1 Nobody And The Girl

Who am I, you ask?

I'm a nobody. I'm the living, breathing, classic definition of a nobody. I'm such a nobody, there's really nothing at all I can really say about myself that would ever be of interest to somebody. Unless you're just an utter nobody like me, quit fucking reading this and go do whatever the hell you bodies do. Trust me; no body ever wants to hear shit about a complete nobody.

Are you gone yet? Fuck you! Quit reading this, you stupid ass somebodies! I'm warning you – you'll just be wasting your time reading stupid shit a nobody wrote!!

Still here??

Well fuck! Don't say I didn't warn you, asshat! From this point on, I'm going to assume that only a real nobody would read anything more than this, and since I'm a worthless nobody too, I'm going to tell you the 100% honest, unadulterated truth about the worthlessness that is my, the ultimate nobody, life. Yay, You!

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So, who am I, nobody asked?

I'm just like you, except even more so. I'm a nobody in bold lettering, that's how big a nobody I am.

Sixteen years old. A perfectly below average student -- if I don't make D's on my report card, I make D-minuses. I suck at sports – always the last picked for anything in gym class, and always the first one out. I'm unathletic, definitely overweight, and borderline fat – and that's how I'd describe myself. Somebody would just call me a fat, worthless, lazy assed pig.

School sucks. Home sucks. Life sucks. I wish girls would suck, but I know that's impossible when it comes to me. The last time my prick got any action was the day I was born when it came out of my momma! Honestly, if I wasn't such a worthless loser, I would've killed myself a long time ago – but I'm certain I'd just fuck that up like I do everything else.

I'm too big of a fuck up to think I could kill myself properly, and thus I keep living. Living and writing and whining about how big a fuck up I am. My only consolation??

Knowing you are an even bigger fuck up than me. Why else would you keep reading this, if you weren't??

So, "How big a fuck up am I," you ask??

Let me tell you about a normal day in the life of this worthless nobody –me.

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This morning started just about the same as any morning; I awoke to a wet bed.

No, no, no! Before you start to think I still piss the bed every night, like a little kid, let me stop you. I didn't wake to a bed full of piss; I awoke to a bed full of thick, white, creamy man-goodness! (Cum, you moron, if you don't know what I'm talking about!)

I don't know why, but ever since my father married again last year, I've been waking up to an intense case of morning wood and a wet, sticky assed bed. I guess it's just a sign of my emotional abandonment issues. It was when father remarried, that I found out my mother wasn't my mother, and I've been screwed up worse than ever before, ever since.

And how could my mother not be my mother, you ask?

Simple.

Apparently, I'm a murdering bastard who killed his own mother on the day he was born. She died while giving birth to me – and I don't even know her name. Father never bothered to give it to me, telling me it wasn't important anymore. All I really know is she's dead and it's all my fault.

So, who the heck did I grow up calling mother, you ask?

You ask a damn lot – even if it's just in my imagination – do you know that?

Fine. Screw it. I'll tell you. After all, I did promise to be truthful to whatever nobody that's reading this.

Mother — or at least the woman who I was raised always thinking was my Mother — Mother was a maid. Or servant. Or some stupid shit like that. Honestly, I don't know what the crap she was. All I know for certain is that when I turned thirteen, her contract with father expired, and she packed up and left without bothering to say goodbye, fuck off, you never meant shit to me, or anything else. She just left overnight and when I asked where she was, father simply told me, "She doesn't work here anymore."

Happy fucking birthday, huh?! And it only got better from there!!

"Congrats! You're thirteen! Oh, by the way, you killed your mother when you were born, and the woman who raised you – who you thought was your mother – doesn't work here anymore. Do you want cake with that?"

Can you see now why I'm such a worthless nobody?

No?? Fine. Then let me tell you about the nothingness that is my father.

First, I'll tell you father is rich and famous. Then I'll tell you that he's only famous in certain dumb ass circles. And finally, I'll tell you that none of it even matters as he's not really a father to me. SURE, he provided the DNA that birthed me, but he's never been a Father to me. He's simply not around enough to be anything to me. He's my nothing of a father and I'm his nothing of a son.

So, who is he?

He's a professional drummer for one of those "almost there" bands. If he was a baseball player, he'd be in the Minor Leagues, waiting to get drafted up to the Majors. If you're one of those few hard-core fans who follows the "up and comers", then you might know him. Otherwise, all you'd do if I mention his name is say, "Who's that?"

OH, don't get me wrong; father's not a loser when it comes to life, like me. He hangs around with famous folks, makes lot of moolah, and hobnobs with tons of awesome people. He's great with all of them. He's just a nobody to me.

