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Chapter THREE: The Only Thing I Want To Finish
Read the previous chapters for sense being made. It’s been AWHILE since I posted here, hopefully I can be more productive in the future. Most likely, not. These ideas were loosely influenced off of real life experiences, combined with missed opportunities and personal fantasies. The story is complete fiction; however many of the situations are exaggerations based off real life. Most of the names in this series have been changed, except for the people I hate.
Feedback is always welcome. Thanks for reading!
SCENE ONE: Depression or Cynicism
It’s been a boring, uneventful three days since that cashier chick sucked me off in that parking lot.
As I drove to work this morning, the fragrance of her perfume still lingered in my backseat. For whatever reason, she’s been stuck on my mind for half a week. It wasn’t her looks that did it for me, but rather her attitude and the way she succumbed to orally please me. She had this drive I’ve never seen in a woman before. And I’m sure I’m not the first stranger she’s ever felacio’d casually just for the fuck of it. I need to start living my life like that. No, not the ‘sucking some stranger’s cock’ part, but the ‘doing whatever I feel like doing’ part. Yeah yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Go away gay thoughts.
I had to open the pizzeria this morning. It’s not the best hours for me. 8am-5:30pm. It should be tolerable for ordinary people but not for self-deprecating night dwellers like me. The manager used to be a douche, complaining over every little thing I did. Probably didn’t help that he had a military history. But after he promoted me to a ‘person in charge’, we became cool. I could go on about the cast of characters at the Italiano’s pizza joint, but that’s for another chapter.
When I got back home Dylan and Megan were fighting in their room. I could tell they were fighting because Megan was doing most of the talking. Dylan usually shuts up in their heated arguments, and to be fair — no male can match the emotional firestorms that Megan can stir up. I took off my flour-covered, pizza sauce-splattered work attire and hopped into the shower. Ahh, refreshing.
A spray of steamy hot water snapped my neck sideways. It was burning hot but I loved it. The fog of steam from the shower clouded up the mirror. Good.
The mirror squeaks as I slid my palm over the glass, revealing my dumb face. After such a deserved showering I should be happier, but for some reason I felt miserable. I felt like dog shit, again. If I am depressed, two random spontaneous sexual encounters weren’t the cure for it. I still don’t feel confident or fulfilled.
Looking at my reflection, I ran my hand across my face. Smooth shaven. I liked my stubble but work requires their employees to shave everything off, face-wise. I suppose they don’t want random hair particles in people’s pizzas. Rubbing the top of my head, I remembered how long I had my hair back in high school. Now I have a Marine-style buzz cut. I like my hair now. Looking at the times in high school, my hair was ridiculous. Shit, everything was ridiculous back then.
Having a bedroom filled with useless junk didn’t help with how I felt. I’m surprised I haven’t seen a rat scamper around in this wasteland. I gotta clean up this place. Maybe tomorrow. I got dressed and sat myself down on my computer chair. It’s a routine I’ve mastered for years. After turning on the computer, I ironically looked at a word document without any words documented. Nothing but blankness, just a white rectangle and a blinking cursor. This is more than writer’s block. Why do I want to be a writer when I have nothing to say? I’m a 24 year old nothing. I haven’t lived life. I haven’t traveled or experienced interesting situations. As I rested my forehead onto the keyboard the sound of my bedroom door creaked behind me.
“Fuck this man. I’m tired of this shit.” It was Dylan, obviously distraught. He dove onto my bed facing the ceiling.
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“Well for starters, she won’t let me say anything. She keeps talking and talking and talking. I might as well be an inanimate object…” Dylan looked around the room. “…like this chair, or this empty bag of chips, or this pile of dirty laundry.” He sat up now. “Dude, it’s just a suggestion but maybe clean your room?”
“First off, when I said ‘tell me about it’ I meant it as an expression. I don’t wanna hear about your stupid emotional fight with Megan. Second, I like my messy room. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
Dylan collapsed back onto my bed and sighed. “I just can’t do this anymore.”
“You always say that.” I turned my chair around and gazed onto my blank word document. “Is she still here?”
“Nah, I think she went out with Kerry and Annalisa. They’re probably talking shit about me right now.”
Oh, Kerry… *closes eyes and slowly smiles*
Oh, Annalisa… *shutters with horror*
Dylan starts chuckling. “Seriously though, you should really get aliağa escort at Annalisa.”
