Okay. I know Mrs. Chapman told us that we had to write an essay about ourselves, ‘It’s Not Easy Being Me,’ but I just couldn’t do it. So, I decided to write about being a tree. It’s a lot better than writing about me.
I googled ‘oak tree.’ Do you know there are some 600 different species of the oak? Since I was going to fail the assignment anyway, I decided to cut and paste like many of my friends do when they have to write a paper. I didn’t even try to misspell a few words to make it look like it didn’t come from Wikipedia.
“Woody!” My mother hollered from the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.” She then yelled out the backdoor at my brother and sister, Glenn and Glenda. They are twelve-year old twins.
I guess you caught my name, Woody? Now you know why I wrote about a tree. Woody- get it? My name is Woodward Jameson Fields. However, everyone just calls me Woody. I guess you noticed my last name, Fields. Woody Fields. I’ve really gotten kidded about my name in school. I’m just glad my last name isn’t Peters. With my luck, my parents would have named me Chase.
It’s not like I don’t already have an inferior complex the size of an oak tree. Do you know they can grow 100 feet tall? I guess that says something about me, doesn’t it? Besides having the name Woody Fields, and the numerous jokes I get about having a ‘woody,’ which became obvious when I hit puberty, I’m also small for my age.
I know you picture Woody Fields as some big tackle on the Dallas Cowboys offensive line, but I’m just the opposite. I’m a runt, as my older brother, Jon, calls me constantly. He’s the football player- wide receiver for our school. I’m his little brother whom he tries to pretend isn’t his little brother. We share a bedroom, but I don’t think we say a dozen words to each other daily. Usually, he just pretends I’m not even around. The only time he does speak to me is when he wants me to do his homework while he goes out with his girlfriend.
“Woody!” my mother yelled again. “We’re waiting on you. Dinner is getting cold.”
I turned off my computer and headed downstairs. My father scowled at me when I entered the kitchen. “About time, Runt,” Jon hollered out. Glenn and Glenda giggled. My mother was busy pouring chili into bowls and placing them in front of everyone. As usual, I’m last to be served.
She sat and asked Glenn to say grace. He mumbled something incoherent and everyone said, “Amen.” My father and Jon began to talk about the upcoming game on Friday night. Our team is still undefeated halfway through the season. Dad forces me to go to the games with him because Mom won’t go, and he doesn’t like to sit alone. So I have to listen to him shouting out instructions to Jon. I don’t think Jon can hear him over the noise, but he continues to do it week after week.
I usually leave the game with a headache. Dad likes to sit a few rows over from the pep band. After every play, I am tortured by pounding drums and loud trumpets. Throw in a guy playing the tuba who can’t hit a right note all night, and it makes for a trip to the medicine cabinet for three aspirins when I get home.
A couple of hours later I’m awakened when Jon returns home. He usually turns on the overhead lights and staggers across the room to his bed. His clothes reek of alcohol and weed. After stripping off his clothes and falling into his bed, I have to climb out of bed to turn off the light. He’s usually snoring loudly by the time I get back across the room.
My mother looked at me and smiled. “How is school going, Woody?” Before I can even answer, my father and Jon began arguing over who will win the Steelers and Bears game on Sunday. My mother smiled and then looked away, realizing I won’t be able to reply to her question over their loud talking.
“Hey, Runt.” I looked over at Jon. “I have an assignment in Literature that’s due tomorrow.”
“So,” I mumbled shyly as I took my spoon and dipped it into the chili.
“So,” he said with a tone of irritation in his voice, “I also have a date with Debbie tonight.” It was a Wednesday. Usually, he dates on the weekends. He must really be horny to be going out on a week night. I tried to ignore him, but he punched me in my shoulder.
“I need you to do it for me.”
“I got my own assignment to do,” I replied nervously as his eyes narrowed in anger.
“What do you have to do?” he questioned me. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to figure out if it is a big assignment that will prevent me from doing his.
