~Alphabet Soup~

P is for Pompous​

I walked up to Spencer, trying as hard as I could to proudly show the frown on my face, and said loud enough for him to clearly hear me but not loud enough to be overheard, "I don't like you."

Yeah. Take that. Fuck you. Fuck this. Fuck Spencer. Fuck everything.

Spencer looked at me from behind his textbook as I desperately tried to repeat in my head that Spencer was a loner nerd who seemed asexual but really wasn't. You know… not deserving. Because. Guhh… something. Yeah. He wasn't deserving of something. My affection?

Uh. Yeah.

Confusion was written all over his face, but as the short minutes passed I saw the slight twitches of the corner of light pink lips. The wheels turned. Spencer was remembering everything I said, he said, we said. Did. The things we did to each other and together. Regardless of the simple fact that our… touches… never escalated to anything more than touches…

I swallowed as I closed my eyes for a brief moment. Nope. I was not going to let myself fall for some fake charm. Because, like, that was what Spencer had. He had to have that. I didn't like him for him, no sir. I liked him for his façade of charm. Whatever 'charm' actually meant…

A slow smile, surreptitious almost, adorned Spencer's face.

I swallowed down even more, forcing everything down. I was not going to drop on my knees for Spencer. I wasn't going to beg him for more. I wasn't going to want more. I wasn't going to do anything anymore.

This had to stop.

God. Lord. Holy Father. Holy trinity. Jesus Christ. Two, no - three months of mind muddling progression. Until what? Until the shit hit the fan. And then… Then… Oh shit. Shit was shit was shit. There was no other way to describe what happened in my head.

Spencer's eyes flickered upwards, settling on my own before he began to speak. I tried not to listen to every word like it was gospel.

I knew I overreacted when I heard about… Jay. But who wouldn't? That sort of gap in ages was usually scorned upon, but wasn't uncommon at all. But… oh my… Why Jay? A thirteen year old brat who still looked like he needed a booster seat? Booster seat. He was a fucking kid.

Stopping myself before the spin of thoughts could erupt into some odd spell of (but I'm not jealous why would I be jealous I'm not jealous) jealousy, I shakily reaffirmed my words.

"I'm not…" I choked on the amount of bull fucking shit, "I don't lo-"

Spencer, the blond hottie that was too stupid to be smart but too smart to be stupid, interrupted me without a semblance of proper thought or a steady gaze to keep me grounded, "Keep telling yourself that. See where it takes you."

A tug upwards graced me. It was only a caricature of an encouraging grin, but…

I bit my lip harder than I would normally, even if in an unconscious gesture. Taking one hand to pull back the seat in front of me, I sat down across from Spencer. The table was only two feet, three feet of separation. Not too much, if I wanted to think about it, but I didn't. I just tried to… resume something akin to normality.

With Spencer? Why? Because… Because… God. I didn't even… I couldn't even… Spencer was still so God be fucking damned…

Fuck. Fuck this all to hell.

Why was I still here? Here? With Spencer? I… I could easily… just walk away and hang out with others. I knew other people. Other people who probably liked my presence, no matter how annoying I got. Because. Because I entertained them. But Spencer…? Why in hell was I still sitting there?

I jerked in stiff surprise when Spencer leaned forward and tapped the back of my hand. The sharp movement that resounded through me and caused a snorting choke of breath which prompted others around us to glance disinterestedly.

Yeah. To all these people, the few nerds who studied and the others who just wanted an air conditioned room to eat in, we probably appeared to be two perfectly normal friends. But I think I already mentioned so many times before in my head in the form of fleeting little thoughts and full blown rants of self-pity… Spencer and I weren't perfect, normal, or even friends.

We were something borderline. It was so fucking borderline.

Spencer's change in demeanor confused me less than it really should have. He looked at me in mocking pity, not in pompous condescension. But maybe, because I didn't even understand it, maybe they were exactly the same thing? Probably. Perchance.

But there was something a little different, only in a miniscule way, in the way he smiled at me. From freely making fun of my not-so-little predicament to looking at me like I was the epitome of pathetic, which was worse? They were probably equally as bad.

Spencer started speaking quietly, letting me hear his words as if it was a well kept secret. However, all I could think of was how his blue-green eyes looked at my clenched fist.

"You're thinking too much. Let it all go, Vincent. Just do what you want to do."

I wanted to jump across the table and do something to Spencer. I wanted to choke him for causing me so much freaking drama, all in my head. I wanted to punch him in the face for punching me in the face for losing control. I wanted to simply… something, anything… to him. Wanted to make him hurt a fraction, a percentage, a bit… have him know just a scant bit of the pain that plagued me since… since…

But I didn't truly want to do anything like that. At that one moment, the fleeting consideration of actually… making sexual contact with Spencer seemed so good. Letting him fuck me on top of the table we sat at during lunch. Letting me fervently fuck him against a random wall. Oh fuck. What else? What else?

The burning in my face was so horrible I had to leave. I grabbed my backpack without looking at Spencer. Only shutting my eyes to block out whatever reaction, whatever little thrill Spencer got off on by making me feel like crap… I walked out of the library.

Thinking as fast as I could without letting any of those ideas properly formulate, I hurried down the halls. One two three four, one two three four. Steady. My bloated head up high, my broken heart on my sleeve, my fake smile on my handsome face.

Looking for any familiar classmate, any face that could substitute something for me, I spotted a guy I didn't know well. But I knew him well enough. His name was… Kenny, maybe. All I knew for a fact was that he was one of the few open gays at my school. One of the few public sluts, too. Somewhat like me, exactly like me. We used to hang out in the same general group. Good enough. It was good enough.

Putting a twenty in his hand after I pulled out of my wallet in a practiced movement, I faked a cheery grin, "Hey, Kenny. Got any plans? No? Good." The thoughts that were going through my head didn't compute. I couldn't comprehend what I was doing past the old habits. A little different, but not to the point of being foreign.

I pushed him into the male faculty bathroom that never properly locked unless done so manually. Mock harshly fisting his dirty blond hair and forcing his brilliantly blue eyes to lock on mine, I forced a couple seemingly rough kisses on him.

But they weren't really kisses. My lips, stubbornly closed, only deigned to press down on this guy I didn't really know. I didn't even know him. That didn't bother me as much as it should have. I was used to stranger-danger sex as much as the next constantly inebriated teenager.

Whispering words with a hint of dominating power, I tugged down the elastic waistband of Kenny's PE shorts while I took a few condoms from my backpack, "Grab some stuff and meet me after school."

…

A few unsatisfactory fumbles and a tongue or two later… I experienced an orgasm via another male's hands. Thank God for easy access to guys like Kenny.

Thank God.

 

WARNING... Uhhhh. Yeah. I don't wanna spoil, but there is sexual content in here that may offend some. (But, really, if you made it this far, it shouldn't be surprising.)

Q is for Questioning​

Habitually, I would attempt to make sense of my position and the things around me. However, I knew doing so would only make me hate myself more.

'Uhggg, yeah. Come on, princess. How much do you want this, huh? Princess, don't you want my fat cock deep in your ass? Fuck. You want some hot cum in your ass, don't you?'

His large body pressed my frame against the mattress, until my face was smothered into the sheets. The weight, the suffocation. His raspy breathes of air, whispering disgusting words into my ear, expected a verbal response as well as a wanton moan.

I could feel the sweat beading from his chest and sticking to my back. Slick, wet nastiness was all I could think of, in describing the feeling. Every threatening push forward slid his body more over mine, and every pull backwards made me frown in unseen disgust.

His condom covered dick remained pressed against my cheek for what seemed like a good couple of hours to me, but it might have been only fifteen minutes at best. Oh God. Disgusting, absolutely disgusting.

I shivered all over. Neither from pleasure nor anticipation, but every touch had my nerves tingling in dread. 'Mmmhh. Give it to me. I want your big hard cock in my little ass. Shove it in. Just do it. Oh God. I need you. I need your cock in my ass and I need you to come all over me…'

Disgusting. Oh fuck. It was disgusting. I was so disgusting. A little sex puppet. A kiddie porn movie done live. Oh God. Goddamn it. I was disgusting. There was no other word for it. I was just so fucking disgusting. Why didn't I just tell the fucking police? Report all those sick bastards when it first happened?

Why did I wait until I was fucking fourteen? Fucking Jesus Christ. I didn't wait until I was fourteen. I was just found by Butter, discovered with blood all over my arms, and all the fucking therapy in the world couldn't tell me why I waited for someone to save me.

I was pathetic. That might have been it.

I was a pathetic, disgusting little brat.

Fuck. So fucking disgusting. So Goddamn gross.

"Jay," I whispered in the kindest voice I could muster up. The bleary eyed boy blinked slowly, unaware of his surroundings. I smiled, this time without any forceful prompting from my gut instincts, and murmured into his ear, "You better get back to your room. My dad's going to get up in half an hour." The fact that I called Father by that old title didn't even occur to me.

Wonderfully naïve, in one way, and horrible idiotic, in another, Jay nodded his head and gave me a little grin. "All right," he grumbled in the most indistinct way possible, his words sounding more like gurgles of water than actual speech. "I have to take a shower," he squinted his eyes at my alarm clock, "In three hours…"

Questioning my intentions without knowing it, Jay smiled softly to himself. "Spence, last night…"

I cut him off without him even realizing what I was doing. "Last night was fun," I conceded with a pat to his shoulder. There was no need to let him think it was anything other than a quick tryst between two fooling teenagers.

He smiled to himself, then at me, bright green eyes trailing over the wall of my room. Slowly, he rose, shuffling out of my bed. I didn't exactly undress him last night, only deigning to shove away the necessary clothes before beginning.

Messy black hair, without a trace of foreign color, started to curl at the ends. I noted that it was simply something that happened when he slept. Jay didn't give me a verbal farewell, instead opting to sneak out of my room as quietly as he could, flashing me a quick smile.

The walls, the ceiling, the floor. My thoughts were disjointed and my observations even more so. I couldn't keep attention to something for more than a few seconds. Falling back, letting the soft mattress balance out the weight of my body, I groaned in disgust with myself.

Was I turning out to be more like Vincent?

I scoffed at the thought, rising and dressing myself to a point of decency. Fuck no. Vincent was pathetic in a way that denoted he fucked anything in sight to rid himself of boredom. Me, on the other hand, I would think I was just a bit different.

I didn't go to three parties in a row last week to rid myself of boredom. I didn't fuck Bridget, the brunette with an ass the size of the Titanic, just for kicks. I didn't fuck Jennifer, the small Asian girl with too many kinks to be normal, just for kicks. I smiled like the asshole I was. Well. Maybe I screwed with Alex just for shits and giggles.

I went through my morning routine, foregoing a shower just because I knew it would wake Father, and planned out my day. For the next couple of hours, I could hang out with those tools who dismissed me as soon as Andrew decided to pull a knife out at school. Before lunch I could probably get one of them to drive me to the beach. I could just… sit there like I used to.

I could sit and stare and stick my feet into hot sand and watch the tourists. Winter or not, the beach was always occupied by people, swimming, playing, having fun in any way possible. Andrew would sometimes be right beside me, knowing to be silent when I was in one of my moods. Most of the time though, for one reason or another, we would be in the middle of another violent and emotionally draining fight and I would sit alone.

Debby was more of Andrew's fuck buddy, than she was his friend. But she didn't understand that, so I never told her.

"Where have you been?" she asked, acid tainting the supposed goodwill in her voice. Green fingernails dragged across my arms threateningly, but I knew she wasn't going to throw a bitch fit over this small trouble.

I looked up into her eyes, which where more green than hazel, and gave here a dry smirk. If anything, because I have known Debby for over a year, she was just going to tighten her grip and leave half moon imprints to remind me of her demeanor.

Oh, would you look at that? Half moons to compliment the sunny, sunny day.

She growled from her position on my lap as if nothing was circumstantially amiss, "I haven't seen you in three fucking months, motherfucker. What the fuck have you been doing?"

I wrapped my arms around her body, bringing her close enough to feel me through my clothes. Half-hard, semi-erect. Not because of her, of course not, but because of the feelings of heat curling and uncurling in my lower belly.

The blush on her cheek was fake, caused by makeup, not by embarrassment, not by arousal. Sucking on her neck, in a way I was told she liked, I hoisted her up closer to me by grabbing her ass with both hands. After letting her straddling me in that familiar position, I let my mouth leave her neck in a wet pop.

"Fuck you," she spat, even if she didn't do a damn thing to stop me, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" One hand slipped under her skirt, so fucking short it was probably blasphemy, and cupped one ass cheek. I shifted with expertise to make her legs spread wider on either side of me. Heat pressed against heat. Everything was good for now.

"Andy's back you dumb fuck. His aunt shipped him down to tie up all his fucking 'loose ends.' You." Debby grinded herself into me, but didn't do anything more. I responded by bringing one hand up to her breasts, large double D's that nearly spilled out of her shirt.

Her face was in a snarl or something like that. "I know you." Did she really? "I know you can't last more than two days without a good fuck. Fucking sex addict." She was right, but the sex wasn't me. Another misunderstanding on her part, because I did last, or almost lasted, three full months without proper sex.

I may have been fully hard by then, but I didn't take special notice.

"We haven't seen you for months!" she stated loudly, more out of anger than anything else.

I ignored her and continued to softly touch her in that misleading manner.

"So," she glared at me with all the venom her green nails couldn't inflict, "You think you're too good for us now?"

That roused me enough to speak. I grinned again, the motions familiar but the reasons not, "I was always too good for you." She smacked me sharply, with one quick snap of her hands. I continued to play our game, undeterred, by sucking on her neck, teasing with her the same way Andrew showed me how.

"Are you fucking that Wendy whore now? That girl Andrew says you're in love with?" No, no. No, I wasn't. Fucking, or, in love.

Her hands were on my own, leading them down. I vaguely noted that the action was erotic or was supposed to appear erotic. Huh. Probably. Erotic.

"Mother," she looked at me with acid and venom and hatred and lust, "Fucker." She must have shaved herself this morning before she picked me up, or last night. I wasn't sure when, but I didn't particularly care. I just liked to have a clean area to work with. My fingers. Her… Wet. She was wet.

"Andy's going to kill your stupid ass," she started to babble, the heat from her voice dissipating quickly, "He knows you've stopped coming to our parties. He's fucked every baby faced blond fag he can find." I didn't kiss her to shut her up, because I knew she spilled more while being finger fucked than she did when angry.

"He wants you so bad it's fucking getting on my damned nerves. Always crying, 'Spencey Spencey Spencey,' whenever he comes. Fuck me if he didn't break a whopping twenty hearts this week alone." That was nice to know, Debby, my sweet little angel.

