Smallest Cock at Monroe High School
"Seriously, who the fuck wakes up in the morning and says to himself, `Mickey Poulson's life isn't shitty enough; I'd better dump an extra load of turds on his head." Mickey was looking at a Twitter post titled "Smallest Cock at Monroe HS."
Mickey had accepted that he had a small penis. It did what it had to do, piss and shoot cum. It wasn't like he needed to stick it into anything; he was a total bottom, at least he would be if he ever had sex. Yep, that was his life: small cocked, virgin, bottom boy. Oops, almost forgot, new kid. Not even two weeks at Monroe and he was already Mickey Dickey, the boy with the mouse penis.
"Hell, it isn't even that small," Mickey said aloud and to himself. "Of course not...if you are in middle school, but you are a junior in high school," Angus said. Angus was Mickey's middle name and what he called the voice of self-torture in his head. Who the hell names their kid Micah Angus Poulson IV. Who the fuck cares if it is a family name. Some traditions should just die out.
Angus continued, "Face it Mickey, four and three-quarters inches is barely D- on the penis grading scale." Mickey knew exactly how small his cock was because he regularly measured it hoping for signs of that mythical growth spurt. "Your problem isn't your middle name;" teased Angus, "it is that you have a teeny, weeny, tiny, little weenier." Who needs a real bully when you have one living rent free in your head.
The irony was that in most ways, Mickey was the sort of kid who other's would envy. First, he was very smart, although he managed to hide that from his peers. The only thing worse than being the boy with the small cock, is being the nerd with the small cock. Second, he was handsome, some might even say model handsome. Third, he was athletic. He easily walked on to the soccer field as a new kid at school and made the varsity team. As 6'1", broad-shouldered, and fast he was the sort of midfielder who was a threat to score and who had no problem dishing out a little punishment to the opponents forwards if necessary. Lastly, his parents had money. They weren't millionaires, well they might be, Mickey didn't really know. They just never seemed to struggle like many other kids' parents.
His dad, Micah Angus Poulson III, was what was called a "fixer." No, not a mafia-type fixer; his job was to fix management problems for companies and stockholders. It was his dad's job that was the reason Mickey had been enrolled in five different schools, in five different cities.
Aberdeen "Abby" Poulson worked from home as an analyst for her father's brokerage: Thompson & Daughters, LLC. The company specialized in managing the money of rich widows. While her father charmed the clients, and her two sisters managed the portfolios, Abby's job was to hunt up new, socially responsible investments for women who wanted to do something good with their dead husbands' money, while still earning a handsome return.
"See," said Angus, "You don't have such a bad life, even if you do have the "Smallest Cock at Monroe HS." Mickey slumped back onto his bed. What Mickey really wanted was to stay home, but he doubted his mother would think "small cocks" is a real disease. Oh and yes, Abby knew of Mickey's issue. That's what happens when your mom is the one who takes you to get your sports physicals. Actually, Mickey was glad his physicals were done in the doctor's office rather than the assembly line exams given at the school. Abby has asked the doctor about Mickey's problem a when he was fourteen, thankfully Mickey wasn't in the room at the time. Mickey couldn't imagine anything more humiliating than hearing his mother ask, "Mickey has an itsy-bitsy peepee"--for some reason Mickey couldn't imagine his mother saying cock, dick, or even penis--"is there something we can do?" Apparently the doctor's answer was something like, "His penis is on the smaller side, but it is still within normal parameters." Sure doc, tell that to the guys in the locker room.
Wait! Locker room! Mickey looked again at the picture, then said aloud, "Fucking assholes, this picture was taken in the soccer team's locker room!" Who the fuck would have done something this shitty. "How about any of the five guys who thing you knocked them off varsity," Angus said, "or maybe it's the guy who knows you're going to take the starting position he's been waiting three years to get. Who knows what he will do next. I think you should quit the team."
"Fuck you, Angus!"
