Date: Fri, 20 Nov 2009 18:14:55 -0600
From: Jamie'Stef Just'aGuy <stefjamiestorys (at) live.ca>
Subject: "A Canadian Story" inquiry

"A Canadian Story, c.2100"

By StefJamie; contact me for comments, which are appreciated, at:
stefjamiestorys AT live.ca

Disclaimer: Please do not distribute this story; I'd like to have it posted
only where I put it, thanks. No real people were harmed in the writing of
this story. The author does not condone ANYTHING that happens in the story.
This is the 'real world' where you need condoms, and sex with minors is
very, very illegal. Don't attempt any stunts mentioned or you will go to
jail :).

(Gay, b/b, M/b, cast, age stasis) (future/scifi)

A Canadian Story, c.2100

Coming off the subway, fighting upstream like a spawning fish, he tripped.
"Damnit", he muttered to himself, "stupid cuffs...."

Proving all things are cyclical, the baggy style of the '00's was back yet
again; the only thing new in fashion was the extremes to which it swung.
Not even a decade ago, he knew from older webshows, kids were wearing what
were practically unitards; ridiculous things that looked painted on. Why
would anybody dress like that, unless in gymnastics or dance? He wondered,
while pulling up his pants for the tenth time that day.  He knew the baggy
look was in, but even Jeremy had to admit it was getting stupid. Everyone
under 16 looked like they were wearing their fathers clothes, but if this
is what it took to fit in, he'd do it. Fitting in wasn't easy lately.

He tried to be a 'normal' boy, honestly he did. Track team, junior football
club, he even tried out for the Junior High rugby team this year, only to
be rejected due to size and a suspicion by the coach that he was 'a little
bit queer'.  ANY queer these days was not something you wanted to be
accused of.  You did anything to avoid THAT stigma.  Not that the kind,
gentle GovMen wouldn't let you be gay, oh no, it was perfectly 'allowed',
just not in public or at home; tolerance, of a sort, was the rule of the
day, after all; the Government went to great lengths to tell the people how
wonderfully inclusive the country is these days... not to say there were
not consequences for being a NSH.

NSHs' were "accepted", after all.  You could be as non standard a human as
you want, but you always paid a heavy price. Well... in some cases, not
quite so heavy, but still, for many, it was a price you could only pay
once.

Jeremy knew a few 'fish', the common vernacular for NSHs'.  Everybody
did. Murderers, rapists, boozemakers, thieves, athiests; they all were
still with us, if somewhat declawed.  Made safe, if you will. None of them
would commit their 'crime' again; they always got some form of work that
would, after they underwent their minor adjustments, keep them happy.

Or at least, as happy as they could be, being a few ounces lighter.

Jeremy was a normal boy, too; he knew it.  He HAD to be.  These stupid,
maddening queer-thoughts he had were just the Devils' influence, perhaps a
holdover from that terrible flu he had a few months ago.  Maybe being so
sick allowed the Devil to attack him; maybe some other actually queer kid
coughed on him and got his fag germs all over him, he didn't know.
Wherever they came from, they sure as hell didn't come from HIM.  He had
lived all his 11 years so far without any real sexual feelings at all; why
would they suddenly start out of norwhere like that, if the feelings didn't
come from outside? It wasn't, couldn't be his OWN thoughts that made him
look at his mates the way he did lately. Stupid devil.

Living with just his dad, he didn't even want to bring up his fears. Not
with him, no way. He might have with his mom if she was around, but dad?
He'd have him adjusted within the hour if he thought Jeremy was even
remotely gay.  He was a nice enough dad, a proper church-going dad who sat
every week at the Regional Central Church, worked hard at the job he was
placed at upon graduation (he had been lucky, being allowed to finish grade
9; not many low-caste went past grade 8), and tried to teach Jeremy all the
right behaviors the best he could.  His dad loved him, he knew that, but if
Jeremy broke the law by believing or feeling or acting on something so
outrageous as being gay, Dad would definitely call the GovMen, even knowing
he'd not likely ever see him again. Dad would never enter the queers'
realm.

Not that they were kept in one place, as far as Jeremy knew, but they were
kept hidden, kept in their Group Homes, or walking the streets with their
husbands, un-recognizable as those ones would be.  He was certain that's
what happend to Franks big brother after seeing that chick at the
supermarket last week.  Nervous-looking, holding hands with a high-caste
kid, he knew she wasn't a born girl, and too uncomfortable in her movements
to have been adjusted for very long. If only there were more women around.

