PZA Boy Stories




It was five miles to my house, no short distance to run after a competitive basketball game on a hundred-plus degree [>38°C] day, and I ran every step, probably setting a fucking land speed record as I went. From this day forward, I would forever be known as Baldy, that fourteen year old boy with a baby cock and not a speck of pubes to be found.
Publ. Mar 2011
Finished 8,000 words (16 pages)


Baldy (14yo), and Sebastian (12yo)

Category & Story codes

Other Boy story/love
tbcons oral anal – humil first


If you are under the legal age of majority in your area or have objections to this type of expression, please stop reading now.

If you don't like reading stories about men having sex with boys, why are you here in the first place?

This story is the complete and total product of the author's imagination and a work of fantasy, thus it is completely fictitious, i.e. it never happened and it doesn't mean to condone or endorse any of the acts that take place in it. The author certainly wouldn't want the things in this story happening to his character(s) to happen to anyone in real life.

It is just a story, ok?

Author's note

This story is based on a true story. It's partially autobiographical, in fact. It means an awful lot to me to have this printed, and now available to the public. It's not the first story I've had posted here, but it was absolutely the first one I ever wrote, not long after the events in the story took place in my real life. I won't tell you which character is me, but as you read, you'll probably be able to figure it out. It's not so hard. Please remember as you read this that we authors are not supported in any way, other than by your feedback. If you like this story, if you hate this story, please send feedback. I'm more than willing to accept criticism on my writing, praise for a job well done, suggestions for future stories, and anything else you might want to share.

Sorry, since September 2012 I haven't heard from BBillings, and his e-mail address is no longer active.

It all started on the basketball court.

My friends and I were hanging out at the park one summer day, and that was the day my life changed forever. It was a typical two-on-two game, shirts versus skins, and I was one of the skins. I was never embarrassed about this; I was unbelievably skinny, and even though I had basically no muscles, you could see the impression of a six-pack on my lanky frame, and that made me kind of proud. Besides, it was around a hundred degrees [38°C] outside, and the less clothes I had to wear, the better. Well, maybe that last part isn't quite true.

Anyways, there I was, hovering around the three-point line, with Jim covering me. Jim thinks he's hot shit at basketball, but really, he's just tall and he happens to be black. He's average at best. I ducked inside, cutting around him narrowly, and took the pass from Vinny. Jim was a full step behind me now. He didn't stand a chance. I dribbled once, then twice, and I leapt into the air. It was an easy layup. I threw my hands in the air in celebration, and then I noticed them pointing at me.

When I looked down, I saw why. My shorts and my boxers had been pulled down as Jim's last defense against my scoring on him, and there was my little baby penis, poking out from my clean, pasty white skin for all to see.

I'm quick, but I'm not that quick. You'd better believe that I was down on the ground in a microsecond snatching my shorts and underwear back on, but all three other guys had definitely seen what I had tried to hide every single day of my seventh and eight grade years.

It wasn't only my friends, though. That would be bad enough, but no. Sebastian, this goddamn skinny loser who wore black sweaters everywhere he went (even today) and had absolutely zero friends at school, just happened to be walking by at that moment, and he got an eyeful of my junk, I'm sure of it, even if he had looked away before I could catch him peeking. A kid who couldn't have been much older than five or six was sitting on the swingset, his left pointer finger raised in my direction. Hell, even this fuckin' old lady who comes to the park to sit on a bench and crochet was staring at me, and even though I knew she couldn't see shit if it wasn't right in front of her face, it still pissed me off. And embarrassed the piss out of me.

My face was flushing red, I could feel it heating up far more than what would have even accounted for the sweaty day and a hot game of hoops. Before I knew it, I could feel tears rushing up in my face as I heard the first whispers of my new nickname being thrown around behind my back.

"Dude, did you see Baldy, man?"

"Shit, that was a baby baldy boner!"

"Baldy won't get the chicks that way, man."

Those were the dudes who were supposed to be my friends. Fat lot of good they'd do for talking to now, I thought. With tears about to start flowing, I had no choice. Half-naked, my shirt left forgotten on the park bench on the opposite side of that wall of ridicule, I ran out of that park as fast as my legs would carry me.

It was five miles [8 km] to my house, no short distance to run after a competitive basketball game on a hundred-plus degree [>38°C] day, and I ran every step, probably setting a fucking land speed record as I went. From this day forward, I would forever be known as Baldy, that fourteen year old boy with a baby cock and not a speck of pubes to be found.

I burst through the doors having cried out my tears, and I'm sure that my mom would have absolutely freaked out had she been there to open the door. I was a mess. A saline mess of tears and sweat was leaching off of my forehead, and the dirt and mud my shoes kicked up as I rad across the field dotted my legs from my ankles to my inner thighs. Instead, my mother was singing her heart out to the Oldies' playing loudly in the kitchen, probably baking, though what she was doing baking on a day like this was beyond me. I crashed through the door, slammed it shut, and barreled up the stairs to the bathroom.

