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    Ronyx
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

It's Not Easy Being a Tree - 2. Chapter 2

My alarm clock went off at seven. I set it fifteen minutes early because I have trouble waking up in the morning. I usually lie awake trying to adjust to the fact I have to get out of bed. Jon jumps out of bed as soon as it goes off and rushes into the bathroom to take his shower before I get up.

I didn’t get much sleep last night. I kept thinking about Indyboi91. Even though I’d cum looking at his profile picture, my erection wouldn’t go down. I like to fall asleep on my stomach, but it’s hard to do when you’re lying on top of seven and a half inches of hard steel.

Jon came in around eleven thirty last night. He didn’t care that he woke me up, even though I wasn’t asleep. He turned on the overhead light and whistled a song while he undressed. From his happy attitude, it was obvious he had gotten laid. After a quick shower, he jumped naked into bed. I had to crawl out of my bed and turn off the light.

I was too tired to take care of business in the shower, so it didn’t take me long to get ready for school. As I dressed, I kept thinking about the guy on the internet. I wondered if I knew him. He did appear to be around my age, but that was impossible. A person must be 18 to cam on the site; and since his dick was on full display last night, he has to be old enough to be there.

I want to join, but there is no way I can. How am I going to get an ID that says I am over 18? By the time I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen, I was resigned to the fact I would never see him again. Besides, I’ve managed to live without him for sixteen years. I guess a ten-minute thrill on the internet isn’t going to be that life altering.

“Good morning, Dear,” my mother sang out when I walked into the kitchen. Glenn and Glenda were eating cereal. Jon was probably downstairs working out on the treadmill. He likes to run for about a half hour before driving to school.

Dad is never at the breakfast table. He’s the foreman of a lumber yard in town. He goes to work at six and gets off around three. Mom is a secretary at the elementary school. She was there when all of us kids attended. It was nice when I was in the early grades, but as I grew older it was embarrassing to go to the same school where your mother works. I couldn’t do anything wrong without a teacher threatening to go to the office and telling her what I had done. However, it’s not like I got into much trouble. Jon’s teachers visited her almost daily.

I sat at the table and looked at the three cereal boxes on the table. It’s usually my biggest decision of the day: Cheerios, Apple Jacks or Fruity Pebbles, Glenn’s favorite? I studied them for a minute and then reached for the Apple Jacks. Glenn and Glenda began arguing about a girl named Rhonda, who Glenda is sure has a crush on Glenn.

“She told Susie she wants to kiss you,” giggled Glenda.

“Ewww!” shrieked my little brother. “I’d rather kiss Ginger.” He reached down, grabbed the cat off the floor and kissed her on her nose.

“Put the cat down while you’re at the table!” hollered my mother. She gave Glenn a mischievous grin. “I saw Ginger licking her butt earlier.”

"Ewww!” screamed Glenn as he began vigorously rubbing his mouth with his shirt sleeve. Mom, Glenda and I roared with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Jon asked as he came walking into the kitchen. He didn’t have on a shirt and his muscled chest glistened from his sweat.

“Glenn has Ginger’s butt smell on his mouth,” giggled Glenda. Jon shook his head and left the kitchen when we started laughing again.

After breakfast, I returned to my room to get my book bag. Jon was standing at the mirror putting the final touches on his blond hair. “You get that assignment done?” he asked as he raised the brush and ran it across the top of his head.

“It’s in your book bag.”

He turned and posed for me. “How do I look?”

“Like a dork,” I replied smugly as I left the room.

“You would know,” he shot back as he followed behind me down the stairs.

I ride with Jon to school. He hates it and has told me numerous times, but no school buses run out to our subdivision. I would have to walk a mile to catch the nearest bus. “So?” Jon replied when Dad told him I would be riding with him last year. “The exercise will do him good.” He only agreed to let me ride with him after Dad held out his hand and asked for his car keys.

Jon picks up two of his friends on the way to school. That is another reason he doesn’t like me riding with him. Both are football players, and I usually sit in the backseat and look out the window while they talk about sports.

