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Introduction:

Anthony is recounting his life, and remembered the day everything changed --- when a fateful encounter sent him down a brand new path
This is the second in the series "An Account of an Arch Cocksman."

Based on comments, I could see people DON'T like cliffhangers or anything seemingly episodic... So let me preface this by saying this series WILL BE EPISODIC. Stories will end suddenly, and if you're reading this fresh off the presses, may not be updated immediately, so you have been warned!

Now then, on with the show. Please continue to offer comments and keep them constructive, please! :-)


Please be sure to read "An Account of an Arch Cocksman" for the pre-origin to this story.

==========

I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. My cock jumped a beat and I looked up, expecting to see a hot girl.

"You're in my seat, dipshit!" The words came from a big oaf of a guy, looking like he was the starting guard on the football team. Really snapped me out of whatever trance I was in.

Considering that I still THOUGHT and acted like I was a 5'1" pile of nothing, I appeased this animal of a man and moved over quickly. I sat next to him silently. We were both looking in the direction of the high school kids.

"I love high school girls," he suddenly said. "I keep getting older, they stay the same age!" he continued, trying to pawn off the famous movie line as his own original thought. I rolled my eyes.

Without saying a word, seemingly salivating, he got up and made his way to the group. He began talking to, then got his hands on, a brunette girl wearing a trench coat and a Marilyn Manson shirt (this was the late 90's, after all). Her friend, a black chick wearing a tight shirt with, might I say, nice ass titties, began hitting him over and over and he just lightly pushed her away. Obviously something was going on here.

I felt my blood boil. First off, this asshole reminded me of every prick that picked on me in high school and before. Big, throwing his muscle and weight around, thinking he was entitled to whatever he wanted. Secondly, I hated seeing women mistreated like that. I was a softie at heart... one of those guys that vowed if I were to ever accomplish the pipe dream of getting a girlfriend, I would treat her like a goddess. Not the way these girls are obviously being treated right now.

I don't know what came over me --- maybe it was confidence that I was bigger now, but I had to do something. I went over to break up the groping display this asshole was up to.

"Hey meat-fuck-fuckwad!" I stammered, trying to come up with something snappy to call him mid-sentence. "Get your hands off the girls!"

He immediately let go, and a predictable standoff began to take place.

"Or what?"

"I-I'm going stop you."

He laughted heartily. "You're going to do something? Look at you! You're skinny as a rail, bud! You can't fuck with me." He poked me in the chest with an outstretched finger. "What's a pussy like you going to do to ME?"

I just turned red ... did he REALLY call me a pussy? I wasn't a pussy! Nobody, but nobody, calls me a PUSSY!

So without warning, I hauled back and punched him in the face.

This is the moment in the Afterschool Special that the big bully goes down like a ton of bricks when the heroic little guy punches him. But this is real life, folks. And I was standing across from a guy used to taking on 250 pound linemen every Saturday.

"Really?" is all he said after I landed a punch on his cheek. One of the girls began to cry.

It was then that I went to my happy place. While he pummeled me mercilessly, pinning me down with his weight and just punching me over and over, I pretended I wasn't there. For some reason, I thought I'd do something they did during a recent viewing of the movie "Fight Club" (again, it was the late 1990s). I went to my cave and found my power animal. For some reason, my power animal was a centaur holding a crossbow. And while I'll spare you the psychobabble that went along with that, I connected it to the fact that I enjoyed being the hero. I enjoyed helping. All I had to do is have confidence, believe in myself, and I can stroll in like the mighty centaur and save the damsel in distress whenever she needed.

Needless to say, dude stopped punching me at some point. I opened my eyes (well, eye --- one of them was swollen shut) to see the group of high school girls looking down on me, concerned.

"Are you okay?" the blonde one who I'd later find out was named Jamie, asked.

"Yeah, that was really brave what you did," the hot brunette, Lara, added.

"Yeah," the big-titted black girl, named Jenay, said.

I sat up and groaned, gripping my pounding head. "Yeah, I'm fine." After a beat, I looked around at their faces, still horrified. "So, what happened?"

And they regaled me not with a story of a guy getting his ass kicked to a bloody pulp and huddling in a fetal position on the ground, but that of a heroic savior who broke up a bad situation by distracting a terrible guy.

"When you came, he just focused on you, not us anymore," Jenay said.

"Then you weren't moving after a bit, and you were all.... bloody," Jamie said. "So he got scared and ran away."

"Yeah..." Jamie said. "You're our hero."

After a pause and a few girlish giggles from the group, the quiet one, a dirty blonde named Clair, came over to me.

"Oh, and these belong to you."

She held out her hand and gave me two teeth. I immediately reached up to my mouth and felt two gaps missing.

"OH FUCK!" I exclaimed. They still continued to giggle.

"No, fuck you guys, it isn't funny!" I was always anal about my teeth. One of those guys that brushed three times a day and after snacks on occasion. They were perfect. And I was going to be toothless like a hillbilly and lose all that hard work???! FUCK THAT!

But Jenay changed the mood by putting her hand on my shoulder. "I think it looks sexy." Jamie mirrored Jenay, touching my shoulder on the other side. "Yes, very sexy."

Hmmm... now that's a strange development. A big smile spread across my face.

Just then, the city bus pulled up, and we were all forced to gather our things and get on board.

[TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER III]
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