A Boy of Seven, Called Jake

Jake fooled around with his football as only a seven year old on his own can. Mimicking tackles, he watched the elder couple at the side of the field out of the corner of his eyes. He’d seen them last week, in Ms Jameson’s office. They might adopt him, Ms Jameson had said. He’d been called into the office, to stand beside the desk. The couple had watched him, with some kind of eager anticipation.

Jake had answered most of their questions with nods and shakes of the head, to shy to speak up unless Ms Jameson repeated the question. He had fidgeted with his hands behind his back and stared at his feet. It didn’t show much, or so he thought, but he was very nervous. In the end, the adults had simply resumed their conversation.

‘Jake’s been with us for nearly a year now. When his Mom fell ill, their were no relatives to take care of him,’ Ms Jameson had explained. His Mom had been an orphan, and now he was one too. ‘His dad is bound to be Canadian, but the parentage was never claimed. And by then, his Mom was too far gone to answer any questions.’ Ms Jameson had continued. Jake had never known his Dad and Mom had never spoken about it or answered the few questions he’d asked. ‘So, after her demise, Jake was put up for adoption, and he’s still with us today.’

First, Social Services had explained to him that Mom was sick in hospital and that he couldn’t stay home on his own. He’d been taken straight here, to live in the dorm, as he saw it. He had to attend school here too. Jake was a timid boy, unaccustomed to lots of different people or even other kids. He had a talent to fit in, though, and he was doing rather well.

He’d been taken to the hospital twice, but Mom looked very different and was always asleep. One day, he was told she had passed away. There had been a small funeral, which only he and someone from this place had attended. He knew she was gone somehow, but couldn’t quite grasp it. He was silent and withdrawn, but didn’t cry.

There had been a lot of questions, about his Mom and Dad, but he knew next to nothing, really. They had moved around a lot, was all he knew, until he’d had to attend school. Not so long ago, he’d been taken to see a judge. He’d been asked the same questions again and then the judge had said he’d be put up for adoption, so that he could be part of a family again.

Ms Jameson had explained to him that people mostly wanted to adopt babies or toddlers. But as he was such a nice, handsome boy, there would be prospective parents for him too, it might just take a while. Jake had pondered over this for a bit. She was nice and he trusted her so he asked her, ‘What’s going to happen to me if nobody wants me anymore?’

She had laughed and called him a silly boy. ‘That’s very unlikely to happen, Jake. But there are older kids here too, so you would simply stay here, until your grown up.’ Jake had often watched the older boys after that exchange, trying to determine why they wouldn’t have been adopted. He’d played with one of them, at one occasion and had blurted out, ‘How come you’re not adopted?’

The older boy had shrugged, saying, ‘I was adopted once, but it didn’t work out, they already had a kid.’ Jake hadn’t asked any further, but it had been on his mind. So when Ms Jameson had asked him if he had any questions for Mr and Mrs Warren, he could only come up with one.

‘Do you already have kids?’ he’d wanted to know.

‘Well yes, we do have two sons, but they left for Military School three years ago’, Mr Warren had explained, with no little pride.

‘They’re twins’, Mrs Warren had offered.

Jake had asked no more, but from the remainder of the conversation, he’d remembered that they were not even forty, which still sounded ancient to a seven year old boy. Mrs Warren missed her boys very much and grandsons weren’t to be expected for another five to ten years, Mr Warren had joined in. They didn’t want to start over with a baby, but a boy of Jake’s age would be ideal…

That was last week. So they came back. Ms Jameson was there too, and she motioned for him to come over. ‘I have the most wonderful news, Jake! Mr and Mrs Warren are to adopt you! You can go with them straight away and see how it works out for you all. We’ll go get your stuff, all right?’ said the ever cheerful woman.

While Ms Jameson helped him pack his few belongings from his locker, Jake asked her a few more questions, giving voice in fact, to his doubts and insecurities. Moved, Ms Jameson took him on her lap for a minute. ‘Jake… these are good people and they care for you already. Give it at try, open your heart to them. They’re not your Mom, but you could have a family again. And if, and only if it really wouldn’t work out, you’d come back here, ok?’