One is Jon’s best friend, Connor Radford. When God created him, he threw away the mold. He is one of the reasons I know I am gay. I’ve had the biggest crush on him for so long. When Jon invites him over to work out in the basement, I try to find an excuse to go downstairs. Since the washer and dryer room are in an adjoining room, I’ll take a load of my dirty clothes down. I can then stare from the laundry room at Connor as he lifts weights while I fold my clothes.

Connor is perfect. He has black hair that he keeps cut short. He has intense brown eyes that seem to light up every time he laughs. My brother is ripped, but Connor’s body is even more muscular. He also has a large cock that protrudes from his silk athletic shorts. I saw him naked once in gym as he was coming out of the shower. I let out a slight gasp and then looked around to see if anyone heard me. Since then, Connor has been one of my favorite jerk-off fantasies at night.

Connor is another wide receiver for our team. He’s actually a better player than Jon, although my brother would never admit it. He’s scored almost twice as many points as Jon this year.

His brother, Ross, sits in the backseat with me. He’s cute, too. If I wasn’t constantly staring at Connor, I would spend more time looking at Ross. He’s a junior and a running back on the football team. He doesn’t get a lot of playing time because Jason Taylor, a senior, is one of the best running backs in the state. When Ross does play, he’s pretty impressive. He’s also a starter on the basketball team. Last year he was the high scorer and received the MVP award at a sports’ banquet my father and brother forced me to attend.

Ross’s hair is dark like his brother’s, but it isn’t exactly black. It’s more a dark brown, I guess. He has brown eyes, and his face is narrow with a cute nose. He has just the slightest hint of a fuzzy mustache. And dimples! God, when he smiles his mouth forms the most awesome dimples I have ever seen on someone.

I hate riding to school with them. No one notices me. Jon seldom talks on our way to pick up Connor and Ross. Ross will nod at me once he gets in the car, but then they begin to talk sports, and I’m left looking out the window. Ross tries to talk to me about school, but he’s a junior and I’m only a sophomore. That doesn’t leave us much to talk about.

Today’s conversation was about girls. These are the conversations that disappoint me the most. I know my brother is having sex with Debbie- probably a lot of sex. Connor isn’t going steady, but from his conversations, he doesn’t seem to be suffering from blue balls. Mondays and Fridays are always the worst days. Fridays are spent discussing how much sex they are going to get on the weekend. Monday’s conversations are spent talking about how good it was. I find that if I hum a song in my head as I look out the window, I can usually block out most of what they are saying.

I haven’t yet figured out Ross. I know he is popular with girls because every time I see him in the halls or at lunch he is surrounded by several female admirers. I guess if I were a girl, I would be following him around in hopes that he would bless me with a dimpled smile. However, he never brags about his conquest like Jon and Connor do. Occasionally, they’ll ask him if he ‘got any,’ and he’ll raise his eyebrows and grin. I guess he is getting it, he just doesn’t feel the need to brag about it. No one ever asks me that question. At least I am spared from having my face turn every shade of red as I fumble for an answer.

So, the rides to school are about as exciting as my life at home. I feel like I’m an outsider looking in. I spend twenty minutes every day with three of the most popular guys in school and it is as if I don’t even exist. I would bet on the days I stay home sick, they don’t even notice I’m not in the car.

Jon dropped me off in front of the building while he drove around to the student parking lot and walked in with Connor and Ross. Usually, they are greeting by other athletes arriving to school at the same time. I’ve passed them in the hall on my way to homeroom. Sometimes there are as many as fifteen guys bantering back and forth on their way to classes.

Homeroom is boring. We go to a room and sit for ten minutes while a teacher takes attendance. Occasionally, she will unenthusiastically read an announcement from the office, usually about an upcoming dance or an extracurricular activity. Most of the students talk as the teacher drones on about some chess club tournament next Tuesday after school.

