Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN, a novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER TWO: ACCEPTED!

Previously: Alex Sorenson, a diver on the swim team at the University of Wisconsin (Superior), has applied for the Little Big Man Contest, a competition that promises to award scholarships to college men of small stature. However, the contest is actually a scam run by four Russians to lure young men into an as-yet-unspecified trap.

It is the end of March, Alex's application is in, and he is waiting to hear if he will be accepted as a contestant. He is nervous because he had to give his father as a `reference'; he has a terrible relationship with his father for a reason he hasn't shared yet.

Alex is writing this account months later, in October, at the behest of one of the Russians, Dmitri, whom Alex then calls "Master". Dmitri, unbeknownst to Alex, will supplement his account with his own perspective on the events along the same timeline.

[Author's confession: In actuality, the University of Wisconsin (Superior) no longer has a swimming team, much less competitive divers. And I know next to nothing about collegiate diving; I just made it up. – Travis Creel]

DMITRI: FRIDAY, 1 APRIL - ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA

The die is cast. All of our little flies have received their acceptances. 25 will be invited to the state contests (20 in a few small states). We tell them we'll only accept the first 25 who confirm their acceptance, but actually we take the 25 ranked highest by Sergei's algorithm.

We're not worried that fewer than that will accept. They will come running, eager to get their puny little three hundred fifty dollars. And then fifty-two of them will go home ecstatic that they have won twenty-five thousand dollars and a trip around the world. The rest will go home disappointed that they have lost.

But the losers will go home with three hundred fifty dollars and a pleasant memory, while the winners will never see the twenty-five thousand dollars they think they've won. They will, however, get a trip around the world.

Well, partway around the world.

ALEX: FRIDAY, APRIL 1 - SUPERIOR, WISCONSIN

I should be focusing on the meet with Stevens Point – it's at their campus, and we're leaving at nine. It's 8:30, and what am I doing? Checking the e-mail. For the fourth time this morning.

I know they're going to reject me but I want to see it before I leave. Coach won't let us have cell phones on the bus, not even for a four-hour ride. He says he wants us to focus on the meet, not Instagram and TikTok. He's probably right but this is one day when I don't want to be out of touch with the world.

I don't know why I'm holding on to hope. There's no way they're going to accept me. Because I did hear something recently. Not from them. From the worst possible source whatsoever: my father.

He called last week. It went something like this:

• Alex.

• (alarmed) Dad!

• What's this fuckin' thing you've applied for?

• It's – it's a scholarship program, Dad.

• And you have the fucking nerve to use me as a reference?

• Not in the positive sense. They also asked for people who might criticize me.

• (Pause.) Well, you got that right.

• (Pause.) What did you tell them, Dad?

• Hah! Scared, aren't you, you little shitface. Well, relax. I didn't turn you in to the cops three years ago and that probably makes me some kind of accessory. So I didn't spill the beans to these assholes either, whoever they are. But I didn't do you any favors, I'll tell you that.

• I'm sure you didn't, Dad. Honest, I didn't want to put you down as a reference, but –

• But you had to, or they'd wonder why you didn't list your old man.

• Basically.

• Well, you got balls, I'll say that. I told them that so far as I was concerned if you never set foot in this house again it would be fine with me, except I wasn't such a bastard that I would kick my own son out before he could support himself.

Really? Maybe you give me a roof to sleep under when school isn't in session, but I'm financing this education with student loans and paying my living expenses off money from summer jobs. Even though I got into Beloit I couldn't afford it even with student loans, so now I'm here at UW-Superior. Which is a good-enough school but not a knock-your-socks-off-on-the-resume sort of place. Okay, Dad, you didn't kick me out of the house, and I guess I could be grateful for that, but I'm not grateful for the look of disgust that crosses your face every time our eyes meet.

By the time the phone call was over, I knew my chances of winning the Little Big Man Foundation scholarship were probably shot to hell.

I guess I should explain.

It happened three years ago. I was a senior in high school; it was November. Our family house is in a wooded area on a country road outside of Clacksburg, about an hour south of Superior.