"There's Frank", Jeremy muttered to himself, as he came out of the stuffy
subway zone into the smoggy air of the city.  He flipped his hoodie over
his head and scurried along, not wanting to talk to him right then. They
had been friends, good friends, until Chuck, Franks' big brother, was taken
by the GovMen last year, but since then, Frank seemed to want nothing to do
with him.  As if he suspected Jeremy might be the same as his brother. "Why
would he think that?" Jeremy wondered,, and suddenly stopped walking for a
second, a flash of a memory occuring to him. "Oh for craps sake... could it
be that?" He shook his head, writing off what happend in the tent between
them as simple childhood play.  Sure, it was not something they would have
admitted to ANYbody outside of themselves, and it was incredibly minor, but
it was still illegal, immoral, and unchurchly behaviour. Knowing that
didn't make the memory go away, though... nor the realization that he
wished it would happen again. "NO!", he yelled mentally at himself,
rejecting the thought as harshly as he could.

________________________________

Jeremy peeled off his shoes as he entered the door.  Sock-like, made of a
flexible but incredibly strong fabric, they looked similar to sneakers of
olden days but when removed, they flopped to the floor like a pair of ankle
socks.

With a quick "I'm home," he walked barefoot into the kitchen, grabbing a
squeezer of 'fruit' (yeah, right) juice and backtracking to the living room
where he flipped on the 'net viewer and started surfing. "Mom would have
had something out for me..." but lamenting the loss of his Mom to the
female plague was hardly going to make him feel better. It was a few years
since they lost her, and while the memories were fading, he would never
forget her. He slipped off his pants and undies, tossed them along with his
shirt towards the laundry chute, and got comfy on the couch.

"For the Good Lords' sake, boy, don't leave your filthy clothes on the
floor, the chute is only a meter away!" His dad berated, kicking them down
the chute himself, listening for the mechanics of the system as they
chemically and electrically zapped any dirt out of them, dropping them at
the end of the chute into the hamper that caught the clean garments. "How
was the meeting?"

"Okay, I guess... doesn't look like they are gonna let me play in the
D-line, though" he answered with disappointment. He really did enjoy
playing football, but he knew he was barely making the team, and now they
wanted him to just play wide receiver on the third line; he knew full well
that was going to entail lots of bench-warming, but at least he wasn't
relegated to support.  Kids who had been adjusted, if they were in school
at all, never actually played sports; they were support only, waterboys,
towel-holders, massagers... nothing important.  "Thank Good Lord I still
have my balls", he thought, unconciously cupping his said items with his
hand. He noticed his dads pointed look, and realizing his action, let go of
his package. Nudity was nothing for prepubescents, but playing with
yourself, that was hardly appropriate.

Jeremys' father furrowed his eyebrows, wondering again about his son.  He
never touched himself when they talked about girls, but it happend with
grim regluarity when talking about sports, other kids he knew, and the boys
at Scouts.  He knew... just KNEW there was a problem here. To admit it out
loud was something he was far to shy to do, however.  All he needed was
some sort of final proof, a definitive sign from the boy, and he could act.
Perhaps he would be lucky and be able to keep the lad at home after
adjustment; it did happen, after all, in certain circumstances; not often,
but considering Jeremy Sr. had at least one well placed friend in the
government, perhaps it could be arranged.... IF it turned out the boy was
queer as per his suspicions.

Jeremy just watched the Netstream, trying not to think about how cute the
boy on Sawing for Teens IV was.

_____________________

The sleepover the next weekend was great, until late evening.

Jeremy must have popped a dozen boners throughout the night before his best
friend and team-mate Kyle finally reacted.  They had been friends for a
while, Jeremy insisting to himself it being due to their mutual love of
football, burying deep the feeling that he wanted to hug him.  It's hard to
hide your reactions when every lower-Caste under the age of 13 habitually
hung-out at home with no clothes on; for years, decades, this was the norm,
strange as that may seem in such a religious state.  However it allowed a
child nothing to hide, and made spanking offences that much easier to mete
out.

