Muscle Cousin

[banania7]

I have a motto, I like to say: It's not easy being me! My name is Brent, Brent Davis, and I am 13 years old. I wear glasses, and usually a shy smile, and I am a semi-geek. I've always been small for my age--not Mini-Me small, but definitely undersized. I stand 5'6", weigh 107 pounds with a good meal in me, and I would say I'm kinda cute, with brown eyes and brown floppy hair. If you add to that a somewhat effeminate nature and a naturally submissive streak, and well, I can hardly be called the BMOC. I suppose in some measure of compensation, I make up in brains what I lack in brawn, so I've skipped a couple of grades and I'm in Grade 9 at school. Despite these shortcomings, I remain a relatively happy soul, content to swim just outside the mainstream, lest I be swallowed up by the current. So I'm a bit of a loner, but a basically contented one, with few friends and a rich fantasy life. In short, everything would be relatively alright except for a few people that always want to remind me that sometimes my lesser-than status could be all-too-real!

Number One--my Dad. Admittedly, I am not many father's idea of a dream offspring, but my Dad has a tendency to constantly remind me how disappointed he is in this non-chip off the old block. 'Jesus, Brent, he'd say, Can't you just man up a little,' while surveying distastefully my latest black eye doled out on the schoolyard, or while shelling out more money to replace my specs. In essence, my Dad had given up on me long ago, disgusted at my lack of sporting prowess and my pitiful physicality. Dad was a former athlete, having been a star athlete in high school and college. He had a track scholarship, but a knee injury had sidelined him, forcing him into a life outside the spotlight. He had let himself go since then, with a soft belly and a bitter twist to his mouth. Before I had been born, he was ecstatic, stocking my nursery with sports paraphenalia of every kind. He thought he would at least be able to live vicariously through his athletic son, what with his impressive genetics, so imagine his disappointment when I reached for my mother's vintage doll collection instead of a hockey stick! 'How did I get stuck with 2 girls?' he'd say, later, lumping me in with my 10 year-old sister.

Sure his words stung me, and I longed to make him proud, but I couldn't be anything other than what I was; I'd tried and failed many times. Mostly we avoided each other, each of us lost in other pursuits, trying to deal with the shame of disappointment. My mother would get angry with him, pushing him to spend time with me, mentor me somehow, even though she accepted me as I actually was. But Dad would just grumble and stomp off, and I was mostly grateful to be left alone, lost again in my fantasy world.

Number Two--The Kid Next Door, Stuart. Well, luckily my Dad had Stuart. Stuart was my Dad's surrogate son, and he was everything I wasn't. He was 1 year older than me, but built big and burly, with an oafish confidence and an easy jocularity that meshed well with my father. He was on the football team at school, and he and my Dad spent hours watching the games on the weekend, throwing the ball around and bonding in our backyard. Stuart's Dad lived in another county, and wasn't around much so he enjoyed the relationship as much as my father did. Of course I had a crush on Stuart, he exuded a masculinity that I could only dream about---but my crush was definitely outsized by my father's! 'Hey, Brent, did you see Stuart helping me with the yardwork, he was tossing those branches around like the legs of a young virgin! He's quite the stud, isn't he, you should only be so lucky!' I smiled to myself at my father's unfortunate double-entendre. Or, 'Hey son, check out the muscles on this boy. He's gonna give your old man a run for his money soon, if he keeps growing.' I would just nod or walk away, not wanting to really look at the two of them, beaming at each other. For the most part, I was used to my Dad's constant gibes, and I even understood them. I was a mystery to him with my softness and my weird pursuits--how could he possibly get me? Harder to forgive were the taunts that came from Stuart.

