Post by Luke on Jun 19, 2011 22:41:49 GMT -5
i've been wanting to write this for a few weeks
it's completely raw, so it might not make a whole lot of sense in a few places
also it doesn't hold anything back so it may get a bit racy for some of you
and this is fiction. the narrator is a fictional character.
Penetrated
The fog is really thick. I could cut it with a knife, if I wanted to use clichéd exaggerations. I don't want to though, so I'll nip that one in the bud right now. It's foggy. That's all I really wanted to say here. My mind is really overactive tonight.
It's dark, too. This always happens to me. I never really realize how late it is until I step outside, alone. A quick glance at my phone shows that it's around two in the morning, which I already knew, kind of, but hadn't really processed until just now.
So I'm walking home at two in the morning on a foggy night through a normal suburban neighborhood and suddenly realizing that the mild and mostly harmless charming affluent neighborhoods of this quaint little town for some reason almost feel pressuring and intimidating when paired with the complete and smothering loneliness that comes with two in the morning.
If this were dangerous enough of a place (it's not) and someone tried to pull something on me (they wouldn't), would I be able to fight them off? (I wouldn't.) This thought pops into my head along with another one that's only half an answer: nobody would try, because they don't know I'm not completely man right now.
Actually, this is something I should explain before I spit out. I'm totally physically a man. There's no question about that. But I feel like I stepped out of that skin for a while. This happened about 15 minutes ago.
It feels strange saying it to myself. I knew that something could happen when I went over to his house, and I knew that it probably would happen; yet at the same time, I wasn't truly expecting it. He's my best friend. Since I met him three years ago in geometry when I was a freshman and he a sophomore, we've hung out almost every day. He's seriously the coolest guy I've ever met. The age difference doesn't mean much as all our classmates thought it might. We're only 11 months apart. The grade difference just makes it seem like a lot more.
But then a week ago I suddenly found out that what I had thought to be just a really close friendship had actually all been a bit of a facade we had both put on to fool ourselves and each other. We were hanging out in his room, watching some dumb horror movie. There wasn't a plot, of course. Sex and violence. That's what us guys like. We're supposed to like it, so we do. It got to a part where the main character started making out with the token gorgeous female lead. I made a lewd comment about her tits while staring at the guy's naked torso and my friend replied with some sort of retort about how I had never even gotten with a girl before. I complained that I hadn't even kissed anyone before, and then he went for it.
And on the list of things that would have been completely unexpected, that was right there at the top. As I let his tongue push through my lips I suddenly felt like our relationship had just been assassinated and replaced by another one. I didn't feel like hanging out all day with him, sitting on our asses and playing mindless shooters with the blinds closed until our eyes started to water from the oppressive light of the TV screen. I didn't feel like watching any more stupid fucking horror movies with him anymore. I didn't want to wrestle around with him or talk shit about the assholes in gym or walk home with him from school or anything anymore. He relented and pulled away and stared right into my eyes. Without a word, we had both known where it was going. And there it went. The rest of that night was spent with few clothes and way too many tissues to fit in his room's tiny little wastebasket.
The whole time, I wasn't sure how I'd felt about it. Part of me knew I had wanted it all along, but then there was this strange feeling that I was different now. That he was different now. That we, together, weren't anything like how we were before. I wasn't sure how I felt about the whole thing.
So the thing that was on my mind now was how no one would ever think I'd been fucked in the ass. I could walk down the street in the middle of the day, with the young families herding their kids around, the normal teenage couples making out and starting drama with each other, the old people patiently making their way down the street to nowhere in particular. I could walk down there and none of these people would ever guess in a million years that my guy best friend and I had sex. Hardcore, all the way, moaning-and-being-held-down rough angsty teenage sex. Another guy had been inside me. I'm seventeen years old and I've done something none of these people had probably ever thought about. None of them would even look at me.
But I'm looking at them. I feel like I have Spidey-sense that's only good for telling me when I'm being judged. It feels like they know. They know I'm different. They know I'm not like them. They know everything that happened, but they'll still put on those happy faces, act real friendly towards me, and tell me to have a nice day. They'll pretend I'm not some sort of freak to them, then usher off their little ones to play with people who hadn't been corrupted by carnal pleasures.
I'm so young, and I'm suddenly so aware of it. He made me feel so little. I love him for it, just a little bit. But mostly I hate him for it. I feel weak. Vulnerable. Tiny and dependent on him. I'm walking at two A.M. down a foggy street past shadows that know how small I feel. I can't defend myself, and they know I'm not a man anymore. I'm just a little boy who went in deeper than his head.
A cold wind cuts through my thin t-shirt and I desperately try not to shiver. I used to be so strong. He pounded that out of me.
I'm supposed to keep a girl safe in my arms. I'm supposed to make her feel protected and loved. I'm not supposed to be choking up right now at two in the morning, walking down a foggy street I walk down every single fucking day after school. The shadows see my tears and advance on me.
I wish I could let them take me. My ego screams at me to shut up and carry on. I suck up the snot dripping from my nose and wipe my eyes with my sleeve, then hold my breath as long as I can.
