Naked in School-Kevin and Denise
Yeah, I mentioned that I’ve attended lots of schools; lots of kids are in the same boat too. I know that there are plenty of situations where kids get uprooted and moved every year or two. I’m thinking particularly of the military brats, many of whom get to attend six or more schools before they graduate. Well, I’m a diplomatic brat. My mother, Audrey Boniger (she kept her maiden name for professional reasons), was a ranking official in the State Department. Her specialty was the Far East, and that’s where she met my Dad when she was posted in Jakarta as the chargé d’affaires. I was born in Indonesia and so I have both Indonesian and U.S. citizenship.
Dad was a self-made millionaire—well, he actually was the lead software designer for a dot-com which became enormously successful; he got in at the beginning and was paid partly with stock options. The stocks split gazillion times so by the time he was thirty he was a multimillionaire. His dream was to start a NGO, a charitable foundation which could provide health care and legal services to needy residents of third world countries. He founded the Coris Foundation in Jakarta and soon he met Mom there at a State Department function.
During her career Mom was posted all over the Far East so I went to schools in Indonesia, Hong Kong, Thailand, Japan, and South Korea. Part of one year I went to elementary school in DC where Mom was sent between her postings. Dad was the CEO of his Foundation; he had an efficient executive director so he was able to move with Mom to her various posts; also the contact with officials and businessmen in each country he moved to made his work more effective because he could make useful contacts.
I was always quite good in school, usually getting As and rarely Bs. I was apparently a responsible and reliable kid and my parents rewarded me with their complete trust. They always included me in their discussions and planning for Mom’s upcoming postings. I was, of course, particularly interested in the schools at the new posts. While military kids usually have schools on their bases or posts, or sometimes even go to local schools, the kids of embassy or consulate officials don’t have the same opportunities; sometimes there’s no military base close enough and there aren’t enough kids to make a school worthwhile. Then we get sent to local schools if possible or get “home-schooled” by tutors. In Mom’s various postings I’ve experienced all those schooling possibilities and years going to local schools allowed me to pick up a number of languages, including Indonesian, Chinese—that’s Cantonese, actually (can’t read it very well, though) and a decent knowledge of Japanese and Korean (I speak and read both). I guess I have a knack for languages.
While I’m describing my background, let me mention something about myself. At a little over sixteen years old, I’m about 6'2" and 190 pounds (I had to think to convert metric to English), brown hair, hazel eyes, and have an athletic physique. During school I never had the opportunity to play organized sports (not enough kids to make teams), so I did a lot of swimming and later, running. I developed a long, lean swimmer’s body, great upper body strength and very strong legs. Other sports I was fortunate to start in early were karate and jiu jitsu and I began studying them in fifth grade, eventually earning a junior black belt in karate. I learned a lot in studying those Arts, especially the mental disciplines that taught self-centering, body and mind control, and meditative techniques. Then I heard about taekwondo, took some classes, and found it fascinating. During Mom’s last posting in Seoul, South Korea, I had the good fortune to find a really cool taekwondo sahyun (master, like a sensai in Japan) and my knowledge of the other martial arts allowed me to quickly advance to third-degree poom (junior black belt) and when I became eligible at sixteen I tested for and was awarded my first-level dan.
Like many other guys, puberty came to me quickly. I shot up several inches, grew some body hair, and my voice deepened. Between my legs my little-boy two-inch pecker sprouted into a four-inch rod and suddenly, hanging between my legs, these walnut-sized globes appeared. But something else didn’t grow properly as I ended my puberty-induced growth spurt. With puberty came the nocturnal erections and wet dreams. But I began waking up in the middle of the night in pain; my cock was aching! By the time I was not quite fourteen the pain from night-time erections had gotten pretty bad. Fortunately we were in Seoul then and had access to great medical care.
I woke up early one morning in severe pain and we went to the hospital. The docs examined me and told my folks and me that I was close to having an emergency condition called “paraphimosis,” a complication of something called “phimosis,” which is the inability to retract the foreskin. My cock was all swollen, apparently I had an erection just before I awoke and my foreskin had partly retracted over the glans and then got stuck there. It looked like my cock was being strangulated by my foreskin! The swelling that resulted needed to be drained immediately and the docs said that the condition could have resulted in permanent damage. The foreskin problem would need to be cured by minor surgery.
