DISCLAIMER: This is my story. It is not your story. Don't post it on other sites and claim it for your own. If you wish to post it on another site, you may do so as long as you credit the author, myself. This story is based entirely in fiction. Any resemblance to events, past or future, is purely coincidental. If you should not be reading this for whatever reason, then don't. Enjoy the story, and let me know your thoughts on it.
I'm at a rave! There are strobe lights, bright white, luminescent blue, and startling red. I'm dressed in an unbelievably sexy outfit; black, tight fitting, long sleeved shirt made of some weightless, sheer material that shifts across my body when I move to the pulsing music, cut just high enough to show off my flat stomach with a pierced navel. I have on loose jeans that ride my hips perfectly. My nails are painted black and deep, dark violet on alternating fingers, which match my black hair with blue tips.
In front of me, there's a boy who is absolutely gorgeous. His hair is dyed some color in between black and purple, and his chest is only half covered in a button-up shirt I can't tell the color of between strobes. He has his eyes closed, and his mouth slightly open with a hint of a smile. His eyelashes flutter as his hair ruffles against them, and I lean over to kiss his neck.
His eyes pop open, and I see they're the most beautiful shade of silvery blue I've ever seen, bright with a smile and the frenzied, orgiastic pleasure of the rave. I don't see him because he does it so quickly during a split second moment of darkness, but he leans and grips my waist, and pulls me close against him, pressing his crotch into mine. We move to the music wildly, and his mouth closes over mine. I can feel his lips on mine, and his tongue invades my mouth.
Then I woke up. I cursed blatantly as I blinked my eyes, wanting to cry. The meds my psychowhatsit had me on weren't working well, at least not yet. I'm seventeen, and my name is Joseph. If you call me that, I'll rip out your spleen, cook it to medium rare, and feed it to you as I remove your other organs. My REAL name, the one my friends call me, is Joey.
I hate my life. I said it for you in pure and simple terms, instead of trying to paint the picture with oh-so-many tragic events and circumstances. Do you think I care what you think about me? If you do, you're sadly mistaken. I don't know you, and I don't give a shit what goes on in your most likely small brain. However, I digress, and its not fair to insult you, yet. You may very well be a nice person with a great personality, who I would get along with very well. I just get worked up easily, I apologize... but not if my description of you was accurate, in which case I laugh and point.
As you've probably figured out, I'm a defensive and introverted BITCH sometimes. Don't worry though, I get better. You may like me sometime, so give me a chance, you sexy beast, you.
So anyway, I woke up in my bed. I have black sheets. I like them, very much actually. In addition to that, my description of myself in my dream was accurate. I'm also a very tiny person. Standing right between five and six feet tall, I'm not impressive in height. Don't expect anything wonderful about me, either. I won't embellish or try to make myself look good for you; you'll get the story, pure and simple.
You'll also get used to my dynamic changes in prose and annoyingly abrupt changes in topic, as well as my static sarcasm. Did I mention I have a thing for alliteration?
By now you're wondering where the fuck I'm going with this story. Hold onto your pants. No, seriously, hold on to them, you're not gonna be jackin' off to this story anytime soon, so keep it in the cage, baby.
Like I said, I'm Joey. I'm a former closet case, now outed to the school and community as the town faggot. No one picks on me, for fear of the box cutter I carry in my pocket in case anyone decides to invade my personal space. They do, however, leave me very much alone. In a place like this, where everyone is so religious, since I'm in the Bible Belt, you know, gothic appearance is a bit of a conversation killer. And, since I don't believe in any of the bullshit they preach, they really don't like me.
So now that you know a bit more, I'll get back to my story. I got out of bed, pulling on my jeans over black boxer briefs (figured I'd give you horndogs a bit of a glimpse, ya big nasties). I walked out of my room bare-chested, and no, I have almost no tan whatsoever, but I do have a perfect complexion. I'm not what everyone would consider attractive, but I myself would do me, and have on several occasions if you count sex with a hand as doing me.
I got to the kitchen, and there was coffee left in the pot from when my mother made it this morning. She left a note on the coffeemaker which asked me for the ten-thousandth time to clean my room and do this and do that. Basically it was connotations that I shouldn't be so weird, and I need friends, and to get off my lazy ass and do something constructive, fit in a bit, be normal. I don't do normal.
I looked down at my arm, which is covered in faint spider webs of razor tracery, then grabbed a mug and filled it with the now cold coffee. I placed the cup in the microwave, and turned that on as I went to the fridge and got out milk, then got some sugar from the shelf. I got my coffee, and fixed it just the way I like it, and sat down on the couch, wrapping my blanket around me and sipping my coffee while I turned on my laptop.
The Internet has always held a big attraction for me. I can talk to people I like through it, people that understand me for who I am better than those around me geographically.
After going through the motions of checking email and such, I get bored, and start looking at porn. Sighing because nothing catches my interest, I get up, and pull on a hoodie, one of my favorites, really. It has a silver skull and crossbones on it. Still bare-chested under that, I walked outside with the coffee still in my hand. I popped two lortabs and four somas into my mouth, then took a swallow of coffee and downed the pills. I set the cup down and started to walk down the road, slowly, wishing something would happen to make today different, to make it better, to get me out of this hell I can't stand.
