I should be studying for my SAT's. Instead I'm curling up on my window ledge with du Maurier's Rabecca. I have to admit that I haven't gotten all that far on account of me being really wedged in here. I'm 5'9" and a half now. I fit just fine last month before my growth spurt. UGH! Here I am nearly 17 and I'm stll fucking growing.
I figured it was bound to happen one of these days. Both of my 'rents are tall. My dad's like 6'3" with a beer belly, though he says he doesn't touch the sauce. Mom says he was like some kind of a lady killer back in the day, you know when dinosaurs thundered about on the earth and all that fucking jazz. I don't see it. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying he's got no alibi or some shit like that, but, dad is not McDreamy and he's certainly no McSteamy.
He's gangly with thinning rusty hair he keeps close cropped and dull close set green eyes hidden behind gold wire rimmed bifocals and little smudgy cherry lips. I most definitely have his lips and china doll-esque skin. I have my moms' blond hair, but, that's about it when it comes to my similarities with my... mother. ( Don't get me wrong. I like my mom. In fact, I fucking love her. On;y, there are times were I just wish I had a different one. Get in fucking line, I know. Anybody that says to your face that they don't have issuses with their mother is either a bald faced fucking lier or just plane bat shit crazy. But, then, they don't have a fucking poet for a mother, so, maybe I'm the one whom's full of shit. ).
Esme Northman is a fucking goddess, although I'm sure her students would have another choice word in mind. One that isn't too far removed from witch. ( Bitch). Why is it that when it's a women being demanding and strict she gets labeled a bitch, but, when it's a man that's doing the fucking hard-ass prick routine you just shut up the fuck up and take it in stride? (Ok, inner feminist monologue over with.). Anywhose, mom could roll out of bed and look like she just came from walking a damn red carpet, or some shit like that.
She has thick dirty blonde hair that stretches all the fucking way down her back; which is usually in a cascade of buoyant curls. Mine is usually limp and dull and either hanging in a tangled mess down my back or in a sloppy ponytail because I'm just too damn lazy to do something with it. ( Sometimes I just do know what the fuck to do with it and just want to pull a fucking Britney and shave it all the fuck off.). Mom is a willowy 6'2" with sun kissed that's definitely Popsicle melt-able and the grace of a fucking gazelle on speed. She's not exactly a toothpick, but, she can wear the hell out of a size 4.
I can't get a tan no matter what the hell I do. My BFF Luke and I spent the whole summer at the beach and I might as well have been digging damn blood diamonds deep in a subterranean cave in Sierra Leone for all the fuck it did me. I actually think I managed an inverse tan which is to say I've some how managed to get even paler. And don't get me started on my fucking balance. I'm not a total Bella Swan, but, I do cut it close sometimes. What can I say. Dad and I both have two left feet. And the hunch I have doesn't help matters in the least damn bit.
Can I help it if my fucking raging hormones have me going like a damn walking hard on. Being endowed is as much a fucking gift as a curse. ( Although, I don't get any complaints in the sack. Not to toot my fucking horn and shit. ) My posture's gotten a tad bit better since I've taken to wearing skinny jeans, but, I'm a long shot for the umpteenth annual grace awards.
Anywhose, I'm not too worried about the SAT's. Mom's an English Professor at UCLA and thanks to dad being the math department chair at Berkley I can do algebra in my damn head and calculus in my sleep.
I force myself to try to read the first few paragraphs of Rebecca and as soon as I get to the part were she's getting lost on the road I give it up and move on to Oates' Bellefleur and find better luck there.
I'm just getting to the part where Vernon Bellefleur can't make up his fucking mind about getting out of the oncoming storm when my phone chirps to life and drags me back to cold hard terra firma. I'm not psychic and I don't need caller ID to know that it's Luke calling. It's either him or mom. Dad called the house about an hour ago saying he'll be home after he finishes up his tutoring session with this bloke that's sex walking on a stick. ( Those are my words not his. Dad's as straight a Joe as they fucking come. )
Anywhose, I'm wrong. It's not mom or Luke. I am close though. It's the elder Spencer calling my phone. Logan Spencer is Luke's older bro who's studying physics at Berkley. "What up, Northman," Logan's melodic tenor pierces the silence in the room. He's the only person I know outside of school that calls me by my last name. Mostly I go by my nickname Sylvie, short for Sylvester. Mom named me after her favorite poet Sylvia Plath. The middle names Colette. No explanation needed there.
"Lolo, bébé," I coo back. Logan has the nicest, firmest, ass my dick's had to pleasure of fucking. He's so fucking tight it's like it was made for my dick. And when I eat him out I swear it tastes like fucking chocolate or some shit like that.
