It's Colour Haze's Tempel playing in my left earbud as I'm shading the corner of the page. My stomach is...rumbling. Didn't eat breakfast. Now I'm piling fries in my guts. Gross! They're greasy.
I remembered the grease would stain the paper, so I wiped my fingers on my pants.
I wrote down the word "JEAN", in all caps, with ugly, disproportionate letters, and gave these sickening little letters a better thought.
Well-- I guess a "Jean" is what you call someone with rich, nutritioned hair, a just as rich bloodline, problems with girls and problems with spelling the word "electronegativity". A "Jean" would be someone who inhabits Wildwood's wealthiest area, a dickhead who happens to own a large ranch in the countryside, and by just pure fucking luck seems to reside on this planet as the prototype of Your Perfect Anything.
Just seconds later I wrote "EREN" down in my notebook. I always carry around a backpack and there's always this worn piece of shit.
- so I do stuff
- I'm nice...
- I play soccer
- 20 y/o, miserable, horny, depressed, unwilling, not-doing, anti-productive, arrogant, (would love to be) dead
- I wear socks over the ankle
- I condemn speedos; Marco wore a speedo the first time we spent a month in PACIFIC (fav place on Earth) lol how's it feel tucking your balls in
- Lol I just hate marco he's absolutely oblivious to it
- I am
- more attractive than jean
- trust me, everyone knows it
- Ask my mom
I drew a dick next to my pinpoint list. I guess now you're expecting a gigantic intro like in all epic comedy movies about college or high school, so I'll try to reenact it via text.
There's supposedly a cool Blink-182 song in the background and it's supposedly followed by an introduction to the main character from a hundred shots. That would be me, then. I'd pose well. I'll make sure you can get stills you can post on the Internet later. In these 2x2 format posts, you know? Throw in some badly cut-out joke clips. Oh, then something happens. They pause the audio and I say something funny.
And then the entire movie is spoiled by the trailer.
Isn't this just the bee's tits? Time to become a director.
If you want a proper introduction with my blank-ass personality: Hello, again, my name's Eren. I'm an asshole who loves himself way too much. For having existed on this planet for twenty years, I sure haven't done shit. I masturbate and I have celiac disease, but am still able to enjoy other food, like scrambled eggs and packet rice.
'Cause I'm obviously not the biggest chef here.
Boring facts? Yeah, alright! If you squint and take a look at most of my clothes, my favorite color is red. I play soccer and it's the base of my college scholarship. My biggest accomplishment in high school was pulling a Magnum over my head, I've disappointed my parents and all of my girlfriends, and really, I'm just so regular, I blend in well.
I use "lol", "lmao" and other abbreviations unironically, as real and actual words (not this "El Oh El", "El Em Ei Oh" shit, I can say "lol" with a flat face and mean it) not-caps-locked, and with serious, flaming passion. I'm in love with Jeff Mangum and I kinda dig emo stoner metal, or something. I like music! Every genre asides the mainstream slur. That's all you need to know. See? I'm cool. Just takes a while until this garbage facade of mine crumbles under everyone's judgment skills.
"You see?" Jean raised a packet of fries. "The center of love. Not even a dollar, right down the street."
Birds chirp in the background and I want to kill myself.
We're sitting on a park bench near Jean's MTV-worth crib. It's the largest, ugliest cream-colored house on the block. Not like it can be compared to any neighbor houses around. The rest of them aren't as enormous. Only four of them have a pool.
He fed ducks with economy talk and me with boring thoughts about spring break, soccer, women and life contemplations.
The short week of spring break is behind, this - our way of grieving. Tomorrow's Monday and moderately early classes, and it means I've got an even more specific crave to commit suicide in the most painless way there is. I'll wipe at tears really quick. Don't just sit there and stare? Act like you're interested in staring at the trees, or something.
Everybody hates the jetlag feeling after a school break. This can't be good for anyone. Who cares if it's just a week? Same goes with autumn. Autumn break is fucking stupid, anyways. It always fucking rains. On this scale, spring break, in comparison, is perfect and nourishes my soul. Winter break is good for nothing but breaking my neck with a snowboard and summer's clearly for soccer and unlimited masturbation to everything and everyone.
Me and Jean, we understand each other. And, you know, on days like this, I wonder about high school.
