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|I’m coughing as I get out of bed and walk to the bathroom where by the time I get there I’m already out of breath. Man, I hate being like this. I’m just an unhealthy 15-year-old. I have no friends… no life. I feel completely lonely. I walk into the bathroom and wet my thin blond hair and comb it over my already balding head. Looking at myself in the mirror, I see nothing. I just see just a frail wisp of nothing.
Let me tell you a little bit about myself. I was born to my mother and an unknown father on November 1st, 1991. I was born prematurely, sickly and fragile and had to live in the hospital for almost the first three years of my life. The doctors said babies like me usually came from some sort of incest, but as far as my mother knew, she had no family members still alive and her son died shortly before I was conceived.
All she knew was that an amazingly good-looking man came to her right after her son had died in a freak accident at the newspaper company he was working for. They said that he tripped over one of the barrels of fresh newspapers and fell right into it. Not pretty way to die, but usually the truth isn’t gorgeous.
When I was growing up, I had to spend most of my time in a wheelchair up until my 11th birthday when, after years of intensive physical therapy, my doctors said I was strong enough to walk on my own. I tried to walk, but I would easily lose my breath and have to sit down for a while every so often. I had gotten better since then but not by much.
Also, when I was born, a part of my brain that regulated maturing was damaged. So, through most of my life, I looked about 3 years younger than I really was, and the doctors said puberty would slowly come and quickly leave. They said there was about a 50/50 chance I would be mature enough to have children. Luckily though, the rest of my brain went unharmed so I developed fine mentally.
Not an appealing story, I know, but my life generally hasn’t been too appealing. Nevertheless, I’ve always hoped it would change for the better. All the time I wished that: at school when the kids picked on me, around the house when I couldn’t help my mother with the daily tasks, and now as I look at myself in the mirror.
My body is a 12-year-old’s of little strength. I have thin arms, even thinner legs and a thin body. I look anorexic although I know I’m not. I finish combing my hair and try to lean myself on the counter to get closer to the mirror so I can see any sign of puberty on my face, but there’s nothing.
Just then my mom knocks on the door. “Lute, do you need any help getting dressed?”
I sigh. “No mom, I’m fine. Thanks though,” I say in a very high, breathy voice. I shuffle over to the chest of drawers and take out some kid-sized underwear, a small black polo shirt, and a pair of small khaki jeans. Exposing my pallid skin, I take off my sleeping shirt, and I quickly pull the polo on.
Next to come off are my undies, and I look at my exposed nub for one second and quickly pull my clean underwear up and my jeans, but the image of the three-quarter inch penis surrounded by pale, hairless skin and a tiny nut sack stay in my brain. It is truly embarrassing.
I finish dressing up, and when I open my bedroom door, I see my mom waiting outside for me.
“Need help down the stairs?” she asks.
“No, I think I can do it on my own, Mom,” I reply.
“Well, all right… but you remember last time?” she asks with concern in her face.
“Yes, I do, but I want to try again,” I answer, determined as ever.
I slowly walk towards the stairs and look at the motorized railing where my stair-buddy that used to take me up and down the stairs every day until I was 11 is sitting. I walk right past it and inch down the first step, then the next, and the next. Finally, I am a little over halfway down and nearing the bottom when I trip a bit and fall down a few steps before I catch myself on the railing.
“Lute!” my mom exclaims as she runs down the stairs and takes me over the shoulder and helps me down the rest of the stairs.
“Please, be more careful next time,” she says as we get to the bottom of the stairs.
“I was being careful Mom. My balance isn’t too good yet,” I reply.
I walk over to the table and eat my small breakfast. I finish it off and hobble over to the couch to pick up my packed book bag and make my way to the door.
“Coming Mom?” I yell up the stairs.
“Yes!” she answers, “Here I come!”
She runs down the stairs and walks with me to the bus stop on the corner. The bus arrives, and my mom kisses me on the cheek before I board right in clear view of the windows.
“Bye Mom….” I say unemphaticly as I board the bus.
Immediately as I get on, someone teases, “Oh! Baby boy loves Mommy!” And with that, the whole bus starts laughing. I get this everyday without fail. Because of how young I look, I’ve been nicknamed “baby boy” by a kid in second grade who isn’t in my school anymore, but the name still haunts and tortures me to this day.
