Date: Tue, 2 Sep 2008 19:30:46 -0700 (PDT) From: email@example.com Subject: Chapter 5: The Cheese Stands Alone THE CHEESE STANDS ALONE CHAPTER 5: THE LITTLE DOG LAUGHED TO SEE SUCH SPORT Disclaimer: I should go on record, here at the very beginning, saying that I don't believe that there is such a thing as nonfiction. The acts of remembering, as well as, creative writing are intrusive, altering what happened, sometimes subtly and sometimes entirely, most often in purely unintentional ways. I leave it to you to separate the true from the real. Some of the experiences are based on events that actually happened (to me) and some of them are completely re-imagined. Do not attempt to reenact or recreate any event described in the text of this or other chapters. Please remember that ordinary human decency as well as maturity requires good judgment and the ability to distinguish illegal acts described in literary fiction from the reality of responsible human behavior. All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. The story has been written for entertainment purposes for adults only. You must be a minimum of 18 years of age (or 21 years of age in some jurisdictions) to read this story. If you are not of legal age or if you consider this type of writing to be morally offensive, then do not read the following story. It is your own responsibility to adhere to these terms. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at: firstname.lastname@example.org ----------------------------------------------------------------------- PROLOGUE Paul Poe wrapped a towel around his waist after turning off the shower and began walked back toward the lockers, not even bothering to towel down. As he walked toward me, I tried not to look. I have known Paul all my life. He was a year younger then Troy, my older brother, which meant he was a senior this year. Paul was devastatingly handsome in that bad-boy kind of way. Bad-boy was an apt description of him. Paul was a bully, but he didn't have Troy's charisma, so unlike my brother, who was also a bully, Paul wasn't particularly popular. Luckily Paul hadn't been around as much since Troy had started college this fall. He and Troy had been friends growing up, and he had the same penchant for real meanness as Troy, which meant that small animals and smaller kids weren't safe in our neighborhood. Paul always found ways to fuck with me, so I found ways to avoid him, even if he was my neighbor and one of my older brother's best friends. There's a story I've been told about how Paul tied up his cousin and branded him with a wood-burning tool. My mom said the rumor was true, but that Troy hadn't had anything to do with it. She always added that last part when she told the story. The fact that she felt she needed to spoke volumes. I was still embarrassed about the fact that Paul had watched me run around naked in the backyard and shoot my load onto the lawn last night. I would never have gone through with such an exhibitionistic performance if Billy hadn't dared me to. Even though I sort of enjoyed the game I was playing with Billy on the phone, it had gone too far. Billy had forced me to get naked and leave my clothes on the lawn, then shout out that the truth about having a small dick. Hell I hadn't ever even said that out loud to myself before! The worst thing about it was that Paul had heard it all. Now, just being in the same room with him caused me to blush. My cheeks were burning, and I knew they were already red, but then I felt the blush travel down my throat onto my chest. Paul's penis made a substantial bulge in the towel that bobbed heftily as he walked toward me. I was changing out of my workout clothes. I had my head down, but curiosity compelled me to try stealing a couple of glances at the generous basket Paul had between his legs. I didn't like him, but that didn't mean I hadn't noticed his physique. As Paul walked past me, I couldn't resist checking him out. The generous spray of dark brown hair on Paul's chest was pasted wet to his skin. There was a narrow trial of hair that started halfway down Paul's abs until it disappeared beneath his white towel. Paul caught my eyes with his own, and I know saw him look down to check out my own small erection straining hard against my sweaty gym shorts. "You changin' or watchin', faggot?" he challenged me as he walked past. My own diminutive erection always curves straight up when free of the entanglement of clothing. But when wearing pants or shorts my unfolding erection always seems to get caught up in a fold somehow and instead of pointing less noticeably upward, ends up making a slightly painful 90-degree tent pole that sticks straight out. Watching Paul had brought my boyhood to full attention. I was glad that Paul and I were alone in the locker room and that there were no other boys to notice my reaction. No doubt they would have given me a hard time about my hard on, and even more about the size of it. It had happened before. I turned so he wouldn't see my erection as I finished stripping off my gym clothes. My woody snapped free of the waistband of my shorts as I slipped them down, thumping up against his pubes with an audible "smack". I busied myself with my backpack for a few minutes, trying to work math problems in my head, which was about the only cure