The Test Subject

"And all five of you will be in the room?"

Jada says, "As an aspiring sex therapist, I'd like to be. Keegan is interested in the physical science of it all and Cass has interests from a sociological point of view."

Zain adds, "We realize you weren't expecting this. Believe me, no one wants to hurt you in any way. If you consent, you will be brought to pleasures like you've never known before but only with your permission."

"What if I say 'No'?"

Quincy says, "You give Keegan back $50 of the $100 he gave you earlier and we call it even. The night ends now."

I really need the money but I can't imagine being naked and on display in front of these five strangers. Not to mention erect and being manhandled like a piece of farm equipment. But damn I need the money.

"Okay. I'm willing."

They all grin.

~~

A few minutes later, we're all crammed into Zain's bedroom. I am told to lie down on my back on his bed. I am still fully clothed and they're all staring down at me.

Zain says sheepishly, "There's one more thing we haven't told you about yet."

Uh oh.

"In order to understand what the data is telling us, we need a baseline first."

"Data?" I ask.

"Whether or not you reach orgasm and how long it takes. Remember, this is supposed to be sensual, not erotic. Hold out if you can, though often, inevitably there is a release."

"Right," I say. "Baseline?"

"We need to know how sensitive you are so we can calculate your limits. Where we should start, what we could build to, how far we can take things."

Again, uh oh.

"How do you establish this baseline?"

"With a blindfold and... Well. May I ask, how ticklish are you?"

I have no idea. I've never been tickled before. Not really. I have no siblings and it's just not something that I've experienced. I say, "I guess average."

"On a scale of 1 to 10?" Quincy asks.

"Maybe a 3. What's the point of the blindfold?"

"It heightens the experience," Quincy says. "Aside from not seeing what's coming, the fear and anticipation add an intensity."

Is this a mistake? Should I give back $50 and just walk out of here? If I didn't desperately need the money... What? Maybe I wouldn't leave. Maybe part of me is curious about what's about to happen. I look at all five of their faces, landing on Zain's last and I nod again.

"Can you, umm...take your shirt off?" Quincy asks shyly.

I guess I should have seen that coming. I pull off my t-shirt and my too lean, underdeveloped upper torso is on display for all to see. If we were at the beach or the pool I wouldn't give it a second thought, but inside with all five of them staring and fully clothed, I've never felt more self-conscious in my life.

And then Quincy blindfolds me.

Zain says, "We trust your intention to comply, we really do, but Keegan is going to hold your arms down. Defense is an involuntary response, so some gentle restraint will be required."

Two hands, Keegan's I presume, wrap around my wrists and pin me down to the mattress. For a full minute the room is silent and nothing happens. Quincy was right; the blindfold has me in suspense. My breathing quickens despite the inactivity. Then fingertips touch my ribs on my left side and I almost scream. Keegan's grip tightens as I flinch hard. Those fingers prod and stroke my side and soon another hand joins in and attends to my neglected right side. These two hands journey repeatedly from my ribs to my armpits and my blindfold is getting soaked with tears from laughter.

Another set of hands lands on my stomach. I instantly quiver from the sensation. Ten new fingers do a dance across my lower abdomen and I laugh out loud with reckless abandon. Fingernails graze across from side to side just above the waistband of my jeans and I am covered in goosebumps. While those four hands and twenty fingers continue their assault on my upper torso, I feel new hands grip my shoes. My old, tattered DCs are so worn that they both slide right off my feet with little effort and no need to untie any laces. And then my feet get attacked and I thrash around like a raving lunatic. Fingernails drag up the length of each arch and laughter turns to shrieks.

The brutality against my poor feet ceases momentarily but then I feel the weight of two bodies sitting on my shins, pinning my legs down. Both socks get stripped off and I cry out, "No, no, no!!!!" But my cries land on deaf ears. Every square inch of my tender bare feet gets thoroughly molested with swipes and strokes and scratches and jabs. Meanwhile, the hands on my upper body continue their performance and it's all starting to be too much. I seriously think I'm about to pass out when suddenly, everything stops. The bodies rise off of my shins and all eight hands stand down from my tickle torture as Keegan releases my wrists.

Quincy removes the blindfold and smiles down at me as I blink against the light of the room. She says, "You did great. You underestimated your sensitivity by a ton - I'd say you're at least a 7 - but you really hung in there like a trooper."

