Wyatt's Mystery Molly
I had not realised how completely knackered I was. I briefly awoke at 9 am to let out a vibrantly coloured piss, made a mental note to get hydrated, forgot, and crawled back into bed to cuddle with my man.
It was not until way past noon that my body had enough of being comatose. I awoke to Wyatt flipping through the folder of hate Bryce had put together.
I took note of how the soft light was hitting his cheeks, making his skin look so flawless and his chocolate brow hair shine brighter. There was a tingle in my stomach. I really was in love. I had to be, being that taken in by just his face. Thankfully it was just the two of us here, so nobody could see me staring at him doe eyed like that.
"Hey, good morning." I greeted him cheerfully.
"Morning." He said softly, flashed me an excited smile, and leaned in to place a brief kiss on my lips. Hmm, I could get used to waking up like this.
Then suddenly his mood flipped. He held up the folder, waving it in front of me like it was the fabled handwritten original of Mein Kampf. A book, I was certain, Michael was on the hunt for.
"I can't fucking believe it." He spouted angrily, knuckles white and face flushed. "First he inserts himself into this situation, now he does this. He needs to learn some fucking boundaries."
"He was just trying to help. He made some good points actually." I defended, not really in the mood to pick a fight with his family. I just wanted him to come to bed and keep cuddling with me.
"I can't believe he called you trashy. How dare he! Did he make you dye your hair? I thought that was your choice."
"I enjoy playing with colours so it's fine, really."
My hair was currently a rich coffee tone, almost black, I quite fancied it. I had previously dismissed brown as a boring colour but this one suited me well. Even Wyatt had told me so the night before when he had come running to the gate to jump me.
He dramatically slammed the folder on the ground. It hit carpet so it was rather anti-climatic.
"No it's not okay. You are my partner. It should be us making these decisions, together. He is overstepping his reach and micromanaging everything. He is doing all this just so he can walk up to mom and dad and demand a pat on the head. That is how pathetic he is."
"I know you are on a war path with your family, but I would actually like to get along with them. They are my in laws after all."
"You don't need to kiss my family's ass."
"You're being selfish. It will be me who suffers if our relationship is hostile."
"I can't believe you are siding with him."
"You could have put together a guide for me too." I said irritably, crossing my arms.
"A manual to change you and everything I like about you? No fucking thanks. If I wanted that I would have married one of the candidates they tried pitching me."
He climbed onto the bed and reached for my hands. His were warm and sweaty.
"Don't let them change you." His eyes were filling with water. "I like you just the way you are."
"You are putting a lot of pressure on me. I am getting it from both sides now."
"But I am the one who matters, am I not?" He pleaded.
"Are you letting me run into the open fire just so Bryce won't get his way?"
He shood his head adamantly.
"No, I will fight for you until the death."
I had to laugh. How could he promise that if he was not even fighting for me now?
"No really! "He insisted. "None of this means anything to me. I would drop it in a heart beat. I don't care if they kick me out. Let's build a life together, the life that we actually want to live. When we are happy nothing they say can touch us because we are too content to care."
"Can we start by not burning all bridges?" I asked. "I gave up my slot with the Bladebreakers to be here."
"You did what?" He shouted.
Clearly surprised by the development. I thought he had known? That is what his brother had implied.
"It wasn't Bryce's fault. My team gave me an ultimatum."
He got off the bed and began pacing the room, much like my Dad when he was stressed out.
"This is what you want then?"
"I don't want to fight. I don't have it in me right now. It's going to be me who gets blamed for corrupting you, it always ends up being me."
He let out a heavy sigh, clearly not happy with the agreement but willing to compromise.
"Okay, okay. I will concede this battle, but not the war. Tell me, what do you want out of life? Your own dream, not your family's."
I told him my plan with the house in the mountains and the koi pond. His expression softened, and his eyes slowly regained their sparkle as I described our idyllic future to him. He wiped away a tear and kissed me.
"Now that I can get behind."
-x-x-x-
Wyatt spent the rest of the afternoon showing me around his home town. Which wasn't technically his home town but it seemed he never truly had one since his family owned multiple residences in multiple countries. Rich people problems.