Mickey walked into the Monroe HS commons and he noticed the chatter seemed to immediately dim and he could feel everyones' eyes burning into him. "Well, well,"Angus said, "A couple of days ago you were invisible and now look at you boy, you're the center of attention." As hard as Mickey tried to lock Angus in the basement, he was right there, the master of Mickey's house. "Hey Mickey look at that group of girls by the vending machines, can't you just see their pity, `Poor boy, he won't have a date to any of the dances.' -- Oh look, a couple of freshmen boys are snickering. Mrs. Griffin, the school counselor, just spotted you. What do you bet she sends for you to see how you're doing and give you some pamphlets on cyber-bullying. -- Isn't that the soccer team over at the table by the widow. Let's go say hello......" Angus just kept hammering at Mickey's self-esteem during the walk though the commons.
Finally Mickey made it to his locker. "Look Mickey," Angus squealed, "someone has taped a picture of a microscope on your locker. Maybe now you can find your cock." Mickey just kept walking until he reached a side door and could get out of the building. The last thing he needed now was for people to see him crying. As soon as he was outside, Mickey ran to the stadium and found a safe place under the bleachers.
Angus suddenly switched from taunting to self-pity and then to self-loathing. "Hey buddy, you didn't choose have a small penis, just like you didn't choose to be a fag. Maybe we should fold this hand, and hope for a better draw in your next incarnation. Maybe you will be a straight guy with a massive cock. Won't that be good? What do you say buddy? Let's give it a try."
Mickey was trying to come up with an argument to shut Angus up and didn't see Grant leaning against one of the bleacher supports about twenty feet away. Grant Towhay, the soccer goalie was fucking scary. He stood 6'2" and was massive--massive muscular. There wasn't an ounce of fat on the guy, and when he wasn't playing soccer he was in the gym or the martial arts studio. The truth was, Grant looked more like he should have be a college football player than a high school soccer player. The story was that when Grant was choosing between youth football and youth soccer, and it came down to the team names. The youth football team was the Indians, and the soccer team was the Raptors. Grant's father was a great grandson of the Kiowa Chief Satanta, and when he saw the Indians' logo, a murderous looking caricature, he signed Grant up for soccer.
Mickey and Grant shared a bay in the soccer locker room. In fact, they were the only guys in that bay. It appears everyone was too intimidated by Grant and avoided "his" space. Unfortunately, Mickey didn't know about Grant when he chose his locker. So, every day the two dressed and undressed in complete silence.
Mickey also didn't notice that Grant was walking his way until it was too late to run. He just froze with the mountain of muscle towering over him.
"They're looking for you," Grant said.
"Oh."
"That post was an asshole thing to do."
"Uh...thanks...I guess."
"This is my people's place."
"Oh sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect...I didn't know." Angus began to scream, "We're dead--he's going to kick our ass."
Then Grant smiled and sat down next to Mickey, "Not my Kiowa people, my brothers and sisters in the fuck-them-all society. We all eventually find this place. I think we are drawn here by the spirits of those who didn't make it."
Mickey and Grant sat in silence for a while, then Grant asked, "What do you mean: the spirits of those who didn't make it."
"The Monroe students who didn't make it out of here. Some ran away, some are in jail, some dropped out, some are addicts or in treatment, and more than one committed suicide. Which path out were you considering?"
"I'm not sure...I...oh, fuck."
"Listen Poulson, you just need to tell Angus to fuck off."
"Wait, how do you know about Angus? You're not some kind of...."
"No," Grant chuckled, "I am not some kind of shaman or mystic. My only power is the ability to move unnoticed until I want to be noticed. So, I have heard you arguing with Angus when you think you are alone."
"Crap, I must sound totally crazy."
"No more than the rest of us. It's just that your crazy has a name and a personality."
Grant and Mickey just chatted for a while, and Mickey found that Grant was actually sensitive and friendly. Finally Mickey asked, "I might get my ass kicked for this question, but why do you hide this side of yourself behind the mean, scary...uh...."