I still have no idea how I passed high school. High school's a pretty dark memory nobody wants to talk about. Except for me, I guess. I love talking about embarrassing things. My high school experience was the mildest and most boring pit of shit. I've played soccer ever since I can remember myself walking, so it dragged in from a hobby to a serious passion and lifestyle. In grade six, I discovered self-produced pleasure, and that's all I got until grade ten. Semen stained Adidas socks, soccer and absolute relaxation. It worked as a daily schedule. School, soccer, home, food. Jacking off. But food and jacking off switched places depending on my mood and whether mom was home or not.
Grade ten opened my eyes and tossed down angels that ripped at my eyelids and shrieked I can go outside and start flooding my hormones down on girls. That's what I did. I liked girls and girls liked me. I've kissed a lot of girls in my life, and to underline my saint heterosexuality even more, I'm a virgin at twenty. People probably think I'll fuck after getting married.
My hand sunk in Jean's fries.
The break changed Jean again. He keeps finding new interests that turn out to be dangerous for his well-being. I didn't really want to meet up today, he seemed weird and strangely excited over the phone.
It's a beautiful Sunday and I'm forced to listen to Jean's flawed opinions about America's economy.
I honestly planned on doing nothing for the whole weekend, and the entire break, at that, but my mother has tendencies to shit on everything I love. My Friday was spent in recoloring the guest bedroom. Because mom said so. Saturday was a torture. Don't want to think about Saturday. It's probably the most awkward evening over the past few years.
Our bilingual Japanese family friends reserved a table at a nice restaurant around ten miles away and I was being forced into wearing appropriate clothing other than stained boxers, socks and Element hoodies.
I was reintroduced to the only kid, a twenty-year old gem, Mikasa. Sleek, stunning beauty. Never heard of her before. All the countless other times her parents had invited us to their fancy restaurant, Mikasa was supposed to be at a camp, trip, hike, and so on, continue this list with other moderately dangerous activities. She was nice to look at 'till the point we were forced to sit side by side. She's Asian. Talked funny for the first two hours. Her accent was killing me. She talked funny in a cute way.
As the evening went by and the adults got a bit more tipsy than us (if you count the shallow glass of red wine we sipped with twenty minute intervals), Mikasa told me the truth behind her school trips, and it left me slightly clueless of what to think of her.
Turned out Mikasa was a black belt at martial arts. I think karate. I think karate. She told me about the belts and their relative meanings according to the color system, and I listened to two out of ten of everything and nodded in my pasta dish. Mikasa also tried to explain why her parents kept telling everyone their daughter was at a school trip when she's actually on a tournament, but I think she got so infuriated she forgot I'm not bilingual.
I listened to five minutes of aggressive Japanese before excusing myself to the toilet.
It's just her parents not accepting the way she is and how she's chosen to be less girly than other feminine creatures her age (and up/down). They hate it and, I guess, are ashamed.
Fucking... I'd probably make a better mother than Mikasa's mom ever has.
That's about how I spent last evening. Sure, I'd much rather spend it on the Internet, browsing some fucking memes and materializing my cancerous existence in our Steam group. And yet here I was now, pulled away from my comfort zone. Grieving. Mom likes Jean. He has this odd skill of getting me out the house with a: "Hey, Eren, let's get fries and go check out the park."
Yeah, fuck you, I had to pay for it. Who's the winner? You are, obviously. You didn't have to spend a single quarter to entertain yourself! Though I do love the park, so that's sort of my weak spot, I guess. And-- shit, you know? McDonald's suck. I'd kill for Applebee's.
"Stop touching my French fries."
"Stop touching my French fries," he mocked.
I looked at him. The word "PISSED" was practically carved in the middle of my forehead. "Remember your birthday?"
"Oh, yeah. Shit was good. Pretty glad we got the pool done by that time. You jumped from the roof and shit. Pretty cool. Also, thanks for ruining my dad's electric grill, that was really necessary, he's still not over it, and I'm kind of getting him a new one for Christmas."
"A grill for Christmas, you genius."
"I jumped from your mom's balcony, not the roof. Got stuck in the roof window on my way out, so it didn't work out. The cut's too deep, anyways. I'd hit the bottom of the pool and break my legs. God. That was great." I ate a handful of greasy fries. "We're doing it at the ranch next year. I don't care if that place doesn't have a pool, we're doing it at the ranch."
"You sound like that nerdy emo who loves Electric Wizard."
"Shit, what a coincidence! Could that happen to be me?" I satirically asked. "Think about sleeping in hay, though. Mmm. The way to a man's heart."
"I've slept my good spare in hay, thanks."
"My last birthday was so miserable. Props to turning twenty. it's possibly the lamest fucking birthday I've ever had."
Jean frowned, signalling he's got no clue what I'm talking about. "What do you mean? I can't remember you having a party, or anything."
