Chapter 1

“I gotchu, Mommy! I gotchu!” Arnold Michaels tugged on his yarn lasso. Holly Michaels was surprised more by her son’s behavior than the simple loop he had dropped over her head and shoulders. “You’re fifteen, Arnold.” She reminded him but giggled saying it. His silliness was infectious.

“He’s so adorable.” Jean Peralta squeezed the handle of her tea cup as she gushed with unexpected frivolity.

“I’m ‘dorble TOO!” Race Peralta popped his head out from under the table cloth. He had been hiding from Arnold. He was the Navajo. The three youngest boys present: fifteen, fifteen, and fourteen, had taken classic roles.

In addition to the native, Arnold was the sheriff, and Oscar was the bandit (not so secretly waiting to ambush anyone who dared to go from the dining room to the living room). The fourth boy, Jeffery, wasn’t anything. Seventeen, he sat at the table, drinking hot chocolate, thinking that his brother and friends looked ridiculous playing a silly kids game. He was listening to the mothers chatter. They sometimes talked about sex stuff.

The mother of Jeffery and Oscar Hughes, Carol, gave Arnold a tiny smile below heavy eyelids. “What are you going to do your Mommy, now that you got her, Sheriff?”

“I’m gonna ‘rrest her!”

Jean, Race’s mother, joined the pretending. “What for? What crime did your Mommy commit?” She winked at Holly.

“Uh-” Arnold pouted while he thought. His mommy was really good and nice.

“Mommy!” Race tugged on the hem of his mother’s knee length skirt. “What about me?”

Jean didn’t skip a beat. “Shhh. Navajo are silent hunters, Race. If you make a fuss, the sheriff will catch YOU!”

“I want to be the sheriff.” Race grumbled. He wanted to arrest HIS mom.

“I got this, Jean.” Carol bent down and lifted the dangling tablecloth. She peered beneath, across from the kneeling boy. “Race, there’s a wildcat stalking about under here. Only a Navajo can flush it out. You’ll win your Mom’s heart if you can catch it and pet it.”

Race looked behind him. Carol was a real pretty lady, not as pretty as his mother, but his eyes zeroed in on the cleavage revealed as Ms. Hughes bent down, boobs dangling behind her thin, yellow linen blouse. His mouth formed an involuntary O.

Above the table, Arnold had remembered. “Mommy won’t let me eat any more cookies!” Upon arriving, he’d gobbled six from a jar Carol had presented. His mother cut off his supply with a curt, “Leave some for the other boys.”

This time the women were meeting at Carol’s home. Holly and Arnold had arrived minutes behind Jean and Race. The mothers tried to chat in person as often as twice a week.

They had first met on a research forum for parents of children with a specific, genetic anomaly. The forum included parents from all over the world, and the forum software utilized the most advanced, real-time translation technology to help facilitate their serious discussions.

Although the anomaly was identified in the ‘90s, its expression wasn’t researched until recently. Other, more dire and less political, genetic traits took priority. When funds were finally made available to study the anomaly, the majority of scientists involved shared the opinion that the odd DNA sequence, found only in a Y chromosome, was more puzzling than dangerous, but the researchers who had male children were more motivated to figure out just what it was doing besides the obvious. The gene, known as “1473:819:84115” was critical in the production of testosterone and other androgens.

In short, “1473:819:84115” made testicles grow twice as large. The penis was unaffected according to the original study, but some researchers worried that the original scientists had been pressured to keep measuring tools away from that naughty bit. Nobody could deny that the testes were oversized, but because the penis wasn’t affected as obviously. Studying it was discouraged.

The other piece of the “1473:819:84115” puzzle was, puberty was delayed by a couple years. This sounded an alarm in the medical community and among world leaders frightened by declining fertility and birth rates. The new study conducted a world-wide screening of DNA samples to identify pre-pubescent children with the trait.

Carol, Holly, and Jean received emails from their various insurance agencies, inviting them to join the program. They were three out of a dozen parents in their city who logged into the study’s online forum. The majority were asked to record their sons’ behaviors and take measurements of testes and sperm production, the latter only for the first year of puberty. Semen samples could be dropped off at participating hospitals, but that was entirely optional. A subset of the test population were asked to bring their sons in for monthly exams.

