Date: Sat, 23 Feb 2008 02:36:05 -0500 From: Jeff A Subject: Mothers' Club Mothers' Club a story by parrafan Disclaimer: Need I say this story is fiction? Well, probably. I made up the names, addresses and phone numbers of every character in it. So you can blame me. Dedication: This is for Miguel, who has never stopped believing in me. And for Trey, of course. * * * Mothers' Club Every boy suspects, doesn't he? Every boy, deep down, has a sneaking niggle of suspicion, a tiny crawling termite of doubt. That when he is at school, or at sport on a weekend, or attending his scout troop meeting some evening, or perhaps selling newspapers on his paper route of an afternoon, that his mother is gossiping about him to other mothers. Gossiping...discussing...disclosing...undermining... exposing. Revealing things that no boy wants revealed. Personal things. The sad truth is, these fears that all boys hold are well founded. Mothers gossip about their sons all the time. It's one of their favourite pastimes, especially if they don't have a husband or partner to dump on. What drives them to do it? How can they live with themselves? We're going to have a peek at one such group of chatty mothers, and listen in on what they are saying to each other about their male offspring. Set your faces to 'stunned'... Tale # 1 - New Undies "He was getting far too big for his britches, that's all I can say. Needed taking down a peg or two. And I was just in the mood to do it", Mrs Kenthurst declared. "What did you do, dear?" Mrs Baker asked solicitously. "I used my ultimate weapon - I told him we were going shopping for clothes! He absolutely hates that. But I refused to give in and just let him buy things for himself, because he always comes home with the most dreadful items, all mismatched colours and incorrectly sized. That boy just has no idea - or maybe he does, and he just enjoys tormenting me!" "How old is Paul again?" Mrs Peterson chimed in. "Thirteen and two months last Tuesday", Mrs Kenthurst rattled off without having to think. "Gets one pubic hair and he thinks he's Jesus Christ in a pair of Reeboks. Well, I fixed his little red waggon for him." "What did you do, pet?" Mrs Flannery asked, eyebrows raised. "Well, first off I phoned the menswear shop down town, you know the one, they have that big marquee outside? I wanted to make sure Rene was still working there. He was such a help with Chelsea, you know, Paul's older brother, when he needed outfitting for ballet school-" "Your older son is named Chelsea?" Mrs Peterson inquired. She had only been in the Mothers' Club a few months. "What? Oh, of course not, dear, it's Kelsey. It's just that all the other boys in his class called him 'Chelsea' for some foolish boyish reason or other, and the name just stuck. After a while, I was calling him that myself! There was one summer when I heard it all the time from one visiting classmate or other, there was a virtual stream of them, going in and out of his room every day it seemed like. Right through the whole vacation, Chel- er, Kelsey would only appear at odd intervals to use the bathroom and brush his teeth, then disappear back into his bedroom. He was very popular, though, even though he didn't go out for sports. Goodness me, I had boys coming and going at all hours, asking for Ch- uh, Kelsey. The day before he left for the ballet academy, all his school friends gave him a big send-off, a sleepover party. Though I don't think he got much sleep, the next morning he looked very tired and was walking very gingerly. But where was I?" "You phoned to ask if Rene still worked at Carson's Menswear", Mrs Baker reminded. "Oh yes, that's right. Rene had been such a help with Kelsey, those ballet uniforms must be terribly hard to fit, he had to go back again and again to Rene just to get the size exactly right. Rene even let Kelsey visit the shop after it had closed, that's how dedicated he is, letting him in the trade entrance at the back and staying on for, oh, hours it was some evenings. That's how I know Rene is thorough: he simply doesn't stop until the job is done. That's exactly what Kelsey told me- 'Rene just doesn't stop, Mom', he told me once. Anyway, they advised me that Rene is still there, in the boyswear department. He's almost a fixture there. He'd probably work for nothing, the man is so loyal to old Mr Carson. "So, I didn't tell Paul where we were going until we were in the car. Gave him no chance to back out, or pull some lame excuse. You should have seen his face when I told him we were shopping for underwear at Carson's. Took the wind right out of his sails. I told him he could begin buying his own clothing when I saw a change in his attitude, and until then we were shopping for it together" "Quite right, too", Mrs Jensen added. "Did Rene give you good service?" "The best, as usual', Mrs Kenthurst replied. "As soon as we arrived, he met us at the door and whisked us away to a fitting room. I suggested that Paul needed to be measured for some new underwear, and Rene agreed with me wholeheartedly. Such a pleasure to be served by a male who understands these things! I told Paul to slip his