The blue of the room reminds me of a tyke like ocean, with children swimming with rifles and hound dogs. He’s kissing me fiercely, and the thought of what I witnessed just moments ago sends shivers down my spine. I thought my home life was dysfunctional, the abrupt shouts and profanity leaving this boy’s mouth directed towards the one woman that gave him life. Than again, if you think real precisely, who really asks to be here anyway? Maybe, he had the right to call her a ‘raging cunt’. Her slap was necessary if you ask me. I saw a glimpse of it before I turned to look a the oversized pup in the family room. The only thing I think he could ever really love, it sure as hell wasn't his mother, that’s for certain. Yet, I continue to let him kiss me all over, a bit of spit drips from his plump lips onto the corners of my face. I still continue to go with it. His hands navigate to other parts that aren’t exactly my face. I still do not protest. When he starts to tickle, I can’t help but release pent up energy and just sigh. All thoughts of defective families leave my thoughts for a moment and mild ecstasy is it‘s replacement. He cups my breast, and it still feels so strange, no matter how brief the action truly is or however many times I encounter it. I hardly notice my breasts unless a boy gives them acknowledgment. It’s an odd sensation of pleasure and absurdity. People just don’t give flat plains of flesh attention like that.
“Hit me Brandon! Are you gonna hit me?!” he restrains himself, his posture doesn’t fail to slouch, he keeps his arrogance high just like his stance. I finally retreat upstairs when I know fully that the confrontation is truly over. I sit on his bed, examining the black furniture and the oversized television propped up on the dresser awkwardly. His bed feels like a cloud, almost like how mine use to feel until my mother decided it novel to switch my mattress and give inherency of it to my little brother's bed instead. I sprawl out waiting, almost begging like a neon sign to be ravaged. Still a little nervous on account of the outplace domestic scene I just saw, the first impression his mother made on me, I try to shake it all from my brain. I like him, his face is smooth, something I wouldn’t mind melted within my very own flawed face. He finally comes upstairs, a smile on his own, all evidence erased from the awkward confrontation with his mother. “You’re so great.’ he tells me, entering all forms of casual pleasantry. I can’t help but ask, “Why is your family like this?” My purer thinking more honestly, why do you act like that to your mother? Even I have restrictions. He reverses bad guy role immediately “They always act like this, I’ve always had to be put in the middle, between Brad and Lisa, I’ve always been the fucking adult. Lisa is a whore, she’s out all the time, and if Brad isn’t getting pilled up, he’s hitting the bottle like a true fucking champ.” I roll around restlessly on his bed, and give him my greatest puppy dog look, eyes wide and lips slightly pursed. “I really like you,” were his last words to me before we entered this frenzy of fornication. Now I’m here, having him thrust himself in me, faking my pants and moans just accurately enough for an outsider to have believable thought that I’m actually getting off. He grunts a bit, not a man like grunt, just a boy getting off. I wish I had the same exact luxury. He kisses my neck, I can barely feel it, almost like he can barely feel whatever has kept his emotions hostage until now. Yet, I’m still content, more content than I would be alone. I like knowing that something is interacting with me, even if you look in the inner workings of the relationship and only see transparency and false statements that never really add up to make something real. I kiss him now, feeling completely at peace with all that’s brought me here, to this bedroom, in this situation. Once he’s finished, I find my way to his chest, he kisses my hair and I can almost feel some small hint of sincerity to it. I look up gently to kiss his chin. His bone structure is so refined and highlighted, he almost looks like a man at this angle. Not the boy just moments ago.
Lips completely delectable, I’m almost willing to do absolutely anything for him. But I don’t. I don’t work that way, from an outer perspective I suppose I come across as easy, but I have my own personal morals that give out a strange sort of acceptance that this is who I am. Giving a boy head just isn’t in the qualifications to reach this acceptance within.
“What should I call us, people have been asking, they’ve seen us together, and you know, I just don’t know what to say..” I turn to look him in the eye, somehow he’s magically retrieved his bowl from only God knows where, having a good smoke after our mediocre form of sex. So childish. I can’t let on that I’m currently seeing someone, not only could that risk the appeal I have over him, but I’m not sure I want to let go of Josh. Josh is a sweet kid, he helped me get over a lot of obstacles, or at least it felt like he did, even if he didn’t, the feeling sufficed. I don’t want to break his heart, I don’t want him to be like Brandon and I. Breaking hearts and eating the remains like an extra treat. How Brandon and I found each other in a mass pool of love sick fish is beyond me. It was kind of perfect actually, I’ve been dating Josh before and after I had my falling out with Cecilia. That was tragic, but I don’t really want to get into that right now. Josh stood by me, even dropped Cecilia as a friend, just to make me happy. I owe it to him, but the hold Brandon has on me, even if it’s temporary, I can’t help but give into it. I’m that immensely selfish. I have to have my cake and eat it to, if you catch my drift. Anyway, Josh nor Brandon can find out about one another. Though, somehow my brain believes that Brandon already knows, but sees this as a competition between him and one of the specially challenge, so he may not mind.