Haha, oh, shit, yeah. I remember waking up on that exact fucking day. Stayed in, watched some movies, made, like, corn chicken wrap and totally chilled my ass off. Went for a short run around the block by four PM. Took a shower, got dressed, went downstairs; my mom got home by six and gave me a huge box of shit I still haven't checked out, and it's been, like, a month.
"I didn't. I'm just... Man, I don't like taking responsibility. Any sort of. I'd be the shittiest dad if I ever, by some delusional chance, had the audacity to be one. Plus I'm old enough for birthdays to depress me."
I'll unbox that present tonight.
"You're not thirty, or anything."
"Yeah, but I'm a stinking, ravaging emo boy. Haven't been in the mood for anything lately. I just hope Regionals are good this year. And I'm worried about volley results, I think I might-- Umm, you know. Leave volley. I don't feel like it anymore. The team's breaking up, anyways."
We sat in silence for a brief while, watching the channel's water ripple in front. Days like these get me melancholic. Just like a movie, preferably one you've watched with your historical significant other - an ex, in other words. It's got that teenage heartbreak stink. You sit and talk with your best friend, and you're freshly twenty. But the plot thickens when the narrator (you, namely) reveals you're also unemployed, potentially garbage, and don't shave your face much, because you also don't have a girlfriend, your sex life is in a crisis, and you're overall really miserable - but at least good-looking.
But, oh, man, the looks are going to fade if you keep that regular Friday alcoholism running, the beer gut is not going to take itself out for a walk and get lost in the woods, shit, you're going to get fat, ugly, work in a boring company, and never, ever do anything else with your life.
And you sit and have moral conversations in your head.
And Yourself keeps joking about your situation. It's depressing, I know. Shit, I know, I should know the best out of everyone.
I took a deep breath and sighed an undefined, out-of-place "yeah", because nothing could ever fit better.
In the middle of the kitchen, swirling the contents of a wine glass, Eren Jaeger feels bipolar about his mother. A part of him is currently throwing his body around the sunny, yellow kitchen in terror, and the other's busy dusting off some soft dune pillows for his mommy to lie down on. See, Eren loves his mother, but sometimes FUCK A MOTHER, but moms are cute, generally, I guess, maybe.
I'm swirling some sort of shitty content in a wine glass. The liquid's dark, sort of red, I don't know. It had a light scent of grapes. I placed my bets on wine and gulped it down.
Oh, fuck. Yeah, that's... It's home-made. It's wine, I'm positive. Held back that burp.
My mother's a beautiful human being, she's arrogant and funny. Whenever there used to be "parent evenings" back in middle school, she dressed up and looked elegant as fuck. I used to be very proud of my beautiful mommy, but grade nine rolled in and I finally googled the definition of a MILF. What, it piqued my interest! Older guys from school kept calling my mom a MILF. Look. Yes. I wish curiosity never existed.
We don't talk about this.
"Eren?" Came a muffled response from the other side of the house. I placed the mystery glass down. "Eren, are you-- shit! Oh, shit!"
Uhh, yeah, I am shit.
"Mom? Are you tip-top?"
By the apparent sound and the ground shaking underneath, something heavy fell. I even felt the walls vibrate. Our house is built of snot, I guess.
"Are you home?" She yelled back.
I rubbed the door frame with my thumb, trying to figure her exact location. "No, I'm not home, I'm Eren. Jesus Christ! Where else could I be? Where are you? Are you okay?"
"Upstairs, I'm fine!"
My bedroom's upstairs. So is hers. And the guest room, which I had to repaint on Friday. And a bathroom. So where exactly is my mother. The whole house smells like ammoniac and chloride. And paint, too. She's been working on the canvas again. Shit. Shit! Means she's got that, I don't know, fucking spurt of energy. Starts tidying the house and completely redecorating everything. I should've predicted this yesterday.
Hashtag: artiste mother, god, I swear to St. Elliot Alderson, she's hacking my computer to gain access to all my sick memes. Or, she's probably just found my nude folder. It's a joke, I don't take nudes. That's also a joke. Oh, man! This is going to be a thrilling freaking ride! Don't trust me on anything I say, I'm incredibly goofy and never, ever serious.
"What are you doing upstairs?" I cautiously asked.
I'm an experienced, young man, I know what a danger a mother in her son's bedroom can be. Though, Jesus, I'm an adult, what's there to hide? Nudes? She's seen me naked. True, that was twenty years ago, but I believe I haven't changed. I'm still the fucking infant I was, just more hairy. My only concern at the moment was her trying to guess my device password and raiding my porn folder.
