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The Toad and the Butterfly
By
Butters2020
Chapter One
I
Marshall
I used to divide the world into two groups of people: In one group were assholes. In the other group was me. My mom was in the Asshole Group. She left when I was one or two years old, too young to remember what she looked like. I don't blame her for leaving. If leaving my dad was an option for me when I was two, I would have been packing my bags right next to her. She's not an asshole for leaving him, she's an asshole for leaving me behind.
Dad is in the Asshole Group, too. He didn't waste any time replacing Mom. Just like he didn't waste time replacing Stepmom #1 when she left. Or Stepmoms #2 and #3. He never bothered to marry any of them, he just called them all my stepmother when they moved in. Sometimes the new stepmoms got along with Dad for as long as six months before the fights started, but usually it was more like six weeks. None of them stayed more than a couple years. They fought about anything and everything but one they the stepmoms and dad always agreed on 100% of the time was that I wasn't much good for anything except being the family punching bag.
I figured that's how all grownups were. I thought that's how all families were. I didn't know that the reason CPS kept coming to the house was because other grownups called them----neighbors and teachers. It never occurred to me that I wasn't the only non-asshole in the group I'd put myself in. The first time someone from CPS came by Dad lied through his smiling teeth.
"The boy got in a fight at school. You know how kids are. That's where he got the bruises. The yelling? Well sure, we discipline him, that's what parents do, isn't it? It's all a misunderstanding. Thanks for coming by." After she left he beat the shit out of me for "getting him in trouble."
When it became clear that nothing was going to happen stopped pretending. When I was twelve and the lady from CPS came by to investigate another report they'd gotten, he said, "He's my son, isn't he? I reckon I can raise him how I want to." He closed the door on her. Which turned out to be a mistake. I wish that had happened before that night Stepmom #4 was on her period.
After Dad slammed the door on the CPS lady she came back with a court order and took me away. I wasn't grateful and didn't feel like I was being rescued. The world was divided into two groups, remember? Since she wasn't me, she was an asshole not to be trusted. If she'd wanted to save me she would have taken me out of there three months ago when Stepmom #4 had been on the rag.
When she took me to Ellen and Bruce's house and said they were my foster parents all I heard was Foster Assholes. I didn't fight it, though. What was the point? I didn't try to run away. Where would I go? Instead of being Dad and Stepmom #4's punching bag, I'd now be Bruce and Ellen's punching bag. Whatever.
The next day I was in the backyard poking a toad with a stick. When Ellen came out and saw what I was doing and she mad though she tried not to show it. I'd been there less than a day and here came my first beating. "What are you doing?" she said.
"Poking a toad that I found."
"Stop it, please. That's mean."
"He's my toad. I reckon I can do what I want with him."
She grabbed my hand, not rough, just to stop me from poking the toad, and took the stick from me. "Around here, he's his own toad," she said. I thought she was going to hit me with the stick but she tossed it in the dirt. She picked up the toad and carried him to the fence line where I'd found him.
"Aren't you afraid of getting warts?" I asked her. She tossed me a look that said she's nobody's fool and kept walking with the toad that was his own toad, not mine.
A year later I was a hulking thirteen-year-old. I felt like a mountain troll. I was the biggest boy in class. It used to be the reason I got stares was because of my bruises and the dirty clothes that never quite fit. Now everyone stared at me because I was the kid in the locker room with hair in his pits, even if they were just whispies. I didn't have a forest growing over my dick but I had more pubes than anyone else. And my dick was bigger than anyone else's, and that's not even hard. Well. As far as I could tell it was the biggest. We don't shower after P.E. but I've seen what the other boys got when they're pissing. Ellen and Bruce have a computer in the living room and I asked Jeeves about puberty and from I see my dick is nearly finished doing what it's going to do. And if it's not finished then thank you, God, because I'm changing my name to Harry Horsecock.
But in the meantime, I'm Franky the Freak. I feel like I'm a foot taller than everyone and I'm five hundred pounds heavier. Everyone stares and everyone avoids me. I'm used to having no friends. Last year I would have just said that the kids at school are all in the asshole group along with everyone else in the world. Now I know they're just afraid of Marshall the Gargantuan. Because now I know that not everyone in the world are assholes. Just most people. Ellen and Bruce aren't assholes. And anyone who says so has to deal with Marshall the Gargantuan.
Which is exactly what Dad did, and it nearly ruined everything. He showed up one day. I don't know how long he's known where I was living but out of the blue he knocked on the front door when Bruce was at work. Ellen answered the door.
"Are you the bitch who has my son?" Dad said. He wasn't drunk. He never got drunk. He was just an asshole.
Ellen tried to close the door but Dad pushed his way in. "You need to leave," she said.
"You need to shut the fuck up. Now answer my question." He said. After telling her to shut up he then told her to talk. Cuz he's an asshole and that's the kind of thing that assholes do. This particular asshole was also blind because I was standing ten feet away.
"Ellen?" I said.
"Go to your room, Marshall, and call 911." They'd given me a cellphone on my last birthday. Cuz that's the kind of thing good people do.
I was always Dad's favorite punching bag, but that didn't mean I was his only one. He socked Ellen and she went down. I'd learned when I was four to take it and not fight back. That's fine when I'm the one getting hit but not when it's someone else. For once I was glad I was a hulk. The problem was, I only felt like a hulk next to the twelve- and thirteen-year-old boys in my class. Next to Dad I would always be just a little kid. When I screamed and charged him, he laughed and gave me a sock that was the brother of the one he'd given Ellen. I hadn't felt that in over a year but it only staggered me.
