CHAPTER 10: SURVIVING "LD"

High School Swim Photo

When I was six, I joined the swim team at our local community pool.  I was a pretty good swimmer, did well in competitions and so it was inevitable I would end up on the school swim team.  From junior high on I was on the team.  The high school swim team was composed of everyone interested from the 8th grade on up. 

I not only discovered my love of swimming, I also learned pool jets.  I have heard similar stories from other swimmers, so I guess it wasn’t unusual for boys on a swim team to hang out in front of the jets where the water comes back into the pool.  It only took me a couple of days to figure this out.  Where I grew up there were about ten of them in the pool, and they were surprisingly strong.  When we moved and I changed schools, I discovered there were jets just like them at the new school pool.  Even in junior high I noticed during practice that when I was at one of end of the pool.  I looked over and saw this one boy hanging in front of a jet.  When a group was in the pool I always noticed at least one guy at a jet. 

I actually learned how good the jets felt long before I was ready to start jerking off, and way before I could cum.  I could see why they were so popular! The first time I explored what was going on with the jets it hit me in the stomach, and I just didn't get it.  But my friend Mark Robinson told me, "aim it at your dick."  So I did, and I suddenly discovered the secret as the jet hit me in the crotch.  It felt great!  My dick went rock hard immediately.  And it felt good.  And it kept feeling good as long as I kept my rocky woody in front of the jet stream.

The first time I got a chance to stay at jet for a long time without drawing attention to myself it didn't take long before I could feel tension mounting in my groin, and suddenly it felt like I was exploding.  My penis started twitching and I was overcome by a warm, tingling throbbing that felt better than anything I'd ever felt before.  I was experiencing those pre-puberty orgasms that you get as a kid when you start messing with yourself before you body is ready to shoot.  It wasn't the same as an orgasm with ejaculation, but it was close.  Damn close.  This feeling alone was worth going to the pool at night or early in the morning before school when you actually had some private time in the pool.  Honestly the idea of jacking off, as common as that is for guys in puberty, didn’t occur to me as a kid because the pool jet was so much better.  Sure I did learn about that too.  But the jets were better.  That is still true to this day and I have no doubt this got associated with my love of swimming.  There are times I get still get hard in the pool just being in the pool.  I think I even got the smell of chlorine associated with sex.

For the most part the guys on the swim team all knew I was hung small, and there certainly was some teasing, but mostly it was good natured, except from a few of the guys, and on a few occasions where things got carried away.  I have a theory that there is something intrinsic in men that encourages them to make fun of smaller guys.  Certainly it has been my experience that when men discover you are smaller they immediately think of themselves as your superior. 

The guys on the team all called me “LD” which meant either “Little Dave” or “Little Dick” depending on who you asked.  It started my Sophomore year, but it hadn’t spread outside of the team yet, thank god.  For some of the guys it was just a habit now, for some it was good natured teasing, and for some it was a way of putting me in my place. 

That nickname had come about because there were three of us named “David” on the swim team.  One of the guys called out, “Hey David,” on time and when we all three responded he clarified and pointed over at me, saying, “I meant Little Dave.”  Everyone laughed because I was the oldest and the tallest of the three Davids.  So everyone knew what he was referring to.  I burned with embarrassment when he said that.  Seeing my embarrassment only secured the nickname would stick around.  One of the other Davids was just a freshman, and the other was in Junior High, so the fact that they had bigger dicks than me just rubbed it in.  It was at the start of my sophomore year that my size started to become an issue for me.  Being forced to call Mark, “big brother,” and getting the nickname “LD” on the swim team were both working to erode my self confidence. 

Maybe the most significant event of my adolescence happened at the pool my sophomore year.  We had competed the day before and done well at the meet, so our coaches had given us the day off from practice.  Most of the guys were just hanging out talking, Ray and Tim—ever focused on their goals—were swimming laps, I was positioned in front of a jet, trying not to be too obvious about it. 

