http://pastebin.com/ZkR0V1JV
http://pastebin.com/u/PonySamsa





>You are Anonymous.
>Currently, you’re at your university, good old U of E, working on homework under a tree.
>Or you would be, but right now you’re watching the frat boys argue with what must be one of those running start students.
>Sixteen and taking college classes early. Felt kind of cruel to you, personally. The environment was totally different.
>You understand why they don’t seem to want to let him play, though.
>Kid was about five and a little bit tall and built like a reed.
>His calves were shapely, so he must do some kind of exercise.
>Running, most likely. Probably got into college on a track scholarship.
>Purple hair, too. Cut short. Shoe brand you didn’t recognize, but looked fancy. Under armour loose running shorts and a rather tight-fitting t-shirt, similarly built for running. Definitely track.
>Yeah, kid was new to this whole environment, but desperate to fit into the crowd. You’d seen it often enough.
>Hell, you’d BEEN that kid at one point, sans the running-start.
>Oh dear, voices were being raised on both sides.
>You put away your book at stood up.
>Kid had guts, but nobody likes fighting alone. You head on over.
>”And I’m saying, you’re half our size, kid! This is rugby! Full-contact! We’d break you in half!”
>”All I want is a chance! You won’t even give me that?! You don’t even know what I’m capable of! I could outrun any one of you knuckleheads!”
>”It isn’t about how fast you can run, it’s how well you can take a hit, because you’re GONNA get hit!”
“What’s goin’ on, guys?”
>Both the kid and the beefy fella turn to you.
>”What do you want?” They say in unison. They look at each other angrily as they do so, then turn back to you.

“Just thought an unbiased party could come help you out. Things seem rather heated here.”
>”The twig wants to play rugby.”
>”I want to play rugby.”
“Well, at least you can both agree on that. What’s the problem then?”
>”He’s too small.”
>”He says I’m too small.”
“Well, still agreeing entirely I see.”
>You look down at the kid.
“Well, uh… kid-“
>”Scootaloo.”
“What?”
>”My name is Scootaloo, not ‘kid’.”
>The beefy fella scoffs.
“Alright Scootaloo. Have you played rugby before?”
>Scootaloo looks away from you, scowling.
“Well?”
>His face visibly reddens.
>”No, I haven’t.”
“Well, shouldn’t you watch for a while or read up on it before playing? Barring your size, not knowing the full rules would be a problem.”
>He grumbles and looks at the ground, folding his arms.
“C’mon. Come sit with me for a bit and I’ll explain while we watch them play, okay?”
>”…Fine.”
>Scootaloo turns away from the field, and the rugby guy opens his mouth to say something. You shoot him a quick glance and a frown, shaking your head.
>He wisely reconsiders and turns back to his friends, shouting about teams or something.
>You lead Scootaloo back to your tree and plop down on the grass, patting the ground next to you.
>He huffs, and flops down beside you, pulling his knees in and hugging them to his chin.
>”So what made my argument your business?”
“Hm?”
>”I saw you sitting there, doing your homework or whatever. Why’d you stick your nose where it wasn’t wanted?”
“Ah. Not as sneaky as I thought I was. The argument was getting heated, and both of you have very similar attitudes. I wasn’t expecting either one to back down, so I felt a mediator was necessary.”
>”Didn’t need your help.”
>You sigh.
“I don’t suspect you wanted it, but if you kept going and it came to blows, he had your number just on sheer size.”
>”Size isn’t everything.”

“No, I’ll agree with you there. But do you know any martial arts?”
>”…no.”
“Have any weapons in your suspicious lack of a backpack or your running clothes?”
>”Again, no. Gawd.”
“Then picking fights with people twice your age and twice your size isn’t a good plan.”
>Scootaloo grumbles under his breath. You don’t press him about what he said.
>After a moment of silence, the frat club guys start their game of rugby and Scootaloo turns to you.
>”So tell me about rugby then, since you’re such a hotshot.”
“Admittedly, I don’t actually play, nor do I know the rules.”
>”The fuck, dude? Why’d you say you did?”
>You shrug.
“Needed to get you two apart before something went south. If you want, though, I have my laptop. We can look it up.”
>Scootaloo throws up his hands and falls backward onto the grass.
>”Unbelievable!”
>He lies there a moment, then easily pulls himself back up. Kid’s got some abs.
>”Fine. I didn’t come all this way just to come away empty-handed. Pull it up.”
>You slide your laptop out of your backpack and flip it open. Your starting screen is up in a moment and you connect to the university wi-fi.
>”So, it looks like there’s two types of rugby, rugby league, and rugby union, with some minor changes in rules causing the split. I honestly couldn’t tell you which set of rules our boys over there are following.”
>Scootaloo has scooted (heh) closer to you to look at your laptop, eyes poring over the Wikipedia page.
>”I think it’s rugby league. They’re counting tackles aaaaand…” Scootaloo leans in to scroll your screen. “Rugby league says it has six tackles before possession switches.”
“Well then. Good catch.”
>Scootaloo smiles, but keeps his eyes fixed on the computer screen.
>”I pay attention to sports. By the way, what’s your name, then?”
“Anonymous. Don’t ask. Just call me Anon.”

>Scootaloo snorts a little, but doesn’t ask.
>”Well thanks for helping me figure out Rugby, Anon. And… thanks, I guess, for getting me out of that mess. I really don’t think I’d have been much use in there after all. I definitely wouldn’t be much help in a ‘scrum’.”
“Hey, don’t let that stop you. Work out some more, and in a few years you’ll be as beefy as those guys. Probably not taller, though.”
>Scootaloo punches you in the arm, and it hurts a bit, but he’s smiling.
>”I’m working on it.”
“I don’t think height is something you ‘work on’.”
>Scootaloo’s smile quickly becomes a frown and you get the feeling you touched a sensitive spot.
“Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I apologize for poking fun at what must be a sensitive subject.”
>”No, it’s okay. I know it wasn’t meant maliciously. I’m still… coming to terms with it I guess.”
“Well… if you don’t mind my asking, how tall are you, exactly?”
>He sighs.
>”Five foot exactly, give or take. That’s only two inches away from being counted as a dwarf. No, it doesn’t run in the family. No, I don’t try to compensate at all. You happy?”
>Oof. Yeah, that was a sore spot.
>You should make it up to the poor guy.
“Hey, sorry about that. As an apology, I’ll get you lunch. You hungry?”
>He looked at you with a wry smile.
>”Well, I’ll never turn down free food. Sure. Where were you thinking?”
“Well, I’m gonna hazard a guess and say you’re here on some sort of sports scholarship, so you’ll have to tell me if you have some sort of dietary requirements first.”
>”Gymnastics, yeah. But no, my weight and everything is fine, so I can eat what I want. It’s the amount of food I eat I need to watch.”
>Gymnastics. That makes sense. Guess he just runs to keep fit.
“Well alright. I’m under no such constraints, so burgers it is! There’s a Wendy’s not too far from campus. Come on.”

>Scootaloo hops easily to his feet while you pack your things up and slowly lurch upward.
>You rear upward and take a look down at Scootaloo.
>It was clearly obvious there was a massive height difference between the two of you.
>Tallness ran in your family, and you were a monstrous six-foot four. Came from a line of farmers, drink their milk, eat healthy steak-and-potatoes kind of thing.
>Scootaloo barely reached your rib cage. Kid was incredibly short, and at age sixteen the likelihood of him growing any further was slim.
>Gymnastics was a good choice, though. Easier to maintain balance if you’re small.
>Smol, actually. The internet was right about that, this kid was smol, not small.
>A chuckle escapes you before you can stop it, and you stifle it, looking guiltily over at Scootaloo.
>He was scowling at you from waaaaay down there.
>A snort escapes you this time, from all the effort you were making to not laugh.
>”What’s got you in a fit, Anonymous? You laughin’ at my height?”
>Geeze, yeah. That was definitely a sore spot.
>You sigh. No sense lying.
“I was. I am sorry. The height difference between us is massive, and my amusement got the better of me.”
>”Jesus fuck, dude. It’s bad enough you lied to get me away from playing rugby, but you gotta make fun of something I have literally no control over?”
>Aw fuck. You put your foot in it this time.
>”I gotta deal with this on a daily fuckin’ basis, and I get no goddamn respite. Yes, I’m short. Fucking GET OVER IT! I don’t need to deal with this. Thanks for the damn burger offer, but I’m out.”
>Aw damn. You hadn’t meant to offend him that badly.
>He starts running down the sidewalk and against your better judgement, you give chase, loping after him.

“C’mon, Scootaloo, I wasn’t trying to offend you! I sincerely wanted to apologize for it! Lying to you wasn’t going to be any better!”
>Scootaloo easily slips through the crowd, while you barrel on into it, trying not to lose him. You eventually forego the sidewalk entirely and just run along the street.
>People stare and complain as you chase the tiny figure down the road.
>Thankfully campus traffic was at a minimum at the moment, it being a weekend, but you still try to stay close to the sidewalk.
>Eventually you reach the entrance to a park and Scootaloo stops, turning to look back at you.
>You’re panting and gasping, a slight sheen of sweat starting to break out on your forehead, while Scootaloo isn’t even breathing hard.
“C’mon, please. I didn’t *haaah* mean anything by it. *Woooo* Seriously, just let me make it up to you.”
>”Look, dude. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ll get over it. I always do.”
>You lean on the boom barrier, letting your backpack drop to the ground while you catch your breath.
“Yeah, I can’t just let you go away mad, though. Me mum didn’t raise me that way.”
>”Me mum? What the hell are you, British?”
>You give a cheeky grin at him. 
“Only on me mum’s side.”
>Scootaloo gives a short laugh. “Fine. Apology accepted since you chased me all this way.”
“Well thanks. I’m glad. You’re quick, by the way. Real quick.”
>He stands a little straighter when you say that, the barest hint of a smile crossing his face.
“You still want that burger?”
>He thinks for a moment, but shakes his head.
>”I think I’ll pass for now. Can I collect it later?”
>You grin. Glad he wasn’t holding a grudge.
“Yeah, whenever works. You got Facebook or something?”
>”Yeah, gimme a pen.”
>You pull out some scrap paper and a pen and hand it to him. He scribbles down his info and hands it back to you.

>”Just send me a request, I’ll get it later tonight.”
“Cool, thanks Scootaloo. I’ll catch you later.”
>”Later, dude.”
>Scootaloo jogs off into the park, and you turn back toward campus. You still had homework, so you might as well send him a friend request and work on it while you were still here.
>You were happy he wasn’t holding a grudge, but man, he really needed to get that chip off his shoulder.

>Later that night, you were relaxing at home playing games on your desktop computer when you receive a message on Facebook.
>You have to wait until the round ends before you can check, but sure enough, it’s Scootaloo. Or rather; “Brutaloo”.
>His icon is a viking or something. You can’t quite tell. It’s got a beard and an axe, anyway.
>”Sup, dude?” He says.
“Not much. Gaming. Yourself?”
>”Just finished gymnastics practice. Gotta keep that scholarship, you know.”
“Yeah, kudos on that, by the way. I get to have loans. Those will be fun once I’m done.”
>”Yeah, that sucks, bro. So can I cash in that burger tomorrow?”
>You double check your homework, making sure everything is up to speed. Not finished, but following your personal schedule and not running late.
“Yeah, sure. I was just going to play games at home all day. My reward to myself every week for doing homework.”
>”Dude, that sounds so lazy. It’ll be good for you to get outside then.”
“Hey, I walk a lot. I’m not out of shape. I’m just not in the best shape.”
>”Fine, fine. So where can we meet?”
>You think for a moment about good landmarks that were easy to get to.
“How about that park entrance you left me at? That’s near campus, and it’s sorta on the way for me.”
>”Alright. Would noon work?”
“Yeah. Fine with me.”

>”Perfect! See you then!”
>Your conversation ends there, and you get back to your game for a little bit.
>After a while, though, you get bored with it and browse the internet.
>That brings you to checking your Facebook again, and you see the little text window from Scootaloo hanging there unclosed.
>That gives you an idea. Intrusive, maybe, but well, public information online for everyone, after all. People gotta learn.
>You click on “Brutaloo’s” name and start checking out his profile.
>His address is on there, as well as his email address, phone number, and vital statistics.
>Male. 5’0”. Eye Color: Violet. Hair Color: Violet. 
>Relationship status: Single.
>Not unexpected. Girls really didn’t like short guys for some reason. Poor fella.
>Most of the info on his wall was about the grittiest metal bands possible. Absolutely plastered with pictures of big beefy dudes rippling with muscles, towering over women. He also appeared to like street sports. Skateboarding, parkour, and many other extreme sports.
>Kid had a complex, and it was obvious.
>Nothing about gymnastics on there. He didn’t even appear to be subscribed to a single gymnastics group.
>Kind of weird.
>Something seemed fishy about it, but it was just a Facebook page, so you have to take it with a grain of salt.
>You’d have to see how tomorrow went, and maybe find out more about Scootaloo.
>He wasn’t a bad guy, just… had a ‘little’ issue.
>You chuckle quietly at your own pun, and turn on a movie.
>Tomorrow would hopefully reveal more.

>Morning sees you up, out the door, and waiting at the park by eleven fourty-five. You were usually still at home in your pajamas on a Sunday like this, but you had a friend you were meeting.
>You’d left most of your friends back in your hometown, and the others were all online.
>You didn’t really mind have only online friends, but friends you could visit with in person were nice to have, and it had been a rather long while.
>You check the time on your phone to once again make sure you weren’t late, and lean up against the boom barrier, waiting.
>You hear the sound of a skateboard and that tinny noise of someone playing music through earphones too loud.
>Turning toward the sound, you see Scootaloo, dressed in grungy jeans with a loose-fitting tank top that had a picture of some band you didn’t recognize.
>”Outta the way, dude!”
>Amused, you step away from the boom barrier, giving him a clear shot.
>Sure enough, he picks up speed, and does a front flip over the barrier, his skateboard passing underneath.
>His landing is very tidy, with one foot placed in front of the other as he touches down on the skateboard.
>He also does that gymnastics pose you see on the Olympics all the time. You obediently clap.
“Very nice, very nice! 9 points.”
>”Pfft. Only 9? That was a solid 10.”
“No explosion in the background. Ruined the moment.”
>”Hah! Fine. I’ll give ya that.”
>He rolls back around and kicks his skateboard up into his arms to walk with you.
“So Wendy’s still fine with you?”
>”Yeah, that’ll do.
>Some music starts playing from Scootaloo’s pocket, and he pulls out his phone with an irritated grunt and hangs up, stuffing it back in his pocket.
>You don’t ask. Probably private.
“Soooo… how’d you get into gymnast-“
>”I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”
>Woah. Geeze. Okay.
“Uh… alright.”

