Lucian Ch. 01

"How do you feel?"

She was all business, except for her lips; those would always betray her.

"What did you do to me?" he asked, ignoring her question.

He pushed away the sheet, once more exposing the ridiculous nappy-panties. The doctor blushed; she really did.

"Sorry for those," she said. "They always seem the most practical solution." Always?

"Don't treat me like a child!" he yelled, hating the way his voice broke.

The doctor laid one hand on his leg; with the other she lifted the frilly edge of the plastic cover. Her fingers squeezed the bandages.

"Does this hurt?" she asked, squeezing harder. It didn't, but there was the dull throbbing.

"It's a dull pain," he said, insisting on the word pain.

"Good," she said. "That's normal."

"Normal for what?" he yelled again. "Don't tell me you... you..."

The doctor paled as her hand went to her mouth.

"Oh no! Not at all, honey!" she said. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry I made you think that. No, we just circumcised you, that's all."

Dizziness attacked him.

"T-that's all?" he stuttered. "You cut my cock without asking me and you say that's all?"

Her smile had gone now.

"Your mother," she began, "I mean we, we circumcise new students as a matter of routine. It is for health and hygiene. Your mother allowed it. I wanted to inform you, but she said there was no need. I'm sorry, honey."

"Don't you honey me!" he yelled again. "And fuck your sorry's."

Lucian turned away from her, feeling utterly alone.

"Where is my mother?" he then asked, talking to the wall. "I must see her." There was silence.

"She left," the doctor said.

"She left," he echoed.

"Yes, right after you, ehm... passed out."

Lucian pushed his face under his pillow. After a minute he felt her weight lift from the bed.

"Sorry, Lucian," she said, her words muffled by the pillow.

***

He must have lain there for hours, finally falling asleep.

The girl Drew tapped his shoulder; she gave him a glass of water and two pills.

Lucian sat up. His hair stuck to his skull from the sweltering heat under his pillow. He asked her what the pills were for.

"Sleep," she said. "You'll sleep and heal."

He studied the pills; they were small and white, no markings. He'd seen her take the water from the tap.

"You can trust me," she said, smiling.

"Like I could trust the doctor?" he asked.

"Did she lie?"

He shrugged.

"She ehm... circumcised me without telling, let alone asking," he said trying not to pout.

"Ah, that." The girl shrugged as she said it. "That's a rule; all boys get it done if they haven't before."

"For hygiene," he offered.

"Yes, that's what they say."

Lucian sulked. Anger still raged inside him, but it turned slowly into the stifling emotion he knew better: frustration. Why did things always happen to him?

"She should've asked," he muttered. The girl smiled.

"Take the pills," she said. "You need to sleep."

He didn't know how long he slept. The lights were on when he woke again, the curtains closed.

"Ah, you're awake. Good morning."

The girl looked fresh; her hair was still damp where it peeped from under her cap. On a tray she had a glass of fruit juice and a container with a straw. It looked like a milkshake. There were crackers and also a small white cup containing pills - two green ones, a red one, and four huge beige-like ones.

"Breakfast," she said.

"What is it?" She grinned.

"It won't kill you," she said. "This is fresh orange juice, with mango and pine apple. And this is a vegetable smoothie. You know what a smoothie is?"

"Health food," he said. "Vegetarian. And the pills? For sleep again?" She once more chuckled.

"The green ones are vitamins," she pointed out as she leaned over him. "Don't ask me the letters and numbers. The red one is antibiotics for your ehm... operation. And the beige pills are food supplements. We hardly eat meat here, you see."

He stared at the pills. Then he looked up to find her eyes. They were lovely and very close.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me they are good for me," he said. She smiled, opening her eyes wider.

"You'll feel reborn," she said.

He took the red one and chased it down with fruit juice. Closing his eyes, he swallowed it.

The girl Drew softly clapped her hands.

After breakfast she took him to the shower.

Standing alone under the hot, cascading water he wondered what was happening to him - and if he should keep thinking it was a bad thing. He ought to be shocked, he knew, by what they did to him - his mother, the doctor.

He was upset, of course.

They invaded his privacy without even knocking. And yet - he had to make an effort to really feel insulted.

Maybe it came from lack of alternatives; or maybe it was in the pills.

Taking the pink container that stood on the ledge, he squeezed a large dollop of shower-lotion into the palm of his hand.

