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I was short. Petite. Some would say tiny. Standing as tall as I could I was still quite a bit less than five feet. I guessed there were a lot of boys my size, but I doubted that they were 15 and about to start ninth grade, like I was.
Mom knew I was anxious about school, and she tried to reassure me, telling me that my father got his growth spurt very late but eventually ended up over six feet tall. I was not comforted.
I never met my father. Mom said he left home just before I was born. I guess he didn’t like the idea of being a father. I was beginning to think I was the result of a one-night stand. Not that Mom had lots of boyfriends or anything. I’d never seen one and I doubted she was sneaking out at night for a secret date. But who knew?
Last spring, when I finished middle school, I was by far the shortest boy in the class. I guess someone had to be, but why me?
I was too little and uncoordinated to be any good at physically-challenging sports. I’d tried tennis and swimming, but I was not very successful at either.
I did have a basketball hoop on a stand beside my driveway. I’d looked up the regulation distance from the backboard to the free-throw line ─ 15 feet ─ and I’d measured it out, painting a free-throw line on our driveway. I’d gotten really good at shooting free throws, but so what? It wasn’t like I was ever going to need the skill.
A week before school began, Mom took me to a clothing store to shop for school clothes. We had to go to the children’s department to find anything that would fit me. The only other boys in the department were like ten years old. Humiliating? Tell me about it.
We were supposed to get a jockstrap for PE but we couldn’t find one that would fit me. Mom said she’d write a note to the gym teacher. Great. How embarrassing would that be?
When I complained to Mom, she said, “Richard, it won’t make any difference. Nobody else needs to know.” Fat chance! As soon as we were in the locker room, everyone would know.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not putting Mom down ─ exactly. I know she loves me, and I know she works two jobs so we can live in a nice house and have plenty to eat. But she just doesn’t get what being a boy is all about, what one has to deal with to survive. And on top of that I’m little. She doesn’t really understand what being little means to me.
The doctor assured me that I’m not a midget or a dwarf or anything like that. “You’ll grow,” he said. “It just takes some boys longer than others.” I knew he meant well, but I didn’t think he got what being little did to my psyche.
The night before school began, I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake trying to think of ways I could get out of going.
At breakfast the next morning, I said, “Mom, I don’t feel good.”
“You’re just nervous,” she said brightly. “You’ll feel better once you get busy at school.” Not a chance!
Since I had been through a local middle school, Mom reminded me that I would know some of the kids. In our town there were three middle schools, and they all fed into one big high school. As for knowing some of the kids, I guessed I would, but I’d never had any friends in middle school, so I didn’t expect high school to be any different.
The first day, Mom gave me a ride to school. After that I’d be taking the bus. When she pulled up in front of the building, I gave her a quick kiss before reluctantly opening the car door, climbing out, putting on my backpack, sighing, and heading to the front door.
This was my first time in the high school building, and I had no idea where to go. I stood inside the door watching the other kids as they flowed around me, chattering happily with each other.
As I stood watching, a boy who must have been six feet tall came up to me and said, “Hi. You must be in the wrong building. There’s a middle school across the street.”
Blushing, I said, “I’m in the ninth grade, but I don’t know where to go.”
“Really? In ninth grade?” he said. Then, maybe seeing I was embarrassed, he asked, “Do you know your room number?”
“Two one seven,” I said.
“I’ll show you how to get there,” he offered. As we walked down the hallway he said, “I’m Max Carlson. I’m a sophomore.”
“I’m Richard Andrews.”
“Anybody ever call you Dick?” he asked, as we walked up the stairs.
“Yeah, but I don’t like it.”
“Okay, Richard it is,” he said. “What’s your locker number?”
I told him and he led me to my locker. He asked what my combination was, and when I told him, he showed me how to open it.
“Richard, your classroom is just across the hall,” he said. “See ya later.” And with that he was gone.
I put my jacket and my lunch in my locker, closed the door, twirled the lock, and went into my homeroom. It was pretty full. Looking at all those faces, I had this awful feeling I was going to throw up. Now THAT would have been embarrassing! Fortunately, I managed to suppress it.
There was only one empty desk left, so I sat there and stared ahead, listening to the chatter and trying to control my nerves.