Because Stuart was actually nice to me when my father wasn't around. He would invite me to his room, and we would read comics together or he would wrestle with me playfully. Sometimes, he would open up to me about missing his own Dad, and how much he wanted to be with him. And then my father would come around. Suddenly it was, 'Hey pussy boy, why don't you just put an actual skirt on, and eliminate any confusion?' Or, ' I should drag you over here and show you what a real man does with someone like you.' My Dad would laugh at me then, egging him on with his approval, never coming to my defence, the two big men in league against me. It would sting, and tears would come to my eyes, but I would shrug it off, always hoping that Stuart would invite me over again and treat me like he did when he wasn't under my father's disapproving gaze.

Number three--The Jock. Mark Blanchard. Mark was that guy, the one at every school, the one guy who was at the top of the food chain. Mark was an all-around athlete and scholar, certainly not the biggest guy in school, but definitely fit, muscular and popular. He was about 5'10", with sandy blonde hair, green eyes, and a cocky, smart-alecky demeanour. Despite all the gifts given him, he had a cruel streak. We had a long history together, having grown up in the same town and gone to the same schools since we were little. He'd tormented me even before, but now that I'd caught up to him in grade, it had gotten worse. If I did what Mark wanted, he would leave me alone, but on many occasions he had felt it necessary to teach me obedience. I couldn't understand what always drew him back to me, except perhaps that he could sense my absolute devotion to him, despite everything he'd ever put me through. I couldn't help it--he was simply just that beautiful. Our lockers were beside each other, and I would try everything I could to avoid him--but inevitably we would meet, he with his posse of sycophants, just spoiling for some sport; he, relentless in his campaign of campus dominance and they, his leering henchmen. 'Brent, he would say, sweetly, crooking a finger at me to approach. Eager to please, I would forget all the past humiliations and rush over to him. 'I need you to do all my homework,' he would say, despite the fact that he was a good student. If I hesitated, his tone would change, his eyes would narrow. 'That's not a problem is it. I have a very busy weekend planned and I know that you don't. You're not trying to embarrass me in front of my friends are you?' he'd hiss menacingly. Then he would push up against me, crushing me back into my locker.

'No, of course not.'

'No of course not....what?' he would utter, now moving a hand to my throat, lifting me off the ground slightly.

'No of course not, SIR.' I would manage in a strangled voice before he dropped me down to the ground.

'That's what I thought.' he'd say, patting me on the head, all sweetness again, before dropping his assignments in front of me and sidling off with his friends. Their laughter would echo in the halls as they jostled and pushed their way through the lesser beings. I would sigh, knowing I could complete his assignments without the slightest problem, and eager to feel useful to him in some way.

Number Four---the PhysEd Teacher. Not surprisingly, PhysEd was always the most terrifying hour of my day. It was like an hour of insane targeted cruelty, as my unco-ordinated body would attempt to catch balls, volley things or escape being pinned, always with disastrous, game-losing results. And it was always made worse by my personal drill sargeant, Coach Stein. The Coach was your quintessential gym teacher, a barrel-chested schoolyard bully with a musclehead attitude.He would constantly single me out as the example of how not-to, how not to perform, how not to assume a stance, how not to spike or pivot or hit. 'Whoever runs slower than Davis, he'd say, has to launder the jockstraps for everyone.' This would cause a frenzy of testosterone as they flew past me, all the while knowing that there was no chance of them losing anyway. The coach would smile sadistically as they taunted me, pushing me aside to seek his approval. Then he would stand in the locker room as the boys disrobed. 'Davis, he would say, get your naked ass over by the laundry bin.' Once, I was positioned there, he would instruct the boys to toss their jocks at the bin, always the same ritual, with these lettered athletes somehow unable to hit the target, instead pelting me with their sweaty jocks, everyone laughing at the boy covered in soiled fabric. 'Guess you'd better get to work, Coach would say, slapping me hard on the ass before filing out, the deafening laughter of the boys filling my ears.