Ellen was down but not out. "Go to your room and lock the door, Marshall!" she said from the floor.
Like fuck I would. He was looking at Ellen. With his attention on her I grabbed one of the knives from the rack on the counter and shoved it into his back as hard as I could. He screamed and tried to pull it out but he couldn't reach it. I wanted to grab another one and shove it in his heart but Ellen was on her feet again and standing between me and Dad. "Get out!" she yelled at him. Only after he'd stumbled out of the house, still trying to reach the knife sticking out of his back, did she call 911. When the cops came Dad was in the front yard still trying to pull the knife out of his back.
I was crying in the kitchen. I was afraid the police would take me away from Ellen and Bruce. She was holding me and promising me that wasn't going to happen.
She was right. That was last year and I'm still living with them. Getting ready to start high school.
II
Brandon
Looking up at the other boys in class I'd been telling myself I was a late bloomer. I don't mean I admired them. Some of them are okay but some of the others? There's very little to admire about some of those Neanderthals. I mean I literally looked up to them. I've been a shrimp my whole life. It only got worse in middle school. Suddenly everyone started shooting up, getting even taller. Everyone except me. I checked my body every day for the first sign of puberty, knowing that the first pubic hair meant my own growth spurt would soon follow.
The puberty websites are full of crap.
I now have more than a handful of pubes and I've grown exactly one and three quarters inches taller. That's not a growth spurt it's a growth dribble. I've heard how the adults describe me. Elfin. Waif-life.
Petite, for Christ's sake.
And I hear how the girls describe me. Tiny. Like a doll. So skinny! Like it's so freaking adorable. It's pathetic is what it is.
And then there's the other boys. Their favorite words have a whole different flavor. Tinkerbell. Fairy. Stick boy. And everybody's favorite, Fag. I mean, they're right. I like boys but why do I have to look like it?
I thought maybe over the summer I might grow a little more. Maybe I did, but that's all it was: a little more. I was in a Junior United Nations program over the summer. One of the other kids said I should be the Vatican delegate because that's the smallest country in the world. Har. Har.
Now here I am in high school and I'm still a shrimp. It's bad enough I'm the smallest boy in the whole school, but half the GIRLS are taller than me.
We don't take showers in gym but we do change into blue shorts and t-shirts in the locker room. I think the coach thought it was funny, assigning me the locker right next to Marshall's. It's like we're the opposite ends of a puberty chart. He's nearly six feet tall and I look like a second grader. He's so solid and I'd blow away if someone opened a window on a fall day. He's not super buff, no abs or anything but he's not fat and his chest has the beginnings of pecs. His nipples are a real nice brown color. No, not really brown, but they're almost the same color as his dark blonde hair. They're the size of nickels. My nipples are so fucking tiny. I hate them.
He's not a bully, not like the Neanderthals, but you don't want to piss him off. I've seen him get in fights, back in middle school. He used to get in fights a LOT. I'm glad he's not a Neanderthal. If he wanted to be fully occupied while he kicked my ass he'd have to figure out what to do with his other hand. He'd only need one to kill me. Even though he's no bully, I'm pretty sure getting caught staring at him while he changed in the locker room would piss him off.
I can see him as much as I want when I'm jacking off, but that's only in my fantasies. He's not pissed off at all then.
III
Marshall
That Brandon kid's always looking at me. I don't stand out as much in high school as I did last year. The older kids are as big as me. Some are even bigger. But I guess to someone Brandon's size he can't help staring. Look at the Frankenstein! I give him credit for not asking Coach to have his locker moved. I try not to look menacing but fuck, just being me is menacing enough.
When I first saw him last year I thought he was a little kid and that he was in eighth grade with the rest of us because he was some kind of super genius. In math class we were learning about probabilities and Mr. Hendricks said that in our class of 30 at least two people had the same birthdate and we went around the room saying when we were born. Me and Brandon were born on the same day, same year. He's my age.
My life didn't suck as much now as it did before Ellen and Bruce became my fosters. But my life didn't become happily ever after when they took me in either. Kids still mostly avoided me at school. I sat by myself in the cafeteria at lunch. I still got in fights. Not as many as I used to, and they weren't all my fault anymore, so that was good I guess. I suppose the biggest change was that I didn't think everyone but me was an asshole. That should be a good thing, but I don't know. If everyone's an asshole you don't care if you're all alone. Who wants to hang around with assholes? But if everyone isn't an asshole, why are you eating lunch by yourself every day? Why don't you have any friends? What if it's because you're the one who's an asshole?
I tried not to think about it. Ellen said I wasn't an asshole I was a cocoon. When I was with dad I was a caterpillar. Now I'm figuring stuff out in the cocoon and when I do, I'll be a butterfly and everyone else will see the beauty she and Bruce already see.
I think Ellen is full of shit but it makes me feel less assholey when she says stuff like that.
IV
Brandon
I ate lunch with the other misfits. The boy in the wheelchair. Stuttering Zit Girl. The super obese chick. The people no one else will sit with. We weren't friends. There just weren't enough tables for people to sit alone. Marshall sat alone because he could get away with it. No one was brave enough to try to sit with him.