"That poser? Vincent what's-his-face that Text says you saw at Jamba? People say he's been on your dick since Andy fucked himself in the ass with that knife bullshit." I touched her clitoris a little more intensely than was probably comfortable, but she twisted in lust anyway.

"Your favorite little frosh, Alex? He says he was fucked by you last week. Andy somehow managed to fuck him too. Boyfriend tried to beat the living shit out of him. Andy offered to suck him off to even it out."

I scoffed. Sky was nearly celibate. Pity, really, because he was as physically attractive as they come, even if he was an asshole who didn't know love from like from lust.

I licked down her neck, slowly, and took a nipple into my mouth. She leaned her body against the dashboard to give me room to move.

"John, Jonathan, Johnny, what ever the fuck his name is…" she popped a few buttons loose to free her large breasts even more, "The guy told Text that Vincent was fucking with you, and Text told me. And I told Andy." She started to breath just a little heavier, and I was proud of myself. Normally, it took men a lot longer to get that much out of the slut known as Deborah. Girls would be lucky to get a flush on her makeup caked cheeks.

"And Andy!" she gasped. I kept on with what I was doing, knowing that she was close. Her clit was being touched liberally, but I kept in mind that she especially loved it when I used multiple fingers.

"Andy! Andy! He!" she was almost squealing, but not quite. I had the displeasure of being with girls and guys who squealed when they came. Debby was, thankfully, just bellow that point. "Ian Victor! I'm so sorry, Spencer. I didn't mean to tell him! I didn't!" She gasped with pleasure. I continued to touch her.

"Ian Victor's boyfriend! The boyfriend! He was friends with Andy last year! Ian Victor, he, Ian Victor…!" Andrew only had one friend he truly liked last year. Samuel or someone. With…? Jake would…? Jake would actually play that vindictive game? He would actually play 'lover' to mess with Andrew? "Fuck! Spencer! Harder, harder! Fuck."

She came, bouncing and moaning loudly, the tight muscles of her vagina clenching and throbbing around my slicked fingers.

I felt myself soften, not so sadly, as I watched Debby come down from her post orgasm high. The blush on her cheeks, real. The redness of her bitten lips, real. The sweat on her body, real. The mixed emotions in her eyes, real. Her body rested on mine, just enough to put the strain off her body.

Debby had the prettiest red hair I've ever seen, truthfully. Most people with that 'redhead' label stuck to them had hair more orange. Debby possessed red hair luscious enough to cause envy even in those pretentious Las Angeles blondes or those Bay Area party kids.

If our circumstances were a bit more normal, and our sex drives a little more subdued, I would have thought she was my friend. Or at least a pretend friend for when times were rough on either of us, which I knew happened often enough with her. But… but, she didn't understand that.

"I'm… pregnant. Think I'm… pregnant again…" she breathed, gentle little lulls of air against my neck.

I closed my eyes. Even though I knew the answer, I quietly asked, "Is Text the father?"

"… yeah…"

"The clinic's not too far. We can go."

 

R is for Reality​

Kenny stuffed a blunt in his mouth, deeply inhaling before setting his eyes on me.

They were blue. A brilliant, brilliant blue. Hey, I wasn't gay in my perception of others, but even I knew good looks when I saw it. His eyes were the sort of color girls would die for. His eyes were the sort of color many ached to stare into. I didn't find any fleeting fancy in them. Pretty, err, yeah. But it was just a color. Spencer's eyes were more than just pretty though. Blues and greens. A mixture. A medley. A spin of hues and splotches of…

Fuck. Shit. No no no no. Colors were just that. Colors. Nothing remarkable in them.

I waited patiently, letting my twenty dwindle down to smoke in the lungs of a gay slut, smiling and letting my hands slide against his waist. Up and down, I dragged my fingers. I let them linger at some distinct areas, but brushed over others. I was good at this, this… supposedly 'arousing' foreplay. The girls loved it. I was pretty sure this guy, Kenny, would love it equally.

I kept my mouth shut as I pressed a kiss to the spot below his navel but above his waistline. Slowly adjusting my body to seem as if my movements were all done lazily, I applied only the slightest bit of pressure.

I never really, well, fuck me, I never actually touched another guy (except for…) in such a lucid state of mind before. Dizzy from the fumes or drunk off my ass, yeah, a sly fondle would arise… But… No. In the past, something like this would have had me laughing my way to hell.

Me? Touching a guy? Yeah right. In your fucking wet dreams.

But. But then what was this? The wet dream? Might as well have been.

Kenny chuckled and stared calculatingly at me. I knew he was judging my movements, grading me I suppose, but so was I. So far? So far Kenny was a decent fuck, but then again... we didn't even fuck yet. He didn't make the unnecessary noises other than hitched breathing and he didn't make the unnecessary movements girls thought would turn me on. He was a very good gay guy.

I took his shirt off slowly, pretending to admire the shape of his body. Male. Very male. I took my own off and let Kenny give me the B-minus many attributed to my physical appearance. He smiled dimly. His intellect was smudged by the smoke in his brain, but he lazily put his free hand through my hair before he started to sigh.

"I'm not a girl," he said with amusement, his voice light but pleasantly aroused, "The foreplay doesn't have to last forever."

Ignoring him, because gays sluts weren't supposed to have brain enough to speak, I pressed my hand down lightly and continued to drag my tongue across his stomach. Easy. This was easy. As long as I could feel Kenny getting harder and hear his breathing escalate, I could do foreplay as long as I pleased.

So… My hand was touching his cock through his clothes. My tongue was tracing imaginary letters on his smooth stomach. Boring, but effective. I wondered what Spencer was doing before I could stop myself. Probably something productive, like studying. Or something smart, like reading?

I shifted my weight so my legs wouldn't fall asleep while I slowly divested Kenny of his clothes. Shirt. Already removed. Undershirt. Off. Shorts. Off. Boxers. Off. It was easy, well, easier than it was to undress a girl. They had all this stuff on, always. Multiple undershirts and accessories they didn't appreciate having semen stuck to and all that jazz.

I grabbed the condom mechanically and placed it on him in a way that was only slightly foreign to me.

What would Spencer do if he knew about what this? Well, he probably knew about my habits all along, but this? Would fucking a guy make his opinion of me change?

My face reddened as I slowly placed my mouth on him and started to suck his dick in the most robotic manner known to man. But, God Almighty, fuck us all in the ass for our sinny sin sins, it made Kenny gasp and groan deeply. I used my tongue just the barest minimum, just to sweep the underside, and almost grimaced from the taste of the condom.

Spencer wouldn't care, really. Who was I trying to kid? At most, he'd laugh. At least, he'd give me an odd glance. He wouldn't care.

I started to prepare for something called sodomy, and forced myself not to think about what I was really doing. Without drawing much attention to myself, I uncapped the standard tube of lubricant, cheap but effective, and generously squeezed some to my fingers. Hah. I did all that while maintaining the steady up and down motion a commonplace blowjob demanded.

I let my mind wander for a minute, only one fucking minute, before flashing sensations took over my mind. God. Fuck. Spencer knew how to give head, yeah… He really knew how to give it.

Finger in. Mouth down.

Kenny gasped in a reaction that was probably a little late, "Fuck! Give me a little warning next time."

I assumed the role without thinking. No thoughts of Spencer entered my mind at all. But… God, fuck you, God… but Spencer was…

His blond hair with mixed strands of varying tones was so much better than Kenny's dirty blond hair. His blue green eyes with splatters and mixtures and spinning wheels of colors were so much more dazzling than Kenny's bright blue ones. His face. His mouth. His hands. His voice. His body. His… everything. Really. His everything was so much better.

"Yeah," Kenny groaned quietly, "You're so fucking good. Feel so fucking good."

I was just going through the motions. Repetition was nothing to be proud about. It wasn't good, I knew. I could only thrust, over and over and over again, so many times before he would realize that I wasn't actually that good. I kept him distracted by pumping his cock with skill I didn't know I possessed. Up and down was for stupid twelve year olds. I, Vincent Morris, me. I rubbed and teased. I twisted my hand and fingers. I ran my palm down and gripped before bringing my hand back up.

If anyone would be able to do this, it was I.

His soft moans weren't as fake as the ones girls used. "Goddamn it, Vincent. Why didn't you turn bi years ago?" he mumbled.

I chuckled, although I couldn't concentrate and I didn't find anything funny.

I was never bi.

Never.

The one hand that supported my weight started to feel numb, so I edged down a little closer and used my elbow instead. I kissed and licked and sucked all over Kenny, giving him the marks I usually didn't care to give girls.

I was closer to him then, my chest only inches away from him. My hand working his dick. My hips moving mechanically to fulfill its only useful purpose. I couldn't feel an orgasm coming. I couldn't. That pissed me off more than I thought it would. My head was filled with images a person a little more… Spencer-like. But not Spencer, no. I was in denial. It couldn't, shouldn't be Spencer in my head as I fucked a third-rate gay in the back of my car.

"Turn around," I commanded with a roughness I didn't know could exist in my voice.

Kenny grinned, "You sound so fucking hot right now." He turned around, just like I asked. All it took was a good fifteen seconds to change our positions in this cramped space, but it was worth it. I didn't like to close my eyes during sex. It was rude, one, and it was a little weird, two. But if I couldn't see the fucker while I fucked him, who was to say I was being a douche?

Hands on his hips, trailing lightly, touching heated skin. Fuck if Kenny wasn't attractive. I knew he was pretty damn cute, because he was gay and gave off this lovable slutty vibe. But from behind, without his face or his words, I could see why even the deaf and blind and impaired and stupid would dream of fucking his ass. He was hot. Simple as that. His body was all tight where it should be, smooth and soft. Nice hips, lovely legs. Thin torso. Not scrawny, no. He had the slight showings of vanity muscles, so it wasn't as if he was all skin and bones.

Pushing myself in, tightness before I could think otherwise, I heard Kenny grunt softly.

All the way in. To the very max.

Out until I was just barely in him.

Again. Again. Again.

I brought my hand around to his dick and restarted the ministrations I almost forgot about.

The sound of Kenny's breathing and the sound of his low gasps and swallows were enough for me to speed up. To do it harder, and rougher, and be more into it than I thought I could be. Damn it. Fuck it. He wasn't a talker, and for that I was almost grateful. If he decided to urge me on in some little wannabe porn star way, then I could seriously say I would have dropped his naked ass off at a gas station to get raped by some rednecks. But he didn't. He buried his head into his arms, moans only loud enough for me to know they were there.

I thought of some pretty damn stupid things when he came in my hands. The Beatles and their LSD song. The cheap condoms I used. The Twix bars that Spencer would slowly eat, one by one, during lunch.

Before I came, I thought of how Spencer calmed, really calmed, after eating a few sweets. His mouth taking in a Snickers bar, pushing it between his lips, was a sight that fueled masturbation more than once. If such a candy could incite erotic actions like that from Spencer, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have that mouth around me. Again.

The thought of him licking an ice cream cone got me closer. His pink tongue and a creamy treat, rubbing and tasting, drove me crazy the first time I saw him eat that special dessert. I was hard, so hard, and I couldn't keep my eyes off him. The urge to take it away and make him give the same sort of attention to my dick hit me. Since then, I pushed him to just buy it in a cup, because getting horny at school wasn't very safe for me.

The memory that made me orgasm was… the time Spencer let me on top of him and touch him. He may have said 'birthday present' like he was going to lead, but when the bed was added to the mixture... Spencer let me get on top of him. He haughtily smirked at me, as if he was only doing it for kicks. Then he backed himself towards the bed and tugged me to get on him. Actually… really… on… him…

…

Not minding my horrible performance and lack of concentration, Kenny was good. Great. As much as, well, yeah, like, not being really into it as I was… It was still pleasure. Pleasurable, yeah…

"I'm feeling Cheesecake right now," he prattled after he put on his shirt, "You mind?" His blue eyes were friendly, not slutty.

I shrugged, the after sex happiness nonexistent with me, "Yeah, whatever."

"Best gay virgin sex I've ever had," he continued to babble, "Hands down. Most guys have no idea what to do. You? Natural pro."

I nodded, not in the mood for conversation. I just wanted some good food to wash down the taste of latex condoms and KY jelly. Pasta. Maybe some pasta. Or steak? No, not really feeling it today.

He didn't mind my silence; he might have preferred it, "Your friend, Spencer? Yeah, he's a straight up god. It was only once, last year, but he is still the best hook up I've ever had to pleasure of being with. Sorry, Vincent. You're good, but not as good as Spencer."

My hands gripped the steering wheel hard as I tried to ignore the implications. Hell, I tried to ignore the obvious.

Spencer was a GOD. I knew that. I knew that. I fucking knew that. He… actually had sex with people… No. No. No no no. He was an asexual prude who wouldn't give me the time of day, except to tell me he didn't want me.

HE didn't have sex like a little whore with everyone. That was me. Spencer was a good guy, somewhat of a good guy, because he wasn't sex crazy like me. Yeah, there was Jay… but that was the exception. And me? I was another exception.

Kenny giggled at his own memories, "Spencer's boyfriend, Andrew, is so good at head it's not even funny. You should try him out. He'll do anything for a blond, but he likes pretty much anyone hot enough. He also has this thing for white guys."

I felt something in me clench and tighten and explode.

"What…?" I said very carefully, as if the sound of my own voice could aid in strengthening the pain in my chest.

"Andrew? You know him," he stated as if I was stupid, "Andrew Daisy, the guy who was expelled for bringing a knife to school and stabbing Red? Spencer's partner in crime?"

Spencer's…? Spencer's partner in crime?

Boyfriend?

He had a… He was… Spencer. He. It. They.

The pieces fit in my head before I could stop it. I didn't want to know this truth about Spencer. This wasn't what I wanted! This type of revelation was just… just… The reality of just who Spencer really was… This wasn't what I wanted to know. This wasn't the twisty turning life Spencer had. It wasn't, wasn't! Wasn't…

But it was. Spencer was just a normal, everyday…

I sighed.

"Which way to the Cheesecake Factory do you think is fastest?" I asked, cheeky smiles and obnoxious tone all over again. Letting my eyes roll over Kenny, acting like the creeper he probably thought I was, I studied his demeanor. I knew the guy, somewhat, kinda. I think I spoke to him a couple of times in the past. Well, drunk, maybe. Maybe once or twice while sober I had engaged in a thrilling conversation about lubricated condoms with the guy.

