Chrissy and Emily

Chrissy and Emily 4

By Chris and Cassie
puericil@hotmail.com

[2,861 words]

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.

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Note from Cassie: These memories were told to me by Chris, and I wrote them down in story form. We both hope you enjoy them. If you have any comments, or any questions for Chris, send them to me and I will make sure he receives them.

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Emily was not my only friend growing up. I'd like to talk about one of them, Jin, who happened to be younger than me.

My mother had a friend she knew through a social group, an Asian woman with two children: a daughter named Kim and a son named Jin. She was married, but her husband traveled frequently for work, so I rarely saw him during my visits to their home. The two mothers had been close for a while, and our families would occasionally gather for dinners or casual get-togethers.

I was a little over three years older than Jin, while Kim was about three years older than me. Despite the age gap, Jin and I got along well from the very beginning. The difference in our ages never really got in the way of finding common ground or things to do during those visits, and to be honest, I was somewhat immature for my age when it came to interests, which probably helped.

Sometimes, when my mother and I visited their house, Kim would watch Jin and me. She also occasionally served as a backup babysitter for me at my own home. At the time, I didn't think of her any differently than I did my other babysitters. When I was younger, I felt no particular awkwardness around her; and as I got older, any embarrassment I experienced was no greater than what I felt with any other sitter.

As I got older and my delayed puberty became more apparent, I grew increasingly reluctant to join in on the usual activities with my friends from school. It wasn’t that I feared outright teasing or that they’d spread rumors. I had a small, close-knit group I trusted. But the very thought of anyone discovering my situation filled me with such deep unease that I guarded it like a secret.

That meant steering clear of anything that might require changing clothes in front of them. I stopped going to sleepovers and pool parties, and I stopped hosting them at my house too. It wasn’t just about them seeing me undressed, though. I also worried they might realize my mother bathed me, or that they might see Emily with me. And if I stayed at a friend’s house, I dreaded the possibility that my mom might give their parents detailed instructions on how to care for me, which would all but confirm that something was different.

So I quietly let those opportunities fade. Instead, I found a kind of relief in spending time with Jin, whether at my house or his (though more often at his, since his mother would help mine out when she had to work). When we had sleepovers, we would usually bathe together. Depending on whose house we were at, my mom, his mom, or Kim would help us out. (I should note that if we did have a sleepover at my place, it was usually when my mom was home. I don't recall ever having one while a babysitter was in charge.)

Being nude around Jin, whether we were changing or sharing a bath, never felt awkward when I was younger, but as I got older and my delayed puberty became more undeniable, I couldn't help but notice how similar my body still looked to his, despite him being several years younger. That similarity was a source of quiet embarrassment: I knew I should have been further along than a boy his age, not level with him. And yet, in a strange way, it also gave me a sense of cover. For lack of a better word, I could blend in. In those moments, I could pretend he was a peer, and that my appearance was perfectly normal for someone my age.

What made it easier was that Jin never seemed bothered by his own nudity or by any comparison between us. He never questioned why I looked the way I did or made any remark about it. Whether that came from his cultural background or simply his easygoing personality I couldn't say, but I was grateful for it. His sister, Kim, was similarly unremarkable in her reactions. She never commented on my delay either; she was kind enough, but matter-of-fact when it came to helping us bathe, treating it as just another task.

If anyone ever made me feel self-conscious, it was their mother. Unlike the kids, she would occasionally comment on my delayed development in passing, not cruelly, but still those remarks stung, because they reminded me that my secret wasn't as invisible as I wanted it to be.

But of course, it wouldn't be my life story without its share of mortifying moments, and remember a few that stand out.

Take, for instance, the fact that while Jin and I were both pre-pubertal and roughly comparable in genital size (both very small, though even before puberty some boys are noticeably larger than others down there), there was one difference: he was uncircumcised. That meant his foreskin added a bit of extra length to his penis, even in a relaxed state, compared to mine. As I grew older and became increasingly fixated on comparisons with others, I would get anxious that he looked bigger than me. It wasn't that I hadn't encountered younger boys who were bigger, I had, but with Jin, someone I otherwise felt so comfortable around, it bothered me.