Then I walked right into something and bounced off, landing right on my ass on the ground. I heard a snicker, and reached into my pocket, my hand closing around the box cutter I keep with me. As I looked up though, a hand came into view, outstretched to help me up. Surprised for a moment, I examined it more closely before taking it; it was a nicely manicured hand, soft-looking while still manly, and black polish graced the nails. As I got up, I felt a hand brush my back off, and I looked at this guy's face.
He was fucking gorgeous. This tall, thin, punky looking boy had just run into me. His hair was short and red. He was dressed in bondage pants, black tee, studded leather bracelet, and chain choker. I remember his eyes; they were just like the boy's eyes in my dream.
The boy smiled congenially, and said he was sorry. I could barely hear him through the thoughts in my head. I still hadn't let go of his hand. Noticing that, I did finally let go, and when I did, I stuttered out an introduction.
"Hey, um, I'm Joey..."
"I'm Jon, nice to meet ya. Sorry to run into you, let me brush you off, you still have some dirt and grass on you."
With that, he ran his hand quickly down my back, and across my butt. My eyes went slightly wide, as I didn't expect that, by a long shot. I was still suspicious, but beginning to like this boy more and more as time went by. Still... he was... wow... nice looking, to say the least. I watched avidly as his mouth began to move again.
"I'm new here, my dad just moved here for his job. He works as an engineer, and this is closer to where he needs to be... so are you from around here? I don't know anybody yet..." He stopped talking, running out of words. I realized then that the boy was honestly trying to start a conversation with me. That's when I stopped calling him "the boy" in my mind, and started calling him Jon.
"Yeah, I've lived here forever, it sucks ass through a bendy straw, but oh well. There's not really anything to do here... small town, ya know. If you skate, I can show you a few spots that are fun, but other than that, there's not much going on." I skateboarded a bit, and thought it might actually be kinda fun to have somebody to board with if they cared for it.
"That'd be awesome. I live just down the road, you busy right now? I can go get my board now if you wanna go", he told me. My eyes must've lit up, because he smiled then.
"Sure, but I have to turn around and grab mine really quick. I'll be right back, okay? I just live right there," I told him, indicating my house with a nod. He nodded back, so I jogged to my house, ran inside, and grabbed my board. I got back to him, and we started walking towards his house. Within a couple of minutes we stopped at a house that I'd noticed a For Sale sign in front of a week or so ago.
"Here it is. Dad's not home right now, ya wanna come inside with me and wait?" His eyes looked at me almost pleadingly. All of a sudden I really wanted this boy. I followed him inside, watching the safety pins on his pants pocket bounce with his hips as he climbed the steps to the door and walked inside.
He stepped quickly down the hall and into a room. I heard his voice moments later. "Hey, c'mon back here, this is my room!"
I walked back there, following him, and stepped into his punk boy haven. If my room was an alcove for gothic kids, his was for punk kids. He looked at me and picked up his board that was propped up in a corner, then walked towards me. He slowed down instead of passing me and going out the door. Jon's hand reached out, past my shoulder, and slowly shut the door, never letting his palm leave its surface. As it was fully closed, his face was maybe four inches away from mine. His eyes were locked onto mine, and despite all my jaded goth-boy personality, my heart was racing.
"I'm sorry, but I have to do this," he told me. That's when he leaned in closer, and I felt his lips press against mine.
Haha, I fooled you! Nah, it was all real up until the point when I said "his face was maybe four inches away..." I had you going for a second there, didn't I? You should have remembered what I said at the beginning, no embellishments, this is my story, nothing more or less. No fairy tale in here, baby.
So, seeing as how I really was in his room with his door closed, I was wondering what he was up to. By this time, my inhibitions were really gone, and that daydream was actually a result of those pills if you remember my taking them. Hydrocodone and muscle relaxers do fun things to your brain. I wanted to throw him on his messy bed and make hot kinky love to him right then and there, but oh well. Next thing I knew, he was talking to me again.
"You umm... look a little happy, if ya know what I mean," he told me. I instantly blushed and turned around to readjust my pants, knowing my hardon was showing. Nothing too impressive, really, but still, it's readily noticeable when at full attention. I mumbled something about being a little bit fucked up right then, and not getting any action lately, which was all true. As I turned back around, he smiled at me, and he held in his hand a small water bong, made of a piece of clear plastic pipe, with a thumbhole in the back, and a little metal bowl to pack in the front, which, as I recall, was already packed. He sat down on his bed, and patted the place beside him.
"Good idea," I said to him, relieved that he didn't make anything out of that particular circumstance. Its not my fault that my happy parts react to hot guys. I sat down and watched as he pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the bowl, sucking in deep. We passed the homemade looking contraption back and forth, and pretty soon we were both incredibly blazed. I know some people say that smoking weed makes you lazy, and it does to some people, but with others it makes you want to get up and move, which is why I liked smoking before I skated.