“I have a report I have to do on oak trees.” His mouth curled into a smile and soon he was roaring with laughter.
“Woody’s doing a report on wood,” he laughed as Glenn and Glenda joined in.
“Maybe he’s doing a report on his woody,” volunteered Glenn. My father shot him a stern look, but then he too burst out laughing.
I looked over at my mother. “May I be excused?” She looked sympathetically at me and then nodded her head. I got up and stormed upstairs. I could still hear them laughing when I reached my room.
I sat down at my computer and started reading about oak trees. I cut and pasted several paragraphs into Word. Just for an added touch, I changed the font to something ornate. If I was going to fail the assignment, I might as well do it in style.
About fifteen minutes later, Jon came into the room. He walked over to his book bag, took out his literature book and threw it on my bed. “Teach wants us to read chapter four of Othello.” He then threw a handout at me. “We have to answer these questions.”
“I’m not doing it,” I insisted forcefully without looking up. I sat the book and paper on the floor. He walked over, picked them up and placed them in my lap.
“Yes, you will,” he said angrily. He stepped back and grabbed his crotch. “Debbie says she’s horny and wants to see me.” He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a clean shirt. He removed his other, showing off his chiseled upper body. I quickly looked away when he noticed me staring at him.
“How come you never date, Runt?” he asked after pulling the shirt over his head. “You’re what now, fifteen?”
“Sixteen,” I muttered angrily as I continued to read about oak trees. Do you know that only one acorn out of every 10,000 that falls to the ground will become a tree? I guess that’s still better odds than one sperm reaching an egg. I looked back up at Jon, wondering how he’s so far managed not to get a girl pregnant.
“Sixteen!” Jon started laughing. “At sixteen, I had been laid,” he started counting on his fingers. “Four times.” He began laughing harder. “You’re probably still a virgin.”
I ignored him and continued reading. He stepped closer to me, looked down at the screen and laughed, “All you do is jerk off to porn.”
“You would know,” I snapped as I got up and walked over to the bed and picked up his lit book.
“Hell, yeah!” he laughed. He pretended to masturbate. “Nothing like some pussy on the screen when you can’t get the real thing.” He laughed again. “I’ll give you some of my favorite sites. They’ll give you a woody.” He roared loudly as if he thought he was saying something original. It’s not like I haven’t heard it hundreds of times.
He splashed on some cologne and then left the room. “Thanks, Runt!” he hollered out as he left.
I sighed and opened his lit book to chapter four. Since Jon is a senior, he is taking World Literature. I am a sophomore, so I am taking American Literature. At least when I become a senior, I will already have read most of the material. With my luck, though, they’ll probably change the curriculum in two years.
I’m not the brightest kid on the planet, but I’m no dummy either. I’m just an average student. I like literature and history because I enjoy reading. Math is my worst subject, although I do manage to do ‘C’ work. I was just getting used to algebra last year when I had to take geometry this year. I still can’t tell the difference from a scalene triangle and an isosceles one. And isn’t phi something you’re supposed to eat?
When Jon asked me earlier this year to do his trigonometry assignments, I told him I couldn’t. He insisted I try, and after failing a few assignments, he didn’t ask me anymore. Now he only asks me to do his lit and current events work. I guess someone else must be doing his math.
Jon’s not stupid, either. In fact, he’s pretty smart. That’s what makes him a good football player. He can play sports all day long, but he’s just lazy when it comes to school. He gets by on his good looks. People have trouble telling him no when he flashes his white teeth and pleads with them with his deep blue eyes. I’ve watched him wiggle his way out of many situations just with a simple grin.
What’s really weird though, and I’ve never been able to understand, is that Jon and I look almost alike. Both of us take our looks from Dad. Glenda does too. We all have blond hair which appears almost white. We also have pretty blue eyes and pale white skin. Jon spends a lot of time at the pool, so his complexion is darker than mine. Glenn looks like Mom. They both have sandy colored hair and brown eyes.
