Chapter 2: Military Brats Have it Better

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 all that 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 getting 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 an excellent 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.

Chapter 3 »