Texts from Last Night

Wyatt was lying on the floor, looking much like the Picasso we had passed in the hallway. He had missed his bed by less than a meter, instead he was spread out like an eagle on the carpet, with his bare ass in the air, using a crunched up Migros bag as a pillow and majestically drooling all over it. His room still had a sharp stench of urine, which made sense since all three of us had used his antique grandfather clock as a toilet last night.

"This is what you married." Bryce stated coolly. "Regrets?"

I ignored him and walked straight to Wyatt, kneeling down beside him. I placed a hand on his exposed shoulder and rocked him tenderly. He let out a slow groan and his big brown eyes fluttered open.

"I feel like dirt."

"You and me both, rockstar. Guess you don't got it in you after all."

He rolled onto his back. His genitalia, hard as rod, was in full view, which Bryce took as a clue to leave. Smart.

"How are you even on your feet?" Wyatt asked.

He blinked, something seemed to click and he shot up and threw his arms around me, tightly pressing me against his chest. All I could focus on was his naked form, and that his morning wood was digging into my stomach. The realisation that I had given him a public blowjob last night washed over me once again, making me shiver. Was I ever going to be able to look myself in the mirror again?

"My God, Kai. You scared me! Where did you go off to last night?"

"I went home with my Dad."

I guess I should have texted him to let him know, but the thought had not even occurred to me last night. I had been all focused on myself and my shame. Now in retrospect, I had acted very cruelly towards him, running off and leaving him to fret.

He rubbed his cheek against mine. Hmm, soft.

"I feared you had passed out in a ditch somewhere, all alone in a strange country. I know you like to disappear and that you are capable of taking care of yourself, but I was worried sick. I'm so relieved to see you are okay."

I muttered a heartfelt apology and he forgave me instantly. Taking the time to cuddle up against me. It was a rare wholesome moment, in which I felt light and queasy. My stomach was tingling, but in an enjoyable way.

"You sucked my cock last night." He said smugly.

And it passed.

"Don't remind me."

Both our eyes wandered to his hardened member. His due to excitement, mine out of panic.

"Forget it." I barked.

"You were awfully keen on it last night." He taunted me.

The only thing that could amplify my shame was the fact that I had initiated it.

"I wasn't going to ask you for one. Just wondered if you mind helping me out?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. His eyes were sparkling in anticipation.

I pulled away.

"Not right now."

I was in no mood to fool around, still working on coming to terms with what I had done so far. Was it normal to feel this sleezy? What Bryce had yelled out echoed in my mind.

"You sucked my brother's cock with that dirty mouth of yours."

He had a point, it was filthy. I hadn't had the foresight to bring my toothbrush to the club so I had yet to clean them. Wyatt did not press any further, simply kissing me squarely on the lips, he did not seem to mind though his own breath was gnarly too. He kept telling me I was his hero. I did not feel particularly honoured since his bar for heroism was abysmal, it pretty much included anyone who could make him ejaculate. Which I could proudly say, now included me. And only me, based on his comments to Enrique last night, right?

"It's for the better. Right now I'm more likely to barf than cum all over you."

"Both of which you have already done." I reminded him.

That only served to bring an even bigger smile to his face. That pervert.

"Do you know how much time we have?"

"None, your father wanted to take Bryce and I on the boat, so please sober up, cause I do not want to attend this thing alone."

"The boat? Are you kidding me? Is this his way of punishing us for drinking?"

"It might be." I remarked. Now that Wyatt mentioned it, his Dad had seemed a little too gleeful about it all at brunch.

"That motherfucker."

I helped him step into to the shower, where he cowered in a corner, incapable of standing upright, as the hot water engulfed him. Meanwhile, I took the chance to brush my teeth which was long overdue.

"I want to jerk off but I think the tingling from an orgasm would upset my stomach enough to hurl."

"Please don't." I told him.

My mouth was full of foam which came running down my chin as I talked and reminded Wyatt of last night, as he so kindly informed me.

"We are married. This is our new normal now."

"Then we won't stay married for long." I countered.

"I'm sorry, I'm just, really, really horny."

"I hadn't noticed." I said coldly, with my back turned to him but a hidden smile on my face.

It felt nice to be desired like that by another person, yet I could not shake my discomfort. I would need some time to recover and build up an appetite before I could do anything sexual again. Right now I was burnt out, like any further act would cement my identity as a slut. I should not care as I knew it was normal for people in relationships to be intimate with each other, nonetheless I felt judged by an invisible force. Society, no matter how hard one tries to lock her out of the bedroom, finds a way to peek inside.

I had been so obsessed with getting it over with that I hadn't considered that once I crossed the line it he would expect it to become a regular habit. I was not ready for that.

As we were getting dressed in the clothes his mother's stylist had laid out for us, Wyatt gave me the skinny on Micheline Hubert. According to him, she was an eccentric elderly lady who had a string of ex-husbands she had issues keeping alive.

What if what Michael said was correct and this is how the elite disposed of spouses they deemed unfit for their circles?

"There are rumours she killed them. But the first one died in the war, the other in a plane crash and her last one just drank himself to death."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Wyatt continued rambling. "Now she is married to this thirty something Portuguese man. My mother claims he's a gigolo. She picked him up on an Over 70s cruise in the Bermuda Triangle."

"Bermuda Triangle?" I inquired.

"Yeah, it's the new hype for all the wrinkly old white folks. Living life on the edge."

"How edgy of them." I remarked drily.

"We should go on a cruise sometime." He suggested. "That would be fun, no?"

We had never made plans for the future like that before. Was this what it felt like to be in a couple? To reliable have someone around who always wanted to spend time with you? I had a good time when I took with the ocean liner with the team last year.

