Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > A Crossing of Man and the Gods
Warning. Talking about sex. Sexual language. No actual sex, just the language.
Chapter 2: This Ain't a Party
I pulled up into the parking lot, and parked in the row closest to the entrance. I let out a sigh and rested my head on the steering wheel. Fuck. I let some asshole talk me into going to a club. A club! Filled with drugs and alcohol and other shit I hate. STD ravaged rats, drunkard shit-heads, and meth addict crackheads. There is a reason I dislike people, especially people in this town. I hate being surrounded by all this shit, and I'm jumping head first to the spawning point of it all.
I shook my head, and stepped out of my car, grabbing my street clothes. I shut my door and then proceeded to lock my car. The building had about 30 apartments, one of those thirty being occupied by me. It was in good condition in comparison to the other apartment complexes around this area. The exterior was worn brick, and in the dark only a couple lights illuminated the side of the building. The interior had a rather corny 70’s floral wallpaper. The floor was a faded faux-walnut. Plastic wood is always the way to go.
It’s not decrepit, and that’s absolutely amazing. It’s well kept, with no leaky anythings or creaky floorboards. My closet door squeaks, but it just needs a little DW-40, and it’s not like I’m in my closet enough for it to really be some huge issue –to me at least. However, I digress; this apartment is kept in amazing repair in comparison to the other places in this town, and I’m happy I live here.
I muddled to the entrance, and jammed my key in the door. Left, right, click. I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and was greeted by a nice blast of cool air that sent a small chill up my spine. It was still humid and mucky out, and the air conditioning in here was a refreshing change of pace. I liked the goose bumps that trickled down my arm, it was a pleasant reminder that I’m not at work anymore. I shook my keys around trying to find the key to my mail box, and the jingling had apparently disturbed my only grouchy neighbor who just so happened to be filing a complaint at the complaint box, across from the mail boxes. His name is Bob, and he’s has to be –singlehandedly, the most crotchety 28-year-old I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.
“Do you mind?” He asked, though it was more of a condescending enjoinment.
“Yes, yes I do mind. I mind your tone, and I mind your attitude. These are keys, and when they run into each other, they make noise. As do many other things.” I said calmly, rattling the keys around for emphasis.
His brows furrowed into an agitated ‘v’. I knew that look all too well. This is the very look I gave Andrew earlier today when I wasn’t about to admit I was the asshole, and I should’ve been sorry. That look was enough of an apology for me. He turned his head away from me, and then proceeded to give me a miniscule glare out of the corner of his eye. He shook his head, and then let out an airy scoff.
“Just,” He paused for a moment. “Don’t make so much noise.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, letting out a tiny laugh, while finally stumbling upon the right key.
I opened the box to find nothing inside. I shrugged and turned to my immediate right, walking up the first flight of stairs. There were three flights of steps, seeing as there were ten apartments on each floor. I lived in room 22B. The letters A, B, and C signified what floors the rooms were on for those that could not group tens. Bob lived in 12A, so everything I did, he heard. Then again, he’s also one of those people that hears anything at all and blames it on whichever neighbor he believes has earned being the recipient of his foul attitude. Now, I can’t exactly say my attitude is better, but I at least remain civil and do not have the complaint box filled to the brim with complete stupidity.
I reached the top of the steps, followed the curved bannister and rotating 180 degrees on the first floor, walked to the end of the hall and proceeded up the next flight of steps. I mosey into my room after unlocking the door, and throw my work clothes on the worn turquoise futon that sat behind a poor excuse for a coffee table. I’m living comfortably here, but I’m certainly not living in the lap of luxury.
I opened the door to my closet slowly, because if I didn't it would make a really loud creaking sound, and then stop with a thud on the door stop. I don’t think I need any more Bob today. I don’t think Bob needs anymore me today. He’s actually the only one of my neighbors that is really hard to deal with. The rest are mellow, calm, and generally nice. I believe I live with the pot smokers of the town. I've always been offered pot, but I've never tried. Not because I've got a problem, but because it's illegal. Until it's lawful, I won't touch it. I don't know if I'll want it after it's legal, I've heard it smells bad.
I started to search through my nicer clothes, and I found a nice gray shirt, with long sleeves and maroon stripes across the chest. I threw off my clothes, and stood there in my underwear for a long minute. I placed my hands on my stomach and lightly trailed a path to my waist, trying to establish what someone who decided to touch me would feel. My skin was smooth, but I lacked in rock hard abs. I repeated this motion, up and down a few times, and started to believe I do not have hips, because there is no way to tell. I sighed as I looked down at my body to see something I am extremely unimpressed with.
