So there they had been.
Kissing.
In front of the entire school. In the back of the hallway crowd. In front of his locker. In the back of his mind; leaving behind a bitter taste at the back of his mouth and a heated word at the tip of his tongue.
Confusing, conflicting emotions coursed though him, screeching out over anything around him. In response he could only numbly sit in his seat and endure the ride.
“We weren’t swapping spit,”
“Whatever you’re swapping, I don’t want it on my locker.”
“If that’s what you call swapping spit, then you don’t know what swapping spit is.”
Why there. Weren’t there any bathroom stalls or blue-tiled locker rooms available?
“They’re good kids. Sometimes they’re so stupid… but I love them.”
He was in literature class now, but his mind wasn’t…
It was amazing how quickly and easily you could hate someone. Not dislike; hate. Gentry knew the difference, since he hated everything about Mikey. It was no longer a preference; it was an emotion he couldn’t control.
Triggered by that too-slow voice, that gaping mouth bug-eyed glare with a vacant expression that coordinated so well with the meticulously groomed hair and form-fitting clothes. He hated his words, his ideas, the way he faked his way to goldenboy status.
“They call me Daddy. I always go No I’m not, but they inisist. I have experience with kids because my relatives used to have me babysit.”
“The kids must love you.”
Is there anyone they wouldn’t?
“You know what I believe?” said Mikey, “I believe in being yourself.”
No shit.
“As long as you’re yourself, you will stay true to that. Be real, don’t BS, don’t fake…”
He talks like a politician.
Why doesn’t anyone see through this? Why don't you, Zach?
“What if it’s your personality to fake things.”
No response. Gentry spoke up with renewed resolve,
“What if all you know how to do is bullshit people?”
Grudgingly, Mikey looked to him.
“Excuse me--- this is a private conversation.”
As private as your sex life.
“The whole class can hear it.”
“Gentry,” interrupted Kylie, “What’s your problem? First you call Sydney gay, now this..? Homophobia is gay, you know---”
“Hey Kylie, just leave him,” said Mikey, “It’s apparent he has his own issues to deal with.”
“Issues?” he stood up and leaned over the table, “And which issues would those be?”
The tension was drawn out into a point. Mikey glanced to Gentry, seeing not fear or passionate loathing in those murky eyes but amusement. Amusement? He’d give him something to be amused about.
“…You’re gay.”
The room fell silent.
Razor-thin barriers shattered to tiny pieces, any constraints were stripped.
“Zach told me. Everyone knows, and if they don’t, they should.” Mikey continued, “Your denial is only hurting you. Maybe if you would’ve been more open, Zach wouldn’t have come to me---”
He was cut off by a left hook to the mouth. And just as he stumbled backwards, Gentry threw him another punch. One followed the other in liquid motion, raining down onto the skin and carving out tender red marks. Filling the air with the smell of fear, filling his dry mouth with the bile that burnt up the back of his throat.
Hurling him to the ground, kicking, screaming and stomping him.
He didn’t know what took over… he didn’t know. He didn’t want to know, he wanted him to hurt. Wanted him to taste pain before dishing it up.And all he could hear was the screeching of his own voice, unable to yell anything except
“Faggot!”
Friday, February 29, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Because You Suck: Chapter 12: Part 1
THANKS FOR THE FEEDBACK! ^__^!
Gentry stormed into the office and disappeared amongst a group of talking Student Leaders.
“That sounds so fun!”
“Oh my God yay Homecoming!”
“Woohoo!”
He easily snaked through the crowd, which stayed in the hallway chatting as he slipped into an open door gently clicked it closed. Once inside the office, he drew the blinds then eased into the large leather chair.
“What are you doing here?”
Gentry’s wrist clenched back, fingers curling through a childish reflex.
“Fixing something.”
He flicked his hands across they keyboard, and kept his eyes fixed between the “g” and “j.”
“You aren’t. Knowing you, you’re probably here to break something.”
That didn’t stimulate so much as a murmur of denial. Undeterred, Mr.Johnson leisurely circled the table, the metal sole on his shoes making a muffled sound on the cheap blue carpet.
“I put together what you did with Nilla.”
He leisurely leaned over his son’s shoulder.
“And is this Mikey Carmichael your next victim?”
“No one’s a victim.”