That's gotta go.
My password is "hydrogen peroxide", but written together and in all-caps. By the way. But you're not my mom, and you'd never see this.
"I'm hanging up a painting at your room," she called back. "Pretty neat, I'd say!"
What? A painting in my room? Dude, you've seen my room?! It's a literal trash hole with some Marvel merchandise boxers hanging out the drawers, and it reeks of...citrus deodorant.
"Why are you doing this? What's your damage?"
"It's very cool, I found it in the lobby."
Post your face when your mom says things like "cool", "rad", "on fleek" or "slay".
My face is that dog drinking coffee, saying "this is fine" while everything behind him is burning.
"Mom, you're cleaning the lobby and just scattering all your shit around the house. I took it down last week." I eyed the stairs and checked if she's coming. "Do you need help with hanging it? I'm getting food otherwise."
Something cracked. Another few diligent phrases. "There's Chinese in the fridge. I won't be home tonight, but I'm making lasagna tomorrow."
"Glutenfrei?" I mocked.
"Ja, Eren! Don't order pizza."
I don't remember any aspect of this conversation that ever mentioned ordering pizza.
"Mom, I don't eat Chinese food." And then more silently: "Not...stale Chinese food, anyways. Yeah, whatever...you're not listening."
I actually do eat Chinese food! Love Asian cuisine. I just didn't feel like Chinese food at the moment. I didn't have the energy to deal with a microwave and I hate when bell pepper seeps in my noodles. Really does taste gross. A little upsetting to my princess stomach.
I actually considered pizza.
"Yeah, I'm going to order pizza."
"Make salad or pasta, Jesus Christ, just don't order pizza, it's always such a bargain to make you not do it, why is this still a problem at twenty?" I practically felt the corners of her mouth slip down. "Same goes with carton milk."
"Oh my god."
"You don't even have to pay, I've got something left from last month."
A disapproving sound.
"Why?" I whined. She sighed like she's a millisecond away from giving up. "It's lovely how you don't care about me and everything, but it's not like I'm making you eat it. Pizza Hut has them gluten-free, anyways."
"It pisses me off how you're on your gluten-free diet and still get to eat everything you want," mom said. "God, and it's so expensive to feed you, and you're just never happy."
"Diet," I cheekily dragged. "What the fuck is a diet?"
She sucked air in whenever I said a bad word. Look, this can be witnessed when I'm playing The Witcher and she drops by in my room because she's bored, has free time, or gathers laundry. I curse a shitload when I play this game, so it's sort of funny watching her go -sssss- every two words.
"I'm twenty." (I was nineteen a week ago.) "I can totally do this."
"Oh my god, okay. Wow! Shit, you're forty-two, that's endgame. I really can't argue with you now."
"Get your ass upstairs, sonny."
"Sorry. Hey, so... Why are you hanging the painting in my room, again?" I took a few steps up the stairs. Tapped the handrail. Tugged on my backpack.
"It's nice. It's that rice field painting you always wheeze at, for whatever reason. You repainting the guest room made me wonder if we should do the entire house, all bedrooms, maybe."
"Hell no, I'm not doing this. Hire a hot gardener to do this for you. You just want to revise how much embarrassing shit I keep in my room." I paused. "I don't have magazines anymore. I have, like, two." Three if we're taking the Toyota mag."
I heard all movement stop.
"One's under the nightstand..." I squinted and tried to remember. "The other might be under my mattress. And if you want my laptop's password, it's "hydrogen peroxide", like, with all-caps and no space, and my porn folder's called--"
"Eren, holy shit!"
I made the air sucking sound she usually did. "Jesus, mother! Watch your language! You're not fifty yet!"
Mom's laughing, obviously. I tiptoed up the stairs.
My room's on the left, her and dad's - on the right. The guest room and the bathroom takes up the rest of the second floor, leaving only a tight hallway between all rooms. There were a few simplistic paintings on the walls, and at least seven family pictures weren't missing, either.
We used to have a bird and his name was George, but he got a brain tumor and died. We also had a dog, her name was Wicky. Our neighbors hit her with a car. A white Persian, Lucas, went missing two years ago, but I'm sure mom gave Lucas away because he peed in her mocassins. I'm digging the "George Lucas" jokes. And I've received two goldfishes which I didn't even try to name; they were already dead the next morning.