The only difference between Jon and me, aside from the personality differences, is that he is tall and athletic. You can bounce a basketball off his chest. We have a weight room set up in the basement where he spends over two hours a day working out.
I keep waiting for my growth spurt. Jon had his when he hit twelve. Now at sixteen, I’m still waiting. I measure myself against the closet door frame about every three months. I’ve been 5’5 for the past year. No growth spurt yet. Even Glenn is an inch taller than me, and he’s only twelve. It also doesn’t help that I weigh only 110 pounds.
Jon and I will look like bookends if I ever do get my growth spurt. That’s one of the reasons he avoids me at school. Since we do look so much alike, I think he is embarrassed to tell people he has a runt for a brother. I still keep the ruler around, though, just in case I do manage to grow an inch or two.
After an hour, I finally finished Jon’s assignment. I hate it when he has to do Shakespeare. I enjoy reading; I just want it to be in English- American English. That British stuff is difficult to read. And besides, why would any normal kid be interested in reading something that was written 150 years ago? Just how is that relevant to my life? I asked a teacher that once in the seventh grade. She didn’t think it was funny, and I ended up getting assigned one night’s detention. Of course, it didn’t help that I mentioned that kids today weren’t interested in things that was written when she was our age.
I got up and went back over to the computer. Since I had cut and pasted most of my assignment, I was finished in no time. Two neat, clean pages on the oak tree. I just couldn’t do the assignment she had requested.
What can I write about what it’s like to be me? I’d rather be a tree. A tall oak tree. Then I wouldn’t have to listen to guys in school laughing behind my back. “There goes Woody,” as they look down at their pants and then pretend to masturbate.
I’ve never been physically hurt. I think being Jon’s brother has probably prevented that a few times. It’s just that no one notices me. I look in the mirror and I think I’m as cute as Jon, maybe even more. Then why am I invisible to others?
Girls don’t swoon over me like they do Jon. People don’t stop me when I’m walking down the hall to talk to me. I usually trudge down the hallway with my book bag slung over my small shoulder. I look down at the tiled floor as I make my way, occasionally glancing up so that I don’t run into someone else.
Even in the classroom, I’m usually the last person a teacher will call on to answer a question. And I guess it’s obvious by now, I’m also the last person to be selected in gym when sides are chosen for basketball.
So when Mrs. Chapman handed out the assignment for literature, I immediately decided I wouldn’t do it. “What’s it like to be me?” The truth- it sucks to be me. I keep waiting for something to happen- anything. I want people to know that inside my small body is a big person waiting to escape. I want to be able to do something to make me happy. I want to be able to write a paper about what it’s like to be me and have other students say, “I wish I was him.”
But they won’t. Why? Because I’m me. It’s not easy being a tree.
I printed the oak tree report and placed it in my book bag. I sat on my bed and read a few chapters of The Old Man and the Sea for my literature class. We have three more weeks before we will be tested on it, but I only have a few more chapters to read. Hemingway is better than Shakespeare- but not by much. At least it is in English- American English.
I finished in about an hour. I looked at the clock on the dresser. It was only nine-thirty on a school night. I don’t have to be in bed until 10:30. Mom usually knocks on the door and opens it to see if I am in bed. I can have on a night light and be reading, but she has strict rules when we are to go to bed. Glenn and Glenda have to be in bed by 9:00. Glenn often whines that it is too early, but he’s usually sound asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
Jon has an eleven o’clock curfew on school nights, and it is one o’clock on weekends. A couple of times he has snuck in after that time, but Dad will overlook it. “He’s just being a boy,” he often says. If I can smell the alcohol and weed on his clothing when he comes staggering in after a weekend party, I know Mom and Dad can. But in their eyes, Jon can do no wrong. He’ll just bat his eyes and tell them a convincing lie. I don’t think they buy it, but then again, it is Jon.