Kenny was a decent guy, well, not really. He was chill enough to talk to if worst came to worst, but he was the kind of gay guy that spit out mean comments amongst his nicer ones. Couldn't really tell with the guy if he was the kind to keep a secret or sell it to the student body. Well, he seemed to act like nice enough guy to me so it wasn't as if he'd…

Stopping my thoughts before I could rationalize why in hell I decided to fuck him, because I knew the reason, I coughed into my elbow.

He looked left and right, lifting his body off the seat just the slightest to peer out at the signs, before turning back to me. "Just get on the freeway," he shrugged, "It's probably quickest."

I smiled at him, just for good measure, before motioning for him to take to radio. Fucking annoying, obnoxious beyond sensibility, and as sexy as a dead moose, I was that day. My head was filled to the brim, to the fucking brim. Didn't want to, believe me! Who would want to? Reorganizing, categorizing, sorting. Everything I knew, didn't know, inferred, thought, supposed, assumed. Why? Why would I do such a thing, like, building my brain from the ground up?

Spencer. That was fucking why. Fuck him. Fuck. Him.

"Round two?" Kenny asked with his slut face smile, bubbling after a few highly caffeinated sodas.

I grinned, similar to how I thought some sick lecher would. On purpose or by accident, it didn't matter. Stopping on the side of the road, exactly like the nasty teenagers we were, I nearly tackled him in an urge to get his clothes off. Darkness made it pretty hard to place my hands on the right places during the first try of this second try, but God be damned if I cared.

"Sure."

 

S is for Systematic
​

I nudged the ajar door with a foot, carefully balancing a large stack of textbooks in my arms. Groaning, I tried to move my arms just the slightest to get the blood pumping in them.

The problem with taking so many high level courses was the sheer number of textbooks dumped on me. In all seriousness, I had several textbooks and references for each class. Half of them were just newly purchased, because of those damned lists my teachers suddenly decided to throw at me. What sort of teacher waited until after winter break to tell the students what books they needed for the class?

Setting down the books, I cringed. Just two short of fifteen.

All thick, fat, hardcover pieces of 'intellectual bullshit.' But that wasn't my word for textbooks. That was something Butter liked to say because he thought he was better than the system.

No one was home to open to door for me, and I had unwittingly forgot about that as I teetered the stack in one hand as I tried to introduce my key to the door lock. Debby just had to push me out her car with the force of her sudden animosity, books in my arms, shirt off, and glasses askew.

It wasn't as if I could blame the girl. After all, how much does it hurt to be treated like an everyday client of common whore? I got her off. She distracted me for the day. It was payment in the form of favors.

In a systematic manner that I couldn't help but hate myself for, I organized my textbooks by subject, size, and importance. The biggest ones pushed towards the back, far left corner. The smaller ones fitted into the right hand side. Organized by period number, I shifted around the books again. And then I did it again, this time by relative importance.

Was there something a little bit, if not completely, OCD about organizing like this? Perhaps, but I was too busy trying to ignore the happenings of my day to further explore that thought.

Nothing happened today. I woke up. Alone in my bed, of course. I messaged a friend of a friend. No harm in that. She picked me up. We went around town for a while and ran some errands that we have both been procrastinating on. Just fine. Nothing of importance happened. Nothing of great remembrance.

I did not get sucked off by a thirteen year old last night. I did not talk dirty to him, using my fingers to rub against his prostate while I jerked him. Without a doubt, I did not let my future stepbrother sleep in my bed after such activities. We did not wake up together and I most definitely did not discourage him from thinking about what we did too much.

Anxiety was not what prompted me to call Debby and then touch her. She did not attempt to reciprocate, ten minutes afterwards. We did not call up Text and halfheartedly try to play off my three month absence. We did not run into Mitch and almost get into a fist fight.

Debby did not cover her face and blink away tears, trying to tell me about… her… pregnancy… She did not stutter, pressing her cheek against my chest, and choke out everything that Text did to her. She did not spill her life and she did not tell me about how her father smacked her in front of her little brother. She did not… wish… I was the father… Debby did not, she did not, did not tell me how much of a great guy I really was inside…

I shivered. Denial was a sad, sad, sad thing. It took a lot more out of a person than what most recognized. Effort and determination and slight bits of desperation were only the sparks, the first jumps of the catalyst. To continuously deny took something that I was not too sure I was willing to give up. But I did it anyway. Always. It was always better to live in a constant state of denial than acknowledge the ugliness that was my life. Ugliness. That was my life, before, and that was my life, now.

The doorbell rang, rousing me out of my inner monologue. Thankful for such a distraction in a way that was probably out of character for me, I picked up a plain white tee from my bed and pulled it over my head without a second thought, uncaring if it was dirty.

Ignoring my bought of OCD behavior, I left my distraction behind in search of a better one.

What was I thinking?

"Jake?" I asked slowly, my voice nothing more than a simple question.

Because it was, even if nothing more than a name, a question. It could mean everything. It could mean nothing. But then again, as I just said, it could mean everything. Every single little God damned thing.

A small step forward and a soft smile that seemed so familiar but somehow just a tad bit unusual attached to my cousin's face. Like mine, but not. I still had the rounded baby cheeks of our childhood, as I frequently noticed with disdain. It was something that met my every reflection and made me seem, most times, just a bit more immature than I'd like to think I was.

Jake grew up and developed into some person a little more… He looked… different than in my blurred and distorted memories. Different than in the photographs sent to me during the holidays. But. But it was still Jake. Right? This was still Jake, my favorite cousin, right?

"J-Jake?" I asked again. My voice shook slightly, but I tried to maintain control of myself.

I wasn't fourteen years old, anymore. I was seventeen. This was different. This was not the same. Even if… Even if Jake was the one of the few people to… help me really escape my personal hell… He did that… but he also made… He also. Made me.

This wasn't… He couldn't. He just couldn't. It wasn't allowed.

Jake stepped forward again, his body nowhere near touching range, but still close enough for me to see the changes to his person. Softly, just like I remembered his voice to be, he whispered, "I know I'm not supposed to see you again… But just for a short while. A little bit."

A thick bit of saliva was lodged in my throat. Or, at least, that was what it felt like.

"I…" my voice trembled with emotion I didn't think I had so greatly felt in years, "F-f-father… H-he…" I felt chills run down my back. It felt like fear. But that couldn't be right, because I knew no one was home.

He edged a little closer, "Uncle Daniel won't notice if you disappear for a bit." Moving close enough for me to feel the heat from his body, he mumbled again, "If anything happens just tell him I kidnapped you."

When his hand reached out and touched my shoulder, I shifted backwards in a movement that felt involuntary.

Oh fuck.

"How are you?" Jake asked quietly, questioning without intruding, "I really need to talk to you, Spencer. Just for a bit. Come on."

I looked up past his blond hair, unable to look at him in the eye for reasons unknown. I didn't know why I couldn't look at him. I didn't. I just didn't.

"Spencer," he sighed, tired and sad. Guiltily, he moved a step back. "In my car," he said while taking a quick glance over my shoulder, "Just for five minutes."

He stepped backwards, once more, beckoning me with his stance and his resigned persona.

I pushed one foot forward. Going? Was I really?

Shivers ran up and down my back. My body felt tense and my heart beat faster for reasons I couldn't figure out. But even so, I walked forward to follow a relieved Jake to his parked car.

As soon as we settled in the car, he turned on the heat and smiled at me comfortingly. It was that same smile he used to throw me when he was taking care of things around his house. When Dave had homework assignments he forgot to finish, or when Kayla had a class party she was too embarrassed to talk about, Jake was always there to give that smile and fix everything.

I was just his cousin, his fucked up cousin who still couldn't sit in a car with him without feeling bugs crawl all over my skin. Oh God. Over my back. Across my arms to the back of my legs.

"How are you? Your thing with… Andrew and her… How…? How are you now?" he asked carefully, once more. He wasn't looking at me. For that, I supposed I was grateful.

Begrudgingly I said, "Good." But that was a lie. Stuck in a car, the tingles of unpleasant chills feathering at my senses, wasn't something I was inclined to.

Nevertheless. Damn it. This was Jake. He was the sole pillar of support for me, when I was a kid and all throughout that one particularly rough spot that marked my reentrance into normality. But then. They had to tell me I couldn't see him again. Not like I was doing here. His attention on me, his complete and absolute understanding. Jake understood me. He always understood me.

I saw him look at me with a pitying expression before he, with all the care he could possibly summon, placed his hand on my shoulder. This was Jake. I had to keep reminding myself that. This was Jake, the only one who understood me during that crazy half year period. The way I shut myself up in his room was scorned upon by the adults but Jake always let me. He would let me snuggle into his blankets and cry myself to sleep. Simply because, only because, he loved me. I was his dear little cousin. Shy in some aspects. Withdrawn in others.

The trauma I experienced, for whatever reason, was a good enough excuse for anything but escape. In the past (before that horrible incident), all I wanted to do, with Jake, was escape. I wanted, always wanted, still wanted for him to comfort me. And I liked comfort.

My feelings of fear and stress and worry shook through me again. God, no. His hand was on me. What the fuck was his hand doing on me? Not again. He wasn't going to do this again, was he?

"How are you?" he asked again, hot breath and a crappy heater made clouds of white wisp up, "Really, Spence? Don't lie. How are you?"

His hand shifted, slightly, probably not at all. But I felt something and it computed in my brain as something akin to physical movement.

The bomb in me exploded.

I jerked away too quickly and gasped loudly. Jake took his hand away from me and respectfully pushed his body as far away from mine as he could without appearing awkward.

"I'm so fucked up. This is all so fucked up," I admitted with a harsh shudder running up and down my spine. Up and up and up then down and down and down. Tears dribbled but tissues were not offered. Like a sniffling child, I used the back of my arms to wipe away the saltwater.

"Oh Spencer…" Jake whispered, his head shaking in disbelief, "You're not fucked up. Don't let them tell you that. Spencer…"

Over and over and over and over and over and over and…

Fuck.

"I fucked… it all up." My body shook. "I'm fucking it all up."

Jake smiled at me, showing me comfort in the best way possible, lips barely moving but still uttering all the words I loved to hear.

"It's not your fault."

"Nothing is wrong with you."

"You're not fucked up."

"Everything is okay."

"Everything will be okay."

He looked at me without any judgment.

Weakly, I told him, "I missed you."

Still the same boy I knew, Jake mumbled, "Missed you too."

This was Jacob Ian Victor Lake. This was Jake.

I could not be scared of him, of what he did. Once in the past he made a mistake, but it was only once. That 'one time' sent me to the deepest corners of my mind for a week, but I didn't care. Two, two years was enough time.

Right? I was better now. Right? I was allowed to see Jake. Right? I wanted to see Jake… Right?

The respectable distance was still between us, but Jake settled in his seat to be a little closer to me. The heater was just finally starting to blow hot air at us. It caused little blurs of white to climb up the windows, but I didn't take mind of it.

"Andrew told me what happened," Jake began, "He still hates me, and I still want him dead. Spencer… I just can't believe he did that to you. I'm sorry I didn't see anything earlier. He and Benjamin were supposed to… protect you. I can't believe I didn't see it earlier." He sighed, and then took one large breath of air.

"But… he understands better than most how bad Aunt Annie was."

The very name caused me to choke on my tongue.

Jake hushed me, "Shh, shhh…" His hands stayed where they were. His body was still. "Listen, you have to listen."

I wasn't listening, but I tilted my head up anyway. If anything, I just wanted to appease Jake. He had a horrible temper. Remembering that brought more disgust and hatred and all sorts of emotions to attack my sense of self.

His quirky half smile wasn't something he often wore on his face. It was something he only did when he wasn't thinking about smiling. Nearly all of Jake's reactions were based on memory or anger or preplanned scenarios. He never knew what to do with himself when faced with unexpected situations.

The memories of that also hit me hard, causing me to inhale noisily.

Jake ignored my state in favor of feeding me his words, "You have to stop this, Spencer. All of this. Drop them. Drop all of them. I doubt most of your friends even care about you in a way that's healthy right now. Drop Andrew. He's so fucking horrible for you it makes me sick. He had no right to do what he did, no matter what you think. Okay? No right at all."

He hardened his grey eyes, but maintained his soothing tone, "It's his fault this happened. If he didn't fuck up, then you wouldn't have gone back to the meds. And… he also… Domestic violence, you get it. Right? Spencer? You know how wrong it is. No matter what, he has to go."

I nodded, but didn't comprehend his words enough to know what I just acquiesced to.

"Drop Mitchell. He doesn't even like you. Drop Dexter. He's a mindless tool. Drop Deborah. She only wants you for sex. Emily is sweet. Now that you're not sleeping with her, she actually likes you for you. And I know you're still uncomfortable with Wendy, but she's been trying to fix things. Everyone else has to go. And, you have to listen to me, Spence. Spence?"

Nod.

"And you have to stop seeing that…" he did something that was halfway between a smirk and a grimace, "Benjamin used to be good friends with the twins, before he stopped using. Dexter told me you've been interested since… the last fight, but Vincent Morris? He's no good. Don't settle for someone below you just because you think it's the--"

I cut him off with a wheezed, "No."

… No.

Jake sounded genuinely worried, "What do you mean, Spencer?" He shook his head, "You have to talk to me. They don't give a damn about you in the right way. If you're worried about your social life, don't be. I know there's--"

"I like him."

I didn't understand what in hell I was saying, but I was saying it. And God be damned and Satan be saved if I wasn't going to fucking say it. I forgot about the fear, for a minute.

"Vincent," I said. The name had a taste now. Funny. I coughed and started again, "Vincent. I. I like him. He's not… my friend anymore… but that was my own fault. He doesn't even know anything about me. It isn't. It isn't just because of… it."

Jake didn't understand. He just fucking didn't. If he did, he wouldn't have let me out of his car and walked me back to my front door with five feet between us. He just gave me a relieved smile and, sadly, almost made a move to come closer. When I shifted backwards in a movement I could swear was unintentional, he made no other efforts to silent reconciliation.

He said, "I'll come back again, later. Dad's taking us to see Darlene and Jiminy this Friday, just a little get together before the wedding. Might see you. Might not."

He did not understand. If he understood, if. If he did, he would have locked me in that car with him and forced me to rethink my words and erase the connotations.

I did not. I didn't like. Fuck it all. I did not like Vincent in any way, shape, or form. In any time or place. Not as an acquaintance, a friend, or something… greater.

I didn't know why I continued to blame Jake for something that was completely my fault. But I continued to, and I cursed him and the 'Samuel' guy I forgot to question about.