I think I deserve this. Really deserve this, ever since I entered the dating world, all that’s ever happened to me was sugar wrapped deceit and false imagery. This is me giving back to feminism and punishing the male race, even if it’s just a small speck of it. Or at least that’s what I like to tell myself to help scare away the creatures in the back of my skull, and have a good night’s sleep most often than not. I stutter at first, but I go out with this pre-sculpted speech, a mixture of things I use to believe in and things I still hold on to, formed in this perfectly packaged lie, “We’re something, of course we are, I just don’t think we should brand and stamp it just yet, it’s like mass destruction you know? Publicizing things, let’s not ruin it.” He smiles, as if I found the winning answer on his game show depicting his precise form of ‘love’. “I agree, Facebook and all that, it’s far too overrated, and besides why ruin a good thing? It’s just I only told a few people about us really, it’s interesting the way I feel about you. I don’t normally get this way.” The only trueadmitting in this room. How envious am I. Confident enough to speak out his feelings, his partly tender feelings for me, and still have such a strong and disposal reign over me. We start to kiss again, he stops for a minute to yell to his distraught mother downstairs. “Mom,” I don’t respect an immediate response from her, I mean, she just got called a raging cunt by her only son.
“Yes, Brandon?” her voice is soft and almost as fragile as glass. I feel so bad for this woman, her husband cheats on her as a religion, she’s enduring a separation from just that alone, and her spoiled son demands and insults her on what I presume to be a daily basis. He gets up leaves the room and stands near the banister, just this action alone shows how distant the two tuly are, “Could you order us a pizza?” Embarrassment washes all throughout me for him, a girl he brings over to his house for the first time, she witnesses him verbally abusing his mother, and then going back on it all and requesting his mother to purchase his date and himself pizza. No money of his own? Maybe, I’m the real twisted one, the one standing here, accepting all this backward, fucked up shit. I lay back down on the bed, deeply sigh, and roll over to stare at the boys with rifles and hound dogs. Brandon’s grandfather’s portraits. At least that's what Brandon told me. I find it strange that I'm having issues with trusting him now. Gabby told me to watch out, but I mean, she's fat and meaningless to this world, and previsouly wanted him for his self, on account of Brandon was friends with her ex boyfriend Gabe, she wanted to fuck Brandon to get Gabe jealous. A typical teenage girl act if you ask me.
Keeping the paintings though, that's sweet at least instead of dumping out his late grandfather’s hunting paintings, he displays them in his room for all to see. If you know Brandon at all, you know that camouflage and forest like settings don’t really match his scrawny, fashionable for a guy, exterior. He’s more of a contemporary person I imagine when it comes to decorating. Something resembling my taste in male form. So far our style aligns pretty well with one another. So, the thought of keeping this all up is sweet. Sweet. He’s sweet, sort of. That’s a redeeming factor in staying and engrossing myself in pizza and more kisses.
“Okay Brandon,” his mother calls up to us, I’m astonished. If Brandon had anything remotely like my mother, I wouldn’t even be here, let alone Brandon being fed this evening by delivery. Envy and a bit of sadness engulfs me. I suppose whatever Brandon’s parents did to him in the past allowed them to be his marionettes in the present and who knows, maybe even in the upcoming future. “I can’t believe that,” I say, he smirks just a little bit, if you weren’t always analyzing his face like me, you wouldn’t of caught on. “What can I say, she knows she was being a bitch when we got home. She should have just been happy we were alive.”