for an erection that I had discovered to be effective so far. I looked across at Paul, now sitting on the bench across from me in his underwear. I was so nervous I decided to skip a shower and just get dressed even though I was pretty sweated up. I fished around in my backpack looking for my boxers in an effort to cover up my woody, but they were nowhere to be found. Paul watched. I took my t-shirt out of my backpack and started to slip it on. "Ain't you gonna shower?" He asked. There was a distinctly derisive tone in his voice. "Naa" I said, trying to seem casual, though I felt anything but casual at the moment. I just wanted to put as much space between Paul and me as possible. Its best to keep a distance from some people, and Paul was one of them. I kept my eyes on my backpack, and fished out my jeans, laying them across my lap to conceal my erection while I continued to search, desperately for my boxers. I looked up to see Paul was sauntering towards me with that distinctive cocky stride that characterized his walk. He pulled the backpack out of my hands and tossed it behind him, then grabbed for the jeans I had lying across my lap. I started to grab for my jeans, but he seized my wrist and twisted. "Stand up," he ordered, and almost without thinking about it I found myself standing in reaction to his command. "Now put your arms out to your side like you did last night." "What?" "You heard me." He said menacingly. "Hold 'em out to your sides." I stood there, unsure of what to say or do, and slowly lifted my arms straight out to my sides the way Billy had told me to last night when he had made me spin around in circles naked in the backyard. Paul flicked his forefinger with a bit of force against my erection. "Dude, you got the smallest dick I ever seen on a guy, always have!" he announced, "But Pee Wee, it hasn't grown any!" Suddenly I felt weaker than ever before. He was only a few years older, but next to Paul I looked like a little boy. "Now start spinning," he instructed. I must have given him with a look of surprise that he found hysterically funny, because he almost doubled over laughing at my reaction. When I was smaller, Paul used to love to spin me around in the yard by grabbing my arm with one hand and putting his other hand between my legs and grabbing my privates, sort of as a handle and then spinning me around and around. It kind of felt good in a way, but it always hurt too, especially when he grabbed my balls real hard, which he always did. I thought at first that's what he was talking about. "Start spinning just like you did last night," he repeated. He pointed over to the area in front of the showers where there was more floor space, "and count to fifty." "C'mon Paul," I argued. "Let's just make it an even one hundred." He said, and I knew that arguing any further with him would only accomplish digging myself in even deeper. I started turning, slowly at first then a bit faster, counting silently, keeping my arms spread out wide. "Out loud," he said. "One," I started counting, "Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten . . ." "Louder," he repeated. I upped my volume a bit and continued my count. "Louder," he repeated again. I feared that if I upped my volume any more, the guys would hear me outside in the gym. He snapped a towel at my ass as I turned in circles. "Louder," he demanded again. Paul was anything but patient. "Eleven," I raised my volume even louder, continuing my count, "twelve, thirteen, fourteen . . ." He kept snapping the towel at my ass as I continued to spin around. At about seventy-five all the spinning that I was doing was making me more than a little lightheaded and I lost my balance, falling down on the wet tile. He walked up next to me and stood over me, as I pushed myself up onto my knees and started to stand. Paul put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down onto my knees. "So you still queer for me?" Paul asked. I hesitated for a long time. I wasn't. Not at all. But form some reason the words came out all wrong. Paul had a great body and a killer dick, but I hated him. Always have. And with reason. But then it was like the whole encounter was just an echo or something from my game with Billy. I took a deep breath and said, "Yeah, Paul. I am." I wasn't what I wanted to say, but I couldn't stop it. "I knew you were queer," he said, then dropped his towel. Then Paul looked down at me and said, "Okay Petey-boy, get down there on your knees and kiss my boner. I know you know how, only this time I ain't got no chocolate for you to lick off of it. Suck it!" I looked at his cock. He said it was eight inches, but it didn't look as long as Billy's to me, and he was only seven. But Paul had this ability to make it flex up and down. Even now, all these years later in my life, I can't think of another guy who could make his dick dance as vigorously as Paul could. Never mind the size, that one trick alone could have earned him a place in porn history! And right then he was making it bounce pretty radically. He kept inching closer so it started thumping my nose and mouth when he flexed. He had a lot of curly dark hair on his pubic area. Finally I grabbed his cock and licked the tip tasting the pre cum that had gathered at the there. As I licked up toward the tip I tasted the momentary