I had spent the majority of the journey promenading the deck and watching the breaking waves, spotting boats in the distance, flashing their greeting lights. Having the wind comb my hair, and taking in that crisp salty smell of the sea.

Back then I had to parent the kiddos, though I was relived to note how much they had matured in the past year. Takao in particular. They no longer need me, I realised both proudly and sombrely. It was no big deal that I had left the team since I had become redundant.

At least with the Europeans there would be new challenges and I would have a purpose again.

My betrayal stung nonetheless, as much as I tried to morally rationalize it in my head. I had raised these kids, comforted them, guided them through their pain, now I was inflicting it.

At least Max was used to fraternising with the enemy, since that was the situation he had thrown himself into for the second time around. I had never asked if it had been for our sake or if he did not make the cut, though deep down we all knew he would not hesitate if Judy offered him a spot. Him and I were cut from the same rock that way. No matter how much love or affection our loved ones would shower us with, we would trade it in a heartbeat for a cool nod of acknowledgment from our distant parental figures.

"So? Cruise?"

"Maybe. What do you think of this?" I asked Wyatt, doing a spin so he could judge my outfit.

I had been assigned a simple navy blue button-up shirt and white linen pants, that I could be certain cost a fortune. At least the stylist got my colour scheme right.

His reception was lukewarm. "You're hot, like always. The outfit, it's a bit plain. But could be worse. It's classy."

"That's the problem."

I folded up my sleeves to my elbows, it made a small difference. I sighed.

"Do you want to add a chain?" Wyatt giggled.

"Yes." I said longingly.

"Can't help you there. I've got some belts, though." He proposed.

Not a bad idea, actually. I rummaged through his drawer until I found the flashiest one he owned. It was Ferrari red, literally, the buckle even had the small horse on it. It was unbelievably tacky, just like my style.

"Yes, much more you." Wyatt affirmed. He planted an excited kiss on my cheek and snaked his arm around my waist, squeezing me softly. "You look sexy."

Pretty sure I could wear a rag and he would still think that, especially with how easily aroused he had been lately. I nudged him. In his formal wear, he resembled the resurrected ghost of a long dead posh prince.

"You look shit."

But he was my little shit.

-x-x-x-

By the time we made it to the terrace, everyone was already waiting on us. My father seemed dreary and a little dead inside. He could barely crack a relieved smile when we stepped outside. By now even Enrique had managed to make it to the table, though he was not eating and instead nursing a cup of coffee with a cigarette in hand, looking more grey and worn out than my oldest piece of underwear.

"Finally, there you are!" Wyatt's mother said irritably. "I hope this will make you think twice about partying the day before an important event."

"Which is also a party." Wyatt grumbled. "So you can't shame us. We essentially just pre-gamed."

"At least you won't be getting wasted at the wine mixer now."

"Nonsense. The best way to cure a hangover is to keep drinking." Wyatt corrected her.

She shook her head in disappointment.

"Anyway, I'm off." My father announced, taking full use of the awkward silence.

He approached me to hug me good bye, but I recoiled, so he settled for patting my head.

"Remember, the most important thing is to have fun."

"That is not at all the objective." Wyatt's mother shot in, glaring at him.

Dad rolled his eyes.

"If you're not having fun, then what are you even living for." He said defiantly.

I got the sense there was already some bad blood between them. What a rocky start towards long running mutual cooperation. At least, I was not the only one in the family clashing with Wyatt's mother. It made me feel a little less underwhelmed by my own, famously apathetic, diplomacy skills.

As feared, our party was forced to make the walk of shame down the narrow cobblestone path towards the quay, where a moderately sized yacht laid docked. I was momentarily surprised by the Smithwright's humbleness, as I had expected a needlessly enormous one, until Bryce informed me that this was merely their travel sized Lake Geneva yacht, and their larger one was parked in a port in St Tropez. How foolish of me to make such modest assumptions.

I felt like I was walking the plank as I crossed the treacherous bridge onto the boat. Its surface was just as shaky as I had feared.

"It's a sunny day, there's barely any wind. The sea must be angry with us." Enrique bemoaned.

He did have a point, it was ruthlessly wavy out today.

Wyatt, with his fingers gripping the railing and shaking like Stephen Hawking, inelegantly trotted along at snail's pace until reaching a bench at the back, that he could dropped himself onto. I sat down next to him and allowed him to lean his head on my shoulder. The whites of his eyes had taken on a yellow hue whilst his face was paler than death itself.

"I don't feel so good." He huffed.

I did my best to soothe him, clearing his sweat-drenched bangs out of his face. Despite him shivering, his forehead was warm to the touch.

"Don't be so dramatic, Wyatt. This is your first public outing as a couple, at least try to show them your good side." His mother scorned him.

He let out a wordless grunt.

With an air of being tired of it all, despite having put little to no effort into encouraging her son, she turned her attention to Bryce, who I noticed was largely being ignored whenever Wyatt appeared at the scene.

"If you could only be more like your brother. He knows his limit so he can both party and get up early in the morning."

Bryce's face lit up in glee at her mention of him. Wyatt had been right in accusing him of being too easily excited by praise from his parents.

In poetic response to her patronising remark, Wyatt leaned his torso over the railing, and barfed into the turbulent waves. That sure showed them! In the process he gave the outer layer of the pristine white yacht a nasty new coat of paint.

"Goodness me, that is disgusting." His mother exclaimed.

Her mouth widened in terror as the horrorshow continued. Inspired by Wyatt's bravery, Enrique decided to surrender his stomach's contents straight onto the polished deck. Keen on having the last word, nature chimed in, and released a sudden gush of rain out of nowhere. It diluted the vomit, making it malleable and start flowing in unpredictable streams.

It truly was a picture to be hold. A world class Pukeasso.

-x-x-x-

Check out Beyblade texts from last night on tumblr, my friend makes them and they are hilarious!