During the autumn of 1997, Sidney Gifaldi "Sid" Mariano played the part of a ten-year-old navigating life in the rainy city of Hillwood, nestled in the Pacific Northwest. This quirky metropolis pulsed with a rhythm all its own, unique in its blend of urban grit and a touch of charm. His adventures didn't take him through majestic forests or secret hiking trails; instead, he traversed cracked sidewalks, buzzing traffic, and friendly corner stores where cashiers greeted him like an old acquaintance. The fog rolled in from the coast, cloaking the skyline in a mysterious veil. The air's odor could be identified as a mingling of bus exhaust and damp concrete, far from the comforting aromas of woodsmoke and freshly turned soil. With the technological shift of the era just beginning, Sid found himself caught in a world straddling the old and the new—a place where skateboard wheels clicked over pavement alongside the chatter of payphones and the glow of neon signs.
Though Sid always felt a sense of belonging in Hillwood, weaving his bike through busy streets, leaping over fences to shorten his routes through the neighborhood, and spending afternoons at Gerald's Field—a makeshift baseball diamond created by kids like him—the new school year weighed on him differently.
Lately, Sid felt like his life took place in a surreal show where his body staged pranks on him for everyone else's sick satisfaction. Each setback felt like it came at his personal expense. His once baby-smooth complexion had become marred by unsightly breakouts, turning his face into a battlefield of oily, angry spots.
Scrutinizing his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Sid sighed, replaying all the times he'd been told his nose looked like a wiener. Eyeing the new guests on his face, Sid shamed himself, "I should join a freak show ... I could juggle some shame with this nose."
The following morning, Ray, his father, must've overheard him, because the man snuck in a bottle of face wash on the sink like it had been a covert mission. There hadn't been any explanation, just a silent gesture that underscored his dad's level of subtlety. Sid let out an exasperated sigh, deliberating, "Great, just when I thought the first day of school couldn't get any worse, now I have a skin-care routine."
It constituted more than just his face, too. His voice, which had always been raspy yet reliable, had taken on its own path by cracking like an old sidewalk. This was especially so the more troubled Sid felt—and being anxiety stricken over more things more often—his speech path felt hardly worth navigating.
Sid started to make his way out to catch the bus before strolling past his father's open bedroom door. Ray stopped Sid with a word, "Reverse!" his father's subtle Italian accent was less subtle when speaking with his son. Sid stepped backward to stand in the doorway, looking down at the floor with dejection.
"What's up with the melancholy?" Ray interrogated.
Sid shrugged, kicking at the floorboards.
"Come on," the father prodded further.
"I sound like a generic teenager," Sid admitted.
"You always had a raspy voice, Kiddo," his dad chuckled in response to him lamenting the changes. "Plus, I know what ya sound like more than you do." Ray turned his head back to his work, focusing on the pencil line drawings at his animation desk. "And your classmates are gonna be goin' through it, too. Don't sweat it."
Sid thought about that remark as he sat through the first day in Mr. Simmons' stuffy classroom, feeling moisture gathering in the ticklish space between his crotch and thighs, heat creeping up his crack, leaving him self-conscious at the idea he could be developing a tiny pond at the top of his butt cleavage.
This happened to be the same room Sid had been in last year for Grade 4 with Miss Slovak. Half of the windows were broken and boarded up as a cost-saving measure not to pay for the repairs. The biting fall weather seeped in from the outside. Sid's new assigned seat came to be next to the radiator. Poor insulation, plus cold weather, equaled the child roasting next to the industrial heater.
Less than a year ago, Sid bounded through summer days with the uncontainable energy of a spry monkey, scaling fire escapes, shooting hoops with the neighborhood kids, and sprinting through crosswalks before the light changed—all without a hint of exhaustion. If pigs actually sweated as much as the idiom implied, he'd be sweating like one, all because of an unfortunate seating assignment.
