Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
I don't believe in prophetic dreams. But even if I did, I knew Seith hadn't had one. He appeared somewhat shaken but something about him didn't sit right. It was as though he was trying to appear rattled. Like an actor who digs his nails into his flesh to make himself cry.
"Well, if you're so concerned that your grandfather is sick, maybe you should call your Dad and find out." "It's my Mom's Dad. My Dad is dead, remember." "Oh, yea, right. Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking." Mike and Gina come in behind me and ask what's wrong. Byron/Seith goes into the story about his grandfather who helped raise him, and how he dreamed he was sick, and yadda yadda yadda. Basically, he's creating a whole new story that conflicts a bit with the story he gave me. If his Grandfather was so heavily involved with his life, where was he when Wicked and Stepbrother were raping him? Supposedly his grandfather lived next door. If that's true, why didn't Seith spend more time over there? Maybe he and Poor Boy could have hung out over there to get away from Poor Boy's Dad. Mike started asking him loads of questions. The next morning when I got up, Mike was downstairs brewing coffee in my oft-neglected Mr. Coffee. "I think your boyfriend is a liar." "I know Seith is a liar. When you and Gina go home, I'm moving him into the guest room. I'll give him a month to find another place to live and then he's ass to curb. Out of curiousity, why do you think he's a liar?" "Were you paying attention to the story he told last night?" I hadn't been. "I kept asking him questions and his answers would often contradict each other." "I'm not surprised." Talk turned to other things: old friends, the play, Big Gay Tom, work. After about a half hour, Gina woke up and the two of them went out to sightsee. Byron/Seith woke up around noon. I reminded him to call his family regarding his grandfather. He took the cordless outside. I could see him crying out the window. I think the crying wasn't for my benefit, but for the benefit of his mother on the other end. I think Seith knew he was wearing on me, and he wanted to go home. "He's in the hospital." "Is it serious?" "If it wasn't serious, do you think he'd be in the fucken hospital?" I picked up the coffee mug Mike had been drinking from and began to dry it with a towel. "Do you know how long he'll be in there for?" "They think he might die." "Oh. Are you going to go down and visit him then?" "Well, yea. He practically raised me. What kind of grandson would I be if I didn't go down and visit him?" "When are you leaving?" "Tomorrow." "How are you getting back?" "You're going to have to buy me a plane ticket. One way, though, since I don't know how long I'll be down there for." At this point I'm not just drying the mug, but nearly sanding it. "Well, gosh, Seith, I can't afford to fly you down to Southern State on such short notice. I don't have any money in my checking account, and I don't get another paycheck for almost two weeks." "So --- what am I supposed to do?" "Call your Mom back. If they really think your grandfather is going to die, I don't think she'd have a problem flying you home to be with him." "But you flew me up here. We had a deal." "A deal? What sort of deal did we have?" "I mean, if you flew me up here, shouldn't you have saved up some money to fly me home." "Seith, call your Mom. I can't help you." While he went to cry to mom, I went upstairs to avoid throwing the mug at his head. I uncalmly checked my e-mail and yelled at the Chinchillas who were either fucking or fighting, I couldn't decide.
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It was during my trip to my father's that I realized I was never going to resolve anything with Seith. Ignoring the compulsive lying on his part, I was starting to feel more like Seith's guardian than his boyfriend.
