Twel Without a Mephisto

…

“Okay, now remember boy; eighty-nine percent of gettin’ pussy is confidence. The other eleven are the inches you need on your beefstick, but bein’ as you ain’t got no fuzz down there yet you still got time to grow into it. That bein’ said, when I was your age I could wrap my cock ‘round a bird like a belt and still have spare to diddle her funny business. Now which one is she again? That homely one with the uneven tits?”

“No, Dad, that’s Steve. Lisa is up the back there playing jump rope.” Through pinched eyes, Father looked back and forward between Twel and Lisa. Then he said, “You gonna need a miracle, boy. She ain’t pretty, but you ugly. Now now, there ain’t no denyin’ it so stop poutin’ like a fresh shat arsehole - I ain’t your mumma and I got no tit for you to suck on, boy. You shoulda told me you were reachin’ for the moon so I coulda given you a ladder made outta hopes ‘n dreams, but now you just about out of time because Princey McBighair over there be eye’n her off too and he probably got three or four more fruits danglin’ from his twig than you got. So you go make papa proud, or somethin’.” And with a push that nearly toppled him, Twel was on his way across the yard.

Twel puffed his chest and stuck out his elbows like he’d been taught and strutted past the playing children. Inside, however, Twel wanted to cry. Lisa was so beautiful and he’d never asked a girl out before, and his face itched, and his cock wouldn’t reach half way around her waist, and… No; Father said crying was what women did when they wake to find you skipped out on the bill, so instead he pretended to be someone else. Someone better at girls, and with less pimples.

He became Roy T. Ranger, the main character of Shredded Shtuds - he’d hardly been able to put it down all week! Roy was a seven foot tall ex-bull wrestler now town sheriff whose face never itched and who always got the girl, in this case Daishy (in the book he had Scottish, which Twel suspected was a kind of speech impediment). One of the nearby girls looked up, perhaps catching a whiff of his transition into manlyhood, and he gave her one of Roy’s signature winks. He didn’t stop to talk, Roy wouldn’t, but from behind he could hear the bright tinkle of her laugh - like an angel sneezing.

Lisa too turned to look when he screeched to a stop behind her, close enough to smell the dirt in her hair - or as Roy called it, ‘breaching the comfort zone’. Twel had planned to first lure her away from the other girls playing jump rope, who had also begun to stare, but Roy was in charge now so he instead flexed his bony arms and drank in their admiration. A concerned look he took to be the fabled moistening of the nethers crossed her face, and Twel launched into the speech his Father had coached him on - but through the mouth of Roy.

“My lady whosh nipplesh perk sho fine-“ WHAM! Her knee broke his twig and split his fruits, and he went down to the sound of a chorus of angels blowing their nose.

When he woke the playground was empty. Father knelt over him. “Boy, you are just too darn ugly. You best stick to make-believe women.”

…