jeans off so Rene could get an accurate measurement, and that's when the sulky face appeared. Can you believe it, he didn't want to take his pants off in front of his mother? Who had her own body bloated out of shape carrying him for nine months!" The other women muttered agreement at this, all of them well able to recall the tribulations of their own pregnancies. "So what did you tell him, dear?" Mrs Flannery sniffed. "I gave him a little reminder of who was the boss. I shamed him into it. I said, loud enough for anyone within the store to hear, 'who wiped your shitty bottom when you were a baby? Who cleaned under your foreskin when you took your first bath? And who do you think knows every inch of your body because she's seen it naked since the day you were born, so now you can't even take your pants off?! I bet you've got those ghastly boxers on underneath again!' Oh, yeah, I let him have both barrels". "Good for you, dear", murmured Mrs Peterson. "Did it work?" Mrs Kenthurst smirked. "Damn straight! He knew that I would just get a lot louder and a whole lot more personal if he didn't play ball. He looked at Rene, as if to suggest that he shouldn't undress in front of him, but I told him Rene was like one of the family, and to get on with it. He unzipped the jeans, and, sure enough, he had on this pair of boxers with some cartoon thing on them. Some little kid with a head shaped like a football. I don't know what they see in that crap. I told Rene he could do his stuff". "Was Rene as...thorough as you remembered?" Mrs Jensen asked. "Oh, yeah, his hands seemed to be all over those boxers all at once. He had that measuring tape of his flying around so fast it could have taken your eye out, let me tell you. But the boxers were awfully oversized, I think his uncle bought them for him for Christmas, poor Rene was unable, try as he might, to get an accurate set of numbers. 'Just pull the horrible things off', I told Rene, and Paul actually started crying! Apparently, Rene's few accidental touches had given Paul the beginnings of an erection, and he was ashamed to let his own mother see it. Me! Who had-" "And what happened then?" Mrs Flannery interrupted. She didn't really want to hear the saga of Paul's infancy again. "I told Paul that I would leave the fitting room, on one condition. That he immediately remove those ugly boxers and allow Rene to measure him properly, and I would be waiting outside no more than ten seconds for him to pass the boxers through the curtain to me! And I counted out loud as well! Lucky for him, I only reached 'six' before his hand poked through the curtain and gave them to me" "I think curtains on a fitting room are so much...nicer...than those -ugh!- doors some places have. I mean, darlings, you just don't know what might be going on behind a door! But a curtain...", Mrs Peterson observed. "Exactly! After I put the boxers in my handbag, I felt it my duty to pull the curtain a little, just so I could peek in, to make sure Paul wasn't being silly. Boys his age can be so...so foolishly modest! And needlessly, I might add. I mean, they've all got the same equipment, what's the big deal?" The other women muttered their agreement. Mrs Kenthurst continued her recollection. "So, when I glanced into the fitting room, I saw that Rene had everything under control. He had made Paul pull his shirt right up to his chin, and was measuring all around his groin. I think the tape measure he uses must have been cold or something, because Paul's little erection stood right out! Kept getting in Rene's way, I gathered, because Rene had to move it around, oh, quite a few times, this way and that, to continue his task. Then Rene got Paul to turn around, and made more measurements, this time of his bottom. There's nothing worse than a pair of underwear that doesn't fit right in the seat, I always say. Poor Rene was panting from exhaustion, it sounded like. Then I had an inspired moment, girls. I saw a pair of briefs on a shelf just like the ones I wanted for Paul, so I checked the size, and ripped them out of their packet and thrust them through the curtain. I think, by then, Paul was glad to have anything on. "I watched as Rene pulled them up Paul's thighs, then pulled back the curtain. Well, I had to see them in the light, didn't I? And those fitting rooms can be so gloomy. Naturally, Paul complained, in that whiny voice of his, something about everyone seeing him. Which was nonsense, there was only a handful of people there, no more than about a dozen, maybe twenty, tops. I pulled him out of there by the arm, and made him turn all around so I could see if they were too tight. It was one of those new seamless styles, like a pair of sheer swim trunks, only square at the side, you know? I guess they must have been a little tight, because his penis was sticking out fairly prominently. When I said we should go over to the front window, where there was more natural light, he whined again. So I offered him the choice - here, in the store, or out on the street where there's even more light?" "Damn straight!" Mrs Jensen muttered. "So, did you buy them, pet?" Mrs Flannery asked. "Of