"Mom!" I screamed through the bathroom door, my voice cracking not with puberty, but with a mix of rage and embarrassment. No response. "MOM!!!"

Finally I heard the music turn down. I went on before she could ask. Still screaming. I don't know why. "Mom, if my friends come over, I'm not home!" I yelled. "That means Vince, Jim, and David too!" That covered all the boys at the game. They might have been my friends, but I had no doubts in my mind that 'Baldy' was going to be a story told to the entire school, and that was going to be absolute hell.

"OK dear," was all I got in return before the music started back up. Yep, that's the kind of support you get around these parts.

I took one look at myself in the mirror, my hair a mess despite being a basic, short bowl cut, and my eyes red and bloodshot, and knew what had to come next. As I stood in the bathroom, sweat was doing it's job of wicking long, clean lines down my grime ridden face. I didn't really think I could have gotten so dirty from b-ball and running, but then again, I also had difficulty remembering the last time I took a shower. That might be gross to some, but hey, what can I say? I'm a dude.

I coaxed the water out of our rickety old shower, and turned it up as hot as it could go. I kicked off my mud-caked shoes and had to sit down on the toilet in order to remove my soggy, damp socks, which were soaked in the glory of perspiration. I could feel the cool of the porcelain through my thin shorts, and stood up quickly. Cold was something that I avoided like the plague, especially if it was going to be down near my… well, you know.

I actually had to think about whether or not I was actually going to take off my grimy shorts before stepping in to clean myself off; I wasn't sure that I wanted to face my shame even in private, but eventually, both shorts and boxers hit the tile floor and I stepped behind the curtain and into the scalding water.

I do everything right. Absolutely everything. I wear boxers to give myself room to grow, and to gravity take effect. I take hot showers; I religiously avoid cold places, because, well, every teenage guy knows what happens when you get too cold, even me, whose cock looks shriveled and scared even on a good day. I practically burn myself to death in these goddamn hot showers. I've tried wanking ten to fifteen times a day, and yes, I've even tried not wanking myself at all, and to my surprise, I was able to last a whole month doing that. I've read all the books, I've even stolen my mom's credit card and bought every 'Grow your Cock' ebook that's been advertised in my spam email folder, and followed every secret formula. Hell, I brewed a fucking tea that was supposed to jump start my hormones. I've bought pills (which is unbelievably embarrassing at the drug store), I've eaten pounds of corn (because some godforsaken scientist seems to think that makes your willy grow), and I've even asked my doctor about it during my last physical.

Despite my efforts, nothing. No pubes, no growth, no 'ejaculation', no nothing.

I'm a completely normal 14-year-old kid, the doctor says. I'm tall and slender for my age, and growing at just the right rate, he says. I just have the cock and balls of an eight-year-old.

And he, for some reason, seems to think that's completely normal. He chuckles as he checks me for pubic hernias (just some lame fucking excuse for the docs to get their excitement, I think), he slaps me on my bare ass with his latex glove, and tells me that I need to 'give it some time'.

The other day, I found tampons in the bathroom for the first time in my life. They've never been there before for my mom, so you know what that means, don't you? My nine-and-a-half-year-old sister is farther into puberty than I am.

Anyways, I think you get the point, don't you? The name 'Baldy' couldn't have applied better to anyone I know. I closed my eyes whenever I had to look down in the shower I was taking, and it wasn't just because of the shampoo in my eyes. I didn't want to face myself.

Even this morning, I could do it. No big deal. It was a daily ritual. The first thing I did every morning was reach down and check myself for something… anything! I made myself hard, which never took much in the waking hours, and reached into my top drawer, and withdrew a long, slender, bright green ruler and a scissors. Uncovering myself briefly, I would press my curved morning wood against the plastic just for long enough to compare against my previous mark.

I had long ago moved from measuring myself in inches, and started on the much more forgiving centimeters, of which I measured exactly seven and a half. Every day I looked, and every day I measured seven and a half centimeters, not even three inches for those of you who can't handle the metric system. I'd put the scissors away unused, for I wouldn't cut another mark this day, or any day since I started.

It's been almost two years since I started that, now. Vinny grew from a baby-faced 6th-grader into a wannabe street tough, sporting a soft, but fairly thick eighth grade mustache, and you know if he can grow it there, he's cultivating hairs elsewhere too. Earlier this summer, I got a glimpse of some germination in Dave's armpit this summer at the pool too. His hair is naturally a jet black color that is the envy of goth kids everywhere, but his pits are growing in ginger. Mine are, as you'd probably expect, bald as a baby's bare ass. Bald as my pubes.

