"Celebrities aren't as fake as everyone says they are," Trent starts. I get into his Porsche. I am back in Los Angeles for the first time in six months since I left for private school in Rhode Island. "They're realer than most people, because they completely embody what everyone secretly wants to be." I want to ignore him because I'm tired.
"What does everyone want to be?" I ask.
"Duh. Famous."
I do ignore him now when I lay my head down on the soft leather head rest, and I light a cigarette to keep me afloat. I put my sunglasses on and the top is down and I feel the wind tousling my hair. We're driving along Mulholland and we're sitting in Trent's red Porsche and he's telling me about the virtues of celebrity, and I realize that I'm here for three months before returning to school. There is only trouble at home among my friends and their friends and their friends' friends, the denizens of the wealthy and the moneyed and the privileged and the perpetually distraught with boredom. People that I liked and people that I tolerated. Some are just there for the ride.
—Trent punches the code to my neighborhood and circles the place for a bit before dropping me off at my house. My mother is probably on the elliptical machine or getting plastered by the pool or fucking Scott, our pretty pool boy who I've had the occasion with, but that's not important to me. I go upstairs and find my sisters' rooms are just the same but with a few new GQ cut-outs taped along the walls.
I expect my room to be vacant or replaced, but it's the same, too. The posters and the photos that dot the walls are in the same place except for the few that have fallen. I call Evan who doesn't answer. I turn on the stereo and Nick Lowe sings, "I love the sound of breaking glass!" I look in my closet for the shoebox where I remember stashing some Oxy. There is none. I call Cody, my dealer with whom I had an English class the year before I left.
"Kyle, what's shaking?" he asks me.
"You in town?"
"I haven't left, baby? You didn't call."
"I just got back. Trent drove me in. Can we meet?"
"Totally. Blair's throwing a summer kick-off party. I'll pick you up, and we'll go."
"Good. See you."
"Laters."
I hang up and turn off my stereo. I turn to the full-length mirror where I stare at myself for a minute. I take off my shirt and I turn around a few times examining the occasional freckle and the muscular veins that trace my arms and my shoulders and the small ones that parallel the V-shape leading to my crotch. I flex.
—Blair greets me at the door of her house. She squeals and hugs me and asks how I've been. I answer her and then Cody and I step inside. The guys in Beverly Hills are mostly the same. Short blond or brown hair, lean from swimming or running, polo shirts, and shorts. A boy named Troy smiles at me and lifts his cup at me in recognition.
"So-o-o. Want some punch?" Blair asks me. She thinks we're still dating. I can't remember if I slept with Troy or not or if he's for sale or if he's a model I don't remember meeting.
"Yeah, sure." I say back. Blair leaves me with Cody who is by a bathroom, and he motions me over. And we're in this bathroom where Cody has taken the mirror down from the wall and is spreading a small pile of coke in the center. He hands me a rolled-up twenty dollar bill which I take from him gratefully. He separates the pile into crude five crude lines. I do two of them and flick at my nose waiting for the drip. It hurts from not having used since I've been at school, but then I feel the rush in my loins that I always get.
"Ha, ha. Same old Kyle," Cody laughs and does his three lines.
I laugh, too, at how ridiculous I must seem. I think I should at least get back to Blair and fake contentment before ditching the party to meet Trent at Big Kahuna Burger, but Cody steps in front of the door. I grab my wallet and hold out the one-hundred-twenty dollars I owe him for the coke.
"Forget it," he says. He smiles. "Welcome back gift."
I thank him and start for the door, but he doesn't move. He flashes his toothy smile and my spine straightens and I have goosebumps. Cody looks down at the bulge steadily growing beneath my CK briefs. He smiles again and drops to his knees and he looks up at me and I am taking off my shirt. He kisses my stomach and rubs his hands on my chest. My nipples have hardened probably from Cody's gorgeous hands bathing them in pleasure, but it's also cold in the bathroom. Someone knocks at the door and this startles me. Cody keeps kissing my stomach and rubbing my chest.
I begin to say something but decide against it. It's been a while since I've done this and Cody knows I have no desire to see Blair again tonight.
I've been staring at the door but now I look down when I hear Cody unzipping my jeans revealing the mass of flesh raised in relief underneath the cotton of my briefs. He kisses my cock which lurches in response to his soft lips. My hands are messing up his hair, and he brings the rest of my jeans down to my ankles.
"You've lost weight."
"No, I haven't."
"Well, you look pale."
I think he's wrong, but I don't disagree with his body rising to meet mine, holding me to his warmth and pressing his lips onto mine. Our lips stay connected as he unbuttons his shirt and drops his black jeans to the tile floor. There is a small commotion outside when Duran Duran comes on, but I pay it no attention. Our cocks are growing hotter and pulsing with blood and are adjacent to one another beckoning one another to move first, but our briefs keep them in a cotton prison until Cody reaches down and jostles my package with his well-moisturized hand. A large breath escapes my lungs while we're kissing and quickly my eyes open to his opening to my reddening face, and he smiles again.
I push my hand around his waist and down into his underwear, Perry Ellis, grabbing the firm cheeks of his swimmer's ass. His abs push into mine and I feel his tongue moving deeper into my mouth. I love the feeling of my hand on his ass. He doesn't stand any longer and drops once more to his knees and produces my penis from my briefs. It seems to smile at him as if greeting a familiar face. He waits no more and entombs the head of my cock in his mouth and he shifts it around, tightening his lips around my shaft and creating a moist abrasion that surprises me.
I brace my hands on his head and rhythmically move it back and forth, trying to gauge how much of my cock he can consume. He doesn't gag when I move in further and the entirety of my shift finds a home down his throat, my balls meeting his chin, the blond hairs tickling his face. He pulls his mouth back a little and then goes back in. He does this a few more times before I let him go, ready to start him up in similar fashion.
I pick him up by his shoulders but he pulls me down to him and now I am on top of him, my cock awkwardly pressing against his stomach. I slide off of him and spread his legs apart a little wider.
I glance at his bulge and my heart flutters and I remember how much fun I had doing this before leaving for school. I move in more ferociously and grasp his cock, pumping it until it resembles the full, eight-inch member that I have a few vivid memories of. I shimmy his underwear off his waist and lock eyes with him, but the spell of passion is violently interrupted by a drunken Candice or Chloe or Claire busting through the door and vomiting in the toilet.
Cody and I walk out with our clothes in hand and I see that Blair is gone, thankfully, and that Troy is eyeing me, jealous, but he knows Blair still likes me and thinks we're dating.
Cody drops me off at my house in his Volkswagen. I wave good-bye and he smiles and tosses a small bag of powder into my hands and then peels out of the driveway. I look at the bag and chuckle to myself. It's 4:00 AM and I'm back in LA and I have three months before I am to leave.
Cody drops me off at my house in his Volkswagen. I wave good-bye and he smiles and tosses a small bag of powder into my hands and then peels out of the driveway. I look at the bag and chuckle to myself. It's 4:00 AM and I'm back in LA and I have three months before I am to leave.
If you enjoy the tales of the wealthy teenage life and lust in Los Angeles and wish to see more chapters of "That's Entertainment," then email the casually indifferent author at atttsoccer@gmail.com