I deigned to check my cell again. It wasn't too long after… the 'nothing' had happened. I wasn't too sure how the others would respond to whatever happened. Flipping open the cell phone in a practiced manner, I watched the tiny print appear on the screen. One new message.

babycakes bday party friday

I didn't know what to do, truthfully. There were a million and one things running through my head, and I most definitely did not need a 'social event' get thrown into the mess and make it harder for me to deal with it all. Even though I thought that, seriously thought that, I replied to the text surprisingly fast.

yeah I know

 

T is for Tact​

Who was this guy? Really?

"So, Vincent," he started again, bloodshot eyes darting around the room in a way that reminded me of drug dealers who sampled their own shit, "Then I was tellin' Laura, 'Nah, baby. You're the only one for me,' and she was all over me." He snapped his finger. Then he did this sorta did this hip thrust movement. "Like that."

I nodded and tried to look interested, but I couldn't for fuck's sake match a face to a name. George? Michael? Norton? Leonard? Who the fuck was he!?

I mean, it wasn't as if he was completely unrecognizable. He looked familiar enough, and from the way he was talking to me it seemed like this wasn't our first conversation. It was just that, damn my lack of skills with names, I couldn't even guess his name. There were no general sounds or number of syllables that I usually try to throw out there when playing this guessing game.

He balanced his beer on the edge of the table before reaching for his iPhone, texting away like mad.

Wait. Texting. Text. Text. Texter… Dexter!

Hah. Fuck yeah! I knew I knew the fucker's name. Beers on me fellers because I? Pimpness. Straight up. Suck it. But. Eh. Where the hell did I know him from?

"Damn it," Dexter cursed, tilting his head back and forth in frustration, "Drew's going to be here in a bit. You better leave."

Haah? What??

The host of the party, a slutty little slut of a Filipino girl (who was pretty damn hot now that I thought about it), came towards us, a couple of beers in her arms.

What the fuck was her name?

"Emily!" Dexter burst, "Hey girly girl, Babyface. What're'ya doin' with all that?"

Ah. Emily. She was my classmate. I think. Since… kindergarten. Maybe preschool. I pondered on the subject a little more, alcohol fueling my imagination. Now that I thought about it, there was a really cute Filipino girl in my daycare named Emily. Huh, go figure. It was probably her. But no… I lived in Sac-town when I was kid. Uhhh.

The drunken girl giggled happily and dumped all the beers on the couch. Swinging around our necks, hugging us both simultaneously, she laughed, "Hahaaaah. Oh. My. God. I haven't seen you two in… forEVER! Vincent! Textie!"

I liked her boobs, I think. Before, in the past year or something. The boobs look familiar. Yeah. Unmistakably perky but large things. Yeah. They were fun to play with. Did I have sex with her? Ehhh. Probably. Maybe. Just a wee bit perchancy. Maybe.

She smacked my arm playfully, "Vincent, what're you doin' here? Haha. Don't you gotta go? Andrew's coming." She giggled again, "Coming, haha. Cumming."

I nodded at her, uncaring that she discovered innuendo. Who the fuck was Andrew? Or Drew? Same person? Thinking to myself, trying to hurdle my way past the alcohol drowning my brain cells, I couldn't recall any specific Andrews.

I think there was a guy, maybe in my class? AP English or AP American History… something smart like that… He was Andy, Andrew, something. Maybe? Maybe not? I may have known a guy who was friends of an acquaintance that was named Andrew. Closing my eyes, partly because the smoke of Dexter's cigarette made it sting, I tried to pull out as many faces as I could that may have been an Andrew.

Looking at the table in front of me, I noticed I surpassed my one beer limit. There were… three empty bottles. Were they all mine? Wow. I was a regular alcoholic, sobriety be fucked.

"Dude, Vincent. You're fucked," he said as he continued to text away, "Since Spencer said he'd gladly screw you, Andrew's been dying to beat the crap out'a ya. He's been looking for an excuse, but I guess he didn't 'cause he was sent upstate for the knifing stunt."

Eh!? The fuck!?

When the hell did Spencer say that!?

And who the fuck wanted to kill me? With a knife? Yes, no… Fuck me with a knife…? What the fuck?!

Stumbling, I asked, "What the fuck?" I swallowed a little more beer to ease the headache caused by thinking too hard.

Dexter or whatever his name was looked at me like I was crazy, "You don't remember? At Jamba Juice?"

To that, I could only respond, "I fired months ago. Manager figured out I was screwing the girl he wanted." My curiosity still burning, I tried not to wiggle and demand to know what he knew about Spencer. In the last week, all I did was discreetly gather different rumors about him and try to figure out why the fuck I've never heard of him before if he was so infamous.

"Fuck, Vincent. I thought you jocked him because you overheard what he said…?" he said confusedly before continuing, "He told Andrew he'd fuck around with you the first chance he gets… because they were having another crazy fight."

What…?

He dipped into a conversation before I could ask him to hold the fuck up and cla-ri-fy. "Dude, I'm so happy Drew hasn't seen Spencer yet. Fuck. They get so violent it's scary. Throwing stuff and breaking furniture, it's like a 'who has the bigger dick' competition. It's been like that since I've known them. And they argue all the fucking time."

"Hey! Slutfuck!"

I glanced up. A nose piercing and a lip ring greeted me in a silly little hello. Sparking? No. Shining? Yeah.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" the lip ring demanded. No. Umm. It guy with the lip ring said that. Lip rings didn't talk, jeez, wasn't I just being silly?

I completely forgot the previous exchange in the face of this… more real thing.

Trailing eyes and confused rubs to my face, I stated as surely as I could, "Uhh… Vincent Morris." Who the fuck was this guy? Did I get into more drama without knowing it? Damn it. Again?

Dexter stood up from next to me and patted the new guy with friendly enthusiasm, "Drew! You're here. When d'ya get here?" He glanced back at me, "Yeah, man. Vincent's so chill. Aren't 'cha, Vincent?"

"Straight up," I raised another beer, swiped from Amelia or whatever her name was, and popped it against the table. Yummy, nummy, nummy. Beer. And no dents on the little coffee table, either! I was fucking pro, go me.

He, the guy, Andrew, whatever, threw Dexter's arm off his shoulder with what looked like an angry snarl. Damn, son. Hold ye horses and calm the fuck down. He looked pissed off and started to whisper words I didn't bother to listen to.

"Andy!" the girl next to me laughed. My head shot up. She was still here?

Her hand was in my lap, would'ya look at that? "Aw, Andy," she chided, dark hair falling across her shoulders in a way that might have been hot (if I wasn't drunk), "Don't be such a party pooper. Vincent's so nice! Don't kill him."

Eh. What? Kill me?

Dexter laughed nervously, red rimmed eyes darting around again, "No tact. At all."

Mr. Lip Ring and Shiny Nose Piercing grabbed my arm, hoisting me up like a child. I couldn't smell smoke or beer, so I just assumed the guy was a sober piece of shit. Who would grab a guy that hard? He asked again, enunciating his words like he thought I was too drunk to understand, "Who. The fuck. Do you. Think. You. Are?"

Annoyance flashed through me before I could comprehend it. I should have just played dumb and laughed like a fool. Chortle my way out of it, ya know? But no. I had to get pissed and I had to drop my act.

"Look, man," I began, the pain only a gentle prod compared to my emotional turbulence, "I don't even fucking know you. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

The first punch almost missed my face. It landed on the edge of my cheek, but it throbbed like a motherfucker. The second punch? That cocksucker landed one on my mouth. My mouth! Could y'all believe that amount of cow shit?! My mouth was… GAH.

"Fucker!" I gasped. I could ignore pain as well as the next guy, but Goddamn if I was just going to let some fuckwit of an Asian come up out of nowhere and try to beat me up! Where was the fucking floss when I needed it!?

I readied myself to punch the guy, Andrew, whoever the fuck he was, and the sight of his face. He was sizing me up, looking for my reaction. He wanted me to punch him back, if the smug and taunting shit grin was any hint or notion.

Emma (or whatever) tackled me across the waist, her petite body making me stumble before I could comprehend it. "No fighting," she sobbed without tears, "This is my party. No fighting. If you wanna kill Vincey Vince, you can leave."

The fucker had to gall to look apologetic for a moment, "I'm sorry, Babyface. Em."

I took that opportunity to land one heavy punch to his gut. I put my weight, in a way Donny taught me, and some considerable force into it. I was not too drunk to punch, although I may have been too drunk to hold up a conversation or remember a name.

He made an 'oof' sound, but looked at me scandalized. I shrugged. He punched me first, right? I had a right to at least try to hit him back.

Haha, silly me. I thought that one punch would put a balance to the scale and smooth out whatever ruffles he thought we had. But after he recovered from the shock of receiving a punch from a regular ol' pacifist like me, he took on that same ugly snarled face.

I think I blacked out.

 

U is for Usefulness​

I stepped through the door only ten minutes prior, the bass and treble making it easy to identify the exact house in which Emily was throwing her party at. Although I could recall the house in perfect memory, dim streetlamps skewed appearances far beyond what I could recognize. Luck on my side, or not, Emily immediately saw me and attached her small frame to mine.

She kissed my cheek, over and over again, inebriation making her the giddiest girl ever.

Happy sixteenth birthday, Babycakes.

I was shoved into a fridge before I could think to yell, magnets pushing against my back, indentations made in protest. Frantic kisses pressed against me, all over my head, trying to give me a message I would have otherwise ignored.

"Spencey," he whispered, sadness and desperation openly leaked into his voice, "Spencey…"

Andrew pushed me with greater force, knowing the bruises he would inflict before he caused them. Red was probably ringed around my wrists, due to the squeezing. Hips pressed against me, trapping me before I thought it sensible to escape. He bent lower, but didn't give me an inch of space to wiggle.

Hot breath and sticky resentment was all I thought of as he said, "I'm so sorry, Spencey. Come on… So sorry. I'm so sorry." Black fringes covered his eyes as he continued to cover me in his physical apologies, and I couldn't help but stay silent and let him suffer more. It was his fault, all his fault. Why should I accept his regret and let him live without it?

Quickly, with skill I only deigned to think remarkable time to time, he pulled me away from the fridge and forced me against a counter. My body bent slightly backwards due to the odd position, awkwardly but by no means painfully.

I doubt the faggot cared about our audience. I sure as hell didn't.

"Missed you so much," he breathed into my ear, chaste kiss after chaste kiss making loud pops I could only gain a headache from. Nuzzles to my neck and gentle caresses with his left hand contradicted the way his hard body pressed against my own and the way his right hand gripped my wrist. Scoffing, because I hated the way I loved the contradiction…

I groaned, low and throaty. My head tilted up, just a little more, to give the permission I knew he craved. And I? I just wanted a little something-something for my troubles. Dealing with his bullshit, day after day, had to amount for something right? A three months worth of avoidance probably added onto the guilt, also, but I didn't care to examine that bit too deeply.

His body allowed one single inch of space between us before he pushed forward again, his needy groans louder than mine. My body stiffened, just the slightest, both the pain of being pushed against a hard surface and the pleasure of having such friction placed on my most sensitive area too much for me to handle.

His right hand tightened. The promises. Hah. Damn it. The pains of being hooked. The literal and metaphorical pains.

"Spencer…" he groaned again, quieter. Even quieter, knowing how I hated the way he said it, "I… I love you…"

My right hand, free, reached up and gripped his shirt, pulling him down roughly. My eyes shut automatically. My lips, his lips. My teeth. His eager tongue. He pressed down, even harder, knowing me just as well as I knew him.

The gasps he let out every time our lips separated before crashing again annoyed the hell out of me. Even if I kept my tongue shoved in his mouth, temporarily dominating him just like he wanted me to, moans would reverberate and register in my brain. It killed my arousal more than he probably knew.

Opening my eyes and slowing the fervor of our kiss, I saw a familiar flash of blonde hair I could never forget for more reasons than one. Wendy.

I turned away from him in a way he must have misinterpreted, because he made a move to grab me across my waist.

I scoffed, "Get the fuck off of me, Andrew." My words were angry. Angry.

He blinked at me, confused, "What…?" The sexual provocation was probably still running through his veins, slowing his ability to properly form thoughts.

Every ounce of lust in my veins died the second I saw Wendy's blonde hair, so I didn't have a speck of a problem readjusting my clothes. Shirt, still smooth and wrinkle free. Jeans, still buttoned. Belt, in place. Turning back to give Andrew that final farewell before I went off to find my fuck of the night, I noticed a sparkle that wasn't there three months prior.

"You got a nose piercing?" I asked with a raised eyebrow, "You look like a faggot." It wasn't as if he wasn't gay, with only a handful of females able to get him off, but he didn't have to permanently poke a hole through his face to announce it to the world.

Recoiling, as if hurt physically by my harsh comment, the teenager who liked me more than was healthy sighed, "Yeah. I was drunk with Mitch. It was a joke, I think."

Nodding because my interest in Andrew waned to almost nothing in the past minute, I sidestepped any more conversation with a generic excuse. "I still haven't seen Babycakes. Gotta go, sorry."

Before I could fully move away, he put his arms around me from behind. He murmured near my ears, in a way he must have thought would be a turn-on, "Come on, Spence. Three months. I need something a little more…"

"Go fuck yourself," I snapped, impatient and bothered for reasons I couldn't recall. Andrew would always remind me later, the reasons why I ticked like I ticked. That was no reason to feel that burst of anger, but I did anyway.

He let go of me, like a bitch, and placed a kiss to my ear after he obediently nodded.

Walking off, I attempted to breathe evenly, smoothing out the inconsistencies in my demeanor. Who knew, other than Andrew, why I acted like a douche bag half the time and like an amnesiac boy the other? If anything, Andrew's usefulness stemmed from his own similar experiences, but I didn't consciously give a damn about that.

All I cared to think about, if I pondered our 'relationship' at all, was that Andrew was the only guy I trusted enough to not fuck. Hah. It probably wasn't even that well placed, my trust. The guy would only dry hump the fuck out of me before he begged me for more than I was willing to give. His hands all over my hips. His mouth all over my body.

Usually, it would culminate slowly. His needy, so fucking needy kisses would press against my cheeks and forehead. Andrew would try to keep things 'platonic.' But his own pleasure was always much more important than mine. Loose morals and even looser hands, my God.

I walked to the head of blonde hair before I thought to stop myself. "Wendy," I called flatly, although I added extra volume to my voice.

She turned to look around her, confusion in her pretty blue eyes, before spotting me. She smiled, immediately, but then slackened her face. It was most likely due to the fact that she could see the obedient Andrew walking off somewhere behind me. But then again, it could have been just because she realized it was me who called her. I didn't want to know which one it was, because both would equally hurt the two flipsides of my heart.

