All human. The idea came to me when I was bored and horny and wanting to fuck Taylor Lautner. My story. Only the characters were stolen.
POV=that annoying Edward kid every twelve-year-old-girl finds so attractive because he's "tortured" and "sparkles". You know what else does that? A diamond from Africa. Why don't you go fuck that?
I had always wanted him. Despite what you may think. My petty hatred was the sad cliche wall I hid behind.
I know I spent many a lunch hour complaining about him. His stupidity. His roughness. His boring, blandish, stereotypical jock from high school. The one everyone fawns over, but in a couple years will be a faded memory. Forgotten in the haze as much as the wallflower in the corner of school dances.
In a word: forgettable.
I had always said that. At lunch. At football games. In class. Never to his face. Just to my friends. I had always said shit about him like that.
They thought I despised him. Wanted to never talk to him.
In reality, every time I thought of him, instead of wanting to spew hate, I wanted to spew lust. Don't get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing going on up there, but there is so much going on under his shirt, and from what I've been told, in his pants.
I take it because I know I have my flaws. I know I'm that pretentious "better-than-thou" snob loser who listens to indie bands and does nothing out of high school except complain, brag about going to shows and thinking "deeply". In reality, it's just another one of my shields. Most of my friends are considered emo. I find myself thinking about how inferior they are to me, but not compared to the rest of the world. I even get annoyed at myself sometimes, the things I think and say. It's ghastly.
To sum up myself: I write poetry. Anyone you know who writes poetry nowadays as a teenager is full of themselves and a loser. Me and all the whiney emo bitches.
But this is not about me slandering myself. No, this is about me and what I did to Jacob Black.
Whenever I thought of Jacob (which is a lot), to my friends I would complain about him and his idiocy. But in my brain, I would imagine him fucking the daylights out of me.
And my friends would be none the wiser. None of them knew I was gay. They all had suspicions, of course, but none of them were certain. Because if I told them, they would automatically treat me differently and my life would suck and to them, I would just be "the gay kid."
So I kept that and my lust for Jacob to myself. Labels are crap, anyway. I do not want people to have some pre-assumptions of me just because of my sexual preference. Even worse, I don't want them to like me even more just because I'm gay. "Aw, you're gay? Be my gay best friend!" I hated it. Just because I like cock does not automatically make me cooler or cuter. Treat me for me, not my preferences.
How I got in the predicament with Jacob Black in my bed is neither important or revelant. I just say that because I can't remember. But who fucking cares? This is for the sex, right? My little story. You're only listening because you want to hear all the gritty details about how I swallowed his cock in two of my orifices. It's understandable. I would do the same thing.
The only background you need is that I was in a bed (unmarked) with one Jacob Black (sober and fully clothed...for now) and that he and I have said possibly six things to each other. One of them being "Can you get my pen?"
So there I was, in this bed, and we were discussing life. And I was reading him like a book. I helped him with all his daddy issues, his hatred of his family, his problems in school, his anger at the world, all of it.
"It's like you can read my mind," he commented. I'm just not stupid while you are. All his problems were idiotic and unoriginal. I'd heard the suburban blather many a times that I could see each twist from a mile away. Going through the motions so many times, I knew exactly what to say.
And then we got to the best topic of the night: his sexuality.
"I haven't been with a girl in a long time," he complained. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. Everyone thinks I'm gay just because I haven't fucked a girl since freshman year. I don't know what's wrong with me. It's all just so...boring. You know? All the girls in our school. Exactly the same. Same boobs. Same body. Same brain. Same soul. Same...everything."
"Know how you feel."
"Why do they think I'm gay just because I haven't had a girlfriend in some time?"
"I don't know. It's a cruel world filled with gossipers and slanderers. We just gotta live and move on."
"I just...I don't know. I can't even jack off anymore. I used to go at least once a night. Now even my favorite magazines and my favorite porn stars all...just feel the same."
"I have a question: Have you tried opening up the field?"
He turned to me and stared at me, gawkingly, with those brownish black eyes of wonder. Like motionless waterfalls, he captured me in his wonderful gaze. Stagnant, but full of amazement. Like I had the answer to it all and he was tapping into it. "What do you mean?"
I decided to test my belief that everyone is somewhat bisexual. There is no black and white: only gray. Even I admit to sometimes finding the female body attractive, though hard muscle is my main desire. "I'm talking about...have you ever been with a guy?"
"That's...no! Never!"
"Why not? You're so bored with women, why not try another flavor?"
"Because...I don't know. It seems weird. I'm not gay."
"You don't have to be. You can be curious. Bisexual. You can like fucking a dude without having to be gay. Sex is sex. You should try it once."
"I don't know."
"Open your mind. Explore. Have fun. Try a new experience."
"Maybe."
"How would you feel if I kissed you?"
"I don't know..."
I slowly moved towards him and placed my hand onto his very chiseled chest. I could feel his heart pounding underneath me. He was in the palm of my hand. I had control over him. Complete control. I could feel the blood pounding from his chest to a lower region as his crotch woke up to the smell of sex. Being touched again? Finally! It's been so long. I'm ravenous. Give me something to fuck.
I could tell he was hesitant. His lips quivered, the short stubble on his upper lip moving slightly. His eyes were wide open, shifting from my eyes to my lips constantly. His button nose was inches from mine. We were close, I could feel that heat from him enter my body. That life. That manly boyish electricity and life.
It all stopped. The heart, the eyes, the blood, the everything. My lips touched his. For a moment. Barely any movement. But it felt heavenly. After so much wanting. After waiting so long. It finally happened. There. I had kissed the thing I had lusted over for so long.
Our lips parted, and he breathed again. His chest moved under my hand. His eyes slowly fluttered open again. Things began to move again.
I chuckled slightly, drunk with power and lust. I felt woozy. It was too phenomenal. And it was just a kiss. Much more was in store.
"Well..." I asked, "how was it?"
"..."
