Short and Sweet

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Proviso: This is a slice of drama with some graphic sex. Will there be a HEA? This is a long story. If you prefer to avoid long tales or simply don't have time right now, please skip this. For those with adequate time and patience to continue, I placed evenly spaced chapter markers for your convenience. Please forgive my preference for not breaking my stories into sequential posts. There are NO willing cuckolds here.

Chapter-1

I was a short-statured boy growing up. Generally speaking, I was about the shortest boy in my class, even shorter than many of the girls. As a result, I was picked on endlessly because of my small size by both bully boys and mean girls. My sister, Martha, was 2 years older than me and looked out for and took up for her little brother whenever we were at the same school. I appreciated her for wanting to blunt my bad experiences, but hated that a girl, even though she was my sister, was taking up for me because it made the teasing all the worse. I hated being taunted for hiding behind my sister's skirt. But since she was two years ahead of me, when she graduated to the next school, I was left behind and had to fend for myself. Not wishing to be perceived as a wimp, I ended up in a lot of fights defending myself against the bullies who called me girly because of my small size and delicate, smooth features, and although I never ever hit a girl, I answered their cruel put-downs by hurling vicious and hurtful remarks of my own right back at them. As a result, I became a pariah of sorts, and nobody wanted to hang around such an explosive personality.

I was pretty much of a loner in senior high school, but after numerous conferences in the principal's office, my dad finally had a long heart-to-heart with me, hoping to turn me away from the path I was spiraling down.

Imparting words of wisdom which he hoped would reach me before it was too late, he said, "Son, you and you alone have the power to change your life for the better. I have four things I want to pass on to you that helped me through similar circumstances when I was about your age."

"#1- You attract more flies with honey than you do with vinegar. When you fight fire with fire and return the hurtful remarks they hurl at you, instead of defusing the situation, you are merely opening the door for and inviting more of the same."

"#2- Be the tree - When people say unkind things to you, simply smile and ignore them. Think about it, have you ever seen a person insulting a tree or arguing with a tree? Of course not. Why? Because a tree never says a word back. Be the tree, son, be the tree, and eventually they will leave you alone after getting no reaction from you."

"#3- I believe in the 90/10 principle preached by a good man. He claims that life is 10% what actually happens and 90% how we react to it. That's like a reiteration of being the tree in your case. You might not be able to control the 10% of what happens in life, but you surely CAN control the other 90% by how you react to it if you truly want to."

"#4- My grandmother always taught me that there are four kinds of people in this world: those that like you for the wrong reasons, those who like you for the right reasons, those who don't like you for the wrong reasons, and those who don't like you for the right reasons. And it is only that last group of people, the ones who don't like you for the right reasons, they're the only ones you have to concern yourself with."

Dad's words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I took them to heart. They changed my life from that day on for the better! At times, it took all the willpower I could muster to hold my tongue and remain silent in the face of snide and hurtful remarks. After a while, it became much easier until, eventually, I began saying kind things in return for hateful things. I didn't always win over my adversaries, but the ones I didn't, at least they left me alone afterwards."

One such convert was Devon. He was a black bully who had been one of the worst offenders. After several months of watching me ignore negative comments from him and others, Devon began to have a change of heart about me. He told me that, even though I was smaller, he respected the hell out of me. In time, we became best friends in and out of school. From then on, Devon set any other bullies straight if he was ever around, which was most of the time. Devon had parents of mixed race, his father being black and his mother, white. So he'd had some experience himself as the target of hurtful invectives, such as being called a zebra. However, such verbal assaults were isolated incidents because Devon was a big guy for his age, and few dared to mock me. The two D's, Devon and I, were seldom seen apart from one another.

At age 15, I caught a bad case of strep throat, which apparently induced nephritis. Not wanting to be a complainer, I concealed the symptoms from my parents until it was too late, and I was diagnosed in the hospital that I was going to lose both of my kidneys. I needed a healthy kidney from a donor. My parents were not a match, nor were any of my uncles or aunts. Even Devon went to be tested, but was nowhere near a match. Martha, my sister, volunteered to be tested, but our parents didn't want their daughter to put her young life at risk so early in life. Dialysis was keeping me alive, but my kidneys were almost completely non-functional. Undaunted, Martha sneaked over to the hospital and asked to be screened without any family members knowing. She turned out to be a perfect match. She came home and showed the results to her parents, but they were still dead set against her being a donor. They were afraid that such a noble sacrifice might have too negative an impact on her future as a wife and mother, and they didn't want her to embark on her life's journey with any limitations. She stood up for her little brother and told their parents that if she was not permitted to be a donor, and her brother died as a result, she would leave home and never see or speak to them again for as long as she lived. They finally relented, and my life was spared as a result of her sacrificial gift of love for her little brother.

Martha recovered from the surgery and went on to college that fall with her goal of becoming an attorney. She diligently applied herself and was making excellent grades. As a result of following up on my dad's wisdom and my new lease on life provided by my sister, Martha, my attitude had done a complete 180, and I was becoming very well-liked at school. I went out of my way to help anyone that I could, and I always had kind words to say to others, regardless of how I had been treated by them in the past. Other students naturally gravitated to my magnetic personality and contagious joviality.