The weirdest of all these new problems were the ways Sid started noticing other people differently. Betraying his personal comfort, his gaze lingered a little too long on the other boys. A casual brush of skin or even innocuous laughter sent an electric jolt coursing through him. It felt as though he'd been rewired overnight.
Take Stinky, for example. They had been friends since they were in diapers. Yet lately, when Stinky unleashed one of his hearty, yokel laughs at Sid's jokes or nudged him playfully, Sid felt an unfamiliar flutter in his stomach; like the drop felt on a rollercoaster or the dips in a hilly road.
Stinky had always towered above their peers, with his height a constant source of both envy and mockery among their classmates. He easily outran everyone, standing over most of the other kids as it amounted to the natural order of things. It was just the body the boy incorporated.
This heightened awareness extended beyond Stinky, though. Sid found himself fixated on everyone else outpacing him, stretching taller, moving faster. So now, he came to be the one who stood out for his height, just not in the way he wanted. He'd always favored his Cuban-heeled, Beatle boots for their stylish flair, but now they felt less like a fashion choice and more like a desperate measure against the imposing presence of the other boys.
Another boy on Sid's mind lately was Brainy. Brainy typified the kind of boy who always ended up at the back of the class. His new assignment just so happened to be at the very back again this year, while Sid occupied the seat right in front of him; the one next to the radiator. It struck Sid how much older Brainy looked now, perhaps due to a case of precocious puberty. The thin mustache adorning his upper lip made everything seem different, marking a shift from their past interactions.
Brainy's skin seemed pasty under the fluorescent lights, and his hair, fair and spiky, clung to his elongated head like a crown of energetic lines. His clothes seemed to hold on for dear life, ill-fitting as though his growth spurt had significantly outpaced his mother's shopping schedule. The gamboge color of his collared shirt accentuated his discomfort, making his big nipples visible, which, to Sid, resembled those of baby bottles—innocent yet disconcerting—Sid couldn't stop himself from thinking they looked sexy.
The lunch bell rang, and Sid found himself at a table with Stinky, Harold, and Joey. Brainy appeared to be sitting at a table by himself, which was typical. Sid had a hard time not looking at Brainy, but Harold's loud mouth pulled his attention away. "Did you guys hear there's gonna be a Yahoo Soda Spokeskid Contest? If they pick me, I could be a millionaire. And- And then, I could buy a million Mr. Fudgy Bars!"
Helga was making her way around the table when she put a hand on her hip and gestured over Harold's body, commenting, "Fat chance! Like they're really gonna pick a Lard Boy like you. The casting call's after school today. Try not to embarrass yourselves."
Harold slammed his hands on the table, quaking everyone's trays. "Hey, it could happen! And don't call me Lard Boy!"
"There's only one way to find out, but I'll pass," Sid weighed in.
"Yeah, I ain't cut out fer that Hollywood stuff. Ya gotta be somethin' special tah get picked out fer stuff like that, and I just ain't nothin' special," Stinky seemingly lamented.
Joey lisped out, "Yeah, for real, Shtinky."
Sid normally would've said Stinky doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell, but Stinky getting down on himself and Joey reinforcing his words put Sid on the defensive. "Don't talk like that, you never know! Plus, it could be fun just to go watch."
If anyone else tried to get him to come along, Stinky would probably commit more self-flagellation, but he quickly reconsidered thanks to Sid. "I reckon I could go if it'll make ya feel better."
After lunch, Sid tried switching to his cut-off jeans for the rest of class, always carrying the shorts around in his backpack for after-school sports. Shortly after, though, he became convinced people could hear it—the quiet, rhythmic patter of sweat rolling down—collecting at the curve of his spine before slipping through his gooch and out his shorts. Plip. Plip. Plip. Little wet splotches hit the tops of his white boots like heavy rain on a sidewalk. "I can't sit here ever again," he thought, mortified.