The boy across the aisle from me, looked over and said, “The middle school’s across the road.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m in the ninth grade.”
“No way. How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Really?”
I nodded. I was already tired of the questions.
“I’m Reggie,” he said.
“Richard,” I replied before the teacher called the class to order.
As it happened, Reggie and Max were the only kids who spoke to me all morning.
At lunchtime I fished my lunch bag out of my locker and found the lunchroom. As I went in, I heard a voice call, “Richard.” I turned and saw Max waving and pointing to an empty seat next to him. I was surprised to see Reggie sitting there too. I sat and Max introduced me to the other boys at the table. They all said hi but mostly they stared, although they tried to hide it. By the time I’d eaten my lunch I again felt like throwing up.
“I gotta pee,” I announced, standing.
Max told me where the restroom was. I barely made it to a toilet before I lost my lunch. I hated the taste that was left in my mouth and tried to rinse it out but with little success.
As I returned to the lunchroom, I felt a little wobbly, and I prayed nobody would know what I’d just done.
As soon as I sat, Max said, “You look pale. Are you okay?”
“Just nerves,” I mumbled.
The afternoon went like the morning. The teachers all seemed to be happy to see us, but I didn’t speak to anyone, and nobody spoke to me. I never put my hand up and I was never called on.
My last class of the day was gym. I tried to stall in the locker room, hoping the other boys would leave so I could dress in private.
I sat on the bench and faced a locker. Slowly, I removed my shirt and put on my gym shirt. I was stuck. I had to take off my pants. I kept my underpants on as I didn’t have a jockstrap. I tried to do it without the others seeing. Fat chance. Nobody said anything, but I could tell that they knew.
In the gym I handed the teacher my mother’s note. He read it and said, “Try a sports shop. They have clothes even for the peewee football and hockey kids, so they’ll have a strap for you.”
I heard a couple of giggles, and I blushed.
The teacher blew his whistle and told us to line up by height.
Great, I thought, and headed for the end of the line. Reggie, I saw, was in the middle.
The teacher, or as he preferred, the coach counted us off, “One, two, three, four.” When he got to me he said, “Two,” and then announced those were our numbers for the year. Then he called out the names on his class list and we each had to respond with our number. When he got to me he said, “Dick.”
“Richard,” I responded before saying, “two.”
That took most of the rest of the period, so we were just turned loose to shoot baskets. I only shot one free throw, which I made of course, because I couldn’t get any other balls.
As we went back into the locker room for the mandatory showers, the biggest boy in the class said, “You’re Richard?”
I nodded.
“Great,” he said. “From now on you’re Little Dick.”
“Good one, Caleb,” called one of the other boys.
All the boys within hearing snickered. I was furious but what could I do? Nothing.
Reggie called out,” Lay off him, Caleb.”
That surprised me.
“Butt out, jerk,” replied Caleb, and again the boys snickered, but I thought they were a little nervous.
In the showers I stood facing the wall, waiting for the others to leave, but they seemed to hang around. I finally gave up, left the showers, grabbed a towel, and went to my locker.
A kid next to me, Tanner, said, “Hey, Little Dick, how little is it?”
Without looking at him I said, “About five.” I didn’t tell that was centimeters, not inches.
“Wow,” he said, “you’ll be huge when you finish growing.”
I managed to survive the bus ride home, sitting alone as usual.
I told Mom what the coach said about a jockstrap, so that evening we went to a Dick’s Sporting Goods store. Sure enough, they had straps that were even too small for me. I picked out two and we went to the cashier. I was thoroughly embarrassed, but Mom told me to give the woman the straps. The cashier didn’t bat an eye. She rang up the sale, put the straps in a bag, and handed them to me, saying, “Here you go, sweetie.”
Somehow, my answer to Tanner about the size of my dick had gotten around the school, and by the next day in gym everyone was trying to look. In the locker room I covered myself, which just made the others laugh. And they laughed more when I put on my jockstrap.
“I don’t think you really need that,” Tanner said.
“Will you just fuck off,” I muttered under my breath but loud enough so that I was sure he heard me.
“Yeah,” put in Reggie.
“Sorry,” Tanner said, but I just ignored him. I knew he wasn’t really sorry.