I'm not muscular, or even toned. I feel chubby. These briefs would do anyone but me justice. The material was black, and the elastic was grey. Black is fairly flattering on most people. I just look gross and slobbish. It's been a really long time since I've looked at myself and thought I was horrifying when I was this close to being naked. Pasty white and chubby with stupid tattoos, faggy piercings, and a weird face. I wandered to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. I pulled at my cheeks. Out, down, up. Still lacking in -at the very least, a hot face.
"Ugh." I groaned, poking my gut. Maybe it could be worse. Probably not.
God, I'm fucking hideous. Who would want an ugly virgin like me? Why am I going to a club, when I'll only embarrass myself? Granted there is a gay guy I'm attracted to in that entire building. I might just be going there to get laughed at by girls, and pushed around by guys. Just like my entire school career. I’ll sit by myself for a couple hours and watch people have fun socializing, because no one is going to want to talk to me, and god knows I don’t want to talk to them.
Or maybe I do? Why can’t I admit it to myself, or anyone else? I want to socialize so badly. I want to find people to talk to and to joke with and to share interests with. It’s possible I just don’t want to associate with the type of people I know, because we don’t share anything. Life experiences, wants, passions, views, senses of humor, and interests never sync up between people and I. I know people that like pizza like I do, but that’s the only thing we have in common. That seems to be how it always works out.
It dawned on me I should probably shower before I get changed. I don't want to look like a mess and smell offensive. I pulled the black and grey briefs off, and I was embarrassed because of being so exposed; and there wasn't even anyone around. I couldn't bear to look at my solid 2/10 body in the mirror any longer. I draped my towel over the mirror, and tried to keep my eyes fixed on the shower curtain, knowing if I looked down I’d be faced with the reality that my clothing hides. I am a monster, and as much as I hate feeling this way about myself, I can’t.
Have you ever wanted to trade bodies with anyone -anyone at all, just to get out of your own skin? If you haven't, savor every glance at something reflective. Tell yourself you're beautiful, because you are. Tell yourself you're great, because you are. Someone would kill to look at themselves like you do yourself. I guess I'm only this ugly because I feel ugly, if that makes any sense.
I turned the shower water on to the highest heat setting, and waited for it to start to melt the shower floor. I ran my hand under the water when I saw steam. Though it wasn’t anywhere near hot enough, I decided to get in anyway. There was a somewhat calming effect to the water beating on my back. It felt safe in here, all by myself. The warm droplets reminded me of being embraced by someone. It was like they had their arms around me and weren’t about to let go.
I examined my shower products. I had a lot of shampoo and body wash. I have typical guy stuff, but I also have fruity stuff. Would that be typical gay stuff? Stereotypes don’t matter, it just sounds like something your average masculine heterosexual wouldn't do. Maybe in however many years it takes for this gender box stuff to disappear, it’ll be normal. All I know is fruit smells nice, and they don’t make strawberry anything for men.
I was presented by a dilemma because of it. Should I use the ‘for men’ stuff, or should I use my fruity things. What if the few gay guys there were only attracted to guys that smelled like mannish stuff, not fruit? Why is this a problem?
I decided to go with the masculine stuff. If anything, by the time I come home, I'll want to wash tonight off my freshly tainted skin. This would be the first time I've ever been shoved into hundreds of horny sweating drunk adults. So far, the most crowded room I've been in is the locker room at school, so the only difference if the alcohol. For the most part.
It might not be too bad, maybe. I might make a friend, but it would surprise me if they weren't on drugs. I'm not sure I want a friend that's on drugs, but maybe they need a friend as much as I do. Or maybe I'm so lonely I'm lowering my standards.
This may be a lot of things.
I scrubbed myself vigorously, trying to scare off any pheromones that may indicate nervousness or being unsure. If I smell like a man, I ought to act like one. I moved away from the water, and continued scrubbing until my skin went red. I examined my sleeve, and that was about the only thing I liked about my body. I liked the colors and patterns that I got to carry around with me forever.
---
I pulled into the place I assumed Andrew had talking about; this was the only club that was two miles west from work. I think he said its name was X2C. How clever. I looked around for a sign or any indication that this was in fact the place I'm looking for. I turned my head left, nothing over there. My head snapped right, and there we go, there is the line of assholes.
I emerged from my protective metal cocoon, and took a deep breath. I grasped my back pocket to check for my wallet. I let out a sigh of relief when I felt the lump, at least I have it. Now for the hard part. Do I make a convincing 21? I hope so, or Andrew and I are fucked. Mostly me, but Andrew might get some shit too. I peered around the sea of sequin dresses and spiked hair, trying to find my friend. He said he'd stay by the doorway, and I can't tell whether or not he's actually here. It doesn't pay to be as tall as a middle school kid, I've found.