I walked up to the doorway to my room with my hands in my back pockets, ready for the same old picture of chaos as every day. Choked on my spit for a change. The floor was actually see-through (as in, I didn't have to shovel my way through heaps of clothes), my bed was tidy and the sheets had been switched from the washed-out cranberry red to a new, fresh jet black. Even my desk was (relatively) tidy.
I noticed she'd opened the windows. Explained the light all around.
"Did you clean my room?" I stupidly asked.
Overflowing with pride, mom put her hands on her hips and grinned just like I was grinning. I had a crooked grin, just like her. The canines are slightly pointed towards the center, but they're symmetrical. Cool, right? My specific sort of teeth are from her side. And my papa is a dentist.
Off-topic, you can't believe how much looking at mom depresses me. The older I get, the more often I'm using the word "depression". Even though there's still a shit amount of light in her deep brandy eyes and she's nowhere near being a granny, she is getting older and I'm aware of the fact it's soon time for me to begin a life of my own and get off from my parents' asses.
The tiny wrinkles around her eyes and dimple on her cheek made me smile wider. She poked me in the ribs and I whined again. She's so cute.
"I dipped in for laundry and couldn't resist. Do you like the painting? I think this is the one."
I looked at it.
Welcome to the rice feels, motherfucker! Yes! It's the one. I can feel myself cracking up.
"It looks like a penis if you squint."
Man, I love my mom.
The wet sensation on my wrist is fucking drool, I bet. Scrolling down 4chan for a daily dose of self-hatred and ruining myself, amazing. Don't bother. I'm actually just checking out /out/ and /k/, and stuff like that. It's really fun until you get to the "NSFW" section of 4chan, then it's pretty fucked along with your mental health.
I leaned on my hand and thought about succulent porn, mostly. Saliva is amazing for getting off. Pack your food with sweeteners, spit a puddle on your hand. The better it slips, the harder you'll flip.
It's at least a good two hours past midnight and I forgot to sleep again. I had to resume college in a few hours.
Uuughhh... Early classes steal my faith in Christ. As if I had any in the first place.
I closed TOR and leaned back in my chair. Rubbed my face. I'd probably fall asleep any second now, if I really tried.
Mom was asleep. Talking to Jean would result in absolutely nothing, and I also didn't want to, and the rest of my friends and soccer team members weren't on my fucking level right now. The only thing for me to do would be taming my backlashing hunger and finally heading to bed.
I just laid in my boxers for a minute and stared up at the ceiling. I love staying up late. It's fucking beautiful. Except if it's a Sunday.
I pushed off the table and pulled my hoodie over my ass to cover up. No idea why I do this, I guess it's natural reflex. The only women that have ever seen me naked would be my mom, one or two nurses, and my cousin. But I don't think my cousin is a girl. She's a worse war machine than me. A Spartan. Her name's Christa, by the way, if you wanted an introduction, which you most likely did not.
Even my rare girlfriends have only seen me shirtless. Never had my asscheeks out in direct sunlight.
Newsflash, Eren heads out in the hall to sneak downstairs.
The kitchen's floor was still warm from our fireplace and central heating and made my toes wiggle. I stood in front of the fridge and inspected it's belongings.
Absolute shit food we have. I hate the upper shelf. The upper shelf has the tiny fridge light, right? But my dad has a habit of buying canned beans practically every time he's at the store. Every time. So if he used to go shopping twice a week, it resulted in four cans a week. I don't understand, like, does he really think we eat them? Like, mom's just used to it, she just stacks them at empty drawers and tells me I'll be thankful if there's ever a zombie apocalypse. And the top shelf is stacked full of canned beans and corn, and the light doesn't even shine through.
I stared at the white carton with an imprinted dragon on it, and the white carton stared at me. You know, the abyss to abyss thing... I've had too much of /lit/.
Took the box of noodles and closed the door. Fished out a fork as silent as I could and tiptoed back upstairs, stubbing my left toe as a casualty.
The air in the house was thick. Not heavy, thick. Light remains of paint, oil and mom's shampoo. Something smelled like old leather and suede. She got out her bath around two or three hours ago and wished me goodnight.
I inhaled the humid air before disappearing back in my room, secure from the hot, extortionate atmosphere. After-bath air makes me sick. That's why I never take baths.
I checked if my window was open, then sat down.
My laptop's screen had dimmed down while I was away and I didn't bother to change anything about it right now. Just dug my fork in the noodle box and ate. The noodles tasted like they'd sucked up all bell pepper and chicken, and shrimps, and then I remembered why I didn't eat this before. Ew. Never liked cold Chinese food. It's good if it's hot, like, scorching. I can't eat it and focus on it if it's cold, that shit does not work. So I began thinking, about my useless break and volleyball. The weekdays mom wasn't home consisted of waking up at nine or ten, watching YouTube, taking a piss, breakfast, everything the regular Eren would do.