"Indian?" Grant said with a smile.
"Sorry, I didn't want to say something wrong or insulting."
"I know, but what usually happens is people are so scared to say something wrong, they just don't say anything to me. It's refreshing when someone actually is interested enough to risk saying something wrong to talk to me. I suppose it was easier to tell myself people weren't talking to me because they were scared of me, rather than they were avoiding me. It's less lonely to believe you've chosen not to be a part of their group, rather than to admit to yourself that they don't want you. It's like the kids who'd rather not play a game than be the last one picked for a team. You do the same thing with your gayness."
"Wait, you think I'm gay? What would ever make you think that?"
"You should be in Washington, D.C. with that response. Senator Poulson, for the record your answer is you will not deny, nor will you confirm, what you will not deny nor confirm.' As for how I know you are gay, you have been almost as busy trying to sneak peeks of my cock, as you have been trying to hide yours."
"Shit, is this where you beat my ass for perving on you."
"Why would I want to beat your ass, when I would rather fuck it?"
"You mean you're gay?!"
Grant smiled, "I will neither confirm, nor will I deny, what I will neither confirm nor deny."
"Thank you for making me laugh. You don't know how much you've done for me."
"Glad to be of service, but now you have to make me two promises."
"Okay?"
"First you will never come back to this place without me. This is not a good place to be alone."
Mickey nodded.
"Second, next week is the pre-season Capital City Tournament. It is a three day over-nighter and I want you to be my roommate. Last year the coach stuck me with Jeremy Thompson, and he was so scared I thought he was going to wet the bed."
This time when Mickey nodded yes, there were tears in his eyes.
Grant pulled Mickey to his feet and said, "Okay, let's get back inside before they call for the bloodhounds to track you down."
"What about you?"
"It will take a lot more than bloodhounds to track me."
When Mickey walked into third period English, he noticed the teacher slip to her computer while the class was reading. He guessed she was sending an email to the office. Sure enough a few minutes Mrs. Gifford was at the door. While Mickey was new to the school, he had already learned that the students' nickname for her was Pamphlet Pam. Once in her office Mickey was in for one of the most uncomfortable and ineffective counseling sessions he imagined was possible.
It was clear counselor training had not prepared Gifford to discuss penis size with a teenage boy. To start with, Gifford was not comfortable with the word penis, or for that matter any of its euphemisms. It was also clear she did not have any pamphlets on Penis Dysmorphia, so she had improvised by grabbing a couple of pamphlets about other disorders from the rack.
"Mickey, it has come to my attention that you are struggling with an issue," Gifford started.
It was at that moment that Angus escaped from the basement and took over of the mouth controls. "Are you referring to my small cock?"
Gifford looked horrified and at a complete loss for words. Finally, she said, "Many adolescents suffer from body issues. Do you understand where I am going?"
Angus was like an out of control leprechaun, "I think so, you're telling me lots of boys have small cocks."
"Mickey, can we refrain from using that word?"
"What word? Cock?"
"Yes, that word."
"Okay."
"Thank you," Gifford said. "I have found some information that I believe may be of help." She then looked at her pamphlet and began to read.
Body image issues are a psychological condition that cause unhealthy habits to develop. They might start with an obsession with...uh....well...things."
"What kind of things," Angus said with mock interest.
"Well, boy things...you know...down there."
"Do you mean masturbation?"
"No, I was thinking of something else."
"Size? Like is it long enough?"
"Yes, that's it," Clifford said, and then returned to her pamphlet. "In severe cases, disorders can cause serious health consequences and may even result in death if left untreated."
"I can die from a small penis!"
"NO! Oh my, no! It's just that sometimes boys can make bad choices to remedy their problems"
"Oh, I understand. I've seen those devices on the internet." Mickey was trying his hardest to shove Angus back into the basement, but Angus wasn't at all ready to stop.