Don’t let anyone ever tell you that surgery on your cock is “minor”! The only minor surgery is on someone else! Ouch, did that hurt! The docs did warn us that after several years of my living with the condition, my penis might be ultra-sensitive. Wow, were they ever right! I couldn’t bear the sensation of my cock brushing against clothes, or even its natural swinging when I moved around nude, like in the shower. The pain and burning sensations would radiate out from my groin and down my legs, strongly enough that I couldn’t stand up. The docs told me that this could be a somewhat unusual aftereffect of my condition; something like it occasionally happened to some phimosis patients and that eventually the sensitivity would abate, but it could take some time. They gave me some lidocaine gel to dull the worst of the sensory pain and told me to wear tight-filling undergarments. That helped lots and I even had to wear tights to sleep. But at least I could sleep a whole night now.
Masturbation? Surely you joke! Try rubbing your hardon with a hot iron; that’s how it felt. I was cured of doing any hand jobs pretty damned quickly. I had three dates with a cute Korean chick, one of my taekwondo students (did I mention that black-belts were instructors for the colored belts?), and on our third date, we were frenching, I was feeling her boobs, and my erection was bulging in my lap. She put her hand on it, grabbed it through my pants, and began rubbing. Yow! I jumped up so quick it almost knocked her over. That was that for any further sex exploration. Instant cure, instant celibacy.
Maybe I should think of a career in the priesthood and I’m not even a Catholic. They’re celibate, right? Well, some of them, anyway. You know, I still do get those wet dreams. Big fuckin’ deal. I have my sex life in my dreams.
It was in the winter of my sophomore year while we were living in South Korea that the ‘rents decided it was time for the “Talk.” No, not the one you’re thinking of. The “Kevin’s Future” talk. My folks wanted me to realize that in less than a year and a half, most American kids would begin making college plans and taking the achievement tests. They thought that I should consider whether I wanted to do my last two high school years in the States. That way, I’d be able to do extra-curricular activities and improve my social skills with people my own age in preparation for college. They told me that with my grades and language skills I’d be able to get into a very good college, and since I was interested in Eastern cultures and languages, I’d be eligible for some excellent academic programs. I agreed that this was the direction I should take.
The next issues were logistic. How could we accomplish this? Mom’s career was on an ever-climbing arc, she had the potential to reach a top diplomatic ranking, so she had no interest in moving to the States for my final high school years. Even though Dad’s position was more flexible, he needed to be relatively close to the Foundation’s home office in Jakarta to be effective. Mom was an only child and had no remaining living relatives in the States and Dad had an elderly sister (she was 67 that year) who lived somewhere in North Carolina. I last saw her about four years earlier on a brief working vacation my folks took to the States. I recalled that she wasn’t very mobile—bad hips or something. But she was a cool lady, like Dad in many ways.
The ‘rents rang up Aunt Helene to see if living with her was a possibility. She agreed, but insisted that she didn’t want to be legally responsible for me, like being my guardian. So Dad contacted his attorney, Dan Hollander in Jakarta, and put the problem to him. Dan consulted with some guardianship experts and learned that the best way to handle my situation would be to have me become an “emancipated minor.” He told Dad that having this done in the States would be difficult and take a lot of time, but he could do it in Indonesia since I was a citizen and that status would have to be observed in the States. The folks agreed that I could become a legal adult, but had a final dig at me, warning me that I shouldn’t use my new riches to go out and get a Lamborghini for my first set of wheels when I got Stateside. Then they laughed; they knew how frugal I always was.
Dad had already created a trust fund for me; it was so large that if I wanted, I would never have to work for a living. But I wanted nothing to do with that idea; I wanted to contribute to society. While the emancipation paperwork was working through channels, I finished my sophomore year in Seoul with straight As and we gathered up all of my academic records (wow, what a collection of wildy disparate documents—take my new school months to figure them out), downloaded the registration forms from Aunt Helene’s school district’s website, and sent everything off.
