“Why do I have to go to the doctor anyway?” Jeremy complained. “I'm perfectly healthy.”

The two of them sat in a waiting room, the fluorescent lights stinging their bleary eyes. An unpleasant, antiseptic scent had assaulted Pam's nose from the moment she stepped in the door. The smell was an unholy combination of industrial bleach, clinical latex, and something she couldn't quite place. A toasty scent. Pam kept sniffing the air until she realized it was the smell of the overworked photocopier spitting out warm sheets of paper next to the receptionist's desk.

She had been tasked with taking Jeremy in for a physical, the first hurdle now that he was officially scheduled to attend summer camp. The young boy was unaware of the decision, however, because his parents had decided to save the announcement as a birthday surprise. It was a thoughtful gesture on their part, but it meant Pam had been forced to literally drag Jeremy out the door that morning. For all he knew, this doctor's visit at 7 am (on the first day of summer vacation, no less) was the equivalent of some sick joke.

“I told you,” Pam said, raising her voice over the sound of the bubbling aquarium behind her vinyl-backed chair. “It's just your annual checkup. You know, the doctor will remind you to wear your bike helmet this summer. And then she'll make sure you don't have, like, leprosy or something.”

Jeremy stood up to stretch. While Pam had risen early to get properly dressed, she had spent ten long minutes persuading him to at least change out of his pajamas before leaving the house. Lost in the throes of morning fatigue, he had somehow paired a white dress shirt with baggy skateboarder shorts whose pockets hung inside-out like a pair of elephant ears. Pam tucked them back into place for him.

“Don't! It's my new style.” He spitefully pulled the pockets out, daring her to object. When she said nothing, he began rifling through the magazines scattered across a coffee table. There was nothing but Highlights and AARP Quarterly. “This is the worst summer vacation ever,” he grumbled.

Tell me about it, Pam thought. Once it became certain that he would be attending summer camp, she had done her best to accept the situation. His parents were right: the summer camp was perfectly tailored to Jeremy's interests. Archery, horseback riding, swimming, primitive camping... There would be an entire week devoted to different types of campfires. (Pam scoffed at that one. Hand Jeremy a single match and he could capably burn down a garage. Who on earth believed that preteen boys weren't already well-versed in fire?) It was obvious that Jeremy would have fun at camp. Pam, on the other hand, had no clue how to occupy herself for six weeks.

“We'll do something fun later,” Pam promised. “I'll take you out for breakfast. Doesn't that sound nice?” He didn't respond. The waiting room smell was driving her crazy so Pam tried breathing through her mouth while she filled out a stack of forms on a clipboard. Current medication? No. Allergies? Yes. Jaundice? She leaned in close to study his skin. Jeremy, having located an old copy of Boys' Life, sullenly glared at her when she invaded his personal space.

“What?” he said, irritated.

“Nothing.” She checked the box labeled no. “Have you experienced any shortness of breath? Unexplained heart palpitations?”

He buried his face in the magazine. “My heart feels like it's going to burst if I have to sit any longer in this stupid waiting room.”

“I'll take that as a no.” Turning to the next sheet in the clipboard, she was dismayed to find another long section of checkboxes. The door chime sounded, momentarily interrupting her attention. A mom entered, followed by her teenage daughter. The woman spoke with the receptionist while the girl glanced around the waiting room. After a moment, she took the seat across from Jeremy.

Even though she was trapped in checkbox hell, Pam noticed him perk up out of the corner of her eye. He had been in the middle of yawn, but straightened when the girl sat down. Then his eyes kept flicking at her over the pages of his magazine. She appeared older than him, maybe fourteen or so. Her honey brown hair was pulled into a tall ponytail and her Adidas shoes were artfully scuffed. She offered Jeremy a shy smile, something that did not escape Pam's attention.

“Hey.” Pam elbowed him. “Have you noticed any blood in your stool?” That earned her a fresh glare from Jeremy when the girl disguised her giggle as a cough. “What?” Pam asked. She innocently pointed at the clipboard. “It's on the form. So? Have you?”

“No!” Jeremy returned to hiding behind his magazine.

When she reached the last page, Pam paused at the signature line that requested acknowledgment from a parent or guardian for any patients under eighteen years of age. Legally speaking, she wasn't his guardian. Shrugging, she signed her name and then wrote the date in neat block letters.

A nurse appeared at the door next to the receptionist. She was a heavy-set woman with thick shoulders and a warm smile. “Jeremy?” she asked. Pam passed him the clipboard as he scrambled to his feet. The nurse said, “You can come along too, Mrs. Prater.” Pam glanced around the waiting room before she realized the nurse was talking to her.

“Hurry up, mom,” Jeremy said, smirking.

His mirth disappeared when the nurse handed Pam a small plastic cup. “The first thing we'll need is a urine sample,” she explained to Pam. “It's very important that it be a mid-stream sample, which is why we request parental assistance for younger patients.”

“Um, sure,” Pam said, accepting the cup.

The nurse ushered them into a private bathroom containing a sink, toilet, and urinal. “Just place the sample in that cabinet over there when you're done,” she said. She shut the door, leaving them alone.

“I can do this by myself,” Jeremy told her, stepping up to the urinal.

“But the nurse said I should make sure you do it right,” Pam protested. “Come on, it's not like I haven't seen you pee before.” Their voices echoed in the small, tiled bathroom. It was well-ventilated, at least, so she was freed from that awful waiting room smell. Pam unscrewed the cap to the container and smiled encouragingly at him.

He reluctantly pulled down his shorts. “You are so dead when we get home,” he threatened.

“Don't talk to your mother that way,” she reprimanded. “Keep that up and I'll wash out your mouth with soap.” Pam crouched down next to him as he stood next to the toilet. “So the nurse said mid-stream sample,” she began.

“Yeah, what does that mean anyway?”

“I think it means you can't just pee into the cup. I have to get a sample after you've peed for a second or two.”

“That's weird.”

“Rules are rules.” Pam smiled encouragingly. “So, um, I guess you should start peeing into the toilet and stop. Then I'll hold out the cup and you can start peeing into that. Got it?” She watched as he aimed his penis at the toilet.

“Do you have to stare?” He gave her a disapproving look.

“Relax. It's not like I'm getting off on this.” Nevertheless obliging him, she turned her head to study the porcelain sink. He focused on a peeing state of mind while she peeked from the corner of her eye. Pam sometimes forgot that his penis had other duties than Call of Duty. He took a long breath, then held it. There was as a tentative spurt before his peeing gained confidence.

Despite her earlier denial, Pam had to admit it was interesting to watch the light yellow stream issuing from his fleshy tube of skin. With arched back and bended knee, he pushed his crotch forward to pee. It was a charming boy pose. Truthfully, she would enjoy watching Jeremy do anything: reading, sleeping, daydreaming, eating cake, Call of Duty... Heck, she would gladly pay to watch him shovel dirt for an afternoon.

The tinkling sound paused when Jeremy clenched the necessary muscles to stop, grunting quietly from the effort. That sound was cute too. The sight of his twitching penis was enchanting.

“Why are you smiling?” he demanded.

“Am I? I was just, you know, thinking about breakfast. Don't pancakes sound good?” He wasn't buying it so Pam kept things moving along. “Ready?” she asked, holding up the container. Apparently the pump had been primed because it took no effort at all for him to start peeing into the cup.

This time, she had the perfect excuse to watch closely as he filled the plastic cup. There certainly wasn't any sexual connotation, but it was an intimate moment nonetheless. Her senses were overwhelmed: the sound of his soft exhalations, the scent of boy pee, the feel of the body-temperature heat emanating from the cup as he filled it. Pam was so engrossed that she almost missed the threat of container overflow.

“Oops!” She swiftly pulled the cup away. The reward for her haste was a hot splash on her hand when Jeremy didn't stop peeing in time. “Hey!” she said. “You did that on purpose.”

“I did not!” The moment she moved aside, Jeremy switched from the toilet to the urinal. “Besides, that wouldn't have happened if you just let me do this by myself.”

Pam moved her dripping hand over the sink. Re-capping the container, she began washing up. While Jeremy finished at the urinal, she deposited the warm cup of pee in the cabinet as the nurse had directed. It felt strange to leave the yellow container in a cupboard as if she were putting away a can of soup. She turned to find Jeremy adjusting his shorts. He reached for the doorknob but Pam stopped him.

“Aren't you going to wash your hands?” she asked.

“What for? I didn't get any pee on me. And it was a self-flushing urinal so I didn't touch that either.”

“But still...” Pam insisted. “You were touching your thing.”

“My thing is very clean,” he maintained. “What's the big deal anyway? You're the one that's always begging to put it in your mouth.”

She couldn't beat that logic. Pam concealed her embarrassment by rearranging her bangs in the mirror. “I wasn't begging,” she excused. “I was politely asking.” Despite the breakthrough of that magical marijuana-fueled night when he had humped her mouth with youthful abandon, Pam was dismayed to discover that sober Jeremy was still skittish as a newborn colt when it came to oral sex.

“Whatever,” Jeremy said. He paused for a moment, remembering something. “Hey, Ashton told me there are videos on the internet where people pee on each other. Is that true? Why would anyone want to do that?”

Golden showers had never appealed to her. Although she enjoyed watching him pee, getting peed on was a different story. “Don't get any bright ideas, mister,” Pam told him. “There are also videos of guys snapping mouse traps on their wieners.”

Jeremy visibly shuddered as they exited the bathroom. “Are you making this up?”

“I wish I were.”

They found the nurse waiting at the opposite end of the hallway. Her services no longer needed, Pam was expecting to return the waiting room, but the nurse gestured her to come too. They entered the a small room where the nurse directed Jeremy to the exam table covered in loud, crinkly paper. Pam took a seat near a desk. The austere room had a brick-painted cinder wall at one end. A tidy row of medical instruments with knobs, gauges, and dangling cables hung above a desk. The air smelled strongly of band-aids. Pam couldn't decide if that was better or worse than the antiseptic scent of the waiting room.

“How's your summer so far?” the nurse inquired as she strapped a blood pressure cuff to Jeremy's arm.

“It's okay,” he answered. “It's the first day of summer vacation.”

“I bet you're not too happy to be at the doctor's office,” the nurse said. “At least it's the morning so you can have fun afterward.”

“Yeah. That's what my mom said too.” The nurse didn't catch the sarcasm in his voice. Rolling her eyes, Pam began scrolling through her phone as the nurse took his pulse. She wasn't really paying attention until she overheard the nurse instructing Jeremy to strip to his underwear.

“... and then just step onto the scale for me,” the nurse requested. She recorded his height and weight, then measured his waistline. After jotting down some notes, she stood and placed her pen behind her ear. “I'll let Dr. Parsons know you're ready. Don't you worry, we'll get you out of here in no time.”

“Can I get dressed?” Jeremy asked.

The nurse waved away the suggestion. “Dr. Parsons will just ask you to undress again, so it's not worth it. It'll only be a few minutes.” She exited the exam room, closing the door behind her.

“Brrr,” Jeremy said, shivering as he rubbed his bare arms. “It's freezing in here.” He sat down on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath his underwear-clad bottom.

“I can warm you up,” Pam offered. Getting up, she perched herself next to the exam table and wrapped her arms around him. “Does that feel better?”