I head towards the back of the bus and sit in the very last seat that is about half as small as the others. Since I am the last stop, the kids always leave this spot for me because of how small it is. They call it “The Baby Seat”.
The taunts die down, and I sit quietly wishing the bus would arrive in school already. See, I love learning. I love going to school to learn things that might help me overcome my disease, but the kids make it a literal living hell. Take this day for instance, a normal day in my 8th grade year:
I leave the bus and slowly make my way over to my first period, World History Honors. Along the way I get things like “Hey, baby boy, did you get smaller or maybe I just got bigger?”, “HA! Look at baby boy! I think my 12-year-old brother looks bigger than him!” and, “Baby boy! Did you leave your diapers at home?” For a five-minute walk to the classroom, it’s amazing how bad it can get.
It’s pretty much the same all day too--a lot of taunting, being picked on, even being beat up once a year ago by a kid for “lookin’ at him funny”. What makes my situation worse is that although I look three years younger than they are, I’m about three times smarter, which really pisses most of them off. Most people make fun of me because I am small. The rest just hate me for being smarter than them.
With the day of torture over, I finally make my way home on the bus, experience a lot of the same teasing, and get off my stop where my mom is waiting for me.
“How was school, honey?” she asks in a very sweet tone.
“Do you need to ask?” I say sourly.
“Oh, I’m sorry. No need to sass back,” she replied a little shocked.
At home I eat dinner, watch some TV, do some homework, read a book--anything to pass the time until my bedtime. At 9:30 PM, I stop whatever I am doing and go up to my bedroom with my mom watching me the whole time. After taking a quick bath, I change into my sleeping shirt and lie down on my bed where I take a few deep breaths and try to fall asleep.
Lying in bed with my eyes closed doesn’t work at first so I try sleeping on my stomach, which also doesn’t work. I toss and turn all the way to midnight when I hear a small wind coming through my window. However, the window is closed.
I get up out of bed to open the curtains, and what I see is a small black tornado-looking thing banging against the glass. At first I’m not sure what to do, but the persistent little devil suddenly rams into the window. Startled at the breaking glass, I jump backwards, walk as fast as I can to my bed and hide under the covers.
After couple minutes of hiding, I no longer hear the tornado anymore so I lift the sheet off my head. I jump as I see a face of amazing beauty above me. She’s almost radiating with light. Her flowing, black hair falls from behind her head hanging over my face as she leans over looking at me. Just looking at her beauty makes my heart start beating faster. Her piercing green eyes seem to shoot through my heart.
“Hello, Lute, the Chosen,” she says.
“W-Who are you?” I ask in total shock.
“I am your creator. I am the being who made you,” she replies.
“God?” I ask as it is the first thing that comes to my mind.
“No, I am the Eris, the Goddess of Chaos and Discord,” she says mildly amused.
“G-Goddess?” I ask.
“Yes, Goddess. And it is time for you to fulfill your fate,” she says as she slowly leans up, and I do the same, unable to stop looking at her eyes. As I’m stepping out of my bed, I feel something unusual.
“Looks like my enchantment is working. You may look away,” she said.
I suddenly look away from her eyes and look down to see that my underpants have a small tent in them. Only about an inch and a quarter long, but it’s definitely there.
“That’s not much to work with, but I can enhance it you know. It must be done slowly however,” she states as she jumps at me and pushes me onto the bed.
She pulls off all my clothes and exposes my tiny hard-on. She quickly strips off her robe to reveal her large breasts and shapely body. I then get the urge to thrust, and suddenly I thrust my hips into hers making my tiny penis go into her vagina. I am so turned on that it only takes me minutes to cum. It’s my first time to cum, but it’s a lot more than I ever expected. Streams of it are coming out of my tiny cock into her hole as my first ever orgasm ebbs away.
She stands up and looks at my shivering pasty body. “It has been done. This part of the prophecy of Gaia has been fulfilled. I must leave now.” She puts on her robe and disappears into the night.
I lie on the bed for a few minutes completely exhausted from losing my virginity before I’m crawling under my covers and falling fast asleep.
The next morning I wake up to music. I instinctly raise my hand and slam it on the alarm clock next to my bed. I shift myself out of bed and put my feet on the ground and raise myself out of bed and feel my cock swinging between my legs.
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