It’s Rude to Point

It’s Rude to Point 2

[9,235 words]

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Chapter 2

The next day, the doorbell rang. I was still in my room, trying to muster up the courage to face the day. I could hear voices downstairs - A girl's voice. No, more than one girl's voice. It wasn't just Sarah. And I was stuck, naked, in my room. I felt a cold dread crawl up my spine. My heart started pounding against my ribs. I knew, deep in my gut, that this was not going to be good.

"Tommy!" my mom called. "You have visitors! Come down here and be polite." Her voice was bright and cheerful, and that just made it worse. She thought these girls were here to help me.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to stand up. I poked my head out of my door. There, I found Lisa, standing in the hallway, waiting for me. A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. She took one look at my naked body, then her eyes flickered downwards, a little too eagerly. She giggled. "They're here to see you. They came to help with your pointing problem."

Oh, this was a nightmare.

"I don't want to go down there," I whispered, my voice cracking. My penis had been behaving itself so far, but the thought of facing my mom and a group of girls while I was naked was making it do a nervous little twitch.

"You have to," Lisa said, her voice sing-songy and annoying. "Mom said so. Don't make me go get her." She seemed to be enjoying this a little too much, her eyes dancing with a mix of giddy excitement and morbid curiosity. Her eyes seemed to be locked on to my penis, and she didn't even seem to be hiding her curiosity anymore.

"Who is it?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"It's Sarah, of course," she said, as if I should have known that. But then she added, with a little too much relish, "And she brought help. She brought Mia and Emma."

Maria Garcia. Oh, no. Not Mia. Mia was the smartest girl in our class. She was quiet and serious, always had her nose in a book. She was also Sarah's best friend. And she was the last person I wanted to see me naked. She would probably analyze me like a science experiment.

Emma Baker was another story. She was sweet and shy, with a head full of honey-blonde curls and a face full of freckles. I'd had a crush on her, too, back in middle school. The thought of her seeing me like this made my stomach twist into a painful knot.

"Don't look like that. They're here to help you," Lisa chirped. I wanted to slap that smirk right off Lisa's face. My little 11-year-old sister, who was supposed to be my family, was enjoying my situation just as much as Sarah it seemed.

Then, speaking of the devil, Sarah was there at the bottom of the stairs. A huge smile spread across her face, and her blue eyes sparkled like she was looking at something amazing. A little gasp slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"Come on down, Tommy! Don't be shy! We don't have all day!" Sarah called up, her voice dripping with sweet, sickeningly fake cheer, and she made a wave, beckoning me to come downstairs.

I took a shaky breath and started my walk of shame down the stairs, Lisa trailing behind me like a tiny, evil prison guard. With every step, my heart pounded harder, and the wooden stairs felt weird and slippery under my bare feet. At the bottom of the stairs, the living room opened up. There they were.

Mia and Emma.

Mia was standing next to the couch, her arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was cut in a black bob that made her face look pale and serious. She was wearing glasses, of course, and they seemed to make her dark, intense eyes even more focused. They were focused on me. I could feel her gaze like a laser, scanning every inch of my naked body as I came down the stairs. She wasn't smirking like Sarah, and she wasn't blushing like Emma. She was just... studying me. Like I was a bug she'd just pinned to a piece of cardboard. She made a little "hmm" sound, like she was making a mental note. It was terrifying.

And Emma. She was on the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest, her face a pale, freckled mask of shock. Her wide hazel eyes were locked on me, and her mouth was hanging open just a little. She looked like she was about to cry, or scream, or maybe both.

It was their outfits that really got me, though. It was like they had planned it. Like they were a team. A very stylish, very scary, all-girl team. Emma, who usually wore cute sweaters and jeans, was in a bright yellow sundress that was way too short for a normal Saturday. Mia, who was always in dark, serious clothes, was wearing a tight black t-shirt that showed off the fact that she had more curves than I'd ever noticed, and a short, pleated skirt that was almost identical to Sarah's. But she paired it with these chunky black boots and a look that said she was not to be messed with. It was like they were all wearing a uniform. And it was the same kind of uniform that Sarah always seemed to wear. Short skirts, tight tops. It was like they had all been transformed into mini-Sarahs.

"It's so nice of you all to come over," my mom said, her voice full of a genuine happiness that was just sickening to me. "I really think you can help my son. He has a problem, and we need to figure out how to make it better."

"That's what we're here to figure out, Mrs. Miller," Mia said, pushing her glasses up her nose. Her voice was calm and clear, like she was stating a scientific fact. "Tommy's condition is... still unknown." She looked at me again, her eyes lingering on my privates. I thought I was about to explode. I couldn't stand it.

Emma didn't say anything. She just squeezed the pillow tighter, her knuckles turning white.

My mom gave Mia a grateful smile. "Anything you girls can do to help, I'd be ever so grateful. Tommy has been dealing with this problem for years, and I have no idea what to do about it. It's like he enjoys pointing at girls, and I cannot have a son that is so rude."

"We need some alone time with him, Mrs. Miller," Mia said, her tone all business. "Sarah tells me he acts differently when adults are around. If we're going to get an accurate diagnosis, we need to observe him in a more... natural state. We need to see how he behaves with just us girls."

"An accurate diagnosis," my mom repeated, as if the words were the answer to all her prayers. "Of course. That makes perfect sense. You're all so smart. I'll just be in the kitchen if you need me." She gave the girls another grateful smile, her shoulders relaxing as if she'd been carrying a heavy weight, and they had just offered to help her lift it. She was so, so wrong. As she walked out of the room, I felt like she was abandoning me to a pack of wolves.