Clifford was in way over her head, but like a trooper decided to give it one more try, and she returned to her pamphlet mashup.
"Some men suffer from a condition called muscle dysmorphia--or for our purposes--...
"Penis dysmorphia," Angus said.
"Yes that," Clifford said with relief, "an extreme desire to become more muscular, or more...
"Hung?"
Clifford was red-faced and quickly gathered her pamphlets into a pile. "Well Mickey, I hope this has helped you deal with your...issues. Remember, if you ever need to talk, I am always here. Now I think you need to get back to class. We don't want you falling behind."
When he stepped out of the counselor's office, he saw the principal trying hard not to laugh. He put a hand on Mickey's shoulder and said, "I'm sorry you had to endure that."
The rest of the morning Mickey tried to concentrate on class. It wasn't easy, but it helped him deal with the feeling that he was constantly being watched and judged.
At lunch, Mickey sat with his social group, or to be more specifically his anti-social group. Tim was a total nerd, he had facts on everything and could talk endlessly about nothing. Most kids, and even some teachers, found him annoying and would try to end encounters with him as quickly as possible. However, Mickey and Scott didn't mind. In fact, his constant chatter relieved them of any conversational responsibility. Mickey also noticed that once Tim had talked himself out, he was actually a good listener and fun to be with. Mickey suspected Tim has some social-anxiety issues, and the chatter was how he coped until he felt comfortable in a situation. Most people just lacked the patience to let him get comfortable.
Scott was a different story. He wasn't given to idle chatter, when he spoke it was important or insightful. Scott was very politically aware and socially conscious, and sometimes Mickey would say things just to goad him into a rant. When Mickey and Tim would eventually start to smile, Scott would catch on and call them, "Anarchist Assholes," and then join in the laughter. Most days no one took notice of the three boys, but today they were the center of attention.
"Hey Mickey," Scott said, "Can you give me a ride home in your Corvette after school."
"What? I don't have a Corvette."
Scott and Tim started to smile, and Mickey caught the innuendo, "Ha ha-- you're so funny."
"I'm sorry," Scott said,"I know this has to be a shitty day for you, but I couldn't resist."
"Actually," Mickey said, "I wanted someone to say crap to me. I was so set this morning. I was going to walk in, and bust the first guy who said anything right in the mouth, go home for my five days, and then... I don't know what then, but it was going to send a message not to fuck with Mickey Poulson because he didn't give a shit."
"So are you going to punch me," Scott asked.
"I don't want to sound offensive, but what would be the point?"
"I get it," Scot said, "you have to punch the quarterback of the football team for it to be a statement. Punching me would be a waste of a good suspension."
Suddenly the murmur of the cafeteria changed. Like in the jungle when the animal sounds change, it is a signal a predator is on the prowl. Tim once described it as the `wedgie sense,' an alert victims of bullies develop to survive.
What had brought on the change in atmosphere was Grant. Grant never was in the cafeteria during lunch. But today for some unknown reason, in the center of the cafeteria, stood Grant--all 6'2", 190 pounds of athletic muscle. He was wearing athletic shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt from his father's martial arts school that made his shoulder look even more massive. His complexion and strong Kiowa features gave him the appearance of a bronze statue come to life. He scanned the room until he saw Mickey and his friends and then gracefully moved to their table and sat down.
"Tim and Scott, how are you guys doing," Grant said.
"We're doing fine," Tim said, "but Mickey is in a bit of a dump."
"I heard that," Grant said with a wink.
"Mickey was just telling us how he wanted to punch the quarterback in the mouth," Scott said.
"Chandler-One-Punch?" Grant said with disdain, "Asshole has a glass jaw."
"Last year Grant made an example of Chandler Reeser and four of his football buddies." Tim said.
"They were giving me grief for playing soccer, instead of football," Grant growled. "They kept calling me Chief and shit, but they crossed a line when they called my sister a squaw. I called him out in front of the school. I told him he could either meet me at the old bridge after school, or he could shut his fucking cock hole."