I’d jumped in the pool, swam several laps, and then slowly made my way over to where the most powerful jet was. I tried not to make it obvious. I swam under the water, and came up a few feet away from the jet. Then held onto the wall and did some kicking practice, ever now and then and then would left my body drift down until my crotch came right into the jet’s path.  Every time that jet would hit my dick I’d go instantly hard.  Not just hard.  Rock hard. Of course, by my sophomore year, I had to be careful or I’d shooting rope of teen spirit into the pool—which of course, I’d been fine with after school when the pool was empty.  Sometimes I wondered how many other guys had pissed or shot into the water.

Coach Morley came out of the locker room and dove into the pool, swam laps for a while and then headed back into the locker room.  I had long had a crush on him, ever since one day he came in and showered while I was still showering after school one day.  He had a hairy chest and a treasure trail that started at his chest and went all the way down.  Like me he was uncut.  Most of the other guys I’d seen were cut, so seeing that sort of made me feel more normal.  His dick was tons bigger though, of course, even soft.  Unlike those stories on Nifty I never saw him hard.

The PE coach decided to also give the Physical Education class a break and told them they could also use the pool since the swim team wasn’t practicing.  Lindsay Woolf came out of the locker room, spoke to the girls as usual and then started towards the deep end. My heart was pounding. I was friends with Lindsay.  We had gone white wing and dove hunting, and even braved some cold wet mornings to do during duck season.  We had been competitors and friends, always playing practical jokes.  A few weeks before another guy had distracted him and I had Lindsay’s trunks halfway down the crack of his ass at the entrance to the boy’s locker room before he stopped me. 

But I had not talked to Lindsay since he’s seen me behind the shed during my games with Billy when he had me running laps.  In fact I had been avoiding Lindsay hoping maybe after some time maybe he’d forget about it. 

I had always been attracted to Lindsay, but never acted on it.  It wouldn’t be right, but then, more than that, it wouldn’t be safe.  To my own defense, Lindsay filled out his trunks in an impressive bulge.  It was impossible not to notice.  And impossible not to watch this guy's cock outlined in his trunks as he walked by.

As Lindsay walked my direction along the edge of the pool, before he even reached half way, I could see Lindsay’s trunks already cling to the wondrous shape beneath. And he wasn’t wearing speedos like I was.  I told myself there was no way I could get away with looking, but uncontrollably I glanced up and simply couldn't believe how good he looked. It was just a wonderful huge phallus that no one fail to appreciate – straight, bi, gay, whatever – it was just a stunning physical sight.

“Hey Davy,” Lindsay called down at me in the water, and jumped in next to me. I adjusted my position a couple of feet away from the jet in an effort not to make it so obvious what I’d been up to. 

He came up out of the water and closed the distance between us. 

“I saw you the other day,” he said.  He was smiling so broadly—a Tom Cruise smile. 

I knew what he was talking about, of course, and blushed.  No one had to tell me I was blushing.  I could feel it.  The skin on my face, neck and chest went hot above the waterline.

He lifted his hand and made a motion like masturbation above the water.  “First time I saw you back there I wasn’t sure, but the second time you were out there in the middle of the field, closer to the road, hard not to notice.”  He said.  I realized he’d mistaken Billy jerking off in the shadow of the shed for me.

He made that masturbation motion again and said, “I saw your running back and forth in the field buck ass nekked.” He laughed.  Then he added, “I saw another guy with you too.  Was that Jimmy Jacobs?”

I paused.  He’d gotten a lot wrong about what he’d seen, but he’d seen me close enough the day I was running laps to know I’d been running laps in the field naked.

“You just like showing off?” he said, then added, “For me? Or for your boyfriend?”

Silence was no longer an option.  I had to say something to draw him off that trail.  But there was no way I could set the record straight with Lindsay that I’d been playing jerk off games with Billy instead of his older brother, Jimmy.

“No,” I started hesitantly, trying to figure out how to best do some damage control in this situation.  “I lost a bet, the laps were his idea of a pay off since I was broke.”

Lindsay laughed out loud.  “I’ve had to pay off a few lost bets too little Davy.”  He kept laughing, “But usually it hasn’t involved running bare ass in a field.  But then I’ve played poker with Jimmy.  He’s no patsy. You either pay him or get pay backs.”

Lindsay slapped a wet hand on one of my shoulders, “How’d you lose?”