They were sitting on the floor, working on a 3-D lego layout; these tricky
blocks were no 'little-kid' toys, requiring a fair bit of intelligence to
build anything decent with. Kyle kept bumping Jeremy with his legs, as they
moved around the area, building parts of their layout, and Jeremy couldn't
stay soft half the time; it was all he could do to keep calm, infatuated as
he was with his year-older friend.  Stretching out, Kyles foot sole was
suddenly flat against Jeremys boner; without thinking, he humped against
the warm, clean foot only twice before suddenly erupting in the most
amazing orgasm he had had since he had his first one, a few drops of clear
semen squirting out, dampening Kyles foot. Jeremy froze, his heart stopped
for a beat, and a torrent of panic-driven tears threatend to fall from his
eyes, the overwhelming emotions of erotic contact versus moral-driven fear
confusing him badly. He was briefly relieved by Kyles mild reaction.

"Oh, ick... what...!? JEREMY!" Kyle gasped, pulling his foot away from his
crotch. "I can't believe you did that!" Jeremy sat in stunned silence as he
saw his father, at his desk, peeking over his chair at the
outburst. "Actually, I guess I can... you're a queer, right? Are'nt ya?
Like Franks brother! Oh, dude, you poor kid...!" Kyle laughed slightly at
the confirmation of his suspicions, while he wiped at the small amount of
slippery lubricant off his toes with a tissue. Seeing the look in Jeremys
eyes, he assured him, "Don't worry, bro... I won't say anything, but dude,
you're as gay as a shitty cock, that's for sure; how long you think you can
hide it?"

Jeremy gulped, face turning redder than it was already, seeing his dad
slowly shake his head, get up, look briefly at his only son, and leave the
room. "He knows..." Jeremy sighed, fear and panic raising goosebumps on his
body. "He knows..!" Slumping back to lean against the couch, he saw Kyle
turn to see Mr. Cryderman walking away. At least Kyles' wide-eyed look upon
seeing his dad confirmed for Jeremy that his friend did not, in fact, know
the man was within earshot of his comment. Kyle turned back and looked
sadly at his friend.

"Yeah, guess he does, eh? Shitty... I'm sorry I spoke out loud, Jer!"

Jeremy just felt cold inside.

_____________________

As it turned out, Jeremy Sr.'s biggest mistake was thinking that
Mr. Davidson was really his friend. Considering the status that separated
them, he should have known better, but he really thought the fact they went
to the same grade-school mattered. Mr. Davidson listened to him, and gently
assured the low-caste man that he would do what he could, but that
Mr. Cryderman should tell one of the GovMen immediately what he just told
him.  In fact, quite suprisingly, Mr. Davidson called one up right then,
insisting that his former friend "get this process started as soon as
possible, any delay indicating support for, and therefor, an indication of
willingness to hide, a queer-minded kid". Jeremy Sr. figured that this must
be a particularly heavy moral concern for Mr. Davidson, as he seemed very
interested in immediate action. Thus, the Cryderman house received a phone
call the next morning, requiring both father and son to visit the local
Governmental Adjustments and Placements Department the next day.

Jeremy dressed as tough, as straight as he could; he would have worn his
football uniform if his Dad had let him, but settled on jeans and a NFL
t-shirt. Neither choice would have helped him one bit.

Upon explanation of what he saw to the official investigating the boys
case, Mr Cryderman left the room after hugging his son. The offical wanted
to talk to his son alone for a few moments. Jeremy didn't bother denying
anything, knowing that Kyle was willing and able to spill the beans despite
what he said, the rewards for being truthful and voluntarily turning
anybody in that they knew committed an offence of any kind being too
great. Hell, Kyle probably already phoned this in, he figured.

The GovMan interviewing him was friendly enough, and consoled the young boy
upon hearing all the evidence and reviewing the phone call they had,
indeed, received from Jeremys' so-called friend. The only question in the
mans' mind was where to allocate the boy for adjustment. Confirmed queers,
ones with so much evidence against them like the poor kid in front of him
who were also good looking were not so plentiful these days; either they
were better at hiding their inclinations or they were being weeded out
genetically, he figured, even though that flew in the face of the modern
belief that gays aren't made that way by genetics, but by
environment. Which would have implicated his dad, if he had not already
been investigated and found to be as straight as anyone.