"Andrew?" I squeaked quietly. I got the attention of some passersby with my chirp, but the other member of my party was apparently nowhere close.
I began to move from my car to the front entrance, and then I heard the most wonderful thing. Someone with a familiar voice was calling my name. I spun around to face the voice quickly and saw Andrew. I can honestly say this is the happiest I’ve been to see his mostly stupid face.
“Just on time, man.” Andrew nodded, and held his hand out like we were supposed to do that half hand shake and shoulder bump thing. I examined his hand and arm, and then returned his gaze.
“No.” I said quietly, shaking my head. “No, we’re not doing that.”
“Whatever, just be cool when we get up to the front.” He said and paused. “You do have the thing, right?”
I nodded in response, and he began walking to the entrance. I followed like a lost puppy and had to push through a couple people on the way. I heard my shoes dragging across the asphalt. My heart dropped as we neared the door.
Thirty minutes had passed before we got to the door. Andrew showed his ID, the bouncer glanced quickly and nodded. I mimicked Andrew, and the bouncer examined mine a little more closely. He grunted slightly and nodded.
Walking into this place was like walking into an ocean of filthy rats. It felt like these people would suck me into their grasp and make me one of them. The air was thick and it seemed as if my lungs refused to accept the heavy gas. It smelled of booze, cigarettes, Axe, and Victoria's Secret perfume. There was absolutely nothing I liked about this, nothing. The lights were too bright and added to the unbearable temperature in this room. I felt my forehead, and noticed a little sweat. Good God, I haven't even been in here for 15 minutes.
This place had that stupid collector/sports bar theme. Miscellaneous music, movie, pop culture, indie and football items crowded the walls. John Wayne, Whitney Houston, football jerseys, hipster memorabilia. Everything.
I noticed there were bars in every corner of this dwelling. No wonder, if this is even a slight hint as to what traffic they get on the weekends, they need it. Three were crowded, and then the furthest away from me was fairly empty, and had a couple places to sit. I noticed an interesting mural behind the shelves of alcohol. The mural only made that bar look more appealing, because this was the only wall decoration that didn't want to make me vomit. This was actually something that deserves to be seen.
I walked slowly up to the bar, taking my surroundings in as I went. I want a Cherry Coke, and I want to look at the neat design they've got as a mural. The lights were neon and bright in my eyes. I caught glimpses of pink, blue, yellow, and green before I was certain this place would rob me of my vision.
After pushing through women and men that were trying to grind on me, either mistaking my sex, or mistaking my intentions. I parked myself on one of the cushy leather seats with a slight flop. They've got bars in every corner of this place, and this one had the least people around it. I mean that's a little obvious since I found a place to sit.
"Can I get a cherry Coke?" I asked the bartender as she was cleaning off her work area.
"Sure." She nodded absentmindedly and let the rag go.
I stared at the mural and smiled a little. It's really nice, it's got neat colors and its style is completely unique. It had a crowd dancing around under brightly colored lights. Upon further examination, these people didn’t seem like normal people. I squinted at the painting and noticed they’re all pale, and a few of them have fangs. I think I get it, though. Out of all the types of living dead in monster culture, vampirism is probably the most romantic. Would you rather be drug off by a horde of living dead that wanted to rip into your flesh, or carried away by a single soulless body that made you feel loved and safe, and that would probably ensure you could not feel your death. Or your possible reanimation.
"Who painted this?" I asked the bartender suddenly, my head tilting to the side with my eyes still locked on the gorgeous art.
"Some introverted artist guy. I think the owner said he talked to the guy once, just to talk about what he wanted on the canvas. His name was like Gerald Road or something equally as stupid." She said, placing the plastic cup under the soda dispenser. I grimaced a little at the fact she said his name was stupid. She probably only thought he was stupid because she deemed him an introvert.
"Well I think it's nice." I said as she passed me my drink.
“Six dollars.” She said, holding out her hand.
I nodded with most of my focus still on the painting as I handed her the ten from my wallet. Waiting a few minutes, I got my four dollars in change and resumed wondering about the painting. To be honest, I mostly wondered about the artist. What does he look like? Is he really an introvert? What other things has he done with his artistic ability?
About an hour had passed of me contemplating who this guy was and what he did before I was broke out of my musing by the sound of my name. I sighed slightly and pushed my empty Coke glass to the side. Turning around on the swivel chair, I went to face Andrew. He emerged from a crowd of women with a tall, muscular curly haired man behind him.