>”Sorry. Not trying to be rude, but anything but that, okay?”
>You hold your hands up in a placating gesture.
“That’s fair. So what kind of music do you listen to?”
>You point at the pocket his phone was in. The earphones were still attached, dangling from his collar inside his shirt.
>He grabs the earphones, pulling them up and out of his shirt, disconnecting them from the phone, and then stuffs them into his other pocket.
>”Metal. Rock. Some stuff that sits in between. Grunge.”
>Oh heavens, he’s trying so hard.
“Nice. Alternative stuff or rather mainstream? I like Man O War myself. It’s not something I listen to constantly, though.”
>Scootaloo shrugs.
>”I just listen to whatever of it sounds good. Haven’t really settled on a favourite band yet.”
“Well, you’re young. Listen to everything you possibly can. That’s how I feel about it. Sometimes the bands I like put out songs I hate. Some bands even end up being one-hit wonders.”
>”Yeah, like all things, I suppose.”
“Exactly. Even Michael Jackson struck out sometimes for me.”
>”Woah there, hoss! That’s musical blasphemy!”
“Haha! Isn’t it? Also, ‘hoss’? What, are you southern or something?”
>Scootaloo reddens, looking at the ground.
>”No! …Just a little bit. My dad is.”
“Ah. Big businessman?”
>”Yeah. How’d you guess?”
“You wear rather expensive clothing.”
>You look Scootaloo up and down. He rubs his arms self-consciously at your gaze.
“Well… you wore expensive running clothes yesterday, anyway. That either meant you had a sponsor, which I wasn’t betting on, or your parents had lucrative jobs. It’s a bit of a stretch, but not a bad guess, since I hit the nail on the head.”
>”Yeah…”

>Scootaloo’s phone rings again and he whines in frustration, pulling it out and mashing the hang up button. He then shuts it down entirely and crams it back in his pocket.
>You know for certain something is going on, but you don’t ask. Now doesn’t really seem like the time.
>You get the feeling he’s using you as an excuse to avoid something. The fact that he thinks of you, someone he just met, as a safe space of sorts is flattering, but awkward.
>You make it to Wendy’s and you hold the door for him.
>He pushes you inside ahead of him, and you stumble in, laughing.
>”Don’t need you to hold the door for me.”
“You don’t /need/ it, but I was just trying to be polite.”
>”Well… thanks, but be polite to someone else.”
“Will do. So what would you like?”
>”Baconator, extra bacon.”
“Woah! Geeze. Just goin’ whole hog, huh?”
>Scootaloo slips into the first booth nearby, tossing his skateboard in next to him and kicks back into the seat.
>”I don’t get to eat like this very often, so I enjoy it when I can. I like bacon.”
“Well alright. Hope you can handle it all.”
>You leave Scootaloo there and wait in line for your turn, and get a Baconator with extra bacon for Scootaloo, along with a drink in case he wants one, and a spicy chicken sandwich for yourself, with water.
>You take Scootaloo the cup while you wait for the food to be ready.
“Didn’t know if you wanted a drink, but I got one anyway. If you don’t want it, I’ll use it.”
>Scootaloo sits up straight, snagging the cup out of your hand.
>”Oh hot damn! I didn’t even think about soda! Hell yeah I’ll take it!”
>He hops up out of his seat and heads for the drink fountain, mulling over the choices.
>”Damn. This is a coke place. Hate coke. At least they have Fanta.”

>Scootaloo comes back sucking on the straw stuck into the lid of the cup. He had a big smile on his face.
>You smile back, glad he seemed to be doing better than earlier.
“Enjoying your pop?”
>”You mean my soda? Yeah. Mr. Northerner.”
“You’re one to talk Mr. Southerner.”
>Scootaloo choked on his drink just as you say that, and then your number gets called. He coughs, a little bit of Fanta leaking out his nose.
>You pat him on the back as he chokes, making sure he’s okay.
“You alright there, dude? I’m gonna go get the burgers. Don’t die on me while I’m gone.”
>He shakes his head, giving you a thumbs up while he continues to cough.
>You pat him once more on the back and get up, heading to the counter to grab your food.
>When you get back with the tray, Scootaloo has managed to finish not dying and you place the tray down in front of him, grabbing your chicken sandwich off it.
“One bacon heartstopper, good sir. Please don’t hold me responsible when you die.”
>Scootaloo looks at you thoughtfully for a moment, scratching his chin, then picks up his burger, unwrapping it, biting into it violently.
>You can hear the bacon crunch from all the way across the table.
>Sure, it’s a small table, but that was some loud crunching nonetheless.
>Scootaloo mumbles with his mouth full.
>”Mmmf. Shit’s delicious. Thank you man.”
“Anytime, Scootaloo.”
>”Call me Scoots.”
“Will do, Scoots. Now don’t talk with your mouth full. Me mum wouldn’t approve.”
>Scoots chuckled, but didn’t say anything, and the two of you eat in relative silence, broken only by the crunch of Scootaloo’s bacon.

>Once the two of you finish eating, you toss out the trash, pick up your things, Scoots grabs his skateboard, and the two of you step outside after he’s refilled his drink.
>”So what now?”
>You look down at Scoots. He’s looking up at you, his violet eyes betraying nothing.
“What do you mean, what now? I’m heading home.”
>”Cool. Mind if I come with?”
“Seriously? Don’t you have, like, gymnastics practice or something? I mean, you can come, sure, but-“
>”Awesome. Let’s go!”
>You throw up your hands in defeat and head toward home, Scootaloo scuttling along next to you trying to keep up.
>You’re halfway there, but you really can’t keep it in anymore, you really need to ask.
“Scoots, are you playing hooky?”
>”Hooky?”
“Skipping gymnastics practice or other school-related things.”
>”Oh. Yes.”
>You sigh.
“That’s not a good thing to do if you want to keep your scholarship.”
>”So they keep telling me.”
“They?”
>”’Me mum’, my coach, my adviser, my classmates. I know, okay. I know.”
“Then why do it if you know?”
>Scootaloo whirls around to face you, hand up in a fist, shaking it at you.
>”Because I never get a fucking break!”
>You stop walking and pull away, holding up your hands defensively.
>Scootaloo is ranting and waving his skateboard angrily, the drink cup thankfully long since discarded.
>”’Scootaloo, you need to practice your dismounts! Scootaloo, you need to perfect this! You need to perfect that! You can’t eat that! You can’t eat this! You need to improve your balance! Don’t forget your schoolwork as well!’”
>Scootaloo stops moving about and lets his hands fall back down to his sides.
>”So I took a break on my own. I calculated it and a single day won’t put me back very far. So come on, if I’m going to get in trouble, I’ll get in trouble for having an awesome fucking day. Or at least as awesome as someone like you can show me.”

>You relax as Scootaloo begins to calm down, and you start walking again, slower this time so he can keep up.
“Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for that. I’ve never had that kind of pressure to succeed. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”
>”Personally, I think it’s good, but I’m biased.”
“Hah. That’s fair. So would you prefer games or movies?”
>”Games, I think. I watch a lot of movies while traveling to and from competitions.”
“Awright, games for the game god. I got a lot of those. I’ll just need to hook up an extra controller to my computer.”
>”Computer? Don’t you have a console of any kind? Like an Xbox or something? I like fighting games.”
“There’s fighting games on computer. I have… uh… Street Fighter.”
>”Street Fighter!? Which one?” Scootaloo gushes excitedly.
“I have the fourth one. My friends and I would play all the time back home. Didn’t get the new one since we don’t talk much anymore.”
>”That’s fine. It got poor reviews anyway. Who do you play as?”
“Probably Zangief the most, followed by Hakan. I enjoy grappler characters.”
>Scootaloo nods in agreement.
>”Good choices, though there’s something to be said for how simple Ryu and Ken are.”
>From what you saw on his facebook, he’s only interested in huge men. Could be gay, so you decide to test something.
“I would agree, yeah. I use Makoto sometimes as well, cause sometimes you just really want to punch a dude in the nuts SUPER hard.”
>”Heh, yeah…”
>Not a very committed response. You can’t make much from just that, so you prod a little further.
“Ibuki’s pretty cool as well, but I’m not really a fan of her playstyle. Too much jumping and hopping about, not enough BEEFY SKULL CRUSHING!”
>”Yeah, seriously. They never make the women into the massive wrestlers in fighting games. The women have to use ‘gymnastics’” he says mockingly “to even compete.”

>That’s what you were looking for. More opinions on women. It really wasn’t any of your business, but Scootaloo was hiding something besides the massive inferiority complex, and you really wanted to know what it was.
>Also, if Scootaloo was gay, did he have a crush on you? You didn’t want to lead the poor guy on.
>But that’s just not something you ask someone the second day you’ve known them.
>You arrive at your apartment soon after, and lead Scootaloo down the stairs to your flat.
>It was a basement, yes. No it didn’t belong to your parents. It belonged to the apartment manager, who was a friend of your parents, and he let you stay in the tiny hole of a basement for super cheap.
>It had good internet, and the basic amenities you needed, all smashed into two rooms: The bedroom/living room/kitchen, and the bathroom.
>Scootaloo looks around incredulously when he gets inside.
>”You live in this?”
“Hey! It’s clean!”
>”Yeah, but it’s so… cramped.”
“Nah. The bed folds up. Hang on.”
>You push the bed up into a wall alcove, opening up significantly more space, then get to work plugging in two controllers to the computer.
“See? Room for two chairs, which is good, cause that’s all I got, and whatever else. You ready to get beaten at Street Fighter?”
>”Pssh. No. Gonna kick your ass.”
>Scootaloo flips the chair around and sits on it backward, leaning on the back of the chair to stare at the computer screen.
>Amusingly, his legs don’t quite reach the ground, but you manage not to laugh this time.
>You start the game up, make sure the controllers function, and pick your characters.
>Scootaloo goes straight for Ryu, and you pick Zangief.
“No mercy, Scoots.”
>”No mercy yourself, dude.”
>It’s a shutout. You completely thrash him, even getting a perfect on one round.
>He frowns, but doesn’t say anything.

>The next game you pick Hakan, and he goes for Ken.
>Same thing happens, but at least you don’t perfect a round. He seems to be adapting to your fighting style somewhat.
>Round after that, you test him, and pick Makoto. Scoots picks Akuma.
“Going just for Shotokan fighters, eh?”
>”Shut up, I don’t get to play as often as you do.”
“That’s fair.”
>This time, Scootaloo actually manages to hit you with Shun Goku Satsu, much to your chagrin. It doesn’t kill you, and you still win, but getting hit by it was embarrassing.
“Nice job on that ultra.”
>”Hah. Thanks. Sucker.”
>He doesn’t actually say anything when you clobber him in the nuts with Makoto, but his expression tightens.
>Next time, you decide to try your hand at Juri Han, while Scootaloo sticks to Akuma.
>He gets noticeably frustrated when you completely trounce him by hopping all over the place, and demands a rematch.
>”Fight me again with her!”
>You shrug and do so, and beat him again. He’s getting sloppy.
>It goes on for several more games, him demanding to fight you as Juri.
>”I thought you hated the bouncing agile woman thing, Anon?”
“Well just because it’s not my favourite thing doesn’t mean I shouldn’t learn how to use them.”
>Scootaloo grunts in anger after you ultra her for the umpteenth time as Juri.
>As Juri slams Akuma into the ground, Scootaloo drops the controller in anger, thankfully not smashing it.
>”Bullshit! She shouldn’t even be able to hold him up on a single foot like that! He’s twice her size!”
“Hey hey! Calm down, it’s just a game. You wanna do something else?”
>He huffs, but nods.
>”Yeah. You said you got movies, right? Got something with guns or explosions?”
“Yeah. You ever seen John Wick?”
>”That’s the one where Keanu Reeves kills the entire mafia because they killed his dog, right?”
“Yeah.”
>”Sure, I’ve seen it, but that’ll do. Start it up.”
	
>You start up the movie, and both of you watch. You flip the lights off so you can see your modest computer screen better, the glow of the monitor the only light in your little basement.
>Scootaloo’s reaction says a lot. You were pretty confident with what you assumed about the kid.
>It would seem he doesn’t think very highly of women’s physical prowess. He follows blogs about strength gain, working out, all for men, and his inferiority complex about his size translated into anger toward women, who probably never give him the time of day.
>You can’t really blame him, but it’s something he really needs to work through. It’s completely unhealthy emotionally.
>You would do your very best to help him work through his issues. After all, everyone needs a friend, and he might be short on those.
>You sneak a glance at him sitting in the wooden folding chair next to you.
>He’s staring at the screen with his arms folded up on the back of the chair with his chin resting on them.
>In the light of the movie, you actually get a good look at his arms.
>Despite being so small, his arms were extremely well toned. Being a gymnast must do that.
>You surreptitiously squeeze your own bicep.
>Yeah, barely. Your arms don’t get much of a workout except during private times.
>The rest of Scootaloo seems to follow suit, with his thighs, calves, and torso all extremely well toned.
>Shapely too.
>Not bad, for a guy.
>His height would be the only thing preventing him from getting attention from women, then.
>Poor fella.
>You turn back to the movie, and the two of you watch in relative silence, commenting on some of the characters and their actions, complaining about who was stupid, who was awesome, and who you were sad for when they died.
>Finally, it ends, and you stand up and stretch.

