Growing up a single child was weird for me and no, it's not because I'm from the Northeast of England. Not only was I a single child, but I also only ever had my Mom in my life. I was now 23 and my Mom had me when she was relatively young at 21, meaning she was now 44. She worked extremely hard. When I started secondary school at 13, she went back to college and trained to become a nurse. She now put in a lot of hours every week and would work some weird shift patterns which I'd never be able to deal with. When my Mom told my so-called Dad that she was pregnant, he bolted and was never seen again until a few years ago. He tried to contact me after my 18th birthday, but I politely told him to fuck off. I was always my Mom's priority growing up and she'd never had another man in her life since my Dad walked out on her. Yeah, she had moments where she would go out with friends and bring somebody home. And when she brought those people home, I'm not ashamed to say I stroked my dick to the sounds of her being fucked.
As I got older, I always thought I was a little bit different to everybody else, but I couldn't seem to figure out why. At 23, I was still a virgin and had never had a girlfriend and to be honest, I wasn't really that bothered. I didn't have a massive group of friends so they couldn't take the piss out of me for it, and I never told anybody anyway. Whenever we were talking about sex, I'd just play it off like I'd done it and I was an expert. My friendship group got a lot smaller when we turned 18. A lot of my friends were only interested in going out, getting drunk and taking drugs. That wasn't me and it never would be. I tended to get on better with older people, so enjoyed the company of people at work and whenever my Moms friends come round.
I was also quite feminine growing up. I liked to look good, and I thought I did. I was just over 6ft tall, slim, and played football a lot, so I was in good shape. My hair always had to be perfect, and I was always using all different hair products to make that happen. I had my ears pierced, would only wear designer clothes, and had to be wearing the best shoes on the market. I loved to smell good as well and would always be spending money on the best aftershaves. Underneath the clothes, I thought my body looked good. I hated to see hair on my torso or pubic area so would often shave my chest, balls, and ass. For underwear, I hated wearing boxer shorts. The thought of my cock bouncing around made me uncomfortable, so I'd always wear tight briefs. I didn't have the biggest cock in the world by any stretch of the imagination, but I was more of a shower. I was always around 4 or 5 inches when flaccid and then a thick 7 inches when fully erect.
From 18, I started to masturbate a lot. Usually once a day, maybe twice on a weekend depending on how horny I was feeling. I downloaded lots of porn and had quite the collection but as I started to get older, my taste in porn started to change dramatically. I started off watching lesbian porn which helped me feel manly. Then I moved on to more traditional kind of porn, which found me watching the women more than the men and thinking about how much fun it looked like they have from being pleasured by a cock. Then I found one of my favourite ever porn stars, Daisy Taylor. She is incredible and I loved watching her getting fucked. The way she stayed hard was so hot and so I started watching more and more trans porn. That led me down a dark path to the 'gay' category online and it immediately had me questioning my own sexuality. I quickly shrugged it off and went back to watching normal and lesbian porn.
'Hey Chrissy,' my Mom shouted me. I hated it when she called me that but she's the only one I'd let get away with it. 'Can you come down here please?'
I trudged downstairs, and Mom was sat in the living room with a cup of tea in her hand. A lot of my friends used to tell me that she was a MILF when we were in school. She had big tits, long blonde hair and worked out at the gym three times a week so had an ass that matched that. 'What's up Mom?' I asked her, sitting myself down on the sofa.
'Are you okay sweetie?' She looked a little concerned. 'You seem to spend a lot of time on your own and I just wanted to check in with you.'
'I'm fine Mom,' I told her abruptly.
'You never go out anymore, look at the weather out there. It's gorgeous, yet all you do is go to work, come home, and play video games,' she quickly responded.
'And?' I was sick of this conversation, we had it at least once every two weeks.
'Don't you ever want to meet anybody?' Mom got more and more frustrated every time we had this talk.
'I'm not bothered.' I tried to get up and walk away.
'You know it's okay if you're gay?' She said, hanging on the word gay for a long time.
'I'm not gay,' I shouted before I got up and headed back up to my room.
I barely spoke to my Mom for the rest of the day, and I spent the evening on my own. She went out with her friends, and by the time she got back on the night, I was already asleep in bed. The next morning, I was up and about early for my Sunday league football match. I was dressed and out of the house before Mom got out of bed, and by the time I got home from football. As I was heading out to my car, I noticed another car parked outside our house and quickly realised it must've been Kevin's.
Kevin was my Mom's best friend. They grew up at school together and had now known each other for 40+ years. Kevin was openly gay. He was married early in his 30s, but his husband sadly passed away just a few years later. Since then, he'd not been in another relationship and had stayed single. He seemed happy though. I'd known him since I was growing up and kind of thought of him as a fake Uncle. We got on well and we always had a daft laugh when he was about. He was a little taller than me, had grey hair, a beard which was darker and was a bit of a gym freak himself and had always been involved in sport. In the summer he was always wearing tank tops and showing off his muscles that were underneath.
At football, I couldn't finish the match. A nasty tackle early in the second half ended my game when my knee started to swell up. I had to come off, I couldn't run but was still able to walk. A quick check over by one of my teammates and he told me it wasn't anything serious and I should be able to recover with some ice and rest. By the time I made it home, Mom's car had gone but Kevin's was still outside. I walked into the kitchen and there was note on the table, 'Kevin is coming for car this afternoon, I'll be home late tonight, there's food in the fridge.' I went upstairs and got showered. I threw on a pair of shorts; I didn't bother with underwear purely for comfort reasons and a t-shirt and made myself comfortable on the sofa. I had my leg elevated with a bag of frozen peas covering my knee.
About an hour or so later, there was a knock on the door. I hobbled towards the door and opened it to see Kevin standing there with his usual smile on his face. It was a warm Sunday afternoon, so he just had his tank top, running shorts and a pair of sliders on. He lived about 15 minutes away by car, but must've walked as you could see tiny beads of sweat on his forehead.
'Hey kid, how you doing?' He asked as I stepped aside and invited him in.
'I've had better Sundays,' I laughed as I followed him into the living room. 'Can I get you a drink?'
'A glass of water would be lovely,' he said as he took a seat on the chair, and I began hobbling into the kitchen. 'What have you been doing?'
'Classic football injury,' I shouted from the kitchen. 'Knees a little stiff but apparently I'll be fine in a couple of days.'
I walked back into the living room with the drinks in my hand and handed him his drink before taking my place on the sofa again and elevating my leg again to try and stop the swelling. When I'd been sitting for a while, it tended to go stiff again which would make walking more fun. I chatted with Kevin for a while, I didn't expect him to stick around for this long but there was no sign of him leaving anytime soon. After a little while, I needed to use the bathroom. I slowly climbed from the sofa, limped to our downstairs toilet, and took a leak. And then slowly, I walked back to the sofa, barely able to bend my knee because it'd stiffened up.
'Do you want me to take a look at that?' Kevin said pointing at my knee. 'I might not be a physiotherapist, but I know enough about sports injuries and might be able to help with a little rub down.'