By the second week of school, things had calmed down for me, although I was known all over the school as Little Dick, snicker, snicker. Even the girls were calling me that.
In the late fall it was announced that the school was going to put on a performance of “A Christmas Carol.” Guess who got picked for Tiny Tim. I didn’t try out or anything. About the last thing I wanted to do was be in a play, especially in the part of a little boy, but when the cast list was posted, there was my name. Damn!
I went to the play’s director and told her I didn’t want to be in the play.
Then why did you sign up for it?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” I said.
“Isn’t this your name on the sign-up sheet?”
I looked and felt like cursing. Someone had put my name on the list.
“Yeah, that’s my name, but I didn’t write it.”
““Well, it’s too late to change it now,” she said. “You’ve been cast and that’s that.”
I complained to Mom, hoping she could get me out of it, but she thought it was wonderful that I’d be in the play. So much for depending on Mom. She really had no idea.
I had to go to rehearsals after school, but once I got over my embarrassment, I discovered that the rehearsals were sorta fun. The other cast members were nice to me, and the good thing for me was that Max got cast as Bob Cratchit.
Tiny Tim was not a big part, but I had to learn to use a crutch, and a couple of times Max was directed to carry me around on his shoulders.
By then Max and I had become quite good friends. He’d been to my house a few times and I’d been to his. Kids at school thought it was funny that I was friends with a six-footer, but Max put an end to that bit of humor, mostly just by scowling at anyone who giggled.
For the dress rehearsal we had costumes and make-up, and I decided that was maybe the best part of being in the play.
There were to be two night-time performances, and because of the size of the auditorium, tickets were required. I got one for Mom for the first night and asked her not to sit too near the front.
As the cast assembled for the first performance, I was very nervous. My stomach was acting up and even though I’d eaten almost nothing I was afraid I’d barf on stage or, even worse, on Max. When I told him that, he gave me a couple of tablets to calm my stomach and they seemed to work.
At the beginning of the play, I waited in the wings for my part. Most of the cast did pretty well, although the Ghost of Christmas Past forgot a couple of lines. I could have called them out to him, but I decided that wasn’t a good idea.
Max did a great job. Not only did he remember all of his lines, he really acted.
I don’t remember a lot about my stage debut, but at least I didn’t screw up my lines.
At the end of the play, Max lifted me up on his shoulders and I called out, “God bless us every one!” All the cast cheered. The audience stood and joined in the cheering and then cheered each cast member as we took bows.
It took me some time to take off my costume and makeup, but Mom waited for me. We met Max and his family at the ice cream shop and had a great time celebrating.
The next day at school a lot of kids congratulated me, and, surprise surprise, not one of them called me Little Dick.
As I was walking down a hallway between first and second period, I heard, “Hey, Richard.”
I turned and there was Reggie coming towards me.
When he got to me, he said, “You were really good in the play, Richard.”
I thanked him and then turned away because I had a tear in my eye. It annoyed me. After all, high school boys don’t cry. Fortunately, nobody saw.
About that time I began to feel some pain in my shins. I had no idea why, but I decided to ask Mom to take me to the doctor after Christmas.
Mom and I usually went to the midnight service at the Episcopal church on Christmas Eve. Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not religious and I don’t think she is, either. For us, the service is maybe more a cultural event than a religious one.
We both got dressed up, and just before we left for the church she said, “Richard, stand over here in the light.”
I did as she asked. She looked at me for a moment and then asked, “Do you have any dark socks?”
I was puzzled. What difference did that make? “I guess,” I said.
“Please change out of the white ones,” she said.
Shrugging, I went to my room to change, although I didn’t understand why she said to.
As we were walking to the church, I asked her what difference the socks made.
“Well,” she said, “there’s a gap between the cuffs of your trousers and your shoes, so a lot of white was showing. I think you must have grown.”
Grown? Me, grown? I never grew, or at least I’d felt that way for a long time.
I always enjoyed the Christmas Eve service. The music was special, I enjoyed singing the carols, and I loved the smell of the pine boughs at the ends of the pews.
Our Christmas day was quiet. I no longer hung a stocking and there were just a couple of gifts under our little artificial tree.