>Scootaloo leans back in the chair and rocks it back and forth.
>”So what now?”
“Well, it’s about suppertime. Do you have a curfew?”
>”Not really. Since I don’t get out much anyway to things that aren’t practice and training. So… I actually guess yes? But I’m past it already?”
>Scootaloo shrugs.
“Well… you can’t avoid it all forever, but I won’t force you to go. I can cook rice if you’re intent on hanging out all night.”
>”Yeah, sure. I’ll eat anything, really.”
“Ditto. So it’s gonna have unidentified leftovers in it. You’re not allergic to anything are you?”
>”Not that I’m aware of.”
“Alrighty then. Want me to pull up a game or something for you while I cook?”
>”Actually, can I use your computer to check my messages and stuff?”
“Yeah, sure. But if you snoop, I’m not responsible for anything you see.”
>”Well now I gotta!”
>You shrug.
“Your funeral.”
>You head into the kitchen portion of your living area and start washing the rice, cutting up some veggies, and pulling out the other ingredients you intend to jam into your rice monstrosity.
>Scootaloo pulls up the internet and starts going through whatever checking on all his messages.
>”Hey, how do I switch this to headphones?”
>You walk  over to him and flip a switch on the headset, then leave him to it.
>He puts on the headphones and you can hear some screeching woman yelling at him briefly before he stops it.
>He sighs, and then you hear furious typing.
>At least he’s good at typing. He even knows his homerow, and he sounds relatively quick. Not as fast as you, but quick enough.
>This goes on while you cook, with Scootaloo making exasperated noises for much of the time, until he slams the desk, and then it all goes silent.
“Everything alright there, Scoots?”
>”Well enough, I guess. I’m in trouble when I get home, but I knew that when I headed out this morning.”

“Not too big trouble, I hope.”
>”Probably not, but we won’t get to visit for a while.”
“Well, we can talk online at least, and if you have any gymnastics meets, I could come watch. She can’t stop me from doing that, and I don’t think she’s going to bar you from those.”
>Scootaloo is silent for a moment.
>”Thanks for hanging out with me today.”
>Quite obviously avoiding the subject there, Scoots. Oh well.
“Thanks for hanging out yourself. You’re the only friend I really have here on campus. I think I mentioned that all my other friends are back in my hometown.”
>Scootaloo doesn’t say anything, and you hear him tapping on the keyboard again.
>This has been quite a ride today. You really hope you haven’t gotten in over your head.
>Not to mention, he’s sixteen, you don’t know how the law works in that regard, but could you get arrested for kidnapping if his mother was the scary type?
>You really hope his mother doesn’t find out where you live.
“You didn’t tell your mother where I live, did you?”
>”Pfft, no. I’m not stupid.”
“Okay, good. I don’t want to get arrested.”
>”I’m not gonna claim you molested me, man. Don’t worry. Besides, there’s no pedophilia in your porn, anyway.”
>You choke and whirl to face him.
“Oh come on! Seriously, Scoots? I asked you not to snoop.”
>”I told you I had to. You kind of walked into it by telling me not to. Neatly organized, at least.”
“What would your mother say?”
>”She thinks I’m gay, and she does NOT approve. I generally avoid the subject around her.”
“Well, this conversation took an awkward turn.”
>”Gonna get even more awkward, dude. I like this filing system you got: Real and cartoon, animated or non, and categorized by body part.”
>You’re trying to prevent the food from burning, and you know he’s just looking for a reaction, but damn if your face wasn’t red as all hell.

“Come on, Scoots, cut it out.”
>You hear the mouse clicking, and you can only imagine he’s digging through the folders.
>”Lessee… Tits. Under tits we have MORE sub-folders: Mega Milk, tater tots, and… ‘delicious flat chest’?”
>Scootaloo goes silent and you hear the mouse clicking some more.
>”Wait, people actually LIKE flat-chested women?”
>Despite your cheeks burning, you manage to keep the food from doing the same, and you have a pile of steaming hot rice, filled with egg, onion, veggies of all sorts, and the promised unidentified leftovers.
“Hell yeah, Scoots.”
>You bring the plate of food over to him, and shove it into his hands, hoping to distract him from the computer.
“For some people it’s a super big turn-on. You’re young. You’ll understand eventually, even if you don’t agree. Personally, as a tits man, they’re one of my favourite types. There’s a reason it’s one of my biggest folders.”
>You take the mouse from him and close the folder.
“Now, stop staring at my porn and eat.”
>Scootaloo looks thoughtful, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he try to get the mouse back from you.
>You breathe a sigh of relief and sit yourself down to eat as well, flipping on Netflix and playing the first episode of Daredevil.
>It’s not your favourite, but it doesn’t suck, and by the time the episode is done, so is your food.
>”I’ve never been a big fan of comics, but that didn’t look too bad. There’s just too many movies and series based on comics lately.”
“Well, at your age I’m impressed you know they come from comics.”
>”It’s not hard if you pay attention. It literally says it in the credits. Also; Marvel ‘comics’.”
“Most people don’t pay attention to that, or make the connection.”
>”Well most people are dumb.”

“Not gonna argue there, but I think it’s more that it doesn’t matter to them that it came from a comic book. They have their movie, and they enjoy it, regardless of its history.”
>Scootaloo hops off his chair, picks up his dishes and drops them in the sink.
>”Sink’s fine, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll wash up once you’re gone. Speaking of, it’s getting dark and I really think you ought to get home before night falls.”
>”Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thanks for hanging out with me today.”
“Anytime, and I mean that. You can even hang out at my lectures if you’re not bored as fuck by Anthropology.”
>”I think I’ll pass on that, but I’ll keep in touch. Once I’m done being grounded we can hang out again.”
>You get up and walk Scootaloo to the door. He picks up his skateboard and steps outside.
>He turns around and extends a hand awkwardly with his fist out.
>You grin and give him a fist bump.
“Thanks for hangin’ out, Scoots. Catch you in a week or two, depending on how severe your mum is.”
>Scoots hops on his skateboard and rolls slowly away.
>”Eh. Maybe a week at most. Catch you later Anon. Don’t look at too much porn. You’ll go blind.”
>You watch him roll off, putting his headphones back in and turning on his phone, then you head back inside.
>You of course go straight to your computer and look at a whole lot of porn despite Scoots’ warning.
>Thankfully, you don’t go blind, but you do chuckle every now and again.
>Scoots really just needed a friend.

>It isn’t until several days later in the middle of the week when you bump into Scootaloo again.
>You’re sitting under your favourite tree on campus where you first saw him, when you feel a tap on your head.
>You turn around and Scootaloo is standing beside you in his running gear again. He looks a little sweaty and was breathing hard, as if he had stopped in the middle of a jog.
“Hey there Scoots! Not interrupting your run to talk to me are you?
>”Yeah, I am, but I don’t care. I just need to be back at the gym by a certain time, so I got a few to chat. All my classes are homeschool classes except the phys. Ed. Ones, so I do them on my own time.”
“Yeah, that whole thing is weird ass hell to me, but whatever. You’re getting an early start, so take advantage of it. I’m doing fine, though. Just reading some articles for a class. Dry tone in the writing, but the topic is interesting. How about you? How long you grounded for?”
>”Just the week, so long as I don’t do it again. It’ll double every time I do, she says.”
“Well, don’t push it then. I can’t school you at Street Fighter if you’re always grounded.”
>”Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ll get you eventually. I just got the game myself, so I’ll have some practice for next time.”
“Well that’s fantastic! Who you working on?”
>”Abel and Rolento. Abel’s got that grappler style going on, and I don’t really want to use Zangief or Hakan because you use them. Rolento’s just super violent, so I thought I’d give him a try.”
“Well that’s great! I’m looking forward to it.”
>You kind of smirk as you notice Scoots is just slightly taller than your head when you’re sitting down.
>God he was short.
>You’re glad he seemed a little happier around you than before instead of supremely self-conscious like when you first met.

>Just needed to get past the initial discomfort.
>”Well, I really suppose I should get going if I don’t want to get in trouble. As it is, I’m gonna get a stern talking to for my run taking longer than usual.”
“Yeah, don’t get in too much trouble on my account. I’m not going much of anywhere.”
>”Cool, I’ll talk to you this weekend, Anon.”
“Later Scoots.”
>You watch him as he jogs away, his tiny form disappearing down the sidewalk.
>He was small, and incredibly androgynous.
>His running shorts and tight shirt made his hips look rather wide compared to the rest of him.
>He had muscles though. Definitely had muscles.
>If he wanted to give off a manly appearance, he had to choose his clothes better. Accentuating his hips pointed more towards female than male.
>That’d be an awkward conversation to bring up, but you’d do what you could to help.
>You weren’t exactly Captain Lumberjack yourself, but you were ten years older than him. You had more age at least.
>You turn back to your schoolwork, reading about the history of arrowhead styles.

>Days later, it’s Saturday afternoon and you’re at home enjoying your free time when you get a message from Scootaloo.
>”Yo, nerd.”
>You roll your eyes.
“Yo, jock.”
>”You wanna hang out? I’m not gonna get in trouble this time.”
“Sure. Anything you wanted to do?”
>”You feel up for a walk? I know how you nerds get tired easily.”
“Hey now, I walk a lot, so sure. I can keep up with any average amount of walking time you put down. Running is a different story entirely.”
>”Cool then. Meet me at the same sport as before asap.”
“Will do, Scoots.”
>Well, if he had outdoors activities in mind, it wouldn’t do to bring your backpack, so you grab a thin jacket, get dressed, check for the necessities, and head out the door.

>When you get closer to the park, you see Scootaloo is actually there ahead of you this time. He’s wearing a leather bomber jacket, dark blue jeans, and expensive looking sneakers. His hair was the same messy violet it always was. Didn’t even look like he’d combed it.
>Also sunglasses.
>On a cloudy day.
>You wave as you get closer.
“Well shit, Scoots. You look expensive as all hell. How much was that jacket?”
>He looks down at his jacket, the zipper undone so it hung loosely. Underneath you could see a t-shirt with another band logo on it.
>”I actually don’t know. It was a gift. I do know these jackets are expensive, though.”
“Well damn. You look good. Except the sunglasses, though. It’s supposed to rain today. Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”
>He tries to look over the top of his sunglasses at you. Given that you’re a full foot and four inches taller than him, the effect is lost terribly.
>”I think it makes me look cool. Now c’mon. I wanna show you something.”
>He kicks up his skateboard and carries it along beside you, leading you through the park.
>It’s a lovely day, with that damp smell of incoming rain permeating everything. Not too hot, not too cold, just right.
>”So how’s your week been, Anon?”
“Eh. School, homework, rinse, repeat. Nothing much of consequence happened to me personally. How about yours?”
>”I made up for the time I played hooky last week to visit you. Took part in a minor competition. Came in third. Got a half-marathon coming up I want to take part in.”
>You look down at him in amazement.
“That sounds incredibly busy! No wonder you barely have any spare time.”
>Scoots shrugs.
>”It is what it is. Like you said before, it gets me a scholarship for college if I keep my performance up. It also keeps me fit and healthy, so I’m okay with that.”

“Seems good all around beyond the amount of work you have to put into it. But that goes with anything I guess.”
>Scootaloo nods, finally pulling his sunglasses off and putting them in his jacket pocket.
>”So, I got a question Anon, and it might be a little weird.”
“Can’t be any weirder than you deciding to look at all my porn the second day we’ve known each other, so shoot.”
>Scootaloo rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
>”Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t think you were cool yet. I was really just using you as an excuse to get away from my mom and coach.”
“Hah! I figured that’s all I was, but we’re cool now, right?” You hold out your fist.
>Scootaloo fist bumps you, smiling.
>”Yeah, we’re cool now. So, my awkward question actually has to do with your porn.”
“Well, it’s a little weird talking about my porn with a sixteen year old, but okay. If your mum didn’t educate you properly I guess I can.”
>His face reddens and he scowls at you.
>”It’s not that! I know all about the ‘birds and bees’ asshole!” he says in a mocking voice.
“Okay, okay. Calm down, bro. I was just poking fun. So what do you want to know?”
>”Why… what… hmmm… why do you like flat-chested girls?”
“I figured you were gonna ask about that. It’s tough to explain. Let me think of the best way to answer this.”
>You fold your arms and tilt your head while you plod along, Scootaloo hustling beside you, taking three steps to your one.
“I guess… it has to do with just tits? Or the lack thereof? Man, I don’t know. You have a girl that’s still very much a girl, but doesn’t have the expected chest, and that’s awesome.”
>”So… it’s an almost gay thing? Cause men don’t have tits.”

“No no, that’s not it. Men have dicks, and you gotta like dicks to want to have sex with a man. Or at least not mind them. Personally, I like vaginas a lot, but I’m indifferent to the size of the tits. Also, a girl who likes the same stuff I like, like Street Fighter and such, would be absolutely hot beyond belief, no matter what size her tits were. A flat chest would just be a bonus.”
>Scootaloo’s face was already red from talking to you about your porn, but it seems to get even redder as you finish.
>He clears his throat.
>”Well, alright. I guess that explains it well enough. We can quit talkin’ about your porn now.”
>You grin and ruffle his hair playfully.
“Aw, am I makin’ you embarrassed talkin’ about sex?”
>He swats at your hand and whacks you with his skateboard.
>”No, asshole. I’m just done talking about it. Besides, we’re almost there.”
“Almost where? I’ve only walked around the outside edge of this park.”
>”They built a skate park on one side of it, I wanted to see you fail at skateboarding.”
“You what?”
>”We played your games last week and watched movies, now we get to do something I want to do that you’re not good at.”
>Ah, he wants to show off.
“Well, I’m always game to try new things, so sure. I’ll humor you. If I break something, it’s entirely your fault.”
>”Sure, sure. Anyway, check it out!”
>Scootaloo points with his skateboard, and you can see through the trees one of those bowl-things that most skate parks have. There’s also a quarter pipe and a bunch of railings and mini ramps all over the place.
“Huh. I never knew this was here.”
>”Well, you don’t skate, so why would you ever care?”
“True.”
>”Alright, watch this, nerd! Then you can try!”
“Go for it. Ya jock.”

>He flips you the bird and drops his skateboard, rolling off toward the lip of the bowl.
>You jog to keep up, watching as he drops into it. Scootaloo easily skates around inside it, rolling up and down the walls, riding up to the lip and performing all sorts of fancy tricks you don’t know the names of, but they definitely look impressive.
>He flips you the bird on a couple of them as he looks up at you standing on the edge.
>You laugh every time.
>Kid’s trying so hard to look cool, you don’t really take offense to it.
>He hops up onto the edge you’re standing on eventually, not looking winded or tired or anything, but with a slight sheen of sweat on his face.
>”So how much of that you think you can fail at?”
“Well, all of it probably. I’ll be lucky if I can stay on the skateboard. Also, I counted fifteen middle fingers. Was that strictly necessary?”
>Scootaloo looks away from you, face going red yet again.
>”No, probably not.”
“Haha! It’s okay, it’s okay. I don’t actually care. You were showing off, and that’s great. You’re very good. Now let me see if I can at least make it from one side to the other.”
>”Good luck, dude.”
>Scootaloo hands you the skateboard, and you look at it closely, flipping it over to take a look at the bottom as well.
>It was bright blue, with wheels that matched the colour of Scoots’ hair and eyes, with a lightning bolt coming out of a cloud on the bottom. Pretty nice quality, and good colours.
“Nice skateboard, by the way. It matches you quite well.”
>Scootaloo grins at the compliment.
>”Thanks, but you’re stalling, come on and give it a go. Just roll from one side to the other.”
“I’m… psyching myself up, okay?”
>Scoots pushes you lightly in your side, laughing.