“Fuck you, are you trying to make me more depressed?” I jested.
“So you finally admit it. You have depression.”
“I doubt I’m clinically depressed. However, even if I was depressed, is it a breakthrough that I admitted it? Just because I’m self-aware of my depression doesn’t lift the dark clouds over my head,” I said.
Dylan didn’t reply so I continued. “There’s a reason why you and Megan wanted me to hook up with Annalisa in the first place. It’s because I was such a bore when it comes to connecting with people.”
“I dunno,” Dylan said. He sat back up with sincerity masked over his face. “You shouldn’t be so down on yourself all the time. Compared to others you don’t have it that bad.”
“I know that,” I sighed. “People always say there are people less fortunate out there. Starving children in Africa. People with AIDS in Africa. Umm… some other horrible shit that’s happening in Africa. Knowing there are people that have it worse than me doesn’t make me feel better. That would be self-indulgent. ‘My life is better than these people so that makes me feel good’. Fuck that. I don’t like who I am right now and that includes all of my first-world problems. If you can’t understand that, then keep comparing your own life with less fortunate people to make yourself feel better.”
“Yeah, I don’t think you’re depressed,” Dylan nods.
“I didn’t say I was depressed. I said I felt depressed. There’s a big difference.”
Dylan chuckles again. “Yeah. Plus, I know I wouldn’t be depressed after having some girl mouthfuck me in a parking lot.”
Fucking Megan. “Of course Megan would tell you,” I groaned.
“I’m mad you didn’t tell me first. That shit sounds erotic as fuck!”
“Alright, keep it in your pants buddy. Oh yeah, that’s the only place you can keep it. ‘Cause you know, Megan’s not talking to you right now.”
“That’s cold.” Dylan pulled up his phone. It looked like he was checking his text messages.
“This is why I hate relationships; having a girlfriend sucks. You mean to tell me I have to sacrifice half of my life and give it to another person? I have personal goals and accomplishments to achieve. I don’t have the time, effort, and money to spend it on some bitch that’s not even important to me right now. My life is important right now. Then you fight over something stupid and you feel guilty and she makes you think you’re an asshole. Isn’t that how you feel right now?” I said, staring at Dylan. “You feel like an asshole, right?”
Now I wasn’t sure if I was depressed or just cynical.
“You’re like the Martin Luther King of frustrated single men. Can you say something that doesn’t sound like a rehearsed speech?” Dylan laughed. He hid his emotional baggage deep underneath his smug grin. “You say you don’t want a girlfriend. Are you saying that because you can’t get one? You’re single right now and I see a blank page on your computer. You have no excuses. You’re not motivated to write, you’re just scared. Get a girlfriend and shut up with your illogical bullshit already.”
He had a point. Where did my drive to write go? If I wanted to be the best I can be, how come I’m too scared to enter the race? I can talk all I want, but until I step foot on the track I have no right to talk.
“That blowjob chick seems like girlfriend material, am I right?” Dylan mentioned.
I laughed. “I said I don’t want a girlfriend.”
“I’m sure you still think about her. C’mon. You’re not that much of a robot to just toss her away like that.” Dylan kept prying. He’s good at that.
“I think about her but I don’t wanna hang out with her. Sure, I want to actually fuck her. But she’s not a person I would like to go rock climbing and cuddle with.”
“What about Kerry?” Dylan asked.
“What?! She’s not that crazy.”
“Trust me. She’s quietly insane. The worst type of insane. I can see it in her ass,” I quipped back.
Dylan laughed. “You mean, ‘I can see it in her eyes’.” Then he paused. “Well she does have an insanely bubbly little petite ass on her. And you hit that shit? What was that like? We talking anal here?”
This conversation was going nowhere. “What are we even talking about?” I asked.
Since writing my next story wasn’t coming to fruition — especially with my annoying roommate roaming around my bedroom — I logged onto Facebook. There was nothing but memes and viral videos on my newsfeed, as per usual. Dylan stood up from the bed and sat next to me, watching me scroll down my newsfeed.
“Who was the last girl you dated? Amanda, right?” Dylan asked.
“Yep. Three years ago.”
“Go to her page.”
“Fuck that. I don’t even have her on Facebook.”
“And I’ve never even seen a picture of her. You probably made her up.”