Nyon was built on a steep hillslope adjacent to Lake Geneva. It's crowning attribute was a white stone castle erected at the top of the slope, with its proud medieval towers overlooking town. There were terraced gardens snaking along the foot of the castle walls, one of which contained a dense maze, through which Wyatt and I decided to take a stroll. From the top, pedestrians could watch us squirm, running up dead ends and turning wrong corners. Funny how things were so much clearer from the outside looking in.
One advantage of my new hair colour was my anonymity. Nobody gave me stares or seemed to recognise me, I felt gutsy enough to take Wyatts hand and passionately kiss him in the centre of the maze, despite all the tourists looking down at us from above.
"So, so, are you a bit of an exhibitionist too?" Wyatt teased me.
He was still trying to discover all my kinks. It had honestly been a rather fun game for the both of us. For reasons that I doubt need further explanation.
"I do like stirring up the status quo." I confessed.
Drama seemed to amplify wherever I went.
We gradually made our way down to the lake. Exploring the different layers of the town. Next was the shopping street with its narrow alleyways meandering down the hillside. Houses were built at a steep angle and painted in pretty pastels. I was blown away by how many luxury products were on display on every corner. Brands I would never have the means for, such as Rolex, Louis Vuitton, Gucci and Starbucks.
"Wow, prices here are insane. 8 Francs for a pack of batteries."
How could anyone afford living here?
Wyatt informed me that the residents had a practical solution:
"We can get it more cheaply from the -."
"Uh, what the fuck?" Did he seriously just drop that word?
He pointed at the grocery store behind him that was flashing a big, green M. Yeah, this one was on me.
"I said: we can get it more cheaply from the Migros. Why, what did you hear?"
"A different letter." I admitted in shame.
-x-x-x-
Wyatt steered me past aisles of packaged products, straight to the baked goods section where he introduced me to his childhood treats.
"The ham and cheese croissants here are unmatched, even compared to upscale bakeries. And the Ramequins here are super cheesy and delicious, with just the right amount of nutmeg. That's their trade secret." He recounted proudly.
He packed a couple of what looked like hand sized cheese quiches with caramelised crusts into a brown paper bag.
"What are these?"
"Cheesy egg-tartlets made with tons of delicious Gruyère and white wine."
"Pack some more." I encouraged.
He smiled brightly and added another two to the bag.
"They also have the best iced tea!" He claimed.
"Do all your favourite treats come from this supermarket?"
"Yes. So what?"
"Nothing, I'm just admiring your refined palette." I said, nudging him lovingly.
I quickly fell in love the Swiss French dialect. The people spoke more slowly and were much more clever with their words. Ninety nine was just Nonante-neuf rather than the needlessly elaborate Quatre-vingt-dix-neuf.
Wyatt sounded adorable when he spoke it. His thick British accent shone through when he said "Bonn-jour".
After paying for our snacks we settled down on a bench overlooking the marina.
Imposing sail boats were parked in the small harbour, nestled in and protected from any attacks by rocky walls and heavy steel canons. Though nothing could stop the swarms of sea gulls kamikaze diving in from above. Dropping bombs on the polished decks.
Old timey taverns were snuggled along the shore in a halfmoon shape. The restaurants had put their tables up front, preparing for the evening crowds. Some eager patrons were already assembled to watch a third league football match. Their glasses clacking and hollering echoed across the quiet port every time their team scored.
The sun had emerged from behind the clouds and was now bathing us in all its glory. We milked its nurturing beams, as we dug into our picnic. Wyatt had been right. The croissants and cheese tartes were delicious.
"I appreciate you sharing this part of your childhood with me. I'm enjoying these. Much better than oysters."
"Right? Gooey shell cum, no thank you." Wyatt agreed.
"Yours is the only cum I'm willing to swallow." I pondered reflectively.
Then I realised, based on Wyatt's shocked but gleeful expression, that I said it out loud.
Dammit, I had a lot of trouble not voicing my thoughts, now that I got used to speaking more freely around people.
"Really?" He asked, smiling aspirationally, much like an overly excited puppy.
He scanned our surroundings, as though looking for a public bathroom or shady patch of vegetation.
"I'm not doing it in public!" I insisted.
"Of course, not." He affirmed, voice squeaking. "But you do want to?"
"I'm willing to try. Not the first time. But maybe down the line."