"You're coming over to Luke's pre Suck Ass Test party, right?" His voice is heavy with mystery. I'm intrigued by what he's not saying and it's fucking killing me not knowing what it is. I think he's doing this shit on purpose just to drive me ape shit crazy.
"He says he has a surprise for you." There goes more of that cryptic mystery again.
"Like what," I say. My voice rises like ten fucking octaves in my excitement. I obviously fucked up because Lolo dials it way back.
"10 o'clock. Laters." As the dial tone blasts my ear drum I can't help but smile. I fucking hate my smile. It's all goofy and full of pearly teeth. I know what Luke's surprise is. At least, I hope it's what I'm thinking. I've been trying to get into those Maud skinny jeans practically since I met Luke back in fourth grade math class. He was all like "Hey." And I was like "Hey." I know, real articulate and all that shit. But, then he was like "The name's Spencer. Luke Spencer. Like the soap guy." And I was like "Sylvie Northman. Like the crazy writer lady." And he was like "We should hang out sometime. If you don't mind spending time with the boy who likes boys." I was all like "Join the club." Anywhose, I hope he's finally ready to give up the bogina cake.
I hang up my mobile, toss it on my bed and make a mad dash for my shower. I figure I'm going to fuck someone so I may as well be clean. Besides, I haven't shaved in a week and Lolo likes his work space clean. ( And let me tell you that boy's tongue is fucking magic. I could cum just from having him eat me out, and that's fucking saying something 'cause i'm not a particualrly anal person. in fact, I usually get massively turned off whenever a guy even attempts to touch me there.).
An hour and an half later I'm fresh and clean and dressed in my signature blue, the same color as my eyes. I decide to forgo fragrance and head for the door. We have the loveliest view of San Francisco Bay that pictures just can't do justice.
Anywhose, I'm almost out the door when I hear it. It's the damnedest thing; a constant ticking like a defective clock that won't quit. It's fucking weird I'm telling you. We don't own a single clock. I mean, we do own a clock or two, but digital clocks as a rule don't generally tick. It's coming from dad's study. And like the curious little pussy cat that satisfaction brought back I just couldn't help but go and investigate.
Anywhose, I'm almost out the door when I hear it. It's the damnedest thing; a constant ticking like a defective clock that won't quit. It's fucking weird I'm telling you. We don't own a single clock. I mean, we do own a clock or two, but digital clocks as a rule don't generally tick. It's coming from dad's study. And like the curious little pussy cat that satisfaction brought back I just couldn't help but go and investigate.estigate.
Dad is in there and he's out like a broken light. A copy of In Search of Lost Time lay open on his lap. The spine droops from his repeated reading. I never cared much for Proust, but, Dad fucking loves the guy. He reads Lost Time at least once a year, if not more.
Mom and I both like my namesakes. I love Colette a bit more than I do Plath. Mom likes Plath as a poet. I more prefer her prose to her poetry and as for Colette, I prefer her later works to the drivel she wrote with Wyle. Granted, I'm not the hugest fan boy of her treatment of Cheri in Le Fin. It reads like she was mad with her ex-hubby.
Anywhose, I dog-ear Lost Time and set it on dad's desk alongside she specks, which I've just taken off his face where they've slide down the bridge of his nose. I walk over to one of the fugly-as-hell leather wing back chairs and take one of the quilts off the back of the chair and drape it over dad before I leave the house. ( The ticking stopped as soon a I get in the room. I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired as hell and am imagining things. It wouldn't be the first time my imagionation's got the better of me. Anywhose, as I leave I can't help but remember the scene from Practical Magic with the Deathwatch beetle. I just pull a T Swift and shake it off and go about my fucking business.).
As I get behind the wheel of my fire engine red Porsche spider ( a birthday gift from my late Grams. one of which Esme dearest worked herself into a fucking right and nasty fit about. Needlessly to say, it was a fight that Grams won) I realize that mom hasn't made it home yet. I consider myself fucking lucky that I don't have to lie to her. She'd go fucking postal and shit herself if she found out that her petit ange is going out and fucking instead of studying for the SAT's. ( Esme's a firm believer in the work before play manifesto.).
Anywhose, I'm out of the house by 9:30 and speeding down the road. The wind whips and pulls at my hair and tears stream down the sides of my face. I have to admit I feel fucking awesome. I reach Chez Spencer in what feels like no time at all. The clock on the dashboard reads 9:55 as I hop out the cab and make for the door to the house. I should probably mention that Luke stays with Logan full time now that both their 'rents are taking eternal dirt naps.