“You’ll get caught if you keep settling things the way you’re used to… but this time, I’m under no obligation to bail you out. Think before you leap.”
Gentry peered back for a moment at those deep dark eyes, and upon seeing nothing unpredictable in their depths, glanced back at the screen. His face remained even, even as his father’s breath caressed the side of his neck. Even when a pair of lips kissed the nape, he didn’t jerk away or even blink. Instead, with his own dark gaze blankly fixed on the computer screen, he spat:
“Stay out of my secrets; I’ll stay out of yours.”
Mr. Johnson pulled away and heaved back a sigh, and rested an arm on the office chair. Although he recognized the freckled skin and dark amber eyes, the young man sitting before him was unsettlingly unfamiliar.
“I’m not here to stop you. I’m surprised you’re here at all.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
Who could have thought that little angel who once hid in the shadows and ran barefoot across blades of grass in leafy fields would have grown up so quickly, or so differently?
“You’re right. You are my son, after all.”
Gentry furrowed his brow in disgust, but quickly remembered he was being monitored. So instead of giving in to the dangerously comfortable gut reaction, he leaned back and asked with a dismissive tone,
“How’s mom.”
“She’s doing all right.”
Gentry gave a curt nod and stood up, heading for the door. A flicker of light moved across the room, illuminating the dust.
“Did she take up smoking again?”
“Yes. She did. But we’re working on it.”
Gentry bit back a heated reply, and Mr. Johnson watched that hesitation with a comfortable satisfaction.
In a proud albeit unsteady reaction, Gentry raised a hand and clutched onto the doorknob. His mind raced with thoughts, and feelings mingled together, like grains of sand swept up in a rolling wave. Could he afford this? Could he afford to stand proud, speak out, or even walk away?
No. Not if he wanted a morsel of truth.
“Does she talk about me?”
“Yes. She does; everyday.”
He turned the doorknob but didn’t open the door, hungrily waiting for more information to be fed to him; for the man in the corner to tell enough to occupy his thoughts, and fill him with warm memories on a cold day.
Instead, all he received was a patient stare, one he knew all too well. Cold as a fish, waiting for the quivering sigh and the inevitable question it brought with it. Always say please.
It was evident by now: He could not gain anything without giving away too much. Gentry’s resolve tightened along with his grip on the doorknob. He shoved it open, letting the distant murmurs from the hall flutter in. Then, without looking back, he walked out the door and clicked it shut behind him.
Gentry stormed into the office and disappeared amongst a group of talking Student Leaders.
“That sounds so fun!”
“Oh my God yay Homecoming!”
“Woohoo!”
He easily snaked through the crowd, which stayed in the hallway chatting as he slipped into an open door gently clicked it closed. Once inside the office, he drew the blinds then eased into the large leather chair.
“What are you doing here?”
Gentry’s wrist clenched back, fingers curling through a childish reflex.
“Fixing something.”
He flicked his hands across they keyboard, and kept his eyes fixed between the “g” and “j.”
“You aren’t. Knowing you, you’re probably here to break something.”
That didn’t stimulate so much as a murmur of denial. Undeterred, Mr.Johnson leisurely circled the table, the metal sole on his shoes making a muffled sound on the cheap blue carpet.
“I put together what you did with Nilla.”
He leisurely leaned over his son’s shoulder.
“And is this Mikey Carmichael your next victim?”
“No one’s a victim.”
“You’ll get caught if you keep settling things the way you’re used to… but this time, I’m under no obligation to bail you out. Think before you leap.”
Gentry peered back for a moment at those deep dark eyes, and upon seeing nothing unpredictable in their depths, glanced back at the screen. His face remained even, even as his father’s breath caressed the side of his neck. Even when a pair of lips kissed the nape, he didn’t jerk away or even blink. Instead, with his own dark gaze blankly fixed on the computer screen, he spat:
“Stay out of my secrets; I’ll stay out of yours.”
Mr. Johnson pulled away and heaved back a sigh, and rested an arm on the office chair. Although he recognized the freckled skin and dark amber eyes, the young man sitting before him was unsettlingly unfamiliar.
“I’m not here to stop you. I’m surprised you’re here at all.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
Who could have thought that little angel who once hid in the shadows and ran barefoot across blades of grass in leafy fields would have grown up so quickly, or so differently?