>You put the skateboard on the edge of the bowl like you’d seen on TV, with the front set of wheels leaning over the edge, and stand on top, legs slightly bent.
>You wobble a little, but you take in a deep breath and gently shift yourself forward.
>Inch by inch, you slowly go until you feel your weight begin to take over and the whole thing tip over the edge, and you yell in terror.
>Faintly you recognize the sound of Scootaloo laughing beyond your own terrorized screams.
>Surprisingly, you don’t fall off as you roll down the bowl, you reach the bottom and yell triumphantly, then you start going up the other side.
>Unfortunately, you don’t compensate for your height as you roll up the far side, and as you straighten up, your center of gravity takes over and you feel yourself fall backward as the skateboard goes up the far side.
“oh shit.”
>You hit the ground with a heavy thump, the wind escaping your lungs from the impact. You feel the skateboard bounce against your side, your legs pointed uphill, and you stare up at the canopy.
>You hear footsteps running down the side of the bowl you’d come from, and suddenly Scoots’ concerned face is above yours.
>”You alright dude?”
>You wheeze and give him a thumbs-up.
“M’good.”
>He squats next to your head, resting his arms on his knees.
>”You did the roll down just fine, but you need to push into the wall when you’re going up it, or you’ll fall off. Can’t keep your legs stiff like that.”
“Heh. Gotcha. Lemme try again.”
>”That’s the spirit!”
>Scootaloo helps you out of the bowl, bringing the skateboard with him, then hands it to you when you’re at the top once again.
>”Alright, remember you can’t keep your legs so stiff, crouch into everything, let your legs be flexible. Sort of… independent of your upper body.”

>You nod, not sure exactly if you can manage it, but you give it a go.
>You tilt forward on the skateboard, long arms wobbling on either side of you unsteadily.
>As you go over the edge, you keep your knees bent this time in order to have better control.
>You flop over as soon as you reach the bottom, rolling to a stop on your side as the skateboard swings up the other side, then back past you, mocking you as it effortlessly glides up and down.
>Scootaloo, meanwhile, is looking down at you from the top, giggling uncontrollably.
“Too loose?”
>”Little too loose there, my man.”
>You sigh and pull yourself up, climb out of the bowl, and try again.
>After many more spills, and much more instruction from Scootaloo, you eventually make it up the other side, and then back, rolling gently to a slow stop in the middle of the bowl.
>Scootaloo whoops wildly, punching the air as he hops excitedly.
>”Yeah! You got it! Nice fuckin’ job!”
>You grin happily, climbing slowly out of the bowl.
>Scoots holds up his hand for a high five, and you hit it lightly.
>”Oh come on, that was weak as fuck! Gimme a manly high-five, bitch!”
>You shrug and rear back while Scootaloo does the same, and your hands power through the air toward each other.
>With a resounding ‘SMACK!’, you high-five each other like true warriors, a thunderclap roaring through the empty skate park.
>Followed by rainfall.
>The two of you look shocked for a moment, turning your heads to the sky.
>”Holy shit. We high-fived so hard, we summoned rain.”
“Hot damn. That’s fucking awesome.”
>You grin down at Scootaloo, and he grins back, and you rear back for another.
>This time, there’s no flash of lightning or clap of thunder, sadly, but the rain starts coming down harder.
“Okay, okay! Geeze Thor! Didn’t mean to steal… hmm… your thunder!”
>Scootaloo punches you in the side.
>You laugh.
“We should get out of the rain, though. My place?”
>”Your place.”

>The two of you jog back to your place, Scoots barely breathing hard, while you had to stop several times and walk. 
>Both of you get back there completely soaked, however, and you step inside, dripping a small puddle in your entryway as both you and Scoots crowd in there.
>You slip off your shoes and socks, and head inside, leaving Scoots to get himself sorted out.
>You make your way to your closet and start rummaging through it for dry clothes.
“Hey Scoots, is it gonna be awkward for you if I change out here, or should I go into the bathroom?
>”What?”
“I want to change out of my wet clothes, is it alright if I change out here or would you prefer I go into the bathroom? I don’t want to make you feel awkward.”
>Scootaloo stops shaking his jacket out and look at you like a deer in headlights.
>”Oh! Uh… It’s uh… it’s fine out here, I guess.”
>It obviously wasn’t.
“I’ll just head into the bathroom, then.”
>”I said it’s fine!”
“Scoots, you’re a terrible liar.”
>You grab your stuff and head into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.
>By the time you come back out, Scoots had his sock hung up on the back of you wooden chair, and was sitting at the front of it, his shirt dry on the back thanks to his jacket, but soaked on the front.
>His pants were also a terribly damp mess.
“Geeze. Do you want to borrow some shorts or something while I dry everything out? The dryer’s right across the way. It’s the manager’s personal machine and he lets me use it. Friend of the family, you know.”
>Scoots looks down at himself, slapping his hands wetly against his pants.
>He looks like he’s weighing something in his mind. Poor kid was quite obviously feeling rather awkward about the whole thing.

>You’d think someone who spends most of their time in a changing room with a bunch of other guys at gymnastics events wouldn’t be so self-conscious.
>Mind you, Scoots has that whole super-short thing going on, and a huge complex about it. Maybe it wasn’t so strange after all. Now you were curious what size his dick was, of all things.
>Geeze.
>”Yeah, that’d actually be pretty nice.”
“Okay, lemme see what I got. What size waist are you?”
>”Oh, size four.”
>You do a double-take.
“FOUR?!”
>Scootaloo looks panicked for a moment.
>”Oh… right! In men’s! Sorry, I… have to buy women’s or children’s clothing. Heh… I don’t know what it is in men’s.”
>You calm down. That made sense.
“Oh, right. Yeah. The height thing. Makes sense. I was wondering for a second! ‘My waist is my spinal column!’ Because that isn’t scary as all hell!”
>Scootaloo laughs with you. A bit awkwardly at first, but he relaxes soon enough.
>You try to find anything that might work, but all the clothes you own are a size 32.
“Well shit Scoots. I don’t have anything even remotely that small. I have my swim trunks, you can try them on and pull the drawstring super duper tight, I guess.”
>You pull the trunks out of the closet and toss them to Scoots, and throw a shirt with the triforce on it at him as well.
“You’ll swim in the shirt, but that’s not the important part. Try on the trunks and see if those’ll do for you.”
>”Cool, thanks Anon.”
“I’ll pull up some games while you’re in there.”
>Scootaloo disappears into the bathroom, and you go through your games library to see what you can find. You wanted something co-op if possible. Scootaloo had a competitive streak in him, so you’d save that for later.
>Hmmm. Scoots was young. Maybe he didn’t know about the glory that was the arcade. You pull up the arcade version of Turtles in Time you had on your computer and get the controllers set up, then start heating up the oven.

>You’re in the kitchen when Scoots opens up the bathroom door and you turn around to ask him what took him so long.
>He’s tugging on the shirt collar, and with your height advantage you can see straight down the massively wide collar.
>His whole chest is visible to you.
>He looks up at you with an expression of both horror and some fear.
>…
“Holy shit Scoots, you’re fucking ripped!”
>His expression changes to confusion.
“Seriously, lift the shirt up, lemme have a look!”
>He slowly grabs the bottom of the shirt and lifts it up past his belly, but stops just under his chest, holding it close against his skin.
>You crouch down and point at abdomen.
“Wait, they’re gone. Do you have to flex to make them appear?”
>”Oh, yeah. Hang on.”
>Scoots concentrates and flexes, making his abs far more prominent.
“Hot damn. Gymnastics does wonders.”
>”Uh, thanks, I guess.”
>Scoots lowers his shirt, his other hand holding his pile of laundry.
“Just toss your wet clothes in the hamper and I’ll take them over to dry them out after I get the food going. Then we’re gonna play some Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!”
>”Turtles?” Scoots looks confused. “Oh, right! The ninjas named after painters.”
“Your age is showing Scoots.”
>”Hey, it’s not my fault they’re not as popular now as they were back when you were a kid ‘old man’. Also, I don’t get as much time to mess about as you do.”
“Hmmm, you’re right. I shall take you under my wing, teach you all the cool stuff your poor child-like brain has yet to encounter.”
>”Pffft. Fine. Whatever. Nerd.”
“Jock.”
>Scoots goes to sit down, your shirt drooping off one of his shoulders like those morning-after women you see in media.
>Except this was a sixteen year-old dude and it was evening.
>Also, he was a ripped sixteen year-old dude.

>You pick up the laundry while waiting for the oven to preheat and slip on your sandals to get it going.
“Feel free to start without me. I can jump in whenever.”
>Not needing to be told twice, Scoots picks up a controller and you hear ‘Let’s kick shell!’ as you step out the door.
>You carefully go through the laundry, checking everything that needs cleaned. You figure it’ll be fine, and you’ll have enough time to wash as well as dry. 
>You check all your stuff, dumping it in as the washer fills up, and check Scoots’ stuff to see if there were special requirements. Not finding any, you dump it in, but don’t find any unfamiliar tiny underwear.
>Ah Scoots. Still young and uncomfortable. Oh well.
>You leave the hamper on top of the washer and head back inside.
>Scoots is still on the first level, and it looked like he picked Raphael.
“Is he your favourite turtle?”
>”Hell yeah he is. I know enough about them to know which one is which, and Raphael is the strongest turtle.”
>You nod sagely.
“He is, but he’s also the most hot-headed. He makes rash decisions.”
>”Sure, but who cares when you can beat down everyone else?”
“Leonardo wins half of those fights because he doesn’t let his emotions get the best of him. Tactics and a cool head avail you more than sheer brute strength.”
>You grab the other controller and hop in as Michaelangelo.
>”What happened to tactics and a cool head?”
“Who cares when PIZZA’S NEARBY!”
>You proceed to steal every single slice of pizza in the game as you play, with Scootaloo getting mad at you the whole time.
>”Don’t you fucking dare! I have one life and a single bar of health! Don’t you fucking dare!”
“PIZZA POWER!” You yell, and eat it while at full health.
>”God dammit Anon! You prick!”
“PARTAAAAY!” You yell, in your best Michaelangelo impression.

>Scootaloo shoves you, scowling, but you can see a smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth. Your ridiculous attitude, and infinite credits, helped him to enjoy your shenanigans.
>You stop during the train level, remembering you had to get pizza bites going.
“Just let my dude die, I’ll be back in a jiffy. I’m making us some shitty party food.”
>”Awesome!”
>You hustle into the kitchen, spread the pizza bites on a pan, and slip them into the oven, setting the timer for ‘molten middle’.
>You hurry back to you seat, and Scoots appears to have managed to keep you alive, having taken up guardianship of Michaelangelo in your absence.
“Hey, well thanks.”
>”Raphael wouldn’t let his teammates die. He’s stronger than that.”
“Hah! Yeah, that’s definitely true. He’s an ass, but he’s got a heart of gold somewhere in there.”
>You continue playing some more, and you no longer steal all the pizza. Just most of it.
>The pizza bites finish sometime on the final level, and you again drop your controller to go get it.
>You hear Scoots in the other room grunting and complaining at the amount of enemies he has to kill to keep you alive.
>”Noooooo!”
“What?! What happened.”
>”I let you die, I’m sorry!”
“Pffft. Haha! Is that all?”
>”I’m a bad Raphael.”
>You ruffle his hair as you sit back down with a plate of pizza bites. He swats at your hand.
“You’re a perfectly fine Raphael IF, you manage to avenge my death and defeat Shredder. That’s what Raphael would do.”
>”What, you’re not gonna join me?”
“Nope. You gotta avenge my death, Scoots.”
>”Ugh. Fine. Raphael’s gotta do all the hard work!”
>You watch as Scoots finishes the game, burning your mouth on pizza bites while he works through the final level.
>He dies a lot, and uses a lot of credits, but he manages it.
“Yeah, nice job! Pizza power!”

>You pick up a pizza bite and toss it at him.
>It hits him in the face and falls down his shirt.
>”God damnit Anon.”
>He fishes it out and eats it, catching up on the pizza bites while the ending rolls.
>As April winks at the screen, you sigh happily.
“Ah, April. You goddamn hottie. When I was a kid I had such a crush on April.”
>”She’s got tits, though. Huge tits, from the looks of it.”
“Oh man, does she ever. Let me tell you, in the original cartoon series, she was goddamn stacked. That’s not why she’s hot, though. She’s a redhead, and that jumpsuit. Oh man, that jumpsuit.”
>”Doesn’t seem very professional for a reporter.”
“Shit no, but it was hot, so nobody cared. I have porn of her, too.”
>Scoots looks at you as he stuffs another pizza bite in his mouth.
>”Seriously? How much fucking porn do you have, dude?”
“So much! Oh my. So much.”
>Scoots suddenly becomes very interested in the pizza bites, shoving one after the other into his mouth. Thankfully they’ve cooled off enough to not burn him at this point.
“Oh right! The laundry! Be right back!”
>You dash out across the hall, and transfer the wash into the dryer, checking the tags for any special instructions.
>When you make it back in, you kick off your sandals to find Scoots sitting at your computer.
>He looks over at you, guilt written plainly on his face.
>You give him a wry look.
“Scoots, are you rummaging through my porn again?”
>”Uh…”
“Yes?”
>”Y-yeah.”
“Geeze kid. Do you never masturbate or something?”
>He blushes super hard, going red as a tomato.
>”Of course I do! I’ve just never encountered this much porn before.”
“Geeze, I’m corrupting you so hard. Don’t tell your mum I’m letting you look at porn, all right? This is weird enough as it is.”

