Model Citizens

Chapter 5

He was leaning over me, with the second small bottle from the towel, waving it under my nostrils. "Just keep right on doing what you're doing. This will help is all."

"Help? I don't need help. Why do you think that I need help and that if I did need help that it would come from a bottle? I don't do drugs, man, you know that! Coach would have a shit fit. Get that crap outta here. I was this close to blowing before you blew it." Satisfied that I'd handled the situation, I leaned back once more, prepared to lose myself inside some nice, dark furry fantasy.

But then came the smell again.

"Ivan! I said what the fuck!"

"I heard you. But listen to me, Erik, this stuff is great and it's part of the treatment package. Just do what Doctor Ivan tells you and take your medicine. This stuff opens up your pipes like nothing else. Well, like nothing else other than what comes next."

"Well, what is it exactly. And what comes next?"

"It's called poppers, and the guy who gave them to me said that you just breathe in a little bit shortly before blast-off. It really opens you up and is guaranteed to make a mess." At this point, he gave me a big smile. "It's even legal. Guaranteed," he emphasized. "But you don't get shit if you don't start to stroke. Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" he shouted like some desperate coxswain.

Just as I started to find my rhythm again, it dawned on me that he'd side-stepped the question about what comes next. "Ivan," I began.

"Stroke! Stroke!"

"Ivan, tell me about what comes next."

"Stroke!"

"I am stroking, dammit, but tell me what comes next."

"Just relax there, little fella, and Doctor Ivan will explain all." He patted my shoulder in a very paternalistic manner. This kid was enjoying the show. Almost as much as I was enjoying giving it.

Ivan put on his best doctor voice. I could practically see the white lab coat. "Now then, Erik, when a young man such as yourself has an unfortunate accident —such as you had today— a number of factors are in play. First, there's the pain. Second, there's the issue of stoppage and backup. This situation doesn't allow your little swimmers to make it down the long canal to glorious freedom. In other words, your pipes must be opened immediately or else the scar tissue build-up will eventually strangle your, umm, channel so that you only get a little dribble coming out. If you can picture what I mean."

Abruptly, I felt a rush of panic. If what he said was correct, my reign as Home Cumming King had just come to an untimely end due to a freak accident while horsing around. I listened intently, trying to read between any lines.

"Erik, I've put you on a therapy program designed to nip this thing in the bud, so to speak. You've got to open those pipes, and the sooner the better. However, it's not just a matter of doing it or not. No sire. It's a matter of doing it in a major way. Thus, you get a little help from your new friend, Mr. Poppers."

He held up the little brown bottle and tweetered it back and forth. "And," he continued, "you get a little help from your friend Doctor Ivan." At this, he opened the poppers and held them out to me. "Hold onto these with whichever hand you're not going to use, and put your thumb over the opening."

Wiping the excess lube off my right hand onto my balls and inner thigh, I took the bottle and carefully wrapped it in my fingers, placing my thumb over the opening. He walked to the foot of his bed and began to mouth a chant like a possessed coxswain, "Stroke, stroke, stroke...."

Just like that earlier moment when I knew that we were entering a territory where we could never escape from, I felt we'd just come to another bridge that would burn behind us. Yet there I was, running ahead, eager to see what lay on the other side.

I stretched back, closed my eyes, brought my feet together to form a diamond shape with my legs, and picked up the pace with my left hand.

"Ooo, goodness," said Homer. "You must've done this before. Marge and I tried it, and poor little Maggie wouldn't touch her binky for a month."

I smiled, but otherwise gave no notice. There came the little slurp sound of more lube leaving the bottle, and I tried to relax down below. Just think of it as a prostate exam, I told myself. Of course, seventeen year olds aren't supposed to need prostate exams, but I had a very helpful orderly prep me when I was in the hospital for my appendix. [That's another story, perhaps. –JEC]