“You’re right. You are my son, after all.”
Gentry furrowed his brow in disgust, but quickly remembered he was being monitored. So instead of giving in to the dangerously comfortable gut reaction, he leaned back and asked with a dismissive tone,
“How’s mom.”
“She’s doing all right.”
Gentry gave a curt nod and stood up, heading for the door. A flicker of light moved across the room, illuminating the dust.
“Did she take up smoking again?”
“Yes. She did. But we’re working on it.”
Gentry bit back a heated reply, and Mr. Johnson watched that hesitation with a comfortable satisfaction.
In a proud albeit unsteady reaction, Gentry raised a hand and clutched onto the doorknob. His mind raced with thoughts, and feelings mingled together, like grains of sand swept up in a rolling wave. Could he afford this? Could he afford to stand proud, speak out, or even walk away?
No. Not if he wanted a morsel of truth.
“Does she talk about me?”
“Yes. She does; everyday.”
He turned the doorknob but didn’t open the door, hungrily waiting for more information to be fed to him; for the man in the corner to tell enough to occupy his thoughts, and fill him with warm memories on a cold day.
Instead, all he received was a patient stare, one he knew all too well. Cold as a fish, waiting for the quivering sigh and the inevitable question it brought with it. Always say please.
It was evident by now: He could not gain anything without giving away too much. Gentry’s resolve tightened along with his grip on the doorknob. He shoved it open, letting the distant murmurs from the hall flutter in. Then, without looking back, he walked out the door and clicked it shut behind him.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Because You Suck: Chapter 11: Part 12
“Did you see the tits on that freshman?”
“No, Mike. Why don’t you give us an in-depth description.”
“They were big and round, like two cantaloupes… I swear, she must have huuuuge nipples. With areolas; I’d like to bite them--- What the hell.” Sydney whined all of a sudden, “Why are they giving us bananas! This is so gay.”
“…You don’t like bananas?” Ethan probed.
“Yeah. I don’t like strawberries either.”
“Why?”
“Well, see… if you hold them like so…”
“...”
“---Holy shit man! Put that down!”
“Make me. But it’s seriously fucked up, what about all those ads with guys eating strawberries?”
“Which ads are you looking at?”
“Haha yeah Mike what ads?”
“Shut the fuck up I’m just saying---It’s fucked up shit.”
“…”
“…So… now I eat more apples.”
“Yeah, I heard they keep fags away.” Gentry said, pausing to take a long sip, “It’s a biochemical reaction; they don’t like fruity smells.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“…”
“Haha, you’re so dumb.” Sydney taunted until Mike grew red in the face.
“Nothing exists to make faggots go away. Looking for that is like looking for unicorns.”
“Unicorns are real, they just got extinct.”
Gentry grunted in disgust and pulled the strawberry into his fist, pressing it until thin red juice trickled down his wrist.
“No more gayness. Happy?”
The table fell silent. Gentry made a face and dunked the fruit into Sydney’s chocolate milk.
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“Your fag-ness is getting to me.”
“Dude I’m not gay.”
“You should be. The thought of you reproducing gives me nightmares.”
Mike and Ethan laughed gregariously, but Sydney stormed up onto his feet and demanded:
“What’s with you today. did you sit on a pencil?”
“You’d like that.”
“Hey guys,” interjected Mike, “You know who is gay? Zach--- he came out to his parents.”
“How do you know?” Sydney asked, “Were you there?”
"He probably held his hand through it."
“Quit it. Kylie told me his mom walked in on them buttfucking on the bed---”
Gentry spewed out his water in a coughing fit.
“Dude, you ok?”
Gentry coughed hoarsely, pounding his fist against his chest, “I’m fine.”
The table stared back at him, their big eyes filled with basic curiosity. Gentry looked back at them uneasily, a tense silence eclipsing all other conversation.
They had always had their suspicious.
And now they looked to him or looked away, hands balling to fists and hearts throbbing. Gentry sighed forcefully and leaned back with an impassive expression.
“I hope he gets AIDs. Fuck that faggot.”
He shrugged abruptly, and looked back at the table, “If any fag still wants to talk about butt-fucking they can join the GSA--- I don’t want to hear about it.”
“No, Mike. Why don’t you give us an in-depth description.”