I stared at him.  There was no way I could tell him I was running laps because I’d cum too quickly in a jerk off competition.  “We’d been wrestling.  He pinned me.  That’s how I lost.”  That came out and then I thought about all the things I could have said that would have sounded so much better, like saying we’d been playing poker or something.

The next thing I knew Lindsay had me in a headlock and was dunking me underwater.  I slipped free and managed to get his arm behind his back and push him away from me.  He laughed and charged back at me, and pretty quick we were wrestling.

“I win,” he exhaled during our struggle, “you swim laps nekked,” he laughed, “and I’m no patsy either,” and tried to move in for another hold.

Lindsay had an advantage on me because he was on the wrestling team.  However we were in the pool which meant the rules all changed.  He had another advantage though: I was rock hard in my trunks and really did not want him to find that out.

“Back off,” I said to him, fighting a defensive strategy, simply trying to keep him from ending up in a position with me where he’d discover my erection, which despite our wrestling was unflagging.  “I don’t want to get into a dare with you.”

“Hey if I lose’ I’d have to do it,” he said, then laughed, “’Cept I ain’t gonna lose,” and then grabbed me and swung me around. 

I managed to break his hold and get behind him and got him into a headlock, pulling him down under the water.  One of his hands was on my arm, and the other wrapped around my ribs as he tried to get me underwater and change our positions, but then his hand slipped down and came squarely into contact with my woody.

I was surprised and let go. Pushing back from him.

He came up gulping for air and coughing and said way too loudly, “Davy got a woody,” then grabbed me and tried to dunk me under again.  This time he kept one arm around my neck but reached down with his left hand and grabbed my erection.  It wasn’t an accident.  I guess he was just verifying what he thought he’d felt before.

Lindsay had me in a headlock again and was dunking me again and again saying over and over that all I had to do was “give” and he’d stop.  Saying “give” was like saying “uncle”, and not something I was ever disposed to do, at least not back then.  I guess I had a lot to learn.

I came up spluttering another time long enough to hear him say, “I already won this, Davy.”  Then I pushed hard against him with everything I had and broke free, but when I came up I felt other hands grab my arms and shoulders.  Not Lindsay, cause I could see him just beyond my feet, which were kicking at the surface of the water as these hands drew me back. 

I looked around at Victor and Randy.  Randy was on the swim team, and he was ne of the guys whose little dick jokes were not good natured.  Randy’s insults were designed to put me down, humiliate me, not to joke with me.  Victor was in the PE class, and was more or less a bully at that time, though I hear he turned into a decent enough guy after graduation.  What I knew was that Victor was friendly with Jimmy.

Lindsay move toward me in the water and all I could think of was that he was gonna make me swim naked laps right then in the pool, and so I kicked at him hard.  Connected with my right foot in the middle of his face.  He fell back in the water, then stood up, his nose bleeding, mixing with the water dripping down his face.

But now things were different.  Lindsay wasn’t smiling anymore.  That kick on pissed him off royally.

He grabbed my legs and I kicked even harder but he had me around the knees and so I wasn’t connecting with him, just pushing him back and forth in the water.  I could only keep it up at full strength for a short time, and when my kicks weakened Lindsay reached up and grabbed a hold of my trunks.  I realized what was about to happen and so I started squirming and struggling as hard as I could, doing everything I could to pull from of Victor and Randy, then focusing on trying to get free of Lindsay again.

Lindsay got a good hold on my trunks and my thrashing only made things worse when he yanked and I thrashed and one seam of my trunks tore about halfway down.  I thought I pleaded with him to stop.  He says I didn’t.  But that’s how I remember it.  I know I must have said “Let me go” about a hundred times.

All the thrashing and yelling had drawn a lot of attention at the pool.  Neither of the coaches was there, however, which would become an issue for them later on.  After my trunks ripped, Lindsay made fast work of finishing the tear down one side, then let go of my legs and just pulled them free of the one leg.  He tossed them over to George, I think, then grabbed my legs again and between the three of them they had me lifted up out of the water, naked as the day I was born. 

Victor and Randy started moving me through the water over toward where a group of girls from the PE class were gathered.  I was still struggling.  My penis was wagging up and down, thwacking hard against me down below my navel as I moved. 

