Chapter 3

Let me condense things by saying I had a troubled childhood. My slender, androgynous looks made me the target of every bully in every school I attended. I learnt to be utterly vicious when I fought. The boys were always bigger or older than me, or both. I’d get accused of fighting like ‘a girl’. I’d bite, scratch, pull hair, pinch, grab, and squeeze testicles—anything to prevent the bully from besting me.

My problems really began in my first year of high school. A pair of older kids trapped me behind the bicycle sheds, away from where anyone could see us and stop them. The bigger boy punched me in the gut, dropping me to the ground. The smaller, but not that much less big, boy leapt onto my thighs, holding me in place. The bigger boy sat on my chest, slapping my face, yelling, “Bet you’re going to cry like a girl! Bet you’re going to cry like a girl!”

I lurched up, trying to dislodge him, and the boy’s groin was suddenly on my face. I could smell his ball sack sweat and the musky odour of a fresh young man. My cock, unfortunately, throbbed at the smell and began to harden. I’m not sure that I consciously wanted the boy to feed his cock to me, but I’m reasonably sure that was my subconscious desire.

“Ewww!” The boy holding my thighs down said disgustedly. “He’s getting a boner! Better get off the fag before he tries to blow you!”

Despite my conscious brain screaming that I didn’t, but my instinctual brain wanted that cock. I looked at it fascinated, hoping to see it harden and strain against the boy’s shorts. It did, and it looked way bigger and thicker than mine.

However, of course, the bigger boy couldn’t admit even to himself that having his teenage cock close to an androgynous-looking boy’s mouth excited him, so he grimaced, balled his fist and punched me in the face, breaking my nose. They left me there. I lay still, waiting to see if they’d return, and when they didn’t, I got to my feet painfully and went home.

Mum freaked out when I got there. Blood had poured from my nose and down my lips, chin and neck before dripping onto my school shirt and drying. She took me up to the hospital, where the resident decided I needed a plastic surgery consult. The operation was booked for the following day, and I was taken up to the ward so they could check for any concussion symptoms overnight.

That procedure gave me the nose I described above. It’s definitely not a prominent, manly nose. But it’s less than completely girlie, either. There was a strange incident as I sank into my anaesthesia sleep. The surgeon asked if I was male or female. The anaesthesiologist shrugged and said, “I think he’s a boy but quite feminine. Give him a girlish nose. Save him having to change it later when he decides to transition.”

The fight caused me more problems because the boy, whose name I later discovered was David Meggs, who’d held my legs, spread that I’d got a boner when Grant Bowers had sat on my chest. With my androgynous looks, I’d already fought many battles against bullies. Now, it seemed, I had to fight daily.

What was worse was that Grant clearly struggled with why he got a hard-on when his balls were in my face. At least twice a week, Grant would corner me on my way home. Our fight ended the same every time, with me on my back and Grant straddling my chest. Grant would be breathing heavily and staring down at me. Then he would slide up until his shorts-covered ball sack sat on my chin, and his stiffening cock grew over my face. Grant never did more than that, and neither of us acknowledged the growing need between us. Fortunately, Grant left school before anything happened that would get us both in trouble.

Things continued heading south for me at school. Even though I knew I was intelligent, that intelligence didn’t translate to schoolwork. Instead, I spent most of every class either staring out the window, bored, or arguing with the teacher. I was sent to the ‘Ice’, or isolation room, two or three times a day. I was supposed to study in that classroom, doing the work I should have been doing in class. But the teacher in there was older and close to retiring. He didn’t care what I did as long as I was quiet and non-disruptive.

The final straw was when I was suspended for fighting again. The principal threatened to expel me, and Mum threw a total hiss fit, swearing at the principal and questioning his heritage, parentage, what he did and where he went on the weekend, and what his mother did for an occupation. The principal called security to remove us, and I was expelled. Because I was over sixteen, no school was obliged to accept my enrolment. They all took one look at my transcripts and refused even to consider my attendance.