The bell rang, and I headed for Mrs. Chapman’s literature class. An observer from a nearby college was monitoring the class. Her name was Miss Strutman, and she had been sitting in on our class each Thursday for several weeks.

Mrs. Chapman asked us to get the assignment out while Miss Strutman walked around and collected them. “Today class,” Mrs. Chapman announced, “we’re going to do something different. Miss Strutman wants to get some idea how students in high school write.” Mrs. Strutman handed the papers to Mrs. Chapman. She laid them out on her desk face down and spread them out. “Miss Strutman will pick out a paper. As you can see, they are face down, so the selection will be entirely random. If she selects your paper, please come to the front of the room and read what you have written about why it’s not easy being you.”

“No! No! No!” I shouted silently to myself. “I’m screwed! I just know she’s going to pull my paper. I just know it!”

I crossed my fingers and prayed silently to any god that might hear me. “Not me, please!” I held my breath while she pulled the first paper from the stack.

She looked over at the other side of the room. “Benjamin, will you come read your paper, please?” I let out the breath I had been holding. If anyone had looked at me, my face was probably blue.

This went on several more times, and each time I reacted the same way. I kept watching the clock behind Mrs. Chapman. Only ten more minutes remained. Bev Winslow finished reading hers, and Miss Strutman shuffled the papers and pulled another one out.

My heart stopped! She looked back at me and smiled. “Woody. Will you come read yours please?” I thought my heart was going to stop as I fought for air to breathe.

“Do I have to?” I muttered nervously.

“Yes, Woody,” smiled Miss Strutman. “You have to.”

I slowly rose from my desk and approached the front of the room. I decided to make one last plea. I looked anxiously at Miss Strutman. “Do I have to do this?” She didn’t say anything. She simply smiled and thrust my report at me.

With trembling hands, I took the paper and turned to face the class. I looked out onto the twenty students who are watching me with eager anticipation. I think they sensed that something was going to happen. All the other students seemed excited to be chosen to read what they had written. Miss Strutman was generous with her praises, even to those students who hadn’t written anything especially interesting.

“Go ahead, Woody,” encouraged Mrs. Chapman from behind me. I cleared my throat and looked down at the paper. I could hardly read it because of my trembling hands.

I took a deep breath and read, “It’s not easy being a tree.” There was silence for a few seconds before Jeff Bench, one of my friends, started giggling. Soon several more students joined in.

“Settle down, class,” admonished Mrs. Chapman. When the room quieted again, I began to read my report about oak trees. Several students stared giggling and soon everyone in the room burst into laughter.

“You may sit down, Woody.” I heard Mrs. Chapman say behind me after I’d read several paragraphs. I didn’t have to turn to know that she was upset. I could hear it in her voice.

“You’re such a dufus,” laughed Jeff as I dejectedly made my way back to my desk. I gathered my books, put them in my book bag and placed it on the desk. I lay my head down on it, closed my eyes and waited for the bell to ring. Miss Strutman called two more students to the front before the dismissal bell finally rang.

I picked up my book bag and rushed from the room. I didn’t even bother to look at Mrs. Chapman or Miss Strutman. I knew what they were thinking about me. I already expected to fail the assignment. I just wasn’t prepared to embarrass myself before the entire class in doing so.

A couple of students in second and third periods kidded me about the report. Since the school is small, counselors do block scheduling, meaning I share most of my classes with the same students.

My friend, Jeff, is my worst tormentor. I guess he is about the closest person I can consider a best friend. We are a lot alike. He is rather shy and doesn’t associate with a lot of people. He’s kind of attractive. I say kind of because I never really think about him as being anything other than just a friend. He’s tall and slumps when he walks beside me. He tries to make me feel more comfortable by being more my size, but it just makes him appear weird.

One thing about him I don’t find appealing is the glasses he wears. They make him look like a geek. They have a black frame with a light black tint. He said he saw a guy in an ad wearing them. When he got new glasses last year, he talked his mother into buying them for him.