"Wait, you want to suck my cock and swallow my cum? I knew it was one or the other, but I didn't dare to dream."
"Now it's neither." I mumbled, somewhat ashamed. I forced a new topic. "I like the iced tea. It's refreshing, not too sweet at all."
"Goes down smooth, doesn't it?" Wyatt affirmed.
I nodded and took another big gulp.
"Just like my cum"
I spat out my drink right then and there. It hit a flock of sea gulls in attack formation.
Wyatt kept grinning the whole trip home.
-x-x-x-
As part of our objective to live independently of our inherited wealth, we ended up catch the bus from the train station rather than calling a cab. The station was located in the still affluent "sketchy" part of town. In perfect juxtaposition to it's posh high street, here in the seedy underbelly, there was a market packed with street vendors blatantly setting fake Louis Vuitton purses and DVD rips in broad daylight. No resident seemed remotely surprised or bothered, some casually browsing the stands, so I assumed this was a regular occurrence.
"Enrique just texted me. He claims he can get us into a club." Wyatt announced.
Not to sound too self-conscious but I despised how close those two were.
"How likely is it that he is full of shit?" I asked, hoping my distain did not show.
"Highly. He did promise me that he found you a matching ID, but he also does not like you much, so his word ain't worth much these days."
The irony, that I now had Wyatt fixing me a fake ID when that is what our very first fight had been about. How nostalgic.
"Does he even know my current hair colour?" I asked, suspiciously.
"I told him. He better! Either way you don't have to worry, I'm not entering the club without you. If it does not work out we will just go home and keep ourselves entertained." He winked.
Curse him, he was still thinking of that blowjob. Now he would actually expect one! Shit. What of I screwed up? Couldn't go through with it? Got too shy, or grossed out? The thought of gagging and throwing up all over it came to mind. And him running back to Enrique looking for someone man enough to take him all in. Okay, calm down, you still have the flavoured condoms, I reminded myself, it will be just like licking a popsicle. A cocksicle!
Bullshit. I was officially freaking out.
I had seen Wyatt's wiener and it was of a considerable size. Much like my own, the golden standard, which I would therefore classify as big.
-x-x-x-
We reconvened with Enrique and Bryce at dinner time where we met them in an a la carte restaurant. The type that had cushioned chairs and minimum two layers of table cloth and refused to provide a menu in a language that was not French.
By then, and mostly due to my overwhelming blowjob based paranoia, I was not dreading going to the club as much. That is, until found out the venue would host the double act of DJ Bobo and DJ Ötzi.
Wyatt knew just how to calm my nerves.
"Don't worry, all music sounds good when you are high."
He had announced that he had scored us some clean drugs and would not shut up about it. The only ones not to keen on taking them were Bryce and I.
"I bet he's never as much as smoked a joint before." Enrique mocked me.
"I had one yesterday, actually." I insisted, hoping to sounds suave and experienced.
It had been my very first one, nonetheless it would count.
"So you are going to do Ket with us?" He asked sceptically.
"Of course." I affirmed, without having a clue what Ket was.
If Enrique had done it, it couldn't possibly be too intimidating. He was a massive coward after all.
Wyatt beamed.
"Really Kai? I'm so excited we get to share this experience together."
We had to put our plotting on hold because Wyatt's mother and aunt came gracefully floating to the table, both dressed in floor length silk dresses that were hanging off their skinny frames. I had noticed earlier how rich men were allowed to grow fat, a luxury that was not granted to women.
Despite paying for a seven course meal, both of them barely ate a leaf, choosing instead to quench their appetite with cigarettes. Very soon Wyatt joined in, and the three of them filled the ashtray enough for the server to deem it necessary to replace it.
"What have you been up to the past year, darling?" She addressed Enrique, having ignored my presence for the majority of the evening, aside from making a sly comment that my hair looked "respectable".
"I won my school's Beyblade tournament." He replied proudly, side-eyeing me.
What a flex to make at the reigning world champion.
"You mean the one that you organised just so you could kick the arse of the only other beyblader at school, who just happened to be a Year 7." Bryce remarked.
Not that I intended to fraternise with the enemy, but I was starting to like Wyatt's brother. He would not take shit. Not even from his best mate.