“They were big and round, like two cantaloupes… I swear, she must have huuuuge nipples. With areolas; I’d like to bite them--- What the hell.” Sydney whined all of a sudden, “Why are they giving us bananas! This is so gay.”
“…You don’t like bananas?” Ethan probed.
“Yeah. I don’t like strawberries either.”
“Why?”
“Well, see… if you hold them like so…”
“...”
“---Holy shit man! Put that down!”
“Make me. But it’s seriously fucked up, what about all those ads with guys eating strawberries?”
“Which ads are you looking at?”
“Haha yeah Mike what ads?”
“Shut the fuck up I’m just saying---It’s fucked up shit.”
“…”
“…So… now I eat more apples.”
“Yeah, I heard they keep fags away.” Gentry said, pausing to take a long sip, “It’s a biochemical reaction; they don’t like fruity smells.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“…”
“Haha, you’re so dumb.” Sydney taunted until Mike grew red in the face.
“Nothing exists to make faggots go away. Looking for that is like looking for unicorns.”
“Unicorns are real, they just got extinct.”
Gentry grunted in disgust and pulled the strawberry into his fist, pressing it until thin red juice trickled down his wrist.
“No more gayness. Happy?”
The table fell silent. Gentry made a face and dunked the fruit into Sydney’s chocolate milk.
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“Your fag-ness is getting to me.”
“Dude I’m not gay.”
“You should be. The thought of you reproducing gives me nightmares.”
Mike and Ethan laughed gregariously, but Sydney stormed up onto his feet and demanded:
“What’s with you today. did you sit on a pencil?”
“You’d like that.”
“Hey guys,” interjected Mike, “You know who is gay? Zach--- he came out to his parents.”
“How do you know?” Sydney asked, “Were you there?”
"He probably held his hand through it."
“Quit it. Kylie told me his mom walked in on them buttfucking on the bed---”
Gentry spewed out his water in a coughing fit.
“Dude, you ok?”
Gentry coughed hoarsely, pounding his fist against his chest, “I’m fine.”
The table stared back at him, their big eyes filled with basic curiosity. Gentry looked back at them uneasily, a tense silence eclipsing all other conversation.
They had always had their suspicious.
And now they looked to him or looked away, hands balling to fists and hearts throbbing. Gentry sighed forcefully and leaned back with an impassive expression.
“I hope he gets AIDs. Fuck that faggot.”
He shrugged abruptly, and looked back at the table, “If any fag still wants to talk about butt-fucking they can join the GSA--- I don’t want to hear about it.”
Friday, February 15, 2008
Because You Suck: Chapter 11: Part 11
Sorry for the late update! This was the most difficult scene I've ever written. EVER.
Warning: this scene is rated NC-17!
A moment later they were on the bed, a writhing tangle of arms and limbs.
Mikey’s sock-covered foot pushed Zach off him and onto his back with a resounding thud.
“Is that the best you can do, Zach?”
The bed creaked menacingly from his movements,
“I’m not the one who’s naked.”
“… Yet.” He leaned to Zach’s neck, nipping at to get a taste.
In response he got a light shove.
“No hickies.”
“Why?”
“Covering them is a bitch.”
“Don’t even think of covering it, or I’ll leave a stronger one next time.” Mikey pulled at the dark skin with his teeth.
“Fuck no.” Zach angrily shoved him away and sat up.
“Don’t be such a cocktease.”
Zach glared at him, then sat up and irritably moved his body off the bed.
At this, Mikey gave a disgruntled sigh, “Well, then what’s stopping you besides your newfound hatred of hickies?” the mattress squeaked as he sat up and moved behind Zach, snaking an arm around his stomach.
"I don’t know.”
“Is it Gentry?”
“I don’t know.”
He could almost feel him there in the corner, sitting with crossed arms and wide eyes. Warching every move. Every inch. Every second. As if to say “You wouldn’t.”
“What,” Mikey slipped a hand into Zach’s boxers, “does he keep you on an invisible leash?”
“No… it’s not that.”
“This feels good, doesn’t it?” Mikey murmured, pressing his face against Zach’s back, “Come on, I can tell it’s been a while. Get back into bed.”
An invisible leash? Good one.
More like a set of police-grade handcuffs.