I remember one time in the bathtub, I must have been silently doing that comparison in my head, staring without realizing it. Kim must have noticed, because she said matter-of-factly, "Don't worry, you're the same. It's just the skin on his that makes it look longer."

I felt my face burn red instantly. From that moment on, I was definitely more shy with her, as that basically confirmed her awareness of my insecurity. And it only got worse over time, as Jin's testicles began to descend (still not full puberty, but clearly more developed down there), while mine stubbornly refused to change, and she spoke to that fact also. It drove home the fact that she was watching, and that she knew.

This continued until a little after I turned fifteen. I remember Kim finally suggesting to her mother that I probably didn't need help anymore. But her mother overruled her, insisting that she continue for at least a while longer after that conversation. So even as I edged closer to an age where I desperately wanted independence, I remained in that same humiliating routine, caught between my own growing self-awareness and the adults who seemed to see me as perpetually younger than I was.

One time, their whole family picked me up from school. I can't recall now whether it was prearranged or a last-minute thing. Maybe my mother had to step in for work and needed somewhere for me to go. This was the period after my soccer injury, when my hands were still bandaged, not long after the incident at the mall with Emily.

I don't remember if we went straight to a restaurant or did something else first, but I was still in my school uniform when suddenly I really had to pee. Kim took me to the ladies' room and helped pull down my pants and underwear. In the urgency of the moment, I didn't realize she'd left the stall door open.

I heard the restroom door swing open and got distracted, just enough that my aim went off and I missed the bowl a bit. The woman who had entered, an older lady, scolded me sharply in a language I didn't understand. Kim reached around to take control of my aim and scolded me too, this time in English, for making a mess. After I finished, she tried to clean up while I stood off to the side, useless. My shirt likely covered my front, but my bare backside was probably visible from the side, and the stall door was still wide open.

When Kim finally finished cleaning and pulled my pants back up, she went to wash her hands. I stood there waiting, but by then there were a couple of other women in the restroom. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but I felt like such a baby.

Back in the restaurant, where there weren't many white people, I became hyperaware of every conversation I couldn't follow. The foreign chatter around me felt like it was all about me. I had no way of knowing if that was true, but in my head it was.

Kim also had a friend, Gabriella, who would often hang around their house when Kim was watching Jin and me. While Kim generally maintained a professional, matter-of-fact demeanor in how she dealt with me, Gabriella was a different story. She clearly found the whole situation amusing, not just the casual nudity of two boys in various settings, but especially me, since Kim had apparently filled her in on my age and my delayed puberty.

She was never outright mocking or harsh; nothing that would have earned her a rebuke from Kim or gotten her into trouble. But her enjoyment was impossible to miss: the little smirks, the knowing glances, the way she seemed to linger just a beat longer than necessary. I didn't have the confidence to challenge her presence or involvement, so I tried my best to act unbothered, though I'm sure I failed miserably at that attempt.

Sometimes she'd volunteer to help with the bathing, claiming it would "speed things up." She didn't always wash me; she seemed to enjoy the variety, I suppose. But one particular day Kim had stepped away to answer a call, and Gabriella had been washing Jin. She remarked that she thought he had grown, and then she had the two of us stand facing each other so she could place our penises one on top of the other to compare length.

Jin thought it was funny. I, on the other hand, was absolutely mortified. That deep flush of shame probably prevented any unwanted erection on my part (though I should note that on other occasions, my body didn't cooperate so kindly, and my involuntary responses only seemed to amuse her further).

There was also the time our moms had Kim watch us at a lakeshore not far from home. It wasn't a crowded beach by any means, but there were a couple of other families scattered about. True to form, my mother hadn't packed a swimsuit for me. I don't think it had even been discussed, because I remember Kim rummaging through my bag and coming up empty. Jin, however, did have one.

I think Kim must have noticed my immediate discomfort, because she suggested that Jin just go bare too, the way we did at home. But for whatever reason, he didn't want to. So there we were: me, the older boy, completely nude, while my younger friend stood beside me in a snug Speedo. The contrast couldn't have been more glaring.