I was ready to scream. The people at my table were disgusting. Not because of how they looked. They were obnoxious. Zit Girl was racist. Wheelchair boy was an entitled prick who lied about all the famous people he supposedly knew. Obese Girl chewed with her mouth open, sending masticated food flying out of her mouth and spraying the rest of us.
"I have to pee," I said. I could have held it in, but I couldn't stand another second at the table with these people. I got up and went down the hall to the boys room, brushing bits of chewed up chicken nuggets off my shirt. God, that fat chick was gross. I should have paid as much attention to my surroundings as I did to my shirt; If I had noticed the group of Neanderthals behind me, I wouldn't have gone into the bathroom. But I didn't, so I did.
They didn't come in with me. Even Neanderthals aren't that dumb. They waited a minute. That way, when they came in, I was especially vulnerable, standing at a urinal with my dick out. There were three of them. One of them would have been bad enough. I knew they weren't there to piss even before they spoke. Prey sense when predators are near.
I was midstream and couldn't just put my penis back in my pants. I took a step closer to the urinal, hiding my junk. I didn't want them to see how small it was. It was wasted effort. One of them grabbed me by the shoulder and yanked me away from the urinal. My stream of piss arced across the bathroom.
"You playing with it, Tinkerbell? Don't hide it from us. We wanna see."
Some inner defense kicked in, shutting off my bladder or my urethra or whatever is in charge of peeing. I put my hands in front of my dick. The largest Neanderthal grabbed my hand and pulled it away from my crotch.
"Didn't you hear Michael? We want to see it. Cover it up again and you'll regret it."
Neanderthal Number Three said, "Don't be too hard on him, Jake. I'd cover mine up too, if it was that small."
I tried to get my hand back from Jake just as the door to the bathroom opened, I supposed to admit Neanderthal Number Four. Marshall walked in. The other Neanderthals looked up to see who'd come in. They saw who it was and relaxed and turned their attention back to me. Marshall watched all of us in silence.
I'd managed to get my hand back when Jake was distracted by Marshall's entrance. I'd covered my dick again. I was doubly embarrassed now. Marshall was the last person I wanted seeing my tiny penis. As if it wasn't small enough already, it had shrunk some, due to terror at my impending death, and even in a non-panicked state, it was only two inches long soft. Not a micro peen, but nothing to boast about, either. I'm sure Marshall's was at least twice that when he was soft.
Jake slapped me in the face. "I said don't cover up!" I almost wish he'd punched me. A slap was more humiliating somehow.
"Leave him alone."
Marshall didn't yell it, or order it, he just said it, like you'd say, "use a coaster" or "pass the salt." I didn't see him move from the sinks but he must have because he was now in the middle of the Neanderthals.
Jake smirked at him. "Why? Is he your boyfriend?"
Marshall's look erased the smirk from Jake's face.
"What did you say?" Marshall asked him.
Jake didn't answer him. Marshall slapped his face the way Jake had slapped mine, but harder. Jake's head snapped to the left but just that quick Marshall slapped his other cheek, snapping his head back again. "What did you say?" he asked again.
"Nothing." Jake muttered. The other Neanderthals exchanged glances. It was clear they were making up their minds whether the three of them together could take Marshall, or if they should leave Jake and Marshall to figure things out on their own while they got the hell out.
Marshall made it easy for them. He faced them and spread his arms, leaving himself open to attack and said, "What?"
They left the bathroom. They swaggered out in no hurry, but they left. Jake followed but before he left he said, "If he ain't your boyfriend what do you care if we fuck with him?"
Marshall said, "Because around here he's his own toad."
V
Marshall
I usually tried to stay out of other people's shit but when that kid slapped little Brandon I flashed back to me and Stepmom #2. I was four or maybe five. I was hungry and had taken a Lunchable from the fridge. I hadn't asked permission and that pissed her off. She asked me what I had in my hand and I put it behind my back. "Nothing," I'd said. She grabbed my arm and tried to pull it in front of me. I put my other hand behind my back and put the Lunchable in that hand so when she pulled my right hand in front of me it was empty. She slapped me in the face.
Hard.
I was a little kid and couldn't do anything except cry and be hungry. It all came back to me when I saw Jake holding little Brandon's arm and slap his face----
Hard.
I'm not a little kid now. I'm a fucking giant oaf. I couldn't do anything to protect myself back then but I could protect Brandon now. And that bullshit about me being his boyfriend. Yeah, I hear the shit they say about him. Maybe it's true, maybe it's not, what the fuck do I care?
When the assholes left the john I said, "You okay?"
He was rubbing the red mark on his cheek. "I'm my own toad?"
I shrugged. "It means no one pokes you with a stick unless you want them to." I walked to the urinal and took my dick out. "Or slaps your face."
He went to the sink and washed his hands. "If you say so."
I said, "Your cock's still out." I never saw anyone blush so hard. His hands flew to his cock so fast he accidentally punched himself in the balls. I couldn't help laughing. "Damn, Toad, you don't need other people to beat you up, you do it to yourself. Am I gonna have to slap you to get you to leave you alone?"
"Screw you," he squeaked. "No one slaps my face unless I want them to. I'm my own toad." Then he looked at me the way I used to look at my old man. "Oh god, please don't kill me for saying 'screw you'."