Choking on the steam of the boiling sauna-shower, I shut off the water and retrieved my towel and wrapped it around myself twice. No accidents here. I stepped out of the shower without remembering if I had actually used any soap, or even if I had shampooed my hair, but it didn't matter. I was clean(ish), and that was good enough.

I hopped out of the bathroom into the relative cool of the hallway, and then quickly, recognizing the temperature change that might make me even smaller than before, I splashed my way across the hardwood floors and into my room, where a strategically placed rug soaked up the chilly air conditioning and wetness in a last minute attempt to induce the puberty fairy to visit my room, for once.

Putting on a fresh pair of boxers without exposing yourself was a skill I'd practiced an awful lot right before we started swimming in gym class, and I used it deftly now because I was disgusted in myself. Three weeks until school starts. Three weeks for the story to spread. Three weeks before every girl in the school new about my problem, and three weeks before I became the target of every pantsing in high school. I added a pair of pajama pants and a fresh white t-shirt to my ensemble, and finally removed the wet, dripping towel.

I'd had enough. I laid down on the bed, face first, and I fell asleep.

A knock at my door awoke me.

"Mom, I said no friends," I whined, and behind the closed door, my mother responded with a cluck. That meant she hadn't seen it that way. I maneuvered my way to a sitting position. This was going to absolutely fucking suck.

"No, sweetie," she crooned. "You said no Vinny, Jim or Dave. See, I do listen. Hey, it's your friend Sebastian, so cheer up and get ready for your visitor."

Sebastian, if you don't remember, was that goth boy in the sweaters who I told you about earlier. For some reason, his vampire-impersonating ass was at the park today, and that, of course, meant that he probably had gotten an earful of 'Baldy' jokes at my expense, even if he hadn't actually seen a thing.

With no other choice now that he'd probably heard that I was home, I resignedly said "It's OK Mom, let him in." The little fucker wouldn't have come to my house to ridicule me… would he?

Sebastian stepped through the closed door, smiling his typical non-smile, as if he knew something the rest of the world didn't. He was twelve, which would have put him in sixth grade had he not been skipped early on. The kid was brilliant in math and science, but completely and totally weird, and it occurred to me that even though we were practically neighbors in our small suburban town, I'd never once had a conversation with him.

He sat down, uninvited, into my desk chair and spun it back and forth, considering me. "I brought your shirt," he said finally, producing the orange and blue Chicago Bears garment from underneath his ubiquitous sweater. It was a hundred-effing-degrees [~38°C] outside, and this dipshit wore a black hoodie, and saggy black jeans that my mother would never have approved of on her own son.

He threw the shirt at the side of my bed, but I made no move to catch it. It hit the side of the bed limply, and flopped down on the floor.

"Thanks, I guess," I said. I gave him a serious look then, demanding with my eyes that he get to the point sooner rather than later. The boy simply non-smiled at me some more, and glanced around my room, taking it all in.

After what felt like an eternity, he looked me square in the face. "I saw."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.


"I can help."

He can help. Well whoop-de-fuckin-doo. So now I'm getting help from a 12-year-old weirdo. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that I was more than desperate. And hell, Sebastian might very well be the only person willing to be seen in public with me right now. I had no choice. "Help?" I said, emphasizing the vagarity in his statement. "That means what, exactly?"

He stood up, gesturing at the door. "It's safe here?"

I nodded, and Sebastian lifted his black hoodie over his head, revealing a button down black shirt that framed one of the skinniest guys I've ever seen. Sebastian was more fit than I was, I thought, and I was no slouch in the fitness department. This damn kid is sitting on a chick-magnet goldmine here, and he bundles himself in so many bulky, oversized clothes that nobody would ever know what he had going for him.

He hung his sweater carefully on my chair, turning away from me as he unbuttoned his undershirt. His arms were skinny, as were his shoulderblades. His skin was thin and pale, with odd freckles dotting his back in seemingly random places.

If you would ever have told me this morning that I'd suffer the greatest embarrassment of my life and then be unbelievably curious about watching Sebastian get naked in my bedroom, I would have probably slapped you. Or maybe kicked you in the balls. Yet here I was.

His shirts finally off, Sebastian turned around and started speaking. "I'm twelve," he said, reaching down, unbuttoning his saggy black jeans,which promptly fell down around his skinny frame. His boxers were blue and black flannel, the blue stripes being the only spots of color on his entire body except for his freckles. "I'm twelve," he repeated. "Keep that in mind."

And then the coup de grace. He reached down, and with no embarrassment whatsoever, pantsed himself, stood up straight and tall, and gestured towards his exposed manliness.

