Elvis Rex (Part 5: Crimes Against Seith)

By the end of the first week, Seith had made it out of the house. We hit a few touristy "historical sites," some trendy "urban clothing" stores, and a hair salon where he had his hair meticulously styled into something that resembled my very much unstructured hair. I made a mental note to watch Single, White Female to see if there were any other warning signs that your roommate is trying to take over your life.

On the way home we drove by quite a few car dealerships. "Pull into this one." he said at one of the used dealerships near the end of my street. "Why?" "To look at that car, dumbass. It's cute."

The car was cute: a white 1994 Camaro. I could see myself blasting Billy Joel tunes in it as I drove to the nearest NASCAR show. It was an incredible bargain at $6000. Of course, I already had a car, and had no desire to get rid of it. "You should buy it for me."

Saying no was one of my first Crimes Against Seith. Further crimes included not buying him a cat, not buying a 52" widescreen television for the Playstation, and not taking a day off from work to drive him into Big City so he could shop.

Crimes Against Seith were punished by withholding sex. An empty threat. To me, withholding sex is when the person who wants to fuck says "Let's fuck" and their partner says "No, we shall not fuck." Seith was hornier than I was, which was no mean feat at the time. His idea of withholding sex was sleeping on the couch at night, but waking me up in the morning to fuck. I was beyond traumatized.

I soon began bugging Seith about getting a job. I helped him write a resume, and called a bunch of my friends who had the power to hire people at their perspective jobs. None of them were skilled labor. They were mostly retail, a few restaurant jobs, and some landscaping. Seith failed to follow up on all of them. Getting a job was too hard.

Seith was also getting too hard. My six hours of work everyday was sexually frustrating to him. I'd come home to find my computer chock full of pornography. I have nothing against good porn. I don't even dislike bad porn. In fact, there's a little bit of both on my computer right now. But he was a pornaholic. He'd have Realplayer and Quicktime movies playing simultaneously on the computer, while watching boy band videos (the 1998 MTV equivalent to gay porn). "I thought you'd never come home." And then he'd wrestle me on the bed, get my clothes off and perform calisthenics on my cock. Crimes Against Seith be damned.

It was during one of these sessions that the doorbell rang. I'm not accustomed to getting many unexpected visitors at my house. Especially not when I'm balls deep in a boy with no ass. I pulled out, yelled a "Be right there" down the stairs, ran to the bathroom for a quick body rinse and cologne spray, threw some shorts and a shirt on, and ran downstairs.

Big Gay Tom was at the door. Big Gay Tom was Big (about 6'4"), Gay (about 11.5 on a scale of 1-10) and Tom (at least according to the couple who named him). Tom was a 21 year old Senior in high school. By the end of the next month he "dropped into college" after getting his GED.

Tom wanted to run lines for a show we were doing. I wanted to return to my bedroom. I was about to tell Tom it wasn't a good time when Seith came trouncing down the stairs in jeans and one of my shirts, a cigarette dangling from his pout.

This is where Seith discovers that a week ago I commited The Ultimate Crime Against Seith. I slept with Big Gay Tom. No, wait, I hated Big Gay Tom, and Seith had no desire for monogamy. But what could be a bigger crime than sleeping with another guy? I told Tom Seith's real name. See, one night when Seith was on the couch punishing me for not buying him something, he left his wallet, keys, and driver's license on my desk. It is then that I learned that Seith's real name was Elvis B. (insert last name here). The day after the discovery a woman with a thick southern drawl called and asked to speak to Byron. When I told her there wasn't a Byron at the number she said "Well his real name is Elvis, but I can't imagine he's going by the name his Daddy gave him."

Elvis Byron. How could I not tell someone?

So when Seith came trouncing down the stairs, Tom said "You must be Elvis, Insafemode has told me so much about you."

While Tom and I ran lines, Seith smoked about half a pack of Parliament Lites. He was clearly upset. As we were wrapping things up, Seith came in from the porch. "I need more smokes."

Big Gay Tom shouted "Road trip!" as though it were hundreds of miles to the nearest 7-11 instead of about a mile and a half. The three of us piled into my Not-A-Camaro and drove to the 7-11. Seith decided to stay in the car with Big Gay Tom, while I went in to buy his cigarettes.

When I came back in the two of them were sitting in awkward silence. The next day, at work, Big Gay Tom stopped in and told me that Seith had tried to talk Tom into joining us for a threesome. "A threesome? Me? Imagine. I'm a princess. Besides, he smells like nicotine and cum."

When I got home that day, Seith was on the phone to Poor Boy. "I smell. I smell bad." he was saying as I walked in. "There are two showers in the house." I reminded him. After he was done talking on the phone, Seith plodded up the stairs, where I was checking my e-mail. "Wanna fuck?"

Sign off. Log out. Remove clothes.

He did smell like niccotine and cum. Even moreso by the time we were finished. "Have you ever noticed my fetish?" he asked as I was slipping the condom on. "Your fetish?" "I always wear my socks when I'm fucking." "Wow. You're really unique." "I also like to jerk off when someone's dick is inside me."

That was the longest and most in-depth sex conversation we had.

After about an hour or so of sub-par sex, Seith took his second shower in my house (the first being our co-shower when he moved in). We then went to the movies where we saw something so dumb, I can't even remember it. I've even looked over the complete list of movies released in 1998 to see if something would ring a bell. I remember sitting through Patch Adams, and enduring Baseketball, but I can't remember which movie Seith and I saw.

After the movie Seith started whining about pets. He needed company while I was at work. I argued that he only ever slept or watched MTV when I worked anyway, besides I already had a lizard. "But that's your lizard. I want us to have a pet.

We headed over to a local pet store that sold everything from feeder fish and crickets to dogs and ferrets. We settled on a pair of Chinchillas. They were pretty moderately priced, and I figured that if Seith and I broke up, or if I just didn't like them, I could at least get a nice fur trim for my coat out of the deal.

After a few hours of watching them play in the cage, I decided to name mine Spider. He was always climbing the cage trying to get away from the other chinchilla. The other chinchilla had no name yet. It spent a great deal of time climbing around the cage after Spider and crying. The crying prompted Seith, in his most obnoxious baby-talk voice to ask "Whatsamatter? Is you ok? Whatsamatterbaybee?" The next day I named his chinchilla for him: Qué mal.

These chinchillas would prove to be the barometer for the rest of our relationship.