“Yeah.” He leaned his shoulder into her chest. She began rubbing her palms along his arms to warm him up.

Pam kept an eye on the door. They weren't doing anything naughty, but it would have been embarrassing nonetheless for someone to enter at that moment. Her breast smushed against Jeremy's pointy shoulder, but surely this was perfectly reasonable behavior. What kind of monster would idly stand by while an eleven year old boy shivered in his underwear?

A full-length mirror hung on a cupboard door, allowing Pam to see their reflection. Jeremy looked miserable, shivering and covered in goosebumps. She planted a consoling kiss on his cheek while she attempted to warm him. “Try not to get a boner, okay?” she whispered.

“Don't jinx it!” Jeremy warned.

A knock on the door forced her to release him. “Come in,” Pam said, returning to her seat. His underwear, she noticed with relief, appeared boner-free.

“Hello!” Dr. Parsons was a tall woman with auburn hair styled in a short and sporty bob. She was blessed with limitless reserves of cheer, a trait that made her seem younger despite the fact that she was most certainly in her late forties. People with this sort of energy always made Pam feel inadequate. The doctor was followed by a younger woman who shut the exam door behind them.

Dr. Parsons peered at Pam. “You're not Kate Prater, unless she recently had plastic surgery.”

“I'm Pam Carpenter,” she said, introducing herself. “I've been living with the Praters. I'm a personal assistant of sorts.”

“Ever since my parents divorced,” Jeremy interjected, not mincing words.

“I see.” Dr. Parsons seemed taken aback by this news. She recovered by introducing the younger woman. “This is Emily,” she explained. “She's finishing up her last year of pre-med and she's shadowing me.”

Emily was in her twenties, with blond hair that fell past her shoulders and a cheerfully round face. She wore a jaunty pair of pink running shoes that didn't quite fit her blue scrubs. “Hi!” she said. “I'm really glad to be here today? And I hope you'll be patient with me?”

Nodding politely, Pam tried to ignore Emily's up-talking. Her voice raised in pitch at the end of each sentence, giving the impression that everything she said was a question. Pam settled into her chair as Dr. Parsons let Emily take the lead. The pre-med student checked Jeremy's pupils, peered into his ears, and asked him to stick out his tongue. Pam felt a twinge of sympathy when Jeremy winced at the cold stethoscope on his chest. The two of them took turns listening to his heartbeat and lungs. Dr. Parsons stopped the exam at several points to lecture Emily on the finer points, using medical jargon that completely went over Pam's head. Emily juggled clipboards as she took personal notes on one while completing Jeremy's forms on the other.

Emily asked him to bend over so she could check his spine for scoliosis. Then she had him hold out his arms while she windmilled them to check his range of motion. Jeremy gamely played along through it all. After asking him to rotate his wrists and flex his fingers, Emily paused to take a closer look at his hands.

“You have the nicest looking fingernails I have ever seen?” she commented.

Dr. Parsons leaned close for a peek, then did a double take. “Impressive,” she agreed. “Those really are well-kept fingernails. For a boy.”

The attention embarrassed Jeremy. “Pam takes care of them for me. Like twice a week.”

The two women simultaneously looked her way. “Unkempt fingernails are a breeding ground for bacteria,” she offered.

“Okay, for this next part?” Emily said. “I'm going to need you to... drop your drawers?”

Jeremy's eyes flickered at Pam for a second. “Um, okay.” It was obvious he didn't want her there. Sliding off the exam table, Jeremy pointedly moved to the far side of the exam table, hiding himself from Pam's view. Then he hesitantly hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear.

Emily gathered her long blond hair into a ponytail. Handing the examination clipboard to Dr. Parsons, she snapped on a pair of latex gloves. The exam table blocked the lower half of his body, but Pam could clearly see Jeremy's ears redden when Emily knelt before him, disappearing from view herself. Dr. Parsons took notes as the pre-med student made her report.

“Let's see,” Emily said. “Subject has no visible pubic hair? No sign of penile lengthening either? I would say puberty has not started?” Poor Jeremy. He kept glancing around the room in search of something to focus on.

Dr. Parsons nodded, making a series of checks on the clipboard. “What are other signs of puberty in boys?”

Emily paused for a moment. “Testicular enlargement?” she said. Thinking this information might come in handy some day, Pam began taking notes herself on her phone.

“Exactly,” Dr. Parsons approved. She opened the cupboard and, leaving the door ajar, handed Emily a tape measure.

Due to the exam table blocking her view, Pam had been unable to watch the proceedings but the open cupboard changed things. The mirror hanging on it perfectly reflected the scene, letting her see around the exam table. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Emily began prodding Jeremy's hairless scrotum in an attempt to isolate his testicles. She was either nervous or inexperienced because it took forever, particularly to Pam who could have located them with her eyes closed, plus one hand tied behind her back.

Jeremy uncomfortably stared at the ceiling through this entire debacle. His face grew even redder when he caught Pam watching in the mirror. She pursed her lips in sympathy, but he looked away.

“Testicles show no sign of enlargement?” reported Emily. “Each one is about 10 millimeters in diameter, which I believe is consistent sizing for a pre-pubertal boy?”

“Let's see here...” Dr. Parsons said, bending over. Jeremy's face turned ashen as the two women studied him. Dr. Parsons pondered his boy parts as though she were selecting fruit at the grocery store. “I disagree, I do see some signs of testicular enlargement. It's difficult with the scrotal skin in the way, but I would guess those are at least 13 millimeters. I believe puberty has begun.”

“Oh.” Emily said, clearly disappointed that she missed this diagnosis.

“Not to worry,” Dr. Parsons consoled. “It takes experience to recognize this sort of thing.”

Pam frowned at her phone. Testicular enlargement? Jeremy? This was news to her. Pam pulled up the 'to-do' list on her phone to add another entry.

Call Suzy back
Schedule oil change
Write check for lawn care girl
Order birthday present (J)
Keep an eye on things down there (J)

While she was at it, she also started a grocery list. They were out of bananas and almond milk at home. She wondered too if blueberries were still on sale. Summer fruit was so ephemeral.

Emily continued the exam. “Testicles feel normal as well? No sign of lumps?”

Pam put away her phone. Emily's up-talking was starting to drive her crazy. Not to mention the fact that she disliked the sight of another woman digging around in Jeremy's junk, doctor or not.

“Excellent,” Dr. Parsons said, scribbling something in the margin of the clipboard. “What else can you tell me?”

“Umm, subject is uncircumcised?” Emily said. “I'll do an examination of the foreskin and underlying mucosa.” She reached for Jeremy's penis but Dr. Parsons stopped her.

Speaking in a low voice, the doctor said, “For younger boys, you'll want to ask first if they can... you know.”

Emily stared blankly at Dr. Parsons for a second. “Oh!” Turning to Jeremy, she asked, “Are you able to retract your foreskin yet?”

“Yeah, I can,” Jeremy answered gruffly. Pam studied a poster on the wall about the importance of sunscreen, though she was still listening closely. It was a good thing this exam didn't take place last month. It likely would have embarrassed him even more to say he couldn't retract.

“I'm just going to take a peek?” Emily told him. “I won't hurt you, I promise!”

“Yeah. You better not, bitch,” Pam thought. She had given up pretending to look elsewhere, absorbed by the proceedings in the mirror. Emily tentatively lifted Jeremy's penis in her palm, as though she were handling a poisonous snake. With her other hand, she attempted to peel back his foreskin with her fingers.

“That's not how you do it!” Pam wanted to scream. After a few exploratory sessions, she had discovered that it was indeed possible, although tricky, to retract Jeremy's foreskin when he wasn't hard. It wasn't a technique that she often practiced because, like a good boy, he was always hard when Call of Duty was imminent.

Emily was having zero luck however. “Subject's foreskin appears unusually... inflexible?” she noted.

“Sometimes it's easier if it's erect,” murmured Dr. Parsons. “Ah, there it goes. See? Try now.”

Emily's clumsy fumbling had inadvertently made Jeremy hard. He glanced at Pam in the mirror, biting his lip in shame. It took all her willpower not to brush the two women aside and comfort him. The pre-med student required another long minute of floundering to retract his foreskin. Pam began to doubt Emily's medical credentials. How skilled could she possibly be if she knew so little about boys' anatomy?

“I did it,” Emily said, smiling proudly at Dr. Parsons.

“What do you see?” Dr. Parsons quizzed.

“Epidermis of foreskin appears healthy? Visual appearance of corona is consistent with uncircumcised boys? No signs of keratinization?”

“Wonderful,” Dr. Parsons said.

“His foreskin is exspecially tight?” Emily remarked. Pam raised an eyebrow. She often heard people mistaking 'expresso' for espresso, but 'exspecially' for especially? That was a new one.

“What does that mean for the patient?” Dr. Parsons asked.

Emily nervously turned to Jeremy. “Um, do you get erections?”

Jeremy stammered for an answer. “I guess so.” He was blushing again.

“And do you feel any pain when erect?” Emily pressed.

“Uh, no,” Jeremy said, scratching his ear. “Not really.”

“Well, that's something to monitor in the future?” Emily told him. “Your foreskin is very tight, so you should let us know if it ever causes pain in any way.”

“Got it,” Jeremy nodded.

“And do you masturbate?” Emily inquired, apparently forgetting that Pam was in the room. The tone of her voice was altogether casual, as though she were asking for the time of day.

“Um, yeah,” he admitted.

“How often?”

Jeremy's face was approaching a shade of purple that Pam had never seen on him. “I don't know,” he mumbled.

“Once a month? Once a week?”

“Uh, no. More than that.”

“Twice a week?”

“I guess so. Sure.”

But the hesitant tone of his voice caused Emily to continue her brutal interrogation. “Every day?”

“No. Not every day. Maybe every other day.” He peeked at Pam in the mirror, but she stared at her phone as though she hadn't heard. They usually played Call of Duty a few times each week, but not every other day. She had often suspected he performed extra-curricular activities without her. It had been easier to catch him when he used Coppertone. Now that the young boy had graduated to scentless K-Y, her only tipoff was if she found him napping in the middle of the day.

Not that this bothered her. On the contrary, Pam liked to imagine him embarking on solo Call of Duty missions.

“Well, that's good!” Emily informed him. “Masturbation will help your foreskin stretch and make it looser over time?” She had the worst bedside manner Pam had ever seen. She wondered if Emily might be better suited to a career in forensics where she would be working with cadavers all day long. Being dead, her up-talking wouldn't bother them in the least. Probably.

“Uh, cool,” Jeremy said.

Emily stood and began pulling off the exam gloves. Jeremy, clearly relieved, pulled his underwear back up. His relief was short-lived, however, as Emily peered at the clipboard and said, “Oh! I forgot to ask. Are you ejaculating?”

Jeremy sat back down on the exam table and stared at his hands in his lap. “No,” he said in a quiet voice. This time, he made no effort to hide his sigh.

Emily took the clipboard from Dr. Parsons and looked over her work, muttering to herself. “Caucasian male... two weeks before he turns twelve... uncircumcised... frequent masturbation.” She paused to write something down. “Not ejaculating... and not sexually active.” She glanced at Jeremy. “That is, I assume you're not sexually active?”