Always busy. Always on the road. Or always working on a song. Or a new beat. Or a new rhythm. Or scheduling a promotional interview, or signing, or whatever. He's always doing something – anything – except spending time with me. As far as father and I are concerned, I'm just a red debit mark in his checkbook. Hell, I don't even live in the same house as him anymore!

Yep. You read that right. I don't even live in the same house with him anymore. Ever since father married Not-Mother, or Nother as I call her, I've barely seen him (or her either, to be honest), since.

Our home was remodeled and I'm now living upstairs while they're downstairs. It's one large ass house, but it's divided into two separate units, kind of like condominiums. Separate baths. Separate kitchens. Separate bedrooms, sitting rooms, and study rooms. Hell, we even have separate entrances. They go in the main door; I go up the steps and enter through the upstairs door.

Separate and discarded – that's me. Out of sight and out of mind, with no worry that I'll ever make enough noise to disturb either of them. If you remember, I mentioned that father was a drummer, right? A fairly wealthy drummer, right? That means I live in a totally soundproof house, right?

Right!

Discarded. Tossed away. A worthless, forgotten nobody – that's me. And now that I've introduced you to me, let me introduce you to the one person on this Earth who's even more messed up than me…

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"Here. Use this." Just like many of my normal starts for most mornings, a beautiful naked girl nonchalantly strolled into my room and tossed me a wet washcloth. "You know," she casually remarked as she opened and walked into my closest, "if you just screwed me every night, you wouldn't have that problem in the morning."

"I.. I can't do that," I stuttered.

"You could," she stressed, as she strolled casually back out of the closet and out of my room, completely unconcerned that she was utterly naked and I could see everything. "You just don't," she laughed merrily, shutting my door behind her. Apparently, she was finished with whatever reason had brought her into my room. And, like that, she was gone again.

And, who the hell was that naked, streaking beauty, you ask?

My sister. Or not-sister. Almost sister? Honestly, I don't know what to call her. If I just stick to the very basic facts, her name is Maria and she's the daughter of the woman who married my father last year. She's also… Complicated, is probably the best way to put it.

Maria isn't a nobody like me. She's beautiful, charming, intelligent, funny… On a scale of one to ten, she's the square root of 144. That's both a twelve and a negative twelve, for you nobodies out there who suck at math — like me. I had to look that shit up on a calculator to learn what it was, to best describe her!

And don't get me wrong, Maria isn't rated like that because of her personality, or her being a snooty ass, or mean to me, or anything. She may be the only person in this whole world who actually treats me like a real person.

She's just broken. Badly broken!

A few years back, Maria was in a wreck with her father. They flipped the car, he died, and she was trapped under the vehicle. As if that wasn't bad enough, a power pole snapped off from the crash and a live wire landed on the car. She was literally cooked from the inside out as current ran through her arm, up her face, down her spine, and exited out her hip.

It broke her bad.

The braces she had, overheated, or carried electricity, or some shit like that. In the end, they shattered her teeth completely. At sixteen years old, she has a 100% complete set of dentures which she can in and out like an old granny.

As if that isn't screwed up enough, either her nerves, or some part of her brain, or some other shit, was completely fried from the current which traveled through her body. She has zero feeling in her body now. No pain. No warm. No cold. No touch. Absolute zero feeling whatsoever!

And, as if that's not enough, she can't taste or smell anything either!

Three of the basic human senses are permanently destroyed for her – taste, smell, and feeling – and the other two aren't the best. Maria has to wear glasses (usually contacts), and now she even lives in a soundproof house! I can't even begin to imagine how hard her life actually has to be for her!!

But at least she's more than willing to let me screw her, right??

Dumb ass!! Sure, her ovaries might've cooked just like her gallbladder, kidney, appendix, and who knows what other "non-essential" organs the doctors removed from her, but she still can't feel anything!

Humping Maria would be a lot like humping an inflatable doll. She won't feel it. She won't enjoy it. She doesn't get moist, and she'll never orgasm. If someone ever does want to hump her, they'll have to remember to bring lots of Vaseline or K-Y Jelly!

Hell, the only reason she even offers to let me screw her is because we live in this upstairs house alone together. I could waltz into her room, bounce her all night long, and she'd sleep right through it and never feel a thing.

Instead of worrying all paranoid over me pervert-raping her, Maria just told me, "Do it. You'll never knock me up with a kid, so it doesn't matter anyway. We're family now, and if I can somehow make family happy with this screwed up body of mine, I'll do it. Anytime you want it," she promised, "feel free to come take it. Heck, I don't even bite," she joked, while pulling out her dentures!

How the hell can she joke like that? Maria is much, much stronger than a total nobody like me.