tang of urine that dissolved into a pungent, slightly salty, taste. "Yeah!" he said, "Make it wet." I went back down and licked the mushroom head of his long dick; took his head in my mouth. I was so warm and I loved it. I went down and back up slowly. I was getting in to it and he was responding. I could tell he loved it. I was on my knees, sucking him like crazy, and he was moaning a lot. I still heard the door open and stopped. I wanted to get up but he held my head down on him. "Suck it," he whispered. I did as he said and started to suck him again. I could hear the other boys from the gym were now in the locker room all around us, talking and showering and changing as I sucked Paul's cock in the center of the shower room. None of them seemed to even notice we were there. Paul was getting close and was breathing harder. Just then I heard Paul say, "Hey watch this, guys, he's gonna eat my cum." Then another boy said, "Look!" and started laughing. They got closer and started to circle up around us and I heard another one shout, "Paul's about to shoot his load." I grasped hold of Paul's penis, now fully erect, and licked the underside of his shaft and felt his balls brush against his chin. I swirled my tongue around the circumcised tip then and back down to his balls. His balls smelled slightly musky. Paul exhaled like he had been holding his breath a while. "That feels great," he whispered. I ran my tongue up the length of Paul's shaft again and positioned my lips snugly around the mushroom tip, then leaned forward and gently too the head of his cock into my mouth. I was warm and velvety. I could taste droplets of precum as they formed at the tip. Slowly I tried taking in more of his shaft, then continued until I had managed to get about two thirds of Paul's manhood into my mouth, then pulled back. Paul moaned, and I tightened my lips into a ring and watched the length of his spit-slicked shaft sliding in and out of my mouth, disappearing and reappearing below my nose as I bobbed up and down on it. I closed my eyes and concentrated on Paul's scent, trying to block out the fact that a gathering circle of boys were watching. Then suddenly Paul grabbed my head in both hands and forced me against his crotch. Less than ninety seconds after I had begun, I felt Paul's cock swell and twitch as he began blasting out load after load. I hated the taste of Paul's cum, and tried to spit it out, but he forced my face against his crotch, forcing his shaft all the way down my throat until I had no choice but to swallow the bitter load flooding my mouth. I started to gag. Paul's spunk had an intensely bitter odor that was almost overpowering. His was nothing like Billy's. When he pulled free I fell forward retching and coughing. I was pretty sure I was going to throw up, but I didn't. After he finished unloading Paul grabbed up my shirt and wiped the cum still clinging to his dick onto it, then tossed it over to me laughing, "Here you go," he laughed, "a souvenir!" He turned and started to walk away. Then he hesitated like he'd suddenly thought of something. "Hey Petey, tell these guys what you told me last night," he smirked. I wasn't sure just what he meant, but then he asked me, "How long is your dick?" "It's almost four," I stammered in almost a whisper. It was the same answer I had given Billy the first time he'd asked me. "You sure?" He asked, "I think you're lying." I paused. Of course I was lying. How could he ask me that will all these guys standing around? I could feel myself blushing as the circle of guys stared down at me. There was no way I could say it out loud like this. "Say it in a full sentence," he demanded. "Say it loud enough that I can hear you," he ordered as he started walking away from me. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I repeated under my breath. There was no way I could say what he wanted me to say. "I didn't hear anything," Paul said impatiently, "I'm still waiting!" This time he reappeared with his sweatpants on and started out the door into the gym. He stopped and held it open, "You say it or I will!" Everyone in the gym would hear it. But I couldn't do it. Saying it in my little game with Billy was one thing, but here, like this, where everyone would hear. No. I just couldn't. I could feel my skin burning in shame and I was starting to sweat. I felt nauseous, and now, for some fucked up reason I needed to pee like a racehorse all of a sudden. The boys surrounding us rolled with laughter. Two of them grabbed my arms, and I knew that were going to toss me naked out into the gym. A third guy grabbed up a wet towel and gave it a twist and snapped it again my woody. As the corner of the towel connected, it felt like something was about to tear off my dick and explode my bladder, and then I woke up. CHAPTER 5: THE LITTLE DOG LAUGHED TO SEE SUCH SPORT I was hard as a nail when I woke up and my cock would not go down. On top of all that I had to pee with a painful intensity that would not allow me to linger in my bedroom until my erection softened, I really needed to go. It was damn hard to piss with a boner but I had already learned that there did come a point where my valves would give way even if it meant I had to piss straight up. Mark was still in bed, which meant I could get the restroom first if I hurried. I