Author's note:
This is perhaps a much slower story in terms of sexual development compared to other stories that I have published on Literotica. I hope you enjoy the read.
*
The house on the corner of the small cul-de-sac neighborhood of Milton Avenue had always stood empty. Never, at least as most of the other residents could recollect, had they seen anyone there. Their mailbox stood on the street in stoic solitude as the house it belonged to slowly decayed. Rotting, more like. Mold and boards were equally strewn about the overgrown bushes and shrubs in the yard.
Gray and sad. That's what the small two-story building was. The structure stuck out like a sore thumb in an otherwise neat cul-de-sac neighborhood even when the sun was out. Pulsing and hammering like a fresh wound in an otherwise splendid street. Wrought iron fences, with small vintage gates, surrounded the property, designed for another time, and forgotten ever since.
And of course, with anything dark and abandoned, the rumors of it being haunted emerged as time befitted it. It had become a common dare among the local rascals to challenge each other to venture inside the front gate, and for the most drawing, even the house itself. For a short few years, there were children's laughter, and scared screams, and multiple cherished memories were made due to the old house. But barely anyone ever actually ventured inside the structure itself, other than just beyond the door.
It was dangerous, folks said. Either there were rotten boards you could step through, or the whole could fall on your head at any minute. Atl east that is what people said. But as much as people said it, it never happened. The old house survived one generation after the other, even as it was surely decaying. Yet, it never fell down. It remained in its place decade after decade.
However, in time, as the local kids grew older, the house found its loneliness once again. Generations came and went, but every time a new set of kids grew just a bit too old for silly superstition, it became no longer the mysterious, slightly scary, strange house. Just a rundown old building.
This was the norm for most things in one's childhood. As you grow up, you forget. As you grow up, there will be a moment, where you don't even realize it, where it will be the last time you think of that one piece of your childhood. Maybe it is a friend, maybe it is an event, or maybe it is a special place.
*
You know that feeling when you try to stay awake to read just another page? Then you'll jolt up every ten seconds as you inevitably fall asleep anyway? That was me. Right now. It was a regular school night, last year of high school, and I was spending it reading one of my new favorite books. Lord of the Rings. I had always thought it would be so corny, so pedestrian, so... I don't know, pretentious? Boy was I wrong. It was a magnificent tale. Strong men, wise women, strong women, wise men. Courage, hope, and faith. A courageous person who had to leave the home he loved to save it. The perfect tale. Except for Tom Bombadil, what the fuck was that all about?
Trying to remedy the awful last season of
Game of Thrones,
I had ventured out to find myself a new fantasy world to immerse myself in. With the next Dragon Age and Elder Scrolls title nowhere near, I thought, why not explore the most explored universe of them all? Where it all began. In a hole in the ground, where the hobbits live. Heh heh.
"Shouldn't you get some sleep, kid?" Dad said in his deep voice. He was back from patrol, leaning through my door, still in his dark blue uniform.
"Right," I said, yawning. I looked at the clock. It was 2 am.
"Shouldn't you be out chasing girls, instead of sneaking in a few extra pages?" Dad said with a half-cocked smile.
I knew he was just looking after me. And his question was more of a reassurance of him being happy that I, in fact, wasn't chasing girls and being a general nuisance. I was perhaps a tad bit more secluded than your average teenager, and being secluded meant few girls. It wasn't that I wasn't interested in girls, it was more that I didn't interest them. I was incredibly shy and was more or less the definition of the boy they all stood well away from. But Dad always wanted a small chat before bed, if he caught me awake. Which he always did.
"Nah. I think I'm too young for that sort of thing," I excused.
"Eighteen isn't too young to have fun," Dad said, sitting down on the foot of my bed, and ruffling my hair. "Nah, you're too responsible for that," he said, smiling proudly.
"Fun is subjective," I yawned. Dad gave a chuckle at that. "Why did you become a cop, dad?"
I had a habit of doing that. Blurting out questions I wanted answers to. My curiosity was both a blessing and a curse.
"Well. It has perks and benefits. Retirement plan for one," Dad admitted, looking out into the room as if he was reading off a list. Then he shot me a side glance and a smirk under his thick mustache. He was a pragmatic man, and we both knew it. Almost to a fault. But that is why Dad was such a great guy.
"Well," Dad repeated himself. "I'll let ya get your sleep. G'night."
"G'night, Dad," I said and yawned for a third time.
As it was foretold by all the ancient gods, I was a zombie in the morning. Mom eyed me as I came down, knowing full well I had been up all night nerding myself up. Mom was beautiful and kind in her own way but could be... somewhat judgmental and perhaps not always as understanding of the prospect of having a nerd for a son. She married my dad who was an athletic football player in high school, who worked as a cop, and was a man's man in all the non-toxic ways.
My mom had hopes of me becoming the same, hence giving me the 'masculine' name of Logan. But that just wasn't me. It wasn't like I was fat or anything, or too skinny. I was just normal. A normal nerd. Though, I was given my dad's hawk eyes and thus needed no glasses. I saw my own reflection in the microwave. Scruffy, brown-haired, and sleep still in my blue-gray eyes. I guess I could be handsome, but I was sort of never able to find that out.
Why? Zach and Jeremy. Since we moved to the area in eighth grade I had never gotten a minute's break. The first winter up here, they took the brand new hat Mom had given me and filled it with snow, and then they emptied my backpack all over the place. Dad tried to talk with their parents, but apparently, that wasn't so easy. There were three main ones. One, Jeremy's dad was powerful, and a huge sponsor of this and that, the police's Christmas dinner for one. Second, according to their own parents, they were good kids. And third, Zach and Jeremy didn't care what anyone told them. Neither the parents who bailed them out nor the cops.
Thus, as a result of my snitching, they found me and shoved me down all the stairs from the top floor to the bottom floor at our school. And when I came with a bandaged hand the next day, they at first seemed to be understanding of my predicament, only to force Vicodin down my throat as they thought I needed medicine. I had to go to the nurse's office, but I begged her to not tell my parents so it wouldn't get worse. Short and sweet, I learned to endure and to shut up. Year after year.
Nope. I was just happy with the worlds I could disappear into so that I could forget about mine. Yeah, I didn't really have it all that great in high school, but at least I had my games, and my books, and from time to time I met the occasional nice person online through various communities. It was senior year, so there was only a semester left after winter break, but it was still a period of time I had to survive.
Though I have to say, I kinda made Mom out to sound like a cold bitch before, which she wasn't. She was creative, and kind in her own way, and she cared greatly about me. I remember when I was little, she'd sneak out during the night when the first snow fell and make snow angels, and then diligently remove her steps, making me wholeheartedly believe in angels for years. And in the summer she'd take me camping, as Dad worked a bunch, so to say, she was no squeamish housewife. In fact, she had a job as a secretary. While that was a cliche I guess, she had that whole office under her finger. And one Halloween she hand-crafted me a costume straight out of Harry Potter. I had pretended to be clumsy when I got back though, as Jeremy had ripped it open.
"Toast or pancakes, honey?" Mom asked. "Oh darling, you shouldn't stay up so late."
