weapon lengthened from little finger
size to middle finger size (mine, not his). Julius gave me the
impression that he had been pleasured before. I murmured
something like "Don't worry, it's normal", too soft for the
class to hear. Julius nodded and said "I know".

I continued the examination, during which I kept getting the
feeling that Julius was no stranger to being fondled by a man.
When I finally reached the scoliosis test and had him bend over
and expose his hole, my suspicions were amply confirmed. I had
seen enough pictures of Russian boys in the Newsgroups to
recognise anal bruising when I saw it, and I was staring at it
right now. Julius' bum had been plowed both recently and often,
by the looks of the fading bruises around his anal ring.

"Uh oh", I whispered.

"What? What is it?" Julius whispered back urgently.

"You've been having anal sex, Julius". I thought the blunt
approach best, remembering I only had six minutes per boy.

"No I haven't," he insisted. "I haven't". His face could have
appeared in a dictionary as a perfect definition of 'Fibber'.

"Julius," I began, straightening him back up with my hand on his
chest. "Any doctor, or social worker, or Policeman who looks at
your bottom will instantly know what you have been doing." I
leaned in closer to whisper in his ear, reducing the chances of
being overheard by the class. "Now you may have promised whoever
it was that you won't tell, but I assure you, telling me is not
telling, because I'm a doctor. I have to keep your secret. I
have to know that you are safe. You have to tell me," I urged.

"It's my uncle", he blurted, but still in a low voice. I felt
his body shudder as though it was glad to give up its burden of
silence. "When my Mom died two years ago he moved in with me and
Dad. He sleeps with me every night 'cause there's only two
bedrooms. He looks after the house while Dad works. He's
been...doing it to me for over a year." Julius' body sagged a
bit in my arms as he let it all go. How his uncle at first just
wanted to play with Julius' dick. How he progressed to sucking
Julius off. How he wanted to be sucked off in return. How he
finally took Julius' anal virginity, then wanted to repeat the
act every night.

I needed more info. "Julius", I began, "Do you like your uncle?"

"Sure. He does everything for me that Mom used to do".

"Do you love him?", I continued.

"I- I think so", he replied, not as sure this time.

"Do you like what he does to you?", I asked, still whispering in
his ear.

"At first I didn't, because it hurt. Now I like it. I sorta look
forward to it. I guess that makes me a queer?" he asked
ruefully.

"No, not at all. It just means that you like sex. Which is a
good thing, because sex is fun", I added, giving his frail
little body a hug and a squeeze. He smiled for the first time,
so I continued.

"Is there anything you would like him to do to make you enjoy
your sex more?', I enquired, hoping for an insight into what a
boy wants.

"Uh, well...maybe he could cuddle me more?", he faltered.

"Go on, you can tell me. Let it all out", I urged.

"Well, he used to kiss me a lot, but he hardly ever does any
more. And I liked the kisses. And the hugs. And I like it when
he sucked me. He never does that now. And he doesn't give me a
chance to...er...suck him anymore. And I used to like that."

"You enjoyed sucking your uncle's penis?", I repeated, trying to
get him to keep the outpouring going.

"Yes, it was kind of hot and...alive? But he only wants to...to
fuck now."

"Do you use lubricant?", I asked.

"You mean on my bum? Only my spit."

I gazed into his warm brown eyes. I really felt sorry for this
boy who had partial happiness, but could have so much more.
"Julius", I began. "I hope you can take my advice, because I
really want you to be happy. You are a fine boy, and deserve
some joy in your life. Here is what I suggest you do." Julius
looked back at me earnestly.

"This afternoon, when you go home, you are to go up to your
uncle and sit in his lap. Tell him that you enjoy being fucked
by him, but you want him to give you more hugs, more cuddles and
more kisses, both in bed and during the day." Julius smiled and
nodded at this. "Then you can tell him that sometimes instead of
fucking, you want to suck him off instead, once or twice,
whatever he needs. You should tell him that you want him to suck
you off as well." Julius nodded vigorously. "Tell him you will
always love him and never betray him." Julius made a solemn face
and nodded again. "Even if he should lose interest in you and
not want to fuck you anymore."

At this, Julius jerked in my arms. "Do you think Uncle might
stop...stop- er...fucking me?", Julius whimpered, his voice
fearful.

"I honestly don't know," I replied. "But I do know that men who
have sex with pre-teen boys sometimes lose interest when the boy
starts to grow hair or has his first ejaculation. You know what
I mean, don't you?"

