The Young Wizard–Part 1

This story was posted several years ago and was removed from the site because it originally described sexual activities between under-aged teens. It was written to be a coming-of-age story and I wasn’t thrilled when it was deleted because there was nothing pedophilic about it. However, I don’t own the site so I don’t make the rules.

It has taken me quite a while to rewrite it so that all the parts fit together. It was a lot of work, but it’s also one of my favorites. I have compressed the story line so all participants in sexual acts are eighteen or older. I hope you enjoy it. There are five segments.



Chapter 1

I think I was in fifth grade when the first Harry Potter movie came out. My buddies Ted and Josh begged me to see it with them and since we were our own version of the Three Musketeers I agreed. We were into the movie maybe a half hour when I looked over at them. They were really into it. I could see the rapt expressions on their faces. Me? Well, let me put it this way—if I was texting I would have written “LMFAO.” I couldn’t let my buddies see me but I was definitely laughing myself silly inside. Robes? Wands? Messenger Owls? Hogwarts School of Magic? What a crock! And believe me, I should know. When other kids were learning the “Alphabet Song” and “Twinkle Twinkle” I was learning my first spells. I’m a wizard. My dad, a top executive at a Fortune 100 corporation, is a full-blown warlock, something I hope to attain when I turn 21 like he and my grandfather before him did. You’d be surprised how many key people in business and politics are warlocks and witches. We even had a recent president and his wife among our numbers. My mom is a witch with a lot of magic at her disposal, but instead of working she’s a stay at home mother.

I always try to use my magic for good. It’s something my parents insist on, and so far I’ve only hurt two people, but in both cases it was for a really good reason. In fourth grade a kid named Alan Hamilton was bullying all the other kids, stealing their lunch money. Alan was a lot bigger than all of us having been retained in primary school at least once that we knew of, but probably more than once judging from his obvious stupidity. One morning while Ted, Josh, and I were walking to school Alan cut us off with his bike. Throwing it to the ground he turned on us as Ted and Josh tried to retreat. I just pointed at Alan, whispered an illusion spell, and stood my ground. When Alan finished turning he turned white with fright–facing three king cobras was not anything he could have anticipated. When he ran back to his bike another spell made him trip, getting tangled in the bike frame, and break his leg. I caught a lot of shit from my mom about that but Alan’s bullying days were over.

The other incident took place in eleventh grade when Sarah Cunningham was bragging about how big her tits were in front of poor Mary Patricia O’Brien while she teased Mary Patricia mercilessly about being flat-chested. What the hell did she expect? Mary Patricia (MP to me) was a lifelong friend who lived only two doors down from us and her mother was as flat as an ironing board. I walked over to the girls. “Really nice of you, Sarah,” I interjected. “You’re a real bitch.” I put a protective arm around MP and walked her away as she broke down into tears. Time for some magic, I thought. I turned MP to me and unbuttoned two buttons on her blouse.

“Jeremy! What are you doing?” MP exclaimed.

“We have an old family custom…a superstition, really,” I told her as I moistened my thumbs in my mouth. I put one thumb on each of her “breasts” and told her, “Think about them growing. I’ll do the same and, just maybe, it will work.” I closed my eyes and scrunched up my face like I was really concentrating. What I was really doing was reciting a growth spell—MP was going to have tits, and really good ones, if I had anything to do with it! I turned toward Sarah and did the same to her with one big difference. A growth spell has to be turned off or it will go on forever. Looking at MP’s frame I figured that somewhere between a B and C cup would make her look really hot so that’s where I stopped her. Sarah—well, I never did turn her off. She wanted big tits and she was going to have them.

Three weeks later—just days after her eighteenth birthday and a week after mine–we were on the way home from school. MP and I walked the last few steps to our homes. “Jeremy,” she whispered as though she had a secret, “please come over in a few minutes. I have something to show you.” MP and I are the oldest students in our grade. The school district has a cutoff date of December 1st for kindergarten enrollment. A child born on November 30th can start kindergarten in September at age four. Born just one day later and you have to wait until the following year no matter how smart you might be. That’s why we were eighteen while many of our friends were barely sixteen.

She turned and ran to her house. I looked at her, totally confused. Before I could react further I got a telepathic message from Mom telling me she needed me in the kitchen. That’s one of the special abilities we all have—we can send and receive messages telepathically. “OK, Mom, I’ll be right there,” I sent back. After helping her I told her I was going over to MP’s house and then I’d start on my homework.

I walked in the door without knocking as I always did saying “Hi” to Mrs. O’Brien before heading to MP’s room. “You decent?” I kidded her before opening the door.

“Come on in, I want you to see this.” I saw MP sitting on her bed topless. She took my hand, pulling me to sit next to her. She led both of my hands to her chest. There were two small lumps there where previously there had been nothing. I felt them in awe. “It’s working, Jeremy, it’s working! Your family superstition is giving me boobs.” MP was elated. Two weeks later she invited me to her room again and once again she brought my hands to her chest. By now she was somewhere between an A and a B-cup. It was wonderful to feel those firm soft mounds topped by beautiful pink nipples. Three more times I’d feel them before they made it all the way to C’s.

Sarah, however, was learning that having big breasts wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. She had probably been between a B and a C-cup when she started but three months later she was an H. A month later she must have been an HH. Kids started “mooing” every time she walked down the hall, and in the cafeteria it was even worse. I was feeling pretty good about all of it until my mom cornered me after school one afternoon. “I went to the high school for PTA this morning; I saw Sarah Cunningham. Her breasts weren’t grown “naturally,” were they?”

I gulped a few times before explaining what and why I had taken action. I told her I’d take care of her right away. “What about MP? Was that your handiwork, too?”

“Yes, Mom, I couldn’t stand to watch her get teased by the other girls. They were so cruel. You know what her mom looks like. MP was going to wind up just like her. Now she’s feeling really good about herself.”

“OK, but you’d better take care of Sarah immediately. I heard she’s thinking about surgery so you have to deal with it and the sooner the better.” I said the appropriate spell, Mom smiled at me, and Sarah’s breasts began to shrink. I set it up so the shrinkage would occur pretty quickly so there’d be no need for an operation and I left her at a D which should make her pretty happy after her ordeal.

Giving MP boobs proved to be one of my best ideas ever. I started going over to her house, and by March it was every afternoon, to feel, rub, and suck on them. In no time at all MP would start moaning like crazy. How her mom didn’t hear us I’ll never know. Maybe she did and just figured it was all part of growing up. Everything was going pretty well until a Friday afternoon at the end of the month. When I walked into MP’s room she was completely dressed and looking down. I sat on the bed next to her and lifted her chin with my finger. “What’s wrong, MP?” I asked showing my concern. “Did I do something to hurt you?”

“No, Jeremy. I’m the one who’s done something. Actually, it’s because I’ve done nothing that I’m upset.”

“Huh?” Boy–was I confused. I spread my arms starting to ask a question but nothing came out. I didn’t know what to say or ask. Fortunately, MP saw my distress. She started to laugh. “Jeremy, you are so sweet. First, you rescued me from that awful Sarah and then you helped me get boobs and then you’ve been coming over here every day and making me feel really good!”

“OK,” I responded, “but what’s the problem?” I was still confused.

“That’s just it, Jeremy. What am I doing for you? Nothing!”

“Well,” I said with a sly smile, “you ARE letting me play with those nice tits of yours.”

“Yeah, well, duh! If you knew how good it feels when you rub them and play with my nipples you’d understand why. But, what am I doing to make you feel good? Not a thing, and that’s why I’m upset with myself.