Future Eugenics

While eugenics had for a time gone out of fashion, by the late 21st century it was the platform of all major parties in the World Parliament. Indeed, in 2076, MWP George Thompson from the district of New England drafted the policy mandating sterilization of all males who failed to meet the requirements for breeding. The requirements originally were based solely on DNA information, but under increasing pressure from conservative groups, in 2104 the Democratic Reform Party ran on a reform of the breeding laws and formed a coalition with the Christian Democratic Party. Under the new government, the 2104 Breeding Law was passed, which altered the requirements for breeding to include not just DNA purity, but also scholastic aptitude results, police reports, and psychological evaluation. Furthermore, the age of selection was reduced from 18 to 15, as many pregnancies occurred among 15-18 year-olds—statistically, sub-15 year-old pregnancies were insignificant.

Eric Delaval was a typical 14 year-old boy. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and had a toned body from playing several sports. Like most boys his age, his shoulders were just beginning to broaden and he had lost his body fat. His best friend (whose birthdate he shared), Jeff Raunig, was the same age, had dark hair with a cowlick in the centre, forcing the hair to the left side. Like Eric, he had fine facial features, but Jeff had more prominent cheekbones than Eric. He also had a slightly more manly build than Eric. Both boys, however, had just started shaving their peach fuzz on a weekly basis.

Now they both sat in the backseat of Eric’s family’s car en route to the Ministry of Health and Reproduction. All boys at noon (in their home city) on the day before their fifteenth birthday were required to report to the headquarters of the government’s selection facility in London (girls reported to the Seoul selection facility). From Montreal, London was a long 2-hour flight via car and the boys had fidgeted throughout it. However, London was now on the horizon and both boys stared at the city that would determine their future.

Eric’s father, Charles Delaval, turned the car north and reduced speed to 200 km/h over the city. Within a few minutes, the city’s high buildings faded away and buildings under 10 storeys dominated the skyline. Jeff spotted it first—the black square building with: “MINISTRY OF HEALTH AND REPRODUCTION, MALE SELECTION CENTRE” in white on the side.

Eric wanted to jump out of the car at the sight of the facility—its black square shape was known the world-over and associated with fear among everyone. Eric’s father, however, simply piloted the car to rooftop drop zone 32. The car landed with a slight bump and Charles turned around to face his son.

“You will do fine, Eric. Both of you boys will. I will see you at five.”

Charles pressed a button by his side and the rear door slid open. Jeff slid out through the open door—his nonchalant nature hiding the terror he felt. Eric was almost in tears as he climbed out and watched as his father’s orange car launched from the roof’s tarmac.

A white-uniformed woman marched to the boys. Her uniform was well known—the MH&R Police. “Boys, this way,” she said firmly but kindly. “Through here,” she said indicating a walkway into the building. The boys stared for a second at the seemingly benign stairs descending before them before daring to step onto the black risers. At the base of the stairs was a white walled room with a polished black floor. At a circular wooden desk—the only furniture in the room—sat several HM&R Police officers and a series of short queues of boys leading up to them. The boys silently queued up and waited their turn at the counter.

Unlike other waits where people chat with one another, this room was silent except for the officers behind the desk and the children’s replies. Within minutes, Eric was at the desk in front of a middle-aged woman.

“Your identification number?”

“5461321482.”

“Here is your tag. Waiting room 43, level 2.”

“I’m with a friend—” began Eric.

“Oh, I see,” she said, cutting him off. “Your identification number…”

“Same room. Just take the lift down to level 2, take a left, and it will be on your right. Good luck, boys,” she said sweetly.

“I think all those stories are just lies to make kids behave,” Jeff said as they got on the lift. “Everyone has been really nice here.”

“Maybe,” Eric agreed without conviction.

The lift doors opened onto a corridor of black walls and a white floor. Following the directions, they took a left. 225, 224… “There are a lot of rooms here,” thought Eric. “Just how many boys go through here each day,” he wondered. In a darker thought—and more apropos—he pondered, “What do they do with all the dead balls?”

Before he finished his thought, however, Jeff whispered fearfully, “We’re here.”

The boys walked through the open door into a dimly lit waiting area. The only light came from a window opposite the door with a receptionist. “Boys, your tags please,” she said gently. Jeff handed her his tag timidly. She swiped it through a reader and handed it back to him. “Just be seated. It will probably be a little while.” Jeff did not move, however. He stood next to his friend as Eric handed her his card. They found a seat by the door; somehow the darkness of the area near the window was scarier than by the open door.

Some of the boys in the room were slumped in their chairs forlornly. Others looked likewise afraid, but were more curious and stared at the dimly lit features of the room and of their compatriots—after all, they were all here for the same test and were to be judged on objective means.

Both Eric and Jeff alertly scanned the room and the faces of the other boys. On one side was a set of twins who looked to be from one of the Indian districts. They looked somewhat younger than their age due to their somewhat untidy hair and baggy designer clothes. Next to the Indians was another boy who looked like he might not have even started puberty—his blond hair was cut long and hung just past his eyebrows in a circular pattern. He was perhaps 152 cm and looked every bit like a little boy. Next to him, however, was the manliest 14 year-old either boy had ever seen. He had dark hair cut in a classic sportsman’s pattern and had a little bit of stubble on his face. His shoulders had begun to really broaden and he had the build of a late teenager—he looked at least 16.