"Lisa," Sarah called out, her fake-sweet voice full of fake-concern. "Sweetie, would you like to stay? We could use your help. Tommy is your big brother, after all. I think it would be good for him to have you here for moral support. So he knows he's not alone in this." She looked back at me, with a wicked smirk on her lips.

My stomach twisted. No. Not with Lisa here. Anyone but Lisa. I wanted to disappear. I just stood there, naked, my penis giving a little lurch at the thought of being humiliated by these girls in front of my little sister.

Lisa's eyes lit up. "Yeah! I can help! I'm good at helping!" she chirped, plopping herself down on the couch next to Emma.

"Perfect," Mia said, pulling out a small, black notebook and a pen from her bag. "Alright. Let's get started," she said, looking me up and down one more time. "To understand his condition, we need to start with a baseline. I need a complete, unbiased visual inspection."

My blood ran cold. A visual inspection?

"What does that mean?" I managed to croak out.

"It means I need to look at you. All of you," Mia said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She took a step closer, her dark eyes narrowed. "You see, boys are supposed to have control over their bodies. They are supposed to be in charge of their bodily functions. But you seem to be having a problem with that. A boy's penis is very important. It has an important job. You can do some good stuff with it. You can go to the bathroom. You can have a baby with a woman. But it's also very important that you have the discipline to behave. You can't just go around pointing it at people, spitting at people. That's rude, as your mom says. I've been told that's why your mother is punishing you. She's trying to teach you to control your body. My research tells me that boys your age are supposed to know how to do that by now. The fact that you claim you are unable to do so suggests that there is something very wrong with you."

She couldn't be serious. She had obviously been coached by Sarah on what to say. This was ridiculous! I didn't have anything wrong with me.

"Mia," I said, my voice shaking with a desperate sort of hope, "you're on the honor roll at school. You got an A in biology. Of all people, you should know how the male body works! This is all wrong! Boys can't just... control it like an arm! It has a mind of its own!" I was pleading with her.

A small, cold smile played on her lips. She looked at me, and then she looked at her notebook, as if I'd just proved her point. "That's very interesting, Tommy," she said, tapping her pen against her chin. "You just confirmed my hypothesis."

"What?" I was so confused.

"See, a normal boy, a healthy boy, would know that he can control his body," she said, her voice all smooth and scientific, like she was an expert on the matter. "You're admitting that you can't. Which proves you have a problem. Which is what I'm trying to confirm."

I felt like screaming. This was so stupid. I was so stupid for thinking she would listen to me.

I looked at Emma on the couch, pleading with my eyes. "Emma, help me, please. You must know this stuff is wrong. You know I can't control it. This is all just to mess with me."

Emma went bright red. She squeezed the pillow against her chest until I thought it might pop. She finally looked at me, her hazel eyes wide. "Well," she started, her voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper, "I was just reading chapter twelve in our biology book... you know, about how boys' reproductive systems work... and it said that sometimes, hormones, testosterone and stuff, can cause... you know..." She trailed off, her face getting even redder as Mia shot a death glare at her.

"It said... what, Emma?" Mia snapped. "Out with it."

"Well... it said it can cause uncontrollable erections. It's a normal part of puberty for a boy. So maybe... maybe it's not a sickness?" Emma finished her little speech in a rush, and then shrank back into the couch, hugging her pillow again, as if she'd just confessed to a crime.

For a split second, hope flared in my chest. Emma. Beautiful, sweet Emma, had actually spoken up for me! She had used her brain! I could have kissed her.

But Lisa, my sweet, innocent, and annoyingly smart-alack little sister, had to go and ruin it. She scrunched up her nose, thinking hard. "Erection? What's that? Is that when he spit? What does it mean?"

Sarah practically flew over to the couch, kneeling in front of Lisa so they were face to face. She took Lisa's hands in hers, her expression a perfect picture of gentle, big-sisterly concern. It was so fake it made my teeth ache. "Oh, sweetie, that's a big girl word. It means the same thing as when Tommy points his carrot at us. Emma is just being confusing. Of course, sometimes the muscles in your body move on their own. Have you ever had a cramp in your leg?"

Lisa nodded. "Yeah! They hurt!"

"Exactly! It's no different with boys," Sarah explained, her blue eyes wide and earnest. "Sometimes the muscle in a boy's private parts get a cramp, and they're stuck pointing, but it's very rare. Just like getting a cramp in your leg is rare." I couldn't believe she was saying all this. She was making it sound like an act of nature, but she was also making it sound like something I should be able to control, which was a total lie and she knew it.

Mia cleared her throat, stepping between the couch and me, cutting off my view of any potential ally. "That is the official word for it," Mia said, giving Emma another one of her stern looks that made Emma shrink even further into the couch. She then looked at me, her expression blank, her pen poised over her notebook. "Lisa's confusion just confirms what I've thought all along. So, if we can proceed, I need you to stand up straight and put your hands on your head."

I glared at her, my jaw clenched. This was the most humiliating thing I had ever been asked to do.

"Do it," Mia said, her voice like a block of ice. "Now. Your lack of cooperation will also be noted. It's further proof of your unwillingness to get better. And, I don't believe your mother will be very happy with you if I have to tell her that you're not participating."

My shoulders slumped in defeat. There was no escape. I slowly lifted my arms, lacing my fingers together on top of my head. I tried to keep my legs pressed together, but it was no use.