course, dear, they were the ones I wanted to get him all along - only the fitting room was now occupied, so I just pulled the undies all the way down and off him and gave them to Rene to wrap. Naturally he whined again, but he soon stopped when I asked Rene if it came in more colours" "Good for you, dear. Little brats need a firm hand, don't they", Mrs Jensen agreed. Tale # 2 - The Masseur The group went quiet for a moment, digesting what Mrs Kenthurst had related about her shopping excursion with her second child. Mrs Peterson decided to contribute her own little story to the discussion. "Well, girls, it's funny we should be talking about sons, and the trouble they are. My Ronnie has had some difficulty making friends for, oh, ages now. It's only been in the last couple of weeks that he's finally started to come out of his shell a little, and is meeting new people". "That's nice, dear", Mrs Flannery remarked. "How did you manage it?" "Well, it all came about in the oddest way, I can tell you. When my husband, god rest his soul, was alive, he was a very...er, virile man, if you know what I mean. In the first few years of our marriage, I had to change the sheets of our double bed every single morning" Mrs Peterson smirked, giving the other ladies a knowing glance. "So after he passed on, for quite a while I was bereft of that...er, special companionship that only, er...a man can offer. I'm sure you girls know what I mean. Anyway, a friend at the Golf Club, Cynthia, you know, the one with the totally unsuitable hair, put me on to a very special masseur - one who does house calls. Antonio is his name, and let me tell you, girls, he is extremely, er...gifted. But so expensive! For a two-hour, ah, session, he charges $200! naturally, I can only afford one visit per week at that rate". "So, is your son home when Antonio...visits?" Mrs Baker enquired sweetly. "Oh, Ronnie is very much a homebody. I just tell him that Antonio is giving Mommy a massage, and that sometimes Mommy's muscles might need a very vigorous..., ah, workout, and that if he hears Mommy call out, he mustn't worry. Naturally, I keep my bedroom door locked during Antonio's visit. I also told Ronnie that sometimes he might see my clothing dishevelled afterwards, but not to be alarmed". "And he believes you, pet?" Mrs Flannery asked, incredulous. "Oh, yes, he's very trusting, is Ronnie. So, anyway, after each...session, Antonio often goes out to the family room to pass a few minutes with Ronnie while I, er, fix my hair. I often find the two of them chatting away happily, goodness knows about what. A few weeks back, after a very thorough massage-" Mrs Peterson smiled and blushed prettily to make sure that all the women knew exactly what she was referring to "-Antonio suggested that he would take 25% off his fee if he could spend an hour with Ronnie." "My dear, you must have been shocked!" Mrs Baker gasped. "Shocked? I was outraged! I expected 30% at the very least! But I managed to negotiate him up to 50% for ninety minutes. That meant that I could afford two visits per week for the price of one!" "But darling, why on earth would a grown man want to spend ninety minutes with a boy of...how old is Ronnie, dear?" Mrs Kenthurst asked. "He's 12. Well, it turns out, pet, that Antonio had been looking for an apprentice: someone to whom he can pass on his trade. I thought Ronnie was a little young to start learning a craft, but...well, I said it would be alright, so I told Ronnie I was going down to the shops for an hour and a half, and that Antonio would wait with him while I was out, and to mind what Antonio said. Ronnie doesn't like to be left on his own, so it suited him as well. I left by the front door and crept around outside the house to the living room window, to listen in to what they were doing. Well, a mother has a right, after all!" The other four women murmured their agreement, yes, she certainly did have a right, never know what people might do nowadays, plenty of weirdos around after all, and so on. "But it was all quite harmless, you know. Antonio simply wanted to sit and chat with the boy, about school, and books, and such. I could see he had his arm around Ronnie's shoulders, which was very friendly, and he patted his head and stroked his neck from time to time, which I thought was very decent of him, you know, to show an interest in a boy that isn't even your own. Well, after ten minutes I felt rather foolish standing ankle deep in the crocuses, so I went shopping. When I came back, all was well, the two had gotten along splendidly. Ronnie told me later that Antonio had given him a backrub, and he hoped that Antonio could stay and talk with him after his next visit with me. I told him I was certain of it. "The following week - well, it was only three days later on account of I could now afford a second, er, visit - Antonio stayed back to talk with Ronnie, and I went to the shops. When I returned, I let myself in quietly, and saw right off they weren't in the living room. I heard some muffled noise coming from my bedroom, and found them in there. All quite innocent, really. Ronnie had his shirt