“Frank! Thank god I found you. This is Ray. He’s gay, 21, and he likes stupid bands too.” Andrew spoke loudly. I exhaled intensely, and looked at Andrew with my lips pursed slightly. “Take him home.” He said after the brief silence and pushed this Ray character over to me. I couldn’t exactly say I was attracted to him, but he was attractive for the most part.
I had driven to my house with Ray following me. So I guess this means I've got less chances to fuck this up. Maybe if I sleep with him, I'll get into a relationship and I won't be so lonely. I guess I could give it a try.
I've always wanted my first time to be special, but what's the point in romanticizing something that's just an urge. A really intense, animalistic urge that you can only make appear to be romantic.
Is this me giving up all hope?
I sure hope not. I just want to have a bond with someone. Who says this isn't the best way to go about it? Okay, this probably isn't the best way to go about it, but every other option isn't an option for me. This boat was half fucked before it even hit the water, and now we're sailing on false hopes and heads filled with fantasy.
I pulled into my regular parking space, and Ray wasn't far behind. I tried my hardest to not let my anxious and awkward feelings to get the best of me. I acted calm and collected as he approached me and placed his hand on my lower back, guiding me to the entrance he knew we were headed for. I felt a slight chill dash up my spine.
God I'm nervous. I don't even know his last name.
---
"Frank," Ray started with a slight groan. "I need to go."
"I am really, really sorry." I apologized for about the millionth time.
"It's okay, I understand." He returned flatly, grabbing his jacket.
It was three o'clock in the morning, and he had been here for a while trying to console me; the poor guy. I did give him head before I started to cry and say I'll never find anyone. So at least he got that much.
There was an extremely hot make out session, followed by some almost awkward grinding, proceeded by a couple "You're so good, you've got me hard already babe" moans, and then I got my face fucked.
I knew I wouldn't be able to last actual sex without an extreme mental breakdown followed by more crying and whining than he got tonight. Apparently for an emotionally handicapped virgin, I am rather good at giving head.
Why am I proud of that?
It's probably because it means I'm attractive, right? I mean I turned him on, and I made him cum, so that must mean I'm not as ugly as I thought. Or it just means he was thinking of someone else as I did it, which is mostly insulting, but I’d understand why.
Either way, that doesn't really matter. Right now Ray was leaving and I couldn't say sorry enough to truly convey how sorry I am.
"Ray, I really didn't mean to do all that, I'm sorry." I called as he headed for the door.
"I'll call you in a while, okay? I do kind of like you, I just can't deal with all that," He paused, rubbing his eyes slightly as he looked up from the floor at me. "Right now. I can’t deal with that right now."
Thank god he specified, I'd hate to think I did all hat just for him to walk out.
To be honest, I still hurt. I still don't really like being me. This solved my loneliness for the hour and a half before I lost my shit, but now it's back. The gut wrenching hurt that I wish would just turn off. At this point, I’m fairly suicide is the only way to find the end to this void, but I don't want that for me.
Is this what it feels like to be used? I don't like this. I feel like my entire being is disposable. I'm just some cardboard someone used to pack things for moving, and then threw out. I wasn't that important to begin with. Do I deserve this? I probably am unwanted, and deserve to be discarded. Curling up into a ball on my bedroom floor, I listened to my front door shut quietly. Immediately following the click, a new flood of tears made their way out of my eyes. They burned my cheeks as they fell to the floor. I kept wiping my face; I couldn't bare to look at my own tears. I know I didn't deserves to cry, or feel bad at all. If I didn't bring all this upon myself, I should've seen this coming.
I cried until my lungs felt like they were about to collapse. I found strange comfort in the struggle to breathe, and the pressure on my ribs.
A/N:
I fucked up the end pretty hard. My brain just kinda shat that out and let it the way it was, and I'm truly sorry. I tried revising, but my everything was screaming “THIS IS OKAY, STICK WITH THIS.” Either way, I apologize sincerely for my shit ending.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~Spoiler~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~Spoiler~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~Friend, this is a SPOILER.~~~~~~
Gerard physically comes in next chapter. He's not half mentioned in a stupid way, I promise. He is legitimately there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~Spoiler is over~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~Spoiler is gone!~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~The rest of the author's note is coming, you better run~~~~~~~
Please leave some feedback. Please. I genuinely appreciate even you bashing your face against your keyboard and pressing enter. 4Reelz. So please, review, comment, like favorite, download, whatever your options are, do it. If you don't enjoy it tell me I'm a pitiful excuse for a human and I should go deepthroat a cactus or something, whatever floats your boat friend.
Next update is coming whenever I get finished writing it. School hasn't been too bad lately, and I'm shoving out words like I'm a typewriter, or something of equal lettery goodness. Keyboard, maybe.