Zach sighed heavily and crawled back onto the mattress, exchanging a heated look with Mikey. Well?
“You have nothing to lose.” Mikey murmured, and Zach gave a curt nod before sliding his fingers into his hair and pulling him into a kiss. It was awkward at first, all that licking, sucking and kissing with deliberate precision. When it ended he moved away and carefully studied Mikey’s face, the soft flush and quiet smile. And in return, Mikey leaned in, brushing against Zach’s lips with a virgin-soft kiss.
“You’re so cute.”
Zach sharply inhaled the familiar smell of shampoo as he pulled away, but couldn’t taste
him on his lips. That was strange… no taste?
“Tell me that next time I flip over being called me faggot.”
“You’re my faggot.”
Mikey’s hands felt hot against his skin, sliding under his shirt then awkwardly pulling it over his head. Right after, those salty lips caressed against his, each kiss longer and more passionate than the other. Vaguely Zach thought to himself that if things continued in this way, there would be a wet spot on his bed. Mikey leaned back and Zach mounted him; licking down his stomach, caressing the too-soft skin in search of something different, anything. A mark that would make him forget the bumpy smoothness of a healed scar, the deathly yellow-blue color of an aging bruise, the dizzying pattern of light freckles on white skin; that one vulnerable thing that set Mikey apart, the imperfect reminder that he was human and as breakable as anyone.
But there was nothing to grab or flick over, no scar, bruise or freckle; just unnervingly even white skin, bland saliva and the manufactured smell of shampoo.
So in final frustration he curved his fingers into Mikey’s thighs, spreading them apart and pushing a finger inside. The suppressed whimper and tight warmth he felt filled him with an uneasy satisfaction.
“Fuck …” Mikey grunted, tossing his head back.
One, two, three thrusts. Zach reached for the lube in his beside drawer without thinking, and marveled at how this came to him so easily, yet felt as stiff and unnatural as the self-conscious nagging in his gut.
Damn it.
The rain pounded harder, intermingling its fury with his movements.
“…Zach…”
“What is it?” Zach scissored his fingers apart and Mikey doubled over onto his chest.
“Oww…” he grunted, “and to think you were playing shy just a few seconds ago…”
“Do you still think I’m cute?” Zach murmured, licking lower.
Mikey propped himself up on his elbows and grinned, “You don’t like being called cute? You look pretty cute sucking me off.”
“Kittens; babies... and sniveling virgns... are cute. I’d rather be a gun... then I could shoot people down.”
“That’s so silly.”
The bed broke in two with a sudden, loud crack. The impact was so great Mikey was hurled against Zach, who fell back against his stomach.
Here they were, sandwiched between the halves of a broken bed, the blanket half-heartedly covering their smoldering bodies.
But before either one could give the congratulatory “Great,” the door flung open.
“Zach, are you---”
Mikey waved ineptly and Zach took a very deep breath.
Delilah stood there for an hour-long minute, her mouth wide dropped open at the sight of her son, sweaty, naked and disheveled with a naked white boy clinging to him in the middle of a broken bed.
Mikey gave Zach a look, and in turn he looked to Delilah.
“Wait.”
He lifted a finger in the air, “Don’t move.”
Discomfort surged through him as he pulled himself back onto his feet and half-hazardly shuffled towards the computer. Delilah and Mikey watched in uncomfortable disbelief as the turned on the printer, which whirred to life to turn out five sheets of paper. Zach wordlessly scooped them into his sweaty hands.
Without a word of explanation, he handed them to his wide-eyed mother.
“Zach…”
“Yeah uh, Mom, this is Mikey. Mikey, this is my mom. Any questions you might have are answered on that paper. I’m going to take a shower now.”
That said, he snaked out the door.
Warning: this scene is rated NC-17!
A moment later they were on the bed, a writhing tangle of arms and limbs.
Mikey’s sock-covered foot pushed Zach off him and onto his back with a resounding thud.
“Is that the best you can do, Zach?”
The bed creaked menacingly from his movements,
“I’m not the one who’s naked.”
“… Yet.” He leaned to Zach’s neck, nipping at to get a taste.
In response he got a light shove.
“No hickies.”
“Why?”
“Covering them is a bitch.”
“Don’t even think of covering it, or I’ll leave a stronger one next time.” Mikey pulled at the dark skin with his teeth.