I saw him naked in the shower once, and he has a nice body. It surprised me because I didn’t think he’d be the kind of guy who would work out since he doesn’t show any interest in sports. I guess there is something else we have in common- he doesn’t talk too much about girls.

I often wonder if he is gay. Last year I had this feeling that he had a crush on me. It didn’t last too long, but for about a month he would call me almost every night and we’d talk. We didn’t talk about anything special, we just talked. It was as if he just wanted me to stay on the phone with him. I always thought it was strange that we’d talk about anything and everything-except girls. I did ask him one time if he had a girlfriend and he made some lame excuse about his mother not letting him date.

We pal around at school some, but we don’t see each other too often outside of school. His mother has picked me up a few times, and we’ve spent the day at the mall. He lives on a small farm outside of town and spends most of his time doing chores. He’s the only boy, so he says there’s always something to do and it doesn’t leave him much time to do anything else. I guess that’s why he has the body he does. I would look buff too if I was tossing hay in the barn all day.

“Hey, Tree,” he giggled as he sat down beside me. “I can’t believe you had the balls to read that shit in Mrs. Chapman’s class.” He started laughing louder. “If you could have seen her face.”

“Just shut up, Jeff.” I turned and gave him an angry look, but he burst out laughing. I tried to frown but soon found myself laughing. I gave him a puzzled look. “You think I’ll get an ‘A’ on it?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “A for asshole.” He stopped laughing and tried to catch his breath. “No,” he grinned. “Maybe it’s A for acorn.” He stopped laughing, waiting for me to say something. “Get it?” he asked. “Acorn. Oak tree.” I rolled my eyes and groaned.

“Don’t give up your day job,” I laughed. “You’ll never be a comedian.”

After class he walked with me to the cafeteria. We sat at a table with two girls, Anna Bateman and Kate Combs. We’ve been friends since the first grade, and until this year we’ve always been in the same classes. This year they are in a different block than Jeff and me. However, we still eat lunch together.

Anna is very smart. She’s the reason I was able to pass math in the fifth and sixth grades. I sat beside her and she let me copy her papers. I always failed the tests, but the daily work kept me from failing the class. She has red hair that she usually keeps pulled back in a ponytail. She also has a lot of freckles on her face. Mom drug me once to see the play, Annie. I went back the next day and told Anna she looked just like the red-haired girl in the play. She told me she used to love her mother to read her the book when she was little. She would point at the picture on the cover and ask, “Is that me, Mommy?”

If Jeff is my best friend, then Kate would probably be my next best friend. In the second grade we became boyfriend and girlfriend. I even told my mother that we were going to get married when we got bigger. She laughed and said, “That’s nice.”

Then in the third grade I went through that period where I thought girls were ‘icky.’ I told Kate that her feet smelled, and she slapped me. We didn’t talk for about three months. Then I gave her a Valentine’s Day card that I had made just for her. I wrote on it that I was sorry, and her feet didn’t really stink. She started talking to me again, and we’ve been best friends since.

Kate is like the mirror image of me- only she’s a girl. She doesn’t have a lot of friends and spends most of her nights at home reading. She’s pretty, but I don’t think she’s ever been able convince herself that she is. Boys don’t usually talk to her because she has this intimidating stare that makes them feel inadequate. It’s like she’s saying, “Fuck off. I don’t want to talk to you.” But she doesn’t do that with me. When we’re together, it’s like everything is okay and safe. If I wasn’t gay, I’d probably date her. However, for some reason, I think she may be a lesbian. She’s doesn’t seem interested in girls, but she also doesn’t like boys either- with the exception of me and Jeff, that is when he isn’t acting like a jerk.

Jeff started teasing me as soon as we sat down. He couldn’t wait to tell Anna and Kate what I had done in first period. “And then he stands there with his short self,” he had to catch his breath while he tried to stop laughing. “Get this,” he laughed, “He tells the entire class he wants to be an oak tree.” He looked over and slapped me on my back. “That was so funny, Woody.” Anna was giggling at the story, but Kate gave me a concerned look.