Zain is writing in a notebook. He shows it to Quincy who reads it and nods.

My breathing has finally normalized. I'm still on my back on Zain's bed, barefoot and bare-chested. Quincy says, "Now the jeans need to come off. The underwear too."

"If he's wearing any," Keegan laughs.

"And all five of you still need to be here?" I ask.

"We're a group," she replies. "There's overlap."

I look at each of them again. No one is recording anything that I can tell. At least, no cell phones are out. I sigh and unbutton and unzip my jeans, pulling them down my hips and slipping my legs out. She begins to massage my legs from the knees running up the thighs. It feels nice. Zain takes his notebook over to a desk against the wall and sits with his back to us. The other three watch as Quincy continues her work. She knows what she's doing. I have no doubt she is a certified massage therapist. I close my eyes and begin to enjoy the skillful rubbing.

Eventually, she begins a massage of my abdomen. I am not being tickled anymore and again, it feels nice. I relax further. This goes on for some time until eventually Zain walks into the room (I hadn't realized he'd left) and hands her a bottle. Zain returns to his desk, turning his back and Quincy grips the waistband of my boxers - the last article of clothing on my body. She says, wincing in apology, "These have to come off now too."

I nod and lift my butt an inch off the bed as she pulls my underwear all the way off and casts them aside with the rest of my discarded clothes. Next, she pours oil out of the bottle Zain gave her and moistens both hands. She begins to rub all around what we all know is her eventual target, coming her fingers through my pubic hair, oiling up my pelvic bone, my perineum and my hips. The oil is warm and soothing - Zain must have been warming it up. She pours more into her hands.

She explains, to our spectators as much as to me, that Lingam is an historic and cultural term for penis. Lingam Massage literally means penis massage. It's all about moving the energy around in the body, increasing its healing capabilities, pleasure and spiritual purposes. If the Lingam is massaged correctly, the body's energy will be spread and awaken magical moments of pleasure unlike anything ever experienced before. These moments can culminate in ecstasy and touch the soul in earth-shattering ways."

Keegan chuckles, "We all know what that means."

Cass swats his arm, "Weren't you listening? The goal is not orgasm."

"Every guy's goal is orgasm," Keegan chortles.

"Hopeless," Cass says, but she's smiling at him.

Quincy touches my Lingam for the first time. She lifts my flaccid penis and rubs oil all over for coverage. It feels nice but I remain soft. She grazes my scrotum with her fingernails and I smile in delight, but still I do not stiffen up.

Quincy tells the room, "The Lingam Shiatsu Stroke is the first step. I'll begin at the root of the shaft, gently pressing the penis with my thumbs and index fingers and then releasing. I will move up one centimeter at a time, repeating the process until I have traveled the full length of the shaft."

Cass says, "That will be a short journey. He isn't very long right now."

Jada comments on the obvious, "He's totally limp."

My eyes pop open.

"I mean," Cass continues, "isn't a Lingam Massage performed on an erect...Lingam?"

Quincy releases my Lingam and it falls back down against my thigh.

Jada says, "You told us you didn't suffer from erectile dysfunction. Did you lie to us or do you have a problem you were not aware of?"

I know I'm not impotent. I'm not sure why I'm not responding.

Cass asks, "How can you not be rock hard after everything that's been going here for the last fifteen minutes?"

I open my mouth, then close it again. I'm not sure what to say. I've answered all questions honestly, except maybe one.

Keegan has an idea. "Quincy, let me give it a shot."

She protests, "You're not a certified massage therapist. You don't know how to give a proper Lingam Massage."

"I just want to see something. Give me one minute."

Quincy gets up and Keegan takes her place. He grips my shaft in his large, athletic, calloused hand and while I feel a slight stirring, I don't feel the magic I'm expected to feel.

"A little progress, but..." Keegan gets a huge grin on face. He says, "Hold up a second. Zain?"

Zain turns around from his desk across the room, "Yeah?"

Keegan is still grinning, "Get over here. You're tapping in."

He approaches with caution, "Umm, me?"

"Well, apparently you're the cute one. This is all an experiment, right? Let's see what happens."

Zain replaces Keegan between my legs. He hasn't made a move for me yet, but his eyes briefly connect with mine. He raises an eyebrow and I don't look away.

Keegan laughs, "Houston, the launch sequence has begun. He's chubbing up fast and Zain hasn't even touched him yet. The bus wasn't broken, we just assigned the wrong bus driver."