off, lying on my bed, Antonio was rubbing some essential oils into his back. He really is a genuine masseur, you know, among his, uh, other talents. And Ronnie seemed to be enjoying their time together. "Well, after a few more visits, I wasn't really surprised to hear Ronnie ask if he could visit Antonio at his house. They had become firm friends, and I thought it was high time Ronnie ventured out without me, you know what I mean. Can't have your son tied to your apron strings all his life, he'll end up...strange. So I said, Sure, of course, I'll help you pack. "So, when he returned from his weekend at Antonio's on the Sunday night, I told him to unpack his port and put his worn clothes in the laundry hamper. He said that nothing needed washing, since Antonio kept a naturist household and they didn't wear any clothes the whole weekend. Oh? I replied, Tell me more. So Ronnie tells me the details of his weekend. "He said Antonio gave him a backrub as soon as he arrived, a nice deep one. Then another one during the night, and again in the morning. That's when Antonio explained that clothes were unnecessary. Apparently, since he sees everything when he gives a massage, there's no need for modesty anymore, and besides, it's better for your body to let the air flow over it. So Antonio told Ronnie, anyway". "Well, I suppose they're both male, what harm could it do?" Mrs Flannery observed. "Quite right, dear, just what I thought", Mrs Peterson replied. "So, anyway, after breakfast, Ronnie said a whole group of people started arriving. They were all masseur friends of Antonio's, apparently. Ronnie told me their names, too...now what were they?...oh, yes, there was Claudio, Gilberto, um...I think there was a Marco in there somewhere, oh, about half a dozen of them" "Goodness", Mrs Baker exclaimed. "Who would have thought there'd be so many masseurs in our little town!" "Apparently, there are more of them around than anybody realises, so Ronnie said. But the good thing was, each of them brought a nephew along for the weekend, so Ronnie had plenty of company his own age. He became quite friendly with two of them, er, Jared and...Taylor, was it? or maybe Tyler? Whatever. The other boys were too busy, it seems the masseurs all wanted to give them backrubs, not to their own nephews but to the other boys. Ronnie said most of the backrubs took place indoors, but Jared gave Taylor a backrub right out in the open, on the lawn beside the pool. Ronnie said everyone gathered around and watched, and called out encouragement and advice." "Ooh, a pool! I didn't realise the massage business was so...so rewarding!" Mrs Baker gushed. "Well, from what Ronnie told me, they make a lot of their additional money from instructional videos which they market on the Internet. Antonio told Ronnie he might even find him a role in one!" "And what else did he get up to on his weekend away from home, dear?" Mrs Flannery asked sweetly. "Oh, they kept busy, according to Ronnie. I think some of the boys, the nephews that came along, must sing, or recite poetry, because Ronnie mentioned how talented they were with their mouths and tongues. Antonio must have stables there too, because I recall Ronnie saying how much some of the boys enjoyed riding the pony. Some of them also practiced their gymnastics exercises, I heard Ronnie mention some complicated manoeuvres involving two men and one boy. Ronnie was quite weary when he got home. Tired, but happy. On the Saturday night, they were all so 'shagged out' as Ronnie put it, they simply collapsed together in one big heap on the floor. Ronnie confided in me that he might enjoy being a masseur when he grows up". "So nice to see ambition in a boy nowadays. Most of them just drift through their school years, with no ideas about the future. Good for him, I say!" Mrs Kenthurst affirmed. "And just write Antonio's name and phone number on this slip of paper for me, dear, if you don't mind". Tale # 3 - The Diary "Coffee, girls?" Mrs Baker offered, as it was in her home that the group had met. A chorus of 'Yes, please' and 'Black for me' greeted her inquiry, and she slipped off to the kitchen to put the kettle on. "Actually, I have a little something to share with you ladies, but first I must be assured of your absolute discretion", she explained on her return. "My Daniel would just die if he knew anyone saw this, I'm sure", she continued, pulling a small book from beneath her cardigan. "What is it, pet?", Mrs Kenthurst asked. "Well, it's my Daniel's diary. He mentioned at the start of the school year that his English teacher encouraged everyone in the class to keep a diary. I stumbled across it when I was cleaning in his room". "A boy - keeping a diary! How absolutely darling!" Mrs Flannery gushed. "Yes, well, you know, we all probably kept them when we were schoolgirls, recording all our important secrets", Mrs Baker related, "but I didn't realise how...deeply my Daniel felt things before reading this. I'm sure he wouldn't want me to see it, but he did leave it just lying around wrapped in a T-shirt under four pairs of shorts in the bottom drawer of his cupboard". The mothers all