Seith wanted to go the beach and boywatch. Elvis was bored at the beach and wanted to go shopping. Seith didn't have any money left. Elvis wanted me to buy him souvenirs. I said no. Elvis pouted. Back at the beach, Elvis went swimming with my mother's camera in his pocket. When I relayed the story to Big Gay Tom he theorized that Elvis did it on purpose. I disagreed. I'm pretty sure he'd been planning on stealing it. I was getting a little frustrated with only having Big Gay Tom to discuss Elvis with. As previously mentioned, Big Gay Tom was not my best friend. In fact, the only reason we hung out was because our mutual friend, Cute Straight Boy had introduced us, and I had inadvertantly gotten Big Gay Tom a part in a play I was working on. My dislike was feuled by the fact that he got the part I had planned on but my bitterness was only part of the reason for not wanting to spend much time with him. Some day Big Gay Tom will have his own entry, but it will not be rated X. When we got home from my Dad's, there was a message on my machine from a friend I hadn't seen in a couple of years, he and his SO (another friend of mine) were coming to Cranberry Lake for a few days and wanted to hang out for a while. I called them back and invited them to stay in the guest bedroom. Elvis was less than pleased. I'm not sure whether he was still self-concious about being out to strangers or whether he just didn't want anyone to know that he had settled for me. Either way he had strict rules about no PDAs, which was no problem for me. I'm not a PDA person. Though I would occasionally invade his physical space in public just to watch him cringe. I tended to restrict my tauntings to the minutes after he would start pouting about how I wasn't going to buy him something. Mike and Gina (the two friends) arrived on opening night of my play. Neither Seith nor Elvis attended. They met me at my place before the show, and I introduced them to Elvis, who was on the porch smoking. After the show, while Gina was in the restrooms and Big Gay Tom and the rest of the cast were beaming about how wonderful they all were, Mike asked "Is Seith your boyfriend?" It was easier to just say yes than to explain that Seith was the spoiled child currently taking up residence in my bedroom who I was fucking a couple of times a day but really wanted to kill. "You could do better." It was like someone slapped me in the face with a wet towel and then kissed the pain away. I could do better than SeithElvisRex. My plan was to go home and talk to Seith (or Elvis is he was still being pouty about having visitors) about him either getting a job or going home. And if he got the job, he was going to have to move into the guest room for a month, at which time he'd have to find his own place. I was unprepared for who I met at the door when I got home. If anyone's read The Dark Tower series by Stephen King, you know the story of Odetta Susannah Holmes a schizophrenic with a mean personality named Detta Susannah Walker. The two women are mostly unaware of the others' existence. When they are forced to confront their duality, they merge into a new person: Susannah Dean. Susannah can control her duality, and easily flip between Detta and Odetta. This was Seith in a nutshell. When he wasnted to be nice he was Seith, when he wanted to be a bitch he was Elvis. The boy I met when Mike, Gina and I arrived home was Rex. Rex had either just woken up, had been crying or both. "I had a dream that my grandfather was sick. Last time I had a dream like this it came true." During a typically boring day during The Elvis Invasion, Elvisseith decided he wanted to see Salem. I had the day off from work, and due to an incredibly well-attended show the night before, I was in good spirits. So we hopped in my Civic for the two hour drive to the city of witches and overpriced beer.
Five minutes after our arrival, Elvisseith decided he wanted to go home. He was tired. His feet hurt. It was too cold. I told him where he could stick his feet. On the drive home, I started to nod off. I was working on three hours of sleep, and even caffeine wasn't strong enough to keep me functional. I pulled over to the side of the rode and asked Elvisseith to take over. "Like I'd be caught dead driving a Civic." He said. "You will be caught dead if you don't switch places with me, I'm about to fall asleep at the wheel." "No." There was fifteen miles to the next exit. I bit my tongue, sang to the music, dug my fingernails into my knee to keep myself awake. When the exit came, I got off and