“Unfortunately she’s real. A real cunt.” Good one Ryan. #highfive
Dylan pushed in his scrawny arm over mine and went straight for the keyboard. izmir rus escort “Let’s see if we can find her.”
“Dude, no. Fuck off!” I yelled as I swatted his hands away from the home row position.
With a small grin, Dylan sighed. “Jeez, so sensitive. What did this bitch do to you? I can’t believe I still don’t know the whole story behind this.”
I sighed in defeat. “Do you really wanna know?”
“Fuck yeah! I got all day. It’s not like Megan is waiting for me.”
“Fine I’ll tell you what happened. Just remember one thing.”
Dylan laughed again. “Yeah, what?”
“I’m different now. I was a dumb fucking kid back then — a dumb, fat, fucking pussy little kid.”
SCENE TWO: No One Else
Just a disclaimer — following this site’s policies and term of conditions — everyone in this flashback is 18 years old or over. Even though part of this flashback is in my high school years, these characters are not minors. My apologies, Jared.
It was the mid 2000’s. The internet was starting to burst into popular culture. Teenagers began to see their social life decline into a series of shared videos and text on a computer screen. I don’t mean to be pretentious, but I started being introverted way before my peers thought it was cool.
I moved around a lot in California. Traveling from small town to small town took a toll on my friendships — the very few friendships I had. High school was the loneliest place on Earth. Everyone knew each other from childhood and formed their own social groups. However, it wasn’t like how it’s portrayed on TV or in the movies. The school wasn’t divided by jocks, cheerleaders, or nerds. Shit, my school was so poor; it didn’t even have recreational sports.
Back then, everybody had an urge to fit in. In some way, I still do. I was a quiet kid. I didn’t talk much because…
“Will you get on with it? I ain’t here to listen to a fucking biopic you over-explaining douche,” Dylan said, interrupting my story.
“Hey asshole! I’m trying to create the scenery so you can understand how I was–“
“I get it. You were a fat, dumb kid that didn’t fit in. Boo fuckin’ hoo. Hurry up with the Amanda story,”
“Fucking dickhead. Fine.”
One day in English class, the teacher split the class up into pairs for a big project. Apparently I paired up with Amanda’s best friend — Sally. I didn’t care who I was partnered up with at the time since I hardly talk to anybody I’m unfamiliar with. Amanda kept begging me to switch with her so she can be grouped with her friend. Being the schoolboy that I was, I told her to ask the teacher. She did so, but the teacher refused.
Anyways, a few weeks go by and Amanda’s partner for the class project didn’t show up. We later found out her class partner had cancer.
Dylan laughs out loud.
“What the fuck, man?”
“Sorry,” Dylan apologized while wiping his eyes. “I just didn’t expect a cancer kid to be in the story.”
I sighed, “As I was saying…”
The teacher found out about Amanda’s partner and decided to group her with me and Sally. Amanda and Sally would basically take over the project as I sat there pretending to contribute. That’s when I began my childish school crush with her.
My hand would press up against my chubby cheek, caught in an unbreakable stare. I started my gaze on her stone brown hair as it curled off in front of her face, swaying with every head movement. Her freckly face and fair skin seemed soft to the touch, unaffected by teenaged acne or pimples. I kept my gaze on her ruby lips as she talked to her friend, watching every consonant and vowel escape her tongue. Her bright brown eyes would meet mine, and then she would smile.
Amanda was unique in many ways. Even back then she had a reputation of a party girl. However, she had hints of a nerdy personality and very outspoken on certain political views. I got to know her more and we became great friends. In our many occasions after school we would hang out and talk about our problems with families and life in general. It was nice to have someone to bounce off my overthinking thoughts to. Plus, she was a pretty girl, so that helped as well.
I quickly became clingy to her. I would travel miles just to see her. Important situations and personal priorities were ignored because of her. So much effort was put into our relationship with the possibility that she might think we were more than friends. I would bring her flowers and gifts on special days — I thought that’s what romantic assholes would do. However, nothing happened. This resulted in me being frustrated. I couldn’t comprehend why my efforts couldn’t develop into my high expectations.