looked at each other, wondering whether Mrs Baker was actually going to open the diary, or just tease them. Mrs Peterson broke the ice. "Well, are you going to show it to us, dear, or shall we just use our X-ray vision on it?" The other women tittered, Mrs Baker blushed and opened the book. "Ooh, look at that, girls!" Mrs Jensen piped up. "Little hearts and...are those stars? all around 'Mr Davis'. Who is Mr Davis?" "Mr Davis is my Daniel's Grade 9 English teacher", Mrs Baker commented. "I guess all the other stuff is just doodling. This is what they call a title page, girls, you're supposed to decorate it. Now let's see what we shall see." She turned a page and began reading. " 'Oct 3 - Mr D called on me again today' . Hmm. Not exactly 'Call me Ishmael', is it, dears? Maybe it gets better" Mrs Baker remarked. " 'Oct 5 - Mr D asked me stay behind to clean dusters!!!' Goodness. I wonder are all those exclamation points really necessary? What's the big deal about the dusters? Let's read on a bit further". " 'Oct 6 - helped Mr D straighten the storeroom!!! XOX !!!' Well, I have to admit my Daniel does seem to get very excited over routine classroom chores. Pity he doesn't have the same enthusiasm for cleaning his own bedroom! And what's the 'xox' mean?" The ladies all looked at each other, but none could shed any light on the mysterious code, if that's what it was. "Read on, dear", Mrs Kenthurst urged. " 'Oct 10 - OMG!!! Mr D gave me a B!!! Awesome!!!' My goodness, my Daniel must not be very used to getting good grades if he is so amazed at getting a B. Look at all the exclamation points', Mrs Baker exclaimed. "Perhaps this Mr Davis is a hard marker, and a B grade is quite a rarity? if so, it's a pleasant change from those weak-willed teachers who give out A's like jellybeans", Mrs Jensen sniffed. "Yes, I expect you're right, dear', Mrs Kenthurst concurred. "But what's an 'omg' when it's at home, I wonder? Maybe he'll translate it for us at the end" Mrs Baker read on. " 'Oct 11 - Another B! Better than yesterdays!' Well, at least his schoolwork is on the improve, two B's. Something Mr Davis is doing must really be sinking in. I'm only glad my Daniel is taking it all in, it's such a rarity nowadays, a boy who is grateful for whatever his teacher gives him!" " 'Oct 12 - Returned the favour to Mr D! Cleaned up and everything' Sounds like he's referring to the storeroom again, girls. Though I wonder what this 'favour' was... perhaps it was driving my Daniel home after school that evening he stayed back late to clean the dusters". " 'Oct 13 - My first F!!! Hurt at first, but then...' Oh, dear, the poor boy got an F - it hurt his feelings! It must have been a difficult test or something, maybe it was a really hard one. He seems to have taken it like a man, though, and you have to admire that" The other women murmured their agreement. Mrs Baker continued. " 'Oct 17 - Two F's in one day!! Mr D so hard!!' Well, really! You'd think after all the extra-curricular effort my Daniel puts in, this Davis guy would cut him a little slack! Two failing grades in one day? I have no problem with his teacher being hard, I've always said that teachers should be firm, firm but fair is my motto. What's the use of him staying back after school to straighten the storeroom if it doesn't get him a little...consideration now and then?" "Read on, dear", Mrs Kenthurst repeated. " 'Oct 18 - Greek today from Mr D - fabulous!!' Huh! I thought he was an English teacher? Maybe he gave a lesson on the Greek derivations of some words. It's so refreshing to have a teacher these days who is trained in the Classics, and knows where the language comes from, dears! " The other women tsked into their coffees. "Only one page left, girls - " Mrs Baker informed the group. "'Oct 20 - Mr D gave us our final mark today - I got an A ! It all paid off!" Well, I'm sure he means his extra study, girls. I must say I'm quite surprised that my Daniel stuck at his task for so long - he always struck me as a dreamy sort of boy - you know, the kind that doesn't really know what's going on?" The other ladies murmured their agreement. Tale # 4 - Doctor Visit "So, what have you been up to lately, dear?" Mrs Baker asked Mrs Jensen as she handed her a mug of instant coffee. "Oh, the usual, you know, housework, shopping...oh, and I've had to take my youngest to the doctor's", Mrs Jensen explained. "Ah, yes, your youngest, how old is he now?" Mrs Kenthurst inquired. She asked this question every time the Club met, never paying any attention to the answer. "Sven is eleven now, nearly twelve. You know, when I fell pregnant with him, I thought it was just the Change, girls. Took me by surprise, I'll tell you. Imagine, all his older sisters have left the nest, and now, here I am at fifty-seven, still raising a little boy". "And the doctor...?" Mrs Peterson urged. "Oh, yes. Sven asked me a strange thing last week. He said is it possible to ask for a man doctor, or do you just have to take the doctor you get. I told him it was completely in order to specify what sort of doctor you wanted, after all, you wouldn't want an Ob-Gyn looking at your