Upon re-entering Lab 6 Angela and Kai-Kai almost bumped into two men in business suits. One looked a little familiar.
“Oh hi Mr. Alkaras,” the Sire said politely. That’s who it was, Jonathan Q. Alkaras, the Project’s Chairman of the Board. “This is Angela Chin, from the medical team.”
The tall, dark-skinned man with a distinguished-looking beard, in his meticulous three-piece suit, bowed to Angela and clasped her hand. As the naked boy introduced her she felt embarrassed at not being better dressed. “Glad to meet you. I think we’ve met before . . .” Now he spoke to Kai-Kai in a tone that was respectful but, Angela felt, a little condescending. Or maybe it was just her imagination, since Kai-Kai lacked all of Mr. Alkaras’s numerous articles of clothing, and the gravitas of his years. “Kai-Kai, let me introduce to you Mr. Nuyen, from the Socialist Republic of Vietnam.
“Mr. Nuyen: the Sire.” Kai-Kai was rarely referred to by that name in his presence, and was never called that to his face. Angela and Mr. Alkaras looked on, and also Dr. Chatterjee and Nurse Lopez, and Ms. Bartleby and Ms. Goldenstein from the Draining Committee, and also Mr. Silvestri and his assistant, who paused in the packing away of their tools, honored to be present. It was a moment of high diplomacy. Modest as Kai-Kai was, it was obviously not the first time for him, as he carried himself in the manner expected. He acted like he was an ambassador. With dignity in spite of his nakedness, the Sire modestly padded over to the shortish man of about 55. Mr. Nuyen was as fully and neatly dressed as the Chairman, with a sprightly red (= Communist) pocket square in his jacket, and smelled of cologne. With a polite bow the Sire said, “Welcome to Semillas.”
Mr. Nuyen nodded to Kai-Kai’s face but could not hide his sense of alarm as he looked downward. He had been sent photographs but seeing Kai-Kai’s equipment “in the flesh” was another thing entirely. This led to an uncomfortable moment as everyone stood around, Mr. Nuyen staring at the Sire’s penis as if it was a rattlesnake about to jump up and bite him, and everyone looking with concern at Mr. Nuyen’s face.
“I apologize for our unannounced attendance at your draining, Kai-Kai,” Mr. Alkaras said, a little loudly, which caused the Vietnamese gentleman to blink and look up as if awakened from a trance. “As you know Vietnam has not yet been penetrated, but negotiations have been progressing. Mr. Nuyen is here, to put it bluntly, because of concerns that you might have a macropenis. We want to reassure him,” he shrugged good-naturedly, “that you are a normally functioning male.”
Angela closed her eyes, thinking of the embarrassment Kai-Kai must be feeling. When people from far away heard about his size, “macropenis” was the first thing they thought about. The word indicated an abnormal condition, a penis that was either non-functional or grossly distorted as a result of disease or cancer. Angela felt like pointing out that the boy’s equipment was not unique. “There really are other men that size, you know!” But it was not her place to speak.
Kai-Kai was not embarrassed. He seemed to be expecting this kind of curiosity. And maybe he had become accustomed to reassuring people who were new to the Project. Without saying a word he lifted his penis with one hand, as if inviting Mr. Nuyen to touch it. Then, holding his glans up past his navel, with the other hand he cradled his testicles, one at a time, rolling them around, to show that they were not misshapen. In fact Kai-Kai’s genitals were normal in shape and function, in every respect except size. Angela told herself this little display made perfect sense. Kai-Kai was just helping with Project “penetration” into new corners of the world, and maybe had been advised about Vietnamese anxiety by the Penetration Committee. But to Angela it still seemed demeaning. Like a woman with big breasts who has to take off her bra and display them to prove to everyone that they are not fake.
“Sir, do you want to touch — palpate my penis and testicles?” the boy said respectfully, quickly correcting himself. In situations like this the Project preferred the use of medical terminology.
Mr. Nuyen, being a product of a conservative culture, quickly shook his head. He should have said yes. The people back in Hanoi wanted a full report. Mr. Alkaras, aware of this, said, “No, go ahead.”
Mr. Nuyen had been sent here because he had gone to college and specialized in urology, though he had never gotten a degree. So he knew what he was doing as he gingerly, after gulping, palpated Kai-Kai’s genitals. Kai-Kai held his penis forward so that Mr. Nuyen could feel it from root to glans with both hands. Then he felt below, cupping one testicle in both hands and then the other.
“The — morphology seems the much normal,” he reported in a shaky voice. His English was stilted and accented; his main foreign language was French. Then with two fingers he felt something on the inside of Kai-Kai’s left testicle. “The — epididymis — is — articulated more.”
“My sperm has been built up for the draining,” Kai-Kai explained, looking down at the inquisitive fingers. He then tried to suppress a wince; Mr. Nuyen had pressed a little too hard.
“Please my apology the most high,” Mr. Nuyen quickly said, then dropped the testicle. It swung back into position. He drew back, still not being able to take his eyes off the boy’s enormous equipment.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Mr. Alkaras said to Dr. Chatterjee, “you may proceed.”
