Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
They took their clothes off (they had been dying Megan’s hair blue this time, and as Alex had set the bottle of dye on the white bathroom sink (leaving a ring the same size as all the other, that would never wash out, but instead sell with the house all those years later) after checking to see if enough time had passed so they could watch it out (this is a ritual that took place every time. No matter how much of an expert they had both become- just a step away from being professionals- he still checked the instructions again. Twenty minutes would pass, he would check the instructions, quote them before he actually read them, double check, and put the bottle down to hold Megan’s head under the sink, watching the colors swirl around his bony fingers and down the drain, before rubbing her head vigorously with a now tie-dyed towel.)) As they sat in Megan’s room. She had mentioned something about not wanting to be “sucky” for her real first time, and asked Alex to practice with her. He didn’t really want to, worried that she would… He didn’t want her to see him naked anyway; it was about to be the first time that a girl had seen it, and he wasn’t all that sure on how he would stack up against anyone else.
The boys at school would talk with bravado and faux baritone voices about their sizes; about future conquests that were sure to take place that weekend. They would throw around a porno, whatever one of the asshole jock kids could steal from their parents or the 7/11. Typically it was Hustler that would garner the most interest. Women masturbating, women spreading, women with other women, occasionally a man and a woman (Alex would find these sets, towards the back, when the magazine got tossed to him with a “Here, faggot! You’re supposed to look at pussy, not be a pussy.”.) He knew he wouldn’t match quite the magazine’s men’s size. But still, she almost begged (she barely asked. She normally laid out their plans, and why would today be any different? It’s just going to be once, and then I can say I’ve fucked a girl. Better than any of them can do!) so he folded. Both his argument (there was none) and his clothes, before sliding a dirty plate off of a speaker and placing them gingerly on top.
Megan was tearing off her clothes, throwing them haphazardly across the room into one of the piles of dirty laundry that dotted the landscape. She wanted to get it over with: the first time. It had occurred to her that fucking Alex might put a strain on their relationship, make it complicated, but she didn’t know why. Something her older sister had told her once. That friends can’t hook up without ruining things. But Megan didn’t think that would happen to them. She also thought it would be good for Alex to get with a woman. He was always the butt of the gay jokes at school, and I mean, if he is gay, well… I don’t know. But, I mean, he’s gonna fuck me right now, so he can’t be gay. Megan was down to her underwear, a pink pair of panties and the only non-sports bra she owned. It was a coincidence, but something felt serendipitous about it, although she would never be able to figure out what serendipitous meant, or how to pronounce it. She spent more time on her hair than her homework, and her mother did little in the way of active parenting. She mostly sat in front of the computer, images of lonely, ageing men (the endless stream made them faceless; she didn’t investigate into any further) on a free dating website passing before her eyes, as she polished off another glass of off-brand white wine. That being said, Megan had started smoking pot a year or two back (she didn’t really keep track, just spent more money, smoked more weed, and dyed her hair again) and her grades showed it. She wasn’t worried, though, as one day they would look up and see her name in light. They would buy her CDs, her posters, her t-shirts; they would pay to see her play the Metro or The Congress. She just needed to learn the guitar first.
Alex turned, glancing over his shoulder from the foot of the bed, and turned up the stereo, setting it to shuffle through the five discs. While Megan was within arm’s reach, she felt miles away, and what they were about to do seemed light years into the future. She was smiling at him, softly, with no teeth, reaching a hand behind her, fumbling, and letting her bra hang loose on her shoulders. He felt nervous to see her, knowing that it meant she would have to see him next, knowing that this was the first step, knowing that as soon as her bra was off he would have to do something instead of sit with his hands folded in his lap, trying to hide his dick.
She let it slide down her arms, shaking her shoulders slightly to help it along. She felt her nipples harden from the cold of the room. She looked down. She didn’t want to look at him yet and she didn’t want to look at him naked yet either. She just breathed. Fuck it. She leaned back, pushing herself up against the headboard, legs crossed under her, arms straight pushing her hands deep into the mattress. Alex looked. She was proud. She was stoic. Suddenly her eyes burst to life, she leaned forward and pulled Alex by the arm on top of her and started kissing him. It was hard and uncoordinated; he was trying to figure out what to do with her tongue as well as his own. She pushed his boxers to his knees, then used her toes to pull them the rest of the way off. He wondered if he was supposed to reciprocate. She seemed to hear his thoughts, and responded by biting his ear and nodding. She wasn’t sure why she bit him; she watched it in one of her dad’s videos. He used to keep them in an otherwise empty suitcase in his closet, and she would take them to her room when he wasn’t home (almost every night, until his suitcase was gone for good) and watch.
Alex pulled back from Megan and slid his hands down her white and soft with fat stomach. He came over to smoke weed and dye hair, but now here they were. He didn’t look as he pulled off the panties, instead catching the corner of something poking out from between the mattress and box spring. As she bent her legs at the knee and brought them up, he recognized the angular font of the “-ER” that poked out. It was the same font he saw in the locker room when he would be hit with the same magazine. He studied the corner of the magazine, trying to remember just how male focused any of the pictures were (there were a few. Not nearly enough to warrant owning a copy…)forgetting what he was supposed to be doing.
Megan pulled him down, back on top of her, and flinched at the touch of his penis on her skin. She tried rubbing back and forth against him, but it didn’t feel right; it didn’t feel like what she expected sex to be. It wasn’t bad, it didn’t hurt, but the last thing it did was feel good. He tried not to grimace as he felt her pubic hair tickle his crotch. He shivered. She felt it, and laughed, putting her face in the crook of his neck and snorting, trying to keep whatever moment they had. She didn’t try anything else from the videos or magazines, just kept rocking, and the music kept playing. She didn’t make any noise other than the every-so-often suppressed giggle. She wondered why he wasn’t hard. She thought about how he never said anything about that fucking name they call him. She thought about the Abercrombie catalogue he kept “to make fun of the douchey clothes.”
He thought about the magazine. He thought about how tough Megan was. He thought about how she didn’t chastise him for not trying to date anyone, or go to a dance, or play spin the bottle, or anything. He thought about their walks down the halls of the school; how she would slow down when passing a girl in a short skirt, and spend the next few minutes talking trash about the girl, how she was a slut, how she just wanted to show off, and how if the topic strayed she would bring it back, always looking off in the distance like she was staring at a photograph of a distant friend.
“I’ve been denied/ all the best/ ultra sex!” rang through the room. Alex stopped moving. Megan did too. They looked into each other’s eyes, said nothing, then got up and started the slow process of putting their clothes back on. “Do you want to smoke still?” Alex asked, buttoning his pants, and staring at the floor.
“Yeah, but can we take a walk first?” she replied.
“And, maybe, let’s not talk. Let’s just walk.” Megan was already walking out of the room, and Alex got up to follow as the last words of the song floated after them down the hallway-
“Faggot faggot faggot faggot!”