The closest I can describe the experience is making reference to the movie Carrie.  When the girls poured the pig’s blood on her and all she saw was people laughing at her.  If I’d had her psychic assassin powers not one of those kids would have left the pool alive.  Not one. Talking with Tim, Lindsay and another friend, Ken, they all agreed that there was a lot of chatter, squeals, laughter and even shouting, but they said that while some were laughing, not everyone was laughing at me.  All I saw and heard was kids laughing at me and pointing at my wee willy.  And I know I saw one guy making the “teeny weeny” gesture with his thumb and forefinger.

They threw me into the group of girls who screamed.  I landed on one of them and she screamed out that I touched her with my dick, like she was the victim. 

I tried to get my trunks back.  All I could think about was how everyone there had seen me naked.  More than that, they’d seen my little dick.  Full hard.  There was no arguing I was just a grow-er not a show-er.  For years I’d done everything I could to hide my size.  Yeah the guys on the team knew, and yes some of them had razzed me about it, but most of the kids at school didn’t know about it.  Now they did!

I was sobbing.  Hard.  My friend Ken brought me a towel from the edge of the pool.  He was a good guy, and in my memory the only one who actually tried to help me.  He confronted the guys that were bullying me  I was  trying to get my trunks back, which the guys continued to toss between each other in an extended cruel game of keep away until Ken intercepted a throw and brought them over to me.  one of the guys tried to get them back, but Ken elbowed him in the face and left him with a nose bleed. 

I pulled them back on.  One side of them was ripped, but I tried to held them together.  Ken sort of stayed with me and walked me over to the ladder.  They came apart of course as I tried to climb up the ladder, and there was some laughter when my trunks fell down exposing me again.  Lindsay grabbed up a towel that Kend had set next to the ladder and handed it to me.  I was too embarrassed, too self conscious, I guess, to have seen it.  I grabbed up the towel and wrapped it around me, still trying to keep my trunks from falling even after I had it on, and made a mad dash for the locker room.

I got my clothes on, didn’t bother to shower off the chlorine, and left.  I didn’t just leave the pool, I left school.  There was no way I could face anyone there after that.  I knew word would get around and what everyone would be saying. 

There was no hiding what had happened form my family, of course.  Mark, my younger brother, had already heard about it before he came home from school.  Lots of kids had been talking.  Teachers noticed I was not in class.  The principal’s secretary made a call to my mom doing a “well being” check on me. 

I refused to go back to school. I even begged my mother to enroll me in a new school. Mark sort of joined in, saying she should transfer me, but then he also added in that it was too embarrassing for him to be my brother, which was no help at all. My mom just shook her head and told me that we couldn’t move, and she couldn’t afford to put me in a private school.
 

I stayed out for about a week.  Ken came by to see me several days after school.  We played video games, and he even talked me into riding my bike with him.  One night that week Ken even came by to camp out in our tree house.  I couldn't get the whole thing out of my head.  Everyone saw my little dick.  Everyone was laughing.   I knew now that they all knew my secret, I'd be the laughing stock from then on.  Ken was also on the swim team, though he did sit out for one season later on.  By his senior year Ken would also be one of the hairest guys on the team, hell even in school.  He tried hard to be a real friend.  He even confessed to me that his own dick "wasn't all that big."   If it hadn't been for Ken zi probably would not have ever een able to go back to school at all.

Lindsay  called and apologized about three days into it.  He said that he’d never intended to make me swim laps there in front of everyone, but that when I kicked him he lost his head.  He told me that since it happened the coaches had been working them out every day after school until they were rubber legged and that everyone on the team was pissed at him.  He said that the coaches had gotten into trouble for leaving the class unattended, even if just for a few minutes, and that since then there had been lecture after lecture about what it meant to be a team, and supporting each other. 

He said he was sorry.  And I believe he was, even though I knew the coach had basically ordered him to apologize as a part of his restitution.  Nevertheless that two or three minutes was all it took to change my life forever.  I lost my reputation, my pride, and even my name.

