You may not be aware of this, but small boys are very cognizant of their physical features. Not so much their complete anatomy, but more the various weights and measures of bits and pieces.

I knew my height; Father marked my bedroom door post at random intervals. I knew my shoe size was large for my age, that I would grow as tall, possibly taller, than my father. I knew my hands were small, too small to span an octave on Mother's piano. My uncircumcised penis was one hundred and eighteen millimeters in length when erect. I also knew the circumference of my head at birth, thirty four centimeters.

I didn't understand the significance of this, except Father once called me, I believe he was refering to me in that instance, a big-headed little bastard. I don't believe he knew I was within the carrying distance of his voice, nor did I understand the significance of his words. A bastard I certainly was not; big-headed, I certainly was. I confirmed this by comparing my head to my peers. Mine was larger, by several centimeters to a dozen, depending upon the boy measured. I didn't ask any girls, therefore my hasty research may possibly be flawed, not that I felt much concern for this omission.

I didn't mind at all if my head were out of proportion with my body. I began learning to read at age four upon Father's knee. I learned music from my mother at an early age, tapping out Fur d'Elise with my right hand by the age of five. I felt that my large head would easily accomodate all the knowledge of the world, which I began accummulating as rapidly as possible by reading every book in Father's large library. I was now reading from the middle levels after starting with the lowest shelves.

My Father enjoyed football, and taught me to accurately kick balls at trees in the park. He asserted many times to me that a strong, healthy body assures a healthy mind. I believed him to be speaking the truth, as I believed all things he told me.

My concerns were minimal, my curiousities unbounded. I had friends, but shared little with them beyond the pleasures of chasing after a ball, and kicking it into a net. My teachers permitted my silent, private nature. My parents gave me gentle affection and respect; feeding my body in the dining room, my heart in the music room, my mind in the library.

Time flew by; I read books from higher shelves. I played more complex music, mastering a multiple tempo piece, four four by my left hand, three four by my right. I was pleased with my life, and happy in it.

Then, at age twelve, almost thirteen, my perfect world changed forever. Mother hired a maid; a sixteen year old, fair haired beauty, her skin so pale, her eyes so azure, her body tall and slim.

She curtsied for me, her eyes lowered, that first morning of her joining our household, murmuring softly, "Master Brown."

"This is Angelica, Dear. We shall call her Angie," my mother introduced our new and first domestic servant. "Your father has decided we need her assistance upstairs."

No, Mother, we shall call her Angel.

Of course I did not voice my dissent for I could not speak. Soon, I could not read, my eyes preferred Angelica's face or form. Soon, I could not put my fingers to the keyboard. I wanted them only on Angelica's downy cheek.

This day started as any other, promising to be as ordinary as the one that preceeded. I may have slept slightly longer than my usual, but no one would comment. I awoke with an erection, not unexpected these past months. I decided to measure myself, and stood, letting my night shirt fall to the floor, while reaching for the measuring stick I kept in a bedside drawer for just this task. As I stroked myself, wishing to maximize my measurement, there came a light rapping on the door, and Angelica entered into my bedroom. She, quite surprised to find me standing naked en suite, emitted a small shriek, her hand flying to her crimsoning cheek.

"Master Brown," she cried softly, her flush creeping rapidly down her swan-like neck. She stepped into my room, closing the door behind her back, not noticing it opened slightly as she stepped towards me.

She stood before me, her wide eyes locked on my rigid pego.

"May I be of service, Master Brown?" she asked, her dulcet voice demure, her slim fingers pulling open the strings of her simple bodice.

I heard the door close quietly, though the pounding of my heart was quite loud in my ears.

"May I, Master Brown?" she asked again, her apple size breasts now fully revealed to my view.