“No.” Jeremy shook his head. Pam pretended to text someone.

“That's what I thought?” Emily chirped. “Just wanted to make sure!”

“Do you ever find boys who are, you know, sexually active?” Jeremy asked.

“I personally never have?” Emily told him. “Granite, I don't see too many patients though?” It took Pam a second to figure out that she meant 'granted' and not 'granite'.

Dr. Parsons spoke up. “Occasionally, yes,” she admitted. “I've known of sexually precocious boys but they are generally few and far between.” She gave Jeremy an odd look. “Why don't we give you some privacy while you get dressed?” she suggested, beckoning to Emily. As they left the room, however, Dr. Parsons asked Pam to join them. “Could we have a word?”

Pam followed them into the hallway, her knees wobbling in time with Emily's squeaky pink shoes. Did the doctor suspect something in Jeremy's questions? Or her own demeanor? Dr. Parsons shut the door, leaving him alone in the exam room while they congregated near a hand-washing station in the hallway.

“I just wanted to bring you up to speed,” she told Pam. “Jeremy is fifty-five inches tall and seventy-five pounds. He decidedly falls into a lower percentile in terms of height and weight. What's his diet like?”

“It's good,” Pam said, relieved that they were merely discussing his eating habits. “Kate is very particular about making sure he gets lots of fruits and vegetables. We don't eat too much junk food.”

Dr. Parsons frowned. “That's good to hear, although somewhat troubling considering Jeremy is several pounds underweight.”

Personally, Pam didn't have a problem with his rangy frame. “He's always eating,” she reassured the doctor. “It's always snacktime with him.”

“It's possible that he's just a late bloomer,” Dr. Parsons conceded. “I'll make a note to monitor his weight for the next visit. Maybe Jeremy will have a growth spurt by then.”

The phrase 'growth spurt' used in conjunction with 'Jeremy' sent Pam's mind wandering to a place that was inappropriate for the current setting. “Yes, maybe,” she agreed, pushing the image out of her mind.

“Let's see... what else?” Dr. Parsons continued perusing the clipboard. “Ah yes. As you may have heard, Jeremy has an exceptionally tight foreskin.” She looked at Emily. “During that portion of the exam, I generally ask the patient if they would prefer their parent or guardian leave the room. It usually makes for a less embarrassing moment.”

“Oops!” Emily made a note on her clipboard.

Returning to Pam, Dr. Parsons said, “So you should keep an eye on his foreskin. Well, not literally, of course.”

“Ha, of course not!” Pam laughed, doing her best to join the moment of levity as Dr. Parsons and Emily chuckled.

“Maybe ask him from time to time if it's bothering him. It should never be painful, particularly when he gets erections.” Dr. Parsons paused. “You could let his mom handle this one if you're not comfortable. Boys this age can be especially shy about this kind of thing.”

“He's a shy one all right,” Pam said.

“If he does report any issues, we can definitely refer him to a specialist.”

“What can they do?” Pam asked, curious.

“Phimosis is a condition in which the foreskin of the penis cannot be pulled back past the glans,” Dr. Parsons said. She sounded like a walking, talking Wikipedia article. “Generally, this is caused by a foreskin that is too tight. Obviously, Jeremy isn't suffering from phimosis, but he may benefit from the same treatment. Topical steroid creams are the best non-invasive remedy. They work by thinning the skin and aiding in stretching. In severe cases, circumcision is a more drastic, though effective, solution.”

Pam became physically ill at the thought of some scalpel-toting quack coming near Jeremy. It was a good thing she skipped breakfast or she would have thrown up on Emily's shoes. Collecting herself, she said, “But Jeremy isn't a severe case, right?”

“Not at all,” Dr. Parsons said. She lowered her voice. “To be perfectly frank, I would expect the tightness to disappear within the next few years, especially if he begins masturbating on a more frequent basis. As Emily noted, that gives the foreskin a good workout.”

Emily piped up. “But he said he already is masturbating frequently?”

Dr. Parsons gave Emily a knowing look. “So he says,”she said. “This is actually why I wanted to talk with you privately. In these modern times, boys and girls at this age have never felt more pressure to engage in sexual exploration. Bear in mind, I'm not accusing Jeremy of anything. But I get the impression that he is very curious about sex.”

Pam fidgeted with a bracelet on her wrist. “Really? He's never said anything to me.”

Dr. Parsons noticed her blushing. “I'm sorry. Am I being too straightforward? I know it's awkward to consider, but even Jeremy is a sexual being.”

“If you say so,” Pam answered, shrugging with practiced nonchalance. Calm, cool, and collected. It was easy. You're doing great, she told herself.

“At his age,” Dr. Parsons lectured, “children are yearning for both peer acceptance and greater independence. It makes for an uneasy balance, particularly when their brains haven't fully developed. They can think concretely, but preteens still have trouble connecting their actions with future consequences. That's why it's best to be honest yet wary if Jeremy were to approach you with questions about sex.”

“I'll do my best.”

“Remember that he's very conscious about keeping up with his peers. For example, his question about sexually precocious boys his age.” Dr. Parsons smiled reassuringly at Pam. “Since I've clearly unnerved you so much, you'll be relieved to know that it's rather obvious he has very little sexual experience, with masturbation or otherwise.”

Pam wasn't sure she heard the doctor correctly. “And you know that because...”

“Judging by the pristine condition of his foreskin, of course.”

“Ah. Yes. Pristine.” Despite her embarrassment over the frank nature of the conversation, Pam couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. It was the same way she felt when the mechanic told her she had been taking excellent care of her car.

“In any case, be patient with him. The onset of puberty is always rough on parents. Or caregivers. I'm sure you've already noticed some moodiness.”

“Oh, for sure,” Pam nodded.

“You'll have plenty more of that to look forward to,” Dr. Parsons warned. “Jeremy will undoubtedly get more argumentative and unreasonable. It's not uncommon to see boys exhibit increased aggression as well. It's all that testosterone, you see.”

“Sounds fun!” Pam said. “Good thing I always carry a taser with me.” Dr. Parsons and Emily glanced at each other, not laughing at her joke. “I don't actually own a taser,” Pam assured them. “And even if I did, I wouldn't use it on Jeremy.”

“Of course not,” Dr. Parsons said.

“Never.” Pam straightened, attempting to look the part of a responsible guardian as the doctor gave her the hairy eyeball.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, Dr. Parsons finally returned to consulting her clipboard. “We're just about finished for today. The last thing on the docket is some immunizations. Looks like Tdap and HPV.”

“Tdap is... tetanus, right?” Pam said, trying to remember.

“That's right,” Dr. Parsons said. “Tetanus, diphtheria, and pertussis. HPV is the human papillomavirus.”

“I've heard of that,” Pam said.

“It's very important for young children to receive a vaccine because HPV is a sexually transmitted disease,” Dr. Parsons informed her. “Not because children are sexually active, but because HPV is so common. It's estimated that some 79 million Americans have HPV, so it's best to prepare for when the children grow older and become sexually active.”

“Is HPV dangerous?” Pam asked, frowning.

“It usually goes away on its own,” Dr. Parsons said. “The symptoms are minor, so most people don't even know they have it. But they may unwittingly pass it along to a sexual partner through vaginal, anal, or oral contact. Unfortunately, HPV can cause cancer in some cases.”

Most people don't even know they have it. Oral contact. Uh oh. Jeremy was intractable when it came to oral sex, but Pam couldn't resist sneaking a hand into the cookie jar from time to time, if only to lovingly caress the delights inside. What if Pam had HPV and unwittingly passed it to Jeremy?

“Um, does the vaccine treat HPV as well?” she inquired.

“It only prevents HPV,” Dr. Parsons informed her. “But it shouldn't matter since Jeremy is obviously not sexually active yet.”

“Sure,” Pam said, unconvinced.

“In any case, this is his booster shot for HPV,” Dr. Parsons said, examining the clipboard. “He already received his first shot last year. In March.”

March. Last year. Pam exhaled in relief. That was well before she and Jeremy started playing Call of Duty. “It's still effective with one dose, right?” she asked.

“Generally yes,” Dr. Parsons said. She frowned. “Do you have reason to believe Jeremy is sexually active?”

“Oh no,” Pam said. Backpedaling, she struggled to think of an excuse. “I just, you know... saw this documentary about HPV. It was, uh, one of those hysterical think pieces on... er, PBS. Or maybe I saw it on Reddit.” Shutting her mouth, Pam forced herself to be quiet. She sounded like a raving lunatic.

“Well, that's why we have vaccines: to keep ourselves safe.” Dr. Parsons tucked the clipboard under her arm. “Any other questions for us today?”

“No, that's all. Thank you!”

“I'll send the nurse back with the immunizations,” Dr. Parsons said. “Have a good day. Enjoy the rest of your summer!”

Emily shook Pam's reluctant hand. “Bye! It was nice meeting you?”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Pam escaped into the exam room where Jeremy waited, fully-clothed and staring at the ceiling as he lay on the exam table. “Are we done yet?” he asked, not even sitting up.

“Almost,” Pam said. “Just a few immunizations and then we're out of here.”

Jeremy groaned. “I have to get a shot?”

“Um, two shots, actually,” she corrected. “Don't worry, I'll hold your hand.”

“Stop talking to me like I'm a little kid,” he snapped.

Sometimes he liked being babied, but this evidently was not one of those times. “I'll just be over here then,” Pam said, taking her seat.

The same nurse from before entered the room, carrying a white towel. Placing it on the counter, she unwrapped it to reveal two vials and a red plastic case, which she opened to reveal disinfecting wipes, band aids, cotton rounds and several syringes neatly wrapped in plastic. Even though she wasn't the one getting the shot, Pam couldn't stand the sight of the medical paraphernalia. The nurse may as well have strolled in with a medieval torture kit of ropes and thumb screws.

Jeremy stared at the wall as the nurse rolled up his sleeves. Despite his bravado, Pam could tell he was nervous too. The smell of rubbing alcohol filled the room as the nurse cleaned a spot on his slender arm. A wave of dizziness hit her when the nurse unwrapped a syringe, uncapping it to reveal the shiny metal needle. Perhaps she should have waited outside. Forcing herself to look elsewhere, Pam stared at her shoes.

“Ow,” she heard Jeremy say. Her eyes automatically pivoted to him. The nurse had already finished and was prepping the next shot, but Pam winced in sympathy at the grimace on his face. He remained quiet for the second shot, allowing her to steadfastly gaze at the floor.

“All done,” the nurse said, applying a band-aid. “You're finally free! That wasn't so bad, was it?”

Instead of answering, Jeremy rubbed his arm. He wordlessly slid off the exam table and shuffled to the door. Following him, Pam wanly smiled at the nurse. “Don't mind him,” she said. “He's always cranky in the morning. Thank you!”

She ran to catch up with him in the hallway. “That wasn't very polite of you.”

“I don't care.”

He sulked as they waited for an elevator, brooded on the ride down, then ignored her all the way to the parking lot. Freed from the doctor's clinic, she was grateful to inhale a lungful of fresh air, but she was worried about Jeremy. “Are you going to be okay?” Pam asked.

He didn't respond until they were both seated in the car. “I can't believe you sat in during that exam,” he complained.