throat, now would you? He didn't get my little joke, but he did ask if I could take him to see a doctor, provided it was a male doctor" "Did he tell you why he wanted a male doctor, pet?" Mrs Flannery asked. "Well, he's always been a bit of a hypochondriac. He hedged around the subject, when I brought it up. At first he said he thought his feet were growing too fast. Then it was his hands - his fingers were too long, he said, and they were clumsy. Then it was his voice - he thought he might be getting laryngitis. I told him I thought it was absolute nonsense, but I would take him if he really needed to go. So I took him along to see that nice young doctor at the new medical centre, you know the one, it's on the corner there across from the shopping mall. We waited for a good forty-five minutes before we were finally called to see him, and then the little beggar has the hide to ask me to wait outside!" "Whatever did you do, dear?" Mrs Baker asked. "I told him in no uncertain terms that I was not going to wait outside like a poor relation. He was a child, and he needed parental supervision, whether he wanted it or not". "Good for you, dear", Mrs Kenthurst agreed. "Now I'm not a cruel woman. I know Sven, I know he can be a little...sensitive about ...certain things, so I said to him that the doctor could examine him behind the curtain, and that I would be sitting right there in the chair. The doctor said that would be fine, in fact, as his nurse had gone on her cigarette break, he asked me to assist" "How...versatile of you, dear", Mrs Baker remarked. "Oh, yes, before I was married I turned my hand to many an occupation. So...er, where was I?" "Waiting outside the curtain, pet", Mrs Kenthurst reminded her, with a sigh that suggested she was getting bored with the other woman's dreary recitation. "Oh, yes, of course. So, there I was, waiting on the other side of a curtain in the doctor's room, listening to him go through the routine, you know, deep breath, cough, does it hurt when I do this, that sort of thing. Then the Doctor poked his head around the curtain and said that everything looked quite alright, and unless there was anything else, the boy was simply wasting his valuable time. I saw Sven's head appear, and whisper something into the Doctor's ear. 'Very well', the doctor said, 'take your trousers down and let's have a look, shall we?' " "Ahh, he was having some problems with the, er, plumbing, my dear?" Mrs Baker observed sagely. "It was the first I had heard of it! Sven never mentioned anything of the sort to me, ever!" Mrs Jensen replied indignantly. "So, of course I absolutely had to see what it was that Sven was so concerned about. So concerned that he could not even tell me about it". "What did you do, pet?" Mrs Flannery asked, totally captivated by the other woman's narrative. "Well, I waited. There's a tell-tall sound a zipper makes, darlings, I'm sure we've all heard it. So, I waited a few seconds after hearing it, thinking that he would have got his pants down by then, and put my head around the curtain. What I saw...well, it was quite a shock, I can tell you!" "Well, don't keep us in suspenders, dear!", Mrs Kenthurst exclaimed. Mrs Jensen took a deep breath before continuing. "His...thing was out. His... mechanism. The Doctor had his fingers on it, twisting it this way and that, handling it...pumping it..." "His...mechanism?" Mrs Baker asked, confused. "Did he have some kind of...wind-up toy that he wanted to show the doctor? "No, no, dear, it was his...er, his...you know, his...part." Mrs Jensen struggled to find the right euphemism. "His, er...instrument" "He plays an instrument? What's that got to do with the Doctor? Was he a musician too?" Mrs Baker pressed, either deliberately or unwittingly missing the point. Mrs Kenthurst could stand no more of it. "It...Was...His...Penis!" She jumped up and declared in exasperation to the group of women, Mrs Baker in particular. "His Weiner! His John Thomas! His Prick! His Cock! His Doodle! His Trouser Snake! Whatever name they give the vile things nowadays!" The other women shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Mrs Kenthurst sank back down in her chair, her face flushed from exasperation. "Well, I mean to say!...Really! ... It's obvious what Mrs Jensen was talking about! If only she would get to the point!" "Phimosis! That's the word the Doctor used", Mrs Jensen exclaimed joyfully, delighted to have recalled the Doctor's diagnosis. "Little Sven had a case of phimosis. Of course, I had to ask the Doctor what on earth that meant - whether it was contagious, or anything. He laughed, and said it certainly wasn't, and that it only affected some boys from birth, but didn't show up until they approached puberty". "What is it, dear? This...ferrosis?" Mrs Baker asked, in a rather vague voice. "Phimosis, pet, P...H...I...M...O...S...I...S. Apparently, so the Doctor explained, it means a tightened foreskin. He said it is especially painful when the boy tries to... er, retract his, ah..." "Mechanism?" offered Mrs Flannery. "Exactly!" declared Mrs Jensen. "Of course, I immediately asked the Doctor whether this problem