Since I had an hour before I had to be in bed, I decided to surf the internet for a while. I find that I am doing that more and more lately. I used to be careful where I went, but since a friend showed me at school how to delete my history, I am becoming a little more adventurous. Usually, when I delete mine, I’ll delete Jon’s. Almost all the sites he visits are porn sites- girly ones. I clicked on a few and they were all tits and ass. I guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he jacks off to the pictures.
Okay, confession time. I’ve had a few good wanks, too. But I never jerk off to the sites Jon visits. It was two years ago when I ran upon Jon’s ‘t and a’ sites. I scrolled through them but never really got excited. Then I went to a site that said it was bisexual. I didn’t have a clue what that meant, but I soon found out.
There were guys sucking each other while they fucked a girl. I immediately popped a woody. My cock got hard as a rock when I saw the pictures of a guy’s cock buried deep inside another guy’s mouth. I jerked off three times that night.
The next night I started surfing around and soon found out that there were sites with just men. It didn’t take me long to find sites with boys. There are always disclaimers saying that the ‘actors’ are at least 18, but some of the guys look like they are my age. There are many nights I go to bed jerking off so much that I am red and sore. And I always- always, make sure I delete my history. All I need is for Jon to sit down and find out the places I’ve visited. If I can find his, then he can surely find mine.
So, I guess I’m gay. No one on this green earth knows that. It is a secret I’ve kept deeply hidden. Since I’m not popular at school, no one really seems to care. I’ve had a couple of close calls with Jon, like tonight when he asks me why I don’t date.
Since I’m now sixteen, I’ll be expected to start asking girls out. I’ve already convinced myself that I can do that. It’s the making out part I’m going to have trouble doing. I’ve seen Jon on the sofa in the family room sprawled over some girl with his tongue licking her liver. I think I’ll gag if I have to do that. Maybe I can hold her hand, but no more than that. Kissing leads to other things. If she ever reaches down and feels my limp dick after a passionate kiss, she’ll know my secret. I’ve seen Jon get up from the sofa with a raging hard-on after making out with his girlfriend. Mine will probably shrivel inside my scrotum.
I’m not small, either. In fact, my cock is bigger than Jon’s. His is probably about six and a half inches long when hard. It’s also rather average in thickness. Mine bones up to a nice seven and a half inches. And from the pictures I’ve seen of guys on the internet, it’s thicker than most. I always enjoy walking naked into the bedroom after taking a shower just so Jon can see it. It’s the only thing about me he can’t call runt. And because I’m so small, it appears much larger on my body than it would on someone else. In fact, I think he’s jealous that it’s on me and not him.
I walked over and locked my door. Since Jon wouldn’t be returning from his ‘date’ for at least two more hours, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught. I don’t worry about him catching me jerking off. All guys our age do it. I just don’t want him barging into the room and seeing my computer screen with some naked young guy on it while I am jerking my woody to the image.
I took off my tee shirt and pulled my shorts and underwear down to my ankles. I wanted to be able to get up quickly, just in case someone came to the door. They’d question why it was locked, but they’d be suspicious if it took me too long to open it. Dad probably wouldn’t care. He’d be amused knowing what I was doing. Mom would probably be clueless like she usually is when things about sex are discussed. Most of Dad and Jon’s crude jokes go over her head. I sometimes wonder how she managed to have four children; but then again, that’s not something I particularly want to picture in my mind.
I went to my usual site. It’s a boy site and they have daily updates, so each night is like a smorgasbord of new images. There’s this one guy I like, however. He looks like he may be about twenty. He’s not muscular and buff like most of the guys. In fact, he’s sort of average. But I love the expression in his eyes. There seems to be sadness behind them. He’s pointing his cock at the camera, but he seems to want to be anywhere other than the couch he’s lying nude on. His expression makes him look vulnerable. I guess that’s what I like. That and the eight-inch, hard, thick cock he’s pointing at my face.
After taking care of business- twice, I started to leave the site and delete my history when I noticed an ad in the left margin. It was flashing, “Live boys nude on cam.” Under it in smaller letters read, “See who is in your area.”