Thanks for paying attention to my horrible bullshit. I love you.
Chapter 2: This Ain't a Party
I pulled up into the parking lot, and parked in the row closest to the entrance. I let out a sigh and rested my head on the steering wheel. Fuck. I let some asshole talk me into going to a club. A club! Filled with drugs and alcohol and other shit I hate. STD ravaged rats, drunkard shit-heads, and meth addict crackheads. There is a reason I dislike people, especially people in this town. I hate being surrounded by all this shit, and I'm jumping head first to the spawning point of it all.
I shook my head, and stepped out of my car, grabbing my street clothes. I shut my door and then proceeded to lock my car. The building had about 30 apartments, one of those thirty being occupied by me. It was in good condition in comparison to the other apartment complexes around this area. The exterior was worn brick, and in the dark only a couple lights illuminated the side of the building. The interior had a rather corny 70’s floral wallpaper. The floor was a faded faux-walnut. Plastic wood is always the way to go.
It’s not decrepit, and that’s absolutely amazing. It’s well kept, with no leaky anythings or creaky floorboards. My closet door squeaks, but it just needs a little DW-40, and it’s not like I’m in my closet enough for it to really be some huge issue –to me at least. However, I digress; this apartment is kept in amazing repair in comparison to the other places in this town, and I’m happy I live here.
I muddled to the entrance, and jammed my key in the door. Left, right, click. I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and was greeted by a nice blast of cool air that sent a small chill up my spine. It was still humid and mucky out, and the air conditioning in here was a refreshing change of pace. I liked the goose bumps that trickled down my arm, it was a pleasant reminder that I’m not at work anymore. I shook my keys around trying to find the key to my mail box, and the jingling had apparently disturbed my only grouchy neighbor who just so happened to be filing a complaint at the complaint box, across from the mail boxes. His name is Bob, and he’s has to be –singlehandedly, the most crotchety 28-year-old I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.
“Do you mind?” He asked, though it was more of a condescending enjoinment.
“Yes, yes I do mind. I mind your tone, and I mind your attitude. These are keys, and when they run into each other, they make noise. As do many other things.” I said calmly, rattling the keys around for emphasis.
His brows furrowed into an agitated ‘v’. I knew that look all too well. This is the very look I gave Andrew earlier today when I wasn’t about to admit I was the asshole, and I should’ve been sorry. That look was enough of an apology for me. He turned his head away from me, and then proceeded to give me a miniscule glare out of the corner of his eye. He shook his head, and then let out an airy scoff.
“Just,” He paused for a moment. “Don’t make so much noise.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, letting out a tiny laugh, while finally stumbling upon the right key.
I opened the box to find nothing inside. I shrugged and turned to my immediate right, walking up the first flight of stairs. There were three flights of steps, seeing as there were ten apartments on each floor. I lived in room 22B. The letters A, B, and C signified what floors the rooms were on for those that could not group tens. Bob lived in 12A, so everything I did, he heard. Then again, he’s also one of those people that hears anything at all and blames it on whichever neighbor he believes has earned being the recipient of his foul attitude. Now, I can’t exactly say my attitude is better, but I at least remain civil and do not have the complaint box filled to the brim with complete stupidity.
I reached the top of the steps, followed the curved bannister and rotating 180 degrees on the first floor, walked to the end of the hall and proceeded up the next flight of steps. I mosey into my room after unlocking the door, and throw my work clothes on the worn turquoise futon that sat behind a poor excuse for a coffee table. I’m living comfortably here, but I’m certainly not living in the lap of luxury.
I opened the door to my closet slowly, because if I didn't it would make a really loud creaking sound, and then stop with a thud on the door stop. I don’t think I need any more Bob today. I don’t think Bob needs anymore me today. He’s actually the only one of my neighbors that is really hard to deal with. The rest are mellow, calm, and generally nice. I believe I live with the pot smokers of the town. I've always been offered pot, but I've never tried. Not because I've got a problem, but because it's illegal. Until it's lawful, I won't touch it. I don't know if I'll want it after it's legal, I've heard it smells bad.
I started to search through my nicer clothes, and I found a nice gray shirt, with long sleeves and maroon stripes across the chest. I threw off my clothes, and stood there in my underwear for a long minute. I placed my hands on my stomach and lightly trailed a path to my waist, trying to establish what someone who decided to touch me would feel. My skin was smooth, but I lacked in rock hard abs. I repeated this motion, up and down a few times, and started to believe I do not have hips, because there is no way to tell. I sighed as I looked down at my body to see something I am extremely unimpressed with.