I opened my mouth, a smile that was a little too wide to be real on my face, "Wendy, what are you doing here?" What was Wendy doing here? I knew, for a fact, that she only went to parties on Saturdays. Friday nights she babysat her siblings.

She smiled again at me, my amicable tone probably making her assume I was in a better mood than usual. "Cakey invited me," she began while brushing some strands of blonde out of her vision, "I didn't know you'd be here. I thought you stopped coming to parties…?"

If she were any other girl, I would have been as fake as could be. I probably would have laughed lightly and stepped closer. One or two responses would have been dealt, and my arms would find a way around her waist. A teasing kiss and a suggestive tug would be all it took to lead her away.

But Wendy… Lord. She wasn't any other girl. Wendy was never just another 'girl' to me. She was special, in more ways than one. Like Andrew, perchance too much like Andrew, she connected me to the past I struggled so desperately to bury. But unlike Andrew, she let me ignore what happened in my childhood, fully knowing what occurred.

I didn't love her any more than I loved Andrew, and I would swear up and down and left and right that I had not one ounce of love for that sick son of a bitch. I needed them in my life to make sure I could never truly escape, even if I did nothing but try for the past how many years.

"No, of course not," I stepped closer, "Babycakes would kill me before letting me escape her sweet sixteen." I stepped back.

Hoping to God she didn't notice, I chided myself for almost falling into that type of play with Wendy. What in hell was I fucking thinking? That she'd appreciate my advances as a compliment and let it be?

She was like Andrew, in more ways than one. I had to remember that. Although good and sweet and pretty, she was still human. And. She had the remnants of a romantic interest that never left.

Sober and damn happy while at it, completely unlike the way she acted while drunk, Wendy flicked her eyes at something behind me. Immediately, all that jubilance faded. "Andrew met… Vincent, earlier."

I nodded but kept my face serene, paying no mind to the switch in emotions. Why in hell would I care? I didn't care about Wendy's feminine mood swings anymore; my friendship with her ended a long time ago. And her mention of those two idiots? What the fuck did they have to do with me? Andrew, I had to admit, was… with me. We were together, in a sense, in that 'sense' that supposedly mattered.

Vincent, on the other hand… whatever connection I had with Vincent ended when he walked out on me. Vincent ended it almost as abruptly as he began it. To fuck Kenny, no less, a disgusting little flamer who talked shit about everyone. I was surprised, or, well, I shouldn't have been surprised. The world shifted back to its former axis. Vincent was an individual I didn't notice anymore, like every other student in that stupid high school I attended.

The most brilliant blue eyes to ever grace the earth peered at me in nervousness. "They got into a fight, I think. Texty told me Andy knocked out Vincent…" She sighed, most likely hating how she had to be the one to tell me. "Cakey was really upset. She made him drag Vincent to her room to recover."

I nodded, again. Unsure of what I was expected to do, I tried to stay as neutral as possible. I had no idea if Wendy wanted me to show exasperation or disappointment at Andrew, for showing his angry lack of control. Or, if, God forbid, she wanted me to show concern for that weak little fool who managed to throw himself into my life on purpose.

Annoyance twisted my face before I could think about it. Fuck. That was right, wasn't it? Vincent did, purposefully, try to throw himself into my life. He was the one to begin this. He was also the one to… end it.

I tried to think hard, pulling my higher thinking skill out of hiding. There was no remembrance or recollection when thinking about exactly how Vincent and I properly met. Unable to decipher our circumstance, I sighed in a huff.

I flashed a good natured grin at Wendy, a goodbye if anything else, and walked towards the stairs. It was over… I knew the friendship was over… but I continued to go forward. Although a few people sat on the steps, wasted beyond all belief, none of them dared to go up more than several steps. With Emily, upsetting her promised pain from her eight older brothers. Half of which were in the service.

Babycakes. I was the first one to call her that. Thirteen years old, slutty, with a pretty little mouth and delicate little hands, Emily well acquainted herself with my male anatomy. She practiced on me, using me in a way that was just a tad bit different than how I was using her. Babycakes. Goodness. The others nicknames were just taken from the original I gave her.

As I took each step, I halfheartedly tried to attempt a reconstruction of those silly nights, so long ago. That, I would think, was back before I fucked people with the intention of keeping them simple one night fucks. The difference between once and twice didn't occur to me before Andrew told me to keep my affections and my dick in two separate compartments.

But that, I supposed, was only because he was too bitter to admit he hated the way I wouldn't push away the people who exhausted their use to me. The very fact that I would lay Emily down in her bed, with no thought of my own pleasure, and use my mouth and hands like a professional, often made Andrew bubble with anger he could never fully restrain.

Those were the good old days.

The familiar door, covered with Hello Kitty stickers and several drawings by one of the older brothers, made me falter a bit. I haven't been in there since I was just fourteen years old, cocky that I could make any girl have the orgasm of her life. Now I understood that experience was different than skill.

Shrugging away sour monologues, I opened the door with a frown clearly adorned on my face. My eyes scanned the room, still in that same setup, looking for the sorry asshole who, somehow, managed to catch my attention. And I saw him, that stupid fucker, Vincent. He sat on Emily's bed, one leg's ankle casually placed on his other leg's knee. Touching his face in slow prods, he hissed unpleasantly and cursed under his breath every time he poked too hard.

It was… unlike the last time I saw him in such a state. Last time, there were nasty splotches of unnatural colors and a slight swelling to his bruised lips. And although I could not, for the life of me, remember how and when I last saw his face beat into a mess, I could safely say that this time was nothing in comparison.

The left side of his cheek was turning red, and I surmised that was probably one of the places he was directly punched. His right eye was closed and the area around it looked a dark pink. I almost sighed, wondering if Andrew punched anywhere else. I knew he liked to keep punches directed towards the face, because those were harder to hide, but he never disliked causing harm to a person's abdominal area.

I glanced down to check if Vincent was clutching any part of his body that might give me a hint as to any other injuries, but seeing none, I lifted my eyes back to his face.

He had a split lip that he was sucking on and tonguing.

That sent something… odd… down to my lower belly. It felt different from lust, which I immediately thought it was, but affected me in the same manner.

Heat started to make an appearance, I could only assume, on my cheeks. I coughed once and swallowed the sudden excess of saliva in my mouth.

I saw him do it, just once more. He had brought that lower lip, the left side of his lip into his reddened mouth. I could see, from the way his face contorted just the slightest, that he was working his tongue on it from inside of his hot hole that I suddenly wanted in so badly. Then he let go in a barely audible pop, the leaking blood wiped clean, and slowly slid his pink-red tongue over the cut.

When he finished, his hand reached up to lightly touch across his bottom lip. Just barely, I noted, just barely applying any pressure. Vincent's brown eyes examined that finger, probably checking for any traces of blood.

I swallowed again, wondering what in hell was fucking wrong with me. Vincent had never before affected me like this. Never. I was sure of it. There may have been moments in which I couldn't recall which way was up and which way was down, but I knew that Vincent had never made my insides twist in something greater than lust.

When he looked up at me, in surprise he did nothing to hide or disguise, I saw the briefest flashings of conflicting emotions across his face.

I didn't want to interpret them, or even ponder them.

Vincent smiled, effectively breaking both of us, before saying, "Some asshole punched me." His grin was a little more honest than usual and his demeanor was looser than what I considered normal for him. Oh fuck, I thought as my face slackened in disgust. He was half drunk.

I didn't know what I planned to do when I closed the door behind me and walked a few unenthusiastic steps closer to the somewhat inebriated brunet. His eyes wandered around my form, alcohol probably fueling his lack of discretion. Before I could formulate a response that would be both truthful and self-serving, Vincent spoke again. His hand was lazily tracing what I supposed was my figure in the air as his smile widened.

"You look so fucking hot."

 

V is for Vivacious​

I was thinking… Maybe, just, well, like… Maybe. Yeah. Haha. That last beer was a mistake. Maybe.

"You look so," I thought of the most truthful description, "fucking hot." My hand was in the air, tracing Spencer's hot, hot, hot body. God day-yaaaamn. God BE..! God be damned! No guy could be that fine looking.

Hey sweet thang. You lookin' for a good time? Come 'ere and you can have a taste of mah lollipop.

Why did I always thing of hillbillies and southern country rock singers when I thought of child-molester-pseudo pickup lines? It probably had to do with that once, twice or thrice removed Uncle who got hitched with a fifteen year old posing as a nineteen year old hooker? I think he lived in Canada… Oh well. I think he grew up in one of those non-Californian states.

Yeah. Away from California, because everyone knew California had the best pickup lines. I laughed at myself, "Did it hurt?"

Spencer (oh whee hee hee) only looked at me through careful eyes. His face started to take on a suspicious edge, but then he looked to my side and sighed. He probably saw that last Corona of mine. Darn. And here I was hoping that he'd not know what kind of shit I get myself into. Especially since it was done, I thought, especially since even I knew where my bond with people ended.

I was not pathetic enough to not know when I was unwanted. Spencer had had it with me. I was no game for him, no prize, no friend. It was time I moved onto bigger better things, right? He had, certainly, not even the bittiest bitty bit of care for me, like I had for him. Fuck yee'aahh. More than just a bit. Like, like… In the excess. I cared about him way too much than was safe.

Kenny was no luck. That fuck was good ol' fashion natural skill. No background porn to emulate and no easing directions to focus me. That was just how good I was. Amateur, yet enjoyable. Good enough to satisfy, hah, if not please.

I watched Spencer take one step closer, a little, "What?" leaving his mouth.

My face twitched up to form a grin, "When you fell from heaven! Duh, Spencer. Jesus Christ. Didn't you see that coming?"

Chortles like a fat little piggy escaped my mouth without any control, whatsofuckingever. Focusing on Spencer, I noted he looked a little irked but not much more than that.

There was a delicious red tint to his cheeks, but fuck if I was going to judge him for a bit of color. Right? For all I knew (because fucking Goddamn it all I didn't know a thing), Spencer could have just popped ecstasy or downed a couple of beers down his throat.

Who was I to judge, se-ri-ous-ly…?

He opened his mouth, and for a moment I thought he was going to yell at me. Even so, I patiently awaited his chidings. Why? Well. I didn't know. Hah. Perchance I did know? Wouldn't that be a riot? A complete and absolute riot?

I interrupted him before he could even form syllables in his mouth. "Talked to Dexter," I said. I watched him for any discerning motions, but laughed away that idea quickly. I was no detective. Play the game? I was the game! Just try and figure me, sure, and anyone would find me to be as backwards as I was forwards.

Such… stupidity. This was all so capital F with an ing stupid.

"Now, now," I smiled again, "Can ya tell me who the fuck is 'Andrew?'" My fingers were raised to emulate quotation marks, but even if I was finding my actions hilarious, Spencer just stared at me with the most guarded look he has ever deigned to give me. Most of the time he thought me too dumb, maybe, or too preoccupied to keep track of his lapses.

I knew his face. I knew his eyes. I knew his mouth, his lips, his tongue, his hands, his body, his personality.

Once, I thought wistfully, only once had he shown me a truly vivacious side of him. Not during, because fuck if life turned out that way… But afterwards. After it was all done and over with, a part of Spencer that I'd never seen before appeared. And oh fuck me sideways if it didn't turn me on just like every other part of him.

Oh yes. Spencer in a good mood, oh fuck, in a really good mood? That was absolutely brilliantly amazing. It was better than reality, like, much, much better than reality. Something akin to heavenly, it had to be. Only once, had Spencer ever looked that way in my presence, but it was enough to fuel my fantasies and keep up my libido in between sex.

I strained my mental engines, trying to recall the details of that day. The way he completely used me was perfection. And although perfection was always imperfection in itself, who was to blame me? My harsh thrusts forward that hurt just as much as it pleasured?

But then after that… sort of happiness he showed me after we were done… he had to open his mouth, just the slightest out of breath. Then… He had… to fucking tell me something I didn't want to hear.

"You hold on a lot better than Jay."

My face twitched distastefully, showing my displeasure like anyone's business. Damn it.

"Do you know," I think I interrupted Spencer again, "Did you fuckin' know?"

My eyes didn't even dare meet his adorable face. To do so would have deferred me from what I wanted to say. When he didn't reply, I took that feeling of accomplishment in my soul and shoved it into my mental incinerator. No more triumph. Just a whole shitload of hot gas.

I uncrossed my legs and flopped backwards on the bed. My hands were still in the air, gesturing my empty words with empty flips of my wrist and accusing points of my finger.

"Hah," I mocked in an octave (or maybe a minor sixth) lower to imitate Spencer, "You hold on a lot better than Jay. That's for sure."

No clue where the fuck I was, but I knew where I was going. Warning: keep product away from small children and retards.

Think of like this, dear, dear, dear dears. Spencer was the child. I was the retard. We both, both of us, were not supposed to be doing this. What was this? Good God, Lord, and Savior. Fuck me if I knew. I was heading to hell for sodomy. Spencer was heading to heaven with bribes and deceiving baby faced angel looks.

The in between steps to our respective descent and ascent were… irregardless, regardless, disregard? Fuck you, me, Spencer, and the world. It just didn't matter.

"I fucked Kenneth," I pondered aloud, "Do I go straight to hell for eternity for doing that? Or can I spend a couple years in Purgatory before going to heaven?"

Spencer answered in a small voice, "I'm an atheist." I looked up to see him rubbing the skin around his wrists, which appeared to me ringed in red. For a split moment I thought of kinky handcuffs, but then I couldn't. Spencer in handcuffs… oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck… would mean there had to be someone else there doing something to him.

I still wasn't willing to accept the fact there were more people, other people, even if I knew it to be completely true. Fuck it. Fuck it all to hell.

"Are you?" I asked, the alcohol in my veins making it easier to ignore what I didn't want to acknowledge.

Spencer might have caught on, or he may have just talked to humor me. Nonetheless, he replied, "I don't believe in God. I'm sure that means I'm an atheist."

I chuckled out a loose, "Infidels and their blasted blasphemy," before I rested my head on the bed again.

OoooOOoohhh, lookie at that ther' thingamer… Hello Kitty galore! Oh my God! Who in hell lived in this bedroom? Pastel colors and happy solids smirked at me from various characters commonly found in those little Asian stores. Mono… nonomonono…? Piggies? Ugh, at least those were in black and white. The nerdy kids in my Jap class talked about them… ehhh… Asian girls willing to give nasty head were hot. Or they used to be. Now…! It was just, like, something… Yeah.