I had gone out with some friends and, yeah, we had a few beers. At my size, you don't need too many beers to have too many beers, if you read me. When I came home, I was driving too fast and didn't even notice that I was approaching my house. And then when I realized that I was going to sail right past the driveway, I hit the brakes and skidded. And hit something. I didn't see what it was. Maybe the mailbox, maybe a deer, I didn't know. Something just went boom. I was so terrified that I hit the gas pedal, peeled a little rubber, and sped away. My heart was pounding furiously and I drove for over a mile like a bat out of hell before I calmed down enough to turn around. When I arrived home, I saw what I had hit, lying at the edge of the road. It was my twin brother Adam.

I pulled into the driveway, ran back to the road and knelt over him. He wasn't moving.

I rushed into the house and told Dad. I was drunk, I was panicking, I was ranting and raving, I didn't know what I was saying. Dad went out with me and confirmed my worst fears. Adam was dead. Dad looked at the car, which amazingly had no indication of having been in an accident. He told me to go to my room and stay there. He called the police and told them that Adam had gone out to put something in the mailbox and someone had come along and hit him. A hit-and-run. The police could see where I had peeled rubber accelerating the hell out of there. They investigated and found nothing. We had no nearby neighbors, so there were no witnesses. They didn't even examine our car – why would they, when Dad had said the family had been home all evening, and the car involved had clearly driven off somewhere else. Dad was buddies with the Clacksburg cops; they wouldn't question his word.

But it was over between Dad and me. Adam had always been his favorite – odd for a parent to favor one twin over the other, but he did. Losing Adam broke Dad's heart, and he never forgave me. I never forgave myself either, but I held it inside while Dad brought it out in the open. We were both stuck with the lie that we had told the police – or hadn't told. The omission was deliberate on Dad's part, a matter of consequence for me. I never said anything to the police because they never interviewed me.

So it's pretty clear that my chances of winning the $25,000 scholarship are shot, and now there's not even much chance of the $350 participation fee. Which I could really, really use.

ALEX: SATURDAY, APRIL 2 - SUPERIOR, WISCONSIN

I can't believe it! My application was accepted! How that happened after what Dad did is beyond me. Maybe they rewarded me for being honest enough to list him as a negative reference. Maybe that shows strength of character, in their eyes. Even Dad said that took balls.

Hey, world! I have balls!

We didn't get home until nearly midnight and it was technically this morning when I opened the e-mail and saw the news. The letter said 40 guys were accepted, but only the first 25 to confirm would get spots in the state contest. And you don't get the $350 unless you show up. I may have been the last guy in the state to see his acceptance – I hope I'm not too late.

Yes – I accept! Fingers crossed.

ALEX: TUESDAY, APRIL 5 - SUPERIOR, WISCONSIN

I'm in.

It took a while to get the response, but I got in. Maybe there were guys who had second thoughts about being judged on their physical appearance – more likely they had conflicts with the date. Which is May 6th, down in Madison.

Whoo-hoo! (Should I go into a chorus of "I Feel Pretty"? Nah – that would be pretty gay.)

DMITRI: SATURDAY, 9 APRIL - ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA

I am off on Monday to America. So tonight I am having some of my best friends over for a farewell party. A lot of friends.

But it was not a farewell party for me. I am coming back. It was a farewell party for Jackson, who is not. The party began at nine and ended at six the next morning. During this time, Jackson entertained my friends. Non-stop. For nine hours.

Now if you are thinking what I think you are thinking when I say he `entertained' them, you are absolutely correct. The poor boy had no break for nine solid hours. Nine solid hours of entertaining my friends. Every one of my guests was eating and drinking and taking their turn entertaining Jackson. They literally stood in line to entertain Jackson. Two lines, one at either end.

I think they found it more entertaining than he did.

You might think that a boy couldn't entertain a party of men for nine hours straight without a break. Well, he did. I can't say he was able to run a marathon afterwards, though. Or stand up, for that matter.

He won't be in shape to travel for a few days, and by then I'll be gone. But I will convey him into the hands of my trusted assistant Sasha, who will escort him out of the country where he will never have to entertain me or my friends ever again.

But as the saying goes, it may be out of the frying pan . . .

ALEX: FRIDAY, APRIL 15 - SUPERIOR, WISCONSIN

The most significant thing that happened in April – other than my acceptance letter – had nothing to do with the contest at all. It was a swim meet.

We have them mostly on Fridays around 3:00 or sometimes on Saturdays. This one was on a Friday, a home match against Minnesota-Duluth. Even though they're in a different state, it's the closest school geographically that we compete against, and they're kind of our archrival.