And besides, for a loser like me, with no mother and discarded by his father, she's the only family I've got. I'll fucking kill anybody who actually hurt her – and that's a promise. I already promised I wouldn't lie to whatever nobody who reads this, but I double, double promise I'd go apeshit crazy if someone fucked with Maria. She's. The. Only. Family. I've. Got!

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So, what's Maria actually look like, you ask?

She's 110% a hottie, like I told you before! The problem is, there's two different Maria's which I need to describe for you – the version you will probably always see, and the version which only I secretly know.

Both versions hold many similar points. Full, round breasts. Perfectly rounded ass. Shapely legs. Tiny waist. From the viewpoint of her shadow, Maria has a perfect silhouette.

Now, the version of herself which the public always sees is usually that of an extreme Gothic beauty. Black, leather dress. White leggings and undershirt. White gloves. Brightly colored lipstick and dyed hair of infinite styles. 210% pure beauty!

And, the secret side that only I get to see, is completely different! (Plus, I know the horrible truth behind why Maria dresses as a Gothic chic!) For starters – and don't tell her you read this from me -- Maria is hairless. And I don't mean bald; I mean completely hairless. No arm hair. No leg hair. No pubic hair. No eyebrows or eyelashes. Not a single hair on her entire body! Egg-bald from top to bottom!

When the current passed through her body, it damaged some of her hair follicles and she started to experience hair loss. At first, she tried to cover it up by brightly dyeing her hair and setting it in various styles to minimize the effect. Then the dyes started to affect what hair she had, and made her lose even more of it. Finally, disgusted with the whole damn hassle of it all, she had it all permanently removed.

Not a single stitch of hair anywhere on her body – not that you will probably ever get to see that. Maria spends half an hour, or more, every morning, just to put on her hair. What you get to see is a wig, fake eyelashes, drawn on eyebrows. Nothing more than the perfect icing covering over all the little imperfections on a cake.

What I get to see all the time? All those small imperfections which a cake has, the moment it comes out of the pan. Without the hair, without the clothes, without the makeup, I can see the truth behind how tiny, scared, and fragile she truly is.

As I said before, Maria is a truly broken person. And, she's also truly special to me – my only REAL family. I'll murderize anyone who screws with her.

But that's enough talking about her, for now. Now it's time for me to go help her get ready for the morning!

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Cleaning my crotch up with the washcloth Maria had brought me, I quickly changed underwear and left my room. Going across the hall to her room, I waltz freely in, without bothering to knock. Just as I'd expected, she was sitting at her desk and playing with her makeup in the mirror.

"Up and on the bed," I ordered. "Let me get your morning inspection done and over with."

"Sir! Yes, sir!" Standing briskly, she turned and snapped at attention sharply, doing her best to imitate a military salute. As her beasts swayed tantalizingly up and down from the crisp movement, I couldn't help but smile lightly. Just how the hell can she always be so up-beat?

Taking several quick strides, Maria marched over to her bed and flopped down on it. Rolling onto her back, she stretched her arms above her head and spread her legs wide in an open M-position, with her knees bent almost all the way up to her breasts. I'm still amazed at how damn flexible she is!

"Ready and awaiting inspection, Sir!" Closing her eyes, Maria took a long, deep breath, and then allowed her muscles to go limp.

Walking over to the edge of her bed, I took a moment to grab up her medicated lotion and squirt some on my fingers. "Okies," I told Maria gently, "I'm going get some finger action for a bit!"

"Pervert," she laughed, completely relaxed as I pulled open the lips of her vagina and wiggled my fingers around in a circular loop inside her.

"I sure am," I agreed, "but you know you like it."

"Mumm humm," Maria hummed softly, not saying anything.

Truth is, she knows I'm not doing it to be a pervert and get my jollies off. I'm actually checking for any sort of milky discharge, bad odor, or cracks or abrasions on her skin. She can't feel anything, and it's not an easy place for her to check herself, so it's become my habit to check things out every day for her. I might not be a gynecologist, but if I see white or yellow discharge around her womanly hole, I know enough to tell her to make certain to get things checked out professionally.

"The front looks good this morning," I assured her, as I rubbed the medicated moisture cream around and inside her. Most women tend to make enough natural moisture to help prevent a lot of problems. Maria doesn't, so I slather a good bit on with every inspection.

"Mumm humm," Maria nodded again, as I wiped my fingers clean on the sole of her foot and then lifted it to carefully inspect the bottom, and between her toes.

With her eyes closed, and with no ability to feel her own body, Maria was basically trusting me to do whatever I wanted with her. She wasn't watching, and she couldn't feel it, so I could whip it out and screw the hell out of her all I wanted right now, and she'd never even know about it…

And, that was why I'd stick in pecker in a sausage grinder, before I'd do her like that. She's the only person in this world who would ever show me such trust, and I'd neuter myself before I broke that!