>”I generally try to keep everything about you a secret. She knows you exist, but not much more than that. I think she’s just happy I have a friend.”
“Well alright. Then it’s fine, so long as I’m not making this awkward. I mean, I am, but more awkward than necessary.”
>You pointedly avoid looking at his lap. If he’s got a chub, you don’t need to see it.
>Scoots might be gay, but if he was, why was he so interested in looking at your girly pics?
>So long as he wasn’t after you or anything. Flattering, but doomed to failure.
“Okay, well, did you want the April pics or something?”
>”Uh… sure, yeah.”
“Alright, those are under Cartoons, TMNT, April.”
>”What the hell are all these names? Why is Leonardo in here?”
“Rule 63 of the internet, Scoots. There’s a female version of everything.”
>”So you have female versions of every single one of the turtles in here? AND Splinter?!”
“Damn right.”
>”You’re a sick fuck, you know that.”
“Eh. Everyone is. Most are just too afraid to admit it. You wanted in on this can of worms, my boy. You made your bed, now sleep in it.”
>You grab him by the shoulders, one of which the shirt is still hanging off of, and feels incredibly smooth and soft, and you shake him gently.
“So what else you interested in? If you want real life pics, I have some of those. Not too many, though.”
>Scootaloo ignores you and clicks on the folder labeled April and starts scrolling through them.
>April in her jumpsuit, April out of her jumpsuit, April in the middle of taking off her jumpsuit. April engaging in sex with every single member of the Turtles cast one at a time.
>You had it all, and Scootaloo was scrolling through it in abject disbelief.
>You’re not sure if that expression was horror or what, but whatever. This was his decision.
>After a few minutes of scrolling through your pictures of April, Scootaloo turns to you.
>”So, why the jumpsuit?”

“Why is it exciting, you mean?”
>”Yeah.”
“Because with a jumpsuit, there’s only a single article of clothing standing between you and the rest of the girl, and that huge zipper down the front means you can zip ever so slowly down, revealing it inch by delightful inch.”
>”You think about this a lot, huh?”
>You shrug.
“Fantasies, and likely nothing more. The cartoon characters aren’t real, but it’s at least titillating. Gets me off.”
>”You’re a real weird one, Anon.”
“So I’m told. Yet here you are. By choice even.”
>”Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment. More games, then?”
“Sure. What time do you need to be home?”
>”Ten-ish. Though if this rain keeps up, I might need to try to get a ride. Not sure if my mum is back in town, though, and my coach is taking care of his kids this weekend. They don’t want me getting sick.”
“Well, when it gets closer to ten, we’ll just have to wing it. Let’s play some games in the meantime.”
>”Yeah!”
>You run through your gamut of arcade games, playing a bunch of co-op games Scoots had never even heard of, and many that you weren’t even sure what they were.
>Eventually, it gets close to ten, and the rain was still coming down.
>”Well damn. Lemme text and see if I can get a ride.
>Scoots grabs his phone from his jacket pocket and fires off a few texts. You play games while you wait for a response, pausing it every time he gets a message so he can respond.
>Shortly, he sighs, rubbing his forehead.
>”Damn. No one can pick me up. Mom is out of town at the moment, and my coach is watching his kids and is putting them to bed. He’s not going to leave them home alone, and he’s not going to wake them up.”
“Damn. I don’t have a car, man.”
>”Yeah, I could take a taxi, but I don’t really want to, and they don’t want me walking home because I might get sick from the rain.”

“Well, you can stay here for the night if you want. I don’t mind.”
>Scoots looks at you with relief.
>That was probably what he was hoping for this whole time.
>You suppress a grin.
>”I’ll ask, then. No idea how this will go over.”
>Scoots sends off a long message, and gets a flurry of responses one after another.
>His mother certainly doesn’t send messages in one big lump, does she?
>Scoots lets out an exasperated grunt and quickly types out a message.
>At this point you remember you still haven’t pulled the laundry out of the dryer. It’s been hours. Whoops.
“Oh! The laundry! Be right back!”
>You stand up, glancing down at Scootaloo as you get up.
>You get a glimpse of his phone, and you can’t help but read what you see: “Ugh, no mom, she’s not gay, no she doesn’t have a boyfriend, so no, her boyfriend isn’t here.”
>You walk to the exit, confused by what you saw.
>Was Scoots telling his mother you were a girl?
>That’s a weird lie to tell about your guy friend.
>Wait… Scootaloo mentioned his mother thought he was gay.
>So staying a boy’s house would be the same as staying at a girl’s house if he were straight, right?
>Ohhh, right. That makes sense now.
>Still, it was a lie, and that could come back to bite him.
>You pull the clothes out the dryer, dump them into the hamper and head back inside, the rain pounding down outside the doors.
>As you slip off your sandals, Scoots yells at you from in front of the computer.
>”Hey nerd, good news! I’m staying the night!”
“Heyyy nice! We can play games all damn night! This calls for some celebratory-… wait. Damn. You’re only sixteen.”
>”Celebratory what?”
>You idly toss Scoots his clothes and chew on your lip thoughtfully.
>”Celebratory what?” Scoots says again.
“I was gonna say drinks, but you’re too young by far.”
>”Ohhh, yeah. I’m definitely not allowed to have that. You can go ahead and drink, though. I won’t be offended.”

“You sure?”
>”Yeah, go ahead.”
>You open up your fridge and pull out a beer, popping off the cap before seating yourself and scrolling through the games.
>Scootaloo is watching you drink.
>You shake your head at him.
“Nope.”
>”I don’t know what you’re noping at. Pick a game already.”
>You finally spot the one you were looking for: Dungeons and Dragons: Shadow over Mystara.
“Here we go. You should like this one. You can be the beefy cleric, or the beefy dwarf, or the beefy fighter, or the beefy wizard, or the beefy elf. She’s beefy for an elf. Or the Thief, who isn’t quite as beefy, but looks a lot like you. She gots ABS, Scoots. Abs for DAYS.”
>Scootaloo rolls his eyes and looks at the character select screen. True to form, he picks the beefy cleric.
>You pick the thief, specifically to mess with him.
>”You did that on purpose didn’t you?”
“What? Nah. Naaaaah.”
>He punches you in the side, grinning.
>He’s getting a sense of humor about it. That’s excellent. At least where you’re concerned.
>You game for a while, and you run through your first beer. You grab a second one from the fridge, leaving Scoots to fight in game.
>You’re halfway through it when you have to take a piss and you excuse yourself for a moment.
>As you’re in the middle of pissing, you hear coughing coming from the living room.
>You’re pretty sure you know exactly what happened.
>You wash your hands and head back out. Scoots is sitting there with a look of betrayal on his face, and the beer is slightly moved from where you left it.
>You sit back down and continue playing.
“So how’d it taste?”
>”What?”
“How’d you like the taste?”
>”I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“C’mon Scoots. I’m not stupid. I heard you choking from the bathroom. How’d you like the taste of the beer?”

>”Ugh, fine! It tasted absolutely awful, are you happy?”
“Very. I figured you’d taste it eventually, no matter what I said, you little rebel.”
>”It tasted like shit, why the fuck would anyone want to drink that garbage?”
“Eh, you get used to it. Some people like the bitter taste, others just enjoy the buzz from getting drunk.”
>”I don’t understand any of that when it tastes that bad.”
“You’ll get it eventually.”
>”Bleah. Not looking forward to that.”
>You finish the game eventually, and Scootaloo agrees that it was fantastic.
>”Man, for such an old game, that was amazing! Not as fast-paced as other games I’ve seen, but still fantastic!”
“Right? Good stuff from way back. I love this shit.”
>You shut down the games, and check your emails real quick, making sure you didn’t miss anything important.
“Did you need to check anything online Scoots? I’m tired, so I’ll start preparing the bed, but you can go ahead and check stuff if you need to.”
>”Oh, yeah, sure.”
>The two of you swap places, and you move the chairs out of the way, rolling up the controllers and their cords to make room for the bed to fold out of the wall.
>It drops down, and you sit down on the edge, watching Scoots mess about on your computer.
“Alright Scoots, how did you want to handle this. I’m okay with sharing a bed, but I want to know what you would prefer to do. I’m trying not to make you uncomfortable here.”
>Scootaloo swivels around in the desk chair, looking at you and the bed in turn. Your shirt is still hanging off his shoulder despite his many attempts to keep it up, and you can see a lot of his well-toned chest and bicep.
>”Oh… uh. We can… share. I guess. I’ll live with it.”
>He’s embarrassed again. Poor kid.
“Okay, whatever you’re cool with. I only have the one blanket, so we’ll have to share. Sorry about that. I’ve never needed more than one.”

>”That’s fine. It’s big enough, and I’m small enough.”
>Heyyyy, he’s making references to his height around you! Progress!
“Cool.”
>You get the bed set up, and head into the bathroom to brush your teeth, leaving Scoots sitting at your computer.
>After you come back out, you find him once again rooting through your porn. This time he was in the ‘delicious flat chest’ folder.
“Oh come on, Scoots. I know you’re a horny sixteen year-old, but seriously. Don’t you have a computer at home?”
>”Yeah, but I don’t have this much of it saved, I’d have to find my own.”
>You roll your eyes and crawl into the far side of the bed, facing away from the computer’s glow.
“Whatever. Just don’t make too much noise if you’re gonna keep staring at it, and don’t delete or rearrange anything! Seriously. Damn kid.”
>”I’m not a kid!”
“I’m ten years older than you! I can call you that if I want. Just shut the computer down when you’re done. Now hush. Ah’m sleepin’.”
>Scootaloo shuts up, and you only hear the occasional click as he messes about in your porn.
>You only hope he has the decency to head into the bathroom if he insists on rubbing one out.
>You do your best to ignore the sounds of Scoots’ activity, and you’ve just about drifted off when you feel the bed shift as he crawls in on the other side.
>You don’t know if you missed him heading into the bathroom or whatever, but you hope he’s satisfied. His parents would never forgive you if they found out.
>Ah well. You fall asleep shortly after, too sleepy to worry.

>In the morning you wake up with an ache in your back.
>Grunting, you shift and twist until you finally manage to pull away from something that you were sleeping on.
>You open your eyes and pull yourself painfully to a sitting position and look at whatever the hell it was.
>It was a foot.
>You follow it up to the body it was attached to, and remember that Scoots had spent the night.
>And was a very restless sleeper.
>And also borrowed your clothes.
>He was twisted and tangled up in the blankets, having turned himself completely sideways on the bed, with one arm under the blankets, and one leg up near the pillows, and the other where you back recently was.
>Your clothes also seriously didn’t fit him, and your shirt had ridden all the way to be bunched at his chin, one arm having slipped out of it, exposing his bare chest in its entirety.
>He had some serious definition going on there, but his nipples were oddly prominent.
>The swim trunks you had lent him were also too big, and the drawstring had come undone during the night. They’d slid down some to expose a good portion of his underwear.
>Under armour brand, of course. Looked like compression shorts. Fitting for a runner and gymnast.
>Your eyes drifted unwarranted toward his groin, but the shorts still managed to cover most of that.
>Realizing where you were looking, you avert your gaze, heat rising in your cheeks.
>God damn Anon. You pervert. 
>Couldn’t deny the kid had some serious definition, though. That stomach, dude. Sweet Jesus.
>You stand up and leave Scoots to sleep some more, not bothering to cover him up, and you perform your morning ritual.
>When you come out of the shower, you start rummaging through your closet for clothes, when you hear Scoots wake up.

>He stretches, and you watch with amusement as he starts to slide off the back of the bed.
>He fully wakes up just in time to take the tumble, his legs kicking awkwardly as the swim trunks constrict them together, sliding further down his legs.
>”Gah, fucking- bitch- tits, motherfuck!”
>You’re just laughing your ass off as Scoots orients himself on the far side of the bed. He sits up straight, his messy hair sticking out all over.
>As his eyes latch onto the source of the laughter, you, they widen. He looks down at himself, clad only in his underpants, and hastily covers himself, one arm crossing his chest, the other going down between his legs.
>…
>Huh. Weird.
>”Wha-wha-what the fuck? Where are my clothes? How-how much did you see?”
>You pick up Scoots’ clothes from yesterday, now fully dry, and toss them over the bed to him.
“Right here, Scoots. You know, you’re a really restless sleeper. You managed to toss and turn out of the clothes I gave you, and I woke up with your foot embedded in my back.”
>Scoots takes his clothes and bundles them in front of himself, trying to cover up with them.
>”So you saw my... my…”
“Your underpants? Yeah. Nothing else, though. Under armour does a great job of covering up and staying put, even during a lot of motion.”
>Scoots buries his head in his clothes.
>”Oh gaaaaaawd.”
>You laugh gently, trying to calm him down. You walk around the bed and pat him on his naked back. 
>He flinches away slightly, so you back off.
“Sorry, sorry. But you shouldn’t worry so much. I saw nothing. Your family jewels were safely hidden. I know it seems a bit awkward, but I’m not offended.”
>Scoots is tearing up, just huddled up behind the bed. He’s actually starting to sniffle.
>Oh geeze.

“Uh… okay. You’re obviously not comfortable with this, so I’ll just go into the bathroom, and wait until you tell me you’re dressed and I can come out, okay? No hurry.”
>You point at the bathroom, and shuffle in, shutting the door behind you.
>You wait.
>And you wait.
>Maybe ten minutes goes by, and you can hear Scoots sniffling outside for most of it.
>Poor kid. You definitely went outside his comfort zone.
>You hadn’t meant to, but you guess those puberty hormones didn’t leave him much choice.
>Eventually, there’s a knock on the door.
>”I’m decent, and composed. You can come out.”
>You crack the door open slowly.
>Scoots is standing outside, his eyes a little red, but he’s dressed in his clothes from yesterday, his t-shirt hugging those strange curves of his.
>He’s staring at the ground at you come out, avoiding looking you in the eyes.
“You okay, Scoots? Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. When I woke up you were just lying there all sprawled out, and I didn’t want to wake you. I figured if I didn’t make a big deal of you being nearly naked it wouldn’t bother you. Sorry.”
>”It’s okay. It’s my fault for getting so worked up about it. How much did you see, exactly?”
“Your shirt came off, and the swim trunks were halfway down your thighs. Your underpants kept everything covered, though.”
>Scoots folds his arms in front of his chest, seemingly hugging himself. He still hasn’t looked up, just staring at the ground.
“You okay?”
>”Yeah I’ll… I’ll be fine. I’m gonna head out.”
“You don’t want breakfast first?”
>”Nah. I’ll… get something on my way home.”
“Alright, well, thanks for hanging out Scoots. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”
>Scoots is out the door without another word, the slam of it shutting making you wince.
“Well shit.”

