Tiny Tim

Chapter 1

Just after 3 PM on November 15th, I walked through the front door of the house I grew up in and, for a short moment, took in the silence greeting me. After dropping my backpack and getting rid of my shoes, I made my way into the kitchen. My mind on the report I’d have to write at the firm. School and work was really all I did anymore. On the kitchen table I found a note in my mother’s handwriting; they all went out with Uncle John’s family, since my parents’ favorite child was back from college for the weekend. Just like last year, when they forgot about my birthday, they made plans that didn’t include me. At least this year they didn’t blame me for disturbing their fun time by coming home.

A quick survey of my surroundings revealed two recently used but empty pots on the stove, as well as four plates in the sink. No leftovers in the fridge or oven. I did, however, find the leftovers in the trash can. I was used to it. By the time I finished cleaning up the kitchen to make myself something to eat, my appetite was somehow gone, and I just felt droopy. So, instead of cooking, I went up to my room to grab a soda from my own little fridge and boot up my PC. I found an email newsletter from the delivery service I frequently used regarding my birthday. A coupon code for a free muffin (if I pay for a pizza). I looked around and saw no presents and no cards. I wasn’t surprised. At least, with that coupon code, lunch was taken care of without me having to move. At least, by next morning, I would finally be out of that house.

Despite what people might think, I preferred being left alone by my family. The alternative wasn’t really appealing to me. My name is Timothy, and I prefer to be called Tim. Though most people, especially members of my family and all their friends, simply called me “Tiny”.

Ever since my sister, Ava, walked in on me while I was ... doing what all healthy boys in full blown puberty do the most, things had changed. Back then, I was barely 5 feet tall and maybe 95 pounds soaking wet. I didn’t even notice her barging into my room, until she screamed upon seeing me and ran out of my room. And, of course, when she explained the reason for her outburst to the rest of the quickly assembling family, she had to comment on how glad she was that the thing was so small it was completely covered by my fist, so she didn’t have to actually see it.

You know how people say “We’ll laugh about it tomorrow”? Well, my family didn’t want to wait a full day and started making jokes about it as soon as we sat down for dinner. That evening, my new nickname of “Tiny Tim” was born, and they thought it was hilarious. Back then, this hit me hard. I was insecure enough without having people throw jokes about my dick size at me, but my family saw it as harmless ribbing and simply ignored my desperate pleas to stop calling me that damned name.

My fourteenth birthday was still pretty normal. I had friends over, got gifts, and Mom even baked a cake. I did suffer from the nickname, but, other than that, they clearly cared about me.

Something I only understood much later was that my brother, Logan, had always been exceptionally talented at getting what he wants, while making his behavior look completely innocent and his demands absolutely reasonable. He was always good looking, charming, and outgoing. That caused people to let their guard down and open up to him, so he easily learned what they liked and how they responded to things. Everyone would tell you how good of a friend Logan was, even though I never saw or heard about him actually doing anything for anyone but himself.

Until then, he never chose me as a target for his games, though I did already suffer the indirect consequences as our parents clearly favored him over me. Whenever decisions had to be made, they chose what he asked for because he knew how to make them think it was the reasonable choice. Consequently, whenever we got into an argument, they took his side without even questioning what caused it, because he was always perceived as the reasonable oldest child while I was seen as the jealous kid. The longer this went unnoticed, the more his wants outweighed my needs without them even realizing it.

During the half year leading up to Logan’s sixteenth birthday, however, something in his treatment of me changed. Under his subtle influence, the penis jokes were slowly taken up a notch, continuously pushing the boundaries of how far they could go before I lost my temper. Meanwhile his jokes, particularly when nobody else was around to hear them, had taken on a malicious tone. He also spent a lot more time with our parents, especially Mom.