I think I only took three breaths the rest of the walk home. I turn the key in the lock and push open the door. I wish I lived alone.
it's completely raw, so it might not make a whole lot of sense in a few places
also it doesn't hold anything back so it may get a bit racy for some of you
and this is fiction. the narrator is a fictional character.
Penetrated
The fog is really thick. I could cut it with a knife, if I wanted to use clichéd exaggerations. I don't want to though, so I'll nip that one in the bud right now. It's foggy. That's all I really wanted to say here. My mind is really overactive tonight.
It's dark, too. This always happens to me. I never really realize how late it is until I step outside, alone. A quick glance at my phone shows that it's around two in the morning, which I already knew, kind of, but hadn't really processed until just now.
So I'm walking home at two in the morning on a foggy night through a normal suburban neighborhood and suddenly realizing that the mild and mostly harmless charming affluent neighborhoods of this quaint little town for some reason almost feel pressuring and intimidating when paired with the complete and smothering loneliness that comes with two in the morning.
If this were dangerous enough of a place (it's not) and someone tried to pull something on me (they wouldn't), would I be able to fight them off? (I wouldn't.) This thought pops into my head along with another one that's only half an answer: nobody would try, because they don't know I'm not completely man right now.
Actually, this is something I should explain before I spit out. I'm totally physically a man. There's no question about that. But I feel like I stepped out of that skin for a while. This happened about 15 minutes ago.
It feels strange saying it to myself. I knew that something could happen when I went over to his house, and I knew that it probably would happen; yet at the same time, I wasn't truly expecting it. He's my best friend. Since I met him three years ago in geometry when I was a freshman and he a sophomore, we've hung out almost every day. He's seriously the coolest guy I've ever met. The age difference doesn't mean much as all our classmates thought it might. We're only 11 months apart. The grade difference just makes it seem like a lot more.
But then a week ago I suddenly found out that what I had thought to be just a really close friendship had actually all been a bit of a facade we had both put on to fool ourselves and each other. We were hanging out in his room, watching some dumb horror movie. There wasn't a plot, of course. Sex and violence. That's what us guys like. We're supposed to like it, so we do. It got to a part where the main character started making out with the token gorgeous female lead. I made a lewd comment about her tits while staring at the guy's naked torso and my friend replied with some sort of retort about how I had never even gotten with a girl before. I complained that I hadn't even kissed anyone before, and then he went for it.
And on the list of things that would have been completely unexpected, that was right there at the top. As I let his tongue push through my lips I suddenly felt like our relationship had just been assassinated and replaced by another one. I didn't feel like hanging out all day with him, sitting on our asses and playing mindless shooters with the blinds closed until our eyes started to water from the oppressive light of the TV screen. I didn't feel like watching any more stupid fucking horror movies with him anymore. I didn't want to wrestle around with him or talk shit about the assholes in gym or walk home with him from school or anything anymore. He relented and pulled away and stared right into my eyes. Without a word, we had both known where it was going. And there it went. The rest of that night was spent with few clothes and way too many tissues to fit in his room's tiny little wastebasket.
The whole time, I wasn't sure how I'd felt about it. Part of me knew I had wanted it all along, but then there was this strange feeling that I was different now. That he was different now. That we, together, weren't anything like how we were before. I wasn't sure how I felt about the whole thing.
So the thing that was on my mind now was how no one would ever think I'd been fucked in the ass. I could walk down the street in the middle of the day, with the young families herding their kids around, the normal teenage couples making out and starting drama with each other, the old people patiently making their way down the street to nowhere in particular. I could walk down there and none of these people would ever guess in a million years that my guy best friend and I had sex. Hardcore, all the way, moaning-and-being-held-down rough angsty teenage sex. Another guy had been inside me. I'm seventeen years old and I've done something none of these people had probably ever thought about. None of them would even look at me.
But I'm looking at them. I feel like I have Spidey-sense that's only good for telling me when I'm being judged. It feels like they know. They know I'm different. They know I'm not like them. They know everything that happened, but they'll still put on those happy faces, act real friendly towards me, and tell me to have a nice day. They'll pretend I'm not some sort of freak to them, then usher off their little ones to play with people who hadn't been corrupted by carnal pleasures.
I'm so young, and I'm suddenly so aware of it. He made me feel so little. I love him for it, just a little bit. But mostly I hate him for it. I feel weak. Vulnerable. Tiny and dependent on him. I'm walking at two A.M. down a foggy street past shadows that know how small I feel. I can't defend myself, and they know I'm not a man anymore. I'm just a little boy who went in deeper than his head.
A cold wind cuts through my thin t-shirt and I desperately try not to shiver. I used to be so strong. He pounded that out of me.
I'm supposed to keep a girl safe in my arms. I'm supposed to make her feel protected and loved. I'm not supposed to be choking up right now at two in the morning, walking down a foggy street I walk down every single fucking day after school. The shadows see my tears and advance on me.
I wish I could let them take me. My ego screams at me to shut up and carry on. I suck up the snot dripping from my nose and wipe my eyes with my sleeve, then hold my breath as long as I can.
I think I only took three breaths the rest of the walk home. I turn the key in the lock and push open the door. I wish I lived alone.