rolled over and as my feet hit the floor Mark yawned and stretched and turned over onto his side to look at me sitting at the side of my twin bed. Without thinking I pulled my sheets up over my lap to keep my morning woody from being so obvious. "You don't think I don't already know what you got?" Mark said, starting out the morning with a sneer. I could tell it was going to be one hell of a wonderful day! I sat there on the edge of the bed, not wanting to get up and walk past his bed, which was on my way to the door of our room. My woody was showing no signs of abating. I needed to go pee, but getting up meant letting him get a look at my woody, which would only assure another heavy dose of teasing from my younger brother. "You definitely got a Vienna sausage there, Petey," he continued, "Mine's bigger soft that yours is hard." Mark shook his head in mock consolation. I had heard it all before, and I would hear it again. Mark had been teasing me about me having a dick smaller than his for a couple of years. It had started when our older brother Troy had told Mark that his penis was already much larger than mine, even though I was almost three years older. Paul had been there, and I think maybe Jimmy too. That had ended up in the inevitable wrestling match where Mark established that truth for himself while Troy pinned me down. Nothing had been the same since then. The fraternal pecking order had shifted and somehow, my younger brother managed to usurp my position as "middle" child. Little dick meant little brother. Age had nothing to do with it. I was taller than Mark, but he was stockier, which came from playing football and basketball instead of swimming, which was my sport. That whole experience had been my first lesson in the importance of dick size in the male pecking order. A man can be smart and rich and powerful, but the alpha male will always be the guy with the largest muscles and the biggest dick. And that is just the way it is, rationalize it however you want to! Mark stood up. Back then he had light brown hair, almost blonde with a very short haircut and bright blue eyes. He was also pitching a substantial tent. I tried not to look, but it was hard not to notice how grown-up Mark was. I sat there pretending not to notice as my urge to piss just got stronger and stronger until I was sure my bladder was on a countdown to exploding soon. "Jealous?" He smirked again. He had noticed me glancing at his boner. Mark wrinkled his nose in disgust and walked over towards me so that his boner was straining against his briefs right in front of my face as I sat on the bed. He was almost as close as Paul had gotten in my dream. He even made a couple of vulgar pelvic thrusts in the direction of my face and flexed his arms like a wrestler. "Face it, Pee Wee. I'm bigger. Always have been. Always will be." "Don't call me that," I argued back, feeling the last of my dignity begin to fray, "Don't call me I!" Mark grinned and grabbed the sheet I was holding across my lap and started a tug of war with it, trying to pull it out of my hands. I tried to keep my lap covered, but his first tug had wrenched about half the sheet out of my grip before I could stop him. "There's your little pee pee," he announced way too loudly, as my small pup tent came into view. The door to our room was standing open and I worried that mom might have heard him. Both Troy and Mark used to tease me by calling my penis a "pee pee". It was a silly little word my mom had used for "penis" when we were little kids. Then just before he graduated and went off to college Troy had told me that I had a "pee pee" and not a "dick", cause mine was still a "baby peter", not a man's penis. I reacted (big mistake) and the die was cast. Mark had caught on to my elder brother's joke, and started jumping up and down on Troy's bed repeating over and over, "Petey's got a pee pee," until at last he messed up and said, "Pee Wee's got a pee pee," which Troy thought was snot snorting hysterical, which was how I ended up getting the nickname "Pee Wee". Luckily it never caught on, Paul and Troy used to use it a lot, maybe Jimmy, but now it was mostly Mark who wielded it like a weapon against me. I'd had enough, and let go of the sheet, then tried to push past him to get to the door. I really needed to get to the toilet. But Mark caught me with one arm around my upper chest as I tried to push by him. "Where you going in such a hurry?" my younger brother asked. "I gotta go," I said, trying to pull myself free, which only made Mark tighten his hold. We fell back onto my bed, and he rolled more or less on top of me, then pinned me with his legs. Suddenly I was back down on my bed with Mark straddling my chest. He had on a pair of tighty whiteys, and there was his prick proudly bouncing around inside his briefs. I tried with all my might to push him off me, and almost did, but before I could give it a another thought, Mark had me on my stomach, sitting across my back, with his arms around my head cinching me in a headlock. I could feel his boner digging into my lower back. I struggled again and all of a sudden felt a single spurt of urine manage to break through all my efforts to hold it in, squirting right into my underwear. Desperately I tightened up to stop the flow, but I could feel the warm wet spot around