Mr. Silvestri and his assistant carried their toolboxes out. As he passed Kai-Kai Mr. Silvestri pointed his finger at him. “Remember,” he said softly, “if you feel the slightest wobble, front or back, let me know.”
“Yes, Mr. Silvestri,” the teenage boy said politely, once again admonished.
With the exit of the mechanics, the business of draining semen from the boy finally began. Nurse Lopez had now set up the Sleeve Stage. The Sire silently padded over and stepped up, placing his bare feet well apart on the rough grip strips on the top of the metal stage. He braced himself by entwining his arms up on the inverted T-bar coming down from the ceiling. The stage was about two feet high, leaving Kai-Kai’s genitals at a little below their eye level. Nurse Lopez lifted his penis and placed it in a large clear tube about two feet long and three inches wide. Inside was a flexible fiberglass sleeve. Kai-Kai shifted his hips so that his penis slid in. The motions of the nurse and of the boy were so well-practiced and fluid that it was like a two-person ballet. A routine that the two of them had done many times before.
Watching in a wide semi-circle were, in front, Dr. Chatterjee, then behind him, Angela, Ms. Bartleby, Ms. Goldenstein, and then at a discreet distance, Mr. Alkaras and Mr. Nuyen.
When the glass tube had been drawn up so that it was pressed against Kai-Kai’s pubic hair, the nurse strapped it to his body with soft black fabric thongs that wrapped around his thin waist and velcroed above his tight little butt. Then with a plastic hose she connected the tube to the tube on the floor of the stage. This was the “collection tube”, with a stopcock (yes, that was the word for it) halfway up. She reached over to the side of the stage and turned a knob. A low hum started and the plastic sleeve slowly and smoothly moved up and down the boy’s penis. The sleeve was about five inches long and traveled back until it met his pubic hair, then forward until only the glans was showing. Then back, then forward. . . Kai-Kai closed his eyes and drew in breath. His concave tummy went in and out as his breathing grew a little ragged.
“Let us know when you’re close, Kai-Kai,” Mr. Alkaras said. Kai-Kai, eyes still closed, nodded. The nurse sat down and turned her chair around so that she could observe him.
They watched as the Sire’s penis grew erect. The rubbing sleeve melded itself to the contours of the erection and slid back and forth, from (to use the Project’s terminology) Kai-Kai’s terceral zone (the third inch of his erection) to his octaval zone (his eighth inch). The sleeve was braided and hugged the penis somewhat in the manner of a Chinese finger trap — the bigger the penis got, the more snug the grip. His testicles lurched to and fro in rhythm.
“A fine device,” Dr. Chatterjee said to Mr. Nuyen, who had leaned in closer. “A lot of work went into the design.”
This being Kai-Kai’s first ejaculation of the day, it didn’t take long. As he was being stimulated he bit his lip. His breathing got heavier. “He is now at full erection,” Dr. Chatterjee observed. The penis, long, thick and hard, seemed like a giant’s penis that had somehow gotten grafted onto the slight, sweating body.
Now Kai-Kai gasped and shut his eyes. “Dr. — Ch - chatterjee — I’m — about to — come — ohhh —”
“Ms. Bartleby!” Dr. Chatterjee called out. The well-dressed 50-year-old member of the Draining Committee raced forward to place herself face-to-face with the naked Sire who was about to experience orgasm right in front of her.
They clustered around the stage, watching the boy’s heaving body from every angle. He opened his eyes and stared out into the middle distance. Now, knowing what was expected of him, he made eye contact with Ms. Bartleby. His eyes bulged out at her as his teeth gritted. His penis suddenly got even bigger and harder. “AHHH!” His hips bucked forward with his first contraction. And Ms. Bartleby saw what she wanted to see, the Sire’s pupils dilating and losing focus with the onset of orgasm. Every member of the Draining Committee was encouraged to see this at least once.
The others bent down to watch the Sire’s brownish red, engorged glans, the size of a plum. It got even bigger and harder, and a glob of semen appeared in the widely-distended meatus, the product of the first contraction. And now the second spasm, another heave of the hips. “AHHH!!” A thick spurt shot down through the hose with such violence that Angela flinched. Now another, and another, and another. “AHHH! AHHHH! OHHHH! OHHHH!” The high-pitched, boyish shouts echoed through the expanse of Lab 6, and out into the hall, as the slight body jerked back and forth in time with the spurts, with such force that the whole Sleeve Stage shook a little. The thick jets slid down toward the collection tube. Thick as the semen was, none remained in the plastic hose, which was coated with lubricant several molecules deep. As the orgasm ran its course the semen, white as cream, collected in the tube over the stopcock, filling it past the lower gradations. They counted the spurts. Five, six, seven, eight . . .
Angela’s mouth dropped open and she felt herself out of breath. She had seen Kai-Kai’s orgasms before, during impregs. This was her first look at the stuff those women were receiving. And this orgasm was not like his impreg orgasms — when he would graciously induce the woman’s orgasm with his meticulously skilled thrusting, then announce his ejaculation with a polite low moan. This draining orgasm was not tender at all. The boy’s vocalizations were uninhibited. It was an unrestrained display of his ejaculatory prowess. She had heard that Kai-Kai’s friends would sometimes drop by and applaud as he came, loudly counting each spurt like cheerleaders, and clapping and hugging his flushed face after it was over. It all added to the air of unreality, at least for Angela. Then she told herself: the dimensions and the product might be unusually large, but this is a human male, displaying the physiological process associated with reproduction. A natural human action, like digestion, or breathing, or scratching one’s nose. Michael, her fiancé, was capable of this too, albeit on not so grand a scale.