A shower, personal hygiene, like, shaving my face twice a week and trimming everything lower by the end of every month or two. Brushing my teeth. Clean boxers and a t-shirt, breakfast again.
Sweet, sweet meat beat.
Practically how the entire week was spent. Except for Tuesday, I went to Jean's place and played Fallout. He cheats like sweet heaven. Jean's actually pretty bad at video games in general, Mortal Kombat is eternal sadness for this guy, 'cause I'm always Scorpion, and he's always Sub-Zero, and we all know Scorpion fucking wins. All raise hell, fuckers, fire beats ice.
I thought about Scorpion until it lead to thoughts of Kitana, Kitana led me to Mileena, and now I'm really just down for jerking off and going to bed.
Jerking off to mobile porn is fucking terrible and the experience is disappointing and frustrating, but I've been getting off to mobile porn the entire week and having this incredible opportunity to masturbate to the resolution of an eighty times fifty sized screen was...thrilling.
I ditched the fork with the noodles and pushed the box aside for a second. I already had my headphones around my neck, so I put them on, leaving one ear free for SOS "Mother: Entering" Alert. Only thing I had to search for was the cable, so as soon as I plugged it in, the white carton was close to me again.
I moved the mouse. Felt like the screen exploded. You know, damn a light wallpaper at all times, forever.
Opened Safari again. Poked the noodles and typed a single "p" in the address bar. The results listed down. Pornhub's on top. What a fucking surprise, oh my god! Next follow different variations of webpages starting with and including the word "porn" just so you know how active I am in this field. And there's Putlocker, too. How embarrassing.
The screen went dark when I clicked on the website. I got more comfortable and turned the brightness down a little. Then I began scrolling down.
Gross amateurs. Teens.
Mmm, homemade lesbians.
I mentally :-)'d.
But this is a tasteless list. I went on the category page and settled in for a more thrilling ride.
Now, categories, amusing. HD porn is okay. Artistic and pretty fake, but HD is always a plus, like, this comes from a guy who's been watching porn for a long, long time. HD porn is probably the best porn out there. So is the female friendly category. I love these because the girls aren't treated like shit, it's really cool. All teens in the "teen" category look like the girls from my high school.
Deepthroat's okay. I love watching blowjobs. Cumshot's lovely. Latina, ebony, bondage, gay, lesbian...nnnnnit's okay, I guess, but I'd never checked the "gay" section out. It's supposedly a whole different part of Pornhub.
I'd never watched gay porn with intent. Only time's back in fifth grade with a bunch of my friends, you know, just a friend circle of eleven-year olds sitting in a room and having a group porn session with awkward little tents in their pants they're trying to hide. Obviously, the second we got home we all jerked off. It's so...normal to be eleven.
But shit, no, what are you even saying? Homosexuality's a taboo, all my friends are straight, mom thinks I'm in a relationship, stuff like that. I'd never even considered being gay or trying out being gay, or, you know, you catch my drift, whatever, I'm bad at wording, you can't just try out being gay. You can try out being with boys to see if it knocks your ducks. So far, zero boys in my account. It's the aspect that keeps me away, the idea what everybody else thinks, I guess. Not that I'm implying I'm damn straight down and ready to fuck every boy I find worthy, I just don't mind and don't think I'd panic if it turned out I had a knack for guys.
I'm, uh, straight as hell. No, for real. Even if I did like guys, I like girls, also. That leaves me with options.
Pushed my headphones on entirely and then pushed one side off again, and held my breath to listen to the sounds around. Only thing I heard was absolutely nothing in the room on the other side of the hallway and a few cars on the road next to our house. Probably the big delivery trucks or something like that, those drive by often.
I clicked the permalink and dug in the noodles while the page loaded.
The ads changed, turned into gay perversions and penis enlargement pill offers. I tried not to focus on that stuff and checked out the main build itself. Same as always, I guess, just gayer.
Curiosity took over while I scrolled down the first page, inspecting the names and thumbnails. Had to admit these were slightly more creative than the blank shit on the straight section. These guys had things like Breed That Faggot Boy Ass and Homemade Fuck, I don't know, original, right? At least it's interesting.
I checked out the category page to find stuff I'd never heard of before. Then browsed the most viewed page, then, the daily recommendations. Everything seemed pretty unappealing.