A thick, soft cock that framed a pair of perfectly round rocks greeted me, with what looked like a full tuft of hair. I was stunned that this kid, who I've never even talked to before, would simply come over to my house and show off his junk. I was astonished that this kid who was two years younger than me would have a dick that was twice as thick as me. I was sickened that the same kid would have a longer dick soft than I had when I was at my hardest. I was destroyed.

"I'm twelve," he said, now repeating the manta for the third time. "And I can help."

Needless to say, if he could promise this, I would do just about anything.

I stared down at him, my eyes unwavering from the little 12 year old's big package. "What do I have to do?" I asked breathlessly.

He reached his hand down and started fondling himself, and stepped forward, his dick inches from my face. "When I was a kid, my dad started feeding me his growth hormones, and now I'm not only smarter than damn near everyone, I'm more physically developed. Once I could make my own special sauce, I started eating it twice a day, and you can see the results. If you want your little bald pee-pee to grow, that's how you do it."

"Wait, what growth hormones?" I asked, not understanding what Sebastian was trying to tell me.

"How about you suck on my dick, and in about three minutes, you'll find out."

He was talking about sperm, I realized, even though I couldn't make any myself. Like every other aspect of puberty, I knew about it from 5th grade sex education, not from any personal experience. This kind of application was not something that I remembered hearing, however. "I don't think that sperm is a growth hormone, dude."

"It's loaded with testosterone," he said. "We can look it up if you want."

I was fairly sure that it would be, and it made some sense, even if I knew that very few people in the world had ever actually eaten someone else's sperm before to induce puberty. Sebastian, though, had, if you believed his disgusting story, and he was right; despite being a little shorter than most guys, and a lot skinnier, this guy had a beefy penis and a loaded sac, hair in all the right places, and now that he was fondling his cock, I could see that it was growing even larger now.

I reached my hand forward unsteadily gripped the boy's meat, and opened my mouth to receive him.

Penises are funny things, you know? I mean, here's this thing that's all dangly and weird looking one minute, and when you give it some attention it sticks straight out, gets rock hard, and grows to like twice it's normal size. And now here's what's even weirder: when you put it in your mouth and start to suck it, you realize that it's only a little hard. A better way to describe Sebastian's dick was to imagine it like a corn dog with a frozen hot dog in the center, and fresh-dipped batter coating the outsides. The insides were solid steel, but the feeling on my tongue was smooth, soft, and silken.

I let my tongue wander along the tip, and it was like licking a balloon – the surface of his dick's head moved and undulated, varying with the pressure I put on it. Tasting his foreskin was one of the most surreal experiences I could have imagined; it's fluffy, silken texture contrasted sharply with the slightly sticky, pink sponge below.

I had no fucking clue how to properly suck on a cock. I'd never done it before, nor had it done to me, nor even been able to see a single minute of porn to get a tutorial. I simply knew that it must be something like masturbating him with my mouth. I took all my clues from Sebastian himself, who, at least according to that short personal history, had a lot more experience than I had, even if it had been with his father (gross!).

Not once during the five or six minutes that I sucked on him did I actually imagine myself doing what I was doing. It wasn't a sexual thing, it wasn't even a solution to my puberty problem, it was an exploratory mission on a foreign planet.

Of course, I've seen dozens of dude's dicks before in bathrooms, at sleepovers and whatever, but I'd never really gotten a chance to touch, smell, and taste one before, and I'll admit now that I was damned curious, especially because dicks were, at least to me, forbidden. Nobody ever wanted to be called gay, and as soon as you were caught looking, or even expressing a passing interest, you'd be labeled for life. Hell, if Sebastian told anyone of this, I'd never live it down. 'Faggot' would be almost as bad as 'Baldy' I figured, though perhaps not quite.

Somehow, even not knowing this kid, what he stood for, or why he decided to share this most intimate source of testosterone with me, I knew I could trust him not to say a word.

So I sucked his dick liberally, using my tongue to make up for my inability to really jack him naturally; I was laying face down on a bed with him standing in front of me. He rocked back and forth a little, enjoying the sensations, stroking my head behind the ears now and again and moaning with pleasure as I reached my skinny tongue down to the sensitive area protected by that magical, fleshy foreskin. I danced it along the few centimeters of his shaft that he provided me, and he pulled my hair as if to tell me to focus. He didn't want me to explore – he wanted to be satisfied.

And when he was satisfied, I got my first automatic injection of wet, dripping testosterone. I had no idea what to expect from semen, and I didn't even get to see it this time, as one minute he was stroking, gripping, pulling and pushing on my head, rocking his hips back and forth, side to side, breathing manically, and then the next, heaving a huge sigh of relief.