“Jeremy, it wasn't my fault. They made me.”

“It was embarrassing,” he continued, “and I could tell you were trying not to laugh that whole time.”

“That's not true. I felt awful when she was poking and prodding you.”

He didn't seem to hear her sympathy. “How would you like it if I was in the room while the doctor examined you?”

“Well, I'll invite you along for my next visit. Then you can have your revenge.”

“When's your next visit?”

“Next year sometime.”

“Well, a lot of good that does me now.”

Pam tried to think of a way to cheer him up. She started the car. “Put on your seatbelt,” she told him.

“I don't feel like it.”

Pam tried to be patient. “Jeremy, we're not going anywhere until you put on your seatbelt.”

“Then I guess we'll just sit here. I didn't have plans today anyway.”

“Will you please just put on your seatbelt? Why are you being so difficult about this tiny thing?”

“Why not?” he asked. “What's the point of a seatbelt anyway?”

Exasperated, Pam reached over and buckled him in. “Don't you dare unbuckle that,” she warned as she put the car in reverse.

“This isn't the way home,” Jeremy observed as they sped away.

“I'm kidnapping you,” Pam informed him. She tried to remember which states had legalized marijuana. “Would you like to go to Colorado or Washington?”

“No, really. Where are we going?”

“You'll see,” Pam said. Though she had originally planned to take him out for breakfast, he was being such a brat that she wondered if they should just go home. Against her better judgment, Pam decided to be nice. As expected, his mood immediately brightened when they pulled up to Atomic Age. It was his favorite burger joint, but it was still early enough for their morning menu.

“Can we get drive-thru?” he asked hopefully.

The last time they got drive-thru, he made them eat in the car and the interior smelled like french fries for an entire week. “Let's eat inside,” Pam suggested, pulling into a parking spot. “Breakfast isn't conducive to drive-thru anyway. We can sit in a booth. I'll buy you those waffles you love so much.”

“The Housewife's Waffles?” The restaurant's signature breakfast offering, they were cornmeal waffles served with a side of cream, powdered sugar, toasted hazelnuts and strawberries. Despite the name, Jeremy never shied away from ordering them.

“Yes, as long as you start being nice. Deal?”

“I'm super nice,” Jeremy declared. “Don't move, okay?” He scrambled out of his seat and dashed over to her side. Opening the car door, he gestured with his arm as though she were exiting a limo onto the red carpet.

“Thank you, Jeremy,” Pam said. She checked the parking lot for faces, familiar or otherwise, before putting her arm around his shoulder as they walked to the entrance. The nurse this morning assumed Pam was his mom, so surely this was a harmless gesture.

Decorated in a vintage style to match its name, the interior of Atomic Age gleamed like a 1950s showroom. The walls were painted seafoam green and the floor sported a classic black-and-white tile pattern. Along the windows were a row of booths with burgundy seatbacks and chrome napkin holders. Overlooking the grill area was a long countertop and a line of built-in stools padded with the same shade of burgundy.

“Sit wherever you like,” a waitress told them as she glided past on roller skates. She wore a pink checkered dress with white trim at the collar and sleeves. Her vintage aesthetic was marred only by an eyebrow piercing.

They chose a sunny booth in the corner. “The waitresses here always remind me of Apple,” Jeremy commented.

“Yeah, I can definitely see that,” Pam agreed, eying a plump waitress behind the counter.

Jeremy's eyes followed her gaze. “Not that waitress,” he said. “Apple is, like, half her size. I mean someone like her over there.” He nodded at a waitress with an hourglass figure.

They needed to talk about something besides Apple if Pam was to remain in a good mood. “What are you getting?” she asked, opening her menu. “Just the Housewife Waffles?” She paged through the menu. She always liked Atomic Age because their menus were composed of actual paper, rather than one of those plastic laminated deals.

“Can I get hash browns and bacon?” Jeremy asked. “And a coconut smoothie too?”

“Of course,” Pam said, remembering Dr. Parsons's message about his diet. Nothing about the doctor's visit seemed to add up. Jeremy under-fed and under-sexed? Preposterous.

“What are you getting?” he asked.

“Just the Denver omelette, I guess,” Pam said, wistfully closing the menu. “Can I have a taste of your smoothie?”

“Sure.” Unable to keep his hands to himself, Jeremy explored the condiments on the table. He sniffed a small pitcher of maple syrup, peeked under the lid of a dainty sugar jar, and toyed with the gleaming porcelain figurine of a cow. “You can have some bacon too,” he added absentmindedly.

“Maybe not bacon,” Pam said, sipping her ice water. “It's swimsuit season. I gotta look good.” Jeremy's birthday party, she knew, was planned for the outdoor pool at his dad's condo complex. She was also aware that Jeremy had invited a dozen friends, all boys. Pam hoped to blow away some preteen minds at the pool.

“You look great in a swimsuit,” Jeremy said.

“That's nice of you to say,” she said, “but you haven't seen me in a swimsuit in, like, forever.”

“I've seen you in your underwear,” he pointed out. “Same thing.” This observation was inopportunely voiced just as a waitress rolled up to their table to deposit two glasses of water. She gave Jeremy a funny look, then glanced at Pam with a distinct expression of judgment.

Pam waited until the waitress departed, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Say it a little louder, why don't you?”

“Oops,” Jeremy blushed. Lowering his voice, he apologetically explained, “I just meant you look nice in your underwear. Sorry.”

He was such a sweetie. Pam reached under the table to squeeze his knee. “Don't worry, my little pumpkin pie. I'm not mad mad.” Feeling mischievous, she pulled out her phone. “I was thinking of wearing a nice one-piece to your pool party. Something like this.” She showed him a picture on the screen. It was a photo of a woman wearing a conservative swimsuit with a flowing ruched top that effectively erased all feminine curves, good or bad. Adding even more coverage was a skirt lining the bottom. It was the sort of swimsuit that had 'mom' written all over it.

“Oh. Yeah. That looks good,” Jeremy said. “It's really... old-fashioned. In a good way.” Pam enjoyed the crestfallen look on his face as he struggled for something nice to say. “What about a two-piece swimsuit?” he suggested. “I bet that would look nice too.”

“Like a bikini?”

“Yeah.” He fiddled with the porcelain cow figurine, accidentally causing cream to pour from its snout.

“Hmm,” Pam pretended to consider the idea while handing him a napkin to wipe up the puddle of cream. “Maybe. I'll think about it, Jeremy.”

A waitress came to take their order, thankfully a different one than the woman who delivered their water glasses. She raised an eyebrow when she took Jeremy's order. “Housewife's Waffles, side of bacon, side of hash, and a coconut-banana smoothie made with chocolate milk?” she repeated.

“Yup.”

“How about you?” the waitress asked Pam.

“A Denver omelette, please.”

“Coffee?” the waitress offered.

“No, thank you. Just tea, please.”

The waitress nodded and left. “How come you didn't get coffee?” Jeremy asked. “I thought you loved it.”

“Oh, I do love it. But this guy I like complained about my coffee breath.”

“That's too bad.” Too hungry to wait for his food, Jeremy poured some maple syrup onto a spoon and downed it like cough medicine. “Wait a minute. Do you mean I said that to you?”

“Yes.” Pam held out her spoon for him to fill with maple syrup. It was so sweet that she almost choked.

Jeremy blushed. “Your breath wasn't that bad.”

Pam laughed. “So you were just joking when I tried to kiss you and you told me my breath smelled like... how did you put it? It smelled like your grandma after she ate her third liverwurst sandwich?”

“I didn't mean it,” Jeremy said, chuckling nervously. “You gave up coffee just for me?”

“Of course not,” Pam lied. “I'm just trying to cut back on caffeine.” That explanation seemed to satisfy him. Jeremy gazed out the restaurant window and rubbed his arm. “Is it sore where they gave you the shot?” she asked.

“It's not too bad,” he said, working his arm up and down at the shoulder.

“That med student was driving me crazy,” she grumbled. Imitating Emily's up-talking, she said, “Do you think she was born that way? Or maybe she was dropped as a baby?”

Jeremy instantly warmed to the game. “I bet she accidentally got a railroad spike jammed into her head? That happened to this one guy? And he turned exspecially mean?”

“That's crazy?” Pam said, “Granite, I think I'd rather hang out with a mean person than listen to Emily's nonsense?”

They kept it up until the waitress returned with their food, this time the one who had overheard the underwear comment. Forgetting who she was talking to, Pam continued up-talking. “I need a straw, please? He said I could have a taste of his smoothie? Because he's exspecially nice?” she explained to the waitress.

The waitress looked even more perplexed than before. “Right,” she mumbled, handing Pam a straw from her apron.

Jeremy laughed once the waitress left. “She just looked at you like you were crazy?”

Now the waitress thought she was a slut and brain-dead. Wonderful. “Okay, we need to stop,” Pam announced. “This is getting out of hand.”

She let him play with her phone while they ate their breakfast. Jeremy returned the kindness by moving to her side of the booth so she could help herself to as much smoothie as she wanted. By the time they were done, the table had been reduced to a series of empty plates and crumpled napkins. Pam had expected at least one doggy bag of leftovers, but Jeremy had eaten every bite of his waffles and even finished her omelette.

After settling the bill, they returned home. Thanks to the early wakeup call, Pam was exhausted and it wasn't even noon yet. Looking forward to couch time, she took care of a few odd house chores before taking time to relax. She threw in a load of laundry, replaced a battery in a smoke alarm, and deadheaded the petunias in the front garden. Once that was out of the way, she eagerly headed for the living room. The moment she sat down, however, the doorbell rang.

“Jeremy, can you get that?” she called. He didn't answer. Groaning, Pam got to her feet and staggered to the door. She opened it to find Jeremy himself on the porch. He was wearing a white knee-length lab coat, carrying a satchel in one hand and clutching a clipboard in the other. A stethoscope dangled carelessly from his neck.

“Hello, I'm here to see Pam Carpenter,” he intoned, stepping into the house.

“Ugh. Haven't you had enough doctors for one day?” She shut the door behind him. They returned to the living room. “Where did you get that outfit anyway?” Combined with his white button down shirt, the lab coat indeed transformed him into a doctor from the waist up. From the waist down, however, he was still wearing his cargo shorts.

“My mom put it together for me when I was little,” he told her. “She said the toy doctor's kits were too stupid. Look, this lab coat actually fits me now. It used to hit the floor.” Placing his satchel between them on the couch, he began pulling out various medical instruments. “I've got band-aids, thermometers, a reflex hammer, a magnifying glass...” He showed her an object with a long black handle and a pointed end. “Know what this is?”

“It's that thing you use to look in a person's ear.”

“It's called an otoscope.”

Pam shrugged. “Where I come from, it's called that thing you use to look in a person's ear.'

Jeremy set the otoscope on the couch. Next, he produced a syringe with a metal needle. “Check this out!”

Pam retreated to the far end of the couch. “Don't you dare come near me with that,” she warned.

“It's not a sharp needle,” he contended, jabbing it into his arm. “It's blunt. See? I couldn't hurt you if I tried. Well, unless I accidentally poked you in the eye or something.” He continued stabbing the syringe into his arm to demonstrate its harmlessness.