One day she invited me over to her place for a get-together. She invited Sally and some of her other friends too, but they never showed up. It was just me and her. She told me she had a fight with her friends and they basically banished her from their circle. Over and over, she kept saying how unfair it was for them to do that. Her reputation izmir escort was ruined. That’s when she walked towards me with a foreign look in her eyes. Her eyelids wet with emotion. I could sense a wanting from her. She said that I’m the only one that was there for her. When she needed someone, I was her only friend. I told her she was my only friend, too.
I figured out what happened to her all her friends years later — but I’ll explain that in a little bit.
She was vulnerable in my hands; pure sentiment was finally revealed through her voice. I wanted to support her in any way possible. However, the only way she knew how to truly connect with someone was with sex. I’ve never had sex at that time and truthfully, it freaked the fuck out of me. The sight of a real life human vagina would confuse the vomit out of me. However, I didn’t tell her I was a virgin and frankly it didn’t matter.
Every progression was led by her. She kissed me first and held my chubby cheeks with her hands. Imaginary romantic music was playing in my ears as her tears dropped faster and I wiped them off her pretty face. I didn’t fully understand why she was so distraught — but I knew what was happening next.
“Wait, wait. Let me guess. You fucked her?” Dylan asked.
I sighed. “I was going to say something cheesy, like we ‘made love’.”
“That’s so cute of you.”
“Shut up. Don’t ever say that word… ever.”
I was so self-conscious about myself. I was an obese little boy, after all. When I took off my shirt for the first time in front of her, I was anticipating a murderous scream or a flurry of pepper spray. But it wasn’t like that at all. She loved me for who I was, even if I looked like a blob. My droopy man tits and gentle, mushy skin didn’t bother her. That’s when I decided to let her devour me.
I drank in her nude figure. With every curve of her flaring hips and the jiggle of her perky B cup breasts. Decent, light-brown nipples centered each of her pert tits. I ran my fingers over that same delicate skin I would gaze at school. It was like sunshine to my touch. We lay back together and were engulfed by each other’s flames.
We began dating for the rest of the school year. We did everything together. My handful of friends started to separate from me. Her former friends did the same. It was just us two enjoying life like everyone was against us.
She told me she was going to move to the Los Angeles area after high school. I asked her why, and she said she hated the Valley. She wanted to start a new life and she burnt too many bridges with everyone here locally. Her attitude was fiery and rigid, so I understood why it was hard for people to befriend her.
I would take the Amtrak train down to her place every other week or so. Long distance relationships were tough, man. She found a nice apartment and with a spunky, hipster girl roommate. The roommate didn’t mind me crashing the place from time to time; however it did get awkward when Amanda and I would have sex. And boy, did we have sex. We fucked like convicts every time I would come to visit.
As time passed, she would still often call. Most of her calls would be about how shitty her day was. The odd thing was that she would post things on social media, including group pictures and parties she would attend. In some of these pictures, she would be hugging multiple guys — sometimes all at once. I couldn’t help but to feel like an angry pussy. Jealousy fucking sucks. She was everything to me. I had no one to trust but her. So why would she do this to me?
And of course, I called her — many times. Her phone was bombarded with desperate text messages and sobbing voicemails. I wanted answers for my long-distance accusations. She told me to not worry so much, but it wouldn’t have mattered what she said. I pictured her being fucked properly by these much better looking guys. Stupid fucks with their stupid hair and stupid tattoos. They probably had better jobs and fancier cars and bigger dicks and smelled nicer too. These thoughts were stuck on me like a hang nail: the pain is irritating and urges the person to rip it from one’s finger. But me personally, I liked that feeling of pain. That annoying hang nail is almost — addicting in a way.
She was moving on with her life and at a much quicker rate than I was. After numerous rejections, she finally nabbed a job at Best Buy. She would brag about her co-workers because they were so nice and funny. She always had numerous male friends. There was this one guy from New York she would nickname ‘GQ’ (because he looked like a GQ model, of course). This fucker would invite her to his parties and she would hang out with him and his circle of douchey friends. And of course, jealousy overtook me yet again.
As a tornado of insecurity swirled inside me, she figured it was time to admit her cheating on me — twice. Once with her ex-boyfriend right after she dropped me off at the AmTrak station. She said he was close to the station and it would get late, so she’d spend the night at his place. Later I found out whenever she needed some friendly fucking, he was the man to call. The other, of course, was that GQ faggot. My nemesis. These were just the two men she admitted to… Lord knows how many other guys she’s opened her treasonous pussy to various empty cocks.
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