In the quiet of the classroom, the ambient sounds of Mr. Simmons' chalk scraping against the board and the rustle of paper blended into the background as Brainy sat wheezing, the sound of his breath a stilted melody. Could it be asthma? Sid wondered, his heart tightening. He couldn't help but speculate about Brainy's world. Could there be something else lurking behind that facade? The way Brainy rarely spoke in complete sentences muddied Sid's understanding further. Autism? Brainy's deep, froggy breathing sent inexplicable shivers down Sid's spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood erect, his toes curled inside his boots, and the sweat beaded faster through his loins.
At that moment, Sid could sense the weight of their limited history, aching for a connection that felt just out of reach. Would things be different this year? Sid grappled with a complex mix of confusion and empathy for the boy behind him, finding himself more turned on the more Brainy invaded his mind. His brain felt like it started draining, his shorts tenting, his thoughts tangled up in the image of Brainy's mouth getting closer than it should be. Might he be tall enough to lean over and put his mouth on Sid's neck? The ripped twine of jeans between Sid's legs barely contained anything going on down there now. Pit. Pit. Pit. His sweat dripped out faster still.
As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Sid sat frozen at his desk, trapped in his thoughts and in his shorts. Stinky nudged him, his voice laced with playful urgency, "Shake a leg, Sid. We've got somewhere tah be."
Mr. Simmons, especially empathetic and observant, approached once the other kids filtered out, motioning for Stinky to leave. "You go ahead, Stinky. I need to speak with Sid about ... tonight's assignment." Now, there hadn't been any assignment tonight, but with some reluctance, Stinky took his leave.
Mr. Simmons sat down across from Sid, his hands folded thoughtfully, his warm yet concerned smile solidifying the notion that whatever he might discuss would be far from ordinary.
Save for the top of his head, the teacher had reddish-blond hair and thick, bushy brows. He had earnest eyes and an upturned nose, and he wore a light green sweater vest and a bright green bowtie. Sid thought that if it weren't for his average height, he'd look a lot like a leprechaun; Sid thought he was cute.
"Sid, you know, sometimes it's important to talk about how things change … And changes are completely normal for boys your age," he said gently. "Puberty can be a confusing time. Your body grows, your emotions shift, and sometimes, unexpected things happen."
Sid slouched low in his chair, tugging at the hem of his cut-off jeans, desperate to focus on anything but the heat creeping up his face. "Y-yeah, totally. Normal. Totally normal," he muttered, avoiding Mr. Simmons' gaze as if his life depended on it.
Simmons smiled as if he had done what he set out to do. "If you ever have any questions, I'm always here to talk."
Sid let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his damp neck. "Cool, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Simmons. Nice meeting you!" He shot up from his seat so fast that his boots nearly slipped on the linoleum. He needed to get out of there right now.
The boy looked to be still slightly indisposed, and the man noticed, blushing down before looking up as he spoke, "Why don't you take my sweater with you? It's nice and oversized." The man gestured to a big green sweater on his chair.
Sid looked down at himself, then over at the sweater. If he put that thing on, even if it hung down low enough, anyone who saw him in it would know he changed into the teacher's clothes. "I-I'm good. I've got my jacket," Sid responded, ready to take his leave. Mr. Simmons wanted to do something more to help, but he finally came to a loss for answers as Sid made his way to the bathroom.
As Sid entered, he heard Gerald and Arnold talking inside, taking off his black, leather jacket and awkwardly covering his crotch as he darted into the handicap stall. He stayed close to the door to listen in on the boys' conversation, with Gerald and Arnold barely sounding like the same kids he remembered from last year.
Lately, when he would spy on them whispering to each other, doing that special handshake with their thumbs, Sid felt like he must be missing out on something important. They were taller and they sounded more mature. He kept waiting for all these changes to lead to an idealized form of himself, but instead, it felt like he'd been confined somewhere in the middle, left to experience all the awkwardness without any of the perks.