"Yes. I know that one day I will shoot sperm like Uncle does,"
Julius answered wistfully.

"Julius, you must not look on that as an ending, but as a
beginning." He looked at me with a curious face. "When your body
matures, and you start to grow hair and spurt semen, your uncle
may no longer be interested in having sex with you. That doesn't
necessarily mean he doesn't love you any longer. But you will
still have many options. You might seek out another man who will
love you as you are. You might find a younger boy of your own to
love. You might fall in love with a boy your own age, or even a
girl." At this, Julius chuckled. It was clear to me that he had
no interest in girls at the moment, but that might change.

I reached into my medical bag and pulled out a tube of anal
lubricant. I had hoped to use it on one of the boys, if the
chance arose, but my better nature took over. "Here," I said to
Julius. "Take this. When you next have sex with your Uncle, use
it on your bottom. It will make the experience more pleasant.
Make sure you have a good long talk with him about your future."

Julius favoured me with a smile, and gave me a peck on the
cheek. "I will, Doctor, and thanks. Thanks a lot," he said, and
squirmed out of my grasp to return to his seat.

The next boy was John Dakers, he of the deformed dong. When he
appeared around the corner of the curtain, I couldn't wait. I
pulled his undies straight down to his ankles. What a
disappointment. His doodle looked normal to me, though it had a
little pucker of flesh on the underside which could have been
the result of a badly performed circumcision. I dispensed with
the BP cuff and the stethoscope, and went straight to fondling
his dick. He stood there passively, as thought this had been
done to him a hundred times before. It was at that point that I
saw the problem. When Dakers stiffened up, his dick took on the
appearance of a hockey stick, with a pronounced twist at the
end.

"Is this giving you any trouble, John?", I solicited, rubbing
his twisted tool.

"It's okay Doctor, I'm used to it now," he answered. What a
letdown. I finished the examination and allowed Master Dakers to
return to his seat.

The next four boys passed through my consulting room with no
surprises. Master Evertsen, the boy on whom I had performed the
demonstration, didn't even get stiff. I thought that I would
never tire of fondling boy's dicks, but really, when you have to
push them through in an assembly line at six minutes a time, the
sensations do get dulled a trifle. It was not until the tenth
boy appeared before me that I was roused out of  the routine
flow of semi-naked boys.

Mark Morwell was his name. His file showed nothing unusual. It
was not until he appeared around the corner of the curtain that
I realised how different young Mark was.

For starters, he wore a pair of string-type bikini underwear, in
a leopardskin pattern, most uncommon for a twelve year old
schoolboy. I don't know who he was expecting, but he was
unashamed of the little bulge in the front of his briefs as he
strode into my consulting space.

"Hi Doc", he addressed me as he stood brazenly in front of me in
his leopardskin microbriefs. "I'm all set for my examination,"
he assured me.

"Okay Mark," I countered, willing to fight fire with fire. "Drop
the undies." Without hesitation he pulled them down to his
knees. A modest penis and balls showed forth. I stretched out my
hands to them , Mark helping by pushing his hips forward.

"That feels good, Doc," he murmured as I groped his equipment.
His penis started to lengthen. I placed the cone of the
stethoscope on his lower belly, but Mark took it out of my
fingers and positioned it on the end of his willie, which had
semi-hardened. It was one of those dicks that didn't point
upwards when stiff, but stood outwards in a bow. It actually
looked quite funny with the stethoscope bobbing at the end of
it, so I smiled at Mark. He responded by flexing his hips and
making the tube wave around in front of me.

"How'm I doin', Doc?", he asked cheekily.

"Pretty good for a beginner," I countered.

"Oh, I ain't no beginner, Doc" he asserted, pulling his exotic
briefs all the way off his legs and climbing up into my lap. He
put his arms around my neck and looked up at me. I was afraid he
might knock my wig askew, but he just wanted to whisper in my
ear.

"Y'know, Doc, I can think of better things to do with that
stethoscope," he whispered in a sultry voice.

I thought I'd better respond in kind.  Mark apparently wanted to
play. "Oh, really? That reminds me, Mark. Your file suggested
that I should perform a rectal probe on you. A very deep rectal
probe." I grinned at him lasciviously.

"Well, you better get started then Doc," he suggested as he
hopped off my lap and bent over. "I think I need a good deep
probing." Saying this, he wriggled his bottom in my face.