“I didn’t say I wanted to be an oak tree,” I insisted. “Can’t we talk about something else?”

“Sure, Tree,” he responded with a laugh. Anna giggled while Kate frowned at him and took a sip of milk.

We spent the rest of the lunch period talking about nothing in particular. Most of our conversations are about our teachers and homework assignments. Since none of us are involved in any extracurricular activities, and our lives are basically boring, there isn’t much to discuss.

Suddenly, Jeff got all excited. “I know what I was going to tell you guys.”

“What?” Anna asked.

“My Dad and Mom got me a new laptop computer.” He then told us how helpful it is for him to now do his homework without having to go to the library after school. When I suggested that he will probably spend more time playing video games than he will be doing school work, he replied enthusiastically, “Hell, yeah!” Everyone at the table laughed.

A couple of students in my afternoon classes kidded me about my report in Mrs. Chapman’s class. It had been a while since I had gotten so much attention. “I’ll have to screw up more assignments,” I thought to myself.

My last class of the day is computer science. I know all about computers, but it is a required class. The school feels that all students should have a good background in computer technology because they say our future success will depend on it. I hate to admit it, but I agree with them. Since I’m only a sophomore, I still have another year to decide what I want to major in when I go to college. I thought once of being a pharmacist because they make a lot of money. But then I read on the internet that you have to take a lot of chemistry and advanced math classes, so I’ve given up that idea. Maybe I’ll be a journalist. I like to read and write, and it doesn’t require any math or science classes.

I finished my assignment quickly. When I looked at the clock there were still twenty minutes remaining until the bell. I thought about going to the website where I saw Indyboi19 last night, but I have heard rumors that a woman sits in an office somewhere and monitors what we do on the computer at school.

No one believed it until last year when Paul Armstrong, one of our classmates, somehow managed to bypass the restrictions on our computers and visited a porn site. Other guys who watched him do it said it was a really nasty sex site. There were video samples that one could watch that tried to lure you into joining.

When we entered class the next day, Mr. Collier, the principal, was waiting by Paul’s cubicle. Paul was escorted out and given a five-day suspension. To this day, we don’t know if that woman watched him or another student reported him. However, it does frighten us from attempting to go into restricted websites.

Kate was waiting for me outside on the sidewalk when school let out. Dad picks me up after school, but I usually wait about twenty minutes. Sometimes it may be an hour if something happened at the plant that particular day. I had to walk home last year when a fire broke out just before he was leaving. I could have waited for Jon, but walking home was better than watching a bunch of guys practicing on the football field.

“Hey, Woody.” Kate smiled as I approached her. She only lives two blocks from school, so she often waits around with me until Dad arrives.

She gave me a worried look. “Is everything all right?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“I don’t know,” she replied as she shrugged her shoulders. “You just seemed upset today at lunch when Jeff was teasing you.”

“It’s okay.” I tried to force a smile. “You know how Jeff can be.”

“But I don’t understand why you wrote something like that,” she said. “I have Mrs. Chapman fifth period. I didn’t particularly want to write about me either, but I did.”

“Yeah, well.” I walked over and kicked a stone down the sidewalk. “At least you didn’t have to read yours in class.”

“But why did you write about a tree?” There was a concerned tone to her voice. “You could have just written a bunch of crap like I did.”

“I’m not good at writing crap,” I replied as I turned away. “It would sound stupider than my real life, anyway.”

She walked around and faced me. “I don’t get it, Woody.” She stared into my eyes as if she was trying to read me like a book. “You’re cute and smart.”

“I’m short and skinny,” I replied sorrowfully as I walked away.

She hurried to catch up with me. She reached out and gripped my arm and stopped me. “We’ve known each other for a long time.” She looked like she’s getting ready to cry. “Would you tell me if something is really wrong?” She squeezed my arm tighter.

Just then Dad pulled up and honked the horn. “I gotta go.”

“Woody?’ Kate pleaded.