"Legs wide apart," Mia said, like it was the most normal request in the world. She took another step closer, until she was standing so close I could feel the heat coming off her body.

Mia started her inspection, her pen tapping against her notebook as she spoke, her words loud and clear in the silent room. "Testicles appear symmetrical. No visible discoloration or swelling. Scrotum is... taut." She reached out a single, slender finger and gently poked my sac. I flinched, my whole body tensing at the unexpected contact. My penis gave a little twitch.

"Good," Mia murmured, jotting down a note. "Subject exhibits a hyper-reflexive response to tactile stimulation." She looked up from her notebook, her dark, intelligent eyes locking with mine. A tiny, triumphant smirk played on her lips.

"Is that bad?" Lisa piped up from the couch, swinging her legs. "Hyper-reflexive? Does that mean he's a superhero?"

"That means Tommy has good reflexes, sweetie," Sarah said, patting Lisa's knee. She was staring right at my penis, her blue eyes practically glowing. She looked like she was at the zoo, looking at her favorite exhibit. My penis responded to her gaze, twitching again, a little more noticeably this time. A gasp escaped my lips, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to think of anything, anything at all, to make it stop, but it was no use. The slow, steady, and unstoppable rise began.

"My, my, my," Mia purred, her pen scribbling furiously across the page. "Are you doing that on purpose, Tommy? Are you attempting to point at me right now?"

"No! I'm not!" I gasped, my face burning. "It's... it's just what it does! I can't stop it!"

"Really?" she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Because to me, it looks like your penis is extending, and if you're not doing it on your own, then that means something must be very wrong with you."

Emma made a little squeaking sound, and I risked opening one eye to look at her. She was still staring, her hazel eyes wide and glued to my groin. The pillow was in her lap now. Her hands were gripping the fabric so tightly her knuckles were white. Her face was a bright, blotchy red.

"He can't help it," I heard her whisper to the pillow.

"Right, Emma," Mia nodded, scribbling in her notepad. "He's unable to control the motor functions of his penis muscle, resulting in an involuntary and sustained erection. A clear sign of his sickness."

"That's what I said," Lisa chirped from the couch, looking way too proud of herself for being part of this conversation.

"Now, let's think," Mia went on, taking another step closer, her gaze a little too intense. "I read a very interesting article about this. I'd like to ask you a few questions, Tommy. And you need to be honest. We're here to help you, not to judge."

She was going to play psychologist. Great. This was getting worse and worse.

"Are you stressed, Tommy?" she asked, her voice all calm and professional. "Does being... examined like this... make you nervous?"

"Of course I'm nervous!" I practically shouted, my hands shaking on my head. "I'm standing here naked! In front of my sister and three girls from school! How could I not be stressed?"

"Interesting," Mia said, making another note. "The subject admits to feelings of stress, yet his erection persists. This suggests a non-stress-related causation." She looked up at me, her eyes sharp. "So if it's not stress, what is it? Does it make you feel a sense of pride, Tommy? Does it make you feel... powerful? To do that in front of us?"

"What? No!" I gasped, horrified. "It's embarrassing! I hate it!"

"Is it?" Mia pushed, circling me now like a shark. "Or is that what you want us to think? You see us, and you decide to point your penis at us. To show us that you're a boy. That you have power over us. That you can make us look at you. That you can even spit at us. And then you pretend to be embarrassed. I see right through you, you know."

The things she was saying were so twisted. "This is crazy! I'm not proud! I don't feel powerful! I feel like I'm going to throw up! You're just saying whatever you want to because you know I can't prove you wrong. This is all a game to you!" I was practically in tears.

Mia nodded with a smirk. "Good. That's good," she said, her pen still scratching against the paper of her notebook. "That reaction, that outburst, is very telling." She looked up at me, a look of pure triumph on her face. "I just needed to confirm my hypotheses. And you just did. Thank you, Tommy."

"Your hypotheses... wait... what... what are you talking about?" I stammered, confused. All I'd done was yell. That was normal when a person is being humiliated.

"I had two possibilities in mind," Mia explained, her tone now that of a teacher explaining a difficult concept to a slow student. "Possibility one. You were lying. Saying that you can't control it, but really making yourself point for the thrill, the power."

"I'm not lying!" I blurted out. That was so not it.

"That, my dear Tommy, is why I'm so glad you just acted out," Mia said, a triumphant gleam in her dark eyes. "Your outburst just now proves my second theory. I told you, I'm very good at diagnosing these things."

"What theory?" I wanted to know, my mind racing.

"The theory that there is some kind of external factor limiting you from controlling your penis like you should. A mental block. An illness. Some kind of toxin. It's too early to tell," she said, tapping her pen thoughtfully against her chin.

A mental block? A toxin? That was even crazier than the idea that I was getting a thrill out of this. "No! There's nothing wrong with me! That's even crazier than the other thing! My body is normal!"

"Denial. That could be another symptom. But let's keep testing." She said it so coolly. Then she did something that made my stomach do a back-flip. She turned to her two friends. "Alright, girls, observation phase two. I think we need measurements." She pulled a small, pink measuring tape out of her bag. The kind you'd use for sewing. It was so girly. So out of place. So horrifying.

She looked at me, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Subject's erect state must be measured. We need to gather a baseline of the severity of his condition." She turned to her friends with a wide smile. "Who wants to do the honors?"