Now, those super Asian Pride stars… on the other hand… Who in fucking hell would sleep with all this bubbly hyper nonsense around them?!

Spencer slapped my knee, hard, in annoyance. "Don't fucking insult Emily. Respect? It's her sweet sixteen, you fuck."

My retort came out quick and cutting: "She your fuck?" The fact that I spoke my thoughts out loud didn't even bother me, because Spencer had the gall to chastise me for my behavior. Who did he think he was? It wasn't as if I was his bitch, only there to listen to him and abide by his every word.

Without any care of the looseness in my brain waves, I halfheartedly wondered if we were falling into some sort of groove. Was this our version of normality?

Instead of snarling for spitting mean words about 'Emily' or whoever, Spencer simply put one knee on the bed so I could his face. A dry grin stretched across his face, amusement for reasons I couldn't decipher acting as the catalyst.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" he asked, goading me with heat I swore I could feel exuding off his body.

Fuck if I was drunk, half-drunk, whatever! I wanted him so badly. Spencer was hot in ways I couldn't even try to explain, although I tried many times before. So fuckable. Even, gosh, even if he would consider fucking me. Damn, that may be as good as Spencer letting me take him.

Forget Spencer on his knees, in front of me, mouth open, taking me in inch by inch. The new fantasy? Spencer on me, in me, fucking me without restraint. Defiling me. Oh, ho, ho, ho… Causing as much accidental pain as purposeful pleasure. Teeheehee.

I showed him that practiced, fake, charming grin of mine. It was so natural for me to throw it at people that even while inebriated, haha, it came out flawless. "I am'a thinkin'," I began with a giggly slur, "that you are not who I thought ya were. You were supposed to be a loner."

"The day you noticed me was the day my…" he paused, "…friend was expelled."

"Gee-whiz," I giggled out with a pronounced wave of my hand and enough sarcasm to last a lifetime, "Well that would make a lotta sense. Wouldn't it?"

I asked with an emphasis Spencer would have had to be deaf to not hear, "So, how was it? How did yer 'friend' get expelled?" I had no doubt at all who it was. No doubt at all. Answer? It was that… 'boyfriend' or whoever that Kenny talked about. It was that same guy so many people told me about, when I asked obscure questions and dropped even more obscure invitations to fuck.

Spencer lowered himself down a little more. If I'd been sober, it would have been intimidating because Spencer liked his space. For him to push not only into my personal space but his own? I would have thought he liked bubble space as much as I liked bubble wrap. Grace with me, because Spencer was an atheist, I was only a wee bitty bitter bit drunk. Not shitfaced, oh no. I could still say my ABC's backwards and count to a hundred thousand without making mistakes, but my alcohol levels long surpassed what was normal for me.

Now, now, now. Dear Spencey, 'tis my thought that methinkers yer not who I thought ya were. So what if he was lowering himself closer to me? It was a scare tactic that only took some height and a bit of confidence to perform. Fuck Jesus Christ, who I believed existed, in the ass for all our sins twice if Spencer scared me at the moment.

And, even I, yes me, wouldn't wish such brutal religious sodomy on the good Mr. Christ. Because, my wonderfully imaginary 'fourth wall' friends, I only found the way Spencer lessened the inches between us to be one of the most erotic sights to be witnessed. The way his eyes started to crinkle at the edges because of that mocking grin and the way his hair fucking framed his perfectly shaped baby face, it was all bliss to me.

The Lord I loved, Goddamn it, made a little blood collect in places I only hoped Spencer would help me with. No, no. He was chiding me for my intrusive questions. There was no need for me to expect for him to expect for it, right? It wasn't as if it was his problem. Nope. In my pants, the problem was due to my own libido. Yeppers, it was my own fault.

Pompous and smug and everything in between, Spencer asked, "Oh? And wouldn't you like to know?"

Yes. I would like to know, but it wasn't as if I was going to let Spencer know that. My private obsession was my private obsession. He didn't need to know about my 'feelings' and I didn't need to know about his 'relationships.' Everything was bullshit, regardless of how much I wanted every detail.

My eyes were on the pink and purple animal plushies on top of the duvet, lining the wall. It might have been a group of cows or a family of dogs, but I couldn't tell.

I was drunk, maybe, but not so much anymore. The power of sobriety. Fuck it.

"Let's dip," I sighed, "I need to get the fuck out of here."

 

W is for Watchful​

He looked so retarded like that, his face red and his lips bruised.

I physical recoiled at my own thoughts. Uh, no. Please, no. His face was not red from strong arousal and his lips not bruised due to rough kisses. The discoloration was due to his sad run in with Andrew, who I could only assume wasn't very happy to see the only person to occupy my time in his absence.

Was it really Andrew's absence, or my own? He was the one to get pissy and demand sexual acts that he knew I didn't want. He was the one to pull the knife and get into a highly public argument with who-ever-the-fuck he tried to shank. Then… Then, he was the one who dropped off the face of the planet for three fucking months and left me to deal with his pathetically loyal squadron of tools.

Me? I did nothing more to him that tell him, 'No, I do not want to fuck.' Did that suddenly make me the criminal? Was my simple refusal the cause of all his bullshit? No, no, no.

I nodded once at Vincent, removing my knee from the bed and backing away with a couple of short steps. One hand ran through my hair, mussing it far past what I considered presentable, but I doubted anyone would care in the least. Perhaps, or maybe more likely, the occupants of Emily's sweet sixteen would concoct more rumors to fill their time.

"Spencer!" Vincent laughed. "Let's make like birds and get the flock out of here…" I watched him trail off at the end of his pathetic attempt at a joke and chuckle. Ugh, his drunkenness was less appealing than I had heard.

Rumor had it, as soon as Vincent would take down one beer, he would be the friendliest guy at the party. He'd talk to all the guys and innocently flirt with all the girls. Conversation would ensue and faces be saved. Later on, he would usually pick an interested girl and teach her a few things about the most well known male sex organ. The fuck would be amazing and the afterglow satisfying.

Vincent, in this fucked up little world inhabited by inebriated teens, was an absolute catch. Handsome, pleasant company during the rights moments, and great in bed, he was it all. Even drunk, he could pull it off with the amount of practice he put in.

But what was this? I tried pulling up any instance I may have run into him, before we were acquainted. Nothing. He was another face with another rumored description, to me. I saw him a few times, but he never caught my eye and I never his. But even so, I did not think he was normally this drunk. Where was the conversationalist with a penchant for flattery?

"Who is Andrew?"

All I could see was an idiot with eyes that traced along my body like no tomorrow.

Quickly, I brought my eyes to meet Vincent's face. Could I pull truthful and self serving at the same time? I wondered that point not a scant second before my mouth opened without permission. "We're…" I settled for truth, "Andrew is. We're together."

I imagined that the silence that permeated the room and touched at our senses was supposed to inflict a feeling of awkwardness on us. It did not. Rather, all it did was make the sounds of the crappy techno song appear louder, just before it changed to an equally bad rock song.

"That so…?"

If Vincent had been anyone else, I would have just said, 'Do you have a fucking problem?' My asshole nature would have shone through, proud and true. But, I couldn't. Those impulsive, challenging words stayed in my head. They didn't even tickle at my throat or threaten to bubble out of my mouth like metaphorical puke. For some odd reason that I did not understand at all, I couldn't say it.

It was in the way Vincent formed the words. Not his voice or tone this time, just the way his lips moved and his eyes flashed to the ceiling. Two simple words, two fucking syllables, and I could feel the impact of his… his… his disinclination.

Eyes up, eyes away, Vincent asked, "Why'd he 'tack me?"

Damn it. I didn't know. I didn't know. Vincent. Vincent was just spending a little bit too much time with me. Probably, I tried to convince myself, probably. Because what other answer was there? Andrew didn't have any personal vendettas against Vincent. Not even impersonal disputes to settle his pride issues, I thought.

"Jealousy," I shrugged casually, acting as if I wasn't worried in the least. Oh Lord, not like that. I wasn't worried but I wasn't not worried, truth. It was more trepidation than worry, really. Trepidation, because I knew Andrew wouldn't stop at a few punches or cutting words. To say I was worried would imply that I actually cared about either of them, which I didn't.

"Jealousy?" Vincent repeated, his hands safely by his sides. No longer did he wave them around like some limp wrist fag. Lethargy and sheer will aided his slow rising and his bruising face gave me a watchful eye.

"That's it? Guy fucking gave me a beat down because he was jealous…?" he asked incredulously.

I shrugged again, but didn't hesitate to take note of the way Vincent started to smile. It wasn't his signature grin, thank God, but something that held actual meaning. The fakeness wasn't to be seen and all I could recognize was that the glassy look on his face.

He squirmed a bit, chuckling to himself, before settling down. Vincent was such a child, in my frank opinion. Other than the fact that he fucked around a lot and cursed more liberally than the children of our community did, he really did act like a kid sometimes. Frank opinion again? It either amused me or fucking annoyed me. There was no in-between ground. All it was, I supposed, was those two extremities.

"That's a riot," Vincent chortled, his happiness genuinely showing up for the first time during our disjointed conversation. "Wait, wait. Why in hell would he be jealous of me? Your fuck, not mine."

Raising an eyebrow, I tried to subdue him with an even look. I was probably pushing for a calming effect, in which he'd realize that I wasn't amused by the turn of the conversation. It wasn't working.

"What do I have that he doesn't, really? Spencer?" His brown eyes looked at me mischievously.

I gave Vincent a sweet, sweet lesson in male on male frottage. He knew that. But he didn't know anything about my 'relationship' with Andrew. What 'together' meant for us was completely different than what it meant to him. Jealousy? Yes, yes, yes. Andrew was jealous because he thought… Andrew thought… I was having sex with Vincent.

Not in the same way I would have sex with Debby, whenever the need popped up and the opportunity arose. Not in the same way I used to have sex with Babycakes or Mitch, when we had free time. No. Andrew thought… and I knew he was thinking this because I knew his jealousy better than most… that I was having sex with Vincent because of affection… or fondness… or like. Exactly how I was having sex with Alex.

I was so ready to say in my head that I had nothing akin to romantic inclination towards Vincent in my head or in my heart, but he just had to mess it up all over again. Couldn't he just… not do that anymore? So many times, he caused me to falter in making decisive decisions about him. There have been many occasion in which I would be ready to write Vincent off, but something always happened.

Most of the time, he'd ask a question. A sly smirk would settle on his face and he'd faux-innocently inquire about something I was sure he was supposed to have no knowledge about. The words themselves were no crime, it was just in the way he said them. Implying. My suspicions would then come up again and I'd try to figure out Vincent, who seemed as open as a person could be. His sex life was all over the internet and his personal information was common knowledge.

Circumcised? Uncut? How many inches? Girth, what about girth? Type of girl? Blonde? Brunette? Redhead? Boob guy or ass guy or leg guy? Any odd kinks?

There was nothing to suspect about him. It was, he was, Vincent was just there. His life was an open book. His brothers were popular, smart, and went off to some Ivy League college. His parents were out often enough that, a few years ago, his brothers (twins, if I remembered, a pair of older boys willing to experiment) would host a small party every once and a while.

Even knowing all that I did know, there was something about him…

"Yeah," I said with no other purpose than filling the air with my voice, "I'll drive your car. Don't want you to kill anyone. Drunk driving."

 

X if for Xenophobia​

Stick shift. Oh man. Spencer. Driving my car. Stick shift.

Now I understood all those guys who had a thing for girls driving manual cars. The ideas! The thoughts! The… suggestiveness… Heh.

Hey baby, do you know how to drive stick shift? Wanna try mine?

"Left here. No, uh. Not here-here. There, the next one over. And, um. Immediate left. Yeah. And my house should be the third one, the only one with a fountain that isn't running."

I kept my eyes on Spencer the whole drive, which was only a bit under ten minutes, mentally undressing him. Normally, I never had to resort to such vulgar thoughts to get where I wanted to go. Girlies! All 'em girlies would spread their smooth legs for me, thinking the debauchery made them seem desirable and not whorish.

But Spencer, he was a different story. He didn't part his legs, didn't tease me with coy glances, didn't flatter me with hackneyed phrases. All he had to do was unbutton his shirt, hitch down his pants, and I was ready to go. Hah. More than ready to go. I was dying to make contact with him. Just the sight of him, waiting and willing, was enough to make me dizzy from lust and happily swell with blood.

Even fully clothed, I could probably turn myself on by just staring at him. The shape of his lips, the thought of his tongue. The curve under his chin, which gave him a childish appearance, and the slight furrow of his brow. The contours of his body, hidden but not disguised by covering layers.

"Where should I park?"

In my, hehe, in my 'garage.'

"Vincent!" Spencer snapped his fingers in my face, a pronounced frown on his face, "Where do you want me to park?" His fingers looked tasty. I almost wanted to take those digits, not three inches from the face, into my mouth. Provocative, yes; sexy, fuck yes.

Instead, I just blinked rapidly. My reaction shouldn't have been that slow, but I mumbled, "… Huh? Oh. Yeah. Uh, uh… Driveway, just park in the driveway."

Spencer turned away from me, no snarky little remarks dishin' out, which I found uncharacteristic. Before I knew it, because alcohol blurred moments together better than second hand smoke from pot, Spencer was pulling the keys out of the ignition, and opening the door. And me? I was still in the passenger side, distracted by the dusty spots on the windshield.

As I stepped out of the car, sluggishly and only stumbling once, I heard Spencer address me. Unexpected. Maybe. Peculiar? No.

"Vincent," he handed the keys to me while he walked towards my front door, "Come on." I followed him, obediently, but not like some sort of dog. More like a mindless puppet or a drunken teenager, I'd say. My eyes kept following his shuffling feet and the step by step motion of his legs.

And the way, oh em gee… The way he walked… I couldn't help but just stare. It wasn't overly confident, not at all. There wasn't bigheadedness about Spencer, even if he did act smug half the time. There was just a different connotation, I would think. The way he walked, it was so damn assured. Every step, not calculated but somehow measured. Every movement, not fluid but carefully unhurried. Spencer, he just had this certain flair. The steps, the movements, everything was so him. So uniquely him.

I fiddled with the numerous keys in my hand, trying to find the telltale black 'X' that marked my house key. No idea why, but I had… seven keys. The only ones I used were the one to my car and the one to my house, but my parents thought it prudent to attach several other keys to me in case of an emergency. Aunts' and uncles' and cousins' respective houses, those extras got me into. Meh.

It wasn't as if I was ever going to use them, ever. I only liked my Bay Area and Sac Town relatives during Christmas, other prevalent holidays, and birthdays.

