Overconfident Sarcasm - Tiny Tim

Chapter 1

Just after 3 PM on November 15th, I walked through the front door of the house I grew up in and, for a short moment, took in the silence greeting me. After dropping my backpack and getting rid of my shoes, I made my way into the kitchen. My mind on the report I’d have to write at the firm. School and work was really all I did anymore. On the kitchen table I found a note in my mother’s handwriting; they all went out with Uncle John’s family, since my parents’ favorite child was back from college for the weekend. Just like last year, when they forgot about my birthday, they made plans that didn’t include me. At least this year they didn’t blame me for disturbing their fun time by coming home.

A quick survey of my surroundings revealed two recently used but empty pots on the stove, as well as four plates in the sink. No leftovers in the fridge or oven. I did, however, find the leftovers in the trash can. I was used to it. By the time I finished cleaning up the kitchen to make myself something to eat, my appetite was somehow gone, and I just felt droopy. So, instead of cooking, I went up to my room to grab a soda from my own little fridge and boot up my PC. I found an email newsletter from the delivery service I frequently used regarding my birthday. A coupon code for a free muffin (if I pay for a pizza). I looked around and saw no presents and no cards. I wasn’t surprised. At least, with that coupon code, lunch was taken care of without me having to move. At least, by next morning, I would finally be out of that house.

Despite what people might think, I preferred being left alone by my family. The alternative wasn’t really appealing to me. My name is Timothy, and I prefer to be called Tim. Though most people, especially members of my family and all their friends, simply called me “Tiny”.

Ever since my sister, Ava, walked in on me while I was ... doing what all healthy boys in full blown puberty do the most, things had changed. Back then, I was barely 5 feet tall and maybe 95 pounds soaking wet. I didn’t even notice her barging into my room, until she screamed upon seeing me and ran out of my room. And, of course, when she explained the reason for her outburst to the rest of the quickly assembling family, she had to comment on how glad she was that the thing was so small it was completely covered by my fist, so she didn’t have to actually see it.

You know how people say “We’ll laugh about it tomorrow”? Well, my family didn’t want to wait a full day and started making jokes about it as soon as we sat down for dinner. That evening, my new nickname of “Tiny Tim” was born, and they thought it was hilarious. Back then, this hit me hard. I was insecure enough without having people throw jokes about my dick size at me, but my family saw it as harmless ribbing and simply ignored my desperate pleas to stop calling me that damned name.

My fourteenth birthday was still pretty normal. I had friends over, got gifts, and Mom even baked a cake. I did suffer from the nickname, but, other than that, they clearly cared about me.

Something I only understood much later was that my brother, Logan, had always been exceptionally talented at getting what he wants, while making his behavior look completely innocent and his demands absolutely reasonable. He was always good looking, charming, and outgoing. That caused people to let their guard down and open up to him, so he easily learned what they liked and how they responded to things. Everyone would tell you how good of a friend Logan was, even though I never saw or heard about him actually doing anything for anyone but himself.

Until then, he never chose me as a target for his games, though I did already suffer the indirect consequences as our parents clearly favored him over me. Whenever decisions had to be made, they chose what he asked for because he knew how to make them think it was the reasonable choice. Consequently, whenever we got into an argument, they took his side without even questioning what caused it, because he was always perceived as the reasonable oldest child while I was seen as the jealous kid. The longer this went unnoticed, the more his wants outweighed my needs without them even realizing it.

During the half year leading up to Logan’s sixteenth birthday, however, something in his treatment of me changed. Under his subtle influence, the penis jokes were slowly taken up a notch, continuously pushing the boundaries of how far they could go before I lost my temper. Meanwhile his jokes, particularly when nobody else was around to hear them, had taken on a malicious tone. He also spent a lot more time with our parents, especially Mom.

After his birthday, he suddenly accompanied them when they went out with Mom’s brother, John, his wife, Danielle, and our cousin, Maggie, who was about Logan’s age. I also started catching him in whispered discussions with Ava that stopped when they noticed me being around. It was then I also started noticing him looking at me in a different way, especially when I was spending time with Ava or Mom (which, by that time, I was already trying to keep to a minimum. Simply to avoid hearing them address me as “Tiny Tim” again). Even when I needed some help with homework, he would show up and make sure I wouldn’t get too much of their attention.

My way of dealing with the alienation and sadness was to stuff myself with sweets and junk food. I put on more weight than the growth spurts could compensate for, and thereby provided even more ammunition to the family criticizing my body. I spent more and more time in my room, playing around with my computer and reading fantasy novels. But it was then I discovered my real talent for programming, and had, after a few months of self-study, reached the point where I could do small jobs I found on Craigslist and fiverr.

What I hadn’t realized at that time was that I had effectively turned into the fat geek in a family of athletic achievers. And athletic achievements were all they cared about. I once saw a rerun of that old 80s show “Married with Children”. Al Bundy reminisced about that one time in high school, when he scored four touchdowns in a single game. That is basically the best way to describe my father, Aaron. For him, talent in sports is what gets you a scholarship for college and dates with cheerleaders. With that, he was talking about my mother, Claire, who was captain of the cheer-squad at his high school.

Ava had, in every aspect, inherited our mother’s beauty and was at fifteen already almost a carbon copy of her. Roughly 5’3’’ at about 125 pounds, with long golden blond hair and green-blue eyes. The only real difference between the two, apart from Ava’s more youthful skin and Mom’s few extra pounds that three back-to-back pregnancies bestow upon a woman, were their cup-sizes. If Ava had a B-Cup, Mom must have had a D-Cup. Logan and I were more like our father, though. We had his dark-brown hair, brown eyes, and our height would hopefully also top out at his 5’11’’, though at that time I was more around 5’3’’.

So, while Logan and Ava followed in our parents’ footsteps, I was the fat geek my father couldn’t relate to. And, no, that wasn’t just my impression. He straight up told me one day how he still remembered all the beatings he handed out to the nerds in his schooldays, and simply couldn’t fathom “how my own son could turn out to be one of those losers”.

When I started my first year at the same high school Ava and Logan went to, my personal hell was complete. My loving siblings had made their way to the top of the popular crowd. Logan, becoming the star football player our father once was, and Ava, achieving the position of captain of the JV-Cheerleaders our mother once held. Following our --">