I wanted to scream. Measurements? This was too much. Too far. I couldn't believe this was actually happening.

Sarah practically jumped off the couch. "Ooh! Ooh! Me!" she chirped, waving her hand in the air. "I wanna do it! Please, Mia? I promise I'll be very scientific." She bounced on her toes, her blue eyes pleading. She was like a kid begging for a turn in a game.

Mia considered it for a moment, tapping her pen against her chin. "Alright, Sarah. But you have to be precise. I need exact numbers for my notes."

I stood there, frozen, while Sarah knelt in front of me. The soft fabric of her skirt brushed against my leg as she got down. The sight of her, on her knees, looking at my erection, was so wrong, so intimate, so overwhelmingly terrifying and... something else. Something that made my penis throb.

"I'll be very careful," she promised, looking up at me with a look that was both innocent and hungry. She took a deep breath, as if she was about to perform a very delicate surgery. She held her breath as she carefully moved her hand to the base of my penis.

Her fingers, I noticed, were shaking a little. Just like mine. But for a very different reason.

"Okay..." she breathed, her eyes fixed on her task. She held the tape against my body and followed the curve of my erection to the very tip, her brow furrowed in concentration. The feeling of the cool fabric of the tape, and the warmth of her fingers so close to my most sensitive spot, made a shiver go through my entire body.

"It's... it's five inches," she announced, looking up at Mia with a proud smile. "Exactly five point zero one inches."

"And the circumference?" Mia asked, not looking up from her notebook.

"Oh, right," Sarah said, wrapping the tape around my shaft. Her hands were so gentle, but I could feel every touch against my sensitive organ. She let out a little gasp as she tightened the tape, and my hips gave an involuntary little jerk.

"Wow," she whispered, her eyes wide. "It's so... thick." Her cheeks were flushed, and her hands were a little shaky. "It's, um, about... five and a half inches around. The internet says that's... it's pretty big for a boy our age. So thick."

Her words echoed in my head. Big. Thick. I couldn't process it. I just wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. This had to be the worst moment of my life.

Mia nodded, scribbling away in her notebook. "Interesting. The subject's penis is larger than the documented average for a fifteen-year-old male. This could be a contributing factor to his condition. The increased size and girth may be causing a... blockage. Preventing proper muscular control." She said it so seriously, as if she'd just made a major scientific discovery.

"Blockage?" I squeaked. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"I may be getting ahead of myself here," Mia said, giving me a dismissive look. "It's just a theory. We need to continue our exam." She looked from Sarah to Emma, who was still a statue of blush and confusion on the couch. "Alright, test number two. We need to see if he can make it go down on command."

My blood ran cold. "I can't. Not like this. Not with everyone watching." My whole body was tense, a coiled spring of shame and a weird, sick excitement I couldn't deny.

"A normal, healthy boy would be able to do so, no problem," Mia stated, as if it were a fact written in stone. "The lack of control you're displaying only further confirms your... sickness."

"Oooh, does that mean it's time we try out ‘point and praise’ on him?" Sarah asked, clasping her hands together in excitement.

"What's that?" Lisa wanted to know, swinging her legs on the couch.

"It's kinda like a test," Sarah explained, leaning against my leg. The contact made me flinch. "It's a soothing technique I learned about. From Mia's cousin." She was looking at Mia, a hint of a question in her eyes, but Mia just nodded, a look of pure, cold satisfaction on her face.

"What do you do for this test? Do I get to help? I'm a good helper!" Lisa chirped, bouncing up and down.

"You can!" Sarah said, her face lighting up. "It's really easy. But first, let me explain how it works, and the idea behind it."

I felt a fresh wave of dread wash over me. I had a very bad feeling about this. My erection seemed to agree, giving another insistent throb.

"The problem is," Sarah began, her voice dropping to a serious, almost medical-sounding tone as she looked at me, "that boys like Tommy, boys with his sickness, can get... frustrated. When they get all stiff and pointing like that, and they can't control it, it builds up this tension, this stress, inside them. The stress is one of the things that makes their penises stay pointing. It creates a feedback loop."

It was a speech. A totally, one-hundred-percent fake, made-up speech. I wanted to shout, to tell my mom to come in here and listen to this nonsense. But I felt trapped. And I could tell, by the rapt, open-mouthed way Lisa was watching her, that she was falling for it hook, line, and sinker.

"But for boys that are healthy," Sarah continued, gesturing to an imaginary boy in the middle of the room, "who are purposely pointing for fun, this trick can actually do the opposite! Because they like pointing, but the point and praise makes them feel a bit shy, which helps them lose their power and control, because the girls have the power with point and praise!" She then turned back towards me, her smirk returning. "But for you, Tommy, it's supposed to help. It's supposed to help you feel alright about not being able to make it go down."

Lisa's eyebrows scrunched up as she tried to follow this nonsense. "So... How do we do it? How can I help?"

"Well," Sarah said, her eyes locked on mine, a wicked glint in them that only I could see. "First, we have to praise the pointing. We have to make Tommy see that it's not something to be ashamed of. That we... appreciate it."

Appreciate it? My whole face went hot. My erection gave a determined twitch, as if in agreement with her insane theory.

"Then," she went on, her grin widening, "we also have to remind him of what he can't have." She looked down at herself, then over at Mia and Emma. "Because we girls are dressed, and he's not. We're covered up, but he isn't. But he needs to know that's alright. We will praise him, and tell him everything is okay."

"That's not..." I started, but Mia cut me off.