Okay. Now my mother has this expression she uses often: Curiosity killed the cat. But the flashing letters definitely got my curiosity. I just hoped that when I click on the site it doesn’t kill my cat, Ginger.
When I entered the site, there was a warning that stated you must verify that you are at least eighteen. From what I could tell, it appeared all a person had to do was enter his birth date. I grabbed a pencil and paper and subtracted 18 from today’s year. I added another year just to be safe. After checking the box that said the information is accurate, I was in. That was simple enough.
I looked at the screen. There were small boxes with pictures of men. A lot of men. Some looked to be young; others appeared to be the age of my grandfather. And there were a lot of cocks! Any size imaginable! Some were hard, some were soft. One even had a huge piercing through it. “Ouch,” I thought to myself.
I minimized the screen and held my breath when I heard Glenn stomping up the steps to go to bed. Glenn’s bedroom is next to Jon and mine’s. Mom, Dad and Glenda’s bedrooms are on the other side of the staircase. Sometimes Glenn likes to poke his head in and say goodnight, but fortunately, tonight he walked past the room. A minute later I heard Mom walk into his room. After she came out and I heard her go back downstairs, I maximized the page.
I clicked on a couple of the pictures of the young guys. It took me to their profile pages and briefly described them. Most are gay, but a few say they are bisexual. One even says he is straight. I couldn’t figure out what a straight man is doing showing his cock to a bunch of gay men. It isn’t even that big.
I saw a few guys I liked, but most of them lived on the other side of the country. I live in a small town in the Midwest. Most of them are either from California or Florida. I decided that if all the men in those states look like the ones on the screen, then I know where I want to move to after I graduate from college.
Another feature of the site is a chat room. I didn’t know what that was, so I hesitated to go there. Instead, I found a box that says you could choose what state you want to see who is online. I entered my state, and then it dropped down to some of the major cities in our state. I was surprised to see mine listed. I guess it isn’t as small a place as I think it is.
When I clicked on it, another page appeared. It had sixty-three profiles. Almost all had a picture of their cock in the little boxes before me. Three had pictures of their faces, but they appeared to be in their fifties. I guess old guys don’t mind people knowing that they are in a porn site.
Four of the profiles immediately captured my attention. They seemed to be younger. Two said they are in their early twenties. The one that caught my eye was a picture that said the guy was 18. His screen name was Indyboi91. I clicked on it, and it took me to his profile page. It didn’t show his face, but his body was nice. He had taken a picture of himself with his cell phone as he pointed it at a mirror. He was naked in the picture, and his cock was soft.
“No way is he eighteen,” I thought to myself. “He has to be my age.” His body was smooth and hairless. He had trimmed his pubes which I found attractive. He looked to be taller than me and probably weighed about 150 pounds.
I laughed to myself when I bent down to see if I could see his face. I wanted to see what he looked like. Who can this boy be? And according to his profile, he lives in my city. From the information he provided, he is gay and is seeking a sex partner with someone his age. He enjoys oral sex but is still a virgin when it comes to anal sex. However, he is willing to learn with the right person.
My cock became hard as a rock as I looked at his profile picture. There was a status indicator that showed he was in a chat room. My hands were shaking when I clicked on it, hoping that I could get up the nerve to say something to him.
I jumped when a warning appeared on the screen:
YOU MUST BE REGISTERED TO USE THIS FEATURE. CLICK THE REGISTER BUTTON TO THE RIGHT AND CREATE A PROFILE.
“Shit,” I mumbled to myself. I wanted to talk to this boy. I didn’t know what I’d say, but it would be harmless fun. I just wanted to tell him I liked his body and I hoped that he had found someone to fuck him. I would never say something like that to someone’s face; however, sitting at my computer is a different. I can be free to say whatever I want, and no one will know who I am. I think it will be exciting to finally talk to someone my age who is gay.