It didn't help that Gabriella showed up near the end of the day to pick us up. I don't remember how long she was there or any particular exchange that took place, just the overarching feeling of embarrassment. The heat of the sun, the sand under my feet, the curious glances from strangers, and the knowledge that Gabriella was taking it all in with her usual amusement.

Another Jin-related memory that stands out took place at my house. My mother had been giving us a bath, and I was already done when Emily arrived. She just let herself in, as she often did. She came upstairs and found Jin still being dried off by my mom. My mother, of course, saw no issue with it, and Jin didn't seem to care either. But I remember feeling unhappy that Emily had seen him like that. I worried that, because of the foreskin, she would think he was bigger than me.

Again, this wasn't a real problem - Emily didn't care about my lack of growth and had already seen plenty of boys younger than me who were more developed than me, so this was hardly something new. But it was in a way a bit of jealousy, worrying that my closest friend might be more impressed with my friend who was otherwise the only boy I could feel comfortable around. I do recall a couple times raising with her about how foreskin shouldn't count in terms of measuring a boy's length, as if it was a random statement. I think she knew why I would say things like that, although at the time I thought I was being subtle.

Changing subjects now... there's another thread of memories that runs parallel to all of this, one that started when I was around eleven, maybe even ten. I can't pinpoint exactly when it began, but my mother had a friend (an older woman, so I'm not sure if she was a long-term family connection or just a random friend) who worked as a doctor at a local hospital. She asked if I could participate in a study of sorts, one that would track childhood development over time. This was long before anyone had diagnosed me with delayed puberty or even suspected I might end up with it. My mother, of course, agreed without hesitation.

So I began seeing this doctor with some regularity. Each visit involved all sorts of measurements, along with both blood and urine tests. Initially, I think I went every three or four months. I absolutely hated having my blood drawn. The rest of the exam was equally exposing: I'd be undressed, measured, poked, and prodded, usually with a nurse present and sometimes even one or two medical students observing, so it was embarrassing but far less so at early ages. But by the time I was diagnosed with delayed puberty, these exams were once every two months.

I have so many vivid memories of those appointments, and they truly were humiliating. It's bad enough for any boy (or girl) to be so exposed at that awkward stage of life. But for me, the nudity wasn't just uncomfortable; it was a direct, undeniable reminder of just how far behind I really was. Every measurement, every glance from the nurse or the medical students, every note the doctor scribbled down felt like a confirmation of something I already knew but desperately wished weren't true.

But one example stands out above the rest: a time when a neighbor had been asked to fill in as my chaperone for an appointment, well past my fifteenth birthday. It wasn't unusual for my mother to miss an appointment due to work, and I always needed an adult present. Typically, it fell to one of my older sitters, Emily's mom, a family friend, or occasionally Kim and Jin's mother. But this time, my mother had a last-minute issue and asked a neighbor, a single woman we knew mostly in passing. I occasionally did chores for her to earn pocket money, but beyond that, we barely interacted.

From the moment I got into her car, I knew exactly how this would go. I could already picture her seeing everything, and I actually considered telling her about my situation in advance, trying to prepare her, or maybe myself. But with someone I didn't know well, I couldn't find the words. How do you even begin that conversation?

The appointment itself didn't have any singular moment that stood out more than others, it was the whole thing. I do remember her look of surprise, though: first when she heard the reason for the examinations, and again when she first saw me bare. The doctor, for her part, spoke about delayed puberty and the signs they were monitoring as if I weren't even there, using me almost like an educational doll, clearly not concerned that I might be embarrassed or just not want all of those personal details shared.

At one point, the doctor mentioned that my neighbor might hold my hand, and she did. I remember feeling a strange mix of comfort and absurdity. Here was a woman I'd barely spoken to outside of polite greetings or the occasional chore, and now she was learning firsthand that her teenage neighbor was undeveloped, and she'd seen all of it. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, but the context made it feel almost surreal.

The car ride home was very quiet, at least on my end. I think she tried to make conversation, but I was too shell-shocked to respond much. Seeing her outside after that day became its own kind of challenge. Every greeting, every brief exchange, carried the unspoken weight of what she'd witnessed.

(The End)