[Swimmboy]

Derek stared at the elderly gentleman, not sure he had understood the previous statement. “I…um…excuse me, but…um…what did you say, Dr. Witherspoon?”

“Well,” responded the older man, “I was at your match late this afternoon, and observed what seemed to me to be some rough contact. As I was leaving the natatorium, I overheard a couple of your teammates commenting on some apparently nasty blows your opponents aimed at your genital area – some blows that apparently met their mark, causing you a great deal of discomfort. Is this correct, or did I misunderstand something?” As Derek stood there, mouth agape, saying nothing, the good doctor continued. “I had returned to the infirmary, believing you might come by for some assistance. When you didn’t come, I decided to check on your condition. Were you, or were you not, punched or kicked in the genitals by an unsavory opponent?”

“Well, um…yes sir, I did get kicked in the nuts…uh, I mean, in the testicles, by one guy. Well, really by two guys, but the second was an accident, I believe,” Derek replied.

“Mr. Weathers, this was the first water polo game I have ever attended. As both headmaster and school physician, I find myself running from event to event these days, including sporting events I have no knowledge of. I had no idea that your sport was so, well, so violent. I must ask, such kicks are certainly not legal, are they?” As Derek slowly shook his head ‘no’, Dr. Witherspoon added: “I don’t understand why the referee did not immediately take swift action. Obviously, he may not see the nefarious assault, therefore, you should have immediately notified him of this dirty action your foe engaged in. Why didn’t you raise your hand and tell the referee?”

Derek and Jake stared at the doctor, looks of astonishment on their faces. Jake had to choke back a small laugh as Derek tried to explain. “Dr. Witherspoon, if the referee doesn’t see the foul, it won’t do any good for me to complain about it. Gee, if that were the case, every guy playing could call a foul every time he lost the ball or missed a shot. Why, we’d never get through the first period – everyone would be serving penalty time and nobody would be playing!”

“Of course, of course you are right, young man – what was I thinking?” asked the headmaster. “Nevertheless, it is an outrage that a young male would purposely attempt to injure a fellow athlete in such a despicable way. Well, be that as it may, injuries to something as sensitive as the genitals are nothing to ignore. Please lower your underwear so I may begin my exam.” Dr. Witherspoon then walked over to where Derek was standing, sat on the edge of Derek’s bed facing the teen, crossed his arms, and waited.

Derek glanced from the doctor to Jake, then back to the doctor, then back to Jake. Jake was stone silent, his mouth still wide open in surprise, but saying nothing at all. Turning to face the doctor seated before him, Derek slowly hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs, and gently slid the underwear down his thighs, allowing them to come to rest just above his knees. The doctor withdrew a pair of spectacles from an inner pocket of his tweed jacket, placed them on the tip of his nose, and peered intently at the sight before him.

As with many boys his age, Derek was somewhat shy about nudity. He usually showered after a match in his suit, then wrapped a towel around his waist and changed beneath it. Even here in their own room, Jake and Derek had only caught a couple of very furtive glances of one another’s maleness between underwear changes, though each had a good guess of how much the other was ‘packing’ – morning wood was hard to disguise between roommates sharing beds only a few feet apart. But now, Derek found himself totally exposed before not only Jake, who was enjoying his first good view of Derek’s dick, but also Dr. Witherspoon, who was casting an inquisitive eye at Derek’s equipment. To make matters worse, the doctor was now – “No, he wouldn’t he couldn’t,” screamed Derek’s mind silently – but he was – the doctor was now reaching his wrinkled hand toward Derek’s groin, and cupping the youth’s scrotum, then gently rolling the testes between his gnarled, bony fingers. Derek thought he would die, but there wasn’t time, for now Dr. Witherspoon was addressing him.

“Let me see here,” crooned the old man authoritatively, “tell me if this hurts you, or causes pain or discomfort.” He squeezed Derek’s left gonad – gently at first, then slightly harder, rolling the orb between thumb and forefinger, as Derek’s four inch shaft dangled above, actually grazing against the back of Witherspoon’s hand.