arose as a result of...self-abuse, of, er...playing with himself" "And did it?" Mrs Flannery enquired sweetly. "Well, the Doctor said it was quite the opposite - if Sven had been playing with his, er, playing with his, ah, with...it...all these years, he probably would not have had this...er, condition. But as it is, he has it now. Just goes to show you, I guess, there is no reward for virtue nowadays". The other women sighed and nodded their agreement. "What did the doctor recommend, dear?" Mrs Flannery persisted. "Well, he gave me two choices. The first one, well, I was against it from the start: circumcision". "Wouldn't that make your son a...a Jew?" Mrs Baker asked hesitantly. Mrs Kenthurst turned up her nose at such a ridiculous question, and interjected before Mrs Jensen had the chance to reply. "Rubbish. We eat fish on Fridays, and it doesn't make us Catholic!" All of the women chortled at this, the very idea of being made a Catholic because one ate fish on a Friday, how absurd. Mrs Jensen continued. "Well, just at that moment, the nurse reappeared from her cigarette break, filthy habit that, and pulled the curtain back. Sven was a little put out, having the nurse see his, er, apparatus, especially as the nurse seemed to know who he was" "So, the nurse knew Sven, from...?" Mrs Baker asked. "Well apparently, the nurse's younger sister is in the same class as Sven at school, and quite the little busybody she is too, the sister that is, by the sounds of it, poor Sven was a little distressed that the whole class, and shortly the whole school, would get to hear of his, um, inability to retract. Happily, the doctor assured me that his nurse was the soul of discretion, and would never dream of divulging confidential patient information such as that. To prove how reliable the nurse was, the Doctor asked her to take over his, uh, ministration, while he discussed the second option with me. Poor little Sven got even redder when that nurse began handling his, uh..." "Just say 'penis', dear, for goodness sakes", moaned a desperate Mrs Kenthurst. "What did the Doctor suggest?" Mrs Jensen blushed a delicate shade of pink. "Well, I was quite taken aback, I can tell you, so many new things happening at once. The doctor recommended that I permit Sven to, uh, play with his..." "Penis, dear", Mrs Kenthurst supplied. "Yes, play with - it - for fifteen minutes a day. To loosen up the band of skin, of course, not for any, uh, reasons of base pleasure. Alternately, I could send him to a special clinic that the Doctor conducts, where trained physiotherapists would, uh, handle the, ah, handle...it. I asked him if it was expensive, and he said there would be no charge, as it was a research program with a University grant. All I had to do was sign a consent form". The women were silent for a moment, digesting this information. Mrs Flannery was the first to speak. "So, you signed, of course?", she murmured. "Well, naturally. The alternative, telling Sven he had to play with his...uh, play with it, every day mind you, was just too ghastly to contemplate. No, I opted for the scientific approach, and arranged for Sven to visit the clinic twice a week. He's had four visits now, and I think it's having a beneficial effect". "He's showing some improvement, pet?" Mrs Baker asked. "Oh, yes. After the first visit, he came home a little...flustered, but as I said, he's a shy little fellow, and any new experience is bound to...well, be a little daunting. But now, why, he is coming out of his shell quite a bit - he shows interest in the people around him, he seems more confident in himself, he's dressing with more...style, and he can't wait to get to the clinic for his therapy - he's thriving! And, that nice young doctor that Sven saw first? He's taking a personal interest in Sven's case. Sven told me the Doctor - he calls him Doctor Tim - has been at the clinic every time Sven has attended. Isn't it nice to find a professional who takes so much care over one of his patients!" "That's nice, dear, that he's coming out...of his shell", Mrs Baker murmured. Tale # 5 - The Webcam Mrs Flannery set her coffee cup on the table and sat up a little straighter in her chair. The other women recognised these movements as her customary preliminaries before speaking, and waited expectantly. "Well, girls, these have all been marvellous stories, you all must be so proud of your boys. But I am afraid that my story will trump the lot of you today". She smiled smugly as the other ladies leaned forward to hear her account. Mrs Flannery loved being the centre of attention. "And what is your story, dear?" Mrs Baker enquired. Mrs Flannery blushed modestly before beginning her revelation. "You all know my Justin? I've mentioned him before. Well, he's nearly 14 now, and honestly girls, I never thought he would ever make anything of himself. Always in that room of his, hunched over that computer. Night and day, mind you! I was nearly ready to tell him I was confiscating the horrid thing, when he dropped his bombshell!" The other ladies leaned forward a little more, keen to hear about the bombshell Mrs Flannery's son dropped. "What