Each team has four divers in springboard and four on platform. I'm not the best guy on our team, but I'm pretty good. I'm usually second in both disciplines among the four of us and sometimes I beat Daniel on platform.

So here we are against Duluth and I'm hitting my marks like an Olympian, clean entries, small splash, good tight tuck position, and with two dives left I'm third in springboard, but not threatening the lead. It's not Daniel who's ahead, either, it's this dude from Duluth named Matteus Laukkonen. How do you like that name? It's Finnish, which is not uncommon in this part of the country. Laukkonen and I are the two shortest divers in the competition. He's like a brown-haired, rounder-faced version of myself. You think of Scandinavians as being blond, but they aren't, not all of them.

Being short is a real disadvantage in swimming – you can take fewer strokes if you've got a long body, and long arms can get you touching home a fraction of a second earlier than the next guy. But successful divers have been both tall and short. And here was Matteus Laukkonen, blowing away the competition at five foot six.

I have to say when I saw him standing on the edge of the platform for the first time, it took my breath away. Like I said before, I'm not gay, but this dude was a perfect physical specimen. I didn't have a bad body – and girls did tell me I had a `cute butt' – but I was jealous of his.

In the air, he was perfection. I wanted to freeze him in full tuck position. He looked ready for the Olympic trials from where I stood, though I knew the dives he was doing didn't have the level of difficulty to actually compete at that level.

I got inspired (by him?) and really nailed my last two dives and closed within a dozen points of him, passing Daniel for second. Later, in platform, I was hitting all cylinders and actually led most of the way through before Laukkonen nosed past me at the end.

Afterwards, he came over to me and shook my hand. Something happened when he did that, I can't really describe it. I felt a little thrill. He was shaking MY hand. The thrill came from being next to greatness and having him acknowledge I even existed. At least I think that's what it must have been. I mean, it wasn't sexual. But for some reason, my heart was pounding.

And then he said:

• Hey, good diving. Wanna go have a beer? - (staring at him in surprise) Don't you have to get back? I mean, the team bus or whatever? - Coach let me drive. I live south of the bridge, so it takes less time to get here from my home than if I go into campus and ride with the team.

The UMD campus was to the north side of the bridge that connected our two cities. He continued:

• So, wanna grab a brew?

• (God, yes.) Sure.

• (grinning the world's most infectious grin) Great. Meet you out front in twenty minutes.

I showered and dressed quickly and found him waiting for me out front. We walked to Swanson's, a nearby bar, chatting about the competition and the dives we could have done better. When we arrived, we took a booth near the back.

• I never introduced myself. Matti Laukkonen.

• At the meet, they called you `Matteus'.

• That's my official name. `Matteus' sounds more exotic, so I use it when I dive. Psych the competition out a little bit. Americans are always spooked by foreign competitors.

• (still in awe of his physical presence) You don't need to psych the competition out. You intimidate them just by how good you are. Anyway, you don't sound foreign.

• Moved here when I was three. From a place called Turku, which nobody has heard of, despite its being the second largest city in Finland. So that's me - aren't you going to introduce yourself?

• Oh, sorry, thought you knew.

• I do know. I can hear the meet announcers too. But you should be polite and introduce yourself.

The way he was teasing me it was almost like being on a date. Was he flirting? Nah, he was straight as an arrow, had to be. We were just two dudes having a beer, nothing more.

• Well, then, okay. Hello, Matti Laukkonen, I'm Alex Sorenson.

• Sorenson, eh? A fellow Scandinavian. Danish?

• The name is. My great-grandfather came over eons ago and his descendants have married all kinds of non-Danes, so I'm pretty much of a mongrel.

We talked for over two hours, exchanging family histories, academic histories, diving histories – in one blow, I felt like I knew him as well as I knew most of my friends.

Two things had bothered me, though. For one thing, he kept talking about his parents in the past tense, as if they were no longer in his life. Although he didn't seem bitter toward them or anything. The second thing was when I brought up some of my girlfriend issues, he seemed to change the subject quickly back to diving. Like he didn't want to talk about girls. Was he gay? And if he was, was he trying to pick me up?

No. I was being ridiculous. Gay dudes are more direct about that, aren't they? They just fuck ten minutes after meeting. If he was trying to pick me up, he would have tried to pick me up, not chat like we were beer buddies. Right?