“I don't like needles,” Pam informed him. “Can you put that away?”

He obligingly returned the syringe to the satchel and pulled out a folded blue cloth. “This is for you,” he said, handing it to her.

Shaking out the cloth, Pam realized it was a hospital gown. “You're serious? We're really going to play doctor?”

“You said we could have fun today,” Jeremy reminded her. He cleared his throat. “I'll have to ask you to disrobe completely before changing into the gown.”

Under normal circumstances, Pam would walk over her grandmother's grave to play doctor with a young boy, but the sight of the syringe had given her the willies. “I have a headache,” she lied. She handed the gown back to him. “Maybe some other day?”

“It's perfect if you have a headache,” Jeremy enthused. He put the stethoscope in his ears. “I'm a doctor! I'll make it go away.”

Pam shook her head. “I really don't feel like it right now. Sorry.”

Jeremy frowned and began putting away the medical kit. “Can you just promise me one thing?” he asked, slipping off the stethoscope. “This summer, can we at least do one thing I want to do? I mean, I know there's almost three months of vacation left, but still...”

He scowled as he spoke, cramming the medical paraphernalia into the satchel. Pam could tell the young boy was doing his best to keep his emotions in check. Jeremy had no idea he would be attending camp. It occurred to her that he too was envisioning a summer filled with activities for both of them.

“Hey. Cheer up,” she said. He was taking off his lab coat but Pam stopped him. “I'll do it.”

“Do what?”

“I will play doctor with you.”

“You mean it?”

Pam really had no reason to say no to him, other than vague misgivings. Why shouldn't she do this for him? There needed to be some degree of trust to their relationship. “Yes, I mean it. Let's go.” Pam reached into the satchel and pulled out the blue exam gown. She started for his bedroom, but Jeremy didn't follow. Pam glanced at him. “What now?”

“I don't want to do it in my bedroom. I need an exam table.”

“Well, you're out of luck. Unless your mom has a secret sex dungeon slash doctor's room that she's been keeping from us.”

Jeremy made a disgusted face. “Don't talk about my mom that way,” he said. “It's weird.” Looking around in search of an exam table, he turned his gaze in the direction of the dining room. “We could use the dinner table.”

“The dinner table? You mean the one in the actual dining room? The one we sit down at and eat food on?”

“Sure. It's the perfect height.”

“It's also hard as a rock,” Pam pointed out. “Can't we just use the recliner in your room?”

“I want a real table,” Jeremy insisted. He began pulling up sofa cushions. “You can lay on top of these on the dinner table.” He headed for the dining room with the stack of cushions piled high in his arms. “I got this,” he told her. “What don't you change into your exam gown?”

Dragging her feet, Pam went to her bedroom to undress. The gown was an awful shade of baby blue that wouldn't look good on anyone. “Hey, it's okay if I keep my underwear on, right?” she called.

“No!” he yelled back from the dining room. “It's not okay.”

Sighing, Pam slipped out of her bra and panties. Playing doctor wasn't so much different from Call of Duty, she told herself. Just some poking and prodding, which wasn't unpleasant if she was in the right mood. If she played her cards right, Pam could just do some light teasing, get him off, and be home free once he fell asleep.

The gown billowed unflatteringly when she walked, despite the fact that it tied at the back of her neck and another just above her rear. The latter provided very little coverage. Teasing tufts of air kept tickling her bum. For some reason, wearing the gown made her feel even more exposed than if she had been naked.

“Finally,” Jeremy said when she entered the dining room. Whiskers lay sprawled on her back on the kitchen counter while he held the stethoscope to the surprisingly patient cat. On the counter next to him were the remains of a popsicle wrapper still streaked with blue juice.

“I'm pretty sure real doctors don't amuse themselves by listening to cat heartbeats while they eat popsicles,” she told him.

“I'd like to get your height first,” he said, ignoring her jab. That sounded innocent enough, except Jeremy had to use a yardstick. First, he placed it on the ground and marked a spot a few inches below her belly button with his finger. Then, raising the yardstick, he used his finger as a landmark to measure the rest of her body. Pam did her best to hold still as the yardstick touched the spot between her breasts and then her nose. He wasn't nearly tall enough to see above her head, so Jeremy had to stand on a step-stool to get the proper measurement.

“I'm going to say that's... thirty-three inches on top,” he decided. “So, let's see... Thirty-six plus thirty-three is sixty nine inches. So that means you're... um...” Pam impatiently drummed her fingers as he did the math. “Five foot nine inches?” He looked at Pam for confirmation.

“That sounds about right, doctor.”

“Excellent,” he said, writing it down on his clipboard. He led her to the other side of the dinner table where the bathroom scale waited. Pam reluctantly stepped onto it. “133 pounds,” Jeremy noted.

“I'm usually 129, I'll have you know.”

“Why usually?” he asked.

“It depends on the time of mon... ah, never mind. What do you want me to do now?”

“Please have a seat,” he requested. Three sofa cushions were aligned in a neat row along the length of the dinner table. Pam cautiously perched herself on the table, praying it would support her weight. They would have a devil of a time inventing an excuse to Kate about a broken table.

The exam began innocently enough. Jeremy opened his doctor's satchel and pulled out the otoscope. Pam did her best to hold still as he brushed aside her hair so he could insert the black plastic into her ear. Despite her reluctance, Pam fought to contain a shiver as moved close to her. The feeling was only compounded when he used a small flashlight to peer into her pupils. His ill-fitting white lab coat reminded her that she was playing doctor with a boy.

“Open your mouth and say 'ah' please,” he said. Pam obediently did as he requested. Jeremy put a hand on her bare knee to steady himself as he shone the light into her mouth. As she sat on the cushioned dinner table, Pam parted her legs ever-so-slightly to entice him but he didn't notice.

Instead, Jeremy put away the flashlight. “Can you stick out your tongue?”

She did as he asked, but her tongue went back in her mouth when she saw him reach into the pocket of his lab coat. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Is that the stick from the popsicle you just finished eating?” The wooden stick in his hand was streaked the same shade of blue as the discarded wrapper on the counter.

“Of course not,” Jeremy said. “This is a tongue depressor.”

“It's a popsicle stick.”

Jeremy placed a hand on her knee. “Please stick out your tongue,” he said. Rolling her eyes, Pam stuck out her tongue while he pushed against it with his popsicle stick. Jeremy peered into her mouth for a moment before nodding in satisfaction and returning the stick to his jacket pocket.

“I can still taste the wild berry flavor,” she complained, licking her lips.

Busily writing on a clipboard, Jeremy didn't answer. What was he taking notes for anyway? Pam tried to peek but he wouldn't let her see. He set aside the pen and armed himself with a reflex hammer to tap her knee. Perhaps it was beginner's luck but he scored a direct hit on her ligament, causing her lower leg to jerk as though yanked by an invisible puppeteer's string. Though he tried to dodge it, her foot kicked him square in the shin.

“Um, sorry,” Pam apologized. “I didn't mean to do that. It was an accident. Really.”

“I'm sure it was.” Jeremy carefully positioned himself to the side before cautiously tapping her other knee. He returned to his clipboard for more notes, then cleared his throat. “For the next part of the exam, I'll need to observe as you urinate,” Jeremy said.

“Doctors don't do that,” Pam objected. “You're just trying to get even for this morning.”

“The bathroom is right this way, if you please.”

There was no way she was going to pee in front of him. “I can't. I just went.”

Jeremy pursed his lips in disappointment, then wrote something on the clipboard. “Fine, I'll take your temperature then.” One by one, he began pulling several different thermometers from his doctor's bag. The first was an old-fashioned thermometer resembling a thin glass rod. Another one was a modern model that had thick tapered end that went in a person's ear. The third was brand new and still in its packaging. It took Pam a second to read the upside-down writing: R-E-C-T-A-L … T H-E-R-M-O-

“Okay, safeword,” Pam said immediately upon deciphering the label. “You're not using that on me.”

“Safeword?” Jeremy was perplexed.

“It's another way of saying timeout,” she explained.

“Well, why didn't you just say 'timeout' then?”

“Because when you're in a role-play situation, you're... forget it.” Pam was aware that 'safeword' was a poor safeword, but she didn't feel like explaining right now. “The point is? I object to the... rectal thermometer.” It made her blanch to even say it.

Jeremy pointed at the packaging. “But it says this is the most accurate way of taking a person's temperature.”

Pam responded by handing him the old-fashioned thermometer and the in-ear version. “You've already got plenty of other ways to take my temperature,” she told him. “I'm putting my foot down.”

“I want to try all three,” Jeremy proposed, “and then compare the readings. It's like a science project!”

“I am not your science project. The answer is no.”

“I knew you were just pretending,” Jeremy complained. “You always back out of everything. We never do anything I want.”

“We can do anything you want,” Pam said. “Just not the rectal thermometer.”

Jeremy responded by unbuttoning his lab coat. “Okay, then.”

Pam held her breath as he removed it. “You don't want to play doctor anymore?”

“You're not playing by the rules,” he noted. “What's the point?” He grumpily tossed the lab coat on the floor. Not looking at her, Jeremy began putting away the various medical instruments on the table. “This summer is gonna suck so bad.”

Pam silently groaned. His birthday was only a week away, then he would be departing a week after that. They didn't have much time left together. Who knew how long he would sulk over this? Giving in, she said, “Okay! Okay. You can use whatever damn thermometer you want.” She glared at the young boy as he eagerly slipped back into the coat and adjusted the stethoscope around his neck.

“I won't use the really old thermometer,” he promised. “It'll probably give you mercury poisoning anyway. Could you get on your hands and knees, please?”

Pam nervously adjusted her blue exam gown, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to remain modest if he was truly utilizing the dreaded rectal thermometer. Reluctantly, she rolled over onto her side on the sofa cushions lining the dinner table. Gritting her teeth, she slowly rose into position on her hands and knees. It was difficult to be still when he brushed aside her brown hair and gently inserted the in-ear thermometer. After a moment, it beeped to announce its final reading.

“98.4,” Jeremy announced. “Wonderful.”

His fake doctor mannerisms were beginning to grate on her nerves. Jeremy set aside the in-ear thermometer and shuffled to the foot of the table as he opened the brand new rectal thermometer. Though she couldn't see him, Pam could hear it beep when he turned it on. Her shoulders tensed as she felt him undo the strings tying the hospital gown around her waist. There was a cool burst of air on her skin as he drew the gown aside, exposing her completely.

Then... nothing. Several seconds passed as Pam waited on her hands and knees. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him studying her proffered bum and kitten as though he were at a museum. It occurred to Pam that Jeremy had never seen her in this position before. “A real doctor doesn't stare at his lady patients,” she told him.

“Huh? Oh right,” he said, breaking character. “Um, let's see here...”

Pam couldn't help blushing when she felt something cold and plastic probing her rear. This wasn't exactly what she had in mind when she agreed to play doctor with him. The thermometer sensor was no larger than her little finger, but she still winced when the young boy firmly inserted it past her tight ring of muscle. She could feel his fingers against her skin as he held the thermometer in place. It felt like an eternity until she heard it finally beep.