I was now regretting my generosity towards Julius in giving him
my lube, but Mark surprised me again by sticking his index
finger in his mouth and reaching behind him to poke it at his
anus. After feeling around a bit, he pushed it in to the second
knuckle, and began wriggling it around.

"Don't you think I should be doing that?" I queried, keeping my
voice low. Mark grinned and opened his mouth as I waved my
middle finger under his nose. He gulped at my finger like a fish
taking a bait and slobbered his tongue all around it, some spit
dribbling onto the floor.

"My turn", I whispered, nodding towards his rear end. He
withdrew his own finger and waved his bottom around to entice me
- a completely unneccesary gesture. I turned his body completely
side on to me, running my moistened finger down his crack until
it found his little pucker. Mark jumped a bit when my fingertip
hit the jackpot, but he turned his head to me and smiled in
encouragement. I was beginning to wonder whether there was such
an ailment as 'Juvenile Nymphomania', with Mark as a textbook
case, when the delicious boy pushed his bottom back, urging me
to stop daydreaming and get on with it.

"Ready to be probed, sexy?", I whispered lewdly. Mark shut his
eyes and nodded vigorously. I drilled forward with my wet
finger. It felt very hot inside Mark's bum, and he was starting
to lean too far forward, so with my other hand I reached under
his tummy to hold his now very stiff penis. Now he could not
move - I held him from both sides. One hand worked his small,
stubby dick (he was uncut so I had a bit of skin to work with),
the other hand slapped his bottom every time its middle finger
penetrated full length into his hot cavity. Two minutes of this
and I was getting very tired. Mark was panting too but suddenly
his body went rigid, then shuddered three or four times - he was
spasming in a dual orgasm. I couldn't feel any moisture on the
hand that was servicing his tool, so I guessed he was still
prepubertal. Even more amazing.

I pulled his limp body onto my lap and stroked his bare flank
while he calmed down. Suddenly he jumped off and boldly reached
for my zipper.

"Now your turn", he whispered, still with enough wits to realise
where we were.

I had to stop him. "Not now," I whispered in reply. "I'll call
you back at lunchtime for a further examination. Okay?". I hated
to do it, because my own testicles were screaming out for
release, but I couldn't risk it in the circumstances. His rueful
smirk was enough to convince me that we had a date. He found his
briefs and slipped them back on, striding back to his seat still
with that knowing grin on his face.

Three more boys passed though the exam without much notice from
me, although I did get to feel a large set of low-hanging balls
on Randolph Nolan. Low hangers have always been a fetish of
mine, especially when the boy has no hair, because they usually
indicate that puberty is very close. Tucked up balls are good
too, of course. Heck, I admit it, I like 'em all!

The next boy was wearing my towel instead of underwear. It was
Anthony Poskins, my little violinist.

"Hello, again, Anthony," I greeted him, being a little bit more
familiar because of our earlier encounter. "Did you bring your
trousers, because I will want my towel back, I'm afraid."

He stopped dead, turned on the spot and scurried out, returning
fifteen seconds later with his school pants. I thought I would
see with young Master Poskins what mischief I could get up to
with my play-stethoscope, so I drew the towel-clad boy very
closely to myself, put my left hand on Anthony's shoulderblades
to steady him, and began to place the 'scope on his throat. In
this way, I was able to feel with my fingers whether any
development of the Adam's Apple had begun.

Anthony's throat turned out to be as smooth as his chest, which
also received its share of prodding from the 'scope. Both
nipples got extra attention. They were beauties in themselves.
Many prepubertal boys have nipples the size of my little
fingernail, but Anthony was blessed with a couple of zingers,
not plump but an inch across each, with a little pimple of flesh
in the middle which erected as soon as I scraped it (a few
times) with the end of the 'scope. My steadying hand was in the
middle of Anthony's back by this, and his breathing had started
to lengthen - he was either relaxing or getting turned on.

The 'scope travelled all around his abdomen - like one of those
trains that stops at every station when you're in a hurry. By
the time I reached the top of the towel, my steadying hand was
in the small of his back.

"I think it's time you gave me my towel back, Anthony," I hinted
at him. He gave a weak smile in return, but before his delicate
violinist's hand could reach the cinch of the towel I had
already grabbed it and pulled it away from his body in a
flourish. Anthony was almost too surprised to say anything,
except for a little "Oh!". My steadying hand fell to his bottom
to make sure he did not topple over while my right hand
continued it scoping mission around his lower tummy.