It smelled like Drew did, and it slithered on his skin.

He hated his skin; it was soft and translucently pale. It bruised when only stomped or squeezed. And it burned in the sun.

Lathering his arms and belly, he arrived at the silly plastic nappy-holder. They said they'd circumcised him; snipped the loose skin off the tip of his penis for better hygiene.

If so, then why did he feel this numb throb in his balls?

Maybe he should get the bandages off and take a look. Being kept in the dark gave him every right to do that, didn't it?

He shrugged and picked up the blue container.

It said 'shampoo' and it smelled like the lotion. He built a nice tower of suds on his head, rubbing it into his skull.

He hated his hair too; it made him look like an angelic little pre-teen - the silver blond color, the abundant curls.

Every woman said he looked cute. His father had once taken him to a barber, who almost shaved him bald. It made him look even younger, and a cancer victim. His mother had had a fit.

"Are you done yet?"

The shower's rain almost drowned out the girl's voice. She tapped on the glass door.

"Hurry."

He rinsed his hair; then he picked up a fluffy towel, rubbing himself dry.

When he stepped outside, there was a white robe on the bed. Next to it stood Drew with a grin and a big white container. She squeezed a blob of cream on her palm.

"Turn," she said and started rubbing it into his back.

She took another helping and told him to do his front.

The lotion made his limbs shine until it was absorbed. It smelled good; his skin felt like a baby's.

Lucian grabbed the robe and wrapped it around his body. It fell halfway down to his thighs and was made of fake satin, he guessed - some slippery fabric.

"Wow... you look good enough to eat."

He looked up. She giggled, but she meant it. He supposed she meant it.

"Let me take you to the doctor," she said, presenting something on the flat palms of both hands. They were white ballet shoes with long satin ribbons hanging down from them. He frowned.

"Well, it beats walking barefoot," she said, grinning.

The shoes looked comfortable, but the thought of wearing them sent flashes of embarrassment to his face.

"I can't..." he started, not knowing what he couldn't. "I never...," he went on, meaning he'd never worn things like that before.

"Oh, but you can and you will," she said, smiling wide. "I'll help you."

She pushed him, so he sat down on the bed's edge. Then she knelt and lifted his right foot, rubbing its sole and toes.

"I love your feet," she said. "Beautifully narrow, with long toes and a nice arch."

He felt her fingers massage it, shooting electric arrows up his legs.

She opened one shoe and slid it over his foot. The satin felt great, more like a glove than a shoe. The girl crisscrossed the ribbons over his ankles and calves. Then she did the left one.

"Look," she said, " so you can do it yourself."

He rose to his feet, trying a few steps. The shoes were incredibly light and supple, with a firmer sole. The girl clapped her hands.

"Lovely," she said. "I'm proud of you. Let's go!"

Walking down the corridors was an exercise in self-consciousness.

They met a group of girls like Drew, wearing the usual long dress shirts, all buttons undone, over flimsy camisoles and pastel colored short shorts. They walked on ballet shoes like his - they danced on them, rather.

Three were blondes. He saw two Asian girls and a black one. They laughed, greeting Drew. When they passed them, one of the blondes said: "Love your hair, Lucian."

"They know me?" he asked.

"Of course," Drew said. "You are famous."

She grinned; she must be joking.

Dr. Vivian Kurtz was all smiles.

"Good morning, Lucian," she gushed. "I hope you slept well; I wish I did. Now undress; let's get you out of that baby thing."

He undid the sash of his robe and let the satin slide down to his feet.

Instead of feeling exposed he felt silly, looking down on the frilly monstrosity. The doctor pulled it off; a damp clot of bandages slid down with it.

His penis looked an angry pink.

First thing he saw was its exposed head - permanently exposed now - and the fine dark line that ran around its rim - no doubt where the skin had been cut. The blue of the doctor's gloves contrasted nicely.

She lifted the head on two fingertips.

"Good," she murmured.

"My balls look swollen," Lucian said. They did. The ball sac was like a puffed reddish pillow supporting the pink snail of his penis.

"That's just irritation from the bandages," Dr. Kurtz said. "It will be gone in a day."

"They throb," he went on. "The balls I mean. They have been throbbing all day yesterday."

"Throb?" she asked. "You mean hurt?"

"Well, ehm, no," he said. "More of a dull ache, really. I don't know."