"Proceed," she commanded, her voice flat and cold. "We will observe the subject's reactions. Tommy, please begin trying to make your penis point down while Sarah leads the exercise."

"Begin? Begin what? It's just going to stay up!" I stammered, but I closed my eyes anyway, trying to concentrate. "Okay," I grumbled, my teeth clenched.

"Okay, Tommy," Sarah started, "We see your penis. It's pointing at us right now."

My whole body tensed. I didn't want to look. I didn't want to look at their faces, but I couldn't help myself. I had to see what they were doing. Sarah was pointing at my erection, her finger so close I thought it might brush against me. My eyes darted over to Emma. She wasn't pointing. But she wasn't looking away, either. Her gaze was fixed, a curious mix of fear and... What looked like longing. Mia had her pen poised above her notebook, her dark eyes focused, taking it all in with that cold, scientific detachment that was somehow more terrifying than Sarah's playful teasing.

"I want you to look, Tommy," Sarah commanded, her voice soft but firm. "Lisa, are you watching?"

"Yeah!" my little sister chirped, her eyes wide and glued to the show.

"Good," Sarah purred. "Now Tommy, do you feel how naked you are? How exposed you are? Because I feel none of that. I'm completely covered from your eyes, while you're bare for me and the girls to see."

"I want you to appreciate Tommy's pointing now, Lisa," Sarah said, gesturing with a grand sweep of her arm like she was showing off a prize.

"Why? Mom says pointing is rude," Lisa said, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Because for Tommy," Sarah explained patiently, her blue eyes never leaving mine, "it's like he's got a cramp in a muscle he can't control. So we should appreciate his pointing. Because he's trying, and it's okay to get sick, especially if we can help him feel better about it."

My face felt like it was about to combust. Every word out of her mouth was a lie, a beautifully constructed, perfectly delivered lie that was digging me deeper and deeper into this hole. And my body, my stupid, body, didn't seem to care that it was all a performance. It liked the attention. My erection was pointing right at them, as if it was proud of all their attention.

Sarah smiled, a triumphant, beautiful smile that made my heart ache. "Let's all tell Tommy what a handsome penis he has, even though it's sick."

"He's doing it again!" Lisa squealed, pointing at my penis as it throbbed at Sarah's words. "He’s trying to move his penis muscle! He's trying because you said that!"

"He is!" Sarah beamed, as if Lisa had just confirmed one of her own brilliant theories. "That's a very good sign. And a very handsome penis you have, Tommy. I told Mia I thought it would be, and it is. It's perfect."

"Now, let's have everyone try it," Mia instructed, finally looking up from her notebook, her dark eyes glinting.

"It's okay, Tommy," Mia said, her voice flat, but a strange heat rose in her cheeks, betraying her calm demeanor. "We appreciate your strong, stiff penis. It's standing up so straight for us. You can't help it. It's beautiful."

I felt my legs start to shake.

"And my nipples are hard, Tommy," Mia added, her finger pointed at her own chest now. "And you can't see them because my shirt and bra are covering them up. You're naked, and I'm not."

"Oh! Okay," Emma chirped, catching on, her own blush intensifying as she leaned forward, her hands in her lap. A bright, almost innocent smile was on her face, which made her words all the more chilling. "My whole body is tingling, Tommy. My breasts are so big and full, and they're aching. They feel so heavy, and I wish you could come hold them. But you can't. My pretty yellow dress is keeping them all bundled up, and my bra is holding them so tight that you'll never get to see them bounce all around for you, no matter how much they want to."

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the images her words were painting. My head was spinning. I was being praised for the very thing that was causing all my problems, and at the same time being teased about what I couldn't have. It was a dizzying, horrible, and somehow intoxicating mix.

"My turn, my turn!" Lisa chirped, jumping to her feet and planting herself in front of me. She wasn't pointing at her own body like the older girls, she was pointing right at me, at the source of all the trouble.

"Tommy," she said, her little face full of a mock-seriousness that was comical and terrifying all at once. "Your penis is very, very pointing. It's... impressive." I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. My own sister.

"And I'm not naked," she added, sticking her tongue out at me. "But you are. I can see your penis and everything."

A strange shudder ran through me. I was trying so hard to make it go down. I was thinking of everything I could. Math problems. Wiggly worms. False teeth. Nothing was working. Their words, their staring, their insane "praise"... it was all just making it worse. I felt like a weirdo for liking it, even a little bit.

"Okay, Tommy," Sarah said, her voice a low, triumphant purr as she moved a little closer. "I'm going to put a timer on my phone, and then we're really going to start letting you have it. Are you ready?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Two minutes on my phone, and we're going to keep praising you and telling you about our covered-up bodies. And all you have to do is make it go down. Just make it go down before the timer goes off, and you'll prove you're not sick. You'll pass the test."

She held up her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. Her blue eyes were locked on mine, dancing with a wicked, challenging light. "We all know you can do it, Tommy. A big, strong football player like you. Just... point down."

My mind went blank. Make it go down, right now? With them watching? A timer? It was impossible.

"Go," she said, tapping the screen.

A tiny, high-pitched beep echoed in the silent room. And the storm of words began.

"We can all see your penis, Tommy," Mia started, her clinical tone only making it seem more bizarre. "It's still pointing up. It hasn't moved at all."

"I can feel my panties getting wetter," Sarah added with a little whimper. "It's because of how hard your penis is. I can't help it, it's just so... pretty. But you'll never see how wet I am, Tommy, because my panties are covering everything."