"Age doesn't matter." Enrique protested.
"That's true, the freshman was actually giving him a hard time." Bryce confirmed, giggling.
Enrique jabbed him in the side. "Shut up. The school gave me an award, actually."
"Yeah, from the planning committee."
"I still won."
"You beat a twelve year old." Wyatt shamed him, laughing so hard he had to snort.
"He was big for his age!"
"I wouldn't bring this story to the world stage." I advised him.
I had come into this with the intention of being nice to him, but my unwarranted jealousy had gotten the better of me. I was competing against a guy I had already beaten and it was actually putting me in a worse position.
"Well, I think it is very admirable and shows your entrepreneurial spirit." Wyatt's mother commented dryly, rather admirably ending everyone's fun with one icy remark.
-x-x-x-
Later that night, the time for me to completely compromise my morals had come. Maybe it was true what they said, weed was the gateway drug. It started off with a few puffs and here I was, less than 24 hours later, preparing to snort horse tranquiliser.
Wyatt swooned around the room with an air of authority.
"First you need to flush your nostrils." He instructed us, passing us what looked like a douche.
I prayed to God it wasn't used for anything else.
"I've never done that before." Enrique remarked.
"That's because you've never done it correctly. You won't get proper high if you haven't cleaned all the gunk out of your nose."
He made a good point so we followed suit and flushed our noses with the salt water solution.
"Okay, now we take vodka shots."
"I thought ketamine is the one you can't mix with alcohol? Or you end up in a K-hole." Enrique pointed out.
"That's what we want isn't it? I bought some orange juice in case we have a bad trip." Wyatt said.
"No dude, K-holing is what we don't want! And doesn't vitamin C only work for acid?"
"No." Wyatt claimed, unconvincingly. He was still set on establishing himself as the spirit guide of our group.
Enrique just shrugged, seemingly too desperate to start snorting it already to continue to argue with him. He hovered over the table, a rolled up 20 Franc bill shoved all the way up his nostril, making grunting noises as he failed to vacuum up the neat lines.
"Fuck you, Wy! My nose is too wet. Now the Ket keeps getting stuck in there. You fucking poser have no idea what you are doing!"
Wyatt passed the tray to me. I was a lot more successful. Possibly because I have a rather narrow nose, so I was able to built up a proper vacuum that allowed for more suction. It shot right up and then back down the back of my throat, forcing me to taste the powder at the back of my tongue. Bitter. And dry. All around disgusting.
"I've done this a billion times. It's just not working cause I bought this blow when I was a Year 8." Wyatt lied. Nobody was buying his bullshit at this point.
"Bollocks. I knew you in Year 8. You were a narc that confiscated everyone else's Beyblades so you could sell them at an up-price. Nobody would be offering you drugs."
Heh, seems we both started out as kleptos and wannabes. Wonder if 12 year old me would have befriended 14 year old Wyatt? Either that or become his rival.
"No really, it's just old, that's why it's so crystalline! We just need to crush those crystals a bit more and then it will be smooth sailing." He insisted.
"Crystals? Ketamine isn't supposed to come in crystals, what on Earth are we snorting?"
A mild panic shot through me. Nothing too intense though. Cause I was high.
"Oh shit. It might be MDMA. But there's still Ket in it." Wyatt reassured us, though his high pitched voice betrayed his panic. "I only had scraps left so I mixed all the remains into one bag so it would look bigger."
"Yeah, like your cock." I spouted.
It didn't even make sense. I just wanted to rub it in that he was mine.
Lucky for me, Enrique was too distracted to get upset. He was still shaking his head at Wyatt and berating him.
"For Fucks sake, bro. You can't even drug people right!"
"It should still be a good high. They're both uppers."
"Isn't ketamine a hallucinogenic?"
Jesus Christ, what had compelled me to do drugs with two complete posers who knew nothing about them?
"Maybe we just get a really nice Ket trip that lasts for 8 hours." Wyatt suggested, as he was trying his hardest to shove the remaining powder up his wet nostrils, not the least put off by its mystery composition.
"Or it's going to turn into a never ending nightmare. How much time has passed since we started taking it?" I asked in despair.
It felt like hours.
"5 minutes for you." Wyatt informed me.