Jake nodded, enjoying the hug. He’d just have to see and wait. But Ms Jameson wasn’t finished. ‘And they have a surprise for you!’ she whispered conspiringly. ‘And I’m not going to tell, you’ll just have to wait and see,’ she teased. He tickled her but she would say no more, but that he would have to wait and see…

Mrs Warren couldn’t help herself. They had left the orphanage drive way only five minutes ago but she had already looked back twice at the shy little boy in the back seat of the car. She beamed at him, and he would return a hesitant smile. ‘It’s not far, Jake, and we’ll soon have you settled in, don’t you worry,’ she tried to reassure him. Oh, to have a little boy again, to dote on and take care of, Mrs Warren had to fight back tears of joy.

As soon as the car came to a standstill on the gravel in front of his new home, Jake felt overwhelmed. He’d only lived in bed-sits with Mom, but this couple had a house and garden all to themselves. Mr Warren pointed at a swing and a cabin in a nearby tree. ‘That should keep you occupied,’ he offered. He was a bit worried of Jake being on his own, his older boys always had each other; at times just to fight, but still.

Jake was given the tour of the house, including the bedrooms upstairs. The big den the much older twin brothers obviously shared awed him. With the flags on the wall and the model aircrafts dangling from the ceiling, it was a boy’s Walhalla. His own, much smaller room was neat too. In fact, it was his first own room ever. It smelled of the recently applied yellow paint and was bare except for the new furniture.

Mr Warren put his hands on the boy’s shoulders stating, ‘In due course, this will become your very own place, give it some time.’ He was already thinking ahead to the trip they had planned, and from which they were bound to bring the boy’s first own trinkets and toys, but he’d promised Mrs Warren not to spoil the surprise.

Jake wondered if he’d get some small airplane too one day. Back downstairs, he was given a parcel, its shape betraying its content. He was then ushered into the garden with his very own football until dinner would be ready. The boy ran around the house a few times in pursuit of his ball as much as out of curiosity before getting lost in his game. His little heart soared.

Mr and Mrs Warren hugged silently, sharing their emotions. Their joy and anticipations were suffused with some nervousness, but all went well so far. Mr Warren made some final arrangements by phone in his study while Mrs Warren got their dinner under way. As she had done years ago with her other boys, she looked outside regularly to see if her charge was all right. It was a routine she wasn’t even aware of picking up again.

As Jake was called in for the evening meal by Mr Warren and told to wash his hands, Mrs Warren stuffed the few clothes the boy had brought with him in the washing machine. It was a good thing she’d thought ahead and bought him some pyjamas as well as outdoor gear. He badly needed it. Jake bent his head as Mr Warren said Grace and tucked into his food with a passion, much to Mrs Warren’s glee.

The day had been eventful and exhaustive. Mrs Warren drew her little Jake a nice hot bath. She smiled as she realised he’d sneaked into the garden again. She could even hear the creak of the swing. “Jake! Come upstairs now! Without your shoes, mind! A bath and bedtime for you! Come along now,’ she called through the open window.

As she put some towels to the ready, she could hear him running up the stairs. Her new son was a bit shy now and Mrs Warren realised he was probably used to showering alone during his stay at the orphanage. Mrs Warren had supervised her former batch of boys’ bathing until they were ten or so, if only to prevent them from soaking the bathroom every night.

She let him have his privacy and left him as he was taking of his soiled garments. Leaving the door open, she busied herself putting fresh sheets on Jake’s bed. She heard the boy get into the water all right as her husband hosed the plants outside. A warm feeling came over Mrs Warren. They were going to be a proper family again.

As she got in to pick up his clothes and lay out his pyjamas, she observed Jake float around the plastic soap dish like a boat rather than having a proper wash. ‘Get your ears soaped up, Jakey! And the rest too! Don’t make me come and wash you like a baby!’ she scolded gently.

The boy looked up at her and gave her his first unguarded smile. ‘It’s Jake! And I’m no baby! The bath is just so nice, it’s been ages and ages since I last had one!’ With that rejoinder, he submerged himself completely. By the time he came up for air, he’d missed the unadulterated joy on his stepmother’s features.

She loved him. There and then, instantly. ‘Can you swim at all?’ She asked in what sounded like a funny voice to Jake. If he’d been older, he’d known that she was simply moved. Jake shook his head from side to side. ‘Well, you’re certainly not afraid from water, that’s good!’ Mrs Warren praised her little boy.

Jake was handed a washcloth and merrily scrubbed away. Five minutes later and with no other task at hand, Mrs Warren ordered him out, holding out a big soft towel for him. ‘Come on out now! That’s water’s getting cold and you all wrinkled up!’ Jake, forgetting his initial shyness, slipped out of the water and dove into the inviting cloth.