Something that I didn't even know about myself was actually a contrarian oddity. When most people face a very stressful or life-threatening situation, a normal reaction would be to choke, freeze, or try to escape the source of the threat as soon as possible. Not me, though. The more serious the threat, the calmer and more decisive I became. For example, once about mid-way through my senior year in high school, I was taking a shortcut outside the school to avoid the heavy traffic in the hallways in order to get to my next class after lunch. As I turned the corner into an alleyway, I was shocked to see two huge white football players holding Devon securely while a third had a knife placed closely up against his neck. I had to impulsively think fast on my feet, or my best friend would soon be dead.

I walked up to them as nonchalantly as possible, ignoring the threat, and said, "Oh, there you are, Devon! I've been looking all over for you! We need to hurry on to our next class, or Miss Atkinson is going to send us to the principal's office if we're late again. What are you doing out here? You just left me a couple of minutes ago in the cafeteria."

Surprised by suddenly having an eyewitness to their potential crime, the boys withdrew the imminent threat from Devon's neck, but kept him firmly maintained in their grip.

"What are you doing here, you sissy shrimp? Are you saying this nigger has been with you in the cafeteria?" Asked Bart, the one who had been holding the knife.

"Yes, of course he was with me," I boldly asserted. We always eat lunch together. Why do you ask?"

"I came across my eighteen-year-old twin sister as she was leaving the gym a few minutes ago, and it was obvious that she had just had sex. When I demanded that she tell me who had used her, she clammed up and started crying. I got nothing out of her. But someone nearby said he thought he saw a nigger running away from the scene just a minute or so earlier, and the description I got fits this nigger. So I am going to teach this slimy piece of shit what it costs to mess with my sister."

"Well, you must have Devon confused with some other guy. There's no way that he wouldeverdo what you just described." I stated emphatically.

"Oh, is that so? And why not?" Bart demanded.

"Because," I retorted, "he's my boyfriend. You yourself surely know that we're seldom ever apart for more than just a few minutes."

With that, I stepped up and kissed Devon on the cheek, grabbed his hand, and began pulling him away from the group, saying, "C'mon, Devon, let's get to class."

As we walked away from the threat Devon had just been facing, we overheard one of the shocked boys ask another, "Did you know he was gay?"

I sensed their exasperation, but we kept on walking until we reached our class. It was then that Devon pulled his hand out of mine and said, "As much as I'm disgusted by the way you did it, I am so thankful that you came to my rescue when you did, Dean. You saved my life, man. They were going to kill me first and ask questions later."

"Well, just tell me one thing, Devon, did you really screw his sister?"

Devon looked down at the ground and sheepishly admitted that he had. "Now that I'm eighteen, I only tap eighteen-year-olds, but shewantedit, Dean. She practically rapedme, and she was one sweet piece of ass!"

"Well, I'm glad I happened by when I did. I'd hate to lose my best friend. And from now on, you'd better be super careful where you stick your dick, you idiot. I might not always be around to save your sorry ass," I chuckled.

"I owe you my life, man, for real. You may be a squirt, but I have never seenanyonewith balls as big as what I just saw you do. Hell, my oldest brother is a mean-ass motherfucker drug dealer, and he ain't got half the size of balls you have. No one haseverstepped right in the face of danger and taken up for me like you just did. No one! I want you to know that anytime, anywhere, whatever it is that you mayeverneed from me for the rest of your life, it's yours. And I don't make such promises lightly. I'll never forget what you did for me today, Dean. You're the best!"

I just smiled and punched Devon in the arm, and we headed on into class.

Word quickly spread throughout the school that Devon and I were gay. The hit to my reputation was a small price to pay for his life. Although Devon still had no problem getting dates, I, on the other hand, was treated differently as a result, and no girls wanted to waste their time dating a gay or bisexual pansy. When it came time for prom, it looked like I was either going to have to go stag or just skip it altogether. Devon would have none of that. He insisted that I take Denise, his gorgeous sister, a light-skinned black woman who had a body to die for. She was in her first year of technical college and owed her younger brother a couple of favors. Denise accompanied me to my senior prom, and we were the envy of many who attended. My classmates surmised that thegayrumor must have been false after all. After prom, Denise and I made out heavily in my car. She didn't want to take any risk whatsoever with pregnancy, but she taught me the intricacies of oral sex. Denise coached me through giving her three successive oral orgasms, praising my improvements each time.

As a reward for my earnest efforts, she selflessly treated me to a heavenly blow job, my very first, bringing me to the very edge of an orgasm. I was so nervous and turned on that she had to go slowly and carefully to prevent me from coming too quickly. Denise expertly managed to induce my eventual eruption inside her mouth on her command, in exquisite exhaustion. After prom, we dated quite a few more times on and off during the summer, but Denise said that although she enjoyed my company very much and my awesome oral skills, she just wasn't ready to get serious with any boy just yet. I understood and thanked her profusely for taking pity on me and helping me out as she did. We parted as great friends.