For about the sixth time that day I witnessed the miracle of
erection as Anthony's very modest one inch prong first
lengthened to a more respectable inch-and-a-half, then rolled
over in its sleep, then pumped upwards to two inches, finally
stiffening at a fort-five degree angle at a magnificent
two-and-a-half inches!

"Your reflexes appear normal, Anthony," I congratulated him.

"Ant," he confided. "Mom calls me Ant but no-one here knows."

"Then they shall not hear it from me, Ant. Hot coals could not
drag it from my lips!" I declared gallantly as Ant giggled and
let me run my 'scope all over the hot little dagger of flesh. I
even 'scoped his balls afterwards. They were the tucked-up
variety. It looked like Ant still had a couple of years of
childhood left in him. Good for him. I told him I hoped to catch
a violin recital of his one day, at which he brightened and
suggested I could call the Conservatorium every now and then to
find out the details of upcoming concerts. I helped him on with
his trousers, omitting the scoliosis exam. I didn't really want
to know if his anus was virginal. Well, a guy's gotta preserve
some mystery in his life, right?

Franklin Ryvell was next cab off the rank, and my examination of
him was cursory, because he was the first part of my cunning
plan. When I grasped his penis, I exclaimed (rather theatrically
I must admit) "Uh oh". Franklin did what any boy would do - he
panicked.

"What is it Doctor? What's wrong?", he begged.

"Well, it's nothing to be too alarmed about, Franklin. But I
will need to examine you again at lunchtime, if you can make
yourself available". He nodded in agreement, pulling up his
briefs and departing.

The next boy, Preston Ryvell, received similar treatment. I made
a theatrical gasp when I examined young Preston's prick, and
enlisted his shocked agreement to a further lunchtime exam.

Several more boys passed through my hands (literally) until I
reached lucky last, Derwent Wallis. Young Derwent was of a
sturdy build, compared to his classmates. His chest was well
defined, a point I noted as I positioned the 'scope all over it.
I asked him to drop his boxers, which he did without reluctance
to reveal a set of wedding tackle that had already begun
puberty. I weighed his balls in my hand, then fondled his dick,
which obligingly stiffened to to an impressive five inches in
length.

"Getting good mileage out of this, Derwent?", I enquired.

"Uh, yes Doc, it's okay," he replied, clearly not sure what I
was driving at. I decided to make my meaning more clear.

"So,  your ejaculations are normal, are they, Derwent?,' I
prodded, still manipulating his hardened penis.

"Uh, I guess so, Doc," he ventured.

"How many a day are you having?" I tormented him.

"Um, two or three, I guess," he whispered, blushing violently.

"I hope you're using a lubricant of some sort, otherwise you may
get a friction burn. You'll recognise that as a redness and
soreness around your knob," I explained, fingering the end of
his dick."

"Uh, yes Doctor, thank you Doctor," he gasped, as I brought his
close to orgasm. Sometimes my mean streak comes to the fore - I
stopped short of letting him blow off in my hand and returned to
a slow stroking of his shaft.

"So, your cock's in good working order, then?" I continued,
enjoying his discomfort. Well, he was my last interview, right?

"Urgh, yes, Doc, uh, it's, uh, working good, ohh," poor Derwent
moaned as I brought him to the brink again.

I immediately removed my hand from his dick and asked him to
dress. "You might as well get Mrs Schwitt from the Staff Room
when you get dressed, please Derwent. You can stop off at the
toilet on the way if you need to," I added with a theatrical
wink. He smile back at me as he rushed back to his desk to dress
himself.

* * *

Mrs Schwitt arrived at the door just as the luchtime bell was
sounding. The boys jumped to their feet on hearing the bell, but
saw their teacher frowning at them from the doorway and
immediately slumped back to their seats. She condescended to
walk to my curtained-off area to ask whether the boys' behaviour
was satisfactory. I assured her that it was, but that I needed
to have three of the boys remain back for a follow-up
examination during lunchtime.

"Indeed," she replied. "And the names of these boys are?"

"Preston and Franklin Ryvell, and Mark Morwell," I advised her.

She turned to the class. "The boys the Doctor named are to
remain. The rest of you may depart for lunch, in an Orderly
Fashion." She turned on her heels, striding in the direction of
the Staff Room. Most of the boys then filed out, leaving me with
the three I had named.