my dick where it was digging into the mattress of my bed. "I really gotta go!" I said, desperately trying to pry Mark's arm free. I could feel his muscles get taught as he continued to grapple with me. "You gotta go?" Mark asked, "Real bad, huh?" Mark let go of my neck quickly with his left arm to reach down and tickle me in the ribs. "No, stop!" I hated being tickled. I've always hated it. It was the one thing that turned me from easy going into a hitting, kicking, flailing maniac. I had no control over my actions to protect myself again my attacker when I got tickled. He also, I'm sure, remembered a couple of times I'd pissed myself getting tickled by Troy. But with me on my stomach, pinned to my mattress Mark had the advantage, and he knew it. All he had to do to win was delay me just a few more seconds. I was wriggling, trying to get away, trying to stop it, trying to escape his fingers as he tickled relentlessly. I squirted again, and intensified my struggle to break free. "Mark, you ass hole." I exclaimed. With my loose t-shirt shirt pulled up to my neck, Mark managed to reach down and tickle my ribs just below my armpits, sending the into convulsions once again. I was thrashing and straining to get loose. The tickling intensified and I felt another squirt of urine jet into my briefs and I used everything I had to clamp the flow shut. Even so it had lasted too long, there'd be a big wet spot for sure. And I knew I'd never be able to stop the next stream. My legs were trembling, and Mark still had me in a headlock. I was getting really angry at that point, and starting to cry. I still cry when I get really angry. I've always been that way, and now the tears were starting. I reached back with my hands and tried to grab hold of his legs and pull him off me as I kicked. I got a good hold of one leg, and started pulling him sideways when one of his hands came down immediately, picked up my hand and twisted my arm. He moved it away until he had me pinned impotently to my mattress. "You have to stop." I had tears streaming down my cheeks now, and my sides were hurting. "I'm pissing myself." I said, and realized I was begging, which was exactly what he wanted. I was in a panic. Even when I felt his fingers stop tickling me, the panic didn't go away. I was wriggling and flailing with everything I had to try to get away. "I gotta go now," I pleaded, "Mark, you gotta lemme go or I'm gonna pee all over my bed," which I guess, in retrospect, was the wrong thing to say 'cause he reached down and started tickling me hard again, and this time when the flow started, and there was no stopping it. About the time Mark realized I was pissing myself he jumped off me and looked down at me shaking his head in mock disappointment. I may forgive Mark for a lot of things, but the look of delight he had watching me piss myself in complete humiliation, that I will never forgive, or forget! I peed for what seemed like five minutes. My sheets and underwear were awash with warm urine. I managed to pull the saturated sheets off the bed, only to see that the pad underneath, and even my mattress was soaked too. This was like a nightmare coming back to me. I had wet the bed almost every night until I was around seven. Then when the stuff had started up with Troy, it had started all over again, and my mom had made me put this mattress protector on my bed again. But then things got better and I had finally been given permission to take the mattress protector off. I hated the mattress protector. It was like a symbol of shame. It meant I pissed the bed like a little boy. Along with my little boy dick, wetting the bed somehow reinforced the idea that I was not what I should be, that I was not becoming a man, and probably never would. As if on cue mom shouted up from the bottom of the stairwell asking, "What's going on? Are you two arguing again?" Mark's sardonic smile unnerved me. "I guess I really should tell mom how you've started wetting the bed again." He looked at me and knew that he had me. "Please, no." I whispered repeatedly, "no, no!" The situation was so frustrating I could feel both eyes welling up again. A decidedly evil grin spread across Mark's face, he gathered up a pair of shorts off the floor next to his bed and crossed our bedroom to the doorway. He stood there looking down the stair where I knew she was standing, "Mom, Petey's wet the bed again!" I felt myself blushing in anger, not just embarrassment. "Did you wet the bed last night, Peter?" She asked from below. It was a rhetorical question. I knew what was coming next, managed to lip sync the words as she said them. "You'll need to carry your mattress outside and lean it against the garage to air out." My parents had always done that when I wet the bed, had me carry the mattress outside to lean against the garage. Left outside all day to air out, for everyone in the neighborhood to see. And I know they noticed. I remember several times when Mary came over for coffee and asked my mom if I had started wetting the bed again. They might as well have posted a sign in the front yard that read, "Peter wet the bed last night," as put the mattress outside to air out. Mark saw the misery on my face and snickered, and something inside me snapped. I leapt off my urine soaked mattress and tackled him against the wall. He