I stopped laughing. He thinks I'm like my dad. "Screw you back," I said and left the john so fast I almost forgot to put my own cock away.
VI
Brandon
I left the cash register with my lunch tray. I could turn left and go to the Island of Misfit Toys. I could go try to sit with normal people and get shunned. Or I could turn right and get killed.
We who are about to die, salute you. I turned right. No one paid any attention to me until I put my tray on Marshall's table and pulled out a chair. Then the whole lunchroom stared at me like I was a condemned man on his way to the electric chair. Marshall didn't say anything but he glared at me through the string of bangs that hung down over his hazel eyes.
Before he could tell me to find another table I sat down. I started talking before I lost my nerve. "Yesterday you saved me from a beating. Maybe you saved me from something worse. I don't know. And instead of saying, 'thank you' and offering to be your slave for life or at least your personal toad instead of my own toad, whatever that even means, I pissed you off. I don't know how I, and I didn't mean to. So, number one, thank you for saving me from the Neanderthals. And number two, I'm sorry I made you angry. If I knew how I did it, I'd never do it again. Not just because no one with any sense would piss you off, but because I don't want to piss off the person I'm grateful to. And number three, if being your personal toad means eating flies or something like that, I take back that offer. And technically the fourteenth amendment prohibits slavery so I guess that's off the table, too, but you can have my pudding cup." I didn't tell him that I would have gladly been his slave even if he hadn't saved me from the Neanderthals or we'd back to the whole, him trying to kill me thing.
He never stopped glaring at me through those bangs. He finished eating a tater tot. "Do you always talk like that?"
"Pretty much. It's worse when I'm nervous."
"Why are you sitting with me?"
Of course. Why would someone as hot as him want someone like me at his table. "Oh. Sorry." I got up so fast I knocked the chair over. "Shit. I pissed you off again. I keep fucking up and I keep not wanting to do that. I'm sorry. I thought when you helped me yesterday that maybe you thought I wasn't radioactive. God, I'm stupid. This is so embarrassing. Seriously, I'm sorry."
"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm the radioactive kid no sits with. That's why I'm asking why you're here. You'll be branded a loser like me for sitting with me."
I picked up the chair and sat back down. "I'll BE branded a loser? Do you know who I am?"
He truly looked baffled. "Uh. Do you know who I am? The giant ogre who stabbed his own father? The social outcast?"
Is that what he thought? It was all over the news when he saved his foster mom when his dad went psycho. He was a freaking hero. "Oh no!" I said, putting my hand over my heart like I was about to pass out. "The boy with a mild case of cooties is afraid he'll infect the King of the Lepers!" I rolled my eyes. "Gimme a break."
"I got a better idea. Gimme your pudding. Then we'll be even."
VII
Marshall
I didn't have any classes with Brandon. I used to think he was a Boy Genius not just because he looked like a little kid in middle school. He was smart. I'm not dumb exactly but I took regular freshman English and he was English 1A. I took Life Science and he took Biology. I took Pre-Algebra and he took Geometry. You get the idea. Jake and Michael and Jeremy---Brandon's Neanderthals---took the same classes I did. I saw them between classes sometimes eyeing Brandon and starting to fuck with him but then they saw me seeing them and then I wasn't just seeing them but eyeballing them which is completely different, and they settled for giving him a side shove as they passed him in the halls.
He only sat with me at lunch that one time. I didn't expect him to sit at my table the next day but part of me was disappointed when he didn't. I wasn't brokenhearted or anything. I've been eating lunch by myself for as long as I've been eating lunch. But it was nice, eating with someone else. He didn't think I was a freakshow which was even nicer. But he's got his own friends over at the Geek table. I don't know why he sits there. He's not a Geek. He's weird as shit but he's not a Geek.
He's practically a midget but who am I to complain about that? I feel like Hagrid. Ellen and Bruce say I'm 100% normal. I just started growing before the rest of my peers. Whatever. I wish to fuck my peers would catch up with me then. It's too bad I can't give Brandon a handful of my growth hormones and take a handful of his non-growth hormones. We'd both fit in a lot better. Except he's good looking and I'm just average. He's not handsome, he's pretty. Almost too pretty to be a boy. I know he is one though, since I saw his cock hanging out of his pants for nearly five minutes.
His eyes are so intense. They're inky black. Blacker than his hair. I didn't know eyes could be that black. I wonder if they're his real eyes or some kind of special contact lenses. They freak me out a little. He'd be a good hypnotist. And he's such a wise ass. I don't know what to make of that kid.
I realize I've been staring at him across the lunchroom. I blink three or four times and take a bite of my fish sandwich. Then I see Brandon walking toward me with his lunch tray. "Can I sit with you?" he says. He sounds aggravated.
"Uh."
"I can't take another second of those assholes and no one else will let me sit at their table."
I gesture to the chair across from me and he sits down. I was right. He doesn't belong at the Geek Table. We eat in silence.
"Why do you protect me from the Neanderthals?"
I don't want to tell him about Stepmom # 3 and the Lunchable. I said, "Because you're---"
"My own toad. Right. What are you, then? And don't way your own toad. That's already taken."
I shrugged. "Nothing, yet. Ellen says I'm still a cocoon."
"Ellen. Is that your girlfriend?"
I snorted. "People like me don't have girlfriends. Ellen is my foster mom."
He smeared tartar sauce on his sandwich. Then he gave me the side eye. "What do you mean 'people like you'?"