was it, dear?" Mrs Baker whispered. Mrs Flannery beamed at them. She spoke slowly, so as not to have to repeat herself. "My Justin...at 14...is well on his way...to becoming...a...millionaire!". Mrs Flannery slumped back in her seat, as thought the effort of announcing this news took all her energy. The other women gasped, then all began speaking at once. Of course, this was exactly the effect Mrs Flannery hoped for. Holding up her hand for silence, she let the other women in on the secret of her son's success. "It all started a little over six months ago, but I only found out about it last week. A bank statement arrived in the mail for Justin, and I thought 'that's odd - why would Juss be getting a bank statement from First Federal Trust - we don't even have any accounts there!' So I thought it had to be a mistake - maybe there's another Justin Flannery and we got his mail by mistake. So naturally I opened it" "Naturally", the other ladies concurred. "Well, girls, when I read the pages of figures, I just couldn't believe it! Money, coming from all over the country, being deposited in this account. It couldn't possibly be my Justin - it had to be a mistake!" "Er...how much money was it, dear?" Mrs Jensen enquired. "Well, the individual amounts started out quite small, only twenties and fifties going in, maybe the occasional hundred. But as I read through, there were more and more hundreds, and less twenties. Girls, there was over seven hundred thousand dollars in the account!" The other ladies gasped, a sound which made Mrs Flannery the happiest woman in the room. "But...but...was it really your Justin's money?" Mrs Peterson asked. "I confronted him that afternoon, as soon as he walked in the door. He had been down at the Mall, probably haunting that computer shop. That's the only other place I can guarantee he'll be, if he's not in his room. He was very annoyed that I opened his letter, he said, and so I knew I had him - it was definitely his account. So I demanded a full explanation". The other ladies had put down their coffee cups and were hanging on Mrs Flannery's every word. She was enjoying being the centre of attention immensely. "It turns out Justin has a thriving home business in - wait for it - personal training!" Mrs Flannery declared, smiling triumphantly. Puzzled looks crossed the faces of some of the women. Mrs Jensen looked completely baffled. "I know what you're wondering", Mrs Flannery continued, before anyone else could get a word in, "I thought the same thing - how could he do this...training...from his room? Well, as Justin explained to me, the answer is simple. He uses a webcam" The looks of puzzlement around the coffee table did not abate by very much, and Mrs Flannery smiled inwardly at her superior knowledge. "A webcam is this little camera that sits on top of his computer screen, girls. What happens is, he advertises his services as a personal trainer, and people from all over the country sign up and pay him their subscription fees. He switches the camera on, does his routine, situps or whatever, and the subscribers watch on their computers and...they get fit, I suppose". "But who on earth would pay all that money for...for that?" Mrs Baker exclaimed. Mrs Flannery had the answer ready. "Justin told me that most of his customers are older men, some of whom are maybe a little overweight, and who are too busy to get to a gym. So they...sign up with Justin, and get...personalised training. Like those yoga classes on the TV, or those Jane Fonda exercise videos. It's all the rage nowadays, girls, this personal training". "So, why did the subscription fees rise, dear - you said they gradually rose until there were more hundreds than twenties?" Mrs Kenthurst piped in. "Justin explained that to me as well. Some of the clients were asking for a little more than just watching Justin go through his routine, so Justin asked another boy from school, his friend Josh, to help out. With two of them, they have a wider range of... 'sets' he calls them...than with him alone. Josh comes over a couple of times a week to do the routines with Justin. He seems a nice, friendly boy. He's about twelve, I think, probably your Ronnie's age", she answered, looking at Mrs Peterson. "And have you ever seen them doing these...'sets'?" Mrs Kenthurst pressed. "Well, I haven't actually seen them at it - but I've heard them. It sounds very strenuous, from all the grunting and groaning. In fact, Justin said it was not worth the bother to watch, it would only make me tired, and besides, they would both be sweating a lot, he said, and the room would be a bit stinky because of that. Which is true, because they both dash to the shower right after a session, and the room does smell a bit...well, boyish". "But to earn so much money...", Mrs Peterson sighed. "Just goes to show you, dears, what a boy with the right attitude can do on the Internet nowadays", Mrs Flannery grinned. * * * Well, there you have it. These five women are typical of mothers all over our country today - interfering in their sons' lives, then blabbing about it to their coffee-club cronies. Oh, if only they knew! end