I knock on the door and Luke answers. He's wearing little more than a crocked smile and an ratty old pair of black briefs that scarcely cover a gd thing. Let me tell you that Luke is fucking hot as hell. He's a 5'9" and an half ginger with legs that just don't quit. We attend the Christ on the Holy Cross Catholic School for Boys where Luke is Captain of the Holy Cross Knights swim team. And believe me when I tell you the boy has a body that can cut marble. I think Michelangelo would have used Luke as the model for his David, or some shit like that. I fucking tell you, if you look up washboard abs on the net you'll see a picture of him front and center. And he has the fucking sexy as hell V thing going on too. He has what Kels ( my resident fag hag, who goes to our sister school (go Holy Cross Vixens ), whose Christan name is Ava Kelly, a future ex-wife of some wealthy fucktard if ever there was one ) calls a full tea ass ( that is to say that he has one of those bubble butts that you could put a full English tea service on and it wouldn't move and inch ).
Needless to say my mouth is hanging all the way down to my damn knees. "You might want to close up that pretty little kisser of yours before I find something to fill it with," Luke chirps in his rich tenor and smiles like the damn devil incarnate.
"I bite, just so you know," I shoot back as I go in for a hug.
"You're nothing but bark," Luke said into my ear as he returns my hug. "You showered." His face breaks slightly and drops into a frown.
"You say that like it's a bad thing, Mister Chlorine."
"I happen to like the smell of my man after a hard days work. That masculine scent ... all nasty and sexy at the same time ... it really gets me hot just thinking about it."
"Alcide we really need to find you a damn wolfette, and bad. Speaking of lovers, where's elder Spencer."
"Out on a date with some loser that looks like an nerdy Edward Cullen reject."
"Jealous much," I tease giving him my best bratty little bro voice as I squeeze his ever firm ass. I'm happy to report his dick gave a huge jump and damn near broke out of it cage of fabric.
"Why should I when the company here is way much more exciting." He says this like Bacall delivers her famous whistle line in To Have and To Have Not.
"Fuck me," I reply in my best Bogie whistle voice. The only thing on my mind at this point is how I'm going to get my clothes off and still make sure Luke has as much fun as possible.
"If you insist. Up for a game of strip poker?" Luke flashes me one of those bright devilish smile of his. I hate to admit that I damn near swooned and my knees just about went from under me. I never thought of Luck as a femme fatale, but, that boy was most certainly giving of a major Satine vibe. He had me so fucking hard I could probably cut a hole in a diamond.
"What do you have to drink," I manage to squeak out in a weak voice as I bumble to the kitchen table.
"The drink du jours is a Spencer Special," Luke says as he tosses me a book of cards. I shuffle while he mixes the pitcher of drinks.( A Spencer Special is Luke's and my take on a French 76 that Luke and I made up one long ago weekend when we were in eighth grade.). "Ok, here's the rules. We're playing traditional six card poker. You win I take two shots. You lose, you take a shot and lose an article of clothing.
"Let's say we make this interesting?" My mind is way the fuck in the gutter ( no surprise there, right) thinking of the various ways I going to fuck Luke into next week. ( What can I say? I take to poker like a fucking duck to water.).
"Ooh, do let's tell," Luke vamps with a swish of the hips that made my cock go even more rigid in my pants.
"First to lose his undies has to be a sex slave for the night." Luke's eyes sparkle and shine with excitement. Whatever happens tonight this is going to be one hell of a night for the record books and that fucking saying something.
"You know me so well. House deals first." Luke takes the cards and he's all business. I win the first three rounds with: two pair, aces over kings; a pair of queens high; and a Royal Flush. ( Told you I am the fucking boss when it comes to poker.).
Fucking fickle fate seams to turn on me during round four. I lose on a four of a kind, jacks high. Luke pulls off a full house with three aces and a pair of kings and I pull off my skin tight Oxford tee shirt as I take my shot. After round seven we're in our bvds and both of us are damn near ready to burst from of cocoons of cotton.
It's my deal and the flop is two jacks and a queen. Luke's face stretches into a Cheshire cat-esque grin which probably means he's got a jack and a queen. I flip over the turn and it's a king. Luke's looking like he's about to get up and dance a fucking jig. He's that damn gleeful. The river is a five.
I win the round with a full house, kings full of jacks. I think I'll sit back and let Luke win just to see what in the name of hell he's got on his mind. "What do you have," I ask as lightly as I would talk about the weather.
"A queens full of Jacks. How about you?"
"I guess I'll be giving up the undies. What'll be your first command, master." That felt weird as all hell rolling off my tongue, but, I think I kind of like the way it all sounds, you know.