“Fuck no.” Zach angrily shoved him away and sat up.
“Don’t be such a cocktease.”
Zach glared at him, then sat up and irritably moved his body off the bed.
At this, Mikey gave a disgruntled sigh, “Well, then what’s stopping you besides your newfound hatred of hickies?” the mattress squeaked as he sat up and moved behind Zach, snaking an arm around his stomach.
"I don’t know.”
“Is it Gentry?”
“I don’t know.”
He could almost feel him there in the corner, sitting with crossed arms and wide eyes. Warching every move. Every inch. Every second. As if to say “You wouldn’t.”
“What,” Mikey slipped a hand into Zach’s boxers, “does he keep you on an invisible leash?”
“No… it’s not that.”
“This feels good, doesn’t it?” Mikey murmured, pressing his face against Zach’s back, “Come on, I can tell it’s been a while. Get back into bed.”
An invisible leash? Good one.
More like a set of police-grade handcuffs.
Zach sighed heavily and crawled back onto the mattress, exchanging a heated look with Mikey. Well?
“You have nothing to lose.” Mikey murmured, and Zach gave a curt nod before sliding his fingers into his hair and pulling him into a kiss. It was awkward at first, all that licking, sucking and kissing with deliberate precision. When it ended he moved away and carefully studied Mikey’s face, the soft flush and quiet smile. And in return, Mikey leaned in, brushing against Zach’s lips with a virgin-soft kiss.
“You’re so cute.”
Zach sharply inhaled the familiar smell of shampoo as he pulled away, but couldn’t taste
him on his lips. That was strange… no taste?
“Tell me that next time I flip over being called me faggot.”
“You’re my faggot.”
Mikey’s hands felt hot against his skin, sliding under his shirt then awkwardly pulling it over his head. Right after, those salty lips caressed against his, each kiss longer and more passionate than the other. Vaguely Zach thought to himself that if things continued in this way, there would be a wet spot on his bed. Mikey leaned back and Zach mounted him; licking down his stomach, caressing the too-soft skin in search of something different, anything. A mark that would make him forget the bumpy smoothness of a healed scar, the deathly yellow-blue color of an aging bruise, the dizzying pattern of light freckles on white skin; that one vulnerable thing that set Mikey apart, the imperfect reminder that he was human and as breakable as anyone.
But there was nothing to grab or flick over, no scar, bruise or freckle; just unnervingly even white skin, bland saliva and the manufactured smell of shampoo.
So in final frustration he curved his fingers into Mikey’s thighs, spreading them apart and pushing a finger inside. The suppressed whimper and tight warmth he felt filled him with an uneasy satisfaction.
“Fuck …” Mikey grunted, tossing his head back.
One, two, three thrusts. Zach reached for the lube in his beside drawer without thinking, and marveled at how this came to him so easily, yet felt as stiff and unnatural as the self-conscious nagging in his gut.
Damn it.
The rain pounded harder, intermingling its fury with his movements.
“…Zach…”
“What is it?” Zach scissored his fingers apart and Mikey doubled over onto his chest.
“Oww…” he grunted, “and to think you were playing shy just a few seconds ago…”
“Do you still think I’m cute?” Zach murmured, licking lower.
Mikey propped himself up on his elbows and grinned, “You don’t like being called cute? You look pretty cute sucking me off.”
“Kittens; babies... and sniveling virgns... are cute. I’d rather be a gun... then I could shoot people down.”
“That’s so silly.”
The bed broke in two with a sudden, loud crack. The impact was so great Mikey was hurled against Zach, who fell back against his stomach.
Here they were, sandwiched between the halves of a broken bed, the blanket half-heartedly covering their smoldering bodies.
But before either one could give the congratulatory “Great,” the door flung open.
“Zach, are you---”
Mikey waved ineptly and Zach took a very deep breath.
Delilah stood there for an hour-long minute, her mouth wide dropped open at the sight of her son, sweaty, naked and disheveled with a naked white boy clinging to him in the middle of a broken bed.
Mikey gave Zach a look, and in turn he looked to Delilah.
“Wait.”
He lifted a finger in the air, “Don’t move.”