"Your balls look so big and full," Emma added, her face crimson, but she pushed on. "My dress is so warm on my skin. You must be chilly, being all naked like that. I bet you wish you were dressed like me, all bundled up, but you're not."

I squeezed my eyes shut, my hands still laced on my head, my knuckles white. I tried. I really did. But it was no use. My stupid penis didn't care about worms or football plays. It liked what it was hearing.

"And you can't touch any of us, but we can all look at you," Mia said. I could feel their gazes like a physical weight, pressing down on me, holding me in place. "Your strong muscles must be all tensed up. The one in your penis is thick, and pointing. Pointing right at me."

"Your thingy is so bouncy!" Lisa suddenly chirped, a huge grin spreading across her face. "It looks like one of those bobble-head dolls we have in the car! It's so funny! I like it!" She let out a delighted little giggle that made me want to disappear. "But you can't see my nipples at all, 'cause I'm wearing my t-shirt."

A strangled sound escaped my lips. My little sister thought my erection was like a toy. That was it. That was the most humiliating thing ever.

And then, as if to prove her right, it did the unthinkable. It bobbed. Right on cue.

Lisa shrieked with laughter, clapping her hands. "See! I told you! It's bouncy!"

My face burned so hot I thought I might actually pass out.

"Wow," Sarah breathed, her eyes wide. "It's even bigger than before! It's getting stronger!"

"It's still so hard, Tommy?" Emma asked, her hazel eyes wide with a mix of worry and fascination. "But... but we praised it. We did the thing."

"Because the blockage is too strong," Mia said, her voice grim and serious, like a doctor about to deliver bad news.

"Blockage? What are you talking about?" I demanded, a new wave of fear washing over me. I had enough problems. I didn't need her making up new ones. "There's no blockage! There's nothing wrong with me!"

Mom poked her head into the room at that exact moment. She was holding a duster, and she looked so much happier than she had in days. "How's everything going in here? Are we making progress?" she asked, her eyes scanning the room. They landed on me, still naked, and now shamefully... pointing. My stomach dropped.

Just then, the timer on Sarah's phone started going off with a cheerful, upbeat melody that felt like a slap in the face.

"What's that beeping?" Mom asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Oh! That's just the timer for our Point and Praise test, Mrs. Miller," Sarah said, jumping up from her spot and turning it off with a flourish. She was so good. She didn't even flinch. She just turned back to my mom with a big, bright, helpful smile. “Just like we discussed with Mia's cousin, the toxicologist."

"Oh, I didn't realize it was that serious. Why would you need to speak with a toxicologist?" Mom asked, her voice trembling with worry. She walked in, her face etched with a concern that was worse than her anger.

"We didn't want to worry you until we had all the facts, Mrs. Miller, but My cousin, Dr. Catalina García, she's been studying the boys from our town," Mia explained, her tone serious and scientific, like she was delivering a presentation. "After that chemical spill from the old factory a few years ago, do you remember? The one near our school. The one they said was safe."

Mom’s hand went to her mouth, her eyes wide. "I remember that. They said it was harmless. They cleaned it all up."

"That's what the chemical company wanted everyone to believe," Mia continued, her voice dropping into a dramatic, conspiratorial whisper. "But Catalina's research says there were after-effects. Specifically effecting males. A new, strange syndrome that's just now starting to manifest."

"My cousin's team are calling it Toxic Male Syndrome," Mia said, her eyes locking with my mom's. She had her completely hooked. I could see it in my mom's face. All her frustration, all her confusion, it was all melting away, replaced by a terrified, dawning understanding. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't a failure of her parenting. It was a chemical spill.

"Toxic Male Syndrome," Mom repeated, the words tasting foreign and strange on her tongue. "Oh my goodness. What are the symptoms?"

"It all starts with rudeness and irritability, especially towards the male's mother or closest relatives. Has Tommy seemed agitated towards you or his younger sister, Mrs. Miller?" Mia asked, her expression a perfect mask of clinical concern.

"Well, yes, but I just thought that was him being a teenager," Mom said, her mind racing.

"That's what the chemical company wants you to think," Mia said with a sad shake of her head. "How about acting disrespectful or disagreeable? That's also a primary symptom, especially directed at authority. A kind of toxic... delusion." Mia looked over at me, and I could see the flicker of triumph in her dark, intelligent eyes.

Mom nodded again, her face pale. "And yesterday," she said, her voice trembling. "He... he spat on his sister. Right in front of me. Right from his... from down there."

I wanted to die. I wanted to protest, to explain that it was an accident, that her putting the sunscreen on my overly sensitive erection made it happen, but I was frozen. The lie was too big, too well-crafted. I was trapped in a spiderweb of words, and my mom was getting tangled in it right along with me.

"Spat?" Emma gasped, her eyes wide.

"Not spat," Mia corrected, her tone calm and authoritative. "That's a common misunderstanding of the symptom, Mrs. Miller. He wasn't being malicious. Catalina believes it's actually the body trying to... sneeze out the toxins. A violent, uncontrollable evacuation of the reproductive system."

"A sneeze?" Lisa chirped, her face lit up with fascination. "From his penis? That's so cool!"

"No, Lisa, it's very serious," Mia said, giving my sister a stern look that only made her seem more professional, more believable. "It shows that the toxins have built up to a critical level. If he had a... 'penis sneeze'... then the blockage is already there."

