Seeking Kewl Dude
Based on a personal ad I found in Atlanta's Creative Loafing's Wilder Side Personal Ads which read, and I quote,
"SEEKING KEWL DUDE. Straight white guy, 30, handsome, weight proportional, HIV negative, masculine, healthy, seeks same in college guy or straight-acting dude, 18-27, to try oral submission on."
Yeah. Heh. It still makes me laugh. If you're the 'Straight white guy' please don't be angry at me for writing this.
Oh, and MidKnight didn't hear the Pornotopia challenge get issued, but this could sort of be my little offering for that altar.
Clark is straight.
No, really, he is. There may have been a few aberrations; well, not really a few, but still...He's straight. Lana and Chloe and that one really hot english substitute prove it. He likes girls. Dreams about them in full technicolor, surround sound IMAX.
Girls on trampolines. Catholic school girls with those oh-so-very short plaid skirts and knee high socks. Hell, even Nell Potter; they all crowd into his dreams and fantasies.
He's straight so its ok.
Theres just been a few things. Things he's done that aren't straight and he doesn't regret them, but still, he likes girls. Alot.
He likes Chloe, with her wings of pretty blonde hair and her cherry lip gloss that he sometimes pilfers because his lips are chapped and the candy sweetness is so good. Tries not to wonder how Whitney would react to that on his lips, because he and Whitney don't like each other now. At least not like they did a few summers ago when sleeping over meant sleep loss for a very different reason than video games.
Clark is straight and he reminds himself of that. Thinks of Chloe again and wonders what kind of underwear she had. He's seen Lana's, recognized it from the Victoria's Secret catalog he usually steals out of the mailbox. She's got the really pretty stuff, like what he imagines Lex's Victoria wears. He pauses to remember pulling her out of the bathtub and god didn't that fuel his brain for weeks?
Ok, maybe Victoria was a complete bitch, and she was busy stabbing Lex in the back, but boy, she had a body like a porn star. Not liking the feeling of fantasizing about his best friend's girl, Clark had shied away from jerking off to the image of a just-out-of-the-bath-Victoria.
And somewhere around the thought of Victoria's underwear and the thought of Lex, Clark had become confused. During conversations with Lex about normal things, Clark kept seeing his friend in the bath, Clark having to save him from drowning. But when Clark pulled him out of the water Lex wasn't naked. Instead he was wearing that embroidered underwear, the boy-shorts like Lana had, and it was purple. Lex had purple stilettos, too, and as Lex came back to life he wrapped his legs around Clark's waist, the heels digging in.
God, he was 16. He shouldn't have kinks like this.
Hell, he doesn't have kinks. He is straight.
Clark loves the Man Show. Loves stealing Pete's already pilfered Playboys and reading them late at night in the barn. He knows his parents would kill him, but he even stays up at night to watch HBO in the wee hours. He's already seen Mercy, with that hot chick from La Femme Nikita, and Nine and a Half Weeks, which gave him this bizarre urge to go feed people, and Sliver. Ever since that movie he can't look at pillars the same way. He's spent seasons obsessed with Sex in the City, falling in and out of love with the four girls, and he still wishes Taxi Cab Confessions would do a crossover with Sex in the City so he could watch Carrie and Samantha have sex in a cab.
He knows Lex's other addiction besides Scotch is chocolate. So maybe thats why his blood began to rush when he saw an ad for a club in Metropolis, called The Chamber, which was going to have chocolate night with martinis and chocolate wrestling and fudge sauce pouring down on everyone. Surely the blood rush couldn't have been due to the image of Lex, his pale skin being lined with hot fudge. All that flesh and those hard muscles, and Clark would have to lick all the chocolate off with his tongue.
Except, well, Clark isn't really into that.
Well, maybe a little...
Sometimes after the football games Clark sneaks into the locker room, because he knows Pete will be all wired up and needs a, well, hand unwinding. The hand thing is mutual though, and Clark doesn't call out anyone's name, though Pete has a habit of crying out "Clark!". He takes it as a compliment, anyway. It's just handjobs between two close friends, even if there was that one time in the alley behind the Beanery, when they'd been kissing and Pete had asked about the cherry lip gloss. Of course, Clark had admitted it was Chloe's, which led to Pete laughing and asking if Clark noticed how Chloe liked being on her knees.
It had taken Clark a second to get that.
Oh, so thats why Pete had asked him not to show up after the last few games.
Not that he missed the after-game fun; he was straight after all.
He remembered a few model-type girls at one of Lex's parties, a party he shouldn't have been at, with too much liqueur and too little clothing on the women but boy had it been fun. They reminded him of the girls on the covers of the magazines at Borders; like Import Racer, with those hot Asian types, or Stuff, with the nearly naked girls with painted eyes. Every girl there had been overly eager and ready to go, some a little dizzy on their feet but willing to grab hold of the nearest male. Clark had been talked into several glasses of scotch, courtesy of Lex, and by the time Lex had sequested his better friends into one of the sitting rooms there had been a girl in Clark's lap. They'd played a great game of blackjack on Lex's floor, not loosing clothes but trading in written favors. Sometime around three Am Lex had led Clark upstairs by a slick leather collar and leash.
It was because he was drunk, Clark told himself, even though he'd been the one to write out the note offering one night of service.
He means, there were all these good reasons why he was straight after all. He'd kissed Chloe in the eighth grade, behind the barn. And there had been the long standing crush on Lana, which bordered on stalking. He'd even kissed the object of his stalking, well, uh, acctually Tina, before she threw him out a window. He'd even seen Lana in her underwear.
Clark is straight. He's sure of it. Positive.
Even if he knows what other men say about his mouth.
Especially if he knows it's true.