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Tea Biscuit
Ethan stood anxiously beside his mother while the older doctor went over her clipboard with the younger doctor. The younger doctor or whatever she was wasn't more than a year or two older than Ethan's eighteen years. Ethan was a strapping young male. At two meters tall, he was a head taller than any of the women in the room and topping a hundred kilos likely weighed more than any two of them together. His large, muscular frame didn't carry an ounce of fat. Though he may have towered physically over everyone else in the room, he certainly didn't feel very dominant over anyone. He wanted this so desperately and for so long. Now he was so close.
His mother looked at him and smiled warmly. She had waited so long for this day and wasn't very good at hiding her apprehension. She had chosen her sperm donor carefully. She had carried his pregnancy, under her heart as they say, and given birth to this marvelous specimen of manhood. Her fingers were crossed tightly for luck. Involuntarily, her hands tapped fretfully on her thighs. This was her son's big chance. This was her big chance. She had always been a fan. She had envied those tiny jockeys so. Her home was arrayed with racing paraphernalia. She had encouraged Ethan for as long as he could walk. Maybe she had encouraged him before he could walk when she got him his first Pony haircut. Most who applied never even got this far. Whether chosen or not, she was so proud of him.
The air was cold on Ethan's bare skin. Some of the tests had been rather strenuous, even for a healthy young man in Ethan's excellent condition. Standing in a room now with fully dressed women, he felt odd wearing only his skivvies. Once upon a time, Ethan had learned, an ordinary-sized man might intimidate a dozen adult women simply by threatening to expose his male parts. Ethan thought himself very unlikely to overawe anyone, despite his unique size and strength. He wanted so desperately to be chosen.
“Great,” said Dr. Ponsonby, the older doctor, tapping her knuckles solidly on the clipboard. “This wonderful letter from your friend Beth is very compelling.”
Beth had been Ethan's jockey for his two years in the saddle division of the racing program at Cady-Stanton High.
“Ethan, please come with me,” the doctor continued. She gestured for Ms. Everest, Ethan's mother, to remain behind.
Ethan entered the small examination room. The only furniture was a bare examining table. The neatly framed picture on the wall showed the photo finish of famous Arlington Stakes, saddle division, from two years past. Ethan had watched the race on TV himself. No one remembered the names of the jockeys, but everyone knew that Hailey's Comet had beaten Wind Song by a nose. Hailey's Comet represented Rothesay Stables and Wind Song represented Highgate Stables, whose rivalry went back for decades. Everyone said that Hailey's Comet was getting old. Wind Song won the following year after Comet retired. Ethan himself was fully large enough for the saddle division and still growing. He would be proud to wear the colors of either stable.
“Ethan?” said Dr. Ponsonby, when the younger doctor entered and closed the door, “you'll have to remove your shorts.”
Ethan's face twisted into a wry grin. He blushed and wearing only his skivvies, the blush colored his entire body.
“Ethan, don't be embarrassed,” said the younger doctor. “I've worked on a ranch and on a ranch, none of the Ponies wear any clothes. All the Ponies who ran at Arlington, ran naked. Their bodies were decorated in stable colors”
She was right, of course. In his high school meets, Ethan had always worn shorts. Now things would be different. If he were somehow accepted at the Bar None Ranch, he would receive the best Pony training in the world but he would have to follow the rules. If he did well, he might be accepted at one of the stables after a couple of years, maybe even Highgate or Rothesay Stables. He peeled off his shorts and stepped out of them awkwardly.
“Turn and face me,” the young doctor said.
Ethan turned to face her and saw the nametag on her white coat, “Hannah Olivera, assistant trainer,” not “doctor.”
She approached him then stopped abruptly as if intimidated by his size in the small examining room. She smiled wryly at her edginess. “Okay, big fellow, put your hands on your head – and just keep them there.” She quickly regained her usual authority.
Ethan complied. Hannah pulled on an examination glove and Ethan knew what was coming. He tried staring at the ceiling and then tried to calm his growing anxiety by closing his eyes. He couldn't see Hannah, but her perfume filled his head. Her thick, soft dark hair brushed across his belly, just before she took his penis in her hand. Ethan needed all of his willpower not to pull away.
“Not clipped and not a problem,” Hannah noted. Ponies were always circumcised in the stable in order to facilitate good hygiene. She cupped his scrotum gently, then examined each testicle. “Cough”
Ethan coughed.
“Again. Okay, no hernia. Now turn around and put your hands on the table.”
Ethan complied. He heard what sounded like a rude noise. Hannah placed the three-quarters empty tube of lubricant on the table. Next, Ethan felt her bare warm hand on his bare ass. He turned a bit and saw the darker complexion of her hand against his paler skin. He looked away and then he felt something very cold.
“Just try to relax,” Hannah said.
How could a guy relax, when he had a chance to be accepted at the Bar None Ranch and his whole future lay gleaming before him.
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