I'm not muscular, or even toned. I feel chubby. These briefs would do anyone but me justice. The material was black, and the elastic was grey. Black is fairly flattering on most people. I just look gross and slobbish. It's been a really long time since I've looked at myself and thought I was horrifying when I was this close to being naked. Pasty white and chubby with stupid tattoos, faggy piercings, and a weird face. I wandered to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. I pulled at my cheeks. Out, down, up. Still lacking in -at the very least, a hot face.
"Ugh." I groaned, poking my gut. Maybe it could be worse. Probably not.
God, I'm fucking hideous. Who would want an ugly virgin like me? Why am I going to a club, when I'll only embarrass myself? Granted there is a gay guy I'm attracted to in that entire building. I might just be going there to get laughed at by girls, and pushed around by guys. Just like my entire school career. I’ll sit by myself for a couple hours and watch people have fun socializing, because no one is going to want to talk to me, and god knows I don’t want to talk to them.
Or maybe I do? Why can’t I admit it to myself, or anyone else? I want to socialize so badly. I want to find people to talk to and to joke with and to share interests with. It’s possible I just don’t want to associate with the type of people I know, because we don’t share anything. Life experiences, wants, passions, views, senses of humor, and interests never sync up between people and I. I know people that like pizza like I do, but that’s the only thing we have in common. That seems to be how it always works out.
It dawned on me I should probably shower before I get changed. I don't want to look like a mess and smell offensive. I pulled the black and grey briefs off, and I was embarrassed because of being so exposed; and there wasn't even anyone around. I couldn't bear to look at my solid 2/10 body in the mirror any longer. I draped my towel over the mirror, and tried to keep my eyes fixed on the shower curtain, knowing if I looked down I’d be faced with the reality that my clothing hides. I am a monster, and as much as I hate feeling this way about myself, I can’t.
Have you ever wanted to trade bodies with anyone -anyone at all, just to get out of your own skin? If you haven't, savor every glance at something reflective. Tell yourself you're beautiful, because you are. Tell yourself you're great, because you are. Someone would kill to look at themselves like you do yourself. I guess I'm only this ugly because I feel ugly, if that makes any sense.
I turned the shower water on to the highest heat setting, and waited for it to start to melt the shower floor. I ran my hand under the water when I saw steam. Though it wasn’t anywhere near hot enough, I decided to get in anyway. There was a somewhat calming effect to the water beating on my back. It felt safe in here, all by myself. The warm droplets reminded me of being embraced by someone. It was like they had their arms around me and weren’t about to let go.
I examined my shower products. I had a lot of shampoo and body wash. I have typical guy stuff, but I also have fruity stuff. Would that be typical gay stuff? Stereotypes don’t matter, it just sounds like something your average masculine heterosexual wouldn't do. Maybe in however many years it takes for this gender box stuff to disappear, it’ll be normal. All I know is fruit smells nice, and they don’t make strawberry anything for men.
I was presented by a dilemma because of it. Should I use the ‘for men’ stuff, or should I use my fruity things. What if the few gay guys there were only attracted to guys that smelled like mannish stuff, not fruit? Why is this a problem?
I decided to go with the masculine stuff. If anything, by the time I come home, I'll want to wash tonight off my freshly tainted skin. This would be the first time I've ever been shoved into hundreds of horny sweating drunk adults. So far, the most crowded room I've been in is the locker room at school, so the only difference if the alcohol. For the most part.
It might not be too bad, maybe. I might make a friend, but it would surprise me if they weren't on drugs. I'm not sure I want a friend that's on drugs, but maybe they need a friend as much as I do. Or maybe I'm so lonely I'm lowering my standards.
This may be a lot of things.
I scrubbed myself vigorously, trying to scare off any pheromones that may indicate nervousness or being unsure. If I smell like a man, I ought to act like one. I moved away from the water, and continued scrubbing until my skin went red. I examined my sleeve, and that was about the only thing I liked about my body. I liked the colors and patterns that I got to carry around with me forever.
---
I pulled into the place I assumed Andrew had talking about; this was the only club that was two miles west from work. I think he said its name was X2C. How clever. I looked around for a sign or any indication that this was in fact the place I'm looking for. I turned my head left, nothing over there. My head snapped right, and there we go, there is the line of assholes.
I emerged from my protective metal cocoon, and took a deep breath. I grasped my back pocket to check for my wallet. I let out a sigh of relief when I felt the lump, at least I have it. Now for the hard part. Do I make a convincing 21? I hope so, or Andrew and I are fucked. Mostly me, but Andrew might get some shit too. I peered around the sea of sequin dresses and spiked hair, trying to find my friend. He said he'd stay by the doorway, and I can't tell whether or not he's actually here. It doesn't pay to be as tall as a middle school kid, I've found.
