This story could also go in "Mature," "First Time," and "Non-consent/Reluctance," so if those aren't your things you've been warned. It does not belong in "Science Fiction," however, since the conditions described are real.
* * * * *
There are a fair percentage of people who have some sort of deformity or unusual condition. Most of the time they aren't even recognized, and unless they interfere with normal life do not permanently scar or retard the development of those who have them. My case was different. It started out as a disaster that was likely to ruin my life; fortunately it didn't end up that way.
I didn't know that I was unusual during my early childhood since my condition did not clearly manifest itself until I was past the age where my mother would bathe me, or I would be naked in the presence of my father; especially since my parents were religiously conservative and nakedness and talking about "private parts" was not part of their culture. Things started to unravel for me when I started taking gym class or went to camp and had to shower with other boys. I was pretty average in every way except that my scrotum started hanging low and I had three distinct testicles, each in their own sac.
I eventually learned that my condition is called Polyorchidism, or in my special case since I had three testicles, Triorchidism. I was made fun of - badly and incessantly. Word got from the locker room to the entire school, and from the boys camp to the girls camp. It was traumatizing and only got worse as I reached puberty. It caused me to become withdrawn and socially underdeveloped. It was several years before I could even bring my problem up to my parents.
The reaction that my parents had was not particularly comforting. "Tough it out," and "God's plan" were two of the most common refrains. I was in my mid-teens before I convinced them that I had to go to a doctor specifically for this condition. We found a doctor in our city that at least had heard of my condition, but he could only provide general information. He recommended that I consult the only doctor he knew about with any real knowledge about my condition - Dr. Vladimir Bering - who lived 800 miles away. By saving money from doing odd jobs, and what relatives gave me for presents, I was able to pay my own way to travel by bus to see Dr. Bering; he agreed not to charge for his services.
From Dr. Vladimir Bering I learned that there are only about 200 reported cases of Polyorchidism, ever, in medical literature, and that as far as he could tell my case may have been unique because all three testicles were completely functional in every way, each was completely independent of the others even to the extent that they each had their own sac, and they were each full size. In fact, he subtly pointed out to me that they were more than "full size;" they were each about one and one-half to two times average size.
I was hoping for some treatment. He dashed that. "Tommy, they are completely normal and it would be a form of castration to remove one of them. You can lead an entirely normal life with them. Once you get to be an adult they will not be known to others, or even if known only a subject of fascination, not derision. I personally would never do anything to mess with them, chemically or surgically, and if any doctor would I would consider him or her unethical and in need of being reported to an appropriate licensing or censure board."
While I was in some ways disappointed with what Dr. Bering had to say, in other ways it lifted a weight off my shoulders. He also was very helpful in dealing with my parents. He had several phone conversations with them about it, and involved a colleague of his, Dr. Melissa Borden, who was a psychiatrist. Doctors Borden and Bering convinced my parents that for my social development and mental health that they needed to move to somewhere where no one knew about my condition. Dr. Borden even wrote a letter for presentation to the administrators at any new school that I would attend excusing me from gym or any locker room possibilities although not identifying the real reason why.
When a new job opportunity opened up for my father so that it would not be economically harmful to move, we did.
* * * * *
Because of my stunted social development, even after we moved I wasn't assimilated into High School easily. One thing that helped was that I was held back a year when we moved which was important for me to catch up both in maturity and school studies since my preoccupation and depression associated with my condition had retarded my learning. I had a few good to decent male friends within a few months of moving to the new High School, but it was not until the summer before my junior year - when I had already turned eighteen since I had been held back a year - that I finally worked up the nerve to at least talk to some girls.
There was one girl in particular, Jeanne, that I really liked. Jeanne was no real beauty, but she was "pretty," wasn't fat or skinny, had no obvious flaws, and was nice to everyone. She was even nice to me, despite my shyness and the fact that I was basically ordinary except for the negative factor of my social anxiety.
I got the nerve to go over to Jeanne's house one day in the summer to talk to her. I was greeted by Jeanne's Mom, Gretchen. Gretchen had apparently met my mother, so she knew who I was, and like Jeanne she was a nice person so even though Jeanne wasn't there we chatted for a while - something that was easier for me to do with someone in another generation than someone in my generation.
I made a regular habit of showing up at Jeanne's house. Sometimes she was home in which case I would embarrassedly talk to her for about fifteen minutes - usually something having to do with the upcoming school year or the softball team that she played on - before excusing myself. If Jeanne wasn't there, Gretchen would usually chat with me for five or ten minutes. One time she invited me in while she was on the phone and motioned for me to wait in the den.
A cabinet door in the den, with a key in the door's lock, was open. I couldn't help notice the books and DVDs visible in the open cabinet. Most had real sexual titles, some printed, others hand written; I didn't expect someone as seemingly straight-laced as Gretchen to have those types of things, but of course I said nothing. When Gretchen got off the phone and came into the den I thought that I detected a furtive look of panic on her face when she saw the open cabinet door. She recovered quickly however and asked me to go into the kitchen while she "got something out of my desk." I heard the cabinet door close and the lock click as I moved to the kitchen. When she came back from the den holding a piece of paper we had an entirely normal conversation.
One day, when Jeanne wasn't there, Gretchen asked me if I ever did lawn work since the service that she used had raised its prices and skimped on service at the same time. I regularly mowed my parents' yard, and what eighteen-year-old doesn't need money, so I said" Sure." I mowed her lawn that day, and again six days later.
The second time that I mowed Gretchen's lawn it was really hot out - probably 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Jeanne had come home about the time that I was finishing, and was wearing short shorts and a halter top - to me it was the sexiest that she had ever looked. She left soon afterward, but the "damage" had already been done - I was sprouting a real boner.
When Gretchen paid me she surprised me. "Tommy, it's so hot out. Why don't you take a dip in the pool?" Gretchen's house had a really nice Infinity pool, probably twenty meters long, with a diving board to a ten foot depth at the deep end."
"Thanks Mrs. Ames, but I don't have a suit," I replied.
"There probably is one of Mr. Ames' in the cabana. He's about your size - you're about six feet, one hundred eighty pounds, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am, almost exactly that."
"Just use his suit, then," she said with a smile. I did notice that she glanced downwardly at my crotch area a couple of times when we were talking, but at the time I didn't think anything of it.
I went into the cabana and quickly got naked. Seeing Jeanne the way that she had dressed, combined with things about the joy of masturbation that some of my male friends had been talking about recently, had me excited. So while standing naked with my back against one wall of the cabana, and looking in the mirror on the cabana's opposite wall, I stroked one off saying normal masturbation stuff like "Oh Jeanne, you're so fucking hot!. A series of at least nine or ten big splashes hit the mirror, about a dozen feet from where I was standing and stroking. I was relieved but embarrassed. Once I calmed down from my intense masturbation while still naked I took a wet towel and carefully cleaned off the mirror.
At the time I had no information or expectation that being able to jet cum a dozen feet was unusual. I subsequently found out that there is an unofficial world record of more than eighteen feet, although the average guy can ejaculate only a few inches.
I put on Mr. Ames' bathing suit, and took a nice refreshing swim.
When I returned to the house, Gretchen greeted me with a big smile. "I hope that you enjoyed yourself Tommy."
"Yes, ma'am, I did," I replied with a smile.