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The next ten, or fifteen, minutes was just basically me rubbing, caressing, feeling, and staring at every minute inch of her body. I was constantly talking so she'd know what I was doing – quiet hums were usually all the response Maria gave me – and I carefully and diligently examined every part of her in that time.

"Looks good this morning," I assured her, as I was finishing up. "You've got a couple new bruises on your leg which I noticed, but nothing that's really worth mentioning. Go ahead and sit up now for me', I ordered her.

"Oh," Maria giggled, "I guess you've finished having your way with me for now?"

"Yep," I affirmed, going over to pick up her stack of clothes from where she'd laid them on her dresser.

"Now I just got to dress you," I smirked, "and we're done."

"You know," Maria pouted, "I can dress myself!"

"Nope," I argued. "I keep telling you I enjoy dressing you up. I'm going to do it." Looking at the clothes she'd picked out, I snorted and tossed half of them into the floor, before going over to her drawers and rummaging through them until I was satisfied.

"No underwear this morning," Maria asked, while laughing gayly. "You know we're going on a field trip in school, today."

"Nope!" Shaking my head from side to side, I slowly slid a pair of stretchy pant-things up over her legs. "No underwear this morning, tomorrow morning, or any morning," I assured her, once again. "You don't need them."

She just laughed and relaxed while letting me have my way with dressing her, but it was the truth. Too many layers of clothes aren't good for someone like her. Imagine the elastic strap on your own underwear stretching, breaking, or sliding down your ass and letting your undies bunch up in a knot. Now, imagine not being able to feel that, and sitting on that bunched up wrinkle all day long! What's the chance that such a damn thing is the least bit good for your health?

Regardless, whether it's actually a problem or not, I can't help but imagine it being bad for someone, so I'm never going to let it happen to Maria!

Besides, the "under clothes" she wears is more than sufficient anyway. Now, I'm a guy – and I know I'm not the smartest guy in the world either – so I have no damn idea what to actually call the clothes she wears under her dress. Custom made stretch pants? Yoga pants? Leggings? Thick hose? Damn if I know!

I just know the pants and shirt she wears under her dress is a little white set of clothes that look like they're for a child of maybe six years old. Then they stretch, become almost transparent and skin tight, and snug her body like a second skin. Once they're on, you can see every – and I mean every -- curve of her body.

They don't hide anything, but they have several advantages to them. First, the shirt and pants both have several silver ringlets where they meet. It's an odd design, but one with a purpose – they lace together to make access harder for any pervert who might want to actually get to Maria's "goodies". Without cutting, or undoing that double string (one ties in front and one in back, for added protection), nobody is going to get in her pants without her noticing! When you can't feel your own damn body, you learn to watch yourself carefully around others.

(Of course, the main problem with this setup is it's a pain in the ass for Maria to undo easily on her own, as well. Luckily, she seldom needs to take them off on her own, as we attend the same school and I can always spend a few moments during lunch, or between classes, to help her with them.)

The top of the shirt is made the same way, with little silver circles which hook into a spiked, black leather collar Maria wears. (I think it looks a lot like a dog collar, but don't tell her that. It's protection from any jackass pervert trying to reach down her shirt and play with her boobs.)

Both the stretchy, long-sleeved undershirt, and leggings are white (almost see through transparent white once they're stretched on properly, almost like thick pantyhose), and so are the socks and gloves she wears. White shows blood easily, and with her condition, it makes it a breeze to find any injury she might've sustained on herself.

Once the underclothes are all properly snuggled up and fastened on her, I help her into her dress. A long, one-piece black leather dress with a tightly laced up bodice around her tiny waist. Glossy black combat boots with thick soles protect her feet. (They're steel-toed too, by the way.)

All-in-all, once it's all in place, Maria is a 12 on the hotness scale from 1 to 10. She's a truly exotic Gothic beauty – if all you're doing is looking at her flesh. It's hard to tell from just a glance exactly how much her "attention grabbing fashion style" is actually meant to help protect her and keep her safe!

(Remember, I told you I knew the secret behind why she dressed like she does. Now you know why too! She's not flirting, teasing, or trying to draw attention to herself – she's just living the best she can! Underclothes to help resist unwanted affection and durable leather to absorb impacts and prevent injuries, so you jackasses quit looking at her like a slab of meat made just for you to jack off on!)

Once I'd finally finished her body inspection, and had her properly dressed for the day, I gave her a gentle hug and then went back to my room to get ready myself for school. My last glance back into Maria's room showed her smiling and singing lightly to herself as she sat at her dresser and brushed out the purple wig with the long, straight hair, this morning.