"Blockage?" Mom repeated, her eyes wide with terror. She looked at me, her gaze filled with a new kind of pity. "Oh, my poor, poor baby. I've been punishing him for being sick. I've been so mean to him."

"It's not your fault, Mrs. Miller. You're not a toxicologist. You couldn't have known," Sarah said, placing a comforting hand on my mom's arm.

"What can we do? Is there a cure? How do we fix the blockage?" Mom's questions tumbled out, her desperation a palpable thing in the room.

"There isn't a cure, unfortunately," Mia said, her voice grave. "But there are treatments. My cousin says they've had remarkable success managing the symptoms."

"Anything. We'll do anything," Mom said, clutching her hands to her chest.

"The toxins, Mrs. Miller, they concentrate in the testicles and at the base of the penis," Mia explained, her gaze steady and calm, like she was reciting a textbook. "They form a blockage that, if left untreated, can become very dangerous."

"Dangerous how?" Mom asked, her voice a hushed whisper.

"If it's not addressed," Mia said, choosing her words with deliberate care, "The pressure can cause... seizures. Left for too long, blood clotting. A heart attack. A stroke. Even an aneurysm."

My mom gasped, her face turning pale. She stumbled back and had to grip the doorframe for support. An aneurysm. She thought my stupid, annoying erections were going to kill me.

"But we can prevent all that," Sarah added quickly, her tone reassuring. "We can help you manage it. We have to help Tommy. He can't help that he's sick."

"That's right," Mia chimed in, nodding solemnly. "The key is to keep the blockage from building up. To manually... drain it."

"Drain it?" Mom asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"The pressure has to be released," Mia said, her clinical tone making the whole thing sound less shocking, more... medical. "Three to five times a day. At least. Catalina, my cousin, says it's the only way to keep him safe. To prevent the toxins from causing any permanent damage."

Three to five times a day. I almost choked on my own tongue. A few minutes ago, the idea of my erection going down by itself was the height of my worries. Now I was being told I had to... drain it. Three to five times a day? In front of an audience? This was a whole new kind of nightmare.

"And he can't do it himself, not if we want him to get all of it out," Mia said, her gaze fixed on me with a weird intensity. "The best way is to have a trusted female friend perform the manual extraction in a controlled environment."

"How?... How would that even work?" Mom asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"There are two ways," Mia explained, holding up one finger. "The first is with a syringe. A needle. To directly pull the toxins from the testes."

I flinched at the word "needle," and so did my mom. Her eyes went wide, and she looked at me with pure, unadulterated terror.

"Oh, no! Not a needle! I can't... I can't do that to him!" she cried.

"Most boys prefer the second method," Mia said, holding up another finger. "Manual stimulation of the reproductive organs until the blockage is expelled. A massage, really. A lot of boys say it's not as bad as it sounds. Some say it's even... pleasant." She said the last word with a little smirk that my mom seemed to totally miss.

"But... why does it have to be a girl? Why can't he... do it himself?" Mom asked, her face a mask of confusion and horror.

"An extraction performed by the subject himself is often incomplete," Mia said, shaking her head like she was explaining a basic, obvious concept to a child. "The toxins are... slippery. They cling to the inner walls of the reproductive tract. A trusted female friend, someone who knows what to look for, can ensure a more thorough draining. And if the blockage is particularly severe," she added, her voice dropping to a dramatic, almost gleeful whisper, "then suction may be required. Like drawing out the venom from a snake bite."

"Suction," Mom repeated, the word sounding alien and strange in her mouth.

"Yes," Mia said, her expression serious. "It's not something we want to jump to, but it's important to know all the options. For Tommy's safety."

"And what about... after?" Mom asked, her cheeks flushing a little. "The sneezing. The... mess." She was trying so hard to be scientific, to be brave, but I could see the embarrassment warring with the fear on her face.

"My cousin has a protocol for that, Mrs. Miller. A test. Once the blockage is extracted, the female performing the procedure must taste the contents. The saltier it is, the more toxic the buildup. It's a way to gauge the severity of the infection and determine when the next extraction is needed," Mia explained, her expression completely serious. She was so good. So, so good at this.

"But then, wouldn't the toxins be in your mouth? Would that be safe for you?" Mom asked her, looking from Mia to Sarah.

"The female body," Mia explained calmly, "isn't affected by the toxins the same way it is as a male. In fact, some studies Catalina's team have done on female subjects, including myself, have shown a strange, and mostly harmless, side effect." She gestured to her own chest, a small, almost unnoticeable smile on her lips.

My mom looked from Mia to Sarah, trying to figure it out. "What side effect?"

"Accelerated breast tissue growth," Mia said simply.

"Is there really no other way? I don't like this. I don't like this at all," my mom whispered, looking completely overwhelmed.

"It's the only way to keep him safe," Sarah said, her voice soft and full of false sympathy. "He needs your help. He needs our help. All of us."

My mom looked at me, her eyes filled with a desperate, pleading hope. It was like she had been given a lifeline, and she was clinging to it with everything she had. "Okay," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Okay. If it will keep him safe, we'll... we'll do it."

"Thank you, Mrs. Miller. You're making the right choice," Mia said with a grave nod. "But there's one more thing. A very important part of the protocol."

"What? What is it?" my mom asked, her nerves stretched taut.

"The toxins that build up in Tommy's system, they make him... sensitive," Mia explained, her tone clinical and serious. "His skin becomes hyper-reactive. The same way the toxins affect his reproductive organs, making them stiff and... blocked... they also affect the rest of his skin. Any restrictive clothing, even loose shorts, can be agonizing."