He almost missed the notation from Mr. Davidson, a quite important man in
these parts, and a member of the second-highest Castes in the country,
which was the highest that a person born into a lower caste could possibly
attain. Mr. Davidson, it turned out, was a ruthless businessman, having
been selected for advancement when 14 years old, after he managed to
organize a school-wide homework-for-pay scheme that netted him hundreds of
credits during his 8th grade of school.

According to the note, the lad, if found guilty of homosexuality, was to be
enrolled at a nearby Group Home for such children.  The GovMan was
suprised; this region was particularly lacking in genetic women for the
last five years; most good-looking, cute gay kids, he thought, would go
directly for gender re-assignment. This one espcially, he though, looking
over the note at the girlish faced and slender limbed Jeremy. However,
being outranked by Caste, the man did as per the instructions, and informed
an obviously shaken and nervous Jeremy that he was to go home with his
father for a last night with his family and report at Governmental
Childrens Group Home A-16 on Rupert street by 8:00 am the next morning. The
boy sniffed back his tears while his father came back in to collect him. "I
aint gonna cry, I aint gonna cry, I AINT gonna fuckin' CRY...." Jeremy
repeated over and over in his head, holding his head up as he walked home
with his father for perhaps the very last time. His only consolation was
that from what he understood, having had it explained by the GovMan before
his dad returned, his sadness and shame would not last for too much longer.
__________________

He asked his dad, that night, why he reported him so quickly. The response
made him really start to wonder about his world. Dad seemed to think that
the GovMen would know, soon, about Jeremy whether he reported him or not;
what kind of surveilance did the Government have, anyway, he wondered?
What, were there cameras set up in homes? That could be, of course; he knew
his dad didn't own their house; no low-Caste family did. They were all
Government Housing units, all houses were, except the ones lived in by
members of the highest three Castes. Who knew what kind of cameras and
sound-pickups were around. Pity, he thought, that he never wondered about
this before. Strange, he thought, how none of his friends thought about
these kinds of questions. But then, society was too peacefull, to ordered,
to really worry about such things; that is, as long as you were not some
kind of criminal. Which, apparently, Jeremy was.

But didn't everyone profess that everybody, crime- and moral- law-breakers
included, were allowed their life, their right to pursue happiness, their
freedom? Didn't everyone say that it is OK to be gay, that queers, just
like thieves, were free to be themselves, just... not in public, not where
they could 'infect' family members? What kind of tolerance was one where
they allowed you to 'be yourself', but squirrelled you and all other Non
Standard Humans, the NSH's of the country, into neat and tidy boxes, places
where their strangeness could be used as a strength, places where only some
lucky ones could see their families again?

He tried not to thing of what the kids at school figured the murders got to
do. Army, most of them, but perhaps some were made into hit-men, or
executioners, or... yuck.

The simple thieves, the stupid ones, ones that caused more monetary cost in
their damage than they got from their robbery or dumbly stole from their
friends mothers purse and get caught too many times, were simply castrated,
taken from school immediately or upon completion of 7th grade, and put in
training for menial labour.

However, the lucky ones could indeed be lucky. If, by the 9th grade, some
student was found to have snookered the system, to have inventively got
around the checks and balances to do some particularly risky crime or
prank, they would find themselves in a similar situation to Jeremy, but
these kids got further, specialized education; some became international
lawyers, for Heavens' sake, boosted in Caste to the point they could buy
their own mansions and have multiple children, and a real, actual, genetic
woman for a wife!

Also, some anti-religious nuts, the ones who skipped the twice-weekly
Church services and got caught, if intelligent enough, were the ONLY people
allowed to pursue certain scientific studies. Most common scientists,
allowed to graduate a full 13 years of childhood study and go on to
University studies, were involved with the Church, and therefor unable to
study certain areas of science. That only made sense, Jeremy figured, but
it seemed unfair to him, facing a rather different future as he was.

Not that he had any idea what his future might be, beyond the possibilities
which he had already encountered; Chuck, now obviously living with a
different name, being Possibility Number One; Jeremy shuddered at the idea
of being turned into a girl.  He was a BOY, damnit, a real BOY who was
tough, strong, and showed just the right amount of strong-arm behavior and
rebelliousness to get his teachers eyes; they respected such things in the
kids, a touch of rebellion being a sign of intellectual strength.