>Later on in the day, sometimes after lunch, you’re heading out to run some errands, and you notice Scoots left his skateboard at your place.
>Geeze. He must have been really confused and feeling really down to forget that thing.
>You pick it up and set it down by your computer, then head out to do your thing.
>Once you’re back, you get yourself settled down, turn on the computer, and look him up on Facebook.
>You send ‘Brutaloo’ a simple; “Hey Scoots” and wait.
>He’s online, so you were hoping to get something soon, but there’s no response, even after you get the ‘seen’ indicator.
>Damn. So he’s still feeling upset about that whole thing.
“You forgot your skateboard here.”
>That one gets labeled as ‘seen’ almost immediately, but still no response.
“I’ll hold onto it until you’re feeling better. Let me know if you want me to bring it to campus during the week, okay? Talk to you later Scoots. Don’t be a stranger.”
>Once that one gets ‘seen’ and you still get no response, you just decide to give up, and just go about your day, checking every so often to see if he’s sent you a message.
>You get nothing, and you head to bed hoping you hadn’t ruined your first friendship here at campus so quickly.

>Two days later, after having heard nothing from Scoots, you finally turn on your computer to have received a message while you were at class.
>”Hey Anon. Sorry I bugged out so quickly. Thanks for holding on to my skateboard, I promise I’ll come get it soon. I just need some time.”
>Well, that was awfully promising. He said he’s come get it, so he wanted to hang out again at least.
>You’d have to try not to make things so awkward for him again.
>You spend the next couple days agonizing over schoolwork, what ways you can make it up to Scoots for making him so uncomfortable, and how lazy you’d become.
>Without friends to do stuff with, the incentive to go out and, well, DO STUFF, was hard to muster.
>By the time Friday hits, you decide that instead of just walking about aimlessly, you were going to use the free gym membership you had, and go for a swim!
>You grab your swim trunks, which you hadn’t washed since you lent them to Scoots, you disgusting monster, and a towel, then make your way over to the pool.
>It was a pretty average affair, the pool. It had lengths you could swim in, two heights of diving boards above a deep end, and a tiny section for the wee babies.
>You waggle your student ID at the lady at the counter, and she waves you in.
>You shuffle in, change into your trunks, and waddle carefully on out to the pool.
>No running, you know.
>You leap into an empty section of the pool near the deep end, and start swimming back and forth along a short and empty section of pool.
>There were quite a few students here, much to your surprise.
>Well, it’s Friday night, maybe not so surprising.
>A lot were doing like you and swimming lengths, while some were being casual about it and just messing about in the water.

>After several laps, you figure you should try your hand at some diving. See if you still knew how to do it properly.
>You climb out of the pool, make your way to the diving board and wait in line.
>Come your turn, you hold your form like you remember, bounce on the board a couple times… and make a spectacular belly flop!
>That stung. Both mentally and physically. You’d forgotten how to dive.
>You try again, and do a little better, but you were lopsided.
>The third time, you get it to an acceptable level, and decide you’re ready for the high dive!
>There’s no line for this one, so you clamber up the ladder, and stand at the top, surveying the pool.
>Supreme king of pool mountain! That’s you.
>As you’re looking over everything, psyching yourself up for your inevitably graceful dive, you spy some violet hair swimming laps at the shallow end.
>Scoots?
>Scoots was the only person you’d seen with violet hair, though it might just be someone else who’d dyed theirs.
>But come on, what were the chances?
>You squint harder.
>Wait… that can’t be Scoots, that’s a girl’s swimsuit!
>Would there really be a girl with violet hair the same colour and length as Scoots?
>That would be the weirdest fucking thing!
>You’d never asked Scoots about family, maybe that’s his sister?
>Could he have a twin?
>Height would be a good measure of whether that girl is Scoots’ twin, and you try to compare the body swimming lengths to those around her.
>Damn. No good. You’re too far away to get a good read on the girl with Scoot’s hair.
>You hurriedly get out to the end of the diving board and jump off the edge, not bothering with form.
>You cannonball into the water, making a massive splash, and swim as fast as you can over to the edge.
>You pull yourself out and… walk briskly…

>No running, you know.
>…over to the shallow end.
>You squint around, the chlorine in your eyes stinging as you try to find that girl with violet hair.
>Nothing.
>Dammit.
>You look around the edge of the pool. Maybe she’d gotten out while you were making your way over here!
>Eyes frantically flicking among the folks sitting and walking about the edge of the pool, you finally spot the violet hair.
>It WAS an incredibly short chick! With violet hair!
>…and she disappeared into the girl’s changing room as you watched.
>God dammit.
>Scoots had a sister!
>That must be his sister!
>I mean, how many incredibly short people could there possibly be on campus?
>Man, you had to ask him about his sister when you next met up!
>Oh geeze, you just realized, if his sister was as short as him, was… was she a… delicious flat chest?
>You try to imagine Scoots as a girl. Surprisingly, it wasn’t very hard.
>You wished you’d gotten a better look at her.
>You suddenly realize you were at the pool, and you were starting to chub up.
>You think unsexy thoughts and make your way to the changing room.
>As you’re changing, yet another thought comes to you: She was probably changing as well, and you’d get a chance to see her on your way out if you hurried!
>You don’t bother showering, and you barely dry yourself, struggling into your clothes while still damp.
>You make your way out to the front, looking around for her.
>Sadly, other than the girl at the counter, you don’t see any girls out here at all.
>She might have left already, if she cared as little as you did about changing, so you step out the front door, holding up a hand to shelter your eyes from the setting sun as you survey the parking lot.
>Nothin’.
>Damn.

>Maybe she hadn’t made it out yet. You had rushed out shortly after her, so maybe she was still taking her time.
>You decide to wait a few minutes.
>You loiter just outside the front door, ostensibly trying to look like you were waiting for someone, staring as wistfully as possible in the direction of the parking lot, with a corner of your eye on the front door of the pool.
>While you’re waiting, every time the door opens, you glance over, sadly not seeing the girl who looked like Scoots.
>Eventually, however, your eyes are on the parking lot for a moment, and you hear a familiar voice.
>”Anon? What are you doing here?”
>You turn and look at the voice.
“Scoots?”
>”Yeah it’s me. Why are you hanging around in front of the pool? Were you…” He looks a little panicked for a moment. “…swimming?”
“Yeah, I was. I’m done now. Actually, the reason I was hanging out here sort of has something to do with you. Do you have a sister?”
>Scoots kind of curls up on himself a little. If he had animal ears, you’d swear they’d be pulled back.
>”Uh… n-no? I don’t have a sister.”
“Seriously? Damn. Cause while I was swimming, I was up on the high dive, and I swear to GOD I saw a girl that had the same hair colour as you. I tried to get closer, but by the time I’d seen her she disappeared into the changing rooms.”
>”R-really? That’s uh… that’s weird as hell. You’d think violet hair would be easier to spot on campus.”
“Yeah, but to be fair, I don’t get out much. Speaking of, though, we must have just missed each other.”

>”Oh, y-yeah. I change in one of the private stalls all the time. I’m a little self, uh, conscious. You know?”
“Yeah, can’t fault you there.”
>”Hey, listen, I need to get going, but I promise I’ll contact you soon, Anon. Thanks for being so cool about everything. I just need time, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks for chatting Scoots! I’m gonna wait here for a few more minutes, see if I can’t spot that girl. She might be a ‘delicious flat chest’, you know? I’d like to see if I can meet her.”
>You wink at Scoots, and he kind of winces.
>Obviously got no faith in your abilities.
>”Yeah… good luck Anon.”
>Scoots waves weakly as he walks off, and you stand there, waiting.
>You don’t see her come out, and after another fifteen minutes you give up and wander off back home.
>You’d either missed her, she was taking her sweet time changing, or she had friends she was waiting for.
>Either way, it wasn’t going to be worth it waiting so long, so you just dropped it. Violet hair should be pretty easy to spot around campus.
>Once you’re home, you find that you’ve received more messages from Scoots on Facebook.
>He wasn’t interested in meeting up any time soon, but he wants to talk, so you do.
>You just chat about random shit; movies, comics, videogames, sports, and you both go to bed after a delightful chat.

>It goes on like this for another two weeks, with Scoots refusing to take his skateboard back and continually saying he’ll “come get it”.
>You went to the swimming pool at the same time of day on Friday, but you don’t see that girl again, nor did you see her around campus.
>That was a bit frustrating.
>Sure it was a big campus, but Scoots was the only person you’d seen with violet hair, so other than Scoots, you’d think she would be easy to spot.
>You chat with Scoots nearly every day online, actually having an online voice chat once while you played Street Fighter IV online against him.
>He was getting better, but you still completely wrecked him.
>You even bring up the violet-haired girl a couple times, asking if Scoots had seen her while swimming, but he hadn’t.
>It was a real shame.
>After the two weeks, however, Scoots finally asked if you wanted to hang out again.
>”Hey there nerd.”
“Hey jock.”
>You were now referring to each other by those terms rather constantly. You both found it hilarious, especially when you bumped into each other on campus.
>One of your classmates who’d happened to be there when you exchanged pleasantries with Scoots had called you “so high school”.
>He was right. You’d laughed.
>”You want to hang out again?”
“Hell yeah, Scoots!”
>”You think you can handle a little hiking?”
>Aw Scoots. Always trying to get you out of your little cave.
“Hah. I can survive it I’m sure.”
>”Cool. I found a pretty isolated path on the eastern edge of the city we can hike on. It’s got a lot of paths, both easy and difficult, so I’m sure we can find something that’ll work for you.”
“Har har. But yeah, that’s fine. When were you thinking?”
>”I have a day free on Tuesday if you do.”
“Well, I have class, so it’ll have to be later in the day, but yeah, I can probably swing it.”
>”Sweet! Here’s the location.”

>Scoots sends you a google map of the spot he was talking about. It would be a bit of a bus ride, but it was pretty accessible despite that.
“So where do you want to meet?”
>”Same place as usual?”
“Heh. Sure. We can catch a bus near there.”
>”Cool! I gotta go for now. Got gymnastics practice, but I’ll talk to you later!”
“Hey, wait! Can I come watch? It’s Sunday and I got nothing to do. I’d love to see one of your performances.”
>You get the ‘seen’ marker almost immediately, so you know Scoots saw it, but it takes him almost two whole minutes before he starts typing.
>”No, I’m sorry. It’s just a private thing for me and my coach. I’d get self conscious.”
>Damn. You really wanted to see Scoots work.
“Alright. Thought I’d ask anyway.”
>”It’s cool. Catch you later Anon.”
>And with that, he’s gone.
>You sit for a moment, thinking, then look up when campus gymnastics events are going to be held. He can’t prevent you from going to a public performance.

>When Tuesday finally rolls around you have everything ready before you head out to class, taking only the necessities to class, but cramming in some water and snacks for the trip.
>You’d agreed to meet very shortly after your class, so you head there immediately, and are waiting at the boom barrier for Scoots to show up, dropping your backpack to the ground next to you.
>You don’t actually hear him, but you feel a hand softly touch the small of your back.
>”Hey nerd.”
“Hey jock! What took y-“
>You turn around and forget what you were saying upon seeing Scoots.
>He’s wearing a jumpsuit.
>It’s not yellow, but he has the sleeves rolled up a bit, and the zipper is down slightly, exposing some of his chest.
>It’s rather form-fitting too, especially around his hips, showing off that weird curve he had.
>His boots were solid hiking boots, at least.
“You actually went and got a jumpsuit.”

>Scoots nods, looking a little embarrassed, shifting back and forth on his heels.
“Dude, that is AWESOME! I’d always wanted one myself, but never had the guts to do it! Where’d you get it? How the hell did you get one in your size, to boot?”
>You circle around Scoots, crouching to get a look at the jumpsuit.
>He kind of freezes up as you get behind him and look him up and down.
“This is sweet as all hell, man. You’re living the dream! You’re an April fan now, eh?”
>”Well, I got it online. I had to get some of it modified to fit me, but thankfully my coach knows a guy. As for April, well… not exactly.”
“Well then why get the jumpsuit?”
>Scoots gives you a look that seems sort of a combination of frustration and helplessness.
“Hey, don’t gimme that look, I’m just wonderin’! Anyway, let’s talk as we walk.”
>Scoots grunts and follows you.
>You don’t actually talk as you walk. Scoots remains very silent, looking down at his feet while you walk.
>He also didn’t bring anything like water or the like in order to hike.
>You wondered if everything was okay.
>As you wait for the bus Scoots is sitting next to you on the bench, his legs swinging slightly. He seems kind of anxious, leaning forward and fiddling with his hands.
>”Hey, Anon?”
“Yeah, what’s up? Everything okay?”
>”Let’s… not go hiking.”
>Something was definitely up.
“Seriously? It was your idea.”
>”I know! And now I don’t want to.”
“Well… alright. But something’s up. What’s going on, Scoots?”
>The bus arrives, and you shake your head at the bus driver, grabbing Scoots’ arm and pulling him up as you slowly begin walking back to the park.
>Scoots doesn’t pull away at first, but eventually he yanks his arm away from you, pulling in on himself and folding his arms up.
>You stop walking and turn to face him, crouching down in front of him.

“Hey, c’mon Scoots. I know something’s wrong. You’re making it really obvious, and I’d also say you wanted to talk about it or you wouldn’t have lied to get me to meet up.”
>”I didn’t lie. I did feel like going hiking. But… now I don’t. I’m allowed to change my mind.”
>He’s avoiding looking you in the face.
“Then what’s up?”
>”Can we go back to your place? I’ll tell you there.”
“Yeah, sure.”
>You stand back up and start walking, slowly, in order to let Scoots easily keep up.
>He doesn’t say anything the whole way, but out of the corner of your eye you can see him blush rather frequently.
>Aw man… was he crushing on you?
>He bought a jumpsuit after you said you loved them, he even had it zipped down a bit.
>Very yaranaika of him.
>He was acting awkward about something, but he wouldn’t tell you what, and that blushing.
>He was probably psyching himself up to say something about it to you, and he wanted a private place to do it.
>You were letting him lead you back to your place.
>What could be more private than that?
>Maaaaan. You were gonna have to turn him down, but there’s no sense pushing it until he’s ready. Just try to be as calm as possible and not make it weird for him.
>By the time you arrive, Scoots is very nearly hyperventilating, so you just open the door and let him in.
>He pushes in ahead of you, kicking his boots off, and heads into the bathroom.
>You hear retching.
>Aw god. Poor kid made himself sick.
>You pour him a glass of water and put it on the kitchen counter just outside the bathroom.
“Water for you just outside the door, Scoots.”
>You put your stuff away and get yourself settled in front of your computer, playing Street Fighter until he’s done.