Looking at him, and listening to the intelligence of his conversation, I realized that Matti would have been a perfect candidate for Little Big Man. It was a shame that the deadline for applying was already past, so I didn't mention my participation in it.

Then he got into his car, and drove off. I felt sad because, even though we had a nice chat, it was only because of the meet, and I'd probably never run into him again.

DMITRI: FRIDAY, APRIL 22 - DAYTON, OHIO

The first contest is over. We have Ohio's Little Big Man, a sexy black boy who would double Boris's pulse. (He increased mine as well.)

Carrying out one of these contests is a big effort. Some of our issues:

Venue: First we have to rent the hall – in this case a small, underutilized theater in Dayton that once was a burlesque theater. Big enough for our needs but not bright and shiny enough to attract media attention. And in a city that, while not centrally located, is easily accessible by interstate highways.

Although we don't need – or want – a big audience, there is one reason for wanting a theater that can accommodate a big show, and that's dressing room space. We have to give twenty-five guys room to change clothes, so you need a place that can manage that.

Showers: One thing the theaters don't have, however, is showers. We always ask our competitors to shower before the competition starts. We tell them we want them to be and feel clean, that their bodies will look better. While that's probably true, there's really no need for them to shower before the state competitions. But we need to plant the idea that they need to shower right before a competition. That will become important a few weeks later. Since the theaters lack showers for twenty-five guys, we rig up a special trailer with a bunch of shower heads inside and do them eight or so at a time. The boys don't mind the fact that it's a communal shower – they've all been in locker rooms.

Transportation: We hire anywhere from six to twelve cars or small vans, depending on the geographical distribution of our candidates. In some states, we need to pick up competitors the day before and house them overnight in a hotel. Ohio is small enough to not need that.

Judges: We hire our judges for a weekend stint – the same judges that worked Ohio today will take on Michigan tomorrow and Indiana Sunday. We aim for a balance of eight women to two (obviously heterosexual) men. Once I had ten female judges. The contestants like it – they're all straight.

Or rather, they THINK they are.

Which brings up the critical topic of the Latent Homosexuality Index, or LHI.

Every virile man in the world is capable of copulation with either sex. Much as I hate to admit it, I could fuck a woman if my life depended on it. (It would take some doing to convince my cock that the experience was preferable to death, but the job could be done.) And there is some part of `straight' men that is attracted to other men. It is the reason that supposedly heterosexual males take delight in snapping towels against the bare buttocks of other supposedly heterosexual males in a locker room. Most of that latent homosexuality is repressed so strongly they never recognize it, and it never manifests itself in any obvious way.

But it's there.

The degree to which a man has homosexual instincts can be measured, on a scale from 0 to 100. We consider men with LHI's between 33% and 67% as bisexual, but sociocultural pressures are so high that even men who are a majority gay often suppress it – consciously or subconsciously – and identify as straight with LHI's as high as 75%.

What determines a man's LHI? Part of it is genetic – secret research (mostly by a country in the Middle East that will be important later in this story) has revealed certain genes that, while not causal, have a positive correlation with attraction to other men. We can find this with blood tests. What determines the rest is not scientifically proven but we can measure it by reactions in the pupils and in blood flow to the penis when presented with subliminal images of the male sex.

Both of these measures are part of the physical exam we give to all contestants, so we have this data. And LHI is a critical factor in the judging, unbeknownst to the competitors – or the judges, ironically.

We separate out candidates into two groups – viable and nonviable. In order to be viable, the man must identify as straight, have a poor family relationship, and have an LHI of at least 25 but not more than 60. Research has shown that the LHI can be increased by a factor of 2.5 if the subject is placed in an all-male environment for an extended period of time (e.g. a prison). Thus a man who is 25% homosexual can increase his sexual preference to over 60% for men, and a man who is at least 40% homosexual can become exclusively gay.

Placing our state winners in an all-male environment is exactly what we intend to do.

ALEX: SATURDAY, APRIL 30 - DULUTH, MINNESOTA

Okay, today was weird. Just plain weird.

The confirmation of participation that I sent in a few weeks ago had a whole bunch of conditions in it, most of which was legal mumbo-jumbo about how I wouldn't sue them and shit like that. I glanced at it, but you can't take that fine print too seriously.

One of the things I had apparently agreed to was to have a physical exam.

