He'd stopped dead in his tracks, even though he knew it was dangerous to do so, but his legs just would not move. The sight of those little rosebuds nestled in their nest of fur with big fat balls hanging below had made him go weak at the knees. Two or three of the guys had pulled their cheeks apart so Martin was able to see right into the crack. How his heart had pounded and his face flushed as he drank in the sight of those pale, smooth and firm bubble butts. And once, when he walked by a group who loved teasing him they had turned around and mooned him. Neither did he want to hang out with the macho guys and talk about sport and cars, although he often fantasized about these very same guys.
Martin knew that he didn't want a girlfriend. And then there were freaks like him who didn't fit in. The second kind hung around with his buddies drinking beer, being loud and silly and were generally to be avoided. The first kind was the one who always had a girlfriend on his arm. Martin grew up in a real small town where there were just three kinds of guys.