Of the other ways his life could go after tonight, he had less
knowledge. Everybody, the teachers, the police, the GovMen during their
monthly school meetings, said that even gay kids got to be themselves, that
there was a good life for them under the direction of the Government; those
particular talks had started in the last year or two, sometime around when
Jeremy turned ten.  At first, he had no idea why they seemed to talk about
queers.  Until then, the only crimes the GovMen really discussed were the
childhood basics; behaving, not stealing, keeping yourself clean. None of
the kids wanted to be assigned as garbage men for the rest of their lives
just because they were filthy all the time.  Few felt a desire to be Army
men, soldiers being in high demand but mortality being equally high. Ever
since the Americans had nullified the power of nuclear bombs with their
cheap, radiotope-neutralizing fibernet that was kept suspended over their
territory, conventional war was the rule of the day and Canada had long
since abandond its roll as simply a peacekeeper; the Canadian military was
now known as perhaps the fiercest on earth, thanks in no small part to what
happend to little boys who bullied their classmates too much.

Jeremy knew at least four boys who had simply been at school one day, and
gone the next; the teachers always told them why, that Billy or Johnny had
been diagnosed as hyper-aggressive.  Those kids, if picked in early
grade-school, stopped normal schooling immediately to start their
genetically-boosted life, learning to handle weaponry and combat skills
from that day forward.  Some of them obviously wanted it; some of them not,
but it didn't matter. Within a week, the teachers assured the remaining
students, every one of those boys would be eagerly participating, relishing
the idea of being big, strong Army Men soon. And amazingly unconcerned
about the typical 50% mortality rate for low-ranking cannon-fodder infantry
within their first ten years of service.

But gay kids? Ones caught experimenting more than once or twice, or
constantly rubbing up against their mates in the showers? Of them, he was
less certain, but there were rumors beyond the forced transgenderization of
some. They knew other things happend, but just what was pure conjecture on
their parts. None of the ideas discussed on the playground sounded
pleasant.

He slept, finally.  And awoke, far too soon, had a quiet breakfast with his
dad, and caught the bus to a new life.

____________________

It was cold, laying on the clinics' steel exam table.

By 8:05 his Dad was gone; indeed, Jeremy would not see him again.  Nor
would he see his balls again, he was told, as a nurse quickly and
efficiently castrated Jeremy while he reclined, rather numb in body and
spirit, curiously watching it happen, as unconcerned as the drug in his
body could allow.  She was done in 8 minutes, with not a drop of blood
spilled; laser surgery with bio-fill glue made healing virtually instant.
After she put the tube of glue down, she had him roll over on his side and
injected the hormone that would cause his bones to fuse on the ends within
6 months, a healthy, non lifespan-reducing method that effective stopped
the very cute boys' growth.  Certainly not all kids brought to the Group
Home got this injection, but Mr. Davidsons' instructions were specific and
she was bound to follow them. She certainly understood why; Jeremy was one
of the cutest boys she had enrolled since becoming an employee of the
Home. She finished up, taking the dazed but calm boy to his room. Private,
for now. Untill he was made comfortable with what would happen.

They knew he only liked boys, was un-interested in adult men, within a
day. There were no fancy nanobots, mysterious rayguns, or synthetic,
drug-induced brainwashing here; just long, well-directed talks with
enthusiastic father-figures and big-brother-like men extremely well trained
in coersive psychotherapy. Drugs, yes, but not for much more than ensuring
the subjects were relaxed and happy.  It took longer to get Jeremy
interested in being cuddled by adult men, and longer still before he was
eventually happy to perform sex with them, but he was well on his way
within a few days.

And, yes, he was happy; the Group Home was a fun place, full of games,
net-viewers, and a ton of new friends. Within a week, he was in a larger
bedroom with four other boys. And, indeed, he could do whatever he wanted,
sexually, with any of them, if they wanted.  In the beginning, he felt his
confinement; they never left the Home in any kind of normal outing,
although he knew some of the others who had been there for over a month or
two would be absent frequently; however while they never talked about what
they did 'outside' with Jeremy (he knew they did talk about it amongst
themselves, though), they seemed to enjoy it, and he was having his
suspicions of what they did.  ______________________