They contacted me about a week ago and told me that my physical would take place today, and gave me a time (3:30) and the address of a clinic in Duluth (487 North Calhoun St., Room 204). If you don't know our geography, Duluth is just across the St. Louis River (the state boundary) from Superior – it's like one city spread across two states, and the area is often called Duluth-Superior.

Room 204 was listed as Cox Medical Associates, although the name plate looked different from the others, as if it had been added recently. I pressed the button and was buzzed in.

I was greeted by a grandmotherly receptionist nursing a cup of coffee. I only saw one door leading out of the reception area and wondered just how many `associates' this outfit had.

She smiled at me, said "Alex Sorenson or Benjamin Whitehorse?" When I confirmed my identity, she invited me to take a seat. "The doctor will be right with you. He's just finishing up with the previous appointment."

Five minutes later, the doctor's previous appointment came out into the reception area. I glanced up, expecting to see a fellow Little Big Man contestant and thought I'd see what kind of competition I was up against – although it was more likely that he'd be in the Minnesota contest than the Wisconsin. The person that emerged from that room was indeed from Minnesota: it was Matti Laukkonen.

I'm not sure whose jaw dropped the furthest.

• What are you doing here? (stupid, I know, but it just came out)

• (grinning that perfect grin of his) Same as you, I presume. Little Big Man. You never told me you –

• You never told me YOU –

• Well, you never asked. I was afraid to mention it because I knew you'd be perfect for it but the application deadline was already past and –

• That's exactly why I didn't tell YOU about it!

• Wow. (Pause, as astonished as I was, obviously) This is amazing.

Cue the receptionist.

• (dryly) I guess you two boys know each other. I know you'd like to catch up, but we're behind schedule and you're not the last appointment we have today. I'm sorry, Mister Sorenson, but you're keeping the doctor waiting.

• Right. Sorry. Just one moment. Can I borrow this? (A pen.) And this? (A post-it note.)

She nodded. I grabbed them and wrote my phone number on the post-it and handed it to Matti.

• We've got to talk about this.

• Yeah. Busy weekend. Maybe I'll have some time on Monday.

Three days from now? Was that a brush-off? Somehow it felt like "Sorry, I've got to wash my hair," though that was not something I was accustomed to hearing when asking for a date. Anyway, this wasn't a date. This was just two normal dudes who had to talk about being in the same contest together. Right?

• (receptionist) Mr. Sorenson?

• Right. Got it. (to Matti) See ya.

And moved toward the doctor's office. Matti called out something that sounded like "Say hi to the cannon," which made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Well, I'd ask him later what he meant.

The doctor looked Middle-Eastern, and the label on his white lab coat said Hafez Haddad, M.D. He handed me a container and sent me to the bathroom to collect a urine sample. Then he took my blood pressure and a blood sample, told me to breathe deeply as he pressed the stethoscope against my chest and back, looked into my eyes and mouth, and felt around my jaw and neck. Fine. All routine.

• Now take off your clothes, please.

• What, all of them?

• All of them.

I was surprised. Being in sports, I've had a number of physicals, and the doctor has always just had me drop my pants briefly for THAT part of the examination. I'd never been completely nude. This bothered me, but I realized it was silly. Whether I've got the rest of my clothes on or not, he's going to see my junk.

So I stripped to the skin and stood before him, hoping this would be over quickly. But before he dealt with my junk, he spent some time examining the musculature of my arms, chest, calves and thighs and then walked around behind me and squeezed my glutes. THAT was unnerving.

Then he did what he had needed me to strip for and took hold of my balls and fingered them actively. I know he was checking for testicular cancer, but it did seem like he lingered over them a little longer than necessary. Then he did the turn-your-head-and-cough thing to check for a hernia.

• Well, even if your cock is small, you've got a nice set of these, don't you.

• (Uh, thanks – I guess – but it's an odd comment from a doctor. . . )

• If you were older, I'd have to do a prostate exam, and you wouldn't care for that at all. But I think we can dispense with that – you have no problems with urination or ejaculation, correct?

• (blushing) Correct.

• (with a conspiratorial wink) Males your age generally have no problems in that department. Are you getting plenty of sex?

• (blushing further) Enough.

In truth, I didn't have much experience but wanted to look like I had a lot, like all the guys on the swim team did – or said they did.

• Only with girls? Not with boys, I hope.

• I think that was on my questionnaire, too. I assure you, no dudes.