tried to think of the nearest place I could park and sleep. Sweet sleep. Dreams of a boyfriend with an ass and no..BANG "The fuck was that?" Elvis asked. I'd knocked a driver's side mirror off a parked car. I quickly put on my flashers, wrote my name and phone number on a piece of paper, and slipped it through the slightly open driver's side window. A mile down the road I found a parking lot where I pulled over and fell asleep. I woke up to the familiar sensation of Elvis giving me head. "Cut the shit. I'm tired." "You've been asleep for three hours. I'm bored." Three hours? I blinked and looked around. Dusk was beginning to settle. The parking lot, nearly full when I'd pulled in was now empty. "Want to fuck?" Why yes I did. But have you ever tried to have sex in a Civic? Sure, if you want to be intimate, The Black Bee is ok, but I didn't want intimate, I wanted to cause pain. Short of standing outside the car and pushing his ass down over the gear shift, I didn't see how I was going to get my violent fuck on without getting violent cramps. We ended up leaning the passenger side seat back. He moved back so far his head was touching the back windshield. I kneeled down on the seat behind him. I pushed into him. Thrusted once. His head hit the windshield. "Ow." Thrusted twice. His head hit the windsheild. "Ow." Thrusted three times. His cum splattered on the seat. This was unusual in many ways. First off, one of Elvis's few positive attributes was his endurance. Secondly, since when is a bottom a three-pump-chump? I debated continuing fucking him/smashing his head against the windshield (the two ideas were not mutually exclusive) but that wasn't the kind of pain I was willing to dole out. "What are you stopping for? You can't be done already." "No, but I'm awake now and I want to go home." I pulled my pants up, waited for him to get situated, and turned the key in the ignition. Inane lies that could only ever lead to the two of us breaking up:
1.) He overheard me having a discussion about how most pop divas aren't very good singers. I mentioned that artists like Whitney Houston have pretty good voices, but that their engineers up the volume on their high notes, and have the ability to correct notes that waiver a bit off key. Elvis (I don't call him Seith when he lies to me) says that he and Poor Boy were once part of a by-invitation only Whitney Houston show in The Southern State Which He Is From, and that her voice literally shattered glass. 2.) When visiting my Dad's we heard a top forty song called "Crush." Elvis informed me that he wrote that song. I suggest we go to a record store and buy it so that I can see his name in the liner notes. He says that he wrote it under an ssumed name, and can't remember what that assumed name was. 3.) During a conversation about one of my freind's bizzaire sexual fetishes I mention how I can respect people with golden shower and poo fetishes, but I just can't relate to them. Elvis tells me that during one of the two times he topped that he peed in me. As if I simply wouldn't notice someone peeing in my ass. 4.) When I finally confront him about his phone conversation "Seriously I have the smallest cock here." Ummmm. "We all sleep in the same room. Four bunkbeds. No, no, it's really comfortable. Unfortunately, the cutest one is straight. I know, I know. Aren't they all? Anyway, I should probably go, we've got a shoot in the park in a few hours and I have to get ready." he tells me that he was trying to make Poor Boy jealous. I ask how Poor Boy reacted when he told him the truth. He claims not to have told him the truth. In a later conversation with Poor Boy, I hear him mention my name, what we did that day, and how bored he is being trapped in the house all the time. I ask him, again, how Poor Boy reacted when he told him the truth. He tells me that he had told him the truth from the very beginning. 5.) His Dad leaves a message on my answering machine. His Dad. His Died when I was twelve years old Dad. I leave the message on the machine, and don't even mention it until the bitter end. And the end was very very bitter. 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. I think if we'd been able to just fuck for the rest of our lives without having to actually get to know each other, Seith and I would still be together today. Unfortunately, there comes a time in every relationship when you zip up your fly and start talking. Usually, those are the moments I cherish. Sexual being I may be, but I do like spending time with my clothes on getting to know people.
