A Cure for White Boys

Chapter 1: An Appointment with Doctor Carter

Nick Townsend strutted confidently down the locker-lined hallway, his letterman jacket signalling his status as Littleton High's star quarterback. His chestnut-brown hair -- thick, luscious, and styled perfectly atop his head -- contrasted sharply with his fair complexion. Nevertheless, the combination of dark hair and fair skin was not the only thing that made Nick a striking figure, with the jock's broad, muscular build and strong, masculine features often turning heads in his direction.

When Nick appreciated those glances, he would usually reciprocate with a flash of his wide, million-dollar smile -- a set of pearly whites that could disarm critics and charm admirers with ease. Yet, as Nick rounded the corner near the library, his mouth did something quite the opposite, turning into a scowl at the sight before him.

A new display covered the wall, brightly-colored and impossible to ignore. "BLACK HISTORY MONTH," the banner declared prominently. Below it, photographs and biographies detailed the lives of Black historical figures like Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X.

"Why's this here?" Nick muttered under his breath, annoyance threading through his voice. At entirely-white Littleton High, a Black History Month display was more than just "unusual" -- it was unnecessary.

Claire, a student council member who had been arranging the last of the display panels, overheard him. She straightened up, her eyes meeting his with a firm resolve. "Because it's part of our history, Nick. It's about acknowledging the achievements of Black Americans."

Nick visibly rolled his eyes. Of course an SJW like Claire -- a know-it-all white girl who always felt it necessary to tell you her "pronouns" when introducing herself -- was the one behind this.

"How about White History Month, huh? When do we get a month?" Nick asked with a scoff.

"There isn't a White History Month because white history gets enough attention already, Nick," Claire countered, her calm, didactic tone carrying a slight edge of frustration. "We need to learn to check our privilege once in a while."

Nick gave Claire a condescending smirk. "'Check our privilege'? Sounds like a bunch of PC bullshit to me."

"Come on, Nick," Claire said, hoping to appeal to the cocky white quarterback's common sense. "You've gotta understand that white privilege gives us white people like you and me an advantage in our society that we haven't earned," she added, her voice rising slightly in her determination to get through to him.

Claire's words struck a nerve. Nick's face flushed red, his jaw tightening. "Don't use that 'white privilege' fuckery with me, Claire," he snapped, his voice harsh. "I work hard. I deserve everything I get."

At that, the fair-skinned quarterback turned on his heel, marching toward the workout room with his mind closed to the lesson about "privilege" he sorely needed to learn.

-----

Nick waltzed into the school's workout room with his shoulders back and his head held high, the clanking of weights welcoming him with their familiar sounds. His muscular frame, now clad in a fitted gym tee, moved with a grace born of an inherent sense of entitlement as he walked over to the bench where his teammate, Adrian, was pressing a set of weights that were significantly heavier than his usual load.

Adrian's arms pushed up the weights with a steady, surprising ease, reflecting his recent upsurge in athletic performance on the football field. Nick's expression remained carefully neutral as he observed Adrian, even if a hint of insecurity was bubbling up underneath.

Trying to act like nothing was out of the ordinary, Nick flashed a sly smile in Adrian's direction. "Hefty weights there, bro," he commented, his tone dripping with false admiration as he leaned his broad, muscular frame casually against a nearby machine.

Adrian set the bar back with a clang, his chest heaving from the effort. Sweat dampened his blond hair and glistened on his pale, Nordic skin, accentuating the newfound definition in his arms and shoulders. "Yeah, just trying something new," he said, giving Nick a friendly smile as he sat up and reached for a towel.

Nick's winning smile didn't quite reach his piercing blue eyes as he continued to watch Adrian. "You've been smashing it up on the field too. What's the secret? Some new supplement?" he probed, fishing for information while masking his uneasy curiosity with playful banter.

"Just the usual hard work and dedication, bro," Adrian replied, holding Nick's gaze for just a moment too long.

Nick nodded, not believing his blond teammate's words for a second. Adrian's recent performances on the football field had been remarkable, his speed and agility having seen noticeable increases, helping him score touchdowns in the last few games. This sudden surge in athletic ability not only highlighted Adrian on the field, but had also started to shift the spotlight away from Nick, the team's longstanding star.