When I got back to school, everyone had heard, and everyone started to look at me differently.  Also Randy had been using my nickname outside of the swim team and “LD” was catching on.  I got referred to as “LD” followed by snickers three times before I even got to my first class on my first day back.  Sure there were a few friends who told me, “that shit don’t matter,” and “rise above it,” and “it ain’t the size of your pencil, it’s how you sign your name,” but those homilies did little to help. 

When Mark came home one day and started calling me “LD” I knew that life as I knew it was over.

  

David Czerny is third from the right on the back row.  Coach Morley is on the far right in the front row.  Sitting next to him is on of the other two Davids, with the last of the three Davids sitting fifth from the right on the front row.  Billy is sitting in the middle row directly in front of "Little Dave".  Lindsay Woolf is sitting on the second row, third from the left.  Randy is sitting next to him (4th person in from the left).

Returning to school after the fiasco at the pool was difficult because I knew what I was walking into.  Every day after school Mark was filling me in on the latest rumors about me, and he was several grades behind me, still in Junior High, so I knew it was worse in high school.

When I got back to school, as I suspected, I might as well have been wearing a scarlet letter.  Everyone’s reactions around me told me that they had heard about it.  What was different was the way people treated me—either teasing me outright, discussing me in hushed tones, or avoiding me as if I were a pariah.  Everyone had heard, and everyone started to look at me differently.  If you have ever been an “outsider” you have witnessed the kind of treatment I am talking about.  It was a lesson in the darkest aspect of “community”—how people treatment the undesirable. 

Randy had been using my nickname outside of the swim team and so the nickname “Little Dick” and/or “Little Dave” was catching on, and within days had transformed into “LD”.  I got referred to as “LD” in one form or another three times before I even got to my first class on my first day back.  There were a lot of snickers, more who just avoided contact with me, a lot of talking on the periphery.

  

I had always been fearful that my small penis made me different.  I had read information on line about penis development by age.  When you are smaller than average you read all the stuff on the subject that you can find.  It doesn't help.  It only reinforces that you are a "freak of nature" as I was told over and over.  I knew that by between ages 10 and 12, most boys grew from 1.5 to 2 inches long.  By age 13 I should have grown to at least 3.75, and by age 14 I should have been at least 4.75 inches long a length I never attained, not even in adulthood.  By age sixteen I should be up to 5.5 inches long which just never fucking happened even though I saw it happening to the other guys around me.  By my sophomore year in high school I was still barely larger than a 12 year old, and far from even hitting the average for a thirteen year old.  I had worried at how people might react if they found out.  Some of the guys on the swim team knew, but word hadn't spead outside of that group, but then of course as we got oder the differences only got more and more apparent.  Some of us grew from boys to men.  In that one incident at the pool, Lindsay, someone I had considered a friend, completely changed the way I would be seen for the rest of my school career.  To his credit he did come to my aid on several occasions later on, but the damage was already done.  My reputation was ruined. 

It is easier to shrug off insults when they just aren't true, but when they are, well, its harder to ignore.  When I was told that someone's little brother was hung bigger than me, I knew statistically, they were probably accurate.  Fuck all.  It wasn't fair.  And it especially wasn't fair that now everyone knew it.  Sure there were a few friends who told me, “that shit don’t matter,” and “rise above it,” and “it ain’t the size of your pencil, it’s how you sign your name,” but those homilies did little to help.  In fact they only make things worse.

But see here is the point. 

Now it was all about my dick—or lack thereof.  Grades, awards, competitions—none of those things really did anything to change things.  In high school, and in life, the male sex is competitive.  Whether it is instinctive or social, one  thing I learned is that when guys know they are hung larger than you, they immediately treat you differently.  Immediately.  Now how they treat you different may change from guy to guy, but it still holds true that there is a prejudice that colors the way you are seen. 

Some of the guys just outright teased me.  And what I heard over and over was to just “let it go”, not to respond.  But those therapists and high school counselors who dish that out need to spend a few weeks under the barrage of put downs before they put out that kind of advice because it is just like telling someone being poisoned to just swallow the poison instead of fighting the person feeding it to you.

More than the teasing was the sometimes subtle and at other times not so subtle ways that guys started to interact with me.  In a conversation, whether you realize it consciously or not, you realize on some level when the person you are talking to you is condescending, or at least thinks himself superior to you.  Sometimes that comes across as arrogance, sometimes as bullying, sometimes very simply as a perception that you are somehow “lesser”, and when you get treated as an inferior long enough it will effect you.