Out of really idiotic curiosity, I clicked on the search bar and threw in keywords like "grinding", "bjs", and for personal satisfaction, "soccer".
What pops out is a list of "Coach & Player"-esque videos I begin scrolling through. Immediate regret. I've got a coach, his name's Levi. Seeing so many videos with the same theme made me wonder whether it's really that popular to fuck your seniors and shit.
I grinned at a video called Handjob 006. For whatever reason, that got me so bad. I got interested in the thumbnail, narrowed my eyes at the small picture and hovered the cursor above it. Tiny screencaps from the entire video promised a pretty nice dose of cock sucking and handwork. Wow, and it seems artistic. Like those pretentious porn videos on non-mediocre sites like Pornhub is. Alright, fuck it, Handjob 006, you say? To hell with it. I want to see this. I can go with it. It's totally cool.
Still didn't click it and checked the screencaps.
First ones offer an insight with what looked like an introduction. Pretty cute! It's sick when porn offers introductions, it's like they're inviting you into their world full of privacy, and ten minutes later you're ejaculating and you don't remember she's from Atlantic city and has two cats.
Then it gets further where the guy's joined by another one who looks practically the same. The first guy seemed okay, the standing guy. Two screencaps later his pants are around his knees and the newcomer's nuzzling his cock through his black boxers. Both of them seemed relatively okay. Couldn't tell much by the thumbnail, but there's a HD icon lower in the corner, so I guessed the video's a lot better. I could consider the one on his knees being older. He had a Christian Bale sort of beard. Also a little more veined physical build.
I thought I'd made a great decision when I clicked the video. I think I make the best decisions. This was the worst one so far, next to drinking with one third of the entire school and thinking I looked stunning in all pictures taken. Though I did. In a twisted way of You Have To Be Wasted And Done Fucked To Think I'm Hot There. In That Exact Picture. In Those Jeans.
Since I hadn't pulled myself out of my boxers yet, I could still eat with one hand and close the tab with the other, in case shit gets too hard. Similar to experimental rock. It's experimental until a point it gets psychedelic, and the line between these two is paper thin. When you're a virgin at something, have backup. Guys watch lesbian porn, don't they? It's the same thing. Girls watch lesbian porn as well, it's great. Girls are amazing. Everyone seems to lowkey love lesbians and find them hot, but guys having anal sex is such a sadface.
The video took a while to load. I toggled fullscreen on and leaned back in my chair. I wasn't planning on getting off yet, so I also crossed my legs in a meditative yoga pose and put the carton box in my lap. Fixed my hoodie from wrinkling in the armpit area. The box didn't stand up straight, so I had to tear my eyes off the screen and try to position it so I wouldn't get cold noodles all over myself.
The video started before I could look up, and a series of loud, aggressive and unusually low moans drilled in my ears. I jumped and almost dropped my noodles. Reached out to the keyboard and frantically tapped the button to turn the sound down. Due to shock, my hands were trembling like I'd just had a bad fight.
Oh god. My eyes are glued to the screen.
Short cutscenes with everything that's expected to be in the video. I cringed through them all. Focusing on cocks isn't essential in straight porn, straight porn emphasizes on women more, it's not, like, rocket science. This is so much different.
Then it showed the title and I straightened up. I'd aimed to jerk off and now it feels like I'm exploring Jean's world of logic. You do not try to argue with Jean about logic or philosophy or anything like that, he will wreck you and you'll end up feeling like shit.
A nice, big mansion was displayed from a higher point, revealing a huge, blue pool and a garden that made Jean's living territory pale down. I swallowed and poked up a slice of chicken. Damn, rich boys. Wished I owned a damn crib like that. I'd be all over MTV.
Next scene was the one from the screencaps. The pale guy stood in the center of the frame, hands in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders lifted upwards like he's shrugging, but not really, I don't know what this pose is, seems like he's trying too hard. Defined arms, nice forearms, underground fighter imposter neck. A really thick neck, but not like, you know... Bull thick. Just good thick. Meaty. He's generally very proportionate and it's obvious he's put time in creating this image. Chest in a black tank top, earlier mentioned jeans (not skinny, just good fit), and legs - in a pair of Converse sneakers. Fuck, Jesus, that's some style. My eyes went up to his face. It's rare there are actually attractive men in porn, but this is slash gay, after all.
The video's so HD I think I could count his lashes. Straight nose, prominent cheekbones, arched and uneven eyebrows, dark, narrow, not particularly large eyes. Dark hair, longer than the standard men's hair length. I twirled the fork in my mouth.
He's actually attractive.