“98.6,” Jeremy said with satisfaction in his voice. “That's right on the dot. I knew this one was more accurate!” Pam bit her lip when he unceremoniously yanked out the thermometer embedded in her bottom. The sensation of plastic scraping against her delicate tissue was distinctly unpleasant. Mortified, Pam primly returned to her sitting position. She would definitely insist on taking his temperature the next time he so much as sneezed.

“Was that so bad?” he inquired.

“Yes. Are we done yet?”

“Almost,” Jeremy said. He had forgotten to button his lab coat and the bulge in his loose basketball shorts was a clear indicator of how much he enjoyed that part of the examination. Nervously clearing his throat, he gestured at her blue exam gown. “I'll need this to come off,” he said.

“Why?”

“Don't be shy,” he coaxed. “I'm a doctor.” Pam undid the gown and let if fall from her shoulders. Then he tugged on her wrists until she rose to a standing position. Jeremy walked in a slow circle around her, looking her up and down. Pam had an inexplicable urge to cover her breasts as he gave her the eyeball. It had been a long time since she felt this bashful around him.

He spoke in abbreviated words as he took more notes on his clipboard. “Patient... has... ample... pubic... hair...”

“You don't have to say it,” Pam frowned.

“... and... generously... sized... breasts...” he continued. Pam didn't believe her breasts were truly generous but she didn't feel the need to correct him on that one. “What's your bra size?” he inquired, his pen poised over the clipboard.

She was either a 32B or a 34B, depending on who made the bra. “34B,” she told him.

The young boy nodded thoughtfully as he wrote that down. “Please raise your arm,” he directed, setting aside the clipboard, “then bend your elbow so your forearm touches the back of your head.” As she did that, Jeremy dragged the step-stool behind her and stood on it. Positioning himself behind her, he reached around to cup her breast with a very warm hand. Pam glanced over her shoulder. He was studying something on the iPad propped open on the dinner table.

She craned her neck to peek at the page. She laughed, with equal parts amusement and disbelief. “You're looking at Wikipedia? How reassuring.”

“Shh,” he said, distracted by the reading. He mumbled to himself, “Small circular motions... varying pressure... squeeze nipple.” She realized the young boy was attempting to check her for breast cancer. After a minute of kneading, he asked her to raise her other arm so he could switch to her other breast.

She usually enjoyed it when he explored her breasts, but it felt weird to be doing it in the dining room. His so-called exam was taking far longer than necessary. Pam counted to twenty before asking, “What's the verdict, doctor?”

“This one feels, um, pretty awesome too,” he reported.

“Pretty awesome? That's your diagnosis?”

“Uh huh. I want to check your other one again though...” He persisted with the circular motions for a while, but that soon gave way to outright fondling. Despite her unwillingness, all this boyhandling was making her feel warm inside. Pam forced herself to hold still, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her quiver when he tweaked her stiff nipple.

“You know,” she began, “you could have just asked to play Call of Duty instead of doing all this weird doctor stuff.”

“What do you mean?” he said. “This exam is very important for women your age. I'm glad to report that, so far, you appear to be a very healthy thirty-six year old woman and...” He noticed her icy look. “What?”

Pam crossly folded her arms across her chest. “Twenty-six year old woman.”

“Uh, twenty-six year old woman,” Jeremy said, pretending to consult his clipboard. “I must have done the math wrong.”

“Well, you did get a B- on your report card,” Pam retorted, pulling on the hospital gown. It was probably a bad sign that she craved the scant modesty offered by it. “Can I go yet? I need to go home and tell this brat I'm taking care of that he's not getting dessert for a week.”

“That sounds really mean.” Jeremy glanced up from his clipboard. “Didn't you say he was your little pumpkin pie?”

“Not anymore. Now he's a greasy and undercooked cornbread stuffing that's teeming with deadly bacteria.”

“I'll write you a prescription,” Jeremy offered. “They have medicine for that. But no, we're not quite done with the exam yet.” He gently pushed on her shoulders until she was laying on the couch cushions, then picked up the magnifying glass. “Could you spread your legs and show me your clitty thing?”

“Okay, hold on just a minute.” Pam held up her hands to stop him. “Safeword.”

Jeremy's shoulders slumped. “What now?”

“One: you know full well that it's not called a 'clitty thing'. Two: you also know, full well, exactly where it is.”

He impatiently twirled the magnifying glass. “Um, okay, I want you to show me your... uh, clit-or-is.” He said it slowly, like a kid at the geography bee who couldn't remember the capital of Florida.

Surely this would be the final part of the exam. How else could he humiliate her, after all? Deciding to get it over with, Pam lay back on the cushioned dinner table, parting her knees first then her lips second. While Jeremy eagerly bent low between her thighs with his magnifying glass, Pam grimly stared at the myriad crystals adorning the chandelier on the ceiling. She wondered what would happen if it fell on her. Maybe not death, but she would certainly be maimed. She imagined how guilty Jeremy would feel for the rest of his life if she...

Something slipped inside her. Judging by its girth, probably his finger. Not expecting penetration, Pam's hips flinched as she pulled away. Jeremy immediately gave her a reproachful look. “Please hold still while I examine the interior of your vagina.”

Pam shuddered. “Kitten.”

“Vagina,” he insisted. “A real doctor doesn't say 'kitten'.”

“Can't you at least get the stuff for me?” she asked, closing her legs. 'Stuff' was their codeword for K-Y.

“Sometimes we don't need the stuff,” Jeremy said.

“This is not one of those times,” she told him.

Setting aside the magnifying glass, Jeremy placed his hands on her knees to urge them apart. Out of sheer habit, Pam spread her legs for him and Jeremy promptly inserted his finger again. It slid in without the slightest hint of friction. “We definitely don't need the stuff,” he said. “See?”

Pam felt embarrassed. Apparently, some small part of her brain was having a good time. Or maybe it was just that time of month when she just happened to be extra wet. She bit her lip while Jeremy, still armed with that stupid magnifying glass, prodded her clit. Determined not to let him have the satisfaction of arousing her further, Pam groped for unsexy thoughts. College guys. Beards. College guys with beards.

She was imagining college guys with beards at a clinic for terminally ill kittens when she felt a decidedly odd sensation: a sharp pressure, followed by a cold scraping. “What was that?” she asked.

“What was what?”

The sensation repeated itself. “That. What are you doing?” Pam tried to sit up, but Jeremy placed a firm hand on her abdomen.

“Just, um, a medical procedure,” Jeremy said. “Am I hurting you?”

“No. But I just...”

“Good,” he interrupted.

Something didn't feel right down there. She felt Jeremy's finger slip inside her, probing for something. It was then that she noticed the worried look on his face. “What did you just put inside me?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

Pam sat up, her legs dangling off the dinner table. “Jeremy, I can feel it. And it's definitely not nothing.”

“Double negative!” he proclaimed, punching her arm.

“Quit stalling and tell me what it is!”

Jeremy shuffled his feet. “Um, golf balls,” he said, not looking at her.

Pam stared at him. “You're kidding, right?” Instead of responding, he smiled. A guilty smile. Panicking, she slid off the table and was about to dig them out when she noticed Jeremy's watchful gaze.

“Avert your eyes, child,” she said. Instead of doing as she told, he just stood there with his erection poking through his shorts. Pam raised her voice. “I said avert your eyes!”

Jeremy meekly turned to face the wall. Bending at the waist, Pam slipped two fingers in her kitten. They made made contact with... nothing. The golf balls were too far inside her.

“Honestly Jeremy. Golf balls?” Her back protested from the bending, so she propped one leg on a chair and tried again to reach them. “What were you thinking?”

He kept his back to her as he spoke. “I cleaned them first, if that's what you're worried about.”

That was a small comfort, until Pam remembered Jeremy's notion of cleaning was really nothing more than a quick rinse under the sink. He was the type who, if he dropped a piece of toast on the kitchen floor, would merely dust it off and continue eating as if it never left his plate. “Lesson learned,” she muttered. “Trust an eleven year old boy and end up with golf balls crammed inside you.”

“There's only two. I thought they would be easy to get out.”

It was strange to talk to the back of his head. Plus Pam wanted him facing her while she chewed him out. “Turn around.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I really don't understand how your brain functions. Where do you get these ideas?”

“It was Ashton's fault,” Jeremy said, poking a toe at the floor. “He told me there are videos on the internet where guys, you know. Put balls inside a girl's thing.”

“There is no such thing!” Pam exploded. “And look at me when you're talking!”

“There are so!” Jeremy made fearful eye contact as he stated his case. “The balls were shiny and made of metal. They slipped right in. And the girls in the video didn't mind it at all.”

Metal balls. Pam dimly recalled her friend Suzy mentioning this practice. Jeremy wasn't making this up, but he seemed unusually well-versed in the intricacies. Recalling his question about golden showers at the doctor's office, the light suddenly dawned on her. “When you say 'Ashton says there are videos on the internet...'” Pam began. Jeremy nervously shifted his weight when she glared at him. “You watched these videos with him at his house, didn't you? Metal balls in a girl's kitten. People peeing on each other.”

Jeremy's ears turned bright red. “It was Ashton's idea. Really! He always wants to watch sick stuff like this.”

“Well then. Ashton's mom will be getting a phone call from your mom,” Pam said. She was dying to deck him but the first point of order was the golf balls. This time Pam turned around so he couldn't see. Try as she might, she just couldn't get get a hold of the first one. Her finger tried to curl around the dimpled surface of the golf ball, but in doing so she only succeeded in wedging it into a corner that she didn't even know existed. “Ow! Ow, ow, ow.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Wincing, Pam doubled over from the pinching. “Yeah, Jeremy. I feel great. I would feel even better if I could get these out of me. They're stuck.”

“Why don't you do some jumping jacks?” Jeremy suggested.

She fixed a dirty look on him. “Why don't you go pour lighter fluid on your penis?”

“I'm just trying to help,” he said in an injured voice. “Maybe I can get them out.”

“I think you've done enough, thank you.” Pam took deep breaths to calm herself. Taking baby steps, she lay back down on the kitchen table and placed a hand on her lower abdomen, willing the golf balls to come out. She tried to picture her muscles pushing them along, though she couldn't feel them in there at all. That was probably a bad sign. Being in a horizontal position seemed to ease the pinching, at least.

“What are you doing?” Jeremy asked.

“Trying to relax.”

“Want me to do that thing for when you have a headache?” He sat down at the head of the table and placed his fingers on her temples, massaging them in a circular motion. That did seem to help. Pam tried to forget she was laying naked on a dinner table with golf balls shoved inside her hoo-ha. After a moment, Jeremy said, “You know what this reminds me of? It's like that scene in Days of the Future Past when Wolverine is lying on the table and Kitty Pryde sends him back in ti-”

“Not now, Jeremy.” Concentrating hard, she tried to bear down just the slightest bit. Instead of pushing out, the golf balls only redoubled their pressure. Pam steeled herself for that searing pain. Instead, she felt an altogether different sensation. It felt good. Just to make sure, she tried squeezing again. This time, the feeling was so intense that her hips fluttered uncontrollably, causing a series of aftershocks as her kitten repeatedly clenched of its own volition. It was a sensitive spot, whatever the golf balls were pressing against.

“What was that?” Jeremy stopped rubbing her temples and peered at her with concern.

“I don't know.”

“Your, um, nipples got hard,” he observed.