"You're kidding, right? Look at me."
He took out his phone and took a picture of me, then held it out for me to look at. "You look at you," he said. "Or give me Ellen's phone number so I can call her and tell her to schedule you an appointment with the optometrist. Are you high? If I looked like you I'd never have to jack off again. I'd be getting laid every day."
My eyes darted to his crotch, which I couldn't see because the table was in the way. Not that I thought about it before, but I was surprised to hear he jacked off. I honestly thought he wasn't, well, mature enough to do it. Now I couldn't stop picturing Little Brandon naked wanking his cock. I'd seen it soft. I wonder how big it got hard. At first I pictured a little boy boner but then I thought, shit, what if this guy's got an eight-inch hardon. He'd tip over. More than anything I wanted to ask him how big his cock got when it was hard, but of course I didn't.
Instead, I said, "If you think I'm good looking, you're the one that needs to see the eye doctor." He just shook his head like I told him I went swimming every day in the Sahara Desert. "Anyway, it's not like you're ugly. I was just thinking that you're too pretty to be a boy."
He started to protest but then stopped with his mouth still open. He closed it and smiled. "You thought that about me?"
"Jesus, don't go making goo goo eyes at me or I'll think the rumors about you are true," I said.
"Rumors about me? I'm not the one spending all day thinking about how pretty you are."
"It wasn't all day, Toad. And maybe you missed the part where I practically said you looked like a girl."
He grinned at me. "Whatever you say, butterfly-to-be. But don't think I'm putting on a dress for you tomorrow. There's nothing girly about me." He tried to lower his voice. "I'm all man." He sounded ridiculous I laughed so hard Mountain Dew shot out my nose, which stung like a bitch. He just sat there making muscle man poses like that's what normal people did in the lunchroom. This kid is too much.
VIII
Brandon
I looked at Marshall's photo on my phone. It wasn't porn but my dick didn't care. My phone was in my left hand and my boner was in my right hand. Four inches may not be much of a boner, but it felt just as good as an eight incher. I'd seen his dick that day in the bathroom while he was peeing. Just the end of it, but enough for me to fill in the blanks. He's cut, like me. I bet it's huge when he's hard. I use my thumb and two fingers when I'm jacking off but I'm pretty certain I'd have to use my whole hand to jack off Marshall. I'd like to hold his hardon against mine and jack them at the same time. In real life I wouldn't last any time at all but in my fantasy he cums first, and his cum runs all over my boner. When I rub it over my dick that's what makes me cum in my mind and it's what makes me cum for real.
This time. Next time I'll imagine sucking him. Or him fucking me. Either doggy style or me on my back, or me riding him while I look at him or me riding him reverse cowboy while he reaches around and jacks me off.
The only thing I never imagine is me fucking him. No way would he want my dinky dick inside him. He wouldn't even feel it.
IX
Marshall
When I still lived with my dad people called CPS or the cops when they saw my bruises, or when they saw how dirty and torn my clothes were. Or how I wolfed down the food that I stole from the fridge in the teacher's lounge when I was eight.
But no one ever called when they heard the screams. Maybe no one heard them. The worst time was when Stepmom #4 was on her period. She was the last stepmom. I hated her the most of all of the stepmoms. I had just turned twelve. I was about as big as Brandon is now. Just starting puberty. Before the growth spurt. Dad was horny but stepmom #4 was on the rag and wouldn't put out. I was in the shower, staring at my new pubes but I heard them fighting. "You can still suck it!" Dad hollered.
"I told you. I'm not in the mood. Rub one out and leave me alone," she said.
The next thing I know the bathroom door jerks open and Stepmom #4 drags me out of the shower. I'm trying my best to cover up my junk while she drags me into their bedroom. Dad stares at us and said, "What'd you bring him for?"
Stepmom #4 said, "You wanna fuck someone so bad, fuck him."
Dad started to say something but then he looked at me. Stepmom #4 said, "Hell, if I wasn't having my period I might fuck him myself." She grabbed my cock and gave it a squeeze. "He's kinda ugly now but he might be right cute one day." I hung my head in shame. She liked telling me how ugly I was and how stupid I was. She did it at least five times a day.
Dad said, "How long you had that hair? You jizzing yet?"
I didn't know what he meant.
Stepmom #4 laughed. "He don't have a clue what you're talking about it." She grabbed my cock again and gave it a couple of strokes. A couple was all it took to get me hard. "He's ready to find out, though."
Dad was rubbing his crotch. "Get on the bed, Marshall. Daddy's gonna pop your cherry." I figured that was another way of saying kick my ass. I was confused. I thought he'd been popping my cherry my whole life. I was used to it, but this is the first time he'd do it while I was naked.
I got on the bed face down but Stepmom #4 said, "Un-uh. On your back. I wanna see if he cums while you do it. I bet he's a fag."
That made dad mad and he popped her cherry, right across her face. "My son ain't no fag," he said. She just grinned even though he'd hit hard enough to leave a handprint on her face.
"We'll see," she said. I didn't want any of what he'd given her so I got on my back on the bed. Dad pulled down his dirty briefs and he was hard too. I never saw his boner before. That's when I started to get nervous. I tried to get off the bed but the bitch laid across my chest. She also grabbed my dick again and played with it some more. "You're gonna like this," she said. "You just wait. I know what you are. You're gonna love it."