Late that May, Dad had to be back in Jakarta for some important Foundation meetings so he took me with him; Mom would join us later in the summer. Dad used this time to get me familiar with the workings of the Foundation and we stayed with his executive director, a fantastic lady who had virtually become part of our family. I even called her “Aunt Janet.” During June and July, Dad and I (but mostly I) spent lots of time just getting me ready to travel to the States in late August. Wow, there was so much to do! Getting my health records together, financial records—then the emancipation came through—so that needed a passport change; setting up bank accounts in the States, credit cards, letters of credit for unforseen circumstances; arranging for medical insurance coverage; shipping my possessions to Aunt Helene, helping her arrange for the remodeling of her spare bedroom for my stay; selecting a trustee to manage my trust fund and an attorney to act as my legal agent—not as a guardian, Dan told me firmly. Wow, was Dan ever efficient. Now I realized why Dad relied on him so much.
Looking at my emancipation decree papers, I had a thought. Now that I was a legal “adult,” just how was my status different from a minor’s? Since I’d be living in the States, it made sense to check out what the kind of adult privileges and responsibilities existed in the U.S. Hmmmm. I had noticed in my downloaded school curricula a “Civics” class. Ok, let me do some civics preparation. Looking at the syllabus, it spoke about the Constitution and Bill of Rights. So I read those. Lots of human rights stuff, especially in the Bill and some Amendments. I did a lot of searching on the Web for materials pertaining to “adult” versus “minor.” This brought me to a number of judicial appeals decisions which I skimmed through. It gave me the sense that adults had a fair bit more “civil rights” than juveniles did, but juveniles had a kind of special status under the law too. It was all pretty complicated. I was happy to be a legal “adult” now; it seemed my rights were stated much more clearly. I read a lot of stuff about the laws involving individual rights and some court decisions; it was all pretty interesting, actually. Gave me some food for thought.
My time wasn’t spent doing only the work of getting ready to move. I had downloaded other syllabi from the junior year classes and checked to see how the courses I had already completed would place me in terms of school credits completed for graduation. Wow, was I pleasantly surprised to see that many of the courses I had completed in Korea placed me at an advanced level in most areas and many of the classes I would be taking would be at a college prep level. So I decided to get some early work done and downloaded the English Lit readings and history materials and spent time preparing. I was already quite advanced in math, chemistry, and physics. In my spare time (what, you say, I still had some?)—no, I’m not a genius, I’m just a hard worker and believe that success comes from hard work—I spent learning about all of the Foundation’s various projects. Hey, maybe I don’t want people to think I’m a success only because Dad had money? Yeah, that sounds about right.
Anyway, as I said, when I wasn’t busy with all of that other stuff, I went out to look at some of the Foundation’s projects, traveling with Dad when he went on his inspections. One was a legal aid clinic which helped poor and disadvantaged people to navigate Indonesia’s really complicated legal system. I attended a few trials and saw just how badly people could get screwed by others who could use their money and influence to bend the laws their way. This made a very deep impression on me and I vowed that I would never let my own personal rights be violated for any reason. I also went to some of the medical clinics and saw what happened to people when they couldn’t get medical care for common problems and how those problems could escalate into serious conditions. I also got familiar with some of the Foundation’s operations outside Indonesia.
At one point, Dad mentioned to me a fact that I had already realized: that people’s rights could only be assured through vigilance and that vigilance costs money. Mom and Dad had taught me that while wealth could be used to create great evil, it could also bring great good. Dad had the money, as he put it, “to make a tiny dent in a huge problem. I want my wealth to make a difference for people who have no resources to help themselves.” It all seemed to be interesting and I couldn’t decide if I wanted, for a career, to go into NGO administration or law or even medicine so I could help needy people.
Then August arrived and Mom flew down to join us. We spent a few days as a family together and then Dad and Mom went off to one of the Foundation’s sites near Bandung City and Mom had some business with the consular office there. That’s when the unimaginable happened.
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