We introduced ourselves on the first day of our high school careers. Both of us, freshmen from different middle schools, walked into one of the largest high schools in the state.
Knowing what I know about him now, he was probably meandering through with his click of admirers, making his way to the large double-door front entrance of McKinley High School. Meanwhile, my mother had just dropped me off, and I was dipping and dodging everyone to get to my class before the late bell.
Just as I was about to reach for the door, I was slammed into by this giant person, causing my backpack to hit the ground and almost spilling all its contents all over the place. I stood there in awe and could have sworn I heard the big guy say, bitch.
Something came over me, and he was on one knee, so I punched him hard. The slap sound it made brought everything to a standstill for a brief second. When he stood up, I thought I was dead.
This guy looks me over and laughs. He laughed at me! But wait, there’s more.
He grabs my backpack in one hand and scoops me up with his other. Throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes walks me inside, and then puts me down. Slaps my ass and hands me my backpack wipes the blood from his mouth, then walks away.
But not before winking at me.
I stood there with my ass still stinging from what had to have been the imprint of his hand on my ass and the most awkward, what the fuck look on my face.
That was my introduction to Timothy Bradshaw.
We would spend the next four years watching each other go through our separate worlds. And as luck would have it, sharing at least one class during those years. It took two years before we even acknowledged each other.
Timmy and I were from two different planets. He was outgoing, an extrovert, and never chased a girl. Not because he didn’t like girls but because they all came to him. He’s tall, muscular, handsome, and an athlete. He accepted a scholarship to play football at the state’s flagship university during his junior year.
As for me, I was quiet, unassuming, and introverted; I also never chased girls but for different reasons. I was also an athlete and earned a scholarship to a rival school from where Tim would be attending. My scholarship was also in football. The original football or, as we know it, soccer.
My physique turned out much different than most boys growing up during those formative years. I topped out at five-six with the body of a runner. My lower torso is longer than my upper torso. But underdeveloped in the manhood department.
My upper body developed more like a teen girl than a teen boy. My neckline, shoulders, chest, arms, hands, and feet are more elegant and graceful. I didn’t develop with the brutish figure that all the other boys that grew up with me during that time.
I spent those years mostly confused, not understanding what was going on with my body. But I wouldn’t let it affect me. I balled out on the pitch and was the leading scorer on my team the first season. This year, my senior year, I became the leading scorer in school history and was on the verge of breaking state-wide scoring records.
For all of my accolades, Timothy was equal to the task in his type of football game. Led the school to back-to-back state championships and had the world on a string. He wanted or needed for nothing.
That’s who we were, how we met, and how it started.
Now, here we are, having just returned from Christmas break. Both of us are eighteen now with our world in front of us. Kings of our court, and we were stuck in a study class together because there was no need to take an actual class that period. In five months, we would graduate and enjoy our last summer before having to report to our university teams in the fall.
*~~*
“Everyone is right,” Timothy was about to start in on me. “I don’t know why I never saw it until now.”
“Don’t start,” This would be a first for him because he’d never touched the subject, but I knew what he was about to say.
“You do have a girl’s body.”
“Seriously, just stop.”
“I mean, look at you; the only thing your missing is tits.”
“Go fuck yourself, Timothy Bradshaw,” I replied in a whispered huff before turning around and facing away from him.
“See! That’s what I’m talking about. You sound like my mother with the Timothy Bradshaw!”
We’d only started talking to one another our junior year. At first, they were just everyday pleasantries. Then we went down memory lane, replaying our first encounter freshman year. Then we just developed the oddest friendship in school.
I slightly turned my head back to him so he could hear me say in a low voice, “Fuck off.”
“Don’t be like that; I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Sam.”
By the change in the tone of his voice, I could tell that he was sincere or about to play his crudest, *gotcha* stunt that he’d ever played on me.
“I just think…, I mean, you’re pretty. That’s all I’m trying to say. I’m trying to pay you a compliment. Ass!”
He sounded sincere and also a bit agitated. I smiled.
The bell rang, and I already had my things in hand, which made it easier to get up without giving him the chance to come around to me and say anything more. I made my way out of class and headed off to the parking lot.
*~~*
That night, I lay in bed and started reminding myself that I’d tried dating girls and couldn’t follow through. I did the kissing and heavy petting and just couldn’t advance to the next stage. The few girls that did reach between my legs were always disappointed.
Some even had questions, do you have a penis? That was the number one question. There are many areas of my body I view as defects. Technically, they aren’t, but technically, they are.
I know that can be confusing, but it is what it is.
When describing my body, one does not think of using words like rugged, manly, broad-shouldered, guns, or Popeye forearms. Instead, the words delicate and elegant seem to apply when describing my neck, shoulders, arms, hands, and feet.
My Adam’s apple is almost nonexistent; it’s there, but good luck finding it. Then there’s my penis and testicles. Add the word micro to the description, but you might still be exaggerating. Even my masturbation and orgasms aren’t what I’d consider manly.
When I rub one out, I rub one out. There is no jerking, stroking, or choking anything. I rub my penis underside by penning it against my body; then I use my thumb. As if I was a woman playing with her clit.