He never saw Mrs Warren’s face assume an expression of muted horror… Jake sensed her change of mood though as she absentmindedly rubbed him dry. That is, she kept wiping his back and sides until they hurt. His hair kept dripping on his shoulders annoyingly so he tugged at the towel a bit.

This seemed to wake Mrs Warren from her reverie and she started calling out to her husband in frantic tones. ‘Fred! Fred! Come up here this instant! He… Jake’s…’ Looking into the boy’s alarmed eyes, she wouldn’t finish her sentence.

Mr Warren dropped the hose he’d been using and hurried upstairs. ‘Martha? What’s wrong?!’

Mrs Warren’s first reply was to drop the towel. Second came a desperate outcry of disbelief and frustration. ‘Just look at him, Fred! And just as we’re about to leave!’ A look of revulsion passed over Mr Warren’s face. Jake felt horribly exposed, picked up the towel and held it to himself again. He didn’t have a clue what was going on but something was very wrong. With him.

‘Damn,’ Mr Warren cursed, frozen in the doorway.

‘But what are we going to DO, Fred!?’ his wife wanted to know. ‘We are supposed to be leaving in the morning! We can’t take him… like this!’ She exclaimed with blatant abhorrence. ‘The sand will get underneath and…’ she choked on the lump in her throat.

‘Put that boy to bed, Martha. I’ll think of something. Put him to bed now and come downstairs.’ Mr Warren went back below and into his study.

Muted, Jake let himself be put in his stiff new pyjamas. Dispirited tears trailed Mrs Warren’s face. He was tucked into his unfamiliar bed without further ado. Wide-eyed, he lay there, clueless to what was going on, but it felt very bad. He felt like being such a disappointment, without knowing why.

In an instant, everything had changed. "What if they send me back? What did I do wrong?" He wondered.

Mr Warren found his wife in the kitchen. She was sobbing and sat wiping her tears at the table. ‘I phoned Dr. Baker. He cursed, but he agreed to me taking Jake over straight away,’ he announced, ‘that way, we’ll still be able to leave first thing tomorrow morning. You’ll have to do all the packing now, including mine.’

‘Can we take him, then?!’ Mrs Warren asked incredulously.

‘That old English coot said he’d be all right. Let’s just get on with it, eh? He took good care of our other boys, after all,’ Mr Warren reassured her. He told his wife what he’d intended to take for the journey so that she’d be able to do that for him. It would put her mind off things too. Then he drove the car out of the garage again.

Still wide-awake, Jake heard them come upstairs again. ‘We’re going for a drive, Jake. Nothing to worry about,’ was all that was said. He was scooped up and rolled in his sheet and blanket before he was carried downstairs by Mr Warren and laid down on the backseat of the car.

Mr Warren drove off with him in the night, swerving along the roads. Though at first full of disquiet, the drive soon lulled him to sleep.

Jake woke up again due to the bleary lights of what looked like a surgery. He’d been deposited on a high medical examination table in the centre of the doc’s cabinet. The boy crunched his eyes shut against the harsh lamp overhead. He couldn’t shield them as his arms were caught too tightly in the blanket. He overheard the men’s conversation that made little sense to him.

‘Mr Warren… How do you do?’

‘OK Doc, under the circumstances… Thanks for seeing us right away. My wife is ever so upset…’

‘You had no idea?’

‘Not an inkling! We never asked, we never expected such negligence! A crying shame, Doc.’

‘We’ll remedy that right away. Same style as the older boys, I presume?’

‘Yes, please, Doc. But you said we’d be able to go on this trip we’ve had planned for ages. I don’t see how…’

‘Not a problem, these days, Mr Warren. I’ll supply you with all the necessities in a moment. Now let’s deal with the little fellow, shall we? Then we can all go home and have some rest.’

Dr. Baker unwrapped the sleepy boy from his blanket and took off his now wrinkled pyjamas too. Jake shivered at the sudden drop in temperature and the touch of the cold metal table. Suddenly very anxious, he began to whimper.

‘Keep quiet now, the Doc is going to fix you into a proper little boy. This’ll only take a minute and then we can all go back to bed,’ Mr Warren admonished.

With some alarm, Jake saw the Doc put some black rubber straps on his arms. Through slits in the table’s surface they looped around his wrists and just above the elbow. The same procedure was repeated on his ankles and above the knee. Foreboding crept over him as he realised he could hardly move anymore. ‘I don’t want a shot, I’m not ill,’ he whined, remembering the stinging needles last time he’d been examined by a doctor.