This turn of events did not sit well with Nick. No one could improve that much that quickly without some kind of performance enhancement in the background. Whatever Adrian was doing to gain such an edge, Nick sure as hell wasn't going to allow him to keep to himself.

As his teammate headed off to the showers, Nick saw his opportunity to find out Adrian's secret. Adrian had left his phone sitting on the ground next to the weight bench, and -- if luck was on Nick's side -- the passcode would be exactly the same four digits he'd been using since freshman year.

Within seconds, Nick had unlocked the phone and began scrolling through Adrian's texts. His eyes lit up as they landed on something promising: a recent exchange with a contact labelled as "Doctor Carter."

Adrian: Checked out the place you recommended. Feeling better, side effects a lot more manageable now.

Doctor Carter: Good to hear. Let's keep monitoring your progress with the treatment. See you Thursday at 3PM for your follow-up.

Adrian: Thanks Doc. Really feeling the difference on the field.

Feeling vindicated, Nick hastily copied the contact info into his own phone, intent on making an appointment with the doctor who was providing Adrian with something Nick deserved much more.

-----

The drive out of Littleton had given Nick ample time to steel his resolve to get himself the same treatment that Adrian was receiving, no matter what that might involve. Thankfully, Doctor Carter's clinic, located in a nondescript multi-use building on the outskirts of the nearest city, offered Nick the discretion he needed for this. After all, if he was going to get some kind of performance enhancement to give him back his competitive edge, he couldn't risk anyone from town finding out.

After parking his car and briefly scouting out the vicinity to make double-sure no one who knew him was anywhere in sight, Nick strode into the building, his chest puffed out beneath the hoodie he had pulled up over his head and his eyes masked by sunglasses even as he stepped indoors.

The quarterback confidently made his way down the hall to room 110, the plaque on the door confirming he was in the right place:

Dr. Lucius Carter, MD, PhD, BNWO

Opening the door, Nick stepped into the empty waiting room on the other side. He took a seat, feeling secure enough now to lower his hoodie, remove his sunglasses, and fully reveal the strong jawline, luscious locks, self-assured grin, and piercing blue eyes that made the handsome quarterback recognizable.

Nick picked up one of the magazines on the table next to him, its cover emblazoned with profiles celebrating "Black excellence." He rolled his eyes, thinking back to his exchange with Claire earlier that day and the nonsense bullshit she'd been spewing about his "privilege."

Nick cast the magazine aside, pulling out his phone to instead check to see who'd been liking his selfies on Instagram as he waited impatiently for the doctor to just go ahead and call him in. In Nick's mind, this was already a done deal. Once Doctor Carter heard his name and understood who was -- Nick Townsend, Littleton High's star football player -- there'd be no question about him receiving whatever special treatment he'd given to a less-deserving team member like Adrian.

Finally, the door on the other end of the waiting room opened and the eye-catching figure of a towering Black man stepping out of it.

Doctor Carter was tall -- taller even than Nick. But it was not the doctor's height that most drew the eye, instead the stark contrast of the pristine white lab coat against his richly dark ebony skin serving to make Doctor Carter a memorable sight.

Although the doctor's face was adorned with a salt-and-pepper beard that gave him an air of authority, his head was otherwise shaved smooth, its dark surface shining slightly under the clinic's soft light as he took a step towards Nick.

The Black man's powerful handshake briefly tested Nick's resolve as he began his introduction. "Nicholas, is it?" he intoned, his smooth baritone filling the space. "I'm Doctor Carter."

"It's Nick," Nick corrected sharply. He had always hated the formality of his full name, feeling like a leash was tightening around his neck whenever someone used it.

Doctor Carter nodded once, seemingly noting the name correction as he ushered Nick into his office. Directly ahead was a desk, its tidy surface populated a computer and a few personal items: a gold-tinged Newton's cradle, a small potted plant, and -- causing the white jock to roll his eyes again while still facing away from the physician -- a mug that showed the outline of a raised fist above the prominently-written words "BLACK POWER."

As the doctor sat down at his desk, he took a sip from his mug before asking: "So, what brings you to my clinic today, Nicholas?"