"It also risks dislodging a partial blockage into the bloodstream, which, as I'm sure you can imagine, would be catastrophic," Sarah added, her blue eyes wide with manufactured alarm.

"Agonizing? Catastrophic?" Mom repeated, her face a mask of horror.

"Yes," Mia said with a solemn nod. "Catalina's research on the other boys from our town is very clear on this. To manage the syndrome, to prevent any chance of a dislodged blockage, a subject with Toxic Male Syndrome must remain naked at all times."

My heart sank into my stomach. Of course. That was the punchline. The whole point of this insane, made-up story. To get them what they really wanted. To keep me naked. Forever.

“Naked? All the... all the time?" my mom stammered, looking from me to the girls as if they had all gone insane. "But... I guess, if that's what's keeping him safe..."

"No!" The word ripped out of me before I could stop it, a raw, desperate scream. "No, it's not true! It's all a lie!" I was shaking, my whole body trembling with a rage so intense it felt like it might tear me apart. "You're making it all up! All of you!"

They all froze, looking at me. My mom, with a look of shock and horror on her face. The girls, with a flicker of something else in their eyes. Something that looked almost like... satisfaction.

"Tommy! Don't you dare speak to your friends like that!" my mom snapped, her face hardening.

"They're not my friends! And they're not doctors! There is no Toxic Male Syndrome!" I yelled, my voice cracking with desperation. "There was no chemical spill that made me sick! There is no blockage! It's all a lie! A story they made up so they can keep me naked!"

I looked at them, at their surprised, serious faces, and a small, desperate bubble of hope rose in my chest. I had said it. I had finally told the truth. My mom had to believe me now. She was my mom. She had to.

But then, Mia stepped forward. Her face was a perfect mask of solemn, scientific pity. "Mrs. Miller," she said, her voice soft and clinical, like a doctor breaking terrible news. "This is exactly what my cousin told us to watch for. This delusional behavior. One of the most advanced symptoms. He's denying the reality of his own illness. He's trying to isolate himself from the people who are trying to help him. He's becoming paranoid and aggressive."

"He's right about one thing, Mrs. Miller," Sarah chimed in, her voice full of a sweet, false sympathy that made me want to scream. "We're not doctors. And this is all very hard for us, too. But we're trying our best to help our friend. Aren't we, girls?"

They all nodded, their faces a perfect picture of concern.

"They're not my friends!" I shouted, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "Can't you see? Can't you see what they're doing? I'm not sick!" I screamed, my voice raw with desperation. "This is insane! You're all insane!"

But suddenly it felt like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs. My gaze had landed on Lisa. She was standing by the couch, her little face all scrunched up, her brow furrowed. Her big brown eyes were filled with tears. She looked so confused. So scared. My anger faltered, replaced by a wave of something much, much worse. Guilt.

"But... but they said you were sick, Tommy," she said, her small voice trembling. "They said you could... you could have an aneurysm." She stumbled over the big, scary word, her little lip quivering. "I don't want you to have an aneurysm." Tears started to spill down her cheeks, making tracks. "I don't want you to die, Tommy."

She ran over to me and threw her arms around my waist, burying her face in my side. I was naked, I was furious, I was terrified, but my little sister was clinging to me, crying because she thought she was going to lose me. I could feel her small body shaking against me. My own anger died in my throat, replaced by a lump of pure, suffocating shame. I was supposed to protect her. Not scare her. Not make her cry.

My mom was watching us, her face a mess of tears and worry. She looked at Mia, her eyes pleading. "We have to help him. We have to do whatever they say."

"He's right about one thing, Mrs. Miller," Mia said, her tone softening as she looked at Lisa and me. "He needs a full medical exam. A proper diagnosis."

My head snapped up. A real doctor? "Yes! Okay! Let's go to the hospital! Let's get a real doctor!"

Mia shook her head, a look of solemn pity on her face. "It's not that simple, Tommy. My cousin, Dr. Catalina García, she's the only one in the state who's an expert in this. She has a private clinic. I can talk to her, see if she can fit you in."

"When?" my mom asked, her voice desperate.

Mia pulled out her phone, pretending to check a calendar. "I know she's swamped with... other cases. But I can try. The absolute earliest would be Tuesday afternoon."

Tuesday. Three whole days from now. Three days of this. Three days of being naked.

"But... what about the blockage? The one that could give him an aneurysm?" my mom asked, her hands flying to her mouth in fear. "What do we do until then?"

"We have to start the protocol, Mrs. Miller," Sarah said, stepping in, her voice a calm, reassuring balm over my mom's fear. "The first extraction. We need to get as much of the toxin out as we can, right now. To keep him safe."

Mia nodded in agreement. "She's right. A preemptive extraction is critical, even if we don't have an official diagnosis. We can't wait."

My mom looked at them, then at me. She looked lost, like a ship in a storm with no one to guide her. "Okay," she said, her voice a trembling whisper. "Okay. You do it. But... not here. Not down here. Take him... take him up to his room."

Sarah clapped her hands together, the sudden, sharp sound making me jump. "Alright! Team, let's move out! Operation Save Tommy is a go!" Her eyes danced with a light that was way too excited for the situation. She grabbed my arm, her touch cool and proprietary. "Come on, sick boy. Let's go get that nasty blockage out of you."

I was too numb to fight. I was trapped in a nightmare, and all I could do was let the monsters lead me deeper into the dark.

(End of File)