The eleventh spurt was a little less than the tenth. The twelfth was still less. The thirteenth was a dribble. Then the last irregular spasms shook the boy’s body. When it was over he sagged forward, held up by the T-bar, and caught his breath. The thick penis, still stuck in the sleeve, pulsated with his racing heartbeat as blood slowly began to drain away from it.
The nurse read off the gradations from above the stopcock. “13 cc’s,” she said. Dr. Chatterjee said, “That was a good voluminous, as they say, ‘load’, Kai-Kai. Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you,” Mr. Alkaras said. Angela joined in the chorus. “Thanks, Kai-Kai.” The two Draining Committee members also expressed their thanks. Nurse Lopez couldn’t help a proud smile, as if she was partly responsible. Whenever the Sire demonstrated his capacity to produce a big “load”, it was a triumph for the Project, and the many lives it would save.
After a few deep breaths Kai-Kai said, to everyone in the room, “You’re — welcome — ”
Angela thought: this is Kai-Kai’s life. To be always naked, and to ejaculate in public as heavily as he could, for the approval of adults who congratulated him on the amount of semen he produced. For other teenage boys ejaculation was done in secret, furtively, by masturbation. For Kai-Kai it was a public event for which he was praised, like a schoolboy getting a gold star. The world wanted to see Kai-Kai produce as much sperm and semen as possible. But what did Kai-Kai himself want?
“13 cc’s is well above average. And note the thickness of the semen,” Dr. Chatterjee said, addressing everyone, though perhaps most of all Mr. Nuyen right behind him. Kai-Kai’s first load of the morning reminded Angela of heavy whipping cream in color and viscosity. “The thickness indicates not only high sperm count but vitality in the seminal vesicles.”
“Remarkable!” Mr. Nuyen said. “Yes it is, isn’t it?” Mr. Alkaras said, in a tone of sincere wonder.
Angela was transfixed by the “load”, sitting above the stopcock right in front of them. Maybe it contained a billion sperm. Well, they would soon find out. At the stopcock was a little glass slide that the nurse removed. As she did so the semen dropped down to the bottom of the collection tube. She put the slide into the spermalyzer, which looked like a microscope. After a few seconds she read out the digital display: “80 million per cc,” she read out. “Very good!” Dr. Chatterjee said. Yes, Angela calculated: the Sire had just ejaculated over a billion sperm.
Nurse Lopez now turned up the knob control, increasing the intensity. Kai-Kai’s face twisted in a grimace. Immediately after delivering such a big load he clearly did not enjoy the continued stimulation. But after a couple of seconds he caught his breath and looked toward the floor with a dull stare. Angela could tell his eyes were wet.
“Right after orgasm the male typically does not want continued stimulation of the penis,” Dr. Chatterjee explained, in a louder voice as if he was giving a lecture, which he was, considering his special audience. “However it is our experience that the yield is ultimately greater if stimulation continues without interruption through the first few orgasms.” “Yield” was the Project’s term for the total volume of semen obtained from the Sire during a draining. It was typically greater in the winter months; the reasons for this were a topic of much debate.
Angela felt sorry for this boy who wanted to just relax, if only for a few seconds, after being made to experience such a powerful orgasm. But Kai-Kai was dedicated to the Project and, she told herself, was used to this temporary discomfort.
“We can expect his second ejaculation in a few minutes,” Dr. Chatterjee announced, as Nurse Lopez inserted a new slide above the stopcock.
Mr. Alkaras looked at Mr. Nuyen, who seemed exhausted by what he had just seen. “Thank you doctor, I think we’ll go now.”
As they passed the Sire up on his stage, Mr. Nuyen ventured to say, “Thank you for the demonstration . . . Sire.”
This last word was honorific and brought a smile to Mr. Alkaras’s face. The Project had its own diplomatic corps and had gotten familiar with the subtleties of international utterances. In calling the boy “Sire”, the Vietnamese gentleman had acknowledged Kai-Kai’s status, thereby sending a clear signal that penetration into Vietnam would be approved. The Project had been uncertain as to how much authority Mr. Nuyen possessed; it was evident now that it was considerable. Also evident was how he had been swayed by the young Sire’s courtesy, maturity and humility, which counted for much in his culture. In a few months, one could imagine, Vietnamese women would begin flying in to Semillas for Kai-Kai to impregnate.
It was unlikely that Kai-Kai was realizing this as he gasped, “You’re . . . welcome . . . have a . . . ohhh . . . good t - trip . . . back . . . uhhh . . . Misterrr . . . N - Nuyen . . .” He carefully bowed his flushed face in respect, though the motion was interrupted by a quick jerk as the sleeve rubbed a sensitive spot on his septimal zone, his seventh inch.