I clicked on the register button and looked to see what kind of information I would have to give them. I wouldn’t give them my real name and address. If I did, I would just have to leave and forget about the boy in the picture.
The registration, though, was simple. All a person had to do was create a profile name, a password, have an email address and verify again that he is eighteen. “Okay,” I thought. I could do this.
Coming up with a name was difficult. Obviously, I didn’t want to use my real name. I also didn’t want to use anything that would indicate my real age. I sat for several minutes trying to think of a name that would be safe. I thought of Woody, but too many people know me by that name. Perhaps the boy would recognize it. I thought of several names, but none seemed appropriate. Most of the guys on the site had names that indicated the year they were born or something about their dick size. However, nothing seemed right. Then it hit me. Wood. Elm. Elmer. Elmer Fudd. I used to love to watch him try to catch Bugs Bunny when I was a kid.
I started laughing as I typed the name into the space provided. The password was easier. I just used the name of my cat, Ginger. I could easily remember that. I entered a birth date that would tell people that I was 19. I entered an email address I created last year when I wanted to register for an online game site. It was advertised as being free, but once I registered all the games I was interested in playing would cost me money to play. I haven’t used the email address again until tonight.
I was taken to a page that asked me to enter information for my profile. It already contained my name and email address. I didn’t have any pictures to put on it. Under interests I listed playing video games, reading and watching football. The last one wasn’t true, but at least I wouldn’t seem like a complete wimp.
I looked at the sexual preference tab for several minutes. This was the moment of truth. I was going to announce to an unknown world that I am gay. I took a deep breath and entered it. There it was before me. ElmerFudd: gay. Next came the sexual interests. I left that blank. Since I had never had sex with anyone, I didn’t know what I would like. There wasn’t one for jerking off, in which I have a ton of experience.
After scanning my profile, I hit the enter button. I now had my own profile page. I was now ElmerFudd, gay, 19, Indiana.
Next, I had to again find my dream guy, Indyboi91. I typed in my state again and returned to his profile. He was still in a chat room. I hesitated several minutes before I decided to enter the room and muster up the courage to chat with him.
Finally, I hit the ENTER ROOM tab. I was shocked by what I saw. A small box popped up on the screen. He was jerking off! I was in a live cam room! I’d read about them, but I never thought I’d see one. There were six guys watching him, encouraging him to stroke himself harder. I couldn’t believe some of the things they were telling him to do. I also couldn’t take my eyes off his large cock.
Like his profile page, he appeared much younger than eighteen. I would have guessed that he couldn’t be much older than me. Several guys kept asking him how old he really was, but he always typed ‘18.’
I jumped when he typed, “hey ElmerFudd rotflmao” He then grabbed his cock and pointed it at the cam.
Indyboi91: u like
My hands were shaking as I answered him. I reached down and started stroking my hard cock. It felt like steel in my hands. I don’t think I’d ever been as excited. I was watching a real live boy jerking off and he knew I was watching him!
Indyboi91: u new here
Indyboi91: be carful wat u say they montor the
Suddenly, a big red sign appeared on my screen
ELMERFUDD: SHOW PROOF OF AGE BEFORE CONTINUING. REGISTER WITH A VALID CREDIT CARD OR HOLD YOUR ID UP TO YOUR WEBCAM SO WE CAN VERIFY YOUR AGE. YOU WILL NOT BE PERMITTED TO ENTER CHAT ROOMS UNTIL YOU DO SO. THANK YOU. SITE ADMINISTRATOR.
Shit, shit shit. I was immediately taken back to the site’s main page. There was no way I could prove I am nineteen. I’d never be able to see or chat with Indyboi19 again. Dejectedly, I found his profile picture and finished jerking off to it. After cleaning myself off, I deleted my history. I looked at the clock. It was almost 10:30.
I shut down my computer, went to the bathroom across the hall and then returned and crawled into bed. I was still thinking of Indyboi19 when my mother peeked in and whispered, “Goodnight, Woody.”