"Andrew?" I squeaked quietly. I got the attention of some passersby with my chirp, but the other member of my party was apparently nowhere close.
I began to move from my car to the front entrance, and then I heard the most wonderful thing. Someone with a familiar voice was calling my name. I spun around to face the voice quickly and saw Andrew. I can honestly say this is the happiest I’ve been to see his mostly stupid face.
“Just on time, man.” Andrew nodded, and held his hand out like we were supposed to do that half hand shake and shoulder bump thing. I examined his hand and arm, and then returned his gaze.
“No.” I said quietly, shaking my head. “No, we’re not doing that.”
“Whatever, just be cool when we get up to the front.” He said and paused. “You do have the thing, right?”
I nodded in response, and he began walking to the entrance. I followed like a lost puppy and had to push through a couple people on the way. I heard my shoes dragging across the asphalt. My heart dropped as we neared the door.
Thirty minutes had passed before we got to the door. Andrew showed his ID, the bouncer glanced quickly and nodded. I mimicked Andrew, and the bouncer examined mine a little more closely. He grunted slightly and nodded.
Walking into this place was like walking into an ocean of filthy rats. It felt like these people would suck me into their grasp and make me one of them. The air was thick and it seemed as if my lungs refused to accept the heavy gas. It smelled of booze, cigarettes, Axe, and Victoria's Secret perfume. There was absolutely nothing I liked about this, nothing. The lights were too bright and added to the unbearable temperature in this room. I felt my forehead, and noticed a little sweat. Good God, I haven't even been in here for 15 minutes.
This place had that stupid collector/sports bar theme. Miscellaneous music, movie, pop culture, indie and football items crowded the walls. John Wayne, Whitney Houston, football jerseys, hipster memorabilia. Everything.
I noticed there were bars in every corner of this dwelling. No wonder, if this is even a slight hint as to what traffic they get on the weekends, they need it. Three were crowded, and then the furthest away from me was fairly empty, and had a couple places to sit. I noticed an interesting mural behind the shelves of alcohol. The mural only made that bar look more appealing, because this was the only wall decoration that didn't want to make me vomit. This was actually something that deserves to be seen.
I walked slowly up to the bar, taking my surroundings in as I went. I want a Cherry Coke, and I want to look at the neat design they've got as a mural. The lights were neon and bright in my eyes. I caught glimpses of pink, blue, yellow, and green before I was certain this place would rob me of my vision.
After pushing through women and men that were trying to grind on me, either mistaking my sex, or mistaking my intentions. I parked myself on one of the cushy leather seats with a slight flop. They've got bars in every corner of this place, and this one had the least people around it. I mean that's a little obvious since I found a place to sit.
"Can I get a cherry Coke?" I asked the bartender as she was cleaning off her work area.
"Sure." She nodded absentmindedly and let the rag go.
I stared at the mural and smiled a little. It's really nice, it's got neat colors and its style is completely unique. It had a crowd dancing around under brightly colored lights. Upon further examination, these people didn’t seem like normal people. I squinted at the painting and noticed they’re all pale, and a few of them have fangs. I think I get it, though. Out of all the types of living dead in monster culture, vampirism is probably the most romantic. Would you rather be drug off by a horde of living dead that wanted to rip into your flesh, or carried away by a single soulless body that made you feel loved and safe, and that would probably ensure you could not feel your death. Or your possible reanimation.
"Who painted this?" I asked the bartender suddenly, my head tilting to the side with my eyes still locked on the gorgeous art.
"Some introverted artist guy. I think the owner said he talked to the guy once, just to talk about what he wanted on the canvas. His name was like Gerald Road or something equally as stupid." She said, placing the plastic cup under the soda dispenser. I grimaced a little at the fact she said his name was stupid. She probably only thought he was stupid because she deemed him an introvert.
"Well I think it's nice." I said as she passed me my drink.
“Six dollars.” She said, holding out her hand.
I nodded with most of my focus still on the painting as I handed her the ten from my wallet. Waiting a few minutes, I got my four dollars in change and resumed wondering about the painting. To be honest, I mostly wondered about the artist. What does he look like? Is he really an introvert? What other things has he done with his artistic ability?
About an hour had passed of me contemplating who this guy was and what he did before I was broke out of my musing by the sound of my name. I sighed slightly and pushed my empty Coke glass to the side. Turning around on the swivel chair, I went to face Andrew. He emerged from a crowd of women with a tall, muscular curly haired man behind him.