"If we are going to have a shit trip that lasts an eternity, I blame you." Enrique hissed.
"Obviously."
"Stop talking about bad trips. I don't want to K-hole." I begged them, slowly getting paranoid now. This was a terrible start to my first real high. I reached for the juice, desperately x-ing it to end my trip before it even started.
To everyone's surprise, it did help. It made me momentarily forget about their silly argument as I relived a flashback to a elementary school trip to the museum. I had wet myself in the corner and tried to cover it up by spilling my juice over it, only to create an even larger puddle. Some older kid called attention to it and soon everyone, not just my classmates but adults included were pointing and laughing at me. I had wanted to floor to swallow me whole. Maybe it did, because I had no idea how I made it out of the museum, and onto Wyatt's bedroom floor. Spread out flat across the carpet. Maybe I was the carpet. We were both blue. The carpet and I.
"I'm gonna fuck your Dad." Enrique announced, ripping me out of my trance.
"What." I asked confused.
"I'm gonna fuck your Dad!" he repeated. This time the words formed a coherent sentence.
"My Dad is not a paedophile." I defended him. So I hoped.
"I want to fuck your Dad too." Wyatt agreed. "He is kinda hot." He admitted shamefully.
"Fuck me! I'm just a younger version of my Dad." I pleaded desperately.
"Won't that make Wyatt a paedophile then?"
"Stop trying to inception us." Wyatt reprimanded him. "I will never leave Kai for you."
That made my heart melt.
"Do you think if you would fuck your own Dad, you would be unborn?" Enrique contemplated.
In this moment Bryce walked in, shaking his head.
"Are you guys about ready to leave, or are you going to spend another Friday night staring at the ceiling, wondering where the stars are."
"We are leaving? Why?" The notion of leaving or comforting confines struck up pure horror.
"Give us another 5 min, will ya, Bry." Enrique asked sweetly.
Bryce sighed. "You better not lose track of time again."
That was pretty much a guarantee.
"I love you!" Enrique shouted, rather mockingly.
It took us at least another hour. Or more. Felt like eons. What even was time? Grief struck me when I realised, I had been thinking about time all wrong. How could it be both subjective to the world and relative to myself? If a half hour felt awfully slow, did that mean that for another person a half hour had to go by in a hurry, or else the universe would be imbalanced? That would only work if time can stretch and flex, just like Wyatt's crotch. I came to the conclusion that I had discovered the secret of the universe and went on to share this wisdom with the others.
"That's fucking deep, bro. I just had a journey in the bathroom, it's so white in there! I think I forgot to wee, though." Wyatt admitted.
He swiftly caught up on that by pissing against the tree in the corner. Only upon taking a closer look, I realised that it wasn't an actual tree, rather a refurbished, 18th century grandfather clock that told me another 10 minutes had passed. I mean that literally. It spoke.
We genuinely did intend on leaving. We just couldn't remember where the exit was.
The clock had been a tree once, come to think of it. I wondered if it still remembered its time as a tree. Dogs had some sort of smell related memory that allowed them to remember what trees they had pissed on, did trees have that same memory? Like would the tree recognise Wyatt by the smell of his musk? Was it angry with him? Or grateful that it had been watered. I'm sure most people forgot to water their clocks. The rat race of life just got in the way of living.
But Wyatt was different. Wyatt didn't care about material matters. Wyatt would give a tree in need his last water reserves. How altruistic of him.
Overcome by romantic feelings I decided to write him a poem. It was good shit. I knew it. My prose, raw and vulnerable, might not be able to compete with the likes of Keates but when it came to symbolism, I was killing it. In fact, I had to be up with Shakespeare and the greats. Who else was good with metaphors? Oh yeah. God. This was on par with the Bible. This went beyond being a mere poem, it had become a psalm. And like my fellow gospel writers, I could barely make sense of my own. It was almost as convoluted as Dickens.
"What is that? Are you drawing fish bones? " Wyatt asked giggling.
"I'll show you when it's done."
We had made it to the club, somehow. Not sure how we got here exactly. The details all blended together. In fact I wasn't even sure if this was a Dance club, or the Beyblade World Championships.
"What is this song called? This is the most angelic language I have ever heard."
"Dude, it's in English."