let out a yelp that let me know I'd gotten him good, but then landed a punch into my gut and I grunted and fell. I grabbed Mark by the hair and pulled him down with me. He decided to hit me in the stomach again and connected once more, but I was too enraged to notice. As we struggled, Mark got the upper hand and tried to punch me in the groin. He missed, but was thrown off balance. I shoved him into the wall and grabbed his t-shirt by the collar. It tore. I struggled back up, then slammed my right knee sharply up into his meaty balls and nailed them into the wall. I could actually feel one of them pop as I drove my knee home. Mark fell back against the wall clutching his nuts as the wave of pain and nausea hit him, but the tough little motherfucker refused to drop to the floor. While he was paying attention to his tender nuggets I landed a solid punch targeting his nose. Mark screamed out in pain, suddenly grabbing his nose and trying to protect his face as he fell back against the bookshelf next to the doorway. Snorting blood out of his nose, Mark threw more wild punches at my gut but he was so distracted by his nose bleeding he couldn't land a good punch. I was too pissed off to care even if he had. I followed up with a second solid kick to his crotch. Mark's mouth dropped open in surprise and he clamped his hands between his legs as he doubled up. His breath whooshed out of him as he hit the floor and curled up in agony, coughing and gasping as the waves of pain swept up from his balls into his guts. Mark turned white and doubled up retching. He'd started this fight, but I was so goddamned angry I was going to finish it even if it killed him. By that time my mom had made her way up the stairs, rushing to our room, and stood there staring wide-eyed looking like she had just glimpsed the Armageddon. Mark whimpered while I stood over him in my urine soaked boxers, still bawling, and wearing an expression of genuine fury. I had a hold of the stretched and torn neck of his t-shirt, and was getting ready to punch him in the face again, but then realized that mom was standing there. I let him go instead. He slumped down into a fetal position cradling his balls and blubbering. It was one of the few times I remember my mom actually being speechless. I couldn't tell if she was angry at the fact we were fighting, or surprised at the fact that I had just won this round for a change. She opened her mouth to say something when Mark yelled out in anger "Fuck you, you dickless faggot!" which turned her attention back to him. There was a look of shock on her face I had never seen before. I don't think she'd every heard Mark use such language. As I walked over to my bed, I could feel Mark staring into my back, and I hated him. At that moment I wished he were dead. I suspect he was having similar thoughts. I grabbed the mattress, and hefted it off the box springs, dragging it toward the stairs, then realized that I was still in my underwear. "Fuck all," I said to myself, mumbling. No one heard it. I wanted to explain to her what had happened, that things were not what they seemed. That I hadn't wet the bed like a little boy, that Mark had held me down and tickled me until . . . and then realized that getting so defeated by my little brother was just as bad. I looked down at Mark still clutching at his scrambled eggs and realized that at least, this time, I had evened the score just a bit. Instead I quietly and slowly drug my wet mattress past them, still in my underwear, and then walked it down the stairs, stopping every few steps to catch my breath and regain my grip. It was a symbol of my shame. Then I hefted the mattress back up and finished sliding it through the kitchen to the back door. I carried it over to the garage where I leaned it on its side. Being in my underwear out in the backyard didn't seem like much after last night. I looked across at the neighbor's yard, over to the back porch where I had seen Paul standing watching me from the shadows. No one was there. Then I went back inside, took the stairs up to my bedroom. I still had a chip on my shoulder. It seemed right then like everything was going in slow motion around me. I could hear Mark in the shower, and knew by the time he finished there'd be no hot water left. He was always selfish that way. More than anything I wanted to be somewhere else, someone else, a member of a different family maybe. I pulled off my wet underwear and then couldn't find any clean ones so I threw on a clean t-shirt and some shorts, then went back outside and grabbed my bike. I got halfway to school before my anger finally faded. Then I started to think about Billy, and sucking his cock, and got hard as I rode. My dick may be small, but straining against the front of my shorts it was totally visible. And my shirt was too short to cover it. So I just rode. "Fucking faggot!" a voice shouted from a car that passed me rather slowly on the intersecting street. I turned to look and saw my mom's car. She was scolding Mark for yelling at me out the window, cursing at me, especially in a place where the neighbors might see it. I stopped my bike on the shoulder of the road as they drove by. Mark still looked pissed and reached out the window to flip me off as they passed. It was certainly promising to be one turdfest of a day!