Which goes to show how much she knows. Dad took a white tube out of the nightstand and squirted some stuff onto his boner and then he climbed on top of me. He grabbed his cock and rubbed the head over my asshole. I squirmed and tried to get away and then he popped my cherry across my face and told me to lie still. I'd learned long ago there was no getting away from his beatings. I lied still.
But I couldn't keep quiet when he pushed his cock inside my ass. He didn't ease it in or give me a chance to get used to it he just shoved it in and started fucking me. Stepmom #4 was wrong. I didn't love it at all. It hurt like hell. But the worst part was my hardon never went away. Stepmom #4 kept jacking me off while Dad fucked me. I didn't cum. But my dick never went down either. After a couple minutes he unloaded inside me and pulled out.
Stepmom #4 was disappointed that I hadn't nutted. Dad said, "He ain't as good as you are. But it's good to know I don't have to do without when you're on the rag."
He only did it to me one other time. In the middle of it she called him a faggot and he pulled out before he nutted and he started wailing on her. She gave as good as she got. I went to my room while they went at it, hoping they'd kill each other.
I never told anyone about that. I've tried not to think about it. But last night I had a sex dream. Maybe I had the dream because all that happened to me when I was about Brandon's size, and me and him hung out at lunch yesterday. I don't know. Or maybe it's because he's almost as pretty as a girl and that got all twisted in my brain and gave me sexy thoughts. All I know is in my dream I was holding him down and fucking him in the ass and when I woke up my dick was throbbing and my underwear was saturated with precum. Even the sheet was wet. I had to grab my cock and finish what the dream had started. It only took a couple pumps and I had the most intense cum I ever remembered. I mean it was so hard that Bruce knocked on the bedroom door and asked if I was okay, that's how hard and how loud I nutted.
Over Brandon!
And I like the little shit. I would never do to him what Dad did to me. I'm not a monster. I was so ashamed I cried myself to sleep. I really am an asshole.
X
Brandon
I don't know why Marshall thinks he's some kind of behemoth. I asked him, and he's five feet ten inches tall. That's not even as tall as my dad. Okay, he's the tallest freshman in school but not the tallest student at all. As an eighth grader he was Goliath, but that was middle school. I wish he'd stop calling himself Hagrid. Why does he think he's some giant oaf?
I'm exactly one foot shorter than him. Not even five feet tall. So, objectively speaking if you need help finding the yellow brick road, I'm your guy. What I lack in stature I make up in stupidity. That's how I look at it now. At the time I thought of I was being honest. I didn't think I was making a statement or whatever, I was just answering the teacher's question. Now I realize I was just being stupid.
It was in History class. All freshmen are required to take History. It's a state requirement. In my other classes there's a mix of under and upper classmen but in history it's all freshmen, including two of the Neanderthals. Mr. Hendricks said, "It's 2001. When I was your age we were promised cities on the moon at the dawn of the new century. Instead, the lunar program was abandoned before any of you were born. What predictions of life in 2001, that did not come to pass, have most surprised or disappointed you?"
Everyone else's answers were similar to his. Where are the flying cars? Where are the jetpacks? Where are the phone calls to aliens on other planets? Then he called on me. I said, "I'm surprised at the lack of social progress. I thought we'd have a black president by now. Or a woman president." Some of the girls whooped. A couple of the black kids made noises of agreement. Most of the kids made noises like I was one of those space aliens they'd been wanting to call, only now they wished I hadn't answered the phone. I kept talking. "And I thought that homosexual marriage would be a thing by now."
Neanderthal Number One said, "We all know why that disappoints you, Tinkerbell!" Half the class laughed. Mr. Hendricks pretended he hadn't heard the Neanderthal, the way teachers do. Like an idiot I kept talking. "And I thought by now teachers wouldn't tolerate classroom bullying."
He pretended he didn't hear that, too. He said, "In America anyone can grow up to be president. Even you, Brandon." He called on another student.
When the bell rang the Neanderthals waited for me outside the classroom. "You trying to get us in trouble for bullying, Brandy?"
"Which one of us do you want to marry, Darling?" Neanderthal Number Two asked.
"I wouldn't want to break you two up," I said. Once I start being stupid, I don't know when to quit.
XI
Marshall
Brandon was walking funny when he carried his tray to our table. Even while I watched him limping toward me I wondered when I'd stopped thinking of it as "my table" and started thinking of it as "our table." When he got closer I noticed a bloody wad of toilet paper sticking out of one side of his nose, and a bruise forming on his cheek.
When he was still six feet away I said, "Who did it?"
He shook his head. "It was my fault."
"Was it those guys you call the Neanderthals?" I sent my eyes around the lunchroom, looking for them. If it was them they'd be looking at Brandon, gloating.
"Forget it. I deserved it."
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I opened them again Brandon was looking nervous. I pulled my shirt up, farther than I'd meant to. I meant to just pull it halfway up but I was mad and yanked it up almost to my chin. I twisted around showing Brandon my side and pointed to the three round scars in a row leading from my hip bone toward my armpit. "You see those? My dad said I deserved them. He didn't like the way I loaded the dishwasher. I was five. Was he right? Did I deserve it?"
Brandon looked like he was trying not to cry. "What are those?"
"Cigarette," I said. "Was he right? Did I deserve it?"
"No. Of course not."