But now, now. If it was such an occasion, I'd be with my parents and brother anyway. Why would I see those people without my immediate family to keep me grounded? Guahh, cousin Freddy was really creepy sometimes… Him and that transsexual it-thing (that I hated) he had for a BFF.

Spencer came one step closer, his body heat causing me to pause jangling around. "What are you looking for," he asked in a peculiar tone of voice. I didn't notice, of course. I was too busy thinking about all those damn keys and the corresponding family members.

I took a deep breath, "Uhh… Umm… A black 'X' yeah…" Spencer took the mess from my hands, careful not to touch me. He flicked through two keys, before handing me the one I needed.

Grinning sheepishly, or what I thought a sheepish grin should look like on a tipsy person, I mumbled, "Thanks."

Spencer probably nodded as I inserted the key. The seemingly loud click caused by the lock turning and fitting to let us in did nothing to stifle my imagination or muffle Spencer's words. But Goddamn. If I was just a bit more sober, this wouldn't have happened. Spencer probably wouldn't have felt the need to drive me home and he wouldn't have said that evil sentence.

"Think I'll call a cab," he was killing my sense of stability and he didn't even know it, "It shouldn't take too long to get one down here. If not, I have a friend who lives in this neighborhood."

Now, now… Hehe… I think my kink for sex and other like sexual activities were pretty obvious. I've had sex, blowjobs, handjobs, and titty fucks conducted in the back of my car so many times it wasn't even funny. It was never a super strong appeal, truthfully. It was more like a subconscious thing, or that was what I told myself when a barrage of fantasies flash flooded my brain.

Spencer, by himself or with me, I didn't know, the images blurred between those two. But, but… God… Thank God. He and sometimes I, maybe I, in the back of a taxi. Doing anything, something hot. I could imagine him pressing the palm of his hands against his hard on, entranced by his own deliciously slow movements. I could imagine myself doing the same thing. Not to myself, but to Spencer I could fully envision taking my hand and touching him firmly. Grasping his dick through his jeans, yes… Taking it, like that, and then taking it in a completely different way…

All! All in the backseat of a cab. Did that not sound amazing? Brilliant? Drop dead sexy and so fucking hot?

"Nooo…" I whined, throwing my arm around his shoulder. Never before had I done something so… personal… in a casual manner. Yeah… Fuck yes I touched him during that make out gone wrong, but casually I hardly attempted to physically lay a hand on him.

God. Was I stupid or what?

"Spencer. Don't be such a pussy," I almost slurred. Straightening my body, I opened the entrance and directed us both into the house, shutting the door with a kick. A donkey, backwards, awkward type of kick. "I'll take ya home tomorrow mornin'," my smile dimmed, "Don't sweat it. Just, heh, stay the night or something… Parents are out. It'll be just you and --"

"Us, Vincent."

Ahhh, crap.

"David?" I called out, hoping for the brother with a better temperament. I carefully withdrew my arm from Spencer, taking extra care not to fall flat on my face. Peeking around the corner, I saw my older brothers, sipping coffee at our formal dining table. I winced, thinking of the rings that Mom will find the when she returned from her business trip.

Donny, bed head and all, grumbled, "No, shitbrain. Me. What in hell were you doing? You know Dad doesn't like it when…" Suddenly, Donny's face went red. He abruptly dropped his mug on the table and stood up, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

What the freak?

David glanced over, finally, half asleep over a piece of toast, and looked past me. After about three seconds, he sat up straight. His face was also tinged, but not as heavily as Donny's.

Was there something I wasn't getting?

Donny coughed, "Uh. Hey Spencer. Ha-haven't seen you in a while." His eyes didn't meet mine as he darted them around the house, before landing awkwardly on David.

I think there was supposed to be some sort of… yeah… tense silence or something. All I did was stand there, oblivious as fuck and confused as hell. Donny was red faced and nervous. David looked distantly uncomfortable. And Spencer?

Glancing behind me, I saw Spencer take on a thoughtful expression. Not thoughtful, as in philosophically thoughtful. I didn't think he was pondering the secrets of the universe or the meaning of life, but there were questions written on his face. It was almost like he was searching his memory for an instance or a face…

That smirk I lo- liked so much shone brightly as Spencer careless said, "Oh yeah." He stepped forward, just a few times, to be in an equal distance away from the twins. That little smug grin dampened as I gently prodded him. I had to make sure Spencer was real, right? Didn't know if it was just me, but somehow a number of people seemed to know about him.

I made nice with the guy because I thought he was a loner. But apparently he was as… involved as I was (or more) in 'extracurricular' activities. Extracurricular meaning, yeah-eah-eah, sex and parties. Damn, now that I thought about it, I hoped he wasn't an alcoholic or druggie. I knew he smoked, like, once in a while. But anything other than that. That'd be. Well. Weird, considering my anti-drug sentiments.

When I turn into a full blown adult, instead of this mockery I am now, I'd still like to have a properly functioning dick.

David took control of the conversation, saying with a level tone, "So. You're the friend Vincent's been talking about?" They faced me, directly, pushing the attention on me rather than on themselves. Level tone equaled up to putting me on blast? Thankers very muchies. David. Donny. Thanks.

Spencer looked at me, eyebrow raised. I imagined a snarky little remark would come out of his pretty mouth, making me look bad without appearing like it was a conscious measure. But he just shook his head lightly and shrugged out an, "I guess."

My eyes went back and forth, watching the three with scrutiny that the inebriation didn't help one bit. The color of their clothes and the little physical features I could probably note down and write, but the emotions and thoughts were completely above and beyond me. Eh… It was probably better that way, not knowing what was in the heads of my brothers or Spencer.

I scooted backwards, suspicion clear on my face. "Okaaay," I drawled loudly, "Okay, okay. Whatever. I dun wanna know."

Strange enough, the level of tenseness or whatever went up as soon as I said that. David just mumbled something about how it was late and we should get to bed. Donny just… I dunno… stared at me with a huge frown on his face. Not like I was looking for acceptance anyway, but still.

Yeah.

Still…

"David, the calmer one," Spencer started, his face hidden and muffled by the pillow, "We made out some time last year. Nothing too bad. Just kissing a bit, barely touching." But not muffled enough. Oh God. The pillow, why couldn't it smother those words? I didn't want to hear it. I didn't, didn't, didn't want to hear it.

I shook my head, but in the dark Spencer couldn't see it. My voice was choked, unable to give out even the smallest of sounds. All I had was the steady flow of breathing to signify the continuance of my presence.

"But Donny, I think," I didn't want to hear it, "He was high off of something, wanted to experiment."

No, no, no. No! Couldn't hear it! Couldn't!

I heard him scoff before beginning again, "He probably heard that I was good or something. He was after David, I remember that much… Donny was just really high, Vincent." A pause interrupted the statement, "Damn it, Vincent. Don't be such a fucking baby. He was high. That's it. And I was… I didn't even know you yet. He wanted to, and I did… it with him. Vincent. That was it."

Spencer didn't understand it. Yeah, he was the one who did it. He was in the middle of this. Yet, he couldn't see it from my eyes. All I could see was that 'it' wasn't just 'it.' There was more to the fact that my brothers… It wasn't an emotional more or a physical more… It was just…

Xenophobia was like a private joke between the twins. To them, because they were hot shit geniuses, the world should be nonjudgmental and accepting place. It shouldn't surprise me that they've experimented in the past. Fuck! The sad part about it was that it didn't surprise me. Just-! Just-! Why Spencer? A million and one other willing guys out there, why in hell did they choose to go with Spencer. Both of them, both of my brothers with Spencer.

And, and…! They had the gall, the balls to get mad at me. Donny looked like he wanted to castrate me when he found out about my less than straight desire for Spencer. And David! He was supposed to be the nicer, better, worldlier brother. And he… David didn't give me an ounce of advice or even a notion that he understood the confusion I had about… about… about my sexuality…

My face contorted. Bitterness. I had to know the feeling well to suppress it during the day. Bitterness. "So," my voice sounded twisted to my own ears, "Are you a total slut or do you just like fucking around?"

As soon as I said it, I knew I was being hypocritical beyond… I was just being a hypocrite. A complete and absolute hypocrite. Fuck me if I cared a bit.

My bed creaked as Spencer rose. I struggled out of the cocoon I made for myself, bad sleeping habits coming back to bite me in my ass. Untangling my body from the mess was easy enough, because I did it only so many times throughout my life, but actually doing what I got up to do was hard.

I turned to face Spencer from the floor, searching his face for something. Really, I didn't know what I was looking for. My eyes were adjusted to the dark well enough to see the shape and minor details, so I could at least see the frown on Spencer's face and the slight squinting of his eyes as he stared equally as searching.

His tone was light… and that made his statement burn. "Same thing, right?"

No, no, no. It wasn't the same thing. There was… A connotation. Yes. That had to be it. To be a total slut implied that one fucked every thing with functional limbs and the desirable hole. To just like fucking around with people was a more casual thing, simply having sex to have sex.

Me? Me…? Sober, I'd say I was hot shit. I'd say that I was a fuckin' pimp, foo', without the dutiful whores of course, and that I fucked to fuck and that was it. But inebriated…? To the point where I couldn't hold my tongue and hold my feelings in check?

I was a slut just like… him, Peyton, but worse. Worse because, instead of doing it for a bundle of hundreds from a rich college boy, I did it out of… resentment and loneliness and desperation.

When my silence was the only thing that met Spencer's inanely asked question, he looked away with a low sigh. Slowly, with movements sluggish enough to shame a snail, he moved the blankets away from himself. Exposing himself, wearing my pajamas, would have been a hot sight thirty minutes ago. However, now?

It just made my insides clench, knowing that even in such a provocative situation nothing would come of it. Myself only in boxers and a plain white tee, Spencer only in my PJ's, it was a porn movie begging to be shot. But this was real life, not a set of a bisexual-teen-exploration-esque pornography. In real life, in my life, Spencer and I wouldn't have sex. Sexual tension, maybe, unilaterally speaking, would occur. Maybe a sly word and a loose innuendo would escape, but nothing more.

Exceptions arose every now and then, although anticipation usually killed any chances of spontaneity on Spencer's part. But… but… When I… After I fucked Kenny, I dropped Spencer. I sat in my old seat in English and I assimilated myself into the easiest group I could find. There were no more chances left, no more exceptions to our supposed 'friendship.' It was over because I… finished it. I stopped it.

"Shit, shit, shit…" Spencer cursed quietly, to himself, not to me. He slid off of my bed and shuffled his knees to come closer to me.

If I stopped it, though… I just couldn't help but wonder. If I stopped it, the friendship, then what the heck happened at the party? Why did we… talk to each other like we actually knew each other?

My mouth, after that bitter bitter bitterly hypocritical question, was glued shut. No reason to respond, why would there be a reason to respond? There was a scant few things that could ever come to mind and be that hypocritical. I had nothing to lose.

But I acknowledged, as my gaze followed the way Spencer looked left and right, I had nothing to gain. The way he moved wasn't a prize. The way he talked, walked, acted, smiled, was, or even fucked wasn't a prize.

He placed on hand on my shoulder and urged me to lay back with his self derogatory expletives. The layers of fluffy blankets and an even fluffier pillow made it anything but uncomfortable to be in such a position, but my brain had long decided to shut down. Only the impulses and the vulgarity, the real nature of my person, remained with me.

He brought down his head to firmly press his mouth against mine, only once. Drawing back, Spencer just waited, two inches from my face, for any response. The feeling of lips against lips was familiar enough, but with Spencer? No. Nope. Couldn't happen because this wasn't how things happened.

This cliché, over exaggerated, romantically sappy scene was not how things in my life went. I fucked, and fucked, and fucked. A sweet kiss given and another waiting to be accepted? That wasn't my thing. It wasn't our thing. A fucked up make out and a cruelly unfinished blowjob and a little 'birthday present,' yes. That was something characteristic of my life. And knowing what I thought I now knew about Spencer, that'd be something up in his alleyway also.

But a kiss? A small, closed mouth kiss?

Spencer made out with David. He had sex with Donny. He fucked Kenny. He screwed around with Jay, his little step. He did other stuff with other people. Girls, guys, I didn't know exactly who and I didn't care. He just did it, and that was bad enough. He had a… Spencer, he, he had a… Fuck it. Spencer had a boyfriend. Didn't that make him a hypocrite too, then? Calling me a faggot and looking at me in disgust for behavior that leaned towards homosexual, when he was the one actually doing it with other males?

Spencer was the one with a butt buddy, not me. Me. The awesome, great, wonderful me? The only attraction I ever had for a guy, real genuine attraction, was because of Spencer. Those touch fests, in which a loose hand would linger just a tad bit too long was nothing. That college boy blowjob was a drunken mishap I barely remembered. The fuck I had with Kenny only happened because he was a tool.

And Peyton? He was… He was just a mistake. A horrible mistake of a silly twelve, thirteen, fourteen year old me.

"Why am I so stupid?" Spencer breathed out, "You're drunk, Vincent. You're fucking drunk."

He straddled my body, so he was completely over me. One arm rested next to my head, supporting his weight. His other hand ran through his hand, over and over again, a show of frustration that I didn't understand. What did Spencer have to be frustrated about? He wasn't the one to push it. I was, and now I was seeing the consequences.

Did I have to say it? Those three words that I made sound like twenty? Did I have to spill it and say it and ruin it?

He smashed his mouth against mine, not at all like the firm but easy pressing of his lips like before. Something was probably burning behind the way he gripped my shoulder, something that I should have realized. But that 'something' or whatever, I couldn't even feel it. I didn't even know there was anything more to Spencer kissing me like that than the simple actions.

When he sharply pulled back and less than gracefully forced distance between our bodies, I did nothing more but stare at him. Not in disbelief, no. Neither in shock, no. I knew what happened, but I couldn't understand it. The alcohol still in my veins was telling me something completely different than what my brain was telling me, all apposed to what my gut was telling me… and I wasn't going to say heart, because that was just too gay for me.

The alcohol was telling me that this was 'free sex with a guy.' My brain was telling me that I was a 'fucked over slut of a tool.' My gut (heart, whatever) was telling me… Well… it was telling me that this was something I wanted… so… why in hell… why in fucking hell wasn't I doing anything?

Why in Hell? Why in Hell didn't I do anything?

Why. In. Hell?

 

Y is for Yesterday​

I muttered curse after curse, telling myself that I was an idiotic bastard, chiding myself for impulsiveness that I should have stopped before it got out of hand.

Knowing what I did and what I shouldn't have done was easy, very easy. But… stopping the consequences from flowing and preventing misinterpretations from developing was something I usually let others handle for me.