‘No shots, little Jakey, no need for that, it’ll be over in a few minutes. Now Mr Warren, hold his hips pinned to the table, will you? Just to avoid unfortunate accidents…’ Dr. Baker pulled the spotlight down and directly above the boy’s crotch.

For the first time, Jake was able to open his eyes properly and only now he understood that his genitals were the focus of attention. He could actually feel the warmth there of the bulb overhead. ‘Uh… I need to pee,’ he said as he became aware of the pressure in his bladder.

‘A good idea, dear boy,’ the Doc said cheerfully. ‘Just go ahead in this bottle, It’s specially designed for it, you know,’ he said as he shoved the nozzle of a glass bottle over the little shrimp like penis. The touch was icy, and Jake didn’t really want to do it this way, so exposed, but his bursting bladder got the better of him and three pairs of eyes watched the golden jet trickle in the transparent recipient.

Jake was swabbed with a Betadine soaked wad of cotton there, a bit much as a way of cleaning him up, he thought. His penis shrivelled away at the cold touch. Again, the boy was acutely reminded of his member being literally in the spotlight, as there was only indirect light in the room apart from the one hovering over his privates.

Straining his neck upwards from his vertical position, he tried to determine what was going on. With some dread, he saw a few metal objects placed in reach on a green sheet. One of these items looked like a knife! ‘What’s happening? What are you going to do,’ he whimpered, ‘I don’t understand, I AM a proper boy!’

‘You may be a boy, Jakey, but you’ll never be a proper man with a two inch foreskin, and we’re going to fix that now once and for all,’ the Doc informed him, slipping into a pair of ultra slim gloves. Jake had no idea what a foreskin was, that he was deemed to possess on or how they intended to ‘fix’ that.

In horrified fascination, he saw his little member helped through a metal pyramid with the tip off. Now he didn’t even have to lift his head anymore to follow these strange going-ons as it pointed skywards, lonely and vulnerable. It was a rather tight fit and the organ couldn’t slide down without any help.

To his horror, he witnessed the Doc insert a probe in to his willie, or rather under the skin. He first saw and then felt the metal stick move around his glans. ‘Oww, that hurts!’ he hissed, involuntarily shying his body away. His tender flesh there had never been touched before and certainly not with such an invasive item.

Mr Warren made soothing noises, taking into account Jake was only a kid, after all. He even held his hand for a moment, before holding down the hips again. ‘Tight and as low as the twins,’ he reminded the Doc, 'Take as much as you can.'

‘I remember, Mr Warren, nothing wrong with my memory,’ the Doc nodded. He was happy now that no skin still adhered to Jakey’s glans and retracted slowly but determinedly. For the first time, the skin was stretched and rolled back.

‘Muh, don’t!, Jake pleaded. It was sore and felt very awkward. To his horror, the Doc picked up the pen like knife. It was directed to the underside of his penis, and started carving into him, just under the purplish head he had laid eyes on for the first time only a moment before.

‘Aaaargh! No! NO! Stop! Please Stop!’ Jake hollered at the top of his lungs, yet he was paid scant attention. Or rather he was, just not in a way that was appreciable to him. His pleas became unintelligible screams when he saw a copious trail of blood trickle down his already unrecognisable penis.

Little did he know the Doc was slicing off his tiny frenulum, very dedicatedly, and doing a good job. Jake’s pain was white hot and every touch of the sharp knife added to it. More incisions were made and a little helmet was placed rather comically on the shiny, very sensitive top, before the skin was pulled taught again, but now in the other direction.

‘See, that’s all going to come off,’ Mr Warren offered helpfully. It didn’t still Jake’s raucous cries. The boy felt as much as he saw an insane amount of skin being pulled skywards, over and beyond his glans. Every manipulation was a sea of pain.

WHY are they trying to cut my penis off? He wondered, and for the first time it dawned on Jake that he was being cut to seize. Tears blurred his vision, but the ever-attentive Mr Warren wiped them away. His foreskin was held straight and extremely taut with a pair of vicious thongs. Jake howled when the Doc made a fresh, circular cut on a conveniently placed rim of the underlying bell.

By now, his throat was pretty raw and his shrieks hoarse. In spite of the severing process being in full swing for several minutes now, it still came as a shock to Jake to see his appendage being lifted clear off him and deposited in a kidney shaped metallic bow.