Not a full second after his sigh began to escape, I felt the first drip from his cock land directly in the center of my waiting tongue. I stopped moving, unsure of what to do next. He wordlessly told me that my instinct was right, as hardly a moment passed in limbo before another drop leaked down, plopping right alongside the first, and then a short pitter-patter of successive smaller cum droplets dribbled down near them. There wasn't a lot of cum, not this time, but what there was happened to be quite thick, and quite salty tasting. It was awful, and yet strangely satisfying. I swallowed the gift I had been given, and in doing so, I accidentally scraped my tongue against his cock head again, tasting the residue. Not wanting to be wasteful, I washed the sticky mess off of his already sticky cockhead, and swallowed again.

Hesitantly, I took his behemoth rod in my left hand, and used the side of my thumb to scrape along the bottom side of his urethra, forcing any remnants of his man-juice out, and then quickly licked the final drops hungrily. It was a strange looking fluid, kind of half-white and half-clear, and I couldn't wait until I could start eating my own. The more I tasted it, the more I really started to like sperm.

Sebastian was shaky for a moment after cumming (he taught me that word in the hours to come), and had to sit down on my bed, lying back after gathering some of his composure, and I watched his dick bounce along, fighting a losing battle with stiffness. "Holy shit," he said. "Amazing."

I said nothing as the boy caught his breath, I simply watched him, admiring his dick, his physique, and his generosity.

"That was incredible," he stated simply, staring at the ceiling of my room. "I've never had my dick sucked like that. I've done it to my dad, before, but he never did it back to me, you know?"

I didn't know, but I nodded like I did. "Now I know how he felt," he said simply. "He died, you know? Car crash. Two years ago."

"I'm sorry," I said. I had no idea.

A hand wave dismissed my sorrow. "Don't be. The guy was a fucking child molester, you know? I mean, I got some benefit out of it," he said while shaking his limp cock to demonstrate, "but I'm pretty sure that I was mindfucked for life." He laughed, and I joined in nervously. Sebastian talked like an adult rather than a twelve-year-old kid, but his story reminded me of just how fast he'd had to grow up in order to live the life he had. It was weird, but almost natural in some perverted way.

"I don't really know what to say," I said. "Today has been so fucked up."

"Hey man, I hear you," he replied. "But think of it positively: you made a new friend, and I think together we'll help you get over this whole 'baldy' thing."

I had almost forgotten. "How?" I asked. "They all saw it."

"And when they see it again," Sebastian said, now sitting up and smiling, "they'll forget whatever they thought they saw at the park today."

Sebastian and I hung out for the rest of the day in my room, and nearby my house. I didn't want to face the world at large. I asked him questions, and he asked them back, and we didn't really do much for the rest of the day. It was out by our backyard willow tree where we did the most talking, sitting in the shade and the privacy of that massive tree's long, supple branches, which provided an excellent hiding spot for discussing secret matters.

I learned some interesting things about the strange boy. He could only really see out of one eye because of having hit the back of his head around the time he had been born. The other one had a dark spot along the left-hand side, where he was basically blind. He wore the thick-framed black glasses because it fit with the rest of his clothes, not because he needed them to see. His hair was dyed blonde, and was naturally a plain-jane brown, but since he had been doing it since he was seven, nobody ever really noticed. He passed one full grade in third because he knew all of the state capitals, the names of every single American President (in order), and how to multiply before he even walked in the door. He has since forgotten almost all of the states. His favorite author was Dostoyevsky, who I had heard of, but knew nothing about.

Sebastian really surprised me – this kid was actually a really cool guy, we had just never bothered to actually try to like him.

We talked for hours. He told me all that stuff about himself, and I told him about basketball, growing up with a dad, my cat, and of course, my failed treatment plan for 'the problem'.

One thing that really defined Sebastian was his planning. This dude did not mess around. He had the secret sauce of success, or at least believed he did, and he knew that he could get it to work.

"I drank my father's cum almost every night and every morning for years," he said. "It took me about two years for my growth spurt to really kick in, but here's the thing: it couldn't have happened any sooner for me because there are no eight-year-olds who have pubes!"

I could buy that.

"You're like what, fourteen?" I nodded. "So you're perfect. We'll grow your little wiener over these next few weeks and turn it into a fucking monster, and the first person who tells that little 'baldy' story can then get blown away when you take them aside and show them the blimp-dick we've set up for you."

It was a strange plan, but I could see it working.

"Here's what we'll do: you need to get lots of testosterone, that's like the whole key to everything. Take some of those penis pills, and every day we can get together, and you can take it two ways. As much cum as I can pump into your body, I will. It'll be amazing."

I wasn't sure what I was agreeing to, but I was pumped. This sounded like just what I needed to get back on track.

"C'mon," he said then. "I think I can give you a little more now before I go."

He grabbed me by the hand and walked me straight up to my room. He led the way, his ambition and delight at having a new friend overcoming his manners, and he barged into my room, shutting the door behind me as if this was his own place to live. I knelt down on the rug, ready to receive my second treatment.