“Frank! Thank god I found you. This is Ray. He’s gay, 21, and he likes stupid bands too.” Andrew spoke loudly. I exhaled intensely, and looked at Andrew with my lips pursed slightly. “Take him home.” He said after the brief silence and pushed this Ray character over to me. I couldn’t exactly say I was attracted to him, but he was attractive for the most part.
I had driven to my house with Ray following me. So I guess this means I've got less chances to fuck this up. Maybe if I sleep with him, I'll get into a relationship and I won't be so lonely. I guess I could give it a try.
I've always wanted my first time to be special, but what's the point in romanticizing something that's just an urge. A really intense, animalistic urge that you can only make appear to be romantic.
Is this me giving up all hope?
I sure hope not. I just want to have a bond with someone. Who says this isn't the best way to go about it? Okay, this probably isn't the best way to go about it, but every other option isn't an option for me. This boat was half fucked before it even hit the water, and now we're sailing on false hopes and heads filled with fantasy.
I pulled into my regular parking space, and Ray wasn't far behind. I tried my hardest to not let my anxious and awkward feelings to get the best of me. I acted calm and collected as he approached me and placed his hand on my lower back, guiding me to the entrance he knew we were headed for. I felt a slight chill dash up my spine.
God I'm nervous. I don't even know his last name.
---
"Frank," Ray started with a slight groan. "I need to go."
"I am really, really sorry." I apologized for about the millionth time.
"It's okay, I understand." He returned flatly, grabbing his jacket.
It was three o'clock in the morning, and he had been here for a while trying to console me; the poor guy. I did give him head before I started to cry and say I'll never find anyone. So at least he got that much.
There was an extremely hot make out session, followed by some almost awkward grinding, proceeded by a couple "You're so good, you've got me hard already babe" moans, and then I got my face fucked.
I knew I wouldn't be able to last actual sex without an extreme mental breakdown followed by more crying and whining than he got tonight. Apparently for an emotionally handicapped virgin, I am rather good at giving head.
Why am I proud of that?
It's probably because it means I'm attractive, right? I mean I turned him on, and I made him cum, so that must mean I'm not as ugly as I thought. Or it just means he was thinking of someone else as I did it, which is mostly insulting, but I’d understand why.
Either way, that doesn't really matter. Right now Ray was leaving and I couldn't say sorry enough to truly convey how sorry I am.
"Ray, I really didn't mean to do all that, I'm sorry." I called as he headed for the door.
"I'll call you in a while, okay? I do kind of like you, I just can't deal with all that," He paused, rubbing his eyes slightly as he looked up from the floor at me. "Right now. I can’t deal with that right now."
Thank god he specified, I'd hate to think I did all hat just for him to walk out.
To be honest, I still hurt. I still don't really like being me. This solved my loneliness for the hour and a half before I lost my shit, but now it's back. The gut wrenching hurt that I wish would just turn off. At this point, I’m fairly suicide is the only way to find the end to this void, but I don't want that for me.
Is this what it feels like to be used? I don't like this. I feel like my entire being is disposable. I'm just some cardboard someone used to pack things for moving, and then threw out. I wasn't that important to begin with. Do I deserve this? I probably am unwanted, and deserve to be discarded. Curling up into a ball on my bedroom floor, I listened to my front door shut quietly. Immediately following the click, a new flood of tears made their way out of my eyes. They burned my cheeks as they fell to the floor. I kept wiping my face; I couldn't bare to look at my own tears. I know I didn't deserves to cry, or feel bad at all. If I didn't bring all this upon myself, I should've seen this coming.
I cried until my lungs felt like they were about to collapse. I found strange comfort in the struggle to breathe, and the pressure on my ribs.
A/N:
I fucked up the end pretty hard. My brain just kinda shat that out and let it the way it was, and I'm truly sorry. I tried revising, but my everything was screaming “THIS IS OKAY, STICK WITH THIS.” Either way, I apologize sincerely for my shit ending.
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~~~~~~Friend, this is a SPOILER.~~~~~~
Gerard physically comes in next chapter. He's not half mentioned in a stupid way, I promise. He is legitimately there.
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~~~~~~~~~~~~Spoiler is gone!~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~The rest of the author's note is coming, you better run~~~~~~~
Please leave some feedback. Please. I genuinely appreciate even you bashing your face against your keyboard and pressing enter. 4Reelz. So please, review, comment, like favorite, download, whatever your options are, do it. If you don't enjoy it tell me I'm a pitiful excuse for a human and I should go deepthroat a cactus or something, whatever floats your boat friend.
Next update is coming whenever I get finished writing it. School hasn't been too bad lately, and I'm shoving out words like I'm a typewriter, or something of equal lettery goodness. Keyboard, maybe.
Thanks for paying attention to my horrible bullshit. I love you.
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