I looked over at my dad’s truck while he motioned for me to hurry. “Yeah, okay,” I said quickly. “I’ll tell you if something is wrong.” I kissed her quickly on her cheek, turned and ran to Dad’s truck.

On the way home, Dad asked me about school, but I knew he really wasn’t interested unless it involved sports. He and Jon can talk for hours, but our conversations are always strained. Sometimes I suspect he feels like Jon, I’m an embarrassment to him. I know he would never admit it, but it’s probably true. When we arrived home, I stopped by the kitchen for a snack while Dad went into his bedroom for a quick nap before Mom gets home. I usually have about a half hour alone until Mom and the twins arrive. I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then headed up to my room. Even though Dad was in his room asleep, I still locked the door before going over to my computer and turning it on. I take advantage of the times alone after school to satisfy my raging teenage hormones.

I typed in the website that I visited last night, and I was surprised to see a message waiting in my inbox. In fact, there was an icon flashing that indicated I had two messages. I opened the first one. It was from Indyboi91. He had sent it last night after I’d logged off.

Indyboi91: where did u go? I opened the second one.

Indyboi91: cum see me tonight ill be on for awhile

I went to the chat room to see if he was online. He wasn’t. Another guy whose profile said he was twenty-two was camming. I attempted to watch him, but I received the same warning as I did the night before:

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.

“Dammit,” I moaned. It was frustrating to know naked guys were only a click away, but I couldn’t see them. I returned to the message Indyboi91 sent me and typed a reply.

ElmerFudd: i’m sorry but i can’t see you. I can’t register

After dinner, I finished reading the Old Man and the Sea. I struggled doing my algebra homework. Thank goodness they put the answers in the back of the book. I’ve never understood why they do that. I guess it’s for mathematically challenged students like me. If I know the answer, I can usually work backwards to get the answer. It was around eight when I finished. Jon was downstairs working out in the basement. I went over to my computer and opened my email. I had a message from Indyboi91.

Indyboi91: whats the problem? just get a fake id like I did

I didn’t know if he was younger than 18, or if he started camming before he was 18, like me. I wondered how old he really was. Could he actually be my age? And then another thought hit me- could I know him? If he is around my age, then he has to attend my high school. Since we are a small community, we only have two elementary and middle schools and only one high school. He looked too big to be in middle school, so he could attend my high school. I tried to remember what he looked like last night, but I mainly focused on his cock in the brief time I watched him. His body was fairly smooth with a nice bush and long cock. He could be almost anyone. From what I saw, he could be any guy I’ve seen changing his clothes in gym class. Suddenly, I received another message.

Indyboi91: so? you gonna do it

I must find a way to see him again. There’s no way I can ask him who he is. He would want to know who I am, and I’m not brave enough to tell him. What if I do know him and he tells everyone what I’m doing? I don’t know why I’m worried about that. After all, he’s the one jerking off on cam. But I am. If I told him who I am, then I would be telling him I’m gay, and I’m not ready to do that yet. I let out a sigh and responded to his message.

ElmerFudd: I’ll see what I can do

I then hit send and returned to his profile page. I was able to jerk off before Glenn and Glenda came up the stairs.

:thankyou: for the comments and likes for the first chapter. I appreciate them.

Copyright © 2011 by Ronyx All Rights Reserved
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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I’m afraid for Woody. The person he’s in contact with online could easily be a stalker or worse. And in the meantime, school looks like it’s going to go from lousy to hellish. 

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I’m worried for Woody and this online website. He’s going to have a lousy time at school because of that report.

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Great Chapter. I'm looking forward to the next chapter to see which was the characters further dvelope

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Woody is too smart for his own good. His teachers haven’t figured out how to channel his intellect into more productive directions so we get things like this report. He isn’t being challenged enough and his mind has plenty of time to wander.  ;–)

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I think Woody's report on Oak Trees was a very creative response to a dull school assignment. If I were his English teacher, I would try to find a way to encourage his creativity. But then, I was a teacher, no not an English teacher and in a Community College, not a High School. 

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