>Eventually, he comes out and chugs down the water, giving you a weak, but grateful, smile.
“Feeling better?”
>”Yeah, I do, thanks. I’m sorry about all this.”
“It’s alright, kid. We’ve all been there.”
>You pat the chair next to you and he comes to sit down, shifting it slightly closer to you.
>You pass him the controller and the two of you start playing.
>You don’t want to push him just yet, let him get comfortable first.
>After a bit of gaming, in which he beats you once with Abel, you finally broach the subject again.
“So what’s up, Scoots?”
>He takes in a deep breath, holds it for a minute, then lets it out.
>”I always wanted to be really big, you know. Like bodybuilder huge.”
>You nod, remembering his Facebook profile.
“Yeah, I gathered that. Your Facebook profile was a pretty good indication of that.”
>He reddens, and you remind yourself to tread a bit more carefully.
>”Yeah, well, when I got older it became obvious that wasn’t going to happen. My growth spurt didn’t really happen, and… other things… got in the way of that. By the time I turned fourteen it was obvious my childhood dream would never happen.”
“That sucks, man. Drew the short straw, it would seem.”
>Scoots makes a disgusted noise.
>”Yeah, so it would seem. Every year my friends got taller, and bulkier, and I stayed the same. Puberty didn’t do anything for me at all. No hair anywhere except my head. No height. No growth anywhere. Nothing.”
>That got your attention.
“No hair, like, anywhere, anywhere?” You point down.
>He gives a weird grin.
>”Nowhere but my head.”
>You were just curious, but you realize you probably seemed to indicate interest. Hope that didn’t give him any hope.
>It probably did.
>Fuck.

>”I tried to compromise and settle, but all that time I spent in track and field, failing at the high jump, long jump, sprinting, throwing, takes its toll. I’d never be as good as other people in any of them.”
>Scoots puts down the controller, using his hands more as he talks.
>”So I thought I’d get into weightlifting, you know? Get as big as might be possible for me. My parents didn’t really want me to do that, so they suggested gymnastics.”
>You nod, acknowledging.
>”’You don’t have to be tall for gymnastics!’ they said. ‘Being short is actually a bonus!’”
>Scoots’ hands fall into his lap after he quotes them.
>”Yeah, that’s great, and I’m good at it, but it’s still not what I wanted. Biology won’t let me have what I want.”
“Hey, man. I’m sorry. I know it’s not the same thing, but I wanted to be an Astronomer, but I’m terrible at math.”
>Scoots forces a weak laugh.
“Yeah, not the same thing at all. Sorry.”
>”It’s okay. I know you meant well. I was always on edge around everyone because of my height, and my disgust with my body for betraying me so badly.”
“Hey, your body is yours, and whatever you want to do with it is perfectly fine. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Sure, it won’t always look the way you want, and maybe it’ll even fail sometimes, but enjoy it while you can, eh?”
>”Heh. Yeah. I’m trying, thanks to you. You’ve given me a lot of positive messages regarding my body, whether or not you’re aware of it.”
>You look at him quizzically.
“What do you mean?”
>Scoots looks you in the eyes and slowly starts unzipping his jumpsuit down to just below his navel, then slips his arms out of it.
>Oh god. He was totally coming onto you.

>His chest was muscled, tones, and looked amazing. Objectively, it was a fantastic chest. Peak physical condition, fine definition, flat stomach, fit pecs. Everything looked great. Even his oddly prominent nipples.
>He was breathing fast, and you couldn’t help but look at his chest as it rose and fell.
“Uh… Scoots, before you continue, I really need to remind you I am most definitely not gay. You’ve seen my porn.”
>Scoots looks at you, then picks up the controller again.
>”I know. Just let me have this for the moment.”
“O…kay… But you’re making this a little awkward, dude. I mean, in addition, I’m ten years older than you.”
>”It’s fine. Sixteen is legal for our state.”
“The fuck?! You checked?”
>”Of course I did. I didn’t want you getting in trouble.”
“Oh my god, Scoots. I’m not gay.”
>You studiously avoid looking at him while you argue, focusing instead on the game.
>”I know you aren’t. It’s fine.”
“I don’t know what part of this is fine. You’re practically throwing yourself at me.”
>”I’m just sitting around shirtless. It’s a typical man thing to do.”
“Not when one is coming on to the other, though!”
>”You’re the one obsessing about it.”
>Shit, he’s got you there.
“Okay, fine. I won’t talk about it.”
>”Fine.”
>You avoid talking about it successfully, and the hours go by.
>Eventually, you do get over the fact that he’s sitting around shirtless.
>You also notice he has rather odd tan lines.
>Oh wait, no. That’s the outline of the gymnast outfit.
>Right.
>Eventually, suppertime rolls around.
“Well, I’m hungry. How bout you, Scoots?”
>”Yeah, sure. Hey, as thanks for treating me so many times, you want pizza? I can pay for it.”
“Oh hell yeah! I’m always up for some free pizza!”
>”Cool. I’ll have bacon and sausage on mine. Get a full pizza for yourself as well.”
“You sure?”
>”Yeah, it’s fine.”
“Sweeeeeeeet.”

>You order pizza, and while waiting for it to arrive, you start scrolling through movies.
“You got any movies you want to watch?”
>”How about Wreck-it Ralph? I like that one.”
“Hah. You would.”
>”Damn right I would.” He says as he waggles his eyebrows at you.
“Cut it out, Scoots.”
>You reach out and push him backwards, making him fall backwards in his chair.
>He gasps as your hand impacts his bare chest, and he flails as he falls.
>”Oof! Ya ass.”
“You wish.”
>”Yeah, a lil’ bit.”
>You don’t really know how to respond to that, so you just remain silent and watch as he pulls himself up.
“Alright, you done flirting and ready to watch the movie?”
>”Ready if you are, nerd.”
“Starting it up, jock.”
>Twenty minutes in, the pizza arrives, and you just let the movie keep playing while you stand up and answer the door.
>”Wait! Waait!” Scoots yells.
>You open the door anyway, pay the man with Scoots’ cash, and turn back around to see Scoots with his arms up covering his chest.
“What’s up with you? Don’t want anyone but me to see your naked, muscular, man-chest?”
>Scoots blushes furiously.
>”…yes.”
“That’s… well that’s actually rather flattering. Sorry bout that.”
>”It’s fine. It’s not like the guy noticed.”
“Hm?”
>”Nothing.”
>The two of you sit down, eat pizza, and watch Ralph be a bad guy, but not a ‘bad’ guy.
>You pull out a couple beers halfway through, and give Scoots another sip.
>He still doesn’t like the taste, but he still tried it. He’d get over it eventually when he got older you’re sure.
>When the movie ends, you’re just on the edge of a buzz, relaxed, and you check the time.
“Hey Scoots, when do you need to be home.”
>”Uh… I actually said I was going to… spend the night.”
“Scoots, come on. You really need to ask me first.”
>”Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”
“You can stay though, don’t worry about it.”

>You punch him in the chest, and he gasps again as your fist hits his pec.
“Goddamn you’re fuckin’ buff.”
>”Thanks, I guess. I do work out, you know.”
“I know, but still. Goddamn. Never actually got such a close look except for that morning after you stayed over the first time.”
>”Well, you’re uh… welcome to, y’know, touch it, if you want.”
>He’s blushing super red, but you know what he’s doing. He just thinks you’ll touch him now that you’re drunk.
“Oh no. I know what you’re trying to do. Just cause I’m tipsy.”
>”Yeah, you’re right.”
“Well good, so long as we’re on the same page.”
>You touch him anyway. It’s not a gentle touch, you’re just groping and manhandling his muscles, rubbing your hand along the washboard that is his stomach.
“Gad damn that’s some muscle. Never actually felt muscle like that before.”
>Scoots is super red in the face, and he’s leaning back in his chair with his arms stiff as his sides. He’s breathing quickly and his eyes are halfway closed as your hands run over his pecs, down his sides, and squeeze his muscles in different places.
>When you pull away, Scoots is obviously sad to see your hands go.
>”You *haah* done, then?”
“Hah. Yeah, I’m done. Hope you got a kick out of it.”
>”I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it.”
“Well don’t get too used to it. It won’t be a regular thing.”
>”Yeah, I know, I know. You don’t swing that way.”
“So what now? Another movie, or more games?”
>”I’m actually rather tired, I’d like to get to bed. Isn’t this when you usually sleep as well?’
“Yeah, it is. I just thought you’d rather have more fun before bed.”
>Scoots shakes his head.
>”It’s been a rather draining day for me.”
“That’s fair. Lemme get the bed out. Do you want some of my clothes again for pajamas?”
>”They didn’t really cover much then. I’ll just sleep in my underwear if that’s okay.”

“Yeeees, I guess that’s okay.”
>You’re getting a little wary, but whatever. It is fine, just weird.
>”I know, you don’t swing that way. It’s fine. I respect that.”
>You pull out the bed, get the blanket fixed up, and turn around to see Scoots already stripped down to his underwear.
>You avert your eyes politely, and also because you don’t swing that way and you know you’d stare at his crotch.
>”Does it really make you that awkward Anon? I can put on your swim trunks again if you really want me to.”
“It’s… no. It just… you know. My swim trunks are dirty anyway. It’s fine. I can handle it. Sorry, I’ll try not to make it awkward.”
>You force yourself to look, and you see that Scoots was right about two things: He really didn’t grow hair anywhere but his head, and he did know you didn’t swing that way.
>Also, his under armour underpants were quite obviously pressed into what was definitely not a penis.
>That was some very defined and muscular camel toe.
>He was standing there, obviously forcing himself to stand tall and as proud as possible, his chest thrust out and upward, and his legs were slightly spread apart with his arms stiff at his sides.
>”I t-told you I kn-knew you didn’t swing that way.”
>Scoots was obviously incredibly scared. His chest was heaving, his chest was also now her chest instead, you remind yourself, and her face was flushed.
>You don’t really know what to say. Your brain was stilling trying to catch up with the fact that there was a muscular boy in front of you with a vagina.
>Scoots was trying his best to hold his composure, but his knees were starting to shake.
>You hadn’t said anything in response, and you were just staring at the space between his legs, and his bare and incredibly flat chest.

>Finally, he moves forward and hugs you, starting to heave with sobs.
>That throws you out of your stupor, and in confusion you wrap your arms around his tiny form with a hug.
“I’m… sorry I’m just a little confused at the moment. Are you okay, dude… uh… Scoots?”
>She’s sobbing into your shirt, and you can feel tears soaking into it.
>”I’m *hic* okay… I just *sob*… you made me feel like it was okay *hic* to be such a… such a BOY.”
>You tighten the hug and sit down on the edge of the bed, putting you at a height where Scoots can actually lean on your shoulder to cry.
“I’m glad I did that for you. Just calm down and then you can talk, okay? Just let it out.”
>Eventually, she calms down enough to talk without being interrupted by sobs, but she doesn’t pull her head away from your shoulder, and she doesn’t loosen her grip.
>”When I said I wanted to be huge, I meant it. But girls can’t get as big as guys can. They can’t run as fast, or as far, or lift as much, or hit as hard, or anything. Being a girl is a handicap.”
>Scoots rubs her hands up and down your back.
>”I still feel that way, but for me it was worse because not only was I a girl, I was a much less than average girl. Too short, no breasts, no nothing. I was handicapped with a handicap.”
>She starts leaning into you, putting all of her weight into your arms. She really doesn’t weigh much at all.
>”At least with you, I found out that I could be liked for what I was, lack of breasts and lack of height. I found your short stack folder as well, by the way.” She giggles.
>Ah, of course.

>”I masquerade as a man as often as possible, even on the Facebook profile I give out, but I can’t hide it when I’m at the gym. Not allowed in the men’s locker room after all.”
>She pulls her legs up and wraps them around your waist, sitting completely in your lap. You feel like you should stop her, but you don’t actually do anything about it. She needs to let this out.
>”At first I hung out with you because you the only person who didn’t run off in disgust at my attitude, but then I thought, if you found out, we could… you know.”
“Well…”
>You think carefully, how would this pan out? This would be real weird. You’re ten years older than her. Her mother would probably kill you if she found out.
>Your boner is telling you a different story though, and you can feel it press up against Scoot’s incredibly toned butt.
“…I’m not averse to the idea, but I can honestly say I did not prepare ahead of time, and I have no condoms or anything.”
>Scoots pulls back with a disappointed look on her face.
>”Seriously? With that much porn you don’t have protection?”
“I don’t get a lot of attention from women, Scoots. I don’t really go seeking it either. I never really had a need.”
>”Man, you’re kind of a loser aren’t you?”
“Hey!”
>Scoots pokes you in the chest repeatedly, jabbing her fingers into your ribcage.
>”Oh come on, you obviously like women, but you don’t go seeking any attention from them?”
“It’s… complicated.”
>”You’re scared of talking to them?”
“No…”
>”Yes?”
“Okay, a little, sure. I talk to them, get to know them, and find out I don’t care about anything they like. Shoes, fashion, babies, getting your nails done. I could give less than two shits about it all. So after a while I just became kind of jaded about the whole game.”
>”Okay, I guess I can understand that. But here I am. I like Street Fighter and I’m good at it, I like sports, movies, comic books, and all that shit.”

“Yeah… you’re right.”
>”And, I’m a ‘delicious flat chest’, just like in your folders.”
>Okay, that got you at full mast and throbbing like the fist of an angry god.
>Scoots knew exactly what he, er, she, was doing.
>”So you’re still a loser, but now what you thought was a good friend, can now instead, be an even better girlfriend.”
>Scoots puts her arms around your neck and leans back, holding herself up.
>You look down at her muscular and incredibly flat chest.
>You’d been staring at it all night, and it looked the same, but now there were completely different reasons it was exciting.
>She’d been taunting you all night, knowing exactly what she was doing, and knowing you had no fucking clue.
>God you’re an idiot.
“Wait! That girl at the pool with violet hair!”
>”-was me.”
“Holy shit. I’d been seeing you naked and in swimsuits and underwear this whole time?!”
>Scoots nods, smiling a wide, toothy smile.
“And you never told me why you were feeling so awkward?”
>”At first I wanted you to think I was a friend, but as time went on, and I saw your porn, and we talked, and hung out it started to change. Now I want to hang out with you as a woman.”
“You’re sixteen!”
>Scoots rolls her eyes.
>”Girl, then, if you wanna be that way. It’s still legal.”
>Scoots unbinds herself from you and crawls up onto the bed, kneeling in the middle.
>You take this opportunity to stand up and step away from the bed.
“Okay, seriously Scoots, my dick is telling me YES YES YES, but I need a moment to process everything that has suddenly been thrown at me all at once. I’m going to take a VERY cold shower, and when I come back out, we can TALK about this. No promises for anything else.”
>”Okay, okay. I guess I understand. I’d have a lot to think about if I suddenly found out you were a woman. S’not like I’m going anywhere.”