The doctor rose from her squatting position.

"You'll be fine," she said, squeezing her eyes in a reassuring way. "But let's be careful. Here, put this on for another day or two."

She handed him what looked like a codpiece, but it wasn't hard and it had been stuffed with fluffy material.

"It's sterile now and you can keep it on while washing," she said. Then she gave him a box. "After going to the toilet, you must change the cotton lining."

The piece felt snug around his genitals.

The elastic bands ran high over his hips. As he moved he knew he'd have to get used to the string that ran down his crack. The thing gave the rather sexy impression of a bulging thong.

Anyway, he thought, it beats wearing napkins.

Drew waited for him to take him back.

She insisted on seeing his latest accessory, and said it looked gorgeous on him. Then she followed a different route from how they'd come. She brought him to a tiny bedroom suite, the suite being a shower stall, a toilet and a walk-in closet.

"Welcome to your place," she said. "It's all yours, you lucky bastard."

Beside the queen sized bed was a small desk-like table, a chair and another desk with a lighted mirror and a stool in front of it.

On the desk were papers. Drew told him to look into them after she left. Next to the bed he saw a suitcase. It bore stickers he recognized; the suitcase was his.

Then Drew said she'd leave him alone. Lunch would be brought, but tonight she'd pick him up for dinner.

"Don't go anywhere," she said, smiling.

When she was gone, he threw the suitcase on the bed and opened it. On top was a letter next to the teddy bear he'd had as long as he remembered.

Seeing it brought a sting to his eyes.

He dropped down on the bed, feeling the string press into his flesh. The letter was on his mother's stationary. He recognized her loopy handwriting.

"Sweet, sweet Lucian!!" the letter opened. Ah, the exclamation marks.

"Please don't be mad," his mother wrote. "This really is the best solution." Solution, he thought. So he was a problem.

"We could no longer stand aside and watch you being destroyed, honey," she wrote. 'We?' Surely she couldn't mean she and that man he saw ten times a year? Or the consiglieri with the creepy moustache?

"Your father doesn't know you are there," she went on as if she could read his thoughts. "He never accepted the person you are. But in time he will!!"

Lucian groaned.

He remembered the day his father took him to a boxing match. He was ten and shrinking away from the sheer aggression around him, not just in the ring. The screaming, the jostling and the violence: he had nightmares for weeks. When his father wanted to take him there again, he fled screaming, locking himself in his room.

His father never stopped teasing him about it, and not in a playful way.

"I know you, Lucian," his mother wrote on. Ah, she'd better; she was his goddamn mother, wasn't she?

"I know you'll love the place. You'll meet children like you, talented, sensitive children needing a safe place to blossom."

So now he was a child, and a flower? Nice.

He imagined his mother writing the letter, sitting at her elegant little desk, about noon, freshly showered, a towel around her hair, like a turban.

She'd wear a silk robe, real silk, the dark red one that set off her pale skin - the skin he'd inherited. She'd smoke a cigarette, no doubt still slightly hung over from a champagne-filled night before.

There would be a cup of cappuccino.

He imagined her bare leg peeping out of the robe, slick and shining, a silver Jimmy Choo sandal dangling from her foot. He'd looked it up; it was silly expensive.

If he wanted to go on with the letter, he'd have to let go of the image. He didn't want to. Then he did.

"I won't be visiting for quite a while," her bold, round letters proceeded. "Not because I don't want to, please don't ever believe that!!, but because it's against the school rules."

The 'don't ever believe that' had been inserted later, wedged between the lines. One of the exclamation marks had gone right through the paper.

"So, please don't think we dumped you, honey!! It is all for the best. Be strong! Kisses, kisses, kisses, Mother."

Tears ran down his cheeks.

He should be glad, she said. He wasn't dumped; it was all for the best; kisses, kisses, kisses, little hearts and three fat crosses.

He took the letter between fingers and thumbs and tore it right down the middle. Next he turned the parts and tore them again. Then he stopped. He stuffed the pieces back into the envelope and put them in the bottom drawer of his desk.

He grabbed the teddy bear from the open suitcase and pushed his face into its threadbare belly.

***

Some people think schools are there simply because they're there - and always have been. Others think they are part-time prisons.

And then there are people who believe schools give you an education.

It was past 8 p.m. when Drew knocked on his door.