I ushered Preston and Franklin to my curtained-off area, and
asked them to undressed. I signalled to Mark to take his seat.
When I had the two boys inside the makeshift consulting room, I
asked them to undress. They obeyed instantly. I thought that Mrs
Schwitt was the best teacher in the world as I watched the two
strip off their shirts, trousers and undies. Finally they stood
naked before me, looking a little twitchy.

"Thanks for staying back, boys, it's important and I appreciate
it. I noticed something troubling during your examinations, and
I need to sort it out." The boys looked at each other with
trepidation, then back to me. I gripped their hips, to reassure
them.

"The symptoms you boys exhibit don't make any sense," I began,
fondling their penises as they chubbed a little, one with each
hand. "They are quite serious, but I cannot interpret them with
the limited information I have. Your symptoms do resemble
Hemme-Semvitch Disorder, or HSD, but that disease is so rare, it
would be impossible to have two cases in the one class, because
it is not contagious. The only explanation would be if you were
related. Are you boys related, by any chance?"

"We're cousins!" Preston blurted, a look of terror sweeping
across the faces of both boys.

"Well, that explains everything!" I exclaimed, trying to look
relieved. The two lads before me looked anything but relieved.
"That confirms that you both have a genetic disease called
Hemme-Semvitch Disorder. It is named after the two scientists
who first documented it, Dr Hemme and Prof Semvitch," I added
conversationally.

"But what does it...er, what effect does it have?", Franklin
begged. Preston also had a beseeching look on his face.
Excellent, I thought.

"Well, as I said it's quite rare," I began. It only affects
boys, and the effects only appear just before puberty. The tube
that runs along the length of your penis-" here I grasped both
boys' tools firmly, feeling them stiffen even more, "-
atrophies, that is, it withers, gradually closing down and
rendering your penises totally useless. Surgery is required,
sometimes even-" I paused for effect "-amputation". Both boys
gasped. I released Preston's stiff tool and held up my hand for
attention. "But-" I started again "Prof Semvitch has written in
the latest Lancet that there is a treatment for HSD..."

"A treatment!" the boys exclaimed together. "What is it?"
Franklin begged.

"Well, it requires some bravery, but if you are willing to
undertake the treatment, it will delay the onset of the
condition indefinitely. Are you willing, Preston?", I asked.

The boy nodded half-heartedly. "Are you brave, Preston?" He
stuck out his chest and nodded. "I mean, really brave - willing
to do anything?"

"Yes Doctor", he exclaimed.

"No matter what it might be?", I enquired.

"Anything, Doctor," he declared, but with a little less
certainty.

"Very well," I replied. "Kneel down in front of your cousin."
The boy knelt on the floor as instructed. "The treatment
Professor Semvitch prescribed is oral stimulation of the penis
until climax, to be administered daily. Open your mouth,
Preston," I ordered. I then pushed Franklin forward until his
dick was a mere inch from Preston's open mouth.

"Remember what you said about doing anything, Preston?" I asked.
He nodded. "Now is the time to prove it. Do you want to save
your cousin from possible amputation?"

"Yes," he declared resolutely, closing his mouth over Franklin's
tool and sucking tentatively.

"Good boy," I proclaimed, as he worked away on his cousin's
prick. It fit comfortably in his mouth, and was apparently very
sensitive, as it was only three minutes or so until Franklin's
hips began jerking erratically as he orgasmed. I held his waist
to secure him from falling, then as his breathing returned to
normal, I helped him to his knees as I indicated for Preston to
stand. Their positions were now reversed as Franklin held his
mouth open for his cousin. I pushed Preston's bottom forward
until his hard little willie entered Franklin's mouth. The
kneeling boy closed his lips on his cousin's member and began
enthusiastically sucking. Preston did not last as long as his
cousin, for within two minutes his hips changed their motion
from a smooth gyration to a spastic dance.

After Preston's dry orgasm subsided, I brought Franklin to his
feet to address both boys. "Well done, lads, I am proud of you.
Now I must advise that Professor Semvitch recommend the
treatment be carried out every day".

"Er, what about weekends, Doctor?" Franklin asked, wiping his
mouth with the back of his hand.

"According to Doctor Hemme, the treatment is cumulative. That
means, you can do it twice on Fridays, say morning and
afternoon, and that will account for Saturday. You can also do
it twice on Monday to account for the preceding Sunday," I
reassured them.

