Hi there!

Long time, no see. For those of you reading "A Life of Style," I apologize for the continued delay in updates. Life, in all its unpredictability, got the better of me during the summer and fall, and I'm only now back in a place where I can write again. Rather than continue on with that story, I thought it might be productive, for now, to try my hand at something new. Thus we have this new, relatively short piece that is a bit AU-ish in that it involves Polly Prissypants still being alive. That said, I hope you enjoy it.

Happy readings,

TEPR

The last time the Big One did it to me, he made a mess. He'd never done that before. Then again, he's not as much of a gentleman as he used to be. When he first started loving me—really loving me—he was gentler, almost like he was scared. That's how the Little One is now: his movements are hesitant and tender. There's true affection in those eyes.

Things with the Big One are not like they used to be. He used to hold me and whisper things to me until he fell asleep, and I would watch him breathing, his labored breaths catching in his fat as he snored.

"I love you, Polly Prissypants," he used to say.

I love you, too, I would think, wishing I had the language to show him. But then he would hold me into the night, and nothing else mattered.

Now I have been replaced by someone new, and I don't like it. The first time I saw them together like that, I could have cried, if my teal button eyes were capable of tears. The Little One buried his fear in adrenaline. The Big One just wanted the Little One. They did things that made me sad. They touched each other's faces and bodies. The Big One kissed the Little One on the mouth. He rubbed the Little One's hand and then kissed him on the forehead and then crawled down and put his little thing in his mouth. The Little One shivered, and I had to look away. I couldn't take it. Why didn't he love me like that anymore?

I should have known it would happen this way. I think the Little One must have been onto us for a while. He's a sneaky one, playing it off like it was a complete accident. It must have taken a lot of work to make that look of horror and curiosity seem so real when he walked in on us that afternoon.

"Ike, what the hell are you doing?" the Big One sputtered, climbing off of me and tucking himself back into his tighty-whities.

The Little One looked stunned. Finally he stumbled out of his daze and said, "Kyle's sick today. I'm here to get his assignments, remember?"

The Big One nodded and pointed to his desk; the Little One retrieved some papers. He left without saying another word. A few seconds after he was gone, the Big One wept into his pillow. He mumbled something about being embarrassed, but I don't know why. We were just playing.

The next afternoon, the Little One showed up again. I was onto him.

"Why are you here?" the Big One asked, horrified, as he looked up from his homework.

The Little One looked bored and shrugged.

"I'm sorry you had to see that yesterday," the Big One said quietly, crossing his arms. "You're too young for that stuff."

The Little One rolled his eyes. "I'm nine. I'm not fucking retarded." My teal eyes got big, and I cringed when he said that. I hate when boys use naughty words.

"You're still too young to be thinking about sex," the Big One said, his voice cracking a little on that last word, the one he didn't want to say.

"I already went through premature puberty when I was a kid, dumbshit." He walked over and sat on the bed. Before the Big One could stop him, he picked me up from the pillow where I was resting and lifted up my dress. He pretended to be disgusted but was clearly intrigued.

"Were you fucking this thing?" he asked. This thing? The nerve!

"Put her down!" the Big One shouted.

"Her?" The Little One cocked an eyebrow and started rubbing me in my special place. "I bet she must like this a lot, huh?"

The Big One tackled him and knocked me across the bed. My hero.

I watched them as they moved, wrestling on the bed. The Big One kept the Little One pinned easily until the Little One grabbed his no-no area, which caused him to jump. The Little One stood and flashed a cocky grin.

"Fuck you," the Big One said, trying to save face. But as he backed up, he tripped over a power cord and fell backwards, face-planting against his desk. When he came back up, his lip was bleeding. "Goddamnit," he murmured, trying not to cry. He rushed to the bathroom to stop the bleeding but not before shoving the Little One back onto the bed.

Once we were alone, he picked me up to examine my special place, the hole under my dress the Big One made when he first started loving me.

"Holy shit," he whispered. The wheels started turning in his head. I felt so naked and alone.

He quickly stumbled to the door and locked it before pulling off his pants and climbing back onto the mattress. At first I thought it would be bad, but he was surprisingly gentle and loving—not at all like he was before. When he was done, he collapsed on top of me. Thankfully, he climbed off before suffocating me. The whole thing happened before the Big One returned from the bathroom, completely oblivious to what had happened.