Trying to ignore the doctor's intentional repetition of his much-loathed full name, Nick took a seat on the opposite side of the doctor's desk, leaning back to exude an air of confidence as he did so. "I'm here for the same magic you've been giving Adrian," Nick stated directly, certain in his ability to persuade Doctor Carter to give him what he wanted.

Doctor Carter's face remained impassive, his dark brown eyes penetrating as he assessed Nick. "I see," he said slowly and deliberately, weighing his words carefully. "And just what has Adrian told you about his treatment?"

Nick smirked smugly. "Enough to know it works, Doc."

Doctor Carter nodded again, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard pensively. "Well, Nicholas, you should know that the treatment I provide is both experimental and... 'unorthodox'," he began, pausing as his eyes travelled along the outline of the cocky quarterback's upper body, apparently sizing up the broad and muscular frame evident even under the loose hoodie Nick was wearing. "What makes you think you'd make a good candidate?" he asked, his gaze now inspecting Nick's handsome, fair-skinned face as if it were a piece of art to appraise rather than a human visage.

"Look, I'm the best on the field, and I intend to stay that way," Nick declared boldly.

"Oh?" Doctor Carter asked, nodding to encourage Nick to say more.

"I'm the starting QB for Littleton High," Nick continued. His pearly whites shone as he smiled, a mix of pride and a calculated dose of charm. "Threw over three hundred yards last game alone."

The doctor met Nick's eyes with his own. With a knowing smirk, he replied, "Not bad for a white boy."

Nick stiffened. His hands clenched instinctively, his mind seething. This was exactly the kind of shit that made Claire's nonsense rant about "white privilege" seem like a load of crap.

Nevertheless, intent on getting Doctor Carter's miracle treatment at any cost, Nick's confident grin and steady gaze didn't falter. "Thanks," Nick managed to say, keeping his voice cool despite his frustration. "I've got a pretty solid arm."

As he spoke, he noticed Doctor Carter's eyes drifting over his physique once more, taking in his stature and build more than his words. This frustrated Nick further -- feeling more like a specimen than a star athlete in that moment -- but still not enough to deter him from convincing the doctor he deserved whatever special treatment Adrian was receiving.

The doctor leaned back slightly in his chair, thoughtfully observing the cocky white boy seated in front of him as he stroked his well-groomed beard thoughtfully. "From what I can tell, Nicholas, it seems like you're an ideal candidate for the BNWO treatment program," he said, his voice carrying a note of approval.

The clueless quarterback's broad shoulders relaxed slightly, his smile turning smug once more as the feelings of frustration towards the doctor left his body. "No surprise there," he replied, feeling a surge of satisfaction. Nick knew he would always get what he deserved.

Doctor Carter nodded, pleased that the idiot white boy in his office didn't think to ask what the acronym he'd just used stood for -- not that any of them ever did.

The doctor reached into his desk's top drawer and pulled out a stack of papers, their bright white color bringing the ebony skin of his big Black hands into stark relief. "Because your participation will provide me and my colleagues with extremely valuable data, there won't be any charge for this," he began as he passed the documents over to Nick. "However, there are some formalities we need to get out of the way. Most importantly, you need to legally agree to the commitment required for your treatment to be effective."

"Commitment?" Nick asked skeptically, his brow furrowing as he skimmed through documents full of legal terms and medical jargon he couldn't make heads or tails of.

"Yes," Doctor Carter replied matter-of-factly. "The treatment involves both pharmaceutical and physical components that need to be continuously administered over a 28-day period to be fully effective. By signing this form, you'll be legally bound to see your treatment all the way through."

Nick paused, holding the pen Doctor Carter had given him over the blank space where his signature would go. The commitment of nearly a month felt somehow like a trap... What if he changed his mind after starting? The headstrong jock wasn't sure if he could handle being locked into an agreement he couldn't escape from...

Nevertheless, as the image of Adrian continuing to outperform him on the field nagged at his thoughts once more, Nick's fierce desire to remain on top nudged out his doubts. He was used to being the best and getting the best -- Doctor Carter's treatment seemed like yet another thing he deserved.

With a deep breath, Nick spoke. "Alright," he said, his voice confident as he began signing the document. "Let's do it. I'm in."