• Good. If you did, I'd have to test your blood for HIV. Okay, we're almost done. If you could step over here so I can record your height and weight.

I'd never had that done in the nude either – they'd always just made some kind of adjustment for my clothes - but I had to admit it would be more accurate.

First I stood in front of a height meter, which he adjusted and brought down to the top of my head.

• Five feet six and one quarter inches. Well within the parameters of the contest.

Then he had me step over to the scale.

• Looks like one hundred thirty-six and a half. Stripped.

(As if that wasn't obvious.)

I started to cross the room to get dressed, but I felt a gentle hand on my arm.

• Sorry, not just yet. We just have two more things to do, both of which may seem to you a little odd. Could you sit in this chair, please?

He motioned me to an armless chair next to a table with some equipment on it.

• We need to measure your reaction to certain visual stimuli. To do this, we're going to take your pulse, and your blood pressure.

He slipped a clip onto my finger and fitted me with blood pressure cuffs on my left arm. Why was he doing this while I was still nude?

• Can't I dress?

• (smiling, shaking his head) Sorry, no. This next one needs your pants off.

He then put a second blood pressure cuff on my upper thigh -which I had never had done before.

I thought, well okay, but at least give me my underwear.

• Now spread your legs apart for me, please.

I looked at him like he was crazy but did so. He then knelt in front of me, pulled out a wire with a loop at the end of it – and slipped it over my junk!

• What the fuck? (unable to stop myself)

• This will monitor blood flow to your penis. Believe me, there will be no discomfort.

• I'm feeling discomfort right now. Not pain, you know, but –

• Embarrassment.

• Well, yeah!

• Perfectly natural. Not to worry – this is routine in army physicals in several countries.

• (I find that hard to believe.)

• Now, you're going to watch a little film. It will take about ten minutes. Remain as still as you can while watching the film – don't shift your weight or move your arms or legs.

• (Or anything else.)

• You will probably find the film quite pleasant, actually. Just relax and watch and before you know it, it will be over.

Well, he was right about one thing – the film was pleasant. It began with some geometric shapes that eventually morphed into kaleidoscopic images, the last of which very cleverly morphed in turn into a puppy. Then there were nature scenes and scenes of classic architecture like the Colosseum in Rome and sleek silver jetliners streaking though the air and other images from modern life, increasingly busy. It seemed like the level of intensity was gradually increasing through the film and I wondered if my pulse reflected that. I felt oddly stimulated at the end of the film – I wasn't sure why.

• Now, that wasn't so bad was it. Bet you forgot you even had this guy on, didn't you?

He was, of course, referring to the loop around my cock and balls – which I had indeed forgotten about. I could not, for the life of me, discern what its purpose was. I had half expected them to show me pictures of naked women to see if I got an erection, but there was nothing like that. Bizarre.

DMITRI: Actually, there was, but it was subliminal. And it wasn't naked WOMEN. There was a reason we named this 'Cox' Medical Associates.

ALEX: I probably was blushing as his hands freed my genitals from the imprisoning loop – I guess they always feel a little tingle when someone is handling them, even if it is a guy. When I stood, I noticed that I seemed better hung than I had been after I'd first stripped. My cock is small to begin with and sometimes retreats inside the foreskin (which makes it look even smaller) but it was hanging down nicely – I guess I relaxed and was now sporting a respectable Florida-shaped phallus.

• One more task. Could you stand over there, face me, with your arms at your side, please.

What now? I had now been naked for nearly fifteen minutes in front of this totally clothed man and I really wanted to get dressed. I mentally shrugged and stood against the wall, facing him, with my arms at my side.

To my astonishment, he produced a camera.

• Smile.

• What?

• I'm just going to take a few nude pictures of you and post them on the internet.

• WHAT?!!

Dr. Haddad burst out laughing.

• That always gets them!

Relaxed, I gave him a dirty look and began walking again but he held up his hand to stop me.

• No, seriously, I am going to photograph you to record the physical condition of your body. Sometimes digital analysis of photographs can alert us to an underlying condition that might not be apparent in the in-person exam. It's strictly for medical purposes, I assure you.

• (Okaaaaay...)

• It's nothing to be alarmed about. Have you written to any past contestants?

• Yes, the guy who won Wisconsin two years ago.

• Ask him if we ever used his picture for anything embarrassing. If I did that, I'd lose my medical license.