With a sigh of relief, he noticed that it (or most of it!) was still there.

But returning his attention to his maimed pecker didn’t help. The remaining skin was sliding down his raw, bleeding shaft. The Doc plucked off the helmet and produced a long, bent needle, already mustered with some fine, black thread.

Each piercing was further torture to the sweat covered little boy. It hurt and stung beyond belief, as he was stung over and over again in his fresh wounds. To the Doc’s credit, he did a beautiful, job; experience pays off in the end.

‘If I didn’t know better, Doc, I’d think you cut off two-thirds of his weenie, as there seems to be hardly anything left now!’ Mr Warren quipped.

‘It’s retracted with the trauma, as you are well aware. It will look shorter regardless, because of the tightness, but it will fill out nicely again during puberty. The girls will love him,’ the Doc cackled and Mr Warren chimed in.

Carefully, the Doc removed the pyramid. Despite his precautions, the metal chafed the swollen, battered little prick and Jake broke out in rejuvenated sobs. ‘There, there, almost done,’ the Doc soothed.

The boy didn’t recognize himself down there, not even after a stinging and nauseating wash down with an alcohol solution, that removed all the caked blood and Betadine. He somehow didn’t look like himself anymore, was one thought that came to his mind. Another was: why?!

Utterly exhausted and at the end of his tether, Jake nodded off and didn’t feel how his new Dad and the Doc put him back into his pyjamas. After putting his youngest son in the back of the car, Mr Warren went back to pay and thank the Doc. He was also given a small bag that would come in handy for Jake’s aftercare.

VI

The next day, Jake woke up as from a bad dream, with a throbbing little penis unlike his own lost one. Mrs Warren was very chirpy however and had the car loaded and ready before he was up and given breakfast.

As soon as the family drove off, Jake was told they were making for the seaside, a thing the boy had never seen. Mr Warren explained about it being a huge of water, as far as you could see. Jake thought he could get his head around that somehow, but the concept of waves eluded him. How could it keep doing that if nobody set it in motion?

The Doc’s kit came in very handy. A finger of a surgical glove went over his healing penis and was held into place with waterproof Band-Aids. The swimming lessons with Mr Warren proved to be a real bonding process. With infinite patience and by never betraying the boy’s trust, Mr Warren taught him to swim very properly within the fortnight of their holiday.

Mrs Warren blossomed, as she could once again be a doting mother to a little boy. She changed his dressings before and after each swim, keeping the healing flesh free from contamination and infection. Each time, she told him how handsome he was now. If she hadn’t deemed it improper, she would have given it a kiss at each opportunity.

All holidays come to an end and after a long drive back the family arrived back on their own doorstep on a late afternoon. Coincidentally, Ms Jameson had decided to pay Jake, of whom she had fond memories, a visit after her working hours.

Though Jake was now well and confidently encapsulated in his new family, he flew out of the car and into her arms.

‘Jake! I’m so happy to see you! I thought I’d missed you altogether! How have you been?!’ Ms Jameson somewhat surprised herself with her fond feelings for the boy.

Her former charge was rather shy and withdrawn all of a sudden, not unlike many children his age upon seeing a loved one that had been absent from their lives. The Warrens invited Ms Jameson in for coffee and did the talking for him. Jake sat on her lap, nuzzling her neck and taking in her scent, which he had missed so much, he now realised.

‘So you had a wonderful holiday and even learned to swim in no time?! Aren’t you clever!’ Ms Jameson praised him. She was told about his little op too and Jake’s ears sort of picked up.

‘ I know,’ she said, ‘ today it’s policy to leave things as they are and let the new parents decide. You did that rather sooner than later,’ she joked. ‘Can I see, Jake? Will you let me have a look?’ she asked in conspirational tones.

Jake nodded. It mattered to him what she thought. It didn’t look so battered and bruised now anymore and he was getting used to this new look. He obediently lowered his baggy shorts.

‘ Oh Jake, that is going to look absolutely gorgeous! Just you wait ‘til you’re a grown-up! If I’m not old and wrinkly by then, I’ll marry you myself!’ Ms Jameson exclaimed enthusiastically.

Well, if Ms Jameson liked it, it had to be ok, Jake mused.

Mrs Warren lovingly stroked his brow. ‘Fred is taking him back to the Doc tomorrow. Though there is no room for improvement, those stitches need to come out,’ she announced with no little pride. All three adults laughed heartily.