As a social group, the participating parents were largely shy. Most were embarrassed to be on the forum and contributed only the information requested, submitted privately. Many asked questions on the forum. All had joined out of concern for their sons. A brave and bold few took to building community among the members - through empathy, optimism, and humor. That upbeat minority included Carol, Holly, and Jean. When they discovered they lived in the same city, they immediately sought to meet in person.

“Oh, so you’re going to arrest me in order to get more cookies?” Holly gave her son the stink-eye.

“Um, it’s too late for that, Mommy.” Arnold beamed. “I have to take you to jail now.”

“You can use the hall closet. There’s just some old coats hanging there.” Carol raised her hand from her bent down pose and pointed in the closet’s general direction.

Holly rolled her eyes but played along. She stood, careful not the tear the yarn looping the top of her bosom. Her son lead her away from the table, beneath which Race finally stopped ogling Ms. Hughes’ cleavage.

“Wildcat?” He looked around.

“Be very sneaky, Race.” Carol put a finger to her lips. “You don’t want to spook it.”

He shook his head no. But where was it? He wanted to make his mommy happy, and for her to be proud of him. Race’s pout alerted Carol to his dilemma. She pointed to Jean’s legs, then she spread her knees slightly as an example.

An O returned to Race’s lips, this time from epiphany.

When small, warm hands touched her bare legs, Jean suspected her good friend hunkered below the other side of the table. “Carol?” She called unhappily.

The gathering’s host popped back up, smiling. “Yes, my dear?”

“Why is Race reaching up my skirt?”

Carol made a shocked face. “Could it be because he’s looking for a pussy?”

GACK! Jeffery almost spurted hot chocolate when he heard his mother’s saucy reply. He froze up, embarrassed.

The women blushed. That didn’t stop Jean from retorting, “The cat seems to have caught your son’s tongue.”

“POW! POW!” Little Oscar shouted, pointing his finger gun at Arnold. “I shot you, Sheriff!” He had leaped out, ambushing Arnold and his captured mother on their way to the hall closet.

Arnold squawked, “No you didn’t! The sheriff is the good guy. I’m supposed to shoot you!”

Oscar fought back a youngster’s tears. His lower lip trembled. “That’s not fair.”

“Sheriff Arnold.” Holly told her son. “You were shot, fair and square, but it doesn’t have to be the end of the story. Now fall down, and maybe some fair maiden will heal you.” She raised her hands in surrender to the wicked bandit, Oscar Hughes. “I am your prisoner, Mr. Bandit.”

Arnold grumbled at first, but when his mother mentioned a fair maiden, he thought that could be fun. Maybe not as fun as taking his mom to jail, but he glanced into the dining room, where two, better than fair looking women were blushing. He sank to the carpet and sprawled wounded across it. “Aaarrrggghhh!”

Jean squeaked when she felt her son’s hand reach between her thighs just above the knees. He was trying to spread her legs. A giggle squashed her concern. Silly boy. She patted his head.

Carol’s attention had snapped to her youngest son when he declared, “ ... not fair!” She witnessed Holly defuse the situation and watch Arnold fall to the carpet. Whereupon, he glanced at herself and Jean. It seemed as if a fair maiden was needed. Carol winked at the prone Arnold. She stood from her chair to attend him.

“Damn.” Jeffery regretted not playing with the younger boys. They sure were getting a lot of sexy attention from their mothers. He wondered what they had spiked their coffee with. He tried to get himself to join the fun but felt like an outsider wishing he hadn’t thought he was above their silliness. One other thing compelled him to avoid his brother and the other boys, but he didn’t have a name for it. Certainly, it wasn’t cowardice. Jeffery was the oldest by well over a year, and he was strong and athletic, a far cry more manly than the other boys’ and their slightly delayed puberty.

At Jeffery’s right, around the table, Jean squeaked and squirmed in her chair. His mother, Carol, went to Arnold and leaned over the teen’s sprawled form. “Oh my! The sheriff is wounded!” Arnold opened his eyes and smiled. He saw two big boobs dangling within Ms. Hughes’ thin, yellow blouse. The attractive woman reached down and pulled his wrist. “Let’s get you somewhere where you can heal.” She indicated the living room’s couch.