Without saying a word, Sebastian tore at his belt buckle, unhooked the button on his pants, and pulled out his cock. Taking it in my hand, I gave it two strokes to give it a head start on stiffening, and then inhaled it's length, sucking it down like an old pro. I loved feeling the sudden shift in texture, from limp sponge to stiff wood.

Two minutes in, Sebastian stopped me with a hand cupping my chin. I reached for his dick with my hand, but he lifted me, and I silently obeyed. He then did what I did not expect, and used his free hand to manipulate the snap and zipper on the jean shorts I had donned earlier that day. When he had loosened me as much as he could, he bent down and used both hands to jerk down on my pants, revealing my skinny, hairless legs and my tiny, hairless package. I felt the familiar shame course through my body, and found myself unable to meet Sebastian's gaze, but he turned my face back to me, and stared deeply into my eyes.

He kissed me then, a subtle, but passionate kiss, and to be honest, I'm not sure that I moved my lips to reciprocate, but he didn't care. He kissed me open-mouthed and open-eyed, and again took control in that silent but strong manner.

I wasn't sure what was happening, but I gave myself entirely into his control, and I soon found myself bent awkwardly over the side of my bed, one foot on the floor, my pant leg still wrapped about the ankle, the other lifted onto the corner of my bed.

I felt him enter me then. It was slow going, but I could picture it in my mind, even if all I could see looking back underneath myself was his ball sac loosely flopping around in the space between his legs and mine. He stretched my ass slowly, and while it felt good at first, I couldn't help but tense as he pushed farther in, working my poor anus with his rod, cleaving it in two.

As he spread the edges of the muscle, I gritted my teeth and refused to cry out. I would not be a pussy, I told myself, not realizing the unintentional pun until days later.

While he fucked me there in my own room, I heard the doorbell ring, and heard my mother turn someone away, and hoped they wouldn't look up through my bedroom window. I didn't think they'd be able to see me no matter what angle they took, but I feared that they could surely see Sebastian busting a nut inside my asshole.

I was hard, then, my erection puny beside the younger boy's. His ballsac was loose and flopping still, and as he gained confidence, they began to slap the underside of my body, which was even more embarrassing, as they could have completely enveloped my own in just his loose skin.

I don't know quite how long he fucked me that first time, but it felt like an eternity until I heard an "Oh shit," escape his lips, the only intelligible thing he managed to say during his grunts and moans of pleasure at fucking me. Seconds later I could feel his sticky semen coat the inner walls of my rectum. My second treatment had been delivered.

He pulled his dick out slowly, squeezing along the underside as he did so, as if to milk every last drop, which showed me just how committed to this plan he was. I buttoned myself up quickly, as I wanted to be back in hiding as soon as possible, while Sebastian took his time, and I noticed some brown spots coloring his rapidly softening cock. Embarrassed, I cleared a path for him to the bathroom, and he escaped quickly, not fully put away.

Returning two minutes later, he thanked me, though I'm not quite sure what I did to deserve thanks, we exchanged phone numbers, and he left.

I was not a homo. I told myself this again and again that night, after Sebastian had left. I wasn't. There was no way… Despite my protests on the subject, one thing was clear – one of the most brutally embarrassing days of my life ended with me finding a brand new friend, one who I trusted wholly from the first ten minutes of our relationship, a smile on my face, and a butthole full of fresh white cream. If that isn't a conundrum, then I don't know what is.

One other thing was quite clear to me when Sebastian finally left me alone in my bedroom – I was still stiff as a board, and while he had gotten his rocks off, I hadn't.

I pulled down my shorts again, this time of my own volition, and watched from the window as Sebastian, clad completely in his black attire, made his way down the road back towards his house. I pounded my little cock furiously, making three full up-and-down strokes for every one of his footsteps, and before he had even made his way up to his house seven doors down, the familiar ecstasy of orgasm swept through my cock, jerked my hips sideways, and caused me to have to lean heavily on the bed to keep from tumbling down.

I looked down hopefully, but alas, no clear white liquid dotted the tip of my dick yet. I sighed heavily, leaned back on my pillows, and closed my eyes. Sebastian's plan wasn't the instant-satisfaction plan I had hoped for, but it was my only hope.

When I opened my eyes again, I was surprised to find that it was early the next morning. A Thursday I believed, though it was nearly impossible for me to tell since it was the middle of summer break. I rolled out of bed, dressed in the same pajama shorts and shirt I had worn for the second half of the day before, and followed the sweet smell of pancakes and maple syrup down to the kitchen.

My mother worked an odd schedule that left her off of work on Wednesdays, and working three half-days – Thursday, Monday and Saturday, on which the family tradition was always a different form of fruity pancakes. Today's fruit of choice was pumpkin, which in my estimation was not a fruit, but since it came in the canned fruits aisle, my estimation was not worth much.