"Then don't give me any bullshit about you deserving what those fucks did to you. Who did it?"
"I don't want you get in trouble. If you beat them up you'll get suspended."
I laughed. "Like they got suspended for what they did to you? Brandon, I'm gonna kick someone's ass. You want to make sure it's the right ass, you better tell me who did it. Was it Jake and Michael and Jeremy?"
"Just Jake and Michael."
I stood up. "Back in a minute."
XII
Brandon
It was more like ten minutes. When he came back, the knuckles on both his hands were raw. Some of them were bleeding. He said, "How do you get home after school? Bus? Bike?"
"I walk."
"I'm walking you home. I don't trust those fucks."
"Why? I mean, why are you doing this for me? I'm the official Bully Target. Why do you care? And don't give me any Fortune cookie, toad mumbo jumbo that I don't understand."
His face had been hard but now when he looked at me it softened. He said, "When I was a little kid, I prayed every night in bed that I would die in my sleep. That was the only way I knew to get away from the shit that was my life. But every morning I woke up. So instead, I started praying that someone would help me. Protect me from my dad. But nobody ever did. So, I just stopped praying. Then, long after I gave up, Ellen and Bruce came and saved me. I don't know if you pray, or what you pray for. I don't know if you feel anything like what I used to feel. But if you feel even one tenth of it. Fuck that. If you feel one one-thousandth of what I felt, I'm gonna answer that prayer. No one should ever feel that way."
He was taking deep breaths like it cost him a lot to tell me that. He shirt was pulled back down, covering the scars, but I knew they were there. I said, "Marshall you're full of shit when you say you're a cocoon. You're a butterfly. A beautiful fucking Monarch butterfly."
It was a good thing Marshall walked home with me. All three Neanderthals were waiting for me a couple blocks from school. Two of them were fucked up pretty bad. As soon as those two saw Marshall they didn't hang around. Marshall never raised his voice which is what made him so damn scary. He used his "pass the salt" voice and told the remaining Neanderthal, "Take a good look at your buddies. If you fuck with Brandon, they'll look like Brad Pitt compared to what I'll do to you."
The third Neanderthal left without saying anything.
I was glad Marshall was there. I didn't realize I was shaking until he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "You okay?"
I looked up at him and nodded. "But you won't always be here."
The hard look came back on his face. "I will always protect you."
He kept his hand on my shoulder while we walked. For him it was a "Don't fuck with Brandon" thing but for me it was an "oh my god Marshall is touching me" thing and I walked the rest of the way home with a boner that aimed the wrong way down my jeans. It made it hard to walk. Marshall noticed.
"Your leg still hurting?"
I never thought I'd be grateful for being beat up. He thought I was limping cuz of the beat down and not cuz my dick was trying to break off. "Just a little," I said.
When we got to my house I said, "You wanna come in?"
He hesitated, then said. "I guess. Okay." I unlocked the door and we went inside.
"Mom and Dad are at work. You want a Coke?" I got a couple of cans of soda from the fridge. When I gave him one he took it but instead of opening it he looked around the kitchen and then strolled into the living room and looked around like he was thinking of buying the place.
I must have looked at him funny. "Sorry," he said. "I've never been in anyone else's house before."
"Well, this is our house," I said. "Umm, you wanna see the rest of it? I mean, it's just a house, but." He shrugged. I gave him a quick tour---living room, dining room, laundry room, my parent's bedroom, the guest room, and both bathrooms.
"What about your bedroom?"
"That's okay," I said.
He grinned a lopsided grin. I realized I hardly ever saw him smile. "Now I've got to see it, since you don't want me to. C'mon, show me your lily pad, Toad."
"Oh my god, it's just a bedroom," I said, opening the door to my room. I went in first, picking up the dirty clothes scattered on the floor and kicking my cum rag under the bed before he saw it. But that's not what he was looking at.
"Hanson? Seriously?" He was staring at the poster on the wall over my desk.
"I like their music," I was defensive. I didn't like their music all that much. It was bubblegum for the ears. That's not why I had their poster up. When thinking of Marshall didn't end with me using the cum rag, thinking of Zac Hanson did.
He sat at my desk and picked up a trophy. "First place?"
"It was a team thing."
"Junior United Nations," he read. "What's that?"
"Just some school thing I did over the summer. It's nothing." I went and took it from him. My fingers touched his when I did and my boner roared back to life. At least this time it was aimed the right way. I couldn't tell if he noticed or not.
Marshall cleared his throat. "I think those guys got the message but just in case I'm gonna walk you to school tomorrow. What time do you usually leave?"
"You don't have to do that," I said.
He pulled up his shirt again. He pointed to the three scars on his side. I felt bad for never noticing them all the times I snuck looks at him in the locker room in middle school. He said, "My dad didn't do these all at once. The first two were for not loading the dishwasher right. The third one was a month later, after I thought he was over it and I was safe. Those guys will wait till you fell safe and then jump you. What time should I be here tomorrow?"
I reached out and caressed the scars. "I'm so sorry, Marshall."
He let me do that for a few seconds then put his hand on mine and stopped me. "What time?" he asked again.
"Seven-thirty." He nodded. His hand was still on mine, which was still touching his bare skin. While he wasn't exactly holding my hand, it was close enough. I don't know how I kept from cumming in my pants. I said, "Twice you've saved me from a beatdown. Once you avenged me from a beatdown. Tomorrow you're going to keep me safe again. You do all that for me and all I do for you is say 'thank you.' I wish I could do something more. I would, if could." I looked at his eyes through the strands of bangs that covered them. "I'd do anything you need. Or want. Anything."