I can feel Zain's eyes on me. I continue to grow. Actually, I can feel his hands on me despite the fact that contact has yet to be made. My Lingam is now pointing straight up at the ceiling.

Cass says, "86? You picked Quincy as your favorite of the three girls, but she had absolutely no effect on you. All Zain had to do was glance your way and you get a raging boner. What the hell? You said you were 25/75 on my modified Kinsey Scale. You lied. Your penis is telling us the truth, but your words were a lie."

Keegan musses my hair like he's proud of me, "Calm down Cass. He's not a liar. He told us he was 6.25 inches and now that he's standing at attention, we can see he clearly did not exaggerate. He also told us he was "questioning" when pressed to pick an identity. Maybe he's still figuring shit out. He didn't respond to Quincy, but he really didn't respond much to me either. Now as for our colleague Zain here? The response was immediate and undeniable. 86 likes Zain. Cut him some slack."

Cass opens her notebook, sighing theatrically, and scribbles some notes. She grumbles, "We're paying him. All he has to do is tell the truth. Is that too much to ask?"

Keegan puts a hand on her shoulder, "We're asking a lot more of him than that. The poor dude is lying there stripped naked with all five of us staring down at him. We asked him ridiculously embarrassing questions, we tickled him nearly to death, and now? I know that orgasm is not the goal of Lingam Massage, but the way he seems to be responding to Zain, this poor guy is about to literally lose his shit in front of an audience."

I wouldn't have expected Keegan to be the voice of reason in this collection of people. He might not be "questioning" his own sexuality, but we're both guys and he can imagine not wanting to be in the position I find myself in.

Cass softens a bit. "I guess I'll assume he was confused earlier. Call it a brief moment of Dyslexia. He understood the scale backwards. He said 25/75, but what he really meant was 75/25. Right, 86?"

My pulsating penis bobs and glistens in precum. My brain flashes on the memory of one of the two times I recall seeing Zain on campus. We'd never met and I didn't know his name, but I was heading to the track to start a run and he was headed off, just having finished one. He was drenched in sweat with his dark curls wet and weighted down lower than they're hanging right now. He lifted his shirt to wipe his dripping brow and the brief sight of his light brown stomach caused an involuntary stirring in my shorts. There were a dozen shirtless guys, lean and musclebound, all around us. None of them had any effect on me whatsoever, but that stolen glimpse under Zain's lifted shirt was a moment that burned in my mind. Seared in my brain. I'll never forget it.

I nod at Cass, though in truth, I understood the scale. I was probably lying to myself more than anything else.

Zain says, "Quincy already explained step 1. Here we go."

His first touch is like a jolt of electricity and I gasp. He eventually makes it to the pinnacle and my heart is racing. I've never experienced anything like this before. They all know I'm a virgin. My own masturbation techniques never felt like this.

"Next is the Skiing Stroke. Hold the sides of the Lingam with both hands and 'ski' with your thumbs up and down starting at the root of the penis and going all the way to the tip."

He skis me until I don't think I can take it anymore. When I close my eyes, I see stars. This is the most raging erection I've ever had in my life.

Keegan observes, "I think he's grown past 6.25. That's at least 6.5."

Cass smiles at him, "You would know."

He takes her hand, "So would you."

Jada says, "Gross."

Zain clears his throat, "Third is The Screwdriver Stroke. Surround the Lingam with both hands, twisting them in opposite directions. Be careful not to squeeze too hard here."

Oh my god! The sensation is so intense that I actually whimper. The friction of each twist is its own mini fireworks show. I can't believe that I'm not spurting my load all over the room at this point. Zain can tell that I'm close though. He stops at just the point where only one more twist would have been one too many and the show would have reached its grand finale.

"Fourth," Zain announces, "is Meet the Frenulum. Slowly circle the thumb and index finger in both directions around the frenulum of the penis."

So he does. And he does and he does. I turn my head and bite down hard on the palm of my hand. Again, he expertly takes me just to the edge before stopping and bringing me back.

"The fifth and final move is The Crossed Prayer Stroke. Hold your hands with crossed fingers like in a gesture of prayer and surround the penis between them. Then, open the thumbs and slide them along the sides of the Lingam up and down and at varying speeds."

