The door shut, and your scowl returns, your smile vanishing as though it never existed. Which, to be truthful, it never had. But the fake smile, especially on somebody like yourself, young and cute, reassured people that, yes, you were allowed to work here and, no, you weren’t on your own. Both weren’t entirely true.
The manger, your useless mother, was sleeping off her hangover in her room in the small motel behind the station. You, on the other hand, did her job for her, despite it not really being legal, in order to ensure that you both had somewhere to live. Her boss, at least, was mildly sympathetic, allowing you her to keep her job because you were doing it.
You hated the useless bitch.
Physically, you looked very little like your mother, four foot two with short black hair and hazel eyes. Your body was slender, lacking most curves the other girls your age were developing. Your mother, on the other hand, was only a foot taller than yourself, and you hadn’t finished growing, and had curves that would’ve made many women jealous… until she ruined them by spending dad’s money on drink (and maybe drugs, though that might’ve been just your hatred for her justifying that hatred). Her hair could be a gorgeous shining gold when she took care of it (only to go out drinking and fucking), whilst her eyes could be a shining blue (when she wasn’t pissed).
Of course, you had something she… probably didn’t have. You never asked nor did you bother to look. Between your legs, hidden by your dress and boxers, was your cock. Fully erect, it stuck out six and a half inches, smooth and slender, maybe an inch and a bit in diameter. You knew it was a bit bigger than Daniel’s, one of your school friends (yes, you’d compared lengths, then punched him when he came on your leg (you’d only gently touched it too!)). What was definitely much bigger (uncomfortably so somedays) were you balls, each only being slightly smaller than ping pong balls.
You didn’t like it. Not really. You knew women weren’t supposed to have cocks (barring the strange ones that seemed more like men that your mother occasionally brought home), yet you had one and a vagina. Not to mention that it got… uncomfortable, sometimes, especially when you were in the changing rooms. It could make PE… awkward.
Looking around, still scowling, you sigh. This was your life for the next two years (at least, during the summer, where your mother was at her worst). Only thing you could do was get on with it.
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