As the boys finished inspecting the boys they were competing against, the receptionist called out: “Justin Thompson.” The manly boy stood up unsurely and Eric noticed a slight bulge in the boy’s khakis. Justin draped an arm in front of his crotch and walked toward the window and the opening that seemed to just appear next to it. Through the open door, Eric could see a room with a black chair and some equipment suspended above it, like a weird dentists’ chair, and a man in a white lab coat. Before he could see what would happen, the door closed again and disappeared entirely in the darkness of the wall.

Perhaps a minute after the door closed, another boy arrived in the room. He was blond, and like Eric and Jeff, appeared to be fairly well into puberty. He wore blue jeans that were particularly tight around his butt, Eric noticed, as the style had gone out of fashion in North America almost 10 years before, and a white collared shirt.

He walked to the counter with somewhat more confidence than either Jeff or Eric had managed and handed the receptionist his tag. He then took a seat next to Eric.

Under normal circumstances, the boys would have talked, especially as the new boy’s attire suggested he was Australian—a district Eric wanted to visit very much—but this was in no way normal. The boys were about to have their entire lives determined for them. All the boys knew that the tests measured not only suitability for breeding, but were also used in university entrance exams. Indeed, universities only admitted breeders—“why educate the unsuitable?” they reasoned. Breeding status created an elite class of genetically and socially superior individuals who were all but guaranteed success in university, employment, and in marriage.

In school, all 14 year-olds took psychological tests that were explicitly designed to measure one’s ability to be a productive member of society. Combined with one’s disciplinary and academic credentials, these comprised the “extra-genetic qualities.” Using these data weighted 20% and the genetic information weighted 80% led to the “breeding-selection index”—anything less than 90 was a failure and meant castration. Everything but the genetic information was already in the Ministry’s computers and each boy knew that his own genetic information would determine his adult status. These boys also knew, however, that their parents were all breeders, and so their genetic material would be better than the generation before. The goal of the program was to actually improve the genetic material, and so, the qualifications for breeding were routinely increased. As such, approximately 50% of the children would be sterilized to better the race.

The door slid open and the receptionist asked for George Hunter. The little blond boy stood up and entered the open door. After a few more minutes, Saurav Dravid was called and then his brother, Anil. More boys entered, an Arab boy and a Japanese boy, but by this time, Eric and Jeff were both trembling with anxiety. Finally, Jeff’s name was called.

At first he did nothing. Then, slowly and cautiously, he stood up. He took a single step toward the open door and stared at the man standing next to the black chair before freezing. After a second, he took another step and began to walk, albeit slowly and stiffly, toward the open door. As he passed through, he heard the door slide shut behind him.

The man in the lab coat glanced at the display in his hand before asking “Jeff Raunig?”

He nodded.

“From 2344 Sherbrook West, Apartment 324A, Montreal, North Atlantic District, North America?”

Again, Jeff nodded.

“Good. Please undress. You can put your clothes on that shelf.”

Jeff timidly began undressing, pulling off his shirt first, exposing his developing manly chest and shucking off his khakis. He stepped out of his shoes and pulled his socks off, leaving him in just his boxers. Jeff had never had an older man see him naked before—just boys his age in gym. He pulled off his boxers and placed them on top of his other clothes. Naked, and now becoming somewhat hard, he walked to the chair.

“Just stand there.” Jeff stood naked in the middle of the room as the technician took some cream and rubbed it on his scrotum. “This is going to tingle a little bit, but don’t worry, that is normal. Just have a seat while that works.”

Jeff took a seat in the large chair. Over his head was a large metal contraption that looked like an arm ending in a plastic tube over his mid-thighs. The technician quickly secured the boy in position with straps on his arms, legs, and around his waist. Jeff watched as the technician reached under the chair and his arm appeared between Jeff’s legs. Grasping Jeff’s tingling sack, he pulled it through a small hole and Jeff felt some tugging as he adjusted things, but could not really make anything out as his sack was becoming increasingly numb. Jeff’s 16 cm cock, however, had become completely hard and his tip was visible as his foreskin retracted over it. The technician smeared something warm and slick on with his hand, which caused Jeff to groan involuntarily as his erect manhood had never been touched by anyone, let alone to apply lubricant.

The technician lowered the arm and tube, fitting the tube over Jeff’s erect cock. Instantly, the tube began to hum and buzz and it started to squeeze Jeff’s manhood. Unlike a pumping hand, the machine squeezed the entire shaft in a semi-random fashion, forcing Jeff to moan within seconds. He had never felt anything like it in his three years of masturbation. Soon the machine was pumping hard enough to actually shake the chair slightly. With a grunt, Jeff through his head back as the vibrating tube sucked his cream up for genetic testing.

Still feeling the afterglow of a huge orgasm, he totally forgot where he was. Suddenly, a screen on the wall lit up. It displayed:

“EXTRA-GENETIC INFORMATION: Psychology: 91, Discipline: 100, Academic: 83. Weighted Index: 91.25.