"I still want to see what you have," Luck sais with a slight pout.
I pour myself a shot slug it back and toss Luke my black undies with the lime green Papi insignia on the waistband before I say under my breath in a dejected defeated voice "A pair of jacks."
"Oh, really," Luke coos as he saunters over to me. His hips swing and swish seductively as he straddles my lap. His warm entrance beacons. He lightly forms a trail of hot kisses that burn down the cold skin of my neck. My head fucking spins like a million miles a second and my heart's beating like it's about to burst right out of my gd chest. ( I know how fucking corny that sounds. but, it's the damn god's honest truth.). Luke snakes his warm fingers through mine and I feel the cards slip from my hand. Did I forget to mention that I still had the winning cards in my hand? Well I do. Or, at least I did.
"Bitch. I knew you were lying to me," Luke says as he hops up off me. My mind is such a fucking mess I can't even begin to process what in the name of hell just happened. "You would get a kings full of jacks," Luke continues in his one sided dialogue. "I am your. I always have been, you lucky bitch."
"You cuss too much," I said really just to have something to say.
"Really, that's what you're going with? I just fucking offered you a slice of the cake you've been drooling over since before you knew what the secondary functions of a boy's bits was and that's the best you can come up with."
"I'm most certainly going to have to wash your mouth out with something."
"Well, let's go work on that, shall we," He grabs my hand and leads me to his room.
I pull Luke to me for a kiss. It's one of those once in a million, once in a lifetime kind of kisses. The kind of kiss that leaves you breatheless when you enevatably do part and all you want to do is plunge back in in full force.
It's the kind of kiss where the whole world just sort of drops off a cliff, dead in its tracks, and you lose all sence of space and time. Your whole world becomes consentrated in that one spot. His lips become the focal point of your whole existance.
When we do part lips I realize we've somehow made it all the way up the stairs to Luke's room. I'm faintly aware of the door closing behind us as he pulls me back in for another kiss as he falls backwards onto his unmade queen size bed. The last thing I'm aware of is me rolling with him on the bed. His ample hardness digs into my side as he grinds into as we made out like two marooned sailors set in front of a buffet after being rescued.
I break our liplock, and slip from under him. "Are you sure about this, Lukie," I say as I slide in behind him and grip the fantastic ass in my hands.
"Yes. I more than sure," Luke says in a heady and heavy voice.
"Don't you want your first time to be special? To mean something?"
"As long as it's you doing it, it will be special. Like a said 'I was always yours.' Now, hurry up and fuck me or do I have to do eveything myself?"
I kneed the pale mounds of his ass before I dive in. He let's out a moan that were there neighbors the police would have been kicking in the door in three seconds flat with guns fully blazing. I stop for the briefest of spell just to say "Shit! You taste so fucking good." All I managed to get out, before Luke grabs my head, rams it back into his delishous ass, and grinds it aginst my face is a "Sh-". I get back to the job at hand; lapping at his winking starfish like a fat bitch going to a buffet five minutes before closing time. I slowing begin to add fingers. I'm surprised that my whole index finger just slides in, like a pencil through a doughnut hole. Before I know it I'm working him with three fingers. I'm mean, I'm really going to town on him. My fingers are a twisting. They're scissoring. They're doing things that I din't even know fingers could fucking do.
Not even five minutes after I get my third finger into him, he's begging for my dick. I decide the torture him a little bit by reaching under him and giving his drooling cock a nice hard flick earning me I 'what the fuck did you do that for?" I just smile and pull my face from the heaven the is Luck's ass.
"Get on your back," I comand as I grab the lube from under his pillow. I think this is the hardest I have even been in my life. I have to give myself a couple of hard flick just to keep from cumming before I even think about putting the lube on my cock. I get on the bed and swing around into the 69 position.
Luke didn't even get the chace the get my cock in his mouth. Once his lips wrapped around the my dickhead I shot with enough force the launch a rocket to Pluto. Luke didn't fair much better. I had about half of his six inch hardness in my mouth before I too became preoccupided with swollowing his nectur. If I thought his ass tasted amazing, it was nothing to compared to the taste of his cum. It is sweet; almost fruity. I held it in my mouth and was almost sad when I had to swollow to keep up with how much he was firing off.
After we came back from the shores of Orgas-landia I rip my dick from his lips and swing around for another earth shattering kiss. I couldn't get enought of the taste of our cums mixed together. His sweet. Mine slightly salty. If I died at this very moment I wouldn't care because I'd find myself right back here; wakeing up in the heaven of his kisses.