They were talking about Stinky, though. So, Sid's focus intensified. "I can't believe Stinky's gonna be the new Yahoo Soda Spokeskid!" Gerald exclaimed.
Arnold responded, "He didn't even have to audition. The casting director heard him talking on the stoop outside and shut down the opening at the Avon theater."
Sid couldn't believe it, even despite what he'd said at lunch to Stinky. Would this have happened if Sid didn't stay after class? As Sid's thoughts raced, by the sound of things, Arnold and Gerald seemed to leave the restroom.
Sid's racing thoughts returned to Brainy's breath; because it seemed like he could hear it, again, like he could feel it, again. "Nice turtleneck," Brainy groggily complimented, Sid jumping up and doing a quick turn to come face-to-face with the thinly mustached boy.
"Brainy! What the-heck, Brainy?!" Sid yelped out in a startled yet hushed tone.
Brainy breathed in and out. "Sorry."
Sid found himself in a peculiar situation. Everyone else surely had to be gone by now, off celebrating with Stinky. Sid turned back around and put his jacket on the hook of the door, honestly feeling pretty gross about the potential germs involved, but it seemed better than putting it on the toilet's tank—or God forbid—the floor.
"Brainy, if you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you. Got it?" Sid raised a fist to the taller boy, who came to be used to getting his face punched in daily, and Sid knew that.
Brainy breathed deeply, again. "Okay."
Sid's sleeveless, white turtleneck seemed to draw Brainy's eyes. Brainy's tight shirt loomed on Sid's attention like before. "I like your ... shirt, too," Sid whispered. Brainy stepped closer, and Sid's erection tightened back up.
"Like my mustache?" Brainy asked strangely forwardly.
Sid blushed hard, giving his answer. Brainy looked down at Sid's pointing crotch, his own brown shorts pushing forward as their tips grew closer.
They embraced, grabbing one another at the waists and frotting their erections together through their clothes. When Sid's rocket got so big, his balls started hanging out the sides of the taint twine, and Brainy's breathing picked up like crazy. Sid got turned on by the nerdy boy's breath fogging up his glasses, ready to press his face forward and collide their noses so he could start kissing that fuzzy upper lip, lick it, stick his tongue inside the other boy's mouth, but then Brainy started cumming.
Sid watched in shock as the other boy's yellowy, hot cum pushed through the brown material of his shorts, looking like bubbly custard—piling up so heavily it looked like a cream-colored log started forming inside Brainy's pants—working its way out little by little in liquid form. Sid had only seen the stuff in porn, and now it got pushed all against his lap.
Brainy gyrated his hips, humping into Sid as the pleasurable tinges of his orgasm softened over, but Sid froze again. The taller boy groaned, starting to press his face forward now, only this time Sid's resolve wavered. Sid became so taken aback that he hoofed it out of the stall and the bathroom.
Sid wanted to speed straight to the fastest bus home, but before he could leave the school, he realized he left his jacket behind with Brainy. He couldn't face the soiled boy again right now, so he made his way back into Mr. Simmons' classroom, relieved at the teacher's absence. He quickly grabbed the oversized sweater and put it on like a big dress.
Shortly after, Sid sighed with relief as he rode the public bus, noticing that all his classmates seemed to have completed their routes already. By the time he made it home, he had completely forgotten about Stinky's marriage to Yahoo Soda.
At home, though, things weren't a relief. Sid made quick work of the shower, but he left his freshly cum-covered cut-offs behind, and as soon as he got out, his dad promptly started joking about, "Oh, the pleash'as of when boys start becomin' men," which just made Sid want to put back on the sweater and call out sick.
"Oh, what? I got no trouble talkin' about it. It looks like it's time," Ray pressed.
"I'd rather be kidnapped by some big creep than talk about this!" Sid blurted out, the words spilling from his lips before he could think them through.
Ray, unable to contain his incredulity, nearly choked on his laughter. "You what?! Is that really what you want? That's your idea of fun?!"