GENETIC INFORMATION: 172 Genetic Traits Tested, 121 Positive, 51 Negative. 0 Major Negative. Overall Genetic Index: 94.60.

OVERALL INDEX: 93.93. PASS.”

“Looks like you’re good breeding stock,” the technician mumbled as he began unfastening Jeff’s balls from beneath the chair. Jeff realised that the technician would have been cut, as a minor technician was certainly not a breeder’s job. Within seconds Jeff was free from the chair and the technician handed him a cloth to clean up his numb scrotum and lubricated and cum-soaked cock.

Jeff grabbed his clothes and quickly redressed. “You will need to take this to the ID Centre on the top floor before leaving,” the technician said as he handed Jeff a small data disk. “You will get your adult ID there.”

In the reception area, Eric watched as the door reopened. “Eric Delaval,” the receptionist called out. Eric looked through the door to see if he could see his friend, but there was only the man in the lab coat, as before. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and walked slowly toward the open door. With a slight smile, he realised he had acted like more of a man than Jeff, who was usually the bold one. His self-congratulations were cut short by the sound of the door sliding closed behind him.

“Eric Delaval? …”

“Undress, please. You can put your clothes on that shelf.”

Eric, again competing mentally with his dark-haired friend, pulled his pants and boxers down in one movement and stepped out of the whole mess before removing his shirt. Finally, he pulled his shoes and socks off.

Eric walked proudly toward the centre of the room where the chair was. He was about to swing himself onto it when the technician asked him to “just stand still.”

Like Jeff, the lab-coated technician worked some cream into Eric’s sack before letting him sit.

Once seated, the technician, now on his fiftieth boy—which according to Ministry rules was also his last—strapped Eric into the chair before pulling his nearly hairless scrotum through the hole in the chair. According to procedure, he threaded Eric’s scrotum through the constricting band. He then pulled the manual tensioning to hold the scrotum in place and keep the balls low in their pouch. Then the heating element was raised to cup the sack and finally he placed the cutting blades just under the constricting band. Turning his attention to the boy’s semi-erect penis, he liberally coated his hand with lubricant and stroked the boy several times, until he was fully hard.

Eric felt nothing touch his balls, but only slight tugging as the man adjusted them beneath the seat. When he touched Eric’s cock, however, he noticed it. Like Jeff, Eric had never had his dick touched by another person, and so when a lubricated hand stroked him, he was in heaven. But it ended quickly, as the man only got him hard.

Eric watched as the arm above his head was lowered and the tube fitted over his cock. Eric was considerably bigger than his friend in the cock department, sporting a full 20 cm of boy-meat and a long foreskin. The tube slid onto Eric’s cock and immediately began to milk him. Eric had not masturbated in days, being terrified of this day of judgement, and found the sudden squeezing almost unbearably pleasurable. Almost immediately, he felt the cum rising through his loins and a few seconds later, he blasted the machine with a huge load. The tube sucked up the juice dutifully and Eric relaxed in his bonds as the afterglow consumed him.

“EXTRA-GENETIC INFORMATION: Psychology: 97, Discipline: 100, Academic: 99. Weighted Index: 98.25.

GENETIC INFORMATION: 172 Genetic Traits Tested, 126 Positive, 46 Negative. 1 Major Negative. Overall Genetic Index: 87.21.

OVERALL INDEX: 89.42. FAIL.”

Inwardly, the technician smiled as he read the news onscreen. Eric, however, still had his eyes closed from a huge orgasm. The chair did not require human instructions, however. Once the failure was displayed, it waited 1.5 seconds, as per its programming, before initiating the sterilisation procedure.

The constricting band that was loose around Eric’s sack pulled itself tight, fully preventing blood from entering the testicles. The blades, which resembled garden sheers, instantly sliced through Eric’s scrotum—unlike sheers, however, the blades continued through Eric’s scrotum and only stopped once they had completed a full circle and were back at their starting position. Eric’s sack and warm balls lay on the heating element under his crotch, designed to keep them dangling low while attached to him, and hold them afterward.

Eric felt something wrong, as if he were kicked in the balls. A second later, a searing pain rocketed up from his balls into his stomach. He thought he was going to puke when suddenly it was all over. He smelled burning flesh and realised his balls were gone. He did not know, however, that he had been injected with a tranquiliser and a cauterising gun had just seared the wound close. Any pain or regret he might have felt was displaced by the vast quantities of drugs in his system.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: If you liked this story, let me know and I will tell the story of the other boys in the waiting room.

Interesting statistics: According to the U.S. Census Bureau, 353,265 people are born every day in 2002. This works out to 128,577,961 births per year. While the world birth rate is now hovering just above the 0% mark, there would be some slight growth between now and then. Even more disturbing in imagining how this facility operates is that the world’s busiest airport is Atlanta’s Hartsfield International, which handles only 77,939,536 people a year. While this Centre handles only males, or about 50% of the population, it would still be a huge facility, indeed, being one of the 10 busiest buildings in the world right now.