My sister was down there already, having already devoured about half of her allotted pancakes. I looked at her differently ever since I first discovered the tampons, and maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I could detect the faint outlines of baby-boobies protruding underneath her shirt. Her nipples were certainly erect at any rate, and while you might think it's gross that I'm examining my sister so hard, think about my situation. You'd be jealous too, trust me.

I ate my pancakes making small talk with both of the ladies of the house. My father briefly came down and stuffed a whole pancake in his mouth before quickly leaving for work. My sister wasn't far behind; she was headed to the park with her friends Mindy and Sarah. That left me alone in the house with Mom. It was kind of weird, but these pumpkin pancakes were surprisingly good, and I was willing to suffer through some odd, forced conversation with her in order to finish my helping.

"That Sebastian boy," she said, as a means of getting me interested. "I've never seen you hang out with him."

"He was never really my friend until now," I said, pausing to chew on a pancake. "We just never really clicked, you know?"

"Well I think it's good that you're hanging out with him. Mrs. Wisener and he have had a tough life since Mr. Wisener left the picture," she said. I knew what was coming. My mother was the town gossip. "You wouldn't happen to know…"

"Mom, I don't really know anything. Sebastian's never really talked about him." Ha. I could give her enough gossip for months, maybe even years, had I spilled the beans. "I didn't want to pry."

"Well, I think it's good you're hanging out with him. Someone different than your regular group." She made no bones about not liking Vinny, though she thought Jim and Dave were decent guys. "Anyways, I have yoga this morning, and I think I'm going to just leave from there to go to work. You'll be OK here alone?"

I nodded, chewing another bite, and she mussed my hair as she walked by to collect her things. "Don't forget to clean up," she said. Thursday was my day to do the dishes. I tried to say "I won't" around a big mouthful of pancake, but it came out all a mumble, so I didn't even bother tying anything multi-syllabic like "goodbye," and she left me in peace for just a few moments. Her car rumbled to life in the driveway, and minutes later, the doorbell rang.

I jumped up to answer it, figuring that Mom forgot her yoga bag, but to my surprise, it was actually Sebastian, black sweater and all. "I thought she'd never leave," was his greeting, and I let him in, my mouth still full of succulent orange goodness. "Sister?"

I shook my head and pointed to my mouth. "Hungry?" I tried to mumble, and it was understandable enough because his response was "Only for you." He carefully peeled off his shirt, and I knelt down to work his dick free of his pants, and that was all there was to it.

I vacuumed up his softness, licked him thoroughly, not even caring that his rod had been inside my butthole less than half a day ago. I gorged myself upon him, tasting his sweet sweat, inhaling his personal stench, and draining him of as much man-fluid as he possessed – a great deal more than yesterday – and drinking it down, I remembered that I had foregone my own ministrations that very morning in quest for pancakes.

Sucked dry, Sebastian casually picked up his shirt and lifted his pants up, buttoning them just enough to keep them up. "You're getting quite good at that," he told me. I smiled, and motioned him upstairs. "Let's see how this treatment is working," I said, and he motioned for me to lead the way.

I stepped through the threshold of my door, closing it behind Sebastian by force of habit. Yesterday, I wouldn't have dreamed of stripping in front of anyone, much less him, but I suppose it was my belief in this new system that helped me overcome my anxiety at showing off my less-than-adult sized body. I dropped my pants, and looked down with almost a tear of disappointment in my eye.

It all looked exactly the same as yesterday. I was as hard as I could possibly get, having gone more than 12 hours without release for as long a time as I could remember, and with someone kneeling before me, about to get me off for the first time. Yet still there was no hair to be spotted, no growth to be seen by the naked eye.

Sebastian cupped my tiny balls in his hand then, and starting low and close to my body, started licking me. It was sensual more than forceful, the opposite of my own blow jobs up to this point. He stared up at me with vacant eyes as he worked, sliding his wet tongue along my shaft and fondling each testicle gently underneath me as I stood.

As he increased his concentration on the more sensitive areas of my rod, he slid his fingers down and started playing with my ass, spreading my cheeks and probing my anus with a finger. Finally, taking the whole of my cock's head into his mouth, he pushed, and I again felt the dry ache of penetration in my bowels. I lasted only a minute under his swift sucking, and came with my dick in his mouth, just as I'd always come, hard, fast and unsatisfyingly. Alas, I was still a bald son of a bitch, and one who had given away his virginity to a goddamned homo who lived down the road, selling me a snake oil cure to my proverbial cancer.