Well, that made sense. He wouldn't risk his career for this, and I can't see why LBMF would have survived the inevitable lawsuits that would have been raised if someone found their nude picture online.

Fine. I smiled and let him take the picture.

• (hoping against hope) Waist up, right?

He smiled in return. We both knew he had a full shot of my dong and "nice set of" balls.

I started to cross over to grab my underwear.

• Oh, wait, not yet. I need three more. First, I want you to fold your arms across your chest.

My chest wasn't the part of me I wanted to cover, but I did what he asked.

• Now turn ninety degrees to your right. I need a profile shot.

• (Click.)

• And now turn another ninety degrees to your right, so that you are facing the wall.

• (Click. Great. Now he had a dong shot and an ass shot.)

• And once more, for the other profile.

I felt like I'd just taken a series of mug shots except that for mug shots they didn't make you strip naked and they only photographed you from the neck up.

• Okay, Mr. Sorenson, you can get dressed now.

With enormous relief, I walked to my clothes and slipped into my briefs. I wasn't looking directly at Dr. Haddad but had the sense he was watching me the whole time. It was a little creepy.

I believed his claim that the nude shots of me wouldn't wind up on the internet. But he might store them on his home computer or print them out and store them in a filing cabinet in his basement. I had visions of Dr. Hafez Haddad stroking his cock to orgasm while staring at my naked body.

Or Matti's. If Matti's physical exam was like mine, he would have undergone this humiliation as well; why hadn't he warned me about it?

And then I remembered those cryptic words tossed at me as I had left the reception area: "Say hi to the cannon."

Not cannon, as in an old-time military weapon. Canon, as in camera. Witty Matti.

When I emerged into the reception area, there was another guy there, even shorter than I am, with features that looked Native American. Benjamin Whitehorse, no doubt.

• (me) You here for Little Big Man?

• Yeah.

• Where you from?

• Bemidji State.

• UW-Superior. Good luck. And say hi to the Canon.

• The what?

• You'll see.

I left Mr. Bemidji State with a very bewildered expression on his face.

When I got home, I shot off an e-mail to Drew Simmons. He said, yes, he'd also been photographed in the nude, and while he did not remember the doctor's name, it wasn't Dr. Haddad; his doctor had been Chinese. In fact, he'd almost forgotten about the photographs – nothing had ever come of them and they were never mentioned again.

So this must be a Little Big Man thing, probably exactly for the reasons Dr. Haddad had stated, and the mental images I'd created of him masturbating to images of my naked body were paranoid fantasies and nothing more.

Hell, he's probably just as straight as I am.

DMITRI: SUNDAY, 1 MAY - LINCOLN, NEBRASKA

Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, all done. Halfway there. To be honest, the winner in some of these states is not the one I would personally have chosen. Some of the staff think mine is the only opinion that counts. It isn't. I can make sure the wrong guy doesn't win, but not that the best guy does – I'll explain that when we get to Alex's contest.

One of our 52 contestants will replace Jackson. Boris, Yuri, and Sergei are also looking for replacements. Each of us has a favorite type'. I like blonds. Boris likes blacks. Yuri likes muscle-men. Sergei likes what he calls exotics', which isn't really exotic, but includes Latinos, Asians – and, for some reason, redheads.

So far on this trip, I've picked up two black boys, a strongman, a blond, and two brunets. No 'exotics', but the Midwest isn't the best hunting ground for Latinos and Asians. The brunets are likely to wind up elsewhere, but you never know. We're willing to go outside of type for the right boy.

Rest up for a few days then it's up to Madison. On, Wisconsin!

ALEX: MONDAY, MAY 2 - SUPERIOR, WISCONSIN

• Hello.

• This is your favorite Finnish diver speaking.

• Matti?

• Don't sound so surprised. I said Monday. It's Monday.

• You said maybe Monday.

• And you doubted my word.

• Well, I know how you Finns lie.

• Horizontally, usually. That's my favorite position. What's your favorite position?

Was that a suggestive remark? No, nonsense, it's just wordplay. He's not trying to seduce me, he's straight.

• Ha ha. So I can't believe we're both in this Little Big Man thing.

• Not that surprising. We're both little – in height. And big where it counts. At least I am. I presume you are.

Okay, wasn't THAT a suggestive remark? No, no, Alex, put these thoughts to rest, he's NOT flirting with you. He just has a whimsical sense of humor.