After high school graduation, Devon congratulated me, his best friend, on being accepted into a prestigious collegiate accounting program. Devon knew that a four-year college program just wasn't in the cards for me, and he was excited about getting started on his two-year auto mechanics program at the local technical institute. We emailed occasionally over the next four years, but saw very little of each other because I seldom returned home from college, except for the holidays.

I was hoping that my love life would drastically improve during my collegiate years. My experiences there were dramatically different from grade school. No one really seemed to mind that I was on the small side for a guy, nor that I had delicate-looking features. My dating life commenced awesomely. I found several attractive ladies who seemed eager to date me, but each time, shortly after our third or fourth date, once we'd become intimate, they never accepted another date. After the fifth such girl, it seemed that some kind of word must have gotten around because I could get no takers for my offers to date steadily. Oh, sure, I had dozens of girls who'd go with me to the movies, or out to eat, or to a concert. But all further efforts toward having sex with my dates proved futile. Oh, the girls hung out with me all the time, and I was welcomed to all of the girls' night out events, where I was treated as a bestie or thesafeguy to be around. They readily shared their secrets with me, asking me what boys like and what I thought they should wear under various circumstances on their dates with other young men, but I hardly ever got to third base with any of them. I was left very frustrated, to say the least.

Donna Hutcherson was one gal that I really liked, and she openly shared everything with me, but never let me in her panties. I finally summoned the courage to ask her directly what it was about me that caused women to keep me in the friend zone and always at arm's length where intimacy is concerned. Donna seemed averse to telling me the truth, but highly valued my friendship, even above the other girls in her circle.

She finally said, "I, I'll tell you if you will swear to me that you won't hate me after what I have to say. You know what they say about shooting the messenger, and I'd just die before I'd ever hurt you. You're the best friend I have in the world, and you are so very loyal and have more integrity than any other man I know, so I feel that I at least owe you the truth."

"Donna, our friendship has stood the test of time so far, so give me a little credit. Even if I hate what you might have to say, I could never hate you."

"Okay, here goes. Oh boy, this is hard. As you know, every girl in our circle just loves you to death. Everyone I know says you're the sweetest, kindest, and most sensitive and attentive guy around. We all trust you with our most intimate secrets, and we all love that you are very protective of us. The thing is, of the girls who have been intimate with you, well, they all say that you are a very enthusiastic partner and so very considerate of their needs. However, your, well, your penis; Dean, I don't know any other way to say this, but word has circulated that it is on the small side.Pleasedon't take that the wrong way! None of us would hurt your feelings for anything in the world, but aside from oral, which I have been told that you are very good at, by the way, it can be challenging to fully satisfy a woman when yourequipmentis on the small side. Many of the girls have a cute nickname that they call you when you're out of earshot, because to them it is a loving term of endearment, but you are known as Dinky. Dinky Dean." Donna gave a wan smile after she said it. I was crushed and devastated.

I spat, "I've been teased all my life about being small, and I thought that college girls would be more mature, sophisticated, and above that sort of thing, but apparently that is just a pipe dream."

I stood and kissed Donna on the forehead as tears welled up in my eyes and said, "Thank you for finally laying out the truth for me. I appreciate your honesty. Please tell the other girls that I'm sorry that I fall short of their expectations." I swiftly left Donna sitting at the table without another word.

"Dean, wait! Please come back! I'm sorry if you were offended.Pleasedon't walk away!"

Back in my dorm room, I looked critically at myself in the mirror. What I saw staring back at me was a very lithe-looking person with a runner's body and a hairless face. It then struck me as a revelation that I only needed to shave on average once every ten days or so, and even that was very light colored and fine facial hair, almost feminine! I hated myself right at that very moment.Why me?I wondered.Why do I have to have such a small cock? Why should I even bother trying to date or hang out with any of the girls I've befriended?

I decided that all the time I'd spent socializing had been a complete waste of time. I imagined being the laughingstock of all of my so-calledfriends, especially being called Dinky Dean. Maybe I'd never have the reputation of being a Don Juan, but I could damn sure be a great accountant, and so I threw myself into my studies with fierce devotion. I ignored all the girls' attempts to have me rejoin their group, never responding to their many calls and texts nor answering the numerous knocks at my door. Donna almost held a vigil outside my dorm room, hoping to catch me. I told my roommate that I had no interest in speaking with any females for any reason. I changed my walking paths to and from classes and classroom seating locations to avoid further contact with them, and they eventually gave up. My thought process was,if I am not good enough to be with them intimately, then why on earth should I waste any more time entertaining and placating them?

During my junior year in college, my sister, Martha, married Ted Mason, who worked in her college library. I was a groomsman at their wedding and was extremely happy for my big sister. It wasn't long before they welcomed two healthy boys eighteen months apart. Apparently, having only one kidney didn't adversely affect her childbearing capability after all. Her children adored me as their uncle, and I doted over them every time I had the chance.