Despite all this, I still managed to remain relatively happy, somehow able to compartmentalize these episodes and banish them after they happened. I didn't mind spending time alone and I started going regularly to the library at the youth centre, a few blocks away from home. One weekend, I noticed another guy there, and he started showing up every weekend by himself. He looked about my age and similarly nerdy, but with a bigger build and dark hair and eyes. After a few weeks, we started vaguely acknowledging each other, and I finally noticed that he was reading my favorite series of books, the Beat Street Chronicles. It was a series of mystery books about a young bookish sleuth with a secret alter-ego. I worked up the courage to start a conversation about it, and we became friends. His name was Troy, and he had moved here just recently from out of the province. Libraries and books had been his refuge back home, so he had immediately gravitated towards the youth centre upon arrival. Troy was at a different school than me, so we started meeting up every weekend, and I think we both started to look forward to the time we spent together. Spending time with Troy, with his gentle demeanour and sweet spirit made me realize how lonely I had actually been, and it eased my sense of alienation. Over time, he became my best friend.

One day, my Dad called us into the den for a 'family meeting.' There we were, Dad, Mom, my sister Tracee and myself. Dad seemed a bit anxious, pacing back and forth in front of us.

'So guys, here's what's up. I was talking to your Uncle Gio last night, and it seems like he needs our help. He's having some issues with your cousin Antonio. Apparently, he's not getting along with your uncles' new girlfriend, and they have been fighting all the time. Your mother and I discussed this last night, and your uncle wants Tony to come stay here for a while. Truthfully, I don't know how long it will be, but he is arriving tomorrow. And Brent, he'll be sharing your room.'

Dad continued explaining but I was only half-listening. We'd never met Tony because he lived over a thousand miles away. Uncle Gio had been here a few times for different reasons, but he'd never brought his son. Until recently, he'd been in a bad way financially, having dealt with drug and alcohol issues as well as time spent in jail on various petty charges. We'd heard he'd turned his life around, getting a steady job with good pay and staying clean. Unfortunately, he'd also decided to chuck his long-suffering wife for some younger version, causing no small upset to his children. Antonio, being the only boy, he had reluctantly gone to live with his dad, but clearly that wasn't working out too well. As for me, I was pretty excited to meet my cousin, we would be in the same grade and hopefully we would hit it off. I thought about having someone to talk to, hang out with, swap stories.....

'HEY DREAMER, PAY ATTENTION', my Dad shouted, accompanying this exclamation with a resounding THWAK! to the side of my head. My mom shot him a dirty look. 'You're gonna have to drag that extra mattress into
your room, you think you can handle that? And don't get all starry-eyed about bonding with your cousin either. You two couldn't be more different--like fuckin' night and day. He's not a sissy like you. I wouldn't be surprised if he ripped your head off on the first day,' he added with a chuckle.

'Roger, that's ENOUGH', my mother scolded, pulling me towards her protectively. 'There will be none of that in my house, and YOU will see to it!' I snuggled in closer, darting a smug look at my Dad. Mom was the only one that could put him in his place. 'Anyway, it will be nice for Brent to have a playmate, and I'm sure they will get along just fine.'

All I knew was that I was looking forward to meeting Antonio the next day, and I spent the night dreaming about all the fun we were going to have together.

[gideon]

Permit me to make small amends for so many readings and zero encouragement. You're setting up a nice plotline here and I'm sure I can't be the only one looking forward to the next installment. Thanks!

Gideon

[iluvmassivemusl]

cant wait to see where this story goes.

[Adam]

I am curious to see exactly where this is going. As for the zero-enouragement, the sad fact is that the ratio of readings to responses is about 100 to 1 here.

[chocomus]

nice starting i hope Antonio is nice and helps him grow to teach his dad to be a nice guy

[Otaru_grower]

This wouldn't be the Antonio/Tony and Gio from smokinhunks would they? Because those guys are effing hot.

Also, I hope he and his uncle have to share a room. I would add bodyswap into the mix but that's just me. Love this so far!

[Wii]

Your writing is very very good! Good story and easy to read

[CTSTUD35]

I will be surprised if his cousin comes there all buffed and getting Brett off his ass and trunning him into a hunk also. Can't wait until I read the next part of this story.

[onemusclefreak]

Great start!