"Why are you still here? Get the fuck out!" he grumbled when he saw the Little One standing by the window.

He glanced at me once more before he left. The two of us had a secret now. I felt so alive.

After dinner that night, the Big One took me to bed for the last time. It was quick and loveless. His little thing was there, but his mind was elsewhere. When he finished, it scared both of us because he flooded my special place with something warm and sticky. That had never happened before. I could have cried; he did. Why couldn't things go back to the way they were before?

It was several days before the Little One came back. My special place had become crusty from neglect after the Big One failed to clean me up. Worse, I was lonely. When he first showed up that afternoon, unannounced, I was sure he was here to see me, but he didn't even look my way. When they talked to each other, it went like this:

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"You can't just keep showing up like this."

"It's okay. I told my parents you were going to tutor me because Kyle's too busy with band after school. They believed me."

"But you don't want tutoring?"

"No."

"What do you want?"

Maybe they didn't say those words exactly. I'm not good at telling stories or remembering things. But I remember what happened next. The Little One closed the door behind him and kicked off his shoes. He walked over to the bed and sat down. I couldn't see his eyes, but I could see the Big One's. They stared at each other a long time. At first the Big One looked annoyed, and then he was confused, and then hesitant, and then he had that look I know all too well, the one he'd get right before he'd climb on top of me and bite his bottom lip and pull down his pants. That was the look he got on this day right before he joined the other boy on the bed. Then the touching started, and the shedding of clothes. Sometimes I looked away, but then I'd sneak a peek and see something that made me sad. The last time I looked, a hastily discarded pair of underwear landed on my face. All I could see and hear was white cotton.

The afterschool tutoring continued for twelve days, and also early one Saturday morning. After the second time, the Big One didn't mind if the other hung around for a while after, playing video games or doing his homework or just sitting by the window. Some days the Big One would have to help his mother with the laundry or do dishes or change a lightbulb, and every time the Little One would quickly lock the door and take down his pants and do things to me. These were the only times that anyone loved me anymore.

One time the Big One walked in and saw us like that, me embarrassed in my compromised position and the Little One not breaking his stride. The Big One sat down and watched us and touched himself, and they both kept going until they were finished.

It all came crashing down the day of the intruder. I had never seen this new boy before, but it was clear that the others had. The Little One was missing his shirt, and the Big One was kissing his neck.

"Ike, I don't know why you're not answering your phone, but Mom says—" The new boy stopped in his tracks as he crossed the threshold. His silence paused time, but it didn't last forever.

"What the fuck are you doing to him?" he suddenly roared, fire in his eyes. He grabbed the Big One up from the bed. I had to look away after the first punch to the gut. I don't know what happened after that because the Little One grabbed me, as if instinctually, and crawled to the corner of the room. He held me tight for a while before shoving me deep into his backpack between a book and a shoe. I heard shouting and kicking and cursing and crying, and when the Little One finally stood and tossed his bag over his shoulder, I saw the new boy again, raw and alive. There was hurt in his eyes, and suddenly I understood. Sometimes I wish I had a brother, a real boy who would love me forever.

After two weeks, I am finally settling into my new home. It's not as cozy as that great big room, but I'm managing. My neighbors are fine—the barrel of monkeys and Rubik's cube and Mr. Penguin with his tiny felt tuxedo. Sometimes, though, I worry that I'll never get out of this place alive. The last time the Little One touched me was the morning after he brought me here. After I spent the night watching him sleep from my spot in his backpack, he dug me out not long after he woke up. He looked into my teal eyes and swirled a finger around in my special place. But then he sighed and tossed me rather carelessly into a bin in his closet. And that's where I've remained since. Every morning I see him, same as always, and hope that maybe he's returned to rescue me. He's always half-asleep, hair disheveled and wearing only his underwear. Only once did he look at me, and when he reached down, it wasn't me he wanted but a sweater. Every day when he gets ready to leave me, I want to jump up and envelope him or run away back to the Big One's house. But instead I lie here, same as always, my quiet teal eyes wishing they could scream—would you like to play with me?

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this odd little experiment. Whether it was your cup of tea or not, I always appreciate feedback. Please leave a review if you are so inclined; I would appreciate it greatly.

Cheers,

TEPR