Our first conversation, real conversation was full of more uncomfortable pauses than when Hitler seig heiled The Grim Reaper. I can't remember it word for word, but here's a brief synopsis of Seith's Alleged Autobiography: Seith was born in a southern state to a Southern Family. His father died when he was twelve, and as in most fairy tales his mother remarried a Wicked. Wicked molested Seith from Day One. On Day Two Wicked's son, Stepbrother began molesting fucking Seith. Seith was thirteen. His Wicked and Stepbrother had turned them into their own living sex doll. Of course, situation dictates that Seith couldn't tell Mother because his mother loved Wicked, and Wicked financed the hair salon that Mother owned. If Seith told his world would fall down around him. At fifteen Seith dropped out of school and started working at the salon as a bookkeeper. He fell in love with Poor Boy and spent a full year escaping the clutches of Wicked and Stepbrother by staying overnight with Poor Boy. Then Poor Boy's Father found out, and he too began using Seith as a sperm recepticle. Age sixteen and seventeen fly by under the bodies of one lover, and three rapists. Over time Seith falls in love with Stepbrother, and tells him about Wicked. Wicked and Stepbrother get into a huge argument that eventually leads to Stepbrother being kicked out. Seith falls into a six month depression when lo, and behold a savior emerges. A guy who he's been talking to online buys him a plane ticket Away From Home. Before he leaves, he breaks the news about his sexuality to his mother. He doesn't say a word about Wicked or Stepbrother, but suspects she knows anyway. He tells her that he's "not gay for the dick, but for the money." He "just want(s) a man to take care of him." That's where I come in. Little does he know it was The Demerol that bought him his plane ticket. I can't afford to take care of a dog let alone an eighteen year old gay kid who's trying to make me his Happily Ever After. Real life isn't a fairy tale. His story was. When I was seven or so my grandmother gave me a prism to hang in my window so I could watch the colors bounce around my room. A little green off the television set, some rainbow action on the handles of my dresser drawer, some red off the naked boy's back.
Naked boy? Right, Seith. The sun seemed almost abusively bright. Like it was trying to remind me of something. Right, work! I threw on some clothes, wrote a quick note for Seith, and went to work. Of course, it was actually my day off, so I pretended I had just come in to hang out. I talked with some of my coworkers for a few minutes, hit the grocery store and went home. Seith and I had been up until about eight in the morning playing Breath of Fire 3. I was actually getting quite good at it. I figured he would still be asleep when I got home so I opened the door very quietly. I placed the groceries in the kitchen and started to head up the stairs when I heard him talking. Let's not even pretend that I'm not an eavesdropper on an average day. If you're in my presence and you need to have a private conversation, tell me and I'll go away for a while. Otherwise, I'm listening, and I'm taking notes. "--absolutely beautiful. We showered together the other night and it was so hot. Seriously, it was some of the best sex I've ever had." I rock. This beautiful boy is on the phone with (please don't let it be his brother) someone, and he's talking about how beautiful I am and what amazing sex we've has and-- "Seriously I have the smallest cock here." Ummmm. "We all sleep in the same room. Four bunkbeds. No, no, it's really comfortable. Unfortunately, the cutest one is straight. I know, I know. Aren't they all? Anyway, I should probably go, we've got a shoot in the park in a few hours and I have to get ready. Love you, too. Bye" I am relatively sure I wasn't supposed to hear that conversation. I live alone. No bunkbeds, no other roommates and as previously mentioned my cock is not bigger than his. I begin to rationalize: he broke up with his boyfriend, and I'm the rebound guy and he's trying to make the ex jealous. No, it was his brother on the phone and he's trying to make him jealous. Or-- I get up and walk quietly back down the stairs where I loudly open, then close the door. "I'm home." "That was fast." "Yea, just did a little grocery shopping. Turned out I wasn't supposed to work today." "Cool." "So it's your first day here, did you want to do some sightseeing or anything?" "Sure. Want to fuck first?" I can't think of an occasion where I've turned down sex in favor of sightseeing. I hope that day never comes. So up the stairs we go. Clothes fly off like monkeys in Oz. I throw him playfully on the bed, get my face real close to his and almost say "so which one of us is hottest?" but being a true male, I don't want to give up a chance for sex, so I decide to fuck first, accuse later. The sex was amazing. There were a few times that I thought there really might be six of us in the room, and I just hadn't noticed. An extra arm would be kneading my back, I'd swear there'd be a tongue in my mouth, and on one of my nipples. I mean, we were bending each other into positions that the Kama Sutra knew about but didn't have the balls to write down. By the time we were finished it was too dark to sightsee. I was ok with that. The prism was flashing streetlight patterns over the wall. The moon was hovering above the skylight, and I swear it was saying "Damn!" All suspicions were forgotten. I don't think I would have been able to tell anyone what my name was by the time we were through. All I could remember was nibble, nibble, suck, lick, twist, thrust, thrust, wow. The questions would have to wait for another day. There is little in life as agonizing as the anticipation of knowing your mother is about to walk in on you having sex with a boy when she doesn't know you're gay. I suppose it could be worse. I could have been being gang banged by the football team when my dad walked in, but I've never had much of an affinity for jocks, and my Dad lived over an hour away. He also had a sense of personal space. Something my mother lacks to this day.