• Well, my dad told me I had balls.

• Glad to hear it. I believe two is the usual number. But I thought you didn't get along with your dad.

• I don't. I put him down as one of my anti-references. And they called him.

• Jesus. You do have balls.

• Yep, two. In spite of that, they selected me. Maybe because of that, who knows?

• They like guys with balls, you mean.

Do you? I wanted to ask. Do you like guys with balls? As opposed to girls with boobs?

• So did you believe that doctor? I mean, it wasn't until afterwards that I realized what you meant about the cannon. I was worried he was going to, like, do something weird with those pictures.

• The thought crossed my mind, too. So I wrote to a former contestant –

• Oh, man, I did, too.

• He said they did the same thing with him, and nothing ever happened.

• My guy, too. And his doctor was Chinese, so it wasn't the same guy.

• My guy's doctor was a woman, so it definitely wasn't the same guy! (Laugh.)

• So do you think we have a chance? I mean, I'm doing it just for the three-fifty, but man would twenty-five grand look good in my bank account. But I don't know what they're looking for.

• I'd think diving could be a real feather in both of our caps.

• Matti, they're looking for athletes. Don't you think the others will be athletes, too?

• On a team like we are?

• Well, not the basketball team, obviously.

• (Laugh). Or the football team. But wrestlers come in all weight classifications, baseball players don't have to be tall. José Altuve's like our size.

• Neither do golfers or soccer players or runners –

• Except for hurdlers. You have to be tall enough to get over the hurdles without castrating yourself. (Laugh.)

• So, Matti, when's your contest?

• Next weekend. Saturday the 14th.

• Mine's this week. Friday.

• So you'll be free on Saturday?

• Yeah, but isn't that when the Division II Regionals are?

• Exactly! How'd you like to come?

• What?

• I'm driving down Saturday morning at about 9. The competition doesn't start until five. You could come with me and lend moral support.

• . . .

• Alex?

• I'd love to go, but I don't think it's a good idea. When would we get back?

• Not until Sunday night. I've qualified for both competitions, and the platform isn't till Sunday.

• I can't afford to give up the whole weekend. I'll get too far behind in my work and I've got to keep my GPA up. Besides, there's another reason why I shouldn't go.

• What's that?

• I'll be too hung over after celebrating my victory as Wisconsin's Little Big Man.

• (Laugh.) From your mouth to the judges' ears, Alex.

• (Laugh.) It could happen. They sent me the list – twenty-five guys competing. I've got like a 5% chance, so there!

• 4%, do the math. Maybe that means I have a 4% chance of winning next week, too.

• Where's your state contest?

• Duluth.

• No shit??

• No, dumbass. Duluth, really? I don't think so. TC, where else. You wanna come for that?

• Yikes, week after next is finals. I don't know, I'll see. In any case, I'll pass on any tips I gather from being in the competition.

• After you win the competition, you mean.

• (Laugh.) Yeah, that's what I mean.

• (Laugh.)

I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I've got to find a way to one of those events. Maybe I can get down to TC on Sunday for the platform competition, or maybe I can get to the Minnesota LBM. But – even if I can't really tell you why – I've got to see Matti again. I can't stop thinking about him.

I know, that sounds really gay, but I can't help it.

FLASHFORWARD: SUNDAY, OCTOBER 16 – St. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA

• This was – what is word? - revealing - to me.

• In what way?

• I think you know.

• So while all this was going on, were you like – did you have me picked out?

• I did not know who you are. I must have see your picture in March, but were thousands of them. You just one in several thousand.

• . . .

• You not going to say you were one in million?

• Sorry?

• It was joke. I am not good at joke. But you like joke. You show sense of humor in writing.

• You disapprove.

• On contrary. It show personality.

• So you don't mind if I –

• Within reason, make your little joke. Is part of who you are, you should let it come out.

• Okay.

• You not going to make joke about coming out?

• Why should I?

• Are you still deny that you are gay?

• . . .

• Alexei?

• Master, with all due respect, I wish you'd call me `Alex'.

• That not due respect. That not any respect. You don't have right to say that.

• I thought I could speak freely.

• Within limit. Question master's judgment is outside limit.

• Sorry, Master.

• More important - you avoid question: Are you still deny that you are gay?

• . . . No comment.

• `No comment'. Well, perhaps is progress.