I was pissed more than pleased, though Sebastian wiped his mouth and raised himself up. "Kiss me," he said, and with few other good choices, I did. His lips were wet with saliva, and he tasted like penis. I melted into him, too angry to resist his suave charms, and let him coyly slip his tongue into my mouth. I wasn't sure what to do, but I moved my tongue to meet his, and going to my knees in front of him, I wrapped myself around him with both body and mouth.

I tasted his mouth for the first time, yet there was something familiar about him. He had just mouth-fucked me, certainly, so I had suspected some taste of my own body on him, but there was a trace of something more. I slid my tongue along his, not thinking about it, really, until I pulled away, and found my tongue coated with a thick, salty substance. He pulled his lips away from mine, and I noticed for the first time that he was patting the back of my neck with his hand and holding on longingly. He stared deeply into my eyes as I grappled with the facts. Slime coated my tongue, and a droplet dribbled unnoticed from the corner of Sebastian's lip. "I love you," he said, stroking me now, and as I played with the cum in my mouth, my cum, I laid my head against his shoulder and said "Fuck it. I love you too."


Three weeks later, the first day of school in southern Indiana seems a lot like the first day of summer, just hotter. It was early on a Wednesday morning, yet it was already above eighty degrees [27°C] and climbing when I got on the schoolbus to attend my first day of high school. I was the fourth or fifth one on the bus, and chose a seat near enough to the back to be cool, but not actually in the back, where I was sure to be kicked out by someone older and larger than myself.

We drove past the stop at the far corner of my block, where I saw Sebastian waiting with a handful of other middle school kids; the ones who would be eighth graders now, and who were much higher on the social totem pole than before. The love we felt for one another was real. At first, I had said it, but I wasn't sure that I had believed it, but now, three weeks after that day when Sebastian had first forced puberty on me, I knew it to be true. That boy was my soulmate.

Passing him by was something I had no choice about that day, and I knew it was the next stop that would be difficult for me. That was Vinny and David's stop, and the one after that was when Jim would get on.

As we pulled up, both of my former friends spied me through the windows, and walked right passed me without comment, slapping high-fives with some of the older kids who dared to challenge for the coveted back seats. I recognized a few of them from the courts at the park and figured that they were my b-ball replacements after I mysteriously disappeared.

At Jimmy's stop, a bunch of girls got in, and Jim got in last. "David, tell 'em," he said, punching me in the shoulder good-naturedly as he passed. David looked up at me and said, "Hey ladies, let me tell you about a real winner.

"It was like a month ago, see, when me and Jim and Vinny here were shooting hoops at Rodgers Park. Alex, that kid three rows up," he says, gesturing towards me, "he takes a pass, then fuckin' blows by Jimmy, a pro NBA move man, and so Jim says 'fuck this,' and he grabs little man's shorts. Kid fuckin' jumps, man, hits this beautiful layup, and pantses himself. And ladies, let me tell you, man, this kid is bald as a 90-year-old man. Balder than a leukemia patient, you hear me? His shit is like an inch -"

And that's where I stood up. "I'm sorry girls, but really, I have to do this," I said, cutting David off, and without any warning, I stepped into the aisle, unbuttoned the top button on my shorts, and threw them to the floor, right there in the middle of the school bus. "I don't know what these dudes seem to have seen," I said, surveying their eyes. "I mean, I am bald as a 90-year-old man I suppose."

I don't even think they were listening. They were staring, mouths agape, at my crotch. I had shaved the night before, trimming off about two and a half weeks of pube growth that covered from my balls all the way up to my pants line. I had closely, and carefully shaven my balls, and even had Sebastian trim up the hairs protecting his favorite fuck-hole. Yes, I was as bald down there as the day David's story took place.

My little embarrassment, though? Not so embarrassing any more. I have a full six inches [15 cm] and more, and that's soft. My rod may not be really thick yet, but I took it in hand and swung it around in a big, floppy circle, and my point was easily made. This was the beginnings of a man's cock.

"You were saying something about an inch, Dave?" I asked, and I barely got out a "Try six and a half [16 cm]. And that's soft, bitch," before the school bus driver shoved me off to the side, crashing into the side of the school bus.

"I don't know what the fuck you're thinking about boy, but you're going to put that monster back into your pocket now, and come sit up front so I can make sure the deans know about this." It was surprisingly un-creepy the way that the driver said this, but I knew I had made my point. Both the older ladies and the gentlemen in the back few rows were sitting in shocked silence, though the two girls in the very back seats looked as though an "OMG" crossed their lips at the same time. No matter what came of it, this was well worth the effort that I'd put in the past few weeks.

Baldy may still be my name to this day, but it's not 8-year-old cock Baldy, it's a choice I make so that my rod is always as impressive as it can possibly be. It took less than a week before I was bedding the girl on the left hand side of the back seat, and another after that before I had the girl on the right. Being bald has it's privileges, I suppose.

The End

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