There is no way to make this look innocent. We're two guys in a bed who reek of long amazing sex (you can barely smell the "you're better than my brother" at this point), and Mr. NoAss's Gila Monster is still visible through the sheets. The tension is mounting on me, and I'm pretty sure it will hurt worse than Seith's cock when I hear the door open and-- It's not my door. It's the door to the spare bedroom. This is where the sobbing begins to waft under the doorway. I'd been so focused on my pulse moving north from cock to inner ear, that I hadn't noticed it. I threw on some baggy clothes and knocked on the door. "Mom?" "Insafemode, you're awake? Of course you're awake. It's only ten. Insafemode, I did it, I broke up with my boyfriend." Now my blood drains back down from my inner ear, into my feet, and escapes through my toes and on to the carpet. My Mom is breaking up with her boyfriend. My Mom, who owns my house is breaking up with her boyfriend with whom she's been living. My Mom is totally going to kill my fuck factor. Then my blood comes back with resounding force into my brain and kicks my ego's narcissistic ass. "Are you ok?" "Yea, Insafemode, I think--" her phone rings, it's her boyfriend. I do the wiggle-your-feet-while-your-mom-is-on-th e-phone-dance while she sobs, then steels, then says. "Oh--Why didn't you tell me that it--Ok--Well that changes everything. I'll be right over." I never did find out what the fight was about. "I'm so foolish sometimes." My mother said as she picked up her purse, and yanked her jacket off the floor. "I just get so emotiona--Insafemode who's in your bedroom?" I turn slowly. Each crisis has been thus far averted, so this must be the point where Seith and his serpent wave at her from my bad. But Seith is no longer in my bed. He's fully dressed and playing PlayStation. "Oh, Mom, this is Seith, he's a friend of mine. He'll probably be staying here for a while." "Well, lucky thing I won't be needing the spare bedroom then. Goodnight Insafemode. Goodnight Seith." "Night. Good to almost meet you." And my mother, The White Tornado, spun down the stairs and back over to her boyfriend's. The whole ordeal took about five minutes tops. "I figured if we had been playing video games it could have accounted for any noises she would have heard." "Good thinking. Certainly the 'Oh God, you're better than my brother' comment would have been in a better context." "Yea, sorry about that. Are you any good at Breath of Fire 3?" This is your new blog post. Click here and start typing, or drag in elements from the top bar. Three days after The Brian Incident, I woke up sick. I believed it was karma. All I wanted to do was puke. So I puked. Repeatedly.