The next morning, Mom measured me on my door jamb. There was a series of little marks which she had made recording my height from time to time. I hadn’t been measured for a while as the process had begun to discourage me. It turned out that I had grown more than two inches.
I told her about the pains in my shins and she asked, “Have you ever heard of growing pains?”
“Yeah, but I thought that was just a saying.”
She assured me that growing pains were real and I was apparently feeling them.
That afternoon, Mom took me shopping for new pants. For the first time I was in the department for older boys. I came home with three new pairs of trousers.
Mom did take me to the doctor, who confirmed that I was feeling growing pains. I told him that the pains were worth it if I was really growing.
Back at school after vacation, I told Max about my growing. “Yeah,” he said, “I thought you were growing the last few times I had to lift you onto my shoulders.”
We high-fived and went to class.
On a Friday afternoon a few days later, as I was riding the bus home, I heard a commotion from some of the kids at the front. Then I began to see flashing blue and red lights ahead of us. When we got to my stop, I realized the lights were at my house. Fearing the worst, I got off the bus and looked at my house. Flames were pouring out the windows and through the roof. Firemen were doing their best to quell the flames, but I could see it was hopeless. There were policemen around, holding off traffic and keeping people away from the site.
Shit, I thought, what should I do now? I tried to call Mom, but she wasn’t answering her phone. I called Max and he said he’d be right over.
By the time he arrived, I was a basket case. I threw myself into his arms and sobbed, “What shall I do? It’s all gone.”
He took my hand and said, “Come with me.” We walked to his house, where I threw myself on the couch in the living room. He sat beside me, with an arm around my shoulders and stroked my chest gently.
“I know this is a disaster for you, Richard, but at least for now you can stay here.”
“What about Mom? She doesn’t even know.”
“We have a guest room she can use.”
“But you haven’t asked your parents,” I stammered through my tears.
“I don’t have to, Richard. I know they’ll welcome you.”
I was doubtful but too upset to question further. About an hour later, I tried to call Mom again. This time she answered, and I told her what had happened. Then I said she should come to Max’s house when she could.
By the time Mom got to Max’s home, Max’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, had arrived and assured me that Mom and I were welcome.
Mom arrived in tears. We sat on the couch just hugging each other. When our tears finally stopped, we had supper with Max and his parents. Max showed Mom to the guest room, while he and I went to his bedroom. Nobody had said anything about the fact that Max and I would be sleeping together. At least nobody complained about it.
When we were ready to go to bed, Max found me an extra toothbrush. I pointed out that I had no PJs and he said not to worry, that he never wore them. We went into the bathroom together, peed, and brushed our teeth before going back to his room.
Max closed the door and began to take off his clothes. I’d spent time with him, but I’d never seen him without his shirt on. When he took it off I could see he was clearly beginning to develop some muscles which made me feel even scrawnier. I wondered if I would ever grow any muscles.
Reluctantly, I took off my shirt and then my pants, so I was standing in just my underwear.
He watched me and I blushed.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful?” he asked.
“Hell, no,” I said. “I’m little and scrawny and ugly.”
“Well, you’re not big yet so your muscles haven’t begun to develop, but you’re not scrawny or ugly, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re just about perfect.”
I could see there was a growing bulge in his underwear, and to be honest, there was one in mine as well. I tried to hide it, but short of obviously covering it with my hands there was nothing I could do.
“You don’t need to hide it,” he said, seeing my discomfort and the reason for it. “I like everything about you.” With that he climbed into bed and motioned for me to join him.
With the shock of the fire and the uncertainty of my future, I was exhausted and quickly fell asleep.
We both slept late the next morning. When I woke up, Max was spooned against my back and his arm was reaching around and across my chest. I could feel his hard cock against my butt.
I stirred and he woke.
“I’ve gotta pee,” I said.
“So do I,” he replied.
We quietly rose and went into the bathroom where we stood at the toilet, holding our boners, with our streams crossing.
“I haven’t done that with another guy since I was eight,” he said, grinning.
“Me either,” I agreed.
Back in his room we stood facing each other. We stood for I don’t know how long, maybe a minute before, without a word, he reached down to my undershorts and found my hard little cock and balls.
I was surprised and shocked.
“Are you okay with this?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“Well, tell me to stop if you get uncomfortable.”