Penne Italiano
I let Takao go. Just like that.
Sacrificing our friendship so I would not have to reveal my vulnerability. Was I even successful at hiding it?
For the second time this evening I passed through the revolving door of the hotel lobby, this time significantly more uncertain of my feelings. With each successive trip through the portal, I had lost more hope. That optimistic boy from this morning seemed a lifetime away.
Unwilling to face my imploding marriage just yet, I took a detour for the bar where I nestled myself on one of the oversized circular couches that appeared to organically grow out of the architecture. The table in front had a pod lamp sprouting right out of the plate. The colour scheme was purple and white. My colours. Despite it's futuristic decor, the atmosphere was simple, if not a little hypnotic and there was no music, which I was grateful for. I had enough stimulation for the day.
The staff were aware of the Junior Beyblade League occupying an entire wing, so the odds of being served were not in my favour. With a concoction of spit and more spit, I was able to rub the triangles off my face. Even sacrificing a corner of my scarf for it.
Nonetheless, the server brought me a coke.
"Bad try. You child. "
At least he trusted me with caffeine.
Melting into the satin couch, I soon became mesmerised by the kaleidoscope of shapes that danced for me when I stared directly into the light. Suddenly, I heard a giggle. It sounded scornful, dismissive, and all too familiar. Oliver. On my knees, I pulled myself up and peaked over the edge of the couch.
The rest of my team, each with an alcoholic drink in hand, was seated at a round table near a bright white pillar that elegantly curved towards the ceiling like a 60s space age tree. Soon their hyenic laughter swallowed the mellow vibe, the remaining patrons either left or sent scornful looks their way.
I never connected with the other Majestics. I could not even claim I liked them. But I had found the Bladebreakers equally grating in the beginning, though for wildly different reasons. In both cases I picked up on an aversive vibe. What if the common denominator was me? I was the judgmental one, assuming they did not want to get to know me.
Hyping myself up, I downed my coke, as it was too embarrassing to walk up to them holding a kid's drink. Then I roughened up my hair and assertively marched towards them, losing confidence with every step. They noticed me right away, and their chat and laughter died down instantly. Their condescending stares burning into my skin.
"What's up?" I asked, hoping my voice sounded cool.
Nobody said a word. That was a good sign, they had not explicitly told me to fuck off.
I pulled out a chair for myself and tilted my chin towards a bottle of what was obviously vodka. "What are you drinking?"
"Some commie sludge. They don't sell Grey Goose here."
That meant nothing to me, but I played along.
"You'd think they know better, running a hotel bar. Is the sludge decent?"
Oliver snapped his fingers, making the server jump to his feet to bring me an empty glass. He even poured it for me.
When I brought it to my lips, I was surprised by how heavy the tumbler was. The rhomboid grooves along its edges reminiscent of the Bacharach crystal my grandfather kept in his cabinet. It might even be, not like I could tell.
I gulped it down its contents in one go, prompting my throat close up. Trying to maintain an air of coolness whilst coughing convulsively, I gasped out a faint: "Nasty."
I stretched out my tongue, as though exposing it to air could ease the pain. A burn still lingered alongside a strange sweet taste.
"There you have your answer."
I would have much rather hung out with Bryce and Drago, but I was certain Wyatt would get them after the divorce, so it was better to make new connections. Besides, it would not be much fun third wheeling while they shamelessly got each other off under the table. An overwhelming sadness pierced my heart me when I reminisced about Wyatt getting me off under the table, only a few days prior. I poured myself another glass, taste be damned. At least it made my chest feel warm.
"Are you ever gonna talk to her?" Johnny asked.
Midway through shaking my head I realised Robert was answering the question. I subsequently died of shame.
"I am formulating the perfect pick-up line."
Johnny turned his head so he could wave at a girl that was sitting on the other side of the bar. She was short with a round face, features accentuated by the way she had pulled back her mousy brown hair with military precision. I recognised her as the contestant from the Polish team that Johnny had fought.
"Hey there, pretty lass, come have a drink with us."
She snatched her clutch as though she had been waiting for an invitation. Robert pulled out a chair for her. His expression soured when she sat down next to Johnny.
"Tessa, right?" Johnny asked.
"Theresa. Like Mother Theresa." Picking up on his diminishing interest, she added: "You can call me Tessa if you like."
"Whatever. Meet Robert. He was just telling us about how badly he wants to visit Poland."
Robert caught my leg as he tried to kick him.
"Poland is a beautiful country." He assured Theresa, with a smile that was supposed to look encouraging but was deeply unsettling.
"Have you ever been?" She asked.
"NO." Robert's spine tensed up. "Never."
"His grandpa told him lots of stories to spur him on." Oliver teased.
"You should go visit." Theresa said politely.
"I'll be sure to check it out. From a distance."
To escape his unsettling vibe, Theresa turned her attention back to Johnny.