My performance at school was effected.  My grades went down some at first, then later picked back up.  But my performance on the swimming team was truly impacted.  Assignments I got from the coach changed.  If you have participated in sports you know that there are those the coach sees as potential winners, and those the coach just allows to be on the team.  I got swapped from the winners circle to the periphery.  I still took some trophies, despite everything.  There are times when your own anger and resentment spur you on when others are trying to tear you down.  But it takes a lot out of you to achieve those wins, and then after the win, if you are not in the winner’s circle—no one really cares anyway.

When Mark came home one day and started calling me “LD” I knew that life as I knew it was over.  Mark even told mom that “LD” was what they were calling me at school, whether or not she knew what it meant, I don’t know, but she allowed him to call me that even when I objected to it at home.  She said that the more I fought him, the more certain the teasing would continue.  Great parenting, mom!  Among the reasons I only initiate calls to her on holidays.

This chapter of my blog doesn’t have a lot of plot to it, no specific instances, but I felt that I needed to set the tone for what was happening every day—every day—every day.  You don’t get to pick your nickname.  What people call you changes you.  It informs new people joining the community how you are regarded, if your are accepted—or not, if you are respected—or not.  When every greeting or social interaction contains the reminder “Little Dick” you become your name.  I went from being “Davy” to being known as “the guy with the littlest dick in school”.  Hell, even some of the fat guys and the geeks who got teased considered themselves my superior.  There are a lot of geeks with big dicks out there.  If you don’t believe me join the chess club and see what happens.

I got depantsed at least three more times before I graduated from high school.  I will write about those specific instances.  High school bullies are not creative or original.  Frankly I think bullying should be elevated to a more serious crime and that bullies should be prosecuted—even if they are minors.  But they won’t be.  While bullies lack originality, they have keen insight into what scares you and what humiliates you and they perfect their ability to do just that.  They had either been there, or heard about what happened, so it was easy to just replicate it.  I had already been culled from the herd, so getting to me wasn’t hard either.  

Read a few bully studies.  What you will find out is that bullies are able to do what they do because the people who are not their targets let them get away with it.  Most people take no action out of fear they too might become targets, so they just let the bullying happen, and sometimes, even join in on the fun.

See I would never ever consider going back to a high school reunion.  I felt betrayed by everyone.  Teachers didn’t protect me.  The other students watched it happen, and for the most part, did nothing.  In fairness I should say that there were some students who did take steps to help me.  I know three who actually reported it, even when I asked them not to, but nothing happened to the bullies.  At least back in the 1990's schools were doing anything, maybe that has changed today.  I hope so.  There are always a few people who do the right thing, I guess, but unless they are also in the “in” crown, it is unlikely their actions will be supported. 

So what I will write about as a specific incident is what finally changed things to allow me to finish out my senior year with some semblance of sanity.  Some high school counselor type, or criminal justice type reading this will think what I am going to say is irresponsible and promoting violence.  But I am going to say it anyway, because it has become clear to me that you have to make your own justice.  You are naïve if you believe that justice is dispensed equally.  Ask anyone on the periphery if they are getting help—ask people barely surviving on a low income how much “protection” they get, ask someone who has a conviction in their background how easy it is to find a job that pays a decent salary, ask anyone gay in a small town how "protected" they feel,  ask someone on disability how they have been treated.  If you are a member of a minority you have to make your own justice.  I'm not defending terrorism--that shit is crazy and just perpetuates the prejudices it seeks to attack.  Democracy has been also called "the tyranny of the majority".  It is the interests of that majority that get protected.  It is a simple truth that must be accepted if we ever want to change things for the better and truly defend out constitution in this country.  But I understand their motives.  When you turn to institutions for help enough times, and see that they are not going to help you, whose fault is it really when you take justice into your own hands?

Randy, one of the guys on the swim team, started in on me after swim practice one day.  He grabbed my towel and pulled it off me as I was walking by him.  I wasn’t expecting it, so it wasn’t hard for him to do.  He managed to get me into a headlock while I reacted by covering up, and then he had me in a position where my crotch was thrust forward, since I was fighting the choke hold I only had one hand free to “cover up”.