"Shit," Mickey said, "Did he show?"
"Yep, he and four of his football bitches. The second worst mistake they ever made. The worst mistake was not paying attention to my T-shirts," Grant said and pointed to his T-shirt. His shirt said, "Towhay Gym & Martial Arts: Jujutsu and Muay Thai."
"My Dad owns the place and is former Special Forces. I was in middle school when he discovered I am gay. I thought he was going to kick my ass; instead, he put my self-defense training into overdrive. He said no one with Satanta's blood would take a beating and not give one in return."
Scott added, "The next day, Reeser and his friends looked like hell. One had a broken nose, and all of them had some pretty nasty bruises and black eyes. The football coach wanted Grant expelled, or at least suspended, but when the principal heard the facts, the football coach just stopped coming to school. Rumor was he was the one who encouraged the players to harass Grant in the hope of getting him to switch sports."
"Is that why everyone in this school is afraid of you?" Mickey asked.
"That, and my family isn't ashamed of our Kiowa culture. Some people even think we are militant about it. I think I get the same reaction as African Americans and Mexican Americans get when they don't assimilate into the dominant culture. I don't limit my traditions and cultural point of view to special places' and special days.' I am not just Kiowa at the Pow Wows, I'm Kiowa every day. Oh, and before I forget, not everyone at this school is afraid of me. My people, the fuck-them-all society, love me. Isn't that right?"
Tim and Scott both said "Yeah," and gave Grant fist bumps. Then Grant held out his fist to Mickey who responded "Yeah" and returned the bump.
The afternoon classes went much like the morning. Students were still staring and whispering, but Mickey found it easier to block all of that out.
Even Angus couldn't lead Mickey down rabbit holes as hard as he tried: "Hey Mickey, I think those two girls are talking about you...So, who do you think took that picture of you?...I bet someone will upload your photo to a sight called something like Boys w/ Small Toys...Well I bet you've gone viral...Your pothead cousin has probably blasted news of you small cock to the entire family...Oh shit, Mickey! I bet you mom and grandma got the picture...Grandma Poulson probably screamed, Oh have mercy, Mickey has a small cock?' and Grandpa asked, "What did you say? Mickey lost a sock. Well you should knit him a new one for Christmas.".... However, as hard as Angus tried to run free, Mickey finally captured him, shoved him down the basement stairs, and locked the door.
When the last bell of the day rang, Mickey headed for the locker room. Along the way, Grant caught up with him and asked, "Are you ready for this?"
"As much as I will ever be."
"Good! Head high, chest out, and balls to the wall."
During the practice scrimmage Mickey was matched up with Landon Kirkland. Kirkland thought he had starting right midfielder locked up until Mickey enrolled at Monroe. He was also a cocky asshole, and number one on the list of suspects. Throughout the scrimmage Kirkland would make snide comments like "Hey, Poulson, I hear you're hung like a hamster" or "When you jack off, is it a two or three finger job?"
As the team gathered before heading to the locker room to change, Kirkland made one more small joke and Mickey turned to face him, "Fuck Kirkland, if you spent less time worrying about my cock, and more time working on you game, it wouldn't have be so easy to take the starting position away from you." Kirkland was hated by the junior varsity guys, and they began to laugh and pile on more comments. Kirkland got red and started to stomp away when the coach yelled, "Get you ass back here. Poulson is right, at least about it being too easy to take that starting job away from you." Kirkland just crossed his arms and stewed.
After practice, Grant usually spent some time with the assistant coach working on stopping penalty kicks before calling it a day. So Mickey was alone in the locker bay when his wedgie sense went off. He was trying to pull up his underwear when two of the seniors grabbed him by the arms and turned him around. Mickey's underwear was still around his needs, the seniors had a good grip on his arms, and he was on full display for twenty boys to mock and ridicule.
"Let me through," Mickey heard someone say as Kirkland pushed himself out of the crowd.