Lucian felt hungry; his lunch had only been a green salad with some cheese and nuts - and pills of course. The fruit juice contained no sugar.

He started to see why everyone was so thin.

Later, just out of boredom, he'd leafed through the papers on the desk. Some listed titles of textbooks. He assumed they weren't complete, as he didn't see any books on math or physics or even history. Maybe they would be taught through computer programs.

He did see French textbooks, and English grammar. There also were books about fashion and beauty. He guessed the list was general, or the titles got mixed up.

Other papers were mostly schedules like he knew from his former schools. FR and EN, GYM and ATHL were pretty clear, but he wondered about BE and BAL and GRA.

He also saw that the schedules for math and physics hadn't been included yet.

Drew wore a dress.

It was a short summer thing that had a low back and flared out high on her thighs. It was pale yellow cotton, printed with peach-pink flowers, setting off her tan. Her hair flowed in waves to her shoulder blades. On her feet were flowery flip-flops.

She looked beautiful.

"Ah, is it still warm outside?" he asked. "I haven't been outside in two days."

"It's lovely," she said. "Did you shower? We all shower before we change for dinner."

He showered and used the lotion. When he returned, he went to his closet to pick up the jeans that had been in his suitcase; and a T-shirt.

"You can't wear that."

He looked up, surprised.

"Why not? They are new - well, clean anyway."

"You must wear these," she said, throwing items on the bed.

He saw it was a thin, salmon-colored top and silky salmon short shorts. The top had spaghetti straps. There also was a long, sky-blue buttoned dress shirt, like he'd seen on the girls.

He stared at the bed.

"Those are for girls," he said. "Are there boys at all at this school? I still have to meet any." She smiled.

"Plenty of boys," she said. "And the shirt is a male dress shirt, for your information. Now put these on, time is running out."

"But..," he said, helplessly holding up the shorts and the top.

"Problems?" she asked. "It's not rocket science: the top goes over your head and the shorts up your legs. I do hope they fit over your interesting little cod piece."

She laughed and reached out to grab his groin. He jumped back.

Feeling the flimsy material of the top on the back of his hand brought secret memories, and sensations that went straight to his carefully packed penis. It created a confusing cocktail of thrill, fear and embarrassment.

"I really...," he began, knowing his face was aflame.

"Humor me," Drew interrupted. "Just for the fun of it. I bet it looks cute on you."

Cute; the girl said cute.

Lucian sighed, picking up the long shirt. It was an oversized man's shirt, just like she said. Maybe he could cover the damn top with it, and the girly shorts too.

He dropped the shirt and grabbed the shorts, pulling them over his legs. They were very tight, firstly because they were, and secondly because of his artificial package.

"Ooooh, sexy!" the girl mocked. "You pack a nice bulge, mister." And she broke down giggling.

Lucian shrugged, picking up the top and letting it slide over his head.

The liquid slickness made him shiver.

The camisole fit snugly over his chest, betraying the contours of his nipples. The hem stopped right over his belly button. Deep, forbidden feelings surfaced as he saw himself in the dressing mirror next to the closet.

Drew clapped her hands.

"Gorgeous!" she exclaimed. "God, you make me feel jealous." There was no mocking in her voice now.

"Wait," she said, picking up a brush. She started brushing his curls, making them fluff out in a silver halo.

"Oooh," she said, biting her lip. "Give me your hair, Lucian. Give me those curls, please!"

He gently pushed her away and picked up the shirt, pulling it over the damn outfit. When he started to button it up, Drew protested, but he ignored her.

He laced up his ballet shoes, and they left for dinner.

It was almost 8:30, dinner obviously over. The dining hall was empty - tables had been cleared and chairs piled on top of them.

The stone floor shone, still damp in places.

The room looked grand with its tall windows and huge chandeliers hanging from a distant ceiling.

Drew took him past the empty tables and through glass doors onto a small patio. They'd met nobody on their way here and he was thankful for that. He sure must look ridiculous with his bare legs and ballet shoes sticking from under the blue tent of his shirt.

It wasn't dark yet, but in the gathering dusk a few lamps had been lit. Even this close to autumn the air was balmy, sweet to inhale after having been in airco-land for two days.

At the center of the patio stood a small, round table. Two women in light linen suits sat on either side, leaving room for two more to sit. They turned their faces to them.