Discomfort surged through him as he pulled himself back onto his feet and half-hazardly shuffled towards the computer. Delilah and Mikey watched in uncomfortable disbelief as the turned on the printer, which whirred to life to turn out five sheets of paper. Zach wordlessly scooped them into his sweaty hands.
Without a word of explanation, he handed them to his wide-eyed mother.
“Zach…”
“Yeah uh, Mom, this is Mikey. Mikey, this is my mom. Any questions you might have are answered on that paper. I’m going to take a shower now.”
That said, he snaked out the door.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Because You Suck: Chapter 11: Part 10
Zach spun around in his chair, and Mikey jumped on the bed, shaking his ass to the rhythm in nothing but a clingy pair of red boxer-briefs.
“What the hell, at least turn off the lights! People can see you from outside.”
“So?” Mikey started to strip off that clingy last piece of clothing, “They’ll wonder what you’re waiting for. Who cares about them, what about me? I feel like the Temple Prostitute civilizing Enkidu.”
“Who’s that?” asked Zach, taking a deep breath before turning back to his monitor. This was ridiculous!
“Epic of Gilgamesh, freshman year.”
“Ohh.” Zach nodded curtly, “Wasn’t that about some gay Babylonian guys? And the one with the big cock died of a wasting disease or something?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
Zach didn’t glorify that with a response.
Mikey stopped jumping and morosely settled onto the bedsheets, resting his head on two balled up fists.
“Was it Gentry?”
“No. I read it before I figured out how to delete porn from my browsing history. Stories are harder to track than porn.”
“Ok. So… what are you doing now that’s more important than me?”
“Writing this on my list.” Answered Zach, mostly to change the subject.
“What list?”
“The list of every gay thing I’ve ever done.” He opened a new window, biting his tongue through the awkward silence than ensued this bold statement, “I keep a Gay Timeline. Every time I do something gay, I write it here with a date. That way, when I come out, my parents won’t say they didn’t know or that I’m a different person because of it.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, look here. I’ve kept it since I was nine.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It will be useful in the future.” Zach scratched the back of his head and sheepishly explained, “They can’t say they don’t accept me as a son, since I’ve been exhibiting signs of gayness all this time. So logically, if they accepted me before despite my signs, they should have no reason not to accept me now.”
“Signs of gayness...” Mikey leaned over his shoulder.
“Yes, signs of gayness. I rate them, too, on a scale from one to ten.” Zach spun around in his chair, “Why do you care?”
Mikey pulled him into a drawn out, slippery kiss, “I don’t.”
“What the hell, at least turn off the lights! People can see you from outside.”
“So?” Mikey started to strip off that clingy last piece of clothing, “They’ll wonder what you’re waiting for. Who cares about them, what about me? I feel like the Temple Prostitute civilizing Enkidu.”
“Who’s that?” asked Zach, taking a deep breath before turning back to his monitor. This was ridiculous!
“Epic of Gilgamesh, freshman year.”
“Ohh.” Zach nodded curtly, “Wasn’t that about some gay Babylonian guys? And the one with the big cock died of a wasting disease or something?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
Zach didn’t glorify that with a response.
Mikey stopped jumping and morosely settled onto the bedsheets, resting his head on two balled up fists.
“Was it Gentry?”
“No. I read it before I figured out how to delete porn from my browsing history. Stories are harder to track than porn.”
“Ok. So… what are you doing now that’s more important than me?”
“Writing this on my list.” Answered Zach, mostly to change the subject.
“What list?”
“The list of every gay thing I’ve ever done.” He opened a new window, biting his tongue through the awkward silence than ensued this bold statement, “I keep a Gay Timeline. Every time I do something gay, I write it here with a date. That way, when I come out, my parents won’t say they didn’t know or that I’m a different person because of it.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, look here. I’ve kept it since I was nine.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It will be useful in the future.” Zach scratched the back of his head and sheepishly explained, “They can’t say they don’t accept me as a son, since I’ve been exhibiting signs of gayness all this time. So logically, if they accepted me before despite my signs, they should have no reason not to accept me now.”
“Signs of gayness...” Mikey leaned over his shoulder.
“Yes, signs of gayness. I rate them, too, on a scale from one to ten.” Zach spun around in his chair, “Why do you care?”
Mikey pulled him into a drawn out, slippery kiss, “I don’t.”
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