He said this was the final one. We're almost done. I can survive this. Zain knows how to read me. He has proven four times before that he can bring me right up to the edge and stop. So, I decide to trust him. I lower my hands and rest them against the mattress. I let myself relax, physically and mentally and I almost feel like I'm melting into the bed. As Zain strokes me up and down, I'm in unimaginable ecstasy. Minutes are going by and I'm staying strong. But then he changes tack.

He goes back to the Screwdriver. I grip the bed sheets and open my eyes. He's not looking at my face. The Screwdriver is intense and my strength is quickly fading. Then he goes back to the Ski Stroke. My knees begin to twitch and my mouth falls open. He's not narrating anymore and I have no idea how long each new motion will last or what he plans to do next.

He decides to get reacquainted with my frenulum. This time, he allows his thumbs to explore lower than before and the length of the underside of my shaft gets plenty of attention. A lot of attention. Too much attention. Finally, he goes back to the final move - the prayer thing. He tightens his grip and increases his pace. My whole body shudders. I'm quickly approaching that edge again. He must know it. How can he not? I slap the mattress and scream, "Zain!" But he only tightens his grip even more and increases the pace. I fight for oxygen. My toes curl. My first shot is timed perfectly with an upwards stroke and I get hit in the chin. My second spurt lands on my chest and about eight more dribble down my shaft and Zain's fingers, pooling in my pubic hair.

Keegan laughs, "Hey man. You held out longer than I thought you would. Good job." He musses my hair again but it's a genuinely friendly gesture. He takes Cass's hand and says, "I need to talk to you in my room."

Jada again says, "Gross."

Cass blushes, smiles and lets him lead her away. I guess I was their pregame show.

Jada and Quincy both leave too and Zain hands me a towel along with a sheepish smile.

~~

Fifteen minutes later, I'm cleaned up and dressed. Zain hands over the rest of the money I earned. I guess this is it. I am to leave this house with my cash and pretend like none of this ever happened. Like I don't know these people and they don't know me. That would be pretty easy to do if Zain were not one of them. Or if he wasn't so ridiculously cute. As much as I needed the money, Zain being in this group is the only reason I agreed to tonight in the first place. And once I found what I was in for, he is the only reason I stayed. But now it's over. And there seems to be some confidentiality rule, so... Yeah. That's it.

I shove my cash in my pocket and suddenly I feel the strong need to get the hell out of here. It's not embarrassment or regret. These people will all move on to their next test subjects and I'll be little more to them than a nameless number and anonymous results. Barely a fading memory. Which is fine, for four of them. But the thought of Zain forgetting me makes my eyes burn with tears. With absolutely zero cool, I blurt out, "Bye." And I dash down the stairs and out the front door.

Zain follows me. He catches me on the porch and grips my elbow. He pulls the door closed behind him and we are completely alone. He turns me around to face him. Even through his thicket of dark brown tangles, his eyes are warm and kind.

He smiles, "I have to admit, I've seen you around."

I cock an eyebrow.

"I just mean that I've noticed you. I don't know who you are. I don't know your name. I've seen you running on the track."

"That's something we have in common."

"Probably one thing among a list of things."

I smile. And then my smile falls away. "You can't know me."

"I already know you. Intimately."

I shake my head, "No you don't. You know 86. And I can never know you."

Zain holds out his hand. At first I think he wants his money back, but he says, "Give me your phone."

I hand it to him. He smiles, shakes his head and hands it back, "Unlock it please."

Oops. I place my thumb accordingly and hand it back.

He taps at my phone screen for a while, then says, "You already know a little about me. I'm also twenty years old, also a junior, I also like to run, I'm a business major, a massage therapist and I know my way around the penis."

I snort out a laugh.

He continues, "Oh, and apparently I'm the cutest guy on campus."

I laugh again, "I didn't say that. I said you were the cutest guy out of the two in the room."

"That was the original question, but then you qualified your answer."

I forgot about that. I guess I did pretty much admit that I think Zain is the hottest guy on campus.

He grins, "Here's some stuff you don't know. Despite being a gay young adult male, I can compartmentalize. I mean, I can give a guy - even a hot guy - a Lingam Massage and it means nothing to me. It's my job. But tonight, I was sitting at my desk on the other side of the room because it was you. I haven't just noticed you a couple times. I've really NOTICED you. I didn't want to witness that happening to you if I wasn't going to be the one making it happen."