After about an hour of my bulimia impersonation, I drove to the doctor's office where my mom used to work. The receptionist was as frigid as my Dad’s joke about her lack-of-sex-life had led me to believe. Her armchair diagnosis was appendicitis and she recommended driving to the hospital instead of “wasting the doctor’s time.” I made sure to puke on the bathroom floor before I left. I drove the five miles or so between the doctor’s office and the hospital with my head out the window, howling like Ludo from Labyrinth. It felt like there was a small raccoon trying to dig its way out of my stomach. "Kidney stones" said the hospital receptionist as she wheeled me into the ER. I harassed Passing Doctor #1 until he gave me an IV full of weak-ass pain reliever. I then became “the lost patient.” Despite the fact that my breathing was slightly louder and more annoying than Darth Vader’s, the doctors managed to misplace me in several small rooms until Passing Doctor #4 pumped my IV full of Demerol. I liked Doctor #4. The next thing I remember my mother is shaking me awake. She asks me where I've been for the last 24 hours. Beside my bed are a bottle of pills, a reminder that I have a urologist appointment, and a pee strainer. I have a hazy recollection of a hospital. Apparently the doctors of Malpractice Med allowed me to drive home when I was out of my mind on Demerol. A few minutes after my mother left, I went downstairs to check my messages. Seith called to remind me to pick him up at the airport. Seith…I didn’t recall… My brain clicked. Seith was Prittib0i, the guy I'd been talking to on AOL recently. I wondered how he got my phone number. Airport? I rushed upstairs and checked my computer. I always saved the really important IM/chatroom conversations as word files. Sure enough, I had invited Seith to come up and stay in Boston for a few days. Not only that, I had purchased a plane ticket for him with my credit card. Fuck. I arrived at The Airport about ten minutes after his flight did. As I wandered toward baggage claim, I saw him on a pay phone. We made small talk on the way out to the car. It’s hard for me to recall the details of our first few hours together, as all I could think was “whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck.” He was exhausted when I got home, so I let him set up shop in my room while I went to work. When I came home, he was sitting in my beanbag. Naked. Aroused. He was watching a Backstreet Boys video on MTV. Had the sound been off, I might have been able to understand what he was doing. As it was all I could think of was “thank God my mother didn’t drop in to see how I was doing.” Then something sank in. There was a hot, naked, aroused boy sitting in my beanbag, smiling at me. He stood up and asked if I needed a shower after my long day at work. I stammered a yes, and we headed upstairs. On the way up the stairs I noticed his one physical flaw. The boy had no ass. None. He was very slim, and had a back that was completely flat between shoulder blades and whatever you call the reverse side of kneecaps. It looked like he had been ironed. I undressed as he tried to figure out the shower. When he bent over, I could almost make out his butt cheeks. If I squinted real hard. When he turned around he took one look at my naked body and laughed. “Awww it’s so leeetle and kyoot.” I had never had my cock belittled before. I’ve got the lovely average thing going on. Nothing spectacular, but hardly a microphallus. He may have been nine inches long, but a boy without an ass should never criticize anyone else’s body. Only twice in my life have I ever showered with another guy. The second time was awful but mercifully short. The first time was with Seith, and it was long and wonderful. As long as I kept my hands away from the place where his ass should have been, I was in heaven. Our mouths fit together perfectly. We had each seen enough porn to know where all the erogenous zones were, and we made full use of them. After about a half an hour we turned the shower off and headed into what had once been my bedroom. I could now see it was our bedroom. All the furniture had been moved around, there was a Playstation hooked up to my TV, and my computer background was a naked picture of Seith. This made me point and laugh. “What?” “That picture!” He tilted his head to the side like a Velociraptor, “What about it?” “You look like a total skank.” In the picture, Seith was wearing a club boy shirt and Adidas sweat pants, which were pulled down to show off his huge cock. It was his facial expression that was hysterical. The sort of face you only see in cheap pornography and Abercrombie & Fitch ads. Maybe in Zoolander if you know when to look. He pushed me on the bed. “I thought you liked skank.” “Uhhhh-” and then his tongue was tickling the roof of my mouth. After another ten minutes of foreplay, he lay on his back and spread his legs. Looking back, I’m grateful he didn’t assume the doggystyle position. I can’t imagine maintaining my erection while looking for his ass. Condom on? Check. Proper application of lubrication? Check. And off we go. The first fifteen minutes were amazing. Perfect rhythm. Position changes. Everything was perfect until he said “Oh, God, you’re better than my brother.” Five years later a friend and I used to play a game where we tried to think of the most awful things to say to someone in bed. Not surprisingly “you’re better than my brother” was near the top of the list. I believe it was between “I thought you said this wasn’t your first time” and “excuse me.” Needless to say, I stopped, completely stunned. “Don’t stop.” “But--” “Don’t stop.” So I started up again, trying to push what he said out of my mind. After about twenty minutes, we were both spent. I propped myself on my elbow, meaning to ask him about the brother comment when he shushed me. That’s when I heard my mother coming up the stairs. |
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