I looked up at the ceiling and looked back down at his face. I paused the video and stared.
My stomach is tickling. With stomach I mean the area right above my dick, and it's not a good tingle.
The most important factor's the feeling I fucking know this person and I know this person really, really well. Like, when you see something or someone and it's like a sick déjà vu. You feel super special for a while, and then it's like, hang on, fuck, that's such a casual thing. Memory is just ass and people don't use their brain to it's extent.
There's suddenly a memory flash of a video called Anal - An Intro on the straight section, and the first ten minutes are narrated by a really senseless woman.
Anal sex is another way of making love, and can be described as an act of utmost respect and trust between you and your partner. The most important rule is to never try to convince your partner in doing something she does not want to do.
This, but in the voice of a single, forty-year old woman that clearly does not know what's the fun in sex.
This is the capacity of human brain. I resumed the video and nervously poked my noodles, still having this blank voice in the back of my head.
"...from Atlanta asked if we'd agree to shoot a private scene of this, and I said, no, hell no, we won't get it private." That voice was ass deep and sultry, but it's not his. "We're making it public, because the idea is amazing. Thanks Andrew, the crew is with you, we're hoping you're on your feet soon. Atlanta's missing you."
The standing guy made a hashtag out of two peace signs. "Pray for Andrew."
Hang on, this is porn? He looks and acts fucking fifteen or something.
"Pray for Andrew," the cameraman said. "Hey, he asked if it's possible you tell us about yourself. Like, not to us, we all know you like a colorful dog, but Atlanta's interested. Make it interesting, we might air it to Chicago on the weekend."
"Chicago?" He's cringing. "I'm not on this CB track, sorry."
"We'll talk about it."
The guy standing did a fainting act. "Unprofessional, your star's rocking daggers. Sue me, but CBs' sturdy guys need new ideas, sorry."
There's a lot of people laughing behind the camera. He also smiled and looked over at them instead of the cameraman.
I literally understood shit from this conversation.
"A, let's go."
His name's A? Wow, man, no wonder you ended up here. Life's gotta be tough with analphabetic parents.
"Alright. What counts as an effective introduction?" A asked. "CB flashing all over the screen? Beef me all you want, but advertising yourself needs a borderline, and I'm not talking about this here, I did it two weeks ago back at Plaidbacks. Plaidbacks to the end of tomorrow, sorry, Andy, there's nothing good in this world. Link it lower."
"Schedule!" Someone from the back shouted. Whatever this guy's name was, his expression jerked and he stepped back.
"What's your name?" A lighter voice asked. "Name, age, interests?"
"My name's A to you and Levi to my parents." He winked. "I'm twenty five, a professional soccer player and soon-to-be soccer coach. Love sports. Soccer is great. Sex is better."
Jesus Christ, oh my God, oh, sweet fucking mother, fuck.
It's probably just a coincidence, Eren, don't stress it.
"...and it's, as in, don't steal my game. Been there since I turned five, still hanging. Pretty sure no Jamie or Knux has it better. I'm lovely and aspiring, a New Jersey boy, two thousand..."
I know you, dude.
"...love fun, sex isn't a leisure time activity, it's more about..."
"...because it's a form of art if you understand it from the aspects of being in front of the camera and being a grinning cameraman..."
I paused it again and stared at his face. These really familiar vibes, he's the same, it's the same person, he's just five years younger, it's him, he... It's fucking...
HOLY FUCK. FUCKING SHIT.
Fucked up good.
So, so very fucked.
Toggled fullscreen off and closed the tab. Closed TOR and shut down my computer. Didn't finish my noodles, threw them out. Ditched teeth brushing. Fuck that.
I fell in my bed and closed my eyes.
Levi. Levi. Levi.
I didn't know anyone else in New Jersey named Levi. He said it himself, it's not a porn star pseud, A's his porn star pseud. A stands for Ackerman. Levi Ackerman. LEVI.
IT'S HIS NAME. IT'S HIS NAME. IT'S THE NAME OF MY SOCCER COACH. MY SOCCER COACH. IT'S HIS NAME.
Hey, Eren, still thinking it's a coincidence?
No, no, man, it's not a fucking coincidence, it's real life. Terrified, I pulled my blanket over my head.
I go on Pornhub to find what I need, master-debate, clean the mess and clean my history, not run up on a five year old video of my soccer coach getting a fucking handjob.
And my fucking life aim is to become a professional soccer player. Foreshadowing where I'm ending up in five years?
Light me on fire.
Fucking Jesus Christ, light me on fire.