Chapter 1

I guess I should have been expecting it. I'm just your average middle school nerd. I'm 5'-3" tall and weigh 90 pounds soaking wet. I'm 13 and just beginning to notice that girls can be something besides a pain in the neck. My mother says that I am "cute," and nobody else says anything about my looks at all. My sister Susan, who is 16, doesn't say much about me one way or the other, but she does like to boss me around. Mom thinks that is "cute," too, so what am I going to do about it?

My dad was killed in an industrial accident seven years ago at the chemical plant where he was a supervisor. OSHA raised hell about it and the fact that the accident happened because the company failed to install some safety equipment that my dad had called for. It was on the mandatory safety list, or something, and the company had decided to pinch pennies by claiming that it was installed, but not really even buying it.

Anyway, we had plenty of money by the time my aunt's sharp lawyer friend got through with the company. My aunt now sleeps with that same lawyer friend, so we got to keep most of the money he got for us. They are talking about getting married, but don't hold your breath. Strangely, I like the guy, even if he is a lawyer.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. I am one of those nerds that the jocks like to torment. They don't do anything to violate the school's zero-tolerance policy, but they do a lot of slapping us nerds on the back while saying things like, "Hello, old buddy. You're looking great!" Of course that slap has around 200 pounds of beef and muscle behind it, so you can imagine what the recipient feels like when he picks himself up off the floor. The slap is complemented by the laughter of the other jocks standing around and admiring the technique of the slapper on how far he has made the slapee fly through the air.

Well, in this case, I was the slapee, and I was about to step down the stairs leading to the main floor of the school. The steps have a steel lip on them to control the wear from all of those adolescent feet striking them every day. The steel is very slippery, and I was just putting my weight on the steel lip when the blow hit. I am sure that the jock doing the damage had no intention of doing me any permanent harm, he was just expressing that God-given right to be a jock.

Unfortunately for me, the blow caught me just right and propelled me down the stairs, all 18 steps of them with the back of my head banging on each and every steel lip as I passed it. Needless to say, I was unconscious long before I got to the bottom of that flight of stairs. I'm sure it must have been hilarious as I bowled over other students on my way down the steps.

The football coach happened to be approaching the stairs as I made my glorious descent, so he yelled for someone to call 911 while he cleared the flotsam from around my very still body. The EMTs arrived in record time and had me off to the Emergency Room as fast as anyone could hope. One of the kids with a well hidden cell phone called my mother (the girl was a friend of my sister) and reported the "accident." Therefore, Mom was at the hospital by the time I was.

Of course, I knew nothing about the next three months I spent in a coma. My skull had been cracked, and I had needed surgery for some sort of brain damage which I never bothered to get the details on. Hell, even if it was my brain, I never was one to go in for gory details.

When I finally woke up, I had missed most of the first semester of the eighth grade, and was not going back to school for a while as I had to go through physical therapy for my atrophied muscles and complete loss of my sense of balance. By the way, the city insurance policy paid for all of that, since the "accident" had happened on school property.

When I first started to come out of my coma, I was very disoriented, and I barely recognized my mother or my sister. That's when I found out how much my sister really loved me—she had spent a lot of time at my bedside during the coma and was the first to notice when I came out of it. She practically smothered me with kisses until I was rescued by one of the nurses, and that nurse had to repeat the job when my mother showed up only a few minutes later.

I think that was also when my headaches began. The nurse noticed my grimaces and asked if I was in pain. My speech center had been damaged by the accident, so I could not talk. I could form the words in my mind, but I couldn't get them out of my mouth. I mumbled and groaned something, and the nurse took that as a yes, so she asked the doctor for some sort of pain killer for me. I got it and went off into never-never land for the next few hours.

Well, the headaches diminished over the next few days, and I thought no more about it. The third week after I came out of the coma, I was sent home. A physical therapy expert was supposed to visit me for two hours each afternoon. I wasn't really happy about this until I saw her. WOW! Now that was what I wanted all of my nurses, technicians, and whatevers to look like.

Nancy was 23 years old and a recent graduate from an intensive course in administering the kind of therapy I needed. One of the things that continual bumping on my head must have done was to accelerate the growth of my libido. Nancy was tall and had boobs like a 13-year-old boy can only dream about. I came to appreciate her other attributes as I came to know her, but those boobs were what first grabbed my attention.

I was still having trouble with my speech, though I was improving. The doctors claimed that I would fully recover my speech control within a few months. All I needed to do was practice. It was very frustrating to want a drink of water and not to be able to reach it because of my still poor control of my limbs. That was when I first discovered my new ability.

On the second day that Nancy came by, she found me struggling to say something, but I just could not get it out. Finally, in a state of absolute frustration, I thought, God dammit, Nancy, hand me a glass of water! She answered, "Yes, Master," and she handed me the water I wanted. I was so grateful for the water I needed, I didn't think about the event any more right then.

We went through the normal routine she had for getting my muscles back into condition, and Nancy acted as if nothing unusual had happened. It was nearly supper time when I needed to piss and I couldn't reach the urinal. I sure as hell didn't want to wet my bed, even if I did have a plastic sheet under me to catch any accidents. I was having all kinds of trouble and nearly fell out of bed trying to reach that damned urinal, and I was getting more and more frustrated. I still couldn't talk, but I thought to myself, Susan, dammit, if you are anywhere nearby, I need your help!

Susan must have been in her room just across the hall, and she came bursting into my room. "Yes, Master, what can I do for you?"

I was so happy to have somebody to hand me the urinal that I didn't worry about how she got the word that I needed her. But I still could not talk, so I just thought, Susan, please help me use the urinal.

Without saying a word, Susan picked up the urinal, and pulled the bed cover down so that she could fit my cock into the neck of the urinal. Without a word, she took my cock between her first two fingers and thumb and held it in the mouth of the jug. I was so glad to get rid of the pressure that, again, I gave no thought to how this had happened. To my knowledge, this was the first time Susan had ever handled my cock, and she never reacted to it beyond doing what was needed. When I finished, Susan gently shook my cock to remove that last drop and went to empty the urinal. When she got back, she put my cock back into my pajamas and pulled the bed cover back in place. I smiled my thanks, and Susan nodded as she left the room.