Three months later, Jeremy had his own first outing.  He was told he was
going to visit an upper Caste man; he would be taken to a nice home and
spend some time with him. By this time, Jeremy was automatically snuggling
up with any man who worked at the centre; being affectionate and cute
earned him all sorts of things, like outings to ride horses at the Group
Home directors' house, extra snacks, time in the hot-tub normally reserved
for staff.  He had lost interest in masturbation; he had never done it
much, yet, but the interest seemed to somehow disappear a month or so ago.
Nor did he remember having an erection in ages; the staff, though, told him
this was fine, and with half the kids in the Home ball-less, nobody
bothered him about what he was missing.  It was pretty cool to never have
to worry about hurting them, he had to admit, and curious boys or men were
always trying to see if they could coax a boner out of him. He liked that!
It felt nice, and he didn't really understand why the boys with balls
thought that the same actions felt so much better, just because they could
get hard.

The only part he really disliked at all still was the one other surgery
they did to him on his third week.  They had done something to his butt; it
felt all kind of weak back there ever since. He could hold his bowels, but
sometimes it did seem like he was only just making it to the bathroom.  He
wasn't sure if it was the sessions with the butt-plug he was having a few
times a week or the surgery itself, but it didn't hurt when they put things
up there, although it didn't really feel that good, either. But, never
mind.  They told him it was just training, that he would learn to not mind
at all when men would play with him back there, and besides, he got a
personal netviewer all his own when he took his training like a good
boy. Darn few of the other kids had one of THOSE!  Not even realizing he
would have blushed furiously at doing so four months before, he proudly
told his friends in the Home how he earned the viewer, delighting in their
obvious jealousy.  Suckers!

Mr. Davidson, the man who he went to visit on his first outing, was pretty
cool, he decided.  Kinda wierd, but nice.  He was a real cuddler, it turned
out, spending hours just touching him all over, petting him really; Jeremy
loved the attention and reacted as well as he could, now being quite well
trained to seek the appreciation of the men around him. He had never known
before that upper Caste men could be gay; who would've known? But some
were, it turned out, and Mr. Davidson turned out to really like boys like
Jeremy. Even his feet; the man had played with just them for practically a
whole hour! Jeremy giggled throughout the assualt.

He was a bit suprised when Mr. Davidson fucked him, though. None of the
staff at the Home had done that, although they had said it would happen,
eventually.  He was cool with that, and Mr. Davidsons' penis was certainly
no bigger than the rubber things the staff members pushed into his bum so
many times since that surgery.  The man had sat on the couch, with Jeremy
sitting on his lap, both facing the netviewer which was showing a crackling
fire, as if there was wood burning in the set; never having seen a fire in
a home, it seemed silly to Jeremy, who sat on the lap, being bounced by the
man who seemed to constantly play with his tight scrotal skin while fucking
the boy.  Jeremy could tell he seemed to like the fact he had no balls. He
wondered why, and whether or not it was this mans' fault that they were
gone.

Afterwards, he continued to just cuddle with Mr. Davidson, who seemed to
explore every inch of him, obviously infatuated with him.  He gave Jeremy a
new pair of shoes, making a point of saying that they were the same size as
he arrived at the Home wearing, and how he would never need a bigger size.
Bullshit, thought Jeremy.  All kids feet grow at my age, don't they?
____________________

Jeremy met a fair number of other men by the time he reached adulthood.  By
then he knew that it was perfectly OK for an upper Caste to be gay; they
could be anything they wanted; as long as their businesses or governmental
concessions were successfull, at least.  Upon reaching age 18, the boy, now
officially a man, still looked at most 12 or 13 years old, obviously not
ready to enter the work-force. The GovMen who ran the Group Home knew he
would be usable in the same way he had been thus far; they made sure he was
moved into an adult Group Home that had the right clients to use him for as
long as possible.

He had had no schooling since he was taken for being gay at age 11, though,
but he wouldn't need much more, they decided. He had adult male model
potential, and they were putting him through acting classes, to see if he
would be usable in 'Net shows.

As happy as he seemed, it turned out, his freedom was virtually nil. He did
as told; went where told; slept when told, and ate when told.

But, of course, he was freely pursuing being a gay male in his world;
that's what they told him, and that's what he believed.

The ancients were right;

Ignorance is bliss.


End.

The author appreciates feedback; email me at: stefjamiestorys AT live.ca