His thumb moved against the back of my hand. "Is it true what they say about you?" he asked.
I knew what he was asking but I've never admitted it to anyone. I dodged the question. "People say a lot of things about me."
"You're so pretty," he whispered. He took his hand off mine and pulled me to him.
XIII
Marshall
I never kissed anyone before. My first time might as well be with another boy. If Brandon was hypnotizing me with those piercing black eyes, I was just glad he was making me kiss him instead of making me cluck like a chicken and trying to lay an egg.
I don't know if I was doing it right. I hoped I didn't suck at it. I think it surprised him as much as it surprised me so I guess he wasn't hypnotizing me after all. I did it partly because of that dream I had about him. Partly it was like I told him. He's so pretty. Prettier than any girl I ever saw. I wondered if I wanted to kiss him because I felt so protective of him or if I felt so protective of him because I wanted to kiss him.
And then he was kissing me back. His hand was brushing my bangs off my forehead, then stroking my cheek. His tongue licked my lips, which were closed. I had no idea how to kiss and was doing a clumsy job, oaf that I was. Brandon's tongue pushed gently against my lips, seeking permission to slip between them. I parted them and his tongue slid into my mouth and found mine and flicked against it tentatively. We both moaned simultaneously, relishing the discovery. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him closer to me and our tongues were all over each other. I didn't feel like a huge ungainly, ugly oaf. I felt strong and wanted and beautiful.
Like a butterfly escaping the prison of its cocoon and spreading its wings for the first time.
If all we had done was kiss it would have been enough. But my hand that was holding his back kept snaking down to his crotch before I came to my senses and I jerked it away, moving it to his back again or to his shoulder or his little chest. I wasn't going to take advantage of him like Stepmom # 4 did to me. I wouldn't betray him that way.
But the third time I jerked my hand away from his cock he grabbed my wrist and pulled it back to him and pressed it against his crotch. He was as hard as I was. I knew he was only doing it because he felt like he owed me. He as good as said he'd do whatever I wanted. I refused to do him that way and tried to pull my hand away but he held it down more firmly. I felt his cock flex underneath my hand. He broke our kiss and said, "It's okay." He pushed his hips against my hand rubbing his cock against me.
"You don't have to," I said.
"I've been dreaming of this for over a year." He pushed against me again, then reached for his belt and unbuckled it. "Is this okay?"
I shrugged. I honestly didn't know. He'd been thinking of this for a year? Of making out with a boy or with me specifically? He took my shrug as a yes and undid his belt and unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zipper. His boner was making a lump in his briefs. I reached for them but he grabbed my hands. He looked ashamed and I instantly regretted what we'd been doing. "I'm sorry," I said. "We can stop."
"I don't want to stop. It's just." He looked away from me, at the wall, at the floor, anywhere but at me. "I'm not that big."
"Jesus Christ, Brandon, I'm kissing another person for the first time in my life. Fuck, I'm kissing another boy, and it's not just any boy, it's you. Do you really think I give a damn how big your cock is?" He let go of my hands but still wouldn't look at me. I slid his briefs down. They pulled his boner down but it popped up again. He wasn't lying. It was maybe four inches long. It reminded me of one of those little bananas in the gourmet shop Ellen shopped at. It was about that long but that wasn't it. It curved just like the little bananas did. It wasn't super thick but wasn't a little boy's dick either. The head was shaped like a bullet and all I could think was number one, how did I know that when I dreamed about it the other night and number two, he could shoot me with that bullet anytime he wanted.
"So pretty," I whispered. I tore my eyes from his little hard-on to look at him but he still wouldn't meet my eye. "Brandon." He looked at me. "It's beautiful. Can I touch it?"
He nodded and I ran my fingers along the shaft and over the head. It flinched at my touch and I smiled. I took a firmer hold of it. I used my thumb and two fingers and jacked him off. He just had a few whispies over his cock. His balls were already drawn up tight against his body. I was still sitting at his desk and he was standing, but with our height difference this almost put our faces even with each other. I leaned forward and kissed him again while I jacked him off.
He moaned pretty much nonstop which was such a turn on. Then his tongue stopped flicking against mine and his whole body seemed to stiffen. His cock certainly did. He nutted all over my fingers which was an even bigger turn on than his moaning had been. He finally relaxed. He looked down at my hand, still holding his boner, his nut dripping off my fingers.
"Wow," he said.
"Yeah." I let go of his cock and wiped his nut on my shirt.
"The scales are even more unbalanced," he complained. "I owe you even more than I did before."
"Shut up. You just paid me back more than you know."
"But you made me cum. I should've made you cum!"
"Uh, you did." I pointed to the wet spot in my lap.
"No way. You didn't even take it out." He pouted. "Which means I never got to see it." The pout was replaced with a look of confusion. "How did I make you cum?"
I shrugged. "It's better than clucking like a chicken."
"You say the weirdest shit. I wish you'd just answer a question without the non sequiturs." He pulled up his briefs and jeans. "So, was this a onetime thing, or?
"I don't know. I hope not. I think I like you. Is that sequitur enough for you?"
Chapter two is coming soon.
Butters