Who Is Lucas Ryker O'Riley?

6. NO MORE SMALL SHIRTS

With football season over, the holidays were upon us. Thanksgiving and Christmas were on most everyone's mind.

I think most people enjoy the holiday season, and our family was no exception, but I love, love, loved it.

In addition to the great food and exchanging gifts with each other, visiting all of the family, Grandma and Grandpa Martinek, Grandma and Grandpa O'Riley, and all of our aunts, uncles and cousins. I was just as happy being invited to visit with the Delacroix family during the holidays as well.

Both of our families made a point to get together one evening for a more relaxed dinner gathering after all the family madness died down. The dads would watch football, actually, so would Dave, Mandy's brother James, along with myself and at least as long as the games were interesting, Mandy.

Our moms would talk about family (especially us kids), planning our next vacation, and grown up stuff like careers and all the travel dad had to do for his job. Most people probably wouldn't think much of our families' get-together, but times like this, it seemed that my world couldn't be more perfect.

During the holidays there was alot of dressing up for church services and formal dinners. One thing that stood out when we were all dressed up in our Sunday best was that Dave and Mandy were starting to look more like young teens or as I'd suggest, 'little adults', while I still obviously exhibited my 'cute' round faced little kid appearance.

The only positive observation that I noticed about myself was that my vertical growth still kept pace with my brother, even if still resembling a bean pole. I was shy of his proud 5'7" height by no more than three or four inches.

One oddity about our heights that I found interesting was that my legs were about an inch longer than his. I really noticed my leg length when my pants didn't reach past my ankles anymore. However, my latest growth spurt put me at almost a full head taller than Mandy and an inch taller than Jason Stenstrom, the next tallest kid in our class.

Once the holidays were over and with no more football games, my brother and I needed a new hobby to keep us busy in our spare time.

During Christmas vacation while out shopping, Dave and I noticed a new martial arts studio opening up just a mile away from our house. The sign in the window said that they taught Taekwondo, Hapkido, and Kendo sword fighting.

Within seconds of noticing the new martial arts school, my brother and I had already made our intentions known to our dad. His initial response was his usual spiel about asking our mother for her permission first.

I could tell he wanted to say yes, but we all knew mom had to give her final approval for these sorts of decisions.

Regardless of not getting an immediate answer, I was confident our chances of convincing mom were pretty good. The wild card was whether Mandy would want to go and if so, would her parents let her go with us.

As soon as we walked in the door, Dave and I began buttering mom up. We knew how to press her buttons but she also knew when she was being worked on by us.

She quickly turned our request around as a challenge to keep up our chores and continue bringing home stellar report cards. Since these were already the terms our parents gave us for allowing us to play football, we quickly agreed to mom's conditions.

As soon as mom gave us the thumbs up, I raced around the block to Mandy's house.

I tried to be as smooth as I could selling her on the idea of going to Hapkido class with us. However, it wasn't the Hapkido that interested her so much, surprisingly, she was interested in learning Kendo sword fighting.

I made her a deal that I'd take Kendo in addition to Hapkido if she'd go with me to Hapkido as well. She happily agreed, but there was one final hurdle; her parents' consent.

The logical choice was to approach her father, selling him on his little girl learning self-defense, which turned out to be the easiest sell up to that point in my life. Mandy's mom also agreed as long as she met similar conditions to those my mother set for Dave and I.

Before long, Winter had gave way to Spring. We could finally put away our winter clothes and get back outside.

As everyone started wearing appropriate clothes for the warmer weather, it was obvious that several classmates changes were still progressing. Since many of the guys were starting to notice girls and conversely, girls were noticing guys, most of us to some degree or another became more self-conscious.

It was just around this time while I observing my classmates' changes that I began noticing some of my own strange developments.

Before my brother and I started noticing girls, I had never given much thought to my unique plumbing down below other than the somewhat uncomfortable probing and odd follow up questions by my doctor during annual checkups. But recently, the opening which I normally folded my penis into seemed to be getting deeper.

In fact, I could quite comfortably tuck my penis into the space and could now probably fit a whole other penis into the hole the doctor described as a vagina. I'd still have to pull my penis out of it's protective space when I needed to pee, but it seemed almost natural to tuck it back away under the space of my skin folds.

Then there was the recent development of extra sensitivity of the folds of skin around my vagina opening.

Neither my brother nor any of our guy friends from school ever really talked about anyone's development other than how much they liked the girls in class with the bigger tits, so I sure wasn't going to bring up my own plumbing situation and telling Mandy about this was out of the question.

Additionally, as if that wasn't enough, I had noticed that the areolas around my nipples, which were once the size of nickels, had grown to the size of quarters. Not only that, they started to become puffy, swolen.

To top it all off, my nipples which were previously smaller than really skinny worn down pencil erasers, had grown to the size and shape of nearly perfect cylindrical shaped, brand new pencil erasers. Even without looking at my nipples, I could tell there was a huge difference just by how incredibly sensitive they had become.

At this point, I was certain that I couldn't hide the growth if I ever walked around without a shirt. Heck, my raised areolas and larger pronounced nipples already were noticeable if I wore some of my smaller shirts. No more small or thin material shirts for me after that.

I was uncomfortably close to having full-on training bra breast,  a swelling beyond "proto-breasts."