"What the hell?" Mickey yelled, "Stay away from me with that fucking ruler!"
"Poulson, is that anyway to speak to someone who is going to make you famous. You see, we think you might have more than just the smallest cock at Monroe High School, you might have the smallest cock in the world. So we are going to document your inadequacy for the Guinness Book of World Records."
Mickey was struggling to get free and to hold back the tears. Mickey felt the locker room closing in on him and the last shred of dignity being stripped away, when there was a commotion in the peanut gallery. Kirkland turned to see what was going on, but all he had a chance to see was a large bronze fist before falling unconscious to the floor.
"What the fuck is going on here," Grant's voice echoed from the room's cement and metal surfaces. Several boy started to sneak away, and Grant yelled, Stop!"
Grant turned to the two seniors who had been holding Mickey and they froze. As they waited for whatever punishment Grant was about to give them, piss began running down the leg of one senior and pooling at his feet.
Mickey reached down and pulled up his underwear.
"How old are you?" Grant barked at the Seniors, "Eighteen,' they mumble.
"Mickey, how old are you?"
"I turn seventeen next month."
"Three adults sexually assaulting a minor. Somehow, I don't think the three of you will do well in prison. Especially you," Grant said looking at the one who had pissed himself.
Grant then turned to the spectators, and said, "You are all up shit creek as well. You might not be arrested, but I am pretty sure expulsion, at minimum suspensions and being kicked off the team."
"What the fuck is going on in there?" the assistant coach yelled from the door. "The last of the JV and C team left 20 minutes ago."
"Sorry Coach," Grant yelled. "team meeting. We're about done."
"Get your asses in gear. I have plans for tonight."
Grant turned back to the team. "Okay chicken shits, team meeting at Adams Park in 15 minutes. Anyone missing will get a personal ass whooping from me. "You two," Grant pointed to the guys who had held Mickey, "Bring this piece of shit with you."
Mickey and Grant hung back until everyone had left, and Mickey couldn't keep it together any longer. He began to sob, and Grant pulled him into a hug. "Come on Mickey; you're riding with me."
On the way to the park, Grant asked, "What do you want?"
Mickey thought a minute and then said, "I want to play soccer, I want to be a normal high school student, I want to graduate and go to college, and I want a boyfriend."
Grant was silent and thought to himself: I do too.....and I think I want it with you.
At the park, Grant said, "This is what Mickey wants, and it is also what I want. First, we want to play soccer. Second, we just want to be normal high school students, graduate with our class and go to college. If what happened back at the school gets reported, the soccer season is over for all of us before it begins, any hope of being normal high school students is gone, and dreams of college soccer are done."
Kirkland, I see you are awake, you ran into a door right?" Kirkland nodded. "So, no one ever says a word, right?" Everyone nodded.
"Mickey and I don't need any of you as friends, but we are also not going to hold a grudge. If you want to carry a grudge around, that's your burden. What we do expect is teammates on the field, and respect in the hallways. Oh, and one last thing--Mickey and I are boyfriends. If you have a problem with that, keep it to yourself, or you might just find there is a door with your name on it. Now go home."
Grant drove Mickey home. It wasn't far and neither said anything. When Grant pulled into the Poulson drive, he put the car in park, sighed and said, "I hope I didn't fuck things up. I outed both of us. I said you are my boyfriend. I don't know if you want any of that. I'm so sorry...I.."
Mickey unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned over and gave Grant a kiss. "I am very okay with what you said, but do you really want a boyfriend who is..."
"Perfect, absolutely perfect," Grant said and gave Mickey a long, hot kiss.
Addy Poulson was looking out the window and happened to notice the two boys kissing, and she smiled.
When Mickey walked into the house, Abby asked, "How was your day?"
"On balance, pretty damn good."
I hope you enjoyed this story. You can find more of my stories in the nifty.org authors' directory under William Marshal. As always please support nifty.org.