"How long will we need to do it?" Preston asked.

"I suggest that the treatment will need to continue until you
have both passed your fifteenth birthdays. By then the danger
will have also passed.

"But what about school holidays?" Franklin gasped. "We can't
build up enough...er, sucks to make up for them, can we?"

"You're right. But I'm sure two resourceful boys such as
yourselves can arrange to holiday with each other from time to
time. You are cousins, after all." The boys smiled at each
other. I continued. "Now boys, there may be times when you don't
have time to give the treatment to each other in succession - if
you will forgive the pun. I shall show you a way in which the
treatment can be administered to each of you at the same time.
The boys' eyes widened in anticipation as I led them to the
table.

"Hop up here and lie down, Preston," I directed. He lay
lengthways on the table. "Now you, Franklin, but in the other
direction." When I had both boys lying in a classic 69 position,
I simply pressed their bottoms forward and let nature take its
course. The cousins began their second round, sucking
contentedly on each other. I helped a little by putting each
boy's upper hand on his cousin's bottom. The two boys sucked
away on each other as I poked my head around the corner of the
curtain to beckon to Mark, who had been waiting patiently in his
seat. Seeing me, he scurried forward.

"Wicked!" he exclaimed as he saw the Ryvell cousins entwined in
blissful fellatio, oblivious of their surroundings.

I put a finger to my lips to silence Mark, then pointed at my
crotch. "My turn," I urged, and he grinned as he wasted no time
in  dropping to his knees and pulling down my zipper. Blessed
relief followed shortly after as he tongued and mouthed my
aching  tool to a well-earned climax (if I do say so myself).
There are few sights more endearing than the back of a boy's
head bobbing up and down in one's lap, I must say.

* * *

After I had got my rocks off with young Mark and sent him off to
lunch, I zipped up and interrupted the cousins. They sat up on
the table and smiled, somewhat embarassed that I had to stop
them.

"We were just making up for yesterday", Preston explained.

"That's fine, boys," I reassured them. "Now there are a few
details about the treatment that I have to explain to you. It's
not all blowjobs, you know. For one thing, you have to give up
masturbation until the treatment is finished." The two boys
looked sheepishly at each other.  "You know what I mean, I take
it?" I enquired. They nodded. "You can't take the risk that your
first ejaculation might be wasted. Your ejaculations, your
semen, must only be spurted into your cousin's mouth. That's the
crucial part of the treatment. Of course, if you prefer, I can
write a prescription for your parents to drive you out to Malham
Clinic every day where an orderly will give your your treatment,
one of the male wardstaff perhaps?"

The two boys shok their heads earnestly. "No, no, Doctor,"
Preston hastily exclaimed. "We will follow the treatment
ourselves. No...er - jerking off, and always swallow when
we...uh, spurt."

"Excellent. Well, I think all that is left is for you two boys
to thank each other for the noble sacrifice you are both
making." The boys turned to each other and gingerly held out
their right hands for a shake. I stopped them immediately.

"Call that a thank-you? Surely a manly hug is in order here!"
They hopped off the table and gave each other a tentative hug.
"Is that the best you can do for someone who is saving your
manhood?" I exclaimed. "Grab each other firmly, and would a kiss
kill you?"

I gathered up the med files and headed for the door, leaving the
cousins holding each other, pushing their hips together, lips
locked, hands holding bottoms and backs of heads.

* * *

It had been a long and tiring day. All those boys' bodies, and I
only got off once myself. I decided to drop in to the costume
shop to return the medical props, even though it was still my
day off. I had just finished replacing the white lab coat when I
heard the jingle of the bell over the front door. The other shop
assistant had slipped out when I returned, so I had to go to the
front of the shop to serve whoever it was.

"Bill!" a child's voice exclaimed. Imagine my surprise when on
seeing Rocket there, in the shop.

"Rocket!" I yelled in reply. "Come on back here." I led him
behind the counter to the storeroom. "What brings you to the
shop?", I chattered.

"I need a costume for a party, Bill. Boy am I glad to see you! I
miss you heaps!" His enthusiasm was a delight to behold as he
hopped from one foot ot the other, touching me, taking my hand,
cuddling me, and generally making it clear that we were still
friends.

"Me too, buddy!" I replied. "Did you have any special costume in
mind?"

"Um, what about a doctor costume, Bill?" he grinned as he began
to undress. Apparently my day was not quite over.

The End

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