Earlier today Brandon and I had gotten into a fender bender going to his house from the school. It was actually somewhat humorous because the car that I guess behind us, the reason that caused this mild impact was my Government teacher Mrs. Hall. Mrs. Hall is this relatively young teacher I always admired in the way she conducted her class. At first I thought it had to of been our fault, I mean Brandon was demanding my affection while driving on the road. Something I’m never really into, but what can I say, I dig the dude’s lips. Though I guess what Brandon and the girls in front of us, the ones he had been flirting with while exchanging insurance information, agreed to pin Mrs. Hall. They conspired to say to the police that because of her supposed impact she had on both cars causing this petty domino effect ultimately was the teacher's fault. I still don’t believe it was Mrs. Hall’s doing, it had to of been Brandon’s, he wasn’t looking, he was stoned, and anyone who isn’t straight driving has to be more prone to accident. Right? I don’t drive, so I really wouldn’t know first hand, and I also don’t smoke as excessively as Brandon tends to do. Still, Brandon had to of stopped too abruptly resulting into Mrs. Hall bumping into him, therefore him bumping into the airheads in front of us. Yet, I was starting to realize real quickly that Brandon seemed to get away with anything. Poor Mrs. Hall.
When he returned back to his Subaru, I turned my head away from the window I was peeping through watching Brandon conspire and flirt with the girls from our school.“Hey, can you believe that dumb bitch?” he says, and then leans for a kiss, maybe trying to promote our newly developed relationship to our peers less than ten feet away. I was hesitant, mainly because I didn’t want this all to get back to Josh. These girls, whom looked to be Sara, Jessica and Lily, I knew for a fact were the gossipy types. I quickly pecked him.
“How long is this going to take? I’ve never been in an accident before.” it was true, I never had been, and I was kind of shaky, the quick bump was short, but it still startled me when we hit the back of the girls’ car. Long story short, the cops came, took information, poor Mrs. Hall tried to defend her case where Brandon was found stopping during traffic, but as far as Brandon's worries went with the help of Brad and his money and the alliance with the girls, he was good as gold. I was amazed, Brandon was so shy when I met him in study hall, I thought for sure I’d be the cunning and outgoing one out of the two. Maybe, even the more spoiled one. Now, I felt like the shut in, observing his life, and watching him manipulate and convince every single person around him to do his bidding. Lucky for myself, he only wanted physical compensation from me. At least that’s what it felt like. It was kind of cool being apart of Brandon’s kingdom, he treating me as his only equal around these parts. Once we got home, Lisa was livid.
Brandon wasn’t having her domineering tone, and then off came the gloves. The slap, and I retreating awkwardly to Brandon's bedroom. “Yeah, I guess she was being a bitch.” Did I just say that?! Lisa, the poor mom whom has an only child that despises and belittles her in front of strangers, a husband whom cheats, and his only redeeming quality is he has money to allow her to live overly comfortable, but items can only get you so far humanity-wise. I’m young, but so far they’ve done a number on me. Brandon smiles “I think the pizza is here.“ and then gives me a quick peck on the cheek, he hands me his colorfully hued bowl, expecting me to toke up before we indulge in pizza. Don’t mind if I do.
Brandon wasn’t lying, this pizza was delectable. He mentioned he use to work at the joint. Joint. I had to stifle my giggles with more pizza. Anyway, he use to work there, but than again Brandon has worked at places like Game Stop to anywhere else. I asked him one day why he worked. I mean clearly, it wasn’t because he had to or that Lisa was on his back gripping about it. He said that he did it so he’d meet people. For someone whom hates every single breathing being in our school, that seemed like a Miss America kind of answer to have reason to be employed. I’d been working at the local McDonald’s for almost six months and I had come pretty close to throwing my visor, and sweaty, dreadfully red uniform off and liberating myself by just leaving the place flat out naked. That’s how much conformed whatever you call it, employment, really gets me down. Though, I didn’t question the topic further, the pizza totally fixating all wants, all nourishment, it seemed like all you’d ever really need in life is pizza, kissing, and Pepsi. I love pot, it always does this to me, makes me feel like I only need to have the main things to living, the things people complicate with emotions and financial stability. If we all just went back to our roots, grew stuff from the ground, threw away all our petty electronics and just smoked. I think the world would be brighter place, no? This would be my second time smoking with Brandon. In fact, this was my second day at his house all together. Lisa wasn’t home the first time I was here. He’s taken me to restaurants and the mall before this, though he hates the mall. He told me he had invited other girls from our high school before, always making up excuses on why they couldn’t chill any longer than that one specific day he had them over, he said he got sick of them. Me having a second invitation to his household, what have you, was pretty rare for him. God, his weed is so chronic, radical even. Though that word hardly defines my century, or whatever decade I’m in. Things just don’t seem to be clear in my head right now. I love it. The blurs, the constant feel of Brandon’s lips pressed against mine.