"You're making the right decision, Nicholas," Doctor Carter said with a nod, his full lips parting into a satisfied smile as yet another entitled white boy agreed to be a test subject in his plan to remake the world. "Now we can move on to the specifics of what you'll be undergoing," he added, pulling a small, opaque bottle from the drawer of his desk and setting it on the surface between them.

"This," he said, tapping the bottle with one of his thick fingers, "contains a specialized supplement. It's a pill taken once daily to enhance oxygen utilization, endurance, and overall energy."

Nick eyed the bottle with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "Could that show up in a drug test? I plan to play in college next year..."

Doctor Carter nodded to his test subject, prepared for this line of questioning. "Understandable concern," he acknowledged. "The advantage of the treatment my colleagues and I have developed is its timeframe. You only need to take the supplement for 28 days. What remains at the end is just a new and improved you -- nothing that would show up in a drug test."

Nick's face returned to a self-satisfied smile at this piece of information. "So, you're telling me, I take these for a month, and I get a lifetime of improvements without getting caught? Sounds like you've got a deal, Doc." Nick reached out and took the pill bottle into his hand. "How soon can we start?"

Doctor Carter took a moment to appreciate the look of eagerness on Nick's face. The deal was almost sealed. "Well," he began, a fatherly steadfastness in his voice. "There is still the matter of the physical component to discuss."

Nick, misinterpreting the statement, grinned confidently. "You mean, like, a training regime? Doc, I'm already in top shape, but sure, hit me with it."

"No, not exactly," Doctor Carter said as he pulled out another object from his desk drawer, holding up the small metallic object for his test subject to see. "For the physical component of your 28-day treatment, you'll need to wear this continuously," he explained, his eyes showing a mischievous glint even as he maintained his otherwise professional demeanor.

Nick's fair-skinned features twisted with both disbelief and disgust as he recognized the object set on the desk in front of him: a chastity cage.

"What the fuck?!" the quarterback exclaimed. "You're joking, right?"

Doctor Carter's expression appeared calm, composed, and slightly amused by the white boy's vociferous objection to wearing the cock cage. So few of them ever understand what they actually need.

"On the contrary, Nicholas, this little contraption is the most crucial part of the treatment. It will concentrate and contain your body's most potent energies, ensuring they're put to proper use for the first time in your life. Trust me when I say all my tes--" the doctor paused, catching himself. "All my patients have benefitted immensely from penile-restrictive devices just like these."

Nick's mind raced, torn between the desire to possess the promised improvements and a deep reluctance to submit to such a humiliating condition. He sat there, his blue eyes darting between the metal chastity cage and the Black doctor, the weight of the decision heavy upon him.

"Think of it as a temporary measure, Nicholas," Doctor Carter continued. "For just 28 days, that's all. After that, you keep the improvements, and this particular medical apparatus goes away for good. No one has to know."

As the broad-shouldered and well-built quarterback considered the doctor's words, his original thoughts of the emasculation that locking away his manhood into a cage for a month would entail were replaced by mental images of standing on the field, faster, stronger, and unbeatable. He imagined the crowd chanting his name, his future secured as a top athlete.

Nick's visions of the future glory he might achieve had him reconsidering the treatment's "physical component," but a practical question now lingered, pulling him back to the present. "Is there a way to keep it hidden?" he asked, hesitantly picking up the small, metallic cage to study it.

Doctor Carter's response was immediate, a sign of satisfaction in his eyes as he recognized the naive white boy's question as a sign of the tides turning in his favor. "First and foremost, wearing it under your clothes means that no one will normally see it. It's quite discreet in that respect," he explained, his deep, smooth baritone coming out in a reassuring way.

Nick frowned, his mind playing through his daily routines. "Yeah, but what about the locker room? Things like this don't go unnoticed there."

"Consider this," Doctor Carter began, "you never noticed Adrian wearing his, did you? It's easy to keep it hidden if you're careful."

Nick's expression shifted slightly, the realization that his teammate had been successfully keeping his locked cock out of sight without raising any suspicion providing a compelling piece of evidence that this could indeed be kept private. He twirled the tiny cage around in his hand, feeling its weight and the gravity of what he had to decide.