It was then that I registered that the lyrics actually went:
Hey!
Hey Baby,
uhh,
ahh!
I had never heard anything so poetic before. Not even my own psalm. More than that, I felt connected to the singer. It could only be divine intervention. It was as though he was speaking to me directly and plucking the words from my mind. His deconstructed Haiku perfectly described my feelings for Wyatt. He was my baby. And he made me go uhh and ahh. Mostly when I was stroking myself. How had DJ Ötzi come up with something so poignant? He truly was the voice of our generation. No!
He was God.
I was swinging to the music in what felt like an eternity. I had lived, and died, and given birth to myself. And repeat. The same applied to my dance moves. It made me feel like I was swimming actually, in fact, I was certain I had to. If I didn't reach the shore I would drown so I sped up my arm motion, knocking several other mer-people out of the way. At some point Enrique came crawling towards me. Though he might also be having a seizure. Or dancing.
"Heya." He sang. "You should check out the bathrooms." He winked.
"Why?" I asked. Normally I would not put up with his shit, but I was a newly converted believer in the power of love.
"Your husband sucked my cock and I bukkaked all over his face. The evidence still covers the walls. And ceilings. True story."
Bullshit. "You need to be more than one person to do bukkake."
"And I fingered him so hard, he ended up shitting down my arm." Ricky added, still hoping to psych me out.
"Gross. Why would you boast about that?"
Enrique grinned menacingly and balled his hand.
"Why don't you smell my fist?"
I like to believe that sober me would have seen it coming, but drunk me saw nothing but stars.
Truth be told, and I am ashamed to admit this, he knocked me to the floor. I landed straight on my ass and in true drunk fashion I felt no pain and jumped back up almost immediately, funnelling the excess momentum into a mean uppercut that hit his chin and sent him flying back a few yards.
To give him credit, the sucker punch was not the only move in his repertoire. He bolstered himself up immediately and prepared for a jab at my face, I instinctively blocked his attack by raising my left elbow, which he had anticipated and used to his advantage, changing his trajectory and ramming his fist into my exposed ribcage.
Air got sucked out of my lungs in an instance, leaving me pathetically gasping for it. No matter how deep I tried to inhale my body would not take it. I had to consciously instruct myself not to panic and that my diaphragm would contract once it had withered the shock. I had been in enough fights to know how any injury would feel. Direct blows to the solar plexus were the worst. I could absorb head punches just fine, but this one had me freeze and protectively grasp my ribcage to prevent him from striking another targeted hit.
Strategic move, I had to compliment him on that. He was an unexpectedly good street fighter.
While I was still dazed and recovering he threw me onto the floor, now hovering over me. But that was his mistake, he was limiting his own range, now focusing more energy on holding me down rather than inflicting damage. Better even, years of being the smallest kid on the block had made me a pro at getting out of this exact hold. It was not secure to begin with as he had my arms pinned to the side but left his own crotch exposed. All I had to do was retract my knee and jam it into his crown jewels. Now he was the one distracted. Before he could regain clarity I flipped him onto his back, making sure not to repeat his mistakes by plopping myself down on his chest.
"I win." I announced smugly.
He was cackling, for a moment I was genuinely concerned I had injured his head.
"True, but I will always be his first." He said with a grin.
Before I could formulate a cocky comeback I felt someone wrap his arms around me and pull me off Enriques's quivering body. I could tell by his grip and his scent that it was Wyatt.
"Cut it out." He shouted. To my surprise his frustration was addressed at Enrique. "Kai will be my last, and that is the only position that matters. I'm not a fucking score board."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bryce in a fast paced discussion with the bouncers, waving bundles of cash at them, though my vision was heavily compromised by the sweat that came running down my temples.
Wyatt attempted to wipe it off my forehead.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not really. It will tomorrow, pretty sure he bruised a rib."
It wasn't until he pulled back his hand that I noticed his sleeve was drenched in blood. Guess I was minorly injured.
"Let's get you cleaned up." Wyatt said, with concern in his voice.
He propped his arm around my waist, ready to pull me through growing crowd of onlookers, though not before stealing a kiss.
"That was fucking badass." He said when his eager lips broke from mine.
He flashed me a wide, sparking smile at me.
"You are so cool."