Magic, that’s exactly how it feels, it feels as if the Pot Fairy completely astounded me, cast this spell over me to make myself feel so at piece with my mistakes, my regrets, my inabilities. Brandon leans over on the bed, begging, practically pleading with me for another kiss, I can’t stop eating though. It’s sort of primitive how much I depend on this pizza, as if I never had pizza at all. Pizza was Cecelia’s favorite food. Every time I was at her house, we’d always binge on the stuff. Then try to starve ourselves the next day. Though, whenever I’m high, it doesn’t matter what sort of food or drink I’m consuming, I totally engulf myself in it, even edible products I don’t like when I’m sober. That’s the beauty of pot, you’re grateful for what you have, and you run with it. Not being prone to be some picky eater bitch. This pizza though, sober or no, I’d have to try it again sometime. Brandon sneakily removes the box, the food, all out from my grasp, and pushes me down and covers me in well him, grinding himself into me. I’m so happy, I could laugh. In fact I do, ‘Take off your pants,’ I say, then climb down from the fortress that is his bed. I start rolling on the floor laughing hysterically, not truly sure why. The carpet feels as if it’s grown fingers and is tickling me repeatedly. Brandon abides and is now lazily laying on the bed pant-less when his phone rings. “Hey, what’s up man?” I start to smell all of Brandon’s dirty clothes like a real creep on the floor, I want to go in his walk in closet. His closet contains old photos of him, old childlike items. This cute little poem he wrote in elementary about some sort of magical place I wouldn’t mind eloping to myself. It also holds his three foot bong, but that’s beside the point. “Yeah, I’m sitting in my room without pants, because SOMEBODY told me if I took my pants off she’d do the same.” I start to laugh so loud people in Australia might of heard me. I may of said that, in fact I can’t remember what I even said to Brandon last. I start to hunt for the pizza again, the soda even, my munchies are hitting me hardcore this time. All this rolling around and laughing has got me famished.
“You promised, I don’t like it when people break promises c’mon..” he says to me, I just peck him sweetly on the nose. For some reason abstinence has a strange hold on me when I’m stoned. Or always really, it’s just easier to give in when you’re already making out with a person, why open that door again? The teenage body is such a trick, it fools you into doing things you’re not so passionate to want to do. I hate that Lisa is downstairs probably watching Lifetime or something, wondering where her storybook fairytale went wrong in life. Her son. Her husband. All so tragic really. If she wasn’t on the couch sniffling, I could run through the house escaping Brandon’s immediate wants, longing even to have sex with me.
This makes me sad, it starts to put an overcast on my own reflection, my own betrayals and thoughts. I wonder what Josh is doing, if he’d still have me, if he knew I officially cheated. I remember talking to him on the phone, our nightly routine, he said that if I even kissed another guy he’d be through with me. At this point, though brief, Brandon and I did more than just kiss. Now he wants to do it again, and I don’t want to. Mainly for two reasons and two reasons alone. 1.) I don’t want him to get sick of me, they always get sick of me once they’ve fucked me one, to too many times. And 2.) I always seem to get attached after the third or fourth fucking, I get use to the fact that he may always and forever have my body, and maybe someday, he’ll have my soul. Childish, but every time I get intimate with someone these ideas don’t seem to leave me. No mater how much premarital sex I indulge in. Yet, I never felt this way with Josh. I always knew, and maybe I liked the control of this fact, that he was willing, unlike the others, to stay with me ‘forever’. Maybe, that’s why it was so simple to cheat. He’s away now, he graduated midterm, Brandon and I are not one of those lucky seniors to escape by using that route. Brandon having an overdose in school sophomore year resulting in an immediate suspension, one to last a full year, and I lacking all that ambitious genetics that got passed down to my younger sister. Josh lives with his dad out of town now, I guess it’s a tradition for his mom to kick out her sons when they graduate high school. At least that’s what Josh told me, he said that she did the same thing to his older brother. I found it stupid and overzealous, mainly because Josh worked with me at McDonald’s, I hated that fact, but at least he was making an income to someday take me out. Now, he’d have to start over, without a plan, his only weapon a high school diploma, which in this generation means shit, even college diplomas are lacking their once had spark in the working world, everyone has one now. Nothing is good enough anymore, maybe that’s why I don’t seem to try academically, or ever really. I don’t know.
But, the pressing question of the hour is this, to fuck Brandon now, or later?
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
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