Randy went on and one about me being “dickless” and at the time this happened I basically was.  When cold, or after exertion—such as sports activity or exercise—my penis has a habit of retracting fully inside me, leaving only the foreskin tip showing.  Shaft and most of the head were disappeared back inside me.  As he pulled me backward and tightened his hold, my hands were needed to protect my throat and try to pull his arm down enough to keep me breathing (at least the way I was thinking and reacting to what was happening).  So my retracted state was pretty obvious to everyone in the locker room.

No one came to my aid.

Some guys laughed, a few encouraged him, a couple said casually “Hey Randy, let him alone” but did nothing else. 

And my fear transformed into something else. 

One elbow and throwing myself and him back against the lockers got me clear of his headlock and I spun and splattered his nose with my first punch.  I got several more punches in on him before several of the other guys pulled me off of him.  I was spattered with his blood, but Randy’s face and chest looked like he had just got up off the altar of a Mayan sacrifice.  His nose was pouring out blood.  I have been told some of the shit I was screaming out at him—mostly about how I was going to going to “kill him” and had “taken enough of his shit”.  I guess most of the guys who were there were pretty certain that if they did nothing I was going to kill him.  Randy, Mr. Tough Guy, never even threw a punch at me.  I guess he wasn’t expecting his victim to fight back.  I will never regret what I did.  Score one for the good guys!

So, of course, I got suspended.  Not Randy, whose father was on the school board, and owned a prominent business in the town.  According to the school administration he was the victim.  No charges got pressed against me like Mom feared would happen.  I was causing her so much embarrassment and that's pretty much all she was concerned about--how I made her look in the eyes of the community.  My mother expressed every day during my suspension how disappointed she was in me.  The fact that I threw the punch was all she considered to be important.  I had brought scandal down on her.  I learned later one of the coaches and the government teacher came to my aid by protesting that I was being systematically bullied and that I was only defending myself as the administration had failed to defend me.  To their credit, both of them ran classes so it seldom happened in their presence.  When it did, they handled it.  It was even suggested that my family had a legitimate lawsuit against the school for their failure to act.  They of course, did not understand my mom's motivations.  She would never suffer the social stigma that might result from that.  She is still too concerned about what the neighbors might think.  If you wonder about that, just look at home much energy she puts into her fucking lawn so that her yard will compare favorably against her neighbors.  

But here is also what happened.  “LD” started to go away, or at least the aspect of it that was a "put down".  People stopped teasing me, and when teasing happened it was more good natured and not bullying.  More people called me "Dave" or "Davy" again.  I guess once you “go crazy” and publicly punch a bully and fracture his nose and make a bloody mess in the locker room people are less willing to target you.  For a couple of days I even earned some accolades from Mark, who was happy I had stood up for myself.  He even snuck a sandwich up to my room when Mom sent me to my room without dinner.  Whether I gained any respect or not, I liked the fact that at least for the rest of the year I wasn’t being targeted.  I was still largely “avoided” and ignored.  But instead of being “the guy with the littlest dick” I became “that crazy guy who might beat the shit out of you.”  Only took one incident.  Gossip is capricious!  It's a trade-off that still won't get you "student of the year".  Most everyone agreed that Randy deserved what he got.  I wasn’t the only guy he had targeted.  Still blending into the status of "wallflower" was better than being the "infamous little dick".

Author's Note: By the way. I guess you should know that my brother, Mark, calls this blog irresponsible.  He believes that I brought the problems onto myself.  He was unhappy with the strong sexual content of the chapters he read.  He was especially unhappy with what I wrote about an encounter with him and Chuck.  I think my exposing the incest that occurred worries him.  He pretty much called me a liar about the situation leading up to the fight in our room, and while he agreed with the “facts” in the story, he said that I distorted what happened to make my side more sympathetic to the reader.  I told him that it was how I remembered things and to write his side of the story as a comment and I promise to leave it be.  So far he hasn’t done that.  My dad used to say there are three sides to every story: your side, his side, and the truth.  I'm not sure that anyone ever really knows the truth.  At best, they say, Justice is blind.