Luke must have grew impatient because the next thing I know he's got me flipped over on my back, lubing my still rock hard cock with one hand and himself with the other.
Not even three minutes later and my cock's slowly slipping into the velvety warmth of Luke's no longer virgin ass. As he bottoms out he lets out a low, satified hiss before he begins to slowly grind his ass on my cock in an attempt to quickly acclimatize himself to having my near ten incher burried to the hilt in the sheath of his ass.
Before too long he's slowly bouncing up and down on my cock attempting to find a rhythem. My dick most have hit his P-Spot because he let out a roaring moan loud enought to wake the dead.
I felt an epic cum building and couldn't help myself. I somehow manage to flip us over without drawing my dick from his hole. With Luke on his back I proceed to fuck the living daylights out of him. I honstly sort of backed out after he bottomed out. It was like a fucking OBE. I was on longer in control of my body. All the mattered was getting my nut.
I was pounding Luke so hard that the only sounds he was cappable of making were a steady stream of gibberish and constant moans. And then, he came with a such a force that his first three shots flew the whole six feet to the wall over his head. His ass clamped down on my cock like a vise causing me to cum so hard I blacked out.
When I next awake it's because my phone is ringing like a hive of bees. I fucking hate my ring tone. Lady Gaga's Love Game assaults my ears as I fumble for the phone.
I should probably mention that I woke up in Luke's bed. He's got his arms wrapped around my neck and his legs are snaked around my hips. The fruits of our merry union still clings to our thigh. His breathe is warm and deep on my cold chest.
I don't need to see the caller ID to know that it's Mommy Dearest calling. I hate to wake Luke, but, I don't have that much of a choice. It's so like Esme to go and fuck up my post-sex buzz. I fucking hate her right at this moment.
"Luke, bébé, you need to wake up," I bill and coo into his ear. My voice is as light as feathers.
"No, don't go," he whispers in a half sleepy voice that's slightly muffled by my chest.
"I'm sorry,babe. But, I have to," I say weakly.
"Stay with me. We can make a heaven of the hell Esme is bound to raise."
Damn you Luke. You know me so fucking well. I've always been a sucker for Shakespeare, no matter how badly the speaker fucks it up. I just fucking love that man. I am putty in Luke's capable hands and even in his daze of sleep he knows that. "I'll stay and die upon the hand I love so well. But, first, I have to assuage the masses."
"Ok. Fine. But, you own me." Luke let's out a heavy sigh and disentangles himself from me. I snake my fingers through his and kiss the back of his hand.
"I look forward to repaying that debt. Now, hand me my phone. S'te baise plaît."
Luke grabs my phone and as he hands it to me he says "I love you to, even though you're a butthole. Tell Esme I said 'hi'." I feed my mom some dumb ass lie about how Luke wanted to get some last minute studying in before the SAT's and how since it would probally be late when we got done I'd just stay over or some such shit like that. I hang up the phone and toss it at the foot of the bed.
"Now, where in the name of fuck were we," I say in a cooing voice.
"You were about to repay a debt and find a place to die in me." Luke kisses my lips cutting off my reply.
"Well, fuck me. When did you learn to kiss like that," I said after some how manage to catch my breathe.
"That's more or less the idea," Luck said with a chuckle.
"You swear far too much."
"Sorry. I can't help it."
"Will you just shut up and fuck me already," Luke says as he pulls me in for another world shattering kiss.
Well, if you have any comments about this story, questions, or just criticisms (constructive ones, please) feel free to message me at: firstname.lastname@example.org. (Heck, just drop me a quick little message to let me know that someone out there is actually reading that and that this hasn't been one long exercise in spurious catharsism.) I will attempt to reply to all messages in a timely manner (usually within a day or two of receiving it.) There may be more on the way, depending on how the responces to this go.
Best wishes and happy extracurricular proclivities to one and all. D. Patterson
P.S.: In case you were wondering, the Spencer Special is an actual drink I concocted ages ago for a Valentine's Day party I once hosted.
Here's how to make it:
For the Drink: In a container of your choosing, add crushed ice and 1 ounces each of Vodka, St. Germain's Liqueur, and Lavender Honey Syrup per serving desired. Add in a bottle of Prosecco wine. Stir to combine and pour into chilled glasses.
For the Syrup: In a large pot set over medium heat, add equal parts granulated sugar, honey, and water. Zest and juice 1 lemon and add to pot. Stir to dissolve. Remove from heat and add 1⁄2 cup Lavender and lemon zest. Allow to cool and run through a fine sieve to remove lavender and zest.
P.P.S: I don't condone underage drinking or any other acts against the laws of the land in which one resides.