>Scoots wraps herself up in your blanket and you make you way into the bathroom.
>As the door clicks shut you tear off your clothes, struggling briefly with your belt, then hop in the shower and turn the cold water on high.
>Your raging erection, offended by the frigid deluge, retreats in fear, and you’re quickly left refreshed, cold,  and shrunken.
>Your mind is racing a mile a minute.
>Your new best friend, who you thought was a really cool, if short, dude, has turned out to be a fit, flat chested, tiny, sixteen-year-old hot mess who wanted to jump your bones.
>It’s like, every dude’s fantasy, but you have no protection, and neither you nor Scootaloo really needed a pregnancy getting in the way of anything. Scootaloo was too young, and you were too poor.
>God.
>This was a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into.
>Scoots was at a very fragile moment in her life. You’d helped her build up her self-esteem a lot, but both acceptance and rejection had downsides to them.
>At the moment though, Scootaloo did not need sex, Scoots needed a friend.
>You open your eyes, shut off the water and step out of the shower.
>You dry yourself off, put just your underwear and pants back on, and head back out to the bed.
>You get there to find Scoots has burrowed into the blankets and curled up, with just her face sticking out.
>She looks up at you as you get to the bed and gives you a small smile.
>”Feeling better?”
“I do feel better, actually. How about you?”
>She lifts the blankets up and covers her face, groaning loudly.
>”I feel completely embarrassed.”
>You pat her head through the blanket reassuringly.

“Aw, come on. Don’t be too embarrassed, it was very brave of you to do what you did. Also a little devious and deviant. Running around without a shirt on in front of me? That’s incredibly hot.”
>”Hmph. Not when the guy has no idea what’s going on. It was honestly a little frustrating how clueless you were.”
>It’s your turn to look a little contrite.
“Okay, yeah. I was pretty dumb. No offense, but you look incredibly boyish.”
>”I thought you liked that sort of thing.”
“I do! But without knowing you’re a girl, I’m just going to treat you like a boy. Is that really my fault?”
>”I think it is a little bit.”
“Alright, fine. But anyway! No, I will not have sex with you tonight.”
>”Tonight? So… some other night?”
“If you still feel up for it after you’ve had time to think, then sure. But there is no way in hell I’m getting a sixteen-year-old pregnant, so contraceptives will need to be acquired.”
>Scoots gives you a smug look.
>”Good news for you, then. I’m on the pill already.”
“Wait, seriously?”
>She nods.
>”When I turned fifteen my parents put me on it at my request to see if it would help with my growth and balance my hormones. I grew from four foot ten to five feet, so I thought it worked. I’ve been taking it ever since.”
“Not sure it worked, then?”
>Scoots shakes her head.
>”I don’t think it did, but whatever. At least I’m on it.
“So why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
>”Well you had an entire folder dedicated to getting women pregnant, so I thought you’d enjoy it more if you thought you were doing it.”
“That’s… honestly a rather logical assumption.”
>Scoots rolls onto her back and sprawls out under the blanket, kicking her legs up and down and pulling the blanket down past her chest to her waist.
>”Damn right it is. I’m not fuckin’ stupid.”
“Well, you’re not fucking anything tonight, sorry.”
>”Yeah, I’m not mad.”

“Well then stop trying to seduce me.”
>”What, you were staring at my chest all night and you didn’t give a shit before.”
“That’s before I knew they were tits!”
>Scoots sits up and slaps her hands against her muscled pectorals which are incredibly devoid of anything remotely resembling tits.
>”Oh, now they’re magically sexy because you know I’m a girl?”
>You struggle to find an answer that makes any sort of sense.
“Well… yeeeees?”
>”Huh, awesome.”
>Scoots pinches her left nipple and stares at you.
>It’s impossible to hide your erection, so you just slip your pants off, showing off the massive tent in your boxers, then flip off the light switch and climb under the covers, facing away from Scoots.
>”Coward.”
“Tease.”
>”Nerd.”
“Jock.”
>”Loser.”
“Tit.”
>”Nope. Missing those.”
>You feel the bed shift as Scoots leans close to you, and you feel her rock hard flat chest press against your back as she whispers in your ear:
>”And you love it.”
>You reach a hand up to her face, stroking her cheek…
>Then roughly shove her away.
>She laughs and rolls backward, pulling the blankets with her.
“Hey! I need some of that to sleep.”
>”Should have thought about that before having a girl sleep over.”
“I thought I was having a guy sleep over!”
>”Cause you’re a big dumb clueless oaf!”
>She’s balled herself up in the blanket, and you tug on one section of it, only to pick the whole thing up with her inside.
>”Hey! That’s cheatin’ fucknut!”
>You lift the Scoots bundle off the bed, grab one corner of the blanket in each hand and pull it apart, revealing Scootaloo balled up in the center.
>She’s curled up, her knees up near her chin, and her hands tugging at the blanket. She’s got the muscle, but you have size. And as she mentioned earlier, as a larger male, you just naturally have an edge on her in that regard.

>Right now you also have leverage. That helps.
>…
>Let’s be honest, she could kick your ass.
>That’s kinda hot.
>You dump Scoots out of the blanket and she plops face-first onto the bed with a ‘whuff’. She just lays there, diagonally across a small portion of the bed.
>You have a spectacular view, in the poorly illuminated room, of her ass in her compression shorts.
>They were very snug and form-fitting, and, if you were honest with yourself, made her butt look spectacular.
>You were still at full mast, but you try your very hardest to ignore it, and spread the blanket out over Scoots, lay yourself down at the very edge of the bed, with Scoots’ feet pressed against your thighs, and try to lay quietly.
>Scoots is shaking, and for a moment you’re worried you made her cry again, but she finally turns her head out of the mattress and you can tell she’s laughing.
>”Ohhh, my god. You ridiculous fucker. There’s a nearly naked girl in your bed, and you’re trying to sleep. I gotta give it to you, man, you got willpower. I’ll leave you be.”
>You feel Scoots pull her feet away, and she shifts about until she’s really close to you, but not touching.
>You lay like this for a while.
>You’re admittedly not falling asleep very quickly.
>You can hear Scoots shifting every now and again, so you suppose she isn’t either.
>You hear an intake of breath, which halts suddenly before picking up again, then another sharp intake.

>”Hey, Anon?” She finally says.
“Yeah, Scoots?”
>”…can I have a hug?”
>You hesitate, because that would include touching her, and you were still completely stiff. It might play right into some trap Scoots had planned to override your decision not to have sex.
>But…
>Scoots was still in that incredibly unsure phase, and some physical contact right now may help her feel accepted, despite you turning down her offer for sex.
>A hug is acceptable.
“Yeah, sure Scoots.”
>You roll over onto your other side, and find yourself face to face with Scoots’ big violet eyes looking right into yours.
>She doesn’t say anything, and you wrap your arms around her, pulling her in close for a hug.
>Her chest is flat, and you feel nothing, barely even her nipples. But she’s warm.
>Her height means that your privates are nowhere near touching. Her groin is up near your solar plexus.
>Thank goodness for small things. Specifically Scoots.
>She holds her arms in tight to herself, letting your long limbs envelop her in your warm embrace. She closes her eyes, and it isn’t very long until her even breathing indicates she’s asleep.
>You smile and follow her soon after, glad she seems to be doing just fine.

(ALT SEXY NIGHT)

>You wake up sometime in the middle of the night feeling much too hot.
>You’re covered in a light sheen of sweat, and you toss the blankets off with a free hand, your other currently being pinned under something.
>As the cool air relaxes you, you look over at Scoots.
>She’s the reason your right arm can’t move, as she’s clinging to it, lying face down on top of it.
>There’s no tits for it to be squished up against, sadly.
>You flex your fingers, balling up into a fist, and wiggling them gently.
>You have a lot of space to move them.
>Huh.
>You flex them upward, and poke Scoots’ skin, tracing along whatever you’re touching.
>It feels smooth, and as you move along, you encounter a cleft.
>You freeze.
>Oh geeze. Pinned under Scoots like that, with your arm going down, there’s only one spot that could possibly be.
>But… oh god. Scoots, did you seriously?
>You lift your head slightly and look down.
>Fuck.
>You drop your head back to the pillow in exasperation.
>Scoots had removed her underwear sometime during the night and cozied up to your arm.
>There’s no way that was accidental.
>You slap your free hand against your face, rubbing your jaw.
>That means she’s either faking sleep, or she’s actually asleep.
>Your dick was standing at attention at just the prospect of being so close to a completely nude woman, so you know what part of you wanted to do, and she clearly wanted it.
>She also said she was on birth control.
>Fuuuuuck.
>You tilt your head and look at Scoots’ ‘sleeping’ face.
>She looked so serene, and her breathing was even.
>Hmmm…

>Do you wake her up? Try to pull your arm away? Leave it as is?
>What would you do once she’s awake? She’d probably try to jump your bones again. Try to pull away and you might wake her up, which would be rude.
>You decide to leave it, and try to ignore the proximity of your hand to her vagina.
>Unfortunately, now that you know where it’s positioned, you can’t get it out of your head.
>You can feel her pubic mound pressed up against your palm, and if you relax your hand your fingers curl up just enough to touch that cleft you’d found earlier.
>Despite the lack of blanket, you’re still incredibly warm. Scoots’ body just seems to radiate heat, and your nervous sweat wasn’t helping.
>Your constant nervous flexing of your fingers also seemed to be exciting to her, as they start to feel a slight wetness when you inevitably relax your hand.
>Oh fuck.
>Oh god.
>This was swiftly spiraling out of control.
>You stop trying to keep your fingers away and just leave them where they are.
>Despite your inability to calm down and fall asleep, you manage to relax a little bit.
>That is, until Scoots’ hips press down on your hand, mashing your middle finger just inside her entrance.
>You go tense and turn your head to look at Scoots.
>Her big violet eyes look up at you in the dark, and you feel her squeeze your arm.
>She doesn’t say anything, but her hips press down against your hand again, the wetness of her folds coating your middle finger.
>You look at her with that pleading look in her eyes, and you give up trying to escape.
>You flex your hand, pressing your palm up against her mound, and digging your finger in a bit deeper.
>Your index and ring finger press up against her labia on the outside, and you slide them up and down around where your middle finger has entered her.

>Scoots shakes as you start intentionally touching her, and every so often will hump against your hand as you continue to touch her.
>After a few minutes of just this, Scoots is breathing heavily, and her eyes have closed. She’s pressing her face against your arm, biting at it gently.
>You remove your middle finger from her, and shift you hand a little, eliciting a whine from Scoots.
>You bring your free hand over and ruffle her hair as you reposition, and then she squeals as you pull the skin back from her clit and press your fingers against it HARD.
>She squeezes your arm in a death grip, and you yelp as she bites a little too hard into your skin.
>You’re pretty sure she orgasmed, but you’re not positive.
>Thankfully, she lets go with her teeth and her arms, rolling off of your arm and moving her own hand down between her legs.
>”The fuck was that?”
“Ohhh, so your parents didn’t tell you everything, eh?”
>She’s curled up, and you can’t see what she’s doing, but the occasional twitch tells you she’s likely touching her clit.
>”I guess not, ohhhhh, fuck, that’s good.”
“That’s your clit, Scoots. Arguably the best part of you for having fun.”
>”What the hell… I always wondered what those women in porn were doing.”
“Mmm-hmm. Let me show you.”
>You lift Scoots up, set your back up against the wall, and sit down with her between your legs.
>She doesn’t fight back, and just lets you spread her legs, tensing up against you as your hand moves back down to her button and your left wraps around her waist, pulling her tightly up against you.
>Her right leg kicks a little as you start rubbing her clit, making small figure eights with two fingers over it, rubbing back and forth.

>Scoots isn’t really handling it very calmly, and she thrashes in your grip, her hand grabbing at her own legs, then your legs, then one comes up and wraps around your neck, pulling your face down to her own, where she shakes in what you recognize this time as an orgasm and smashes her mouth against your lips.
>She squeals into the kiss, which is very inelegant, more just pressing her mouth into yours while she rides out the pleasure.
>You keep going, not stopping at all, despite the pressure on your neck, and she eventually pulls her mouth away from yours, stifling a scream with her fist as her legs kick against the bed, pulling up the sheets.
>Finally she grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away, gasping and panting.
>”Stop! Stop stop stop! It’s too much!”
>You release your grip, pulling your hands away to show her you’re done.
“You okay there, Scoots?”
>”Fine, fine, I’m fine… it just feels… too sensitive now.”
“Well, I don’t know how many that was, but I guess that’s to be expected.”
>”Yeah. Fuck. I’ve been missing out.”
>She touches herself gingerly, and her legs pull up against her torso reflexively.
“Well now you know.”
>”Heh. And knowing is half the battle. The rest is mind-shattering orgasms.”
>You wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her back against you, your erection painfully obvious.
>Scoots reaches a hand between you and touches it, running a finger up the side of your shaft through your boxers.
>It twitches involuntarily.
>”So… we gonna fuck?”

>You chuckle.
“Not yet, Scoots. You’re too sensitive. I do think you could do with a lesson on how to kiss, though.”
>You tilt Scoots sideways slightly before she can say anything, grabbing her chin with one hand and pointing her head up toward yours.
>She looks up at you with a little bit of trepidation, but purses her lips in a rather comical way.
>You shake your head.
“Not like that, just relax.”
>She relaxes her mouth, her lips going back to her neutral expression as she watches you lean down.
>Her lips part slightly the closer you get, and she closes her eyes, waiting.
>You gently touch your mouth to hers in a chaste kiss, barely any pressure and no insistence on anything more than just mutual touch.
>Your eyes are closed, but you can feel her mouth moving slightly, seemingly unsure of what she’s supposed to be doing.
>You hold it for about fifteen seconds, then slowly pull away, opening your eyes to look at her.
“Like that.”
>She wraps her arms around you, pressing her face against your chest as she turns her body more towards you.
>You hug her back, letting her rest in your embrace.
>”I like that.”
>”Me too Scoots. Me too.”