“Did they? That's strange.” Pam casually snaked a hand between her legs. She was very wet. Would Jeremy notice if she touched her clit? She needed to do it. Exhaling softly, Pam dragged a finger across her swollen pearl before before mindfully squeezing her kitten again.

And then the doorbell rang.

The sound startled her so much that Pam recoiled as if she had been struck. Her entire body clenched up, much harder than her meditative squeezing, which sent a single golf ball shooting out of her kitten like a torpedo. It sailed halfway across the room before landing on the floor in a bouncing clatter.

“Awesome!” Jeremy said, genuinely impressed. “You did it!”

Before she could respond, the doorbell rang a second time. There was a loud pounding on the front door. “Water delivery!” a deep voice called.

Pam lay paralyzed, her mind foggy from arousal. Had she remembered to lock the front door? She couldn't remember, which only led to further panic. What if the deliveryman barged into the dining room and found her naked with Jeremy? What if this was an elaborate sting and he was an undercover cop?

“Go make sure the door is locked,” Pam hissed at Jeremy. The only article of clothing within arm's reach was the exam gown. She protectively held it to her chest.

“I can't!” he whispered, pointing to the bulge in his shorts.

The doorbell rang again. Pam tried to think rationally. It was just the water guy. From past experience, she knew that if no one let him in, the deliveryman would leave the jugs of water on the porch. Every time he did that, Pam would nearly break her back trying to lug them into the kitchen.

“Just open the door for him,” Pam pleaded. “He's not going to notice. Have him bring the water to the kitchen while I hide.”

“No way.” Jeremy bolted for his room like a frightened rabbit.

“Get back here!” Pam ordered, to no avail. She heard the unmistakable thump of a water jug landing on the wooden porch outside the front door. Tossing aside the useless hospital gown, Pam hurried to the hall closet. Now that she was mobile, she could definitely feel the remaining golf ball shifting inside her kitten. Ignoring it, she threw open the closet door and grabbed the first thing she saw: her winter coat. There was only time to fasten every other button before flinging open the door. To her relief, there were no squad cars waiting in the driveway. The deliveryman was already on the way back to his truck.

“Oh, hi!” Pam called, stepping onto the porch. A breeze tickled her bare ankles.

“Hi there, didn't realize you...” he trailed off when he noticed Pam's coat.

“Just chilly,” she said. “The air conditioner is stuck on high. Do you mind bringing the water into the kitchen?”

“Sure thing,” he answered, giving her a skeptical up-and-down glance. He effortlessly hoisted the first five gallon jug onto a shoulder while cradling the second in his arm. Muscles bulging from the effort, he grinned warmly at Pam before his eyes drifted toward an exposed patch of skin on her chest.

“Um, right this way,” Pam said, pulling the coat tighter around her shoulders. “Just straight ahead, then left at the dining room.” She made a face when her nipples chafed against the interior of the coat. Not wanting to inadvertently lose the golf ball, she kept her muscles tightly clenched with each step. It was like a bad dream in which she was walking on a tightrope with no underwear. The cool air wafting under the coat hem emphasized her damp kitten.

On his way to the kitchen, the deliveryman gave a curious glance at the dinner table covered in couch cushions. He didn't say anything, though Pam saw him sniff the air. Uh oh. Was there a lingering scent of sex in the room? She couldn't smell anything herself, but nevertheless hurried to open a window. As she was doing so, Pam saw the deliveryman's sneakered foot accidentally kick the forgotten golf ball. It zipped across the floor and into a corner where it nestled among Jeremy's discarded shin guards from soccer practice.

“Oops, what was that?” he said, trying to look at his feet.

“It was nothing,” Pam assured him. “Young boys always leave their stuff underfoot.” For good measure, she called in the direction of his room. “Jeremy! Get out here and clean up your crap!”

The deliveryman dropped off the jugs next to the water dispenser in the kitchen, then grabbed the empties. Pam ushered him back to the front door, wishing he would walk faster. Her muscles were getting sore from clenching. To her surprise, there was someone coming up the front steps. Someone wearing blue hospital scrubs and carrying a lunchbag.

“Kate!” she squeaked in horror. Her heart sank, along with the golf ball. Her briefest moment of inattention had let it slip. Squeezing tight for dear life, Pam prayed the golf ball would stay put.

Instead of noticing Pam's pained expression, Kate was puzzled by her attire. “Are you wearing your winter coat?” she asked.

“I was cold,” Pam explained. “I think I might be coming down with something.”

Kate nodded sympathetically, though her skepticism was clear. There was a thoughtful look on her face as she glanced from Pam's coat to the unknown man in her house. Surely she didn't think he and Pam were in the middle of an amorous encounter?

“We got our water delivery for the week,” Pam said, wanting to quash the notion. She gestured to the empty bottles in the deliveryman's hands.

“So nice of you to bring it in for us,” Kate said.

The deliveryman said something in reply, but Pam didn't catch it. She scuttled with stiff legs to the hallway where she called over her shoulder, “Jeremy, YOUR MOTHER is home!”

Kate closed the front door and stepped out of her shoes. “I thought I was interrupting something,” she said, winking at Pam.

“Ha ha, not at all,” Pam laughed weakly. She followed Kate into the dining room that was brimming with incriminating evidence. The couch cushions. The clipboard. Her hospital gown. The rectal thermometer. The innocuous pile of shin guards that hid a sticky golf ball.

“What's going on here?” Kate asked, nodding at the laden dinner table.

Pam desperately needed a distraction. Where the hell was he? “Oh, that was just...” Losing her patience, she once again hollered in the direction of his room, “Jeremy, get out here NOW!”

He unexpectedly turned the corner just as she finished the sentence, scrunching his face in discomfort as he received the full brunt of her shout. “Sheesh, I'm right here. You don't have to yell.” He made a show of rubbing his ears as Pam glared at him. He hadn't even bothered to take off the white lab coat. “Hi mom! You're home early.”

“They needed someone to take a shift tonight, so I volunteered to do a split shift,” Kate explained. “Look at you in your lab coat! It fits so well now. I remember when it used to come down to your ankles.” His mom straightened the lapels of the white jacket while Pam inched her way out of the dining room. Kate spoiled her getaway by glancing at the discarded exam gown on the floor, then at Jeremy's lab coat.

“Dare I ask?” she said. “Were you guys playing doctor?”

“Not that kind of doctor,” Pam said, trying not to blush.

“We were playing Oregon Trail,” Jeremy told his mom. “I was the doctor.”

That seemed plausible. “I had typhoid fever,” Pam added. She hurriedly swept the various medical instruments, including the rectal thermometer and clipboard, into the satchel.

“Oh, sure, I remember Oregon Trail,” Kate said. “I believe that has the unlikely distinction of being the first video game that Jeremy was obsessed with.” She gestured at the couch cushions on the dinner table. “You were building a fort, right?”

“Exactly!” Pam said. Despite being naked underneath, she was beginning to sweat from her thick woolen coat. “I'm going to lie down and rest for a bit.” Fighting the urge to just run away, Pam put a hand on Jeremy's shoulder. “Why don't you put away your shin guards over there?” she said, giving him a hard look. “Then put away the couch cushions, okay?”

“Sure, Pam,” he said. Kate moved aside a couch cushion and sat down at the dinner table with her lunch, blissfully unaware of what had been happening on it ten minutes ago.

Pam retreated to her room to take off the ridiculous winter coat. Lying on her bed, she tried to dig out the last golf ball. It had almost fallen out of her, so Pam thought it would be a piece of cake. But instead of pulling it out, her finger only pushed it further in. Frustrated, she pounded her mattress with her fist before remembering what happened when she was lying on the dinner table. Cautiously, Pam gathered herself and squeezed her kitten. Nothing. Two golf balls were apparently necessary for that particular trick.

Unsure how to proceed, Pam got dressed. As she opened her door, Jeremy passed by with an armful of shin guards and his doctor's satchel. Heading for the kitchen, Pam wondered if she could casually ask Kate for tips on how to dislodge a foreign object embedded in a woman's vagina. But when she poked her head in the dining room, she discovered Kate had nodded off at the table after finishing her lunch. Being a doctor, she often bragged about her ability to catnap, any time and anywhere.

Reversing her tracks. Pam went to Jeremy's room. The shin guards lay in a pile on his desk. Jeremy brightened when she entered. He held up a golf ball.

“Don't worry, I got it,” he said. “One down, one to go, right?” He tossed the golf ball to Pam. Annoyed, she caught it and immediately launched it back at him in one smooth motion. It wasn't her intention to aim at his crotch though Jeremy caught it just in time. “Hey! You almost hit me in my area.”

“You would have deserved it,” Pam shot back. “How am I going to get this last golf ball out? It's stuck so deep that I can't even feel it.”

“I know!” Jeremy said. “You could go to the doctor.”

“A brilliant idea, Jeremy. And how will I explain when she asks how the golf ball got there in the first place?”

Jeremy thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Say you went mini-golfing in a skirt, but you weren't wearing underwear. Tell her it was one of those fancy mini-golf places with windmills and tilted putting greens. And then...” He paused, lost in thought. “Hmm. And then...”

“There is no 'and then' so forget your stupid mini-golf idea!” She kicked at a discarded sock on his floor. “You're not helping! Your mom is napping at the dinner table. The clock is ticking.”

“Let me try,” Jeremy proposed. “Maybe I can reach it.”

“Your hands are smaller than mine. How on earth will you reach when I can't?”

Jeremy grabbed her hand to compare it to his own. With their palms flat against each other, their fingers were exactly the same length. “Ha!” he crowed. “See? My hand isn't smaller than yours.”

Pam snatched her hand away. “Whatever. If our hands are the same size, it still doesn't get us anywhere.”

“Let's try anyway,” Jeremy urged. He tentatively tugged at her shorts.

Loathe as she was to admit it, Pam knew she would need his help. “I'm only doing this so I don't die of toxic shock syndrome,” she told him, wiggling out of her shorts.

“What's that?”

“It's what happens when an unclean object is inserted into a girl's kitten.”

“Oh. You can actually die from that? Weird.”

“It's not weird,” Pam snapped. “Can't you at least pretend to feel guilty about what you've done?”

“I told you I was sorry,” Jeremy said, “and now I'm trying to help. Doesn't that count?” He lowered himself to his knees. For a second, Pam thought he was begging for forgiveness but then she realized he was just waiting for her to spread her legs so he could reach inside her.

Reluctantly, she widened her stance until her feet were beyond shoulder width. Jeremy waited attentively at her feet. She gave him a look. “I am going to kill you if you get a boner.”

Still on his knees, Jeremy scooted closer. Despite her threat, Pam felt a rush as his finger slipped inside her kitten. One knuckle. Then two. “Darn,” Jeremy said. “My nail is just barely brushing the golf ball. But I ran out of finger.” She was about to comment on his choice of words when he extracted his finger and replaced it with another.

“I should use my middle finger,” he reasoned. “It's bigger so I should be able to reach... Huh, it sure is slippery in there. I can't decide if it helps or not. Plus I wish I could see what I was doing. This is like putting together a model airplane with my eyes closed.”

“Could you skip the play-by-play? Just tell me if you can reach it.” Her toes squirmed as his finger wriggled and wobbled inside her kitten, straining to reach the golf ball.