Something akin to panic was running through me. Hurried, blunt panic. One that didn't cut through my emotions or draw up striking thoughts, no no no. This type of panic was heavy. I couldn't understand it. I didn't even know it. Yet, it made me shiver in disgust for myself.

What in hell was I thinking? Stupid, stupid me. Way to fucking go, Spence. Way to go. Damn it, he was drunk. Drunk. Stupid. Idiot. Gosh I was such an idiot. Straight to my face, he told me. The same day Vincent made it known to the world that he was as bisexual as could be, he withdrew his affections. His accidentally spilled 'love' and any notion of 'like,' Vincent retracted it all. Everything, he took it all back, everything.

Just because he was… The appreciation he showed was evident through the flirty and loose nuances in his demeanor. I knew he was past that point. I hoped he was past that point. But he was drunk, and he fell back into that groove, and he made it obvious that he was simple minded and still so far up his ass in bullshit.

I just had to feel those little impulses. Those damn impulses. Fuck the impulses.

I pulled myself off the floor, shakily regaining what little equilibrium I still held. My eyes had long adjusted to the low light, only aided by the moon and the dim streetlamps that lined the neighborhood, but I could barely see Vincent. The shadows of the room played across the contours of his body in a way that made me sick with myself even more.

His back was slouched over, but his face was directed towards me. Brown eyes that appeared black weren't focused on me. Instead, they were more concentrated on something far far away. Lost in thought or lost in the moment… Never mind. That was probably something I was hoping for more than was actually occurring.

I brought my hand to my mouth. For a short instance, I wanted to just run my fingers over my lips. The burning heat that affected my cheeks bled out of their normal bounds, making my lips tingle like some prepubescent girl's first kiss. The desire to touch my lips softly and silently awe the sensations was only a short impulse. It was only caused by that feeling in my gut, the same one that made me think it necessary to… to… to… kiss…

Regardless of what made me do what I did, I still did it. Also, I still had my hand poised near my mouth, my indecision freezing it in place. After a good couple of breaths, I quickly swiped the back of my hand against my mouth. The harsh touch of self-to-self broke whatever spell or curse I was placed under. Hopefully, this was nothing more than temporary, something caused by a lapse in judgment or lapse in sanity.

Hopefully, I had to keep reminding myself while ignoring all the other thoughts that came with it. Hopefully, this was nothing more than a simple lapse. Something akin to that crazy bunch of 'lost years' Doctor Bryant patronized about, this had to be. What else would it be?

The way he unthinkingly said, 'I think I love you,' and the way he tried to unambiguously tell me, 'I don't like you,' came up in my mind at the exact same second. They both, in the end, meant the same thing. However, how - the fuck - ever, I couldn't grasp it. I couldn't hear those two very different yet similar phrases and pull the one truth out of it.

The lack of comprehension aiding me in the best way during my worst times, I grabbed my glasses and haphazardly placed them on my face. An attempt at misplaced alacrity turned to nothing more than clumsiness, but I was more preoccupied with finding my possessions than I was with keeping my composure. I just needed to get out of there, that ironically unfamiliar room.

Several times, I had stepped into this house. It's been at least a year, because when the Morris twins moved away the parties stopped. I knew the entire downstairs easily, having been to a good number of their get-togethers, but upstairs was something different.

I could, if I tried hard, recall the way David felt under my control. My control, I'd say, because David was awfully pliant for someone two years older than myself. He wanted to experiment a bit, and gave me an obscure request that either of us could have easily dismissed as something else. All I did, all we did, was sit in his room for five minutes and discuss David's plans for college. Light, distracting conversation slowly bled, by my pace, into light, distracting kisses.

All I did with him, with that twin, was engage in a few testing kisses. It wasn't horrible, was it? A few light presses of my lips against his? I was a good teacher, decent at least. It only heightened to the point of tongues after David silently permitted me to take it to another level. Only after a few moments, he broke away from me. And then it was done. He, it, I, we were done. There was nothing but a loose tie of a single mutual friend between him and me.

The other one? The other Morris twin, Donny? Alcohol on his breath, I remembered that much. A pill popped into his mouth and an offer to me, I could also recall. I refused, because I was not at all fond of drugs. That night I only wanted to try out the 'older boy' who was infamous for being straight-edge during the day but completely debauched once the sun went down. It was so easy to take advantage of him, because I didn't have any fleeting respect for his person like I did David. With David I could hold the light preliminary conversation, but with Donny… His only use was his body.

What I did with that body, though… It wasn't horrible, was it?

I flipped open my cell phone, almost tripping along the dark sidewalk. Underneath one of my arms was a bundle that consisted of my clothes. With the other arm I tried to simultaneously affix my shoes and send a text. While running out of the house with urgency I refused to understand, I only had a chance to slip my socked feet into the shoes, stepping on the back.

The flipping, awkward noises it made didn't prove annoying enough to stop my tread away from the problems I caused, but who cared about the details? I was ready to dismiss the feelings of guilt that made me want to explain to Vincent the prior… the past… the prior meetings with his brothers. So what if I was acting like a child again? Running away from my problems never hurt in the midst, it only hit me when I stopped running.

How many times have I stopped running? Not enough, clearly, because I was still doing it with the fullest intention of escaping my harsh reality in exchange for something else with a semblance to truth.

i'm coming over

"Well, well, well," the half-Asian who opened the door for me mocked, "If it ain't my M.I.A. bestie. How're ya?" He peered up at me, those Armani aviator sunglasses he liked so much sliding down his nose just enough to make him look picture worthy.

I didn't say anything, and that made Butter laugh as he pulled me into his house. His steps were heavy, raucous in ways his small form almost contradicted. But I was a sucker for contractions, and Butter was just one big pool of yes-no-maybe.

His hand attached to my arm while he dragged me to the dining room. He put my clothes and my cell on the table before pushing me into the closest chair. Quickly, he bounced through his kitchen and pulled two pies and a cake out of his fridge. I watched him seemingly carelessly whip out a knife and cut a moderately sized slice out of all three before placing them in a plate. Not even bothering to clean up after himself, in a fashion that truly screamed 'spoilt eldest son,' Butter smirked at me.

"Ian Victor classic, I assure ya," he positioned a chair directly opposite of me and plopped down without any grace whatsoever. Carefully, he placed those sunglasses, a present from me, on the dining table. Knees to knees, he leaned forward.

As he randomly forked one of the desserts, which I immediately identified as princess cake, chocolate banana cream pie, and pumpkin pie, his smiled widened. Utensil in my mouth, he stated, "You look so much like the original, Spence. 'Specially since you 'cided to dress like a nerd. Where's all the shit I bought ya? Andrew's been neglectin' you again? More nasty stints at domestic abuse, huh?" He inserted a small bit of the pumpkin pie in his mouth.

Doing a wonderful job of distracting me, just like he always knew how to, Butter slid a fisted hand down my body. Starting from my neck, he grazed his knuckles along my throat to follow my swallow. Slowly, steady hands too careful to make the smallest mistake, Butter alternated the flavor in my mouth along with the sensation across my skin.

His hand, his fingers were five points of pressure for me to mentally follow as I stared into Butter's hazel eyes. My shoulder, down the right side of my chest, his attention strayed from the course to lazily feel up and down. Ministrations so destructive, I wouldn't even know it.

Across my stomach, back and forth and then lower, circling the buttons that would give him access to the more private areas of my body, Butter kept his eyes on the fork he pushed to my mouth every so often. Then, as slowly and as steadily as he placed his hand on me, he withdrew.

A bite for himself, then for me. "How's da princess cake, Princess Emo? Ya think the Swedes would've done more than just make sweets, right?"

His words may have been less than harmonizing, but a balance in my person righted itself. The way Butter spoke was always contradictory.

I was almost grateful and I almost mumbled a word of appreciation, but yes-no-maybe-so and all those contradictions were what made Butter so… perfect. Perfect for a wayward best friend.

He was on top of me, but my hand was tangled in his color streaked and stained hair. One of his knees was in between my legs and both of his arms were around my neck, holding onto me. He broke away from me, both of our harsh breathes filling the air with little pants that might have hinted as to the state of our minds. Forehead pressed against mine, he shook his head. Strands of red and purple and black swished back and forth against my glasses as he did so.

Sighing, he whispered hotly, stirring up more trouble than comfort, "If I wasn't firmly in love… I would 'ave fucked ya so hard you wouldn't know up from down."

Butter wasn't… he was a good distraction, the best distraction. Never before had I needed an alternate to him, because he was my first and last choice if I wanted to run away from my problems. He was the best cock tease out there.

Fogging up my glasses, he pressed closer. A light, barely audible groan escaped his throat, "Mmm, Spencer." My name on his lips? He knew my sex drive well. All his words were casually enunciated, no longer slurred together into that slosh he called English.

"You are so lucky," his hand slid down my waist and pressed down on my hips, "I know this would have been such a nice position." His hips jerked forward with a small whine. Yet, yet. Although so close we could have melted together in a bad pun inspired simile, Butter kept himself just far enough from me to draw the boundaries.

Butter laughed sweetly, "Your favorite position, right? You just love it. Don't you? When desperate little Benny boy begs for your cock. When I need it, want it so badly I just can't help myself." His breathing may have hitched for real this time, but I didn't know. I doubted it really did, but it felt nice to think so. "When I do this." Butter was the greatest best friend ever. "Just like this."

Sugar was swapping and all three flavors were on my tongue. Although I usually thought it was disgusting when I could taste another's previous meal, Butter knew how to do it all. Using my sweet tooth against me, he was, but I was always self-destructive. It didn't matter if Butter was helping me. If anything, it made the descent all the more enticing.

"Benny!"

Sooner than I could feel it, Butter was off of me, trying to cover my erection and pretend embarrassedly turning his head towards his sister.

"Caroline!" he whined, "Ya just interrupted some 'ngenious therapy!"

The girl was taller than Butter, but that wasn't saying much. She looked, to me at least, to be in middle school. The frown on her face and the scandalized way in which she said his nickname told me exactly where Butter stood with his family.

Strict, sharp movements. Butter pushed himself away from me, faked lust extinguished, to face his sister. One hand pointing towards me, he said, "This person, Caroline, is Spencer Danielson. You remember him, don't you Caroline?" Authority rang clear.

She looked frustrated, "Momma's going to kill you, Benji. Last time she almost did, but now. Now. Momma's going to-!"

He slammed his palm down on the table, the sound reverberating through the room and silencing his sister. "Hush. Go back to sleep."

I watched, maybe a bit too entranced by the firm control Butter had over his younger siblings. The way his younger half-sister's eyes started to water and the way she stuttered an apology before rushing away made me stare in awe. Butter was amazing at what he did, whatever he did.

But as quickly as all events occurred with Butter, he was back on his chair with the plate in his hands. He pushed a few bites of the pumpkin pie into his mouth before he proceeded to feed me the other two. Taking his time, he leisurely gave me the five-star treatment he would probably mock me for later. My eyes followed the way he let the dish clatter on the table as he put it on the table next to us.

He flashed me a chinky eyed smile, dirty and innocent at the same time, and stood up to quietly clean up his old mess. "Are ya calm now?" his words weren't as lazily slurred as usual, "Those not yer PJ's?"

I didn't answer, the event that probably didn't even extend thirty minutes ago, now yesterday, seeming so long ago. As long as I could disguise the effects on my person, Butter probably wouldn't entangle himself in my woes. It was some wayward attempts at compassion and care, but it was misplaced. Butter was a good guy, as good as a person could get in my book. Regardless of his sexual appetite for rape games and his contradictions, Butter was a good guy.

I internally laughed at my own thought. Okay. Butter was a good guy, but it probably only counted towards me and a handful of other people in the world. Not towards many did he deign to show intense care for. I was one of the lucky ones. But even I knew I would just be another familiar face to him if not for the way I used to remind him of his estranged younger brother. Now, now it was probably his obsession with 'love' that made him keep me around.

"Wedding tomorrow," I said into my hands even though I meant to address Butter, "My father's wedding is tomorrow."

He nodded as if he already knew, which I didn't doubt for an instant. Even though all they did was fight with each other, Jake and Butter did talk sometimes. Jake wanted to know what was happening in my life and Butter was a big part of my life.

Smiling like the little shit he pretended to be, he asked, "Don't'cher wanna talk 'bout what happened?"

No, no. I didn't want to talk about it. Why I had, twelve thirty at night, shown up on Butter's doorstep was none of his business. Maybe he did have a right to know. Maybe it was his business, since he was the one helping me. But that didn't mean I wanted to open my weak mouth and regurgitate every lie-spun truth I had in me.

Guilt did not tear at my heart. Nope. I did not feel the guilt hit me, hurt me. Right after Vincent looked at me in suspicion and poked my side, I did not falter in letting the smug feeling of accomplishment overtake me. The way, in which he unthinkingly took care of me and without a second thought threw comfort at me, didn't make my brain flood with guilt.

And, most definitely, all that guilt did not build up until it felt disgusting. Shame did not start to take its place. Those two feelings, heavy and vile tasting, did not compel me to give the story to Vincent. I did not explain how David and I knew each other. I did not explain why Donny and I knew each other.

I… just didn't… kiss Vincent. Even though I did… Because if I did, then I just permanently messed up one of my first friendships made outside of my darker life, although he did a wonderful job of avoiding me for the remainder of the week. Yes, he had less than noble thoughts from the beginning and was just as involved as I was in disgusting activities… but we didn't mix that way. His reasons weren't because of my reputation or connections; it was due to appearance. That was still a shitty way to start a friendship, but it was started and continued and worked through.

It was all back and forth motion with us. He kissed me. I blew him. We played some mutual cock jerking and touching games. I kissed him. What was next? Vincent using his mouth on me like I was just another one of his slut trophies? No. Nope. It wasn't going to have a next because I ruined it. I changed it. I waited for him to reciprocate. I wanted him to reciprocate.

Not like the frenzied way in which he nearly jumped me in order to get some dick on dick action, no. I kissed him and waited for him to understand that it was something other than a one time deal.

It was only when, in frustration aided by my own shame for having… not remembered my ordeal with the Morris twins… I kissed him harder. Only afterwards, I realized I just personally extended an invitation for Vincent to enter my ring of fuck buddies. When he explicitly told me that he didn't like me…

But Vincent. He was always, always supposed to stay separate from that part of my life, because mix and match never fared well with me. I needed those sordid affairs in which drama would erupt and attention for my attention would be called.

I also needed… someone separate. Not someone to fuck with. Just someone to be with.