Sid rolled his eyes. "Shut—up! I just mean I'd rather disappear entirely than have to sit through the whole birds and bees talk, okay?!" His voice cracked at the end, the embarrassment causing his cheeks to flush.
Ray chuckled, the tension between them easing slightly. He shrugged on his own leather jacket, the well-worn fabric creaking softly as he moved. "Come on, Little Man. You need some air," he said, ruffling Sid's hair playfully as they stepped out into the bustling city.
Father and son ventured into the vibrant chaos of city life, the constant thrum of energy enveloping them. Bright neon-lit diners flickered nearby, illuminating their path, while the streetlamps cast long shadows that danced on the ground as they walked.
They passed a corner store where Gerald and Arnold stood chatting, their voices blending into the symphony of sounds around them. The mention of Stinky brought a rush of memories flooding back, but Sid quickly shoved them aside. He didn't want to hear it this time. Thankfully, the overwhelming noise and lights of the city were a distraction, a way to momentarily escape the fears brewing inside him.
The cracked concrete beneath his feet didn't care that his voice had been cracking, nor did the kaleidoscope of city lights shed care on his skin insecurities, and the forecasted rain didn't care if he couldn't cum yet.
Even as they ventured farther from the familiar warmth of their apartment and the safety of school hallways, a nagging feeling tethered Sid to the ground. As they walked past a shimmering store window, he caught a glimpse of their reflections. His father's figure—round and notably pear-shaped—seemed almost exaggerated against the backdrop of the busy street. At that moment, recognition struck Sid like a bolt of lightning, he too had begun to mirror that shape. His gaze traveled down, taking in the growing mounds of his backside. Were they a silent testament to those lazy afternoons spent lounging and munching on snacks? Or maybe it was all the rotational torque during baseball. Whatever the cause, the realization settled in his stomach like a burdensome weight.
They stood there for a moment waiting for the crosswalk light to change, both eerily alike in form yet worlds apart in experience. Sid couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper lingered in the shadows of his thoughts, something he hadn't been ready to articulate just yet; he liked how his dad looked.
In the midst of this self-evaluation, Sid suddenly felt, and heard, the sharp crack of a slap as his father's furry-haired hand landed lightly on his butt.
"Hey!" Sid yelped in surprise, turning to find Ray leaning against the wall between the windows, a playful grin stretched across his face, just not in the way Sid had anticipated.
"Gotcha! Didn't think I'd catch you staring at yourself, did ya?" Ray teased, arching an eyebrow with a playful glint in his eyes.
Sid rolled his eyes, trying to fight back a smile. "I just wanted to see if my hair's still how it's supposed to be," he replied, taking his hat off for a moment to run a hand through his messy locks, which had taken on a life of their own.
"Well, it's still like a weather system in need of a warnin'!" Ray shot back, chuckling heartily, his laughter echoing in the dampened air.
Despite himself, Sid grinned. No longer the same sensitive kid who would shy away from playful jabs, but not quite a teenager yet, either. He stood awkwardly straddling that midway between childhood and adolescence, navigating a territory filled with self-discovery and inexplicable fashion choices that had his wardrobe teetering between cool and questionable.
Just as he got ready to muster a clever comeback, a sudden downpour erupted from the sky, drenching them both in seconds before they could piece together a plan of escape.
"Great, just what I needed! You were saying something about a weather warning!" Sid exclaimed, laughter bubbling up as they both turned on their heels, racing homeward, their shoes splashing through puddles.
With the rain rolling in and the shadows of his life looming ominously over him, Sid felt an undeniable truth settle in his bones: change had already begun charging toward him, relentless and unapologetic, indifferent to whether he felt prepared or not. It's time to set aside the regrets, like that haircut, and brace himself for whatever comes ahead. After all, life's too fleeting not to ride the waves, even if those waves come from a stormy sky—or taller males.