Newsgroups: alt.sex.motss,alt.sex.stories,alt.cosuard Followup-To: alt.sex.motss,alt.sex.stories.d,alt.cosuard
Hi, it's me again. You know, Kurt Cobain wanted to call "In Utero" "I hate Myself And I Want To Die". I hate myself and I write about it.
alt.cosuard note: This is another sex type story I wrote. If gay stuff bothers you, skip it.
Note for all: This is my story, not yours. If you wish to archive it or something, keep my name in it and such. I give you permission, don't bother asking me, just credit me properly. Do not modify my story. Do not beg for reposts. This story doesn't really have any sex, but it felt appropriate to me to put this in alt.sex.stories. Please do send me comments about this story. My address is on the top of this post. Duh.
AND IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, READ THIS! AND PROSECUTE ME FOR TELLING YOU TO BECAUSE I AM PURE EVIL. NOT TO MENTION I'M ONLY 17 MYSELF! Oh the irony.
/pub/erotica/gay/college for this one, archivists.
For archiving purposes and continuity, this story is called "Status". For some reason, I want to keep one word titles. But it has an alternate title. Never mind.
Followups set properly. .stories for stories, .stories.d for discussion.
Final note: Do NOT mail me asking to trade stories. I give my stories to the world for a reason. No, there is not a second part to this, or more. This is all I have written at the moment. Another version may come along later. Maybe. Writing the sex in "External" freaked me out too much.
Bail out now.
Status
(Time and Temperature)
I suppose you can't really understand exactly what it is you mean to me. Or maybe you do. I stare at you obvious, unabashed. Am I driven? Obsessed? Pathetic? I watch your every move, only barely aware of my surroundings. Visually, you are my all, my focus. Mentally you take over. Thoughts of lust pervade the cracks of my mind. Oh, I'm sure you're popular with the girls, and that just makes it worse. Does it bother you, my staring? Do you even know why I'm doing it?
He gets up, turns, leaves. There must be a hundred people around me in Burger King. I'm alone. My eyes refocus. My thoughts all at once, both useless and useless. In a brief moment, I am made aware of my limitations, my total inability. Maybe if I were someone else. Maybe if I were somewhere else. Maybe if I were somehow else. Maybe nothing.
I think I should find a better way to spend my time. Christ. Get up, walk away, forget. It's the solution. It's the truth of the situation. I gather up my trash and turn to go.
I'm presented with a faceful of torso. Oh shit. This is public -- all he can do is threaten to kick my ass. I hope. Looks like I made another friend for life. "Yes?" I inquire, trying to avoid surliness. Every surly word makes the ass kicking worse.
"Hi." he says, voice deep and resounding. I'm a sucker. Good thing I haven't any further to fall.
"Yes?" I ask, impatiently waiting for a resolution. Come on, I haven't got all day for physical peril. Maybe if I get up and walk away...
"I saw you staring at me." He says it, but his tone of voice is all wrong.
"Listen. You want to beat the shit out of me, set up a time and a place and I'll make sure not to be there, OK?" I throw my trash away and walk off, leaving another would-be attacker confused. If I can get out of sight, I'm safe.
Not so lucky. He catches my stride, no matter the speed. "What makes you think I want to beat the shit out of you?"
"Oh, I don't know. You're big, you're buff, you're butch and I find you attractive. What more reason could you need?" Damn elevator.
"If that's what you're into, man, I'm sorry I bothered you."
"What?!?"
"Pain's not my thing, guy. Sorry."
"Hold it. You mean to say that you don't want to beat the shit out of me?"
"No."
"And do you know why I was staring at you?"
"I looked fine when I left my place. Is something wrong with my face?"
"No, nothing's wrong. It's still fine." Coming down now, I step in the elevator. So he's playing coy? "So you and I are of similar interests?"
"Perhaps. Maybe. Yes." he says, putting a hand on my chest.