Each time he passed it to me, though, his fingers lingered just long enough to feel mine against his as I took it from him, and vice versa. I might be taking things out of context, but I figured this to be an infinitesimal sign of something that may eventually be of more than infinitesimal significance. I'm not playing with you this time, this is no daydream or dream or fantasy of any kind; real events, my sexy friends. He did indeed seem to be hitting on me. My heart wasn't racing, it was doing gymnastic acrobatics in my chest cavity, thumping into my stomach and rattling the butterflies that were already pretty riled up in there.
Tears started to well in my eyes. I know, you're thinking I must be insane. What the hell would I be crying for when I just met an incredibly hot guy that seems to like me a bit, and I might actually get along with instead of all the idiots I'd been forced into being around my entire life, right? Well, you just have to be inside my head.
First, I get along with almost no one I know. Not even my own family and I can be civil to each other. I sometimes forget that I have little siblings until they come and invade my room to piss me off, foraging through my things until they find something incriminating to turn over to my mother, like my cigarettes or something like that. Once they found a joint, but I took it from them quickly, and replaced it with a cigarette since they hadn't gotten such a great look at it. I figured I'd rather take the heat for that instead of the joint. I really can't stand to be around anyone.
I'm severely anti-social, meaning I can't be friends with just anyone; it has to be someone of equal or greater intellect, with a nice, accepting personality. Otherwise I just want to kill them.
Back to the point, I'm pessimistic as well. I always think the worst case scenario is going to happen. Its just part of who I am. I try to prepare for that, and hopefully things work out in the end. If not, I don't always take it well.
So, with that in mind, can you see that I was thinking to myself that this guy is probably not meaning to convey the signals he is, and that he probably has a snowball's chance in hell of liking me the way I like him? At that moment, I just had a bit of a breakdown in my mind, which can only take so much strain. My mother, siblings, school, all of these things going on that I have to take care of just got to me, and he wasn't helping things.
I managed to ask him where his bathroom was without changing my voice, and facing away from him slightly so he couldn't see my eyes. He pointed down the hall, and told me he was gonna put up his bong while I went to use it. I walked quickly out of the room, maybe too quickly, but I wanted to get the fuck out of there in a big damn hurry.
I shut the door to the bathroom, noticing how tidy it was. Somebody in the house was a clean freak, and definitely not Jon from the looks of his room. All the rags were rolled, not even folded, and placed into a basket neatly on the counter. The mirror was absolutely spotless, free of all those little streaks and things that usually show up after a bathroom gets steamy a bunch of times. I noticed there was a roll of toilet paper on the holder, which was stainless steel, in case you're interested, and one right above it on the corner of the counter, still in its paper wrapper for when it needed to be used. I grabbed a snatch of toilet paper from the roll on the holder, and wiped my eyes carefully, blotting, not rubbing. If you rub, your eyes get red, and people can tell that you've been crying.
Looking in the mirror again, I sobbed twice, two, carefully controlled, nearly silent sobs. I blew my nose to make sure I didn't sound weird, and looked up.
I took some deep breaths, and ran a bit of cold water, splashing my face lightly with it to cool it down, then wiped that off with another bit of the toilet paper. After my heart rate calmed down a bit, I heard a knock at the door.
"Hey man, you okay in there? You've been in there for a while, just checking to see if you might've tripped and knocked yourself out or something!" Jon shouted to me through the door. I immediately unlocked it and stepped out with the best fake smile I could muster.
"You ready to go now?" he asked me. I nodded, and we started for the door. Before we got there, he really surprised me. "What happened? I mean... I heard you in there... and I just wanted to know. I'm sorry if I did anything." As he said that, he placed a hand on my shoulder, and I damn near burst into tears again. Instead, I did what I was good at.
I buried it all, and smiled at him as best I could. "I'm fine," I said, "just having a rough day at the moment, and something got to me a little while ago, it's not your fault at all."
"Sorry for being nosy. If you wanna talk about anything, I'm here for ya."
"Thanks, I appreciate it. So what do you think of this place?" I asked him, hoping to change the subject.
"I don't know... I don't think I'm really gonna like bein' here, it kinda sucks, ya know? I mean, when I get weird looks for dressing this way and looking like I do, then what are they gonna say when they find out I'm bi? That'll be a difficult conversation to have. I mean, I'm really accepting, I don't care what you do or anything, that's your business, but these people that live here seem to have a..." and that's when I stopped listening to him.
My mind did a double take. Did I just hear what I think I heard? Was he available? Oh my fucking sweet Jesus (an expression I use out of mockery for the Southern Baptists that predominantly populate this region of Mississippi), he was bi...
I couldn't wait to see what he would say or do next. This might be just the thing I was waiting for, just the thing that would maybe make my life a bit better. I didn't know. I just knew I had to keep my mouth shut for now so I didn't make it seem like I was coming onto him immediately, and just watch. Maybe something would happen. Now that I knew he wouldn't freak out, I could maybe flirt a bit, and maybe... maybe life would be better... I don't know what I was thinking right then. It was like someone had finally given me just a teeny bit of hope for something I WANTED to live for, and I was hoping so hard that it was true.