“I can't get it,” Jeremy finally said, leaning back on his heels. He held up two fingers. “It's probably, like, this far away. Maybe if I used a chopstick or something...”

“No.”

Jeremy waved his hands in exasperation. “So what do you want to do?”

Pam dropped to a squatting position. “Maybe I can reach it if I go like this...”

Jeremy watched as she dug for the golf ball. “Why would it help if you're in that position?”

“I don't know. It just does.” Her fingers made contact with a hard, dimpled surface. “You're right, I can feel the golf ball... But I can't get it out.”

“Let me try,” Jeremy suggested. He reached between her legs, but the angle was wrong. They bumped heads as he tried to get close enough to insert a finger while she squatted.

“Never mind,” Pam said, rubbing her forehead. “This isn't working.”

“How about I lie down on the recliner,” Jeremy said, “and you can squat over me? It'll work great! Just put your feet on the armrests, like this.” Jeremy clambered onto the armchair to demonstrate, balancing on the armrests while he faced the seat back. He held the pose for second, then lay down in the recliner to wait for her to climb aboard.

Pam unenthusiastically mounted the armchair. It took several tries as the armchair fabric felt particularly slippery against the soles of her bare feet. In addition, she wasn't as light as Jeremy so there was much tipping and toppling to contend with as she attempted to maintain an even center of gravity. Finally balanced, Pam's knees were halfway bent when she stopped.

“I can't do this,” she said. “This position is too weird. It feels like I'm about to pee on you.”

“Um, yeah.” Jeremy scratched his ear. “I don't think my mom would like it if you got pee on this chair.”

“I didn't say I was planning to pee on you,” Pam sighed. “I just... look, I don't want to hear any more smart comments from you, okay? Can you just be professional about this?” Pam didn't realize how stupid that sounded until she said it. Asking an eleven year old boy to be professional was like asking a rhesus monkey to teach empathy-building to a Human Resources department.

Nevertheless, Jeremy solemnly nodded. Feeling very exposed, Pam bent her knees to lower herself into position over him, carefully keeping her balance by clutching the seat back of the armchair. Despite his silence, she could see Jeremy's eyes get bigger when her crotch loomed closer and closer.

He put a hand on her midsection to stop her. “Um, okay. That's close enough. Don't crush me, okay?”

Pam blushed. That was the exact sort of comment she didn't want to hear right now. Apparently not trusting her, his hand remained poised on her lower tummy to keep her from getting closer. She bit her lip when he slipped a finger into her waiting kitten. Training her eyes on the model airplanes on his dresser, Pam tried to think of something else as the young boy probed her.

She glanced down at his prone figure beneath her. “How's it going down there?” she asked.

“Not so great,” he admitted. “I can touch more of the golf ball, but not enough to pull it out. Um, can you move away? You're sorta smothering me.” He pushed on her lower tummy. In doing so, his thumb inadvertently became lodged against her clit.

“Sorry,” Pam said. Did he know he was touching her clit? She couldn't tell. Though Jeremy couldn't reach the golf ball, his finger kept finding the sensitive spots inside her. His thumb pushed hard against her sensitive button, causing her nipples to stiffen under her shirt. Pam squirmed, but not from discomfort.

“Hey,” he said.

“What?”

“The golf ball just dropped some more,” he reported. His hand pressed against her tummy. “There! It moved again! I wonder why.”

“I think it might be because you keep accidentally rubbing my clitoris,” Pam admitted.

“I am?” It took him a moment. “Oh, you mean when I go like this?” He rapidly wiggled his thumb against her hard pearl.

“Mmmm... I mean, yes,” Pam said.

“Should I keep doing it? Maybe the golf ball will keep dropping.”

“Yes, let's try it.” Confirming a suspicion, Pam tried to catch a glimpse of his shorts but she couldn't see a thing since she was balanced atop him. She blindly groped with a hand until her fingers discerned a stiff bulge. “Hey! I told you not to get a boner.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “I can't help it, okay? Besides, I'm not the only one. You're, like, super wet.”

“Fine, whatever.”

“I mean... it's, like, creamy almost.”

“I get it, Jeremy,” she said. “You promised to be professional, remember?”

He obligingly worked in silence. It was a precarious position, squatting across the recliner with her feet planted on the armrests. Nonetheless, Pam's heart beat faster as Jeremy tenderly worked her clit. Though it pained her to admit it, the young boy's poking and prodding during doctor play had indeed awakened a base arousal deep in her brain. They almost got caught, too. First by deliveryman and then by Kate, giving her the same thrill as riding a roller coaster: terrifying yet exhilarating.

There was only so much teasing a girl could take. She was ready to come now, golf ball be damned. A faint tingle in her chest signaled an impending arrival. She thrust her hips forward, wanting to make better contact with Jeremy's wiggling thumb. The shifting necessitated a new grip on the back of the armchair. That turned out to be a mistake, as the increased pressure caused the chair to tilt into a fully reclined position.

“Whoa!” Pam gasped. There was a dizzying moment when she almost fell from her perch and landed on top of Jeremy. His finger vacated her as he tried to reach the lever to return the recliner to an upright position.

“There we go,” Jeremy said. The recliner lurched to its previous level, nearly throwing Pam backward from the armchair. He placed a steadying hand on her bum. “Don't worry, I got you!” Jeremy said. His mouth was so close that she could feel his breath with every word. Perhaps more importantly, the unexpected motion had caused the golf ball to shift, firmly pushing against the same sensitive spot that she felt on the dinner table.

“Don't stop!” Pam begged. Had her hands been free, she would have touched her clit herself but she didn't dare let go of the recliner's back. Still cupping her bum with his free hand, Jeremy obliged by grinding her clit with his thumb. Pam sighed. Such a smart boy, always knowing when she needed it gentle and when she needed it hard. A very warm sensation spread across her chest.

“Oh, that's really good,” Pam breathed, throwing her head back. Despite her awkward pose, the orgasm was unexpectedly delightful. “Really... really.... good.” Her toes curled against the armrests. The golf ball provided a delicious pushing in her kitten. The feeling lasted several seconds before the pressure disappeared into thin air. Pam swelled with relief. Jeremy must have been able to successfully...

“Ouch!” she heard him say from his position beneath her.

Weak with post-orgasmic gratitude, Pam climbed down from her perch and flopped onto his bed. “Did you say ouch?” she asked through half-closed eyes.

“The golf ball fell out of you and hit me in the face,” Jeremy said, rubbing his nose.

“It did?” Pam said, embarrassed. “Oops.”

“It was like you laid an egg.”

“Thank you for comparing me to a chicken.” Annoyed by his lackluster pillow talk, Pam gathered her scattered clothes. Once dressed, she crossed her arms and stood in front of Jeremy with her hands on her hips.

“I want to make one thing absolutely, positively clear: from now on, you need to get my permission the next time you put something inside me.” He was still reclining lazily in the armchair so she snapped it into an upright position to emphasize her point. “Got it?”

“Even if it's just my finger?” he asked.

“Even if it's just your finger.”

“I promise.” The solemnity of his vow was somewhat diluted by his mussed hair and the obvious erection poking through his shorts. Pam had an inkling of what was coming next. Clearing his throat, Jeremy said, “So, do you think we could play Call of-”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You're on your own, cowboy.” Pam opened his closet and began digging through a stack of comic books. She only had to toss aside four issues before finding a Playboy hidden in the pile. “Here we go,” she said, holding it up. “I think this will suffice if you need additional stimulation.”

Jeremy blushed furiously. “I don't know what those are doing in there. I borrowed those comics from someone.”

Pam checked herself in the mirror. “Oh, stop playing dumb. I've known about your Playboys since forever.”

He looked at her with surprise. “You're not mad?”

“Why would I be mad? I don't care if you like looking at naked ladies.” Flipping open the Playboy, Pam thumbed to a double-page spread featuring a platinum-blonde spread. She carefully placed the opened magazine on his lap. “Enjoy! I'll give you some privacy.” Before closing the door behind her, she winked at him. Jeremy seemed embarrassed.

In the hallway, Pam counted to five before quickly re-opening the door. As she expected, Jeremy was staring at the magazine with a half-vacant expression. He sheepishly closed it before cramming it underneath an armchair cushion.

“What?” he asked, caught between fear and annoyance.

“Hmm, I forgot what I was going to say.” Pam blew him a kiss, then shut the door once again. The embarrassed look on his face helped ease the mortification she just went through. Wanting a snack, she headed to the kitchen where she bumped into Kate whose arms were full with a large basket of neatly folded laundry.

“Sorry Pam! I wasn't looking where I was going.”

“You didn't need to fold laundry,” Pam said, holding out her hands. “Let me take that.”

“Oh no, I got it,” Kate said. “It's mostly belongs to Jeremy anyway. I figured I should do some chores around here to keep my 'mom' credentials.”

“Thanks! That's nice of you.” Pam's mind raced. It was easy to resist Jeremy for the remainder of the day, but surely her resolve would crumble by tomorrow. And he definitely merited more punishment than missing a single Call of Duty session.

“Jeremy's taking a nap,” Pam said, a plan slowly forming in her mind. “But I bet you could sneak in and drop off that laundry without waking him up.”

“I can be stealthy,” Kate said confidently. “Of course, it doesn't hurt that he can sleep through a hurricane.” She strode off in the direction of Jeremy's room. Pam reached into her hiding spot in the back of a cupboard and pulled out several squares of individually wrapped dark chocolate. Unwrapping one, she nibbled as she kept an ear cocked down the hallway.

“Mom! Why didn't you knock?”

There was a long silence before Kate said, “Jeremy, is that what I think it is?”

Pam couldn't make out his response but, based on his tone, it was definitely a denial. The back-and-forth continued, first in calm tones until she heard Kate raise her voice. “Where did you get this?”

Jeremy plead his case, though she could only hear muffled words. From what she could tell, he was throwing Ashton under the bus. Pam took another satisfied bite of chocolate. The sound of arguing continued from Jeremy's room, followed by the sound of stomping feet, more protesting, then finally a slammed door.

Pam waited innocently in the kitchen. Kate emerged from the hall, carrying a bulging grocery bag which she deposited in the kitchen trash. “What's going on?” Pam inquired.

“Just doing some housecleaning,” Kate sighed. She glared at the trash can as if it had personally offended her. “They said print was dead! I thought it would be enough just to lock down all the devices to keep my son from...” Kate trailed off as Jeremy stalked past the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks when he saw them.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Kate said.

“Don't talk about me with Pam!” Jeremy complained. “I hate it when you do that.” Pam pretended to study her nails. This was going well. Kate seemed to be receiving the full brunt of his anger while she herself was unscathed. Jeremy shuffled away, muttering something about playing outside.

“Don't you dare go to Ashton's house,” Kate called after him. “Not until I call his mom.”

“I know! Jeez...” Jeremy slammed the door so hard that the house shook.

“Boys being boys?” Pam asked.

Kate scoffed in disgust. “Boys being assholes is more like it. You do your best to raise your kid right and the next thing you know he's... Never mind. You don't want to know.”

“Want some chocolate?” Pam handed her several squares. “I always keep a stash. You know, for emergencies.”