"You were really strong out there. How much can you press?"
She wrapped her thumb and forefinger around his biceps, they both took pleasure in the fact that her fingers could not close the perimeter.
"I'm sorry your team lost." Robert said, desperately latching onto her.
She was not too bothered, barely raising her shoulders for a shrug.
"May the stronger nation win."
"It does not mean that we are superior."
"Doesn't it?" She asked.
"No human can claim to be better than another, we share 99% of our DNA."
"I don't know about that. The Habsburgs share around 100% and look where that got them."
Robert winced. "Somehow I'm not attracted to you anymore."
Enrique snorted. I had barely noticed him because he had spent the entire time I was here pouting at his glass.
"You good?" I asked, somewhat concerned.
"That Julia girl dumped his ass." Oliver said with glee.
"It's not like that. She just said she doesn't want to have sex with me anymore."
"And why is that?" Olver taunted him.
Enrique was nursing a drink he seemingly hadn't touched.
"I don't get it either. My finger technique should be patented. Instant orgasm. Must have been too much for her. Some girls just can't handle the shame that comes with too much pleasure."
"That's very convincing."
We all knew it was a lie Enrique made up to protect himself, unlike the others I did not think it warranted making fun of him.
"Wanna get out of here?" I suggested.
"Yeah."
He did not even down his booze.
-x-x-x-
We beelined for our chamber, saying nothing as we got into the elevator, I selected my level and Enrique his. Time was running out.
"I know something that will cheer you up."
A tingling sensation spread in my gut. I was drunk with adrenaline. In disbelief of what I was about to do.
He did not say anything, merely giving me that look, urging me to spit it out already.
"Let's have sex."
The moment I propositioned him, my stomach was dropping out from under me, as though I was falling off a cliff.
"If this is about humiliating me..."
"No, I want to humiliate Wyatt."
Enrique raised a single eyebrow.
"What did he do?"
"He ended it."
It was an evil and selfish act, but it was my only shot. As long as he could have me, he did not want me. Confident that I had figured out how Wyatt ticked, I buried all guilt over what I was about to do and proceeded with tunnel vision. This was as much his fault as my own. He had forced me into a corner.
-x-x-x-
Not sure if it had been a deliberate move by Bryce, but Enriques room was notably smaller than ours, and nuzzled in between the garbage chute and the freight elevator. When asked, he insisted the white noise helped him sleep. He also insisted that he was sensitive to light which must be why his window was facing a cement wall. And the brown bathroom tiles were ideal because he did not have to worry about hitting the hole.
"Bryce knows me too well. We're practically family."
"You literally are. You keep forgetting that."
Unperturbed, he freed up some space on his bed by unceremoniously condemning whatever was currently occupying it to the ground. That made it even harder to navigate his already crammed room.
It did not matter. I had not come here for sightseeing.
Enrique insisted he had experience when it came to revenge sex, a statement that I actually believed. Mostly because he had a clean track record of being the one dumpee in every relationship, he had been in. Disturbingly, he proposed we film it.
"I want to hurt him, not traumatise him!" I protested.
"Not gonna lie, it is hard to get them to watch it anyway."
"I can't imagine why."
Despite me already telling him no, Enrique still swiped the top of his wardrobe before he resigned.
"I think Bryce still has it. He said he wants to record our growth, or something equally useless."
He then offered me some drugs, which I accepted. So we snorted some ketamine off his passport, the only clean surface he had. I was feeling a little woozy and more inclined to go through with this, when he offered me some speed.
"Why did we do this? I feel sober now." I complained.
"Cause drugs."
We wanted to start easy with a hand job, but regrettably, I had trashed my knuckles by punching that brick wall. Enrique requested a blowjob instead.
"Eat my balls, slut." He followed the command with a wink. Naturally, I cringed.
To my credit, I approached the challenge with enthusiasm, which instantly dissipated when I was confronted with an unholy odour.
"I don't want to. Your junk smells."
"Not any more than anybody else's." He said defiantly, though there was the smallest ounce of insecurity leaking through.
"Do you wash down there?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's a yes or no question."
"A ballsack ain't gonna smell like a field of flowers!"
"It shouldn't smell of day old carbonara either!"
Enrique was less alarmed than he had a right to be.
"Just rub it."
"Nice try. I'm not touching that."
He stuck his nose in the air and let out a dramatic grunt.
"Well, I'm not letting you bone me."
Thirty seconds later I was getting ready to bone him. It had not taken much convincing at all, he practically begged me for it. The only delay was caused by us arguing about condoms.
Enrique liked to think of himself as a purist, therefore he insisted I bareback him.
"It messes with the sensation."
"It's not your penis wearing it."
"It's the principle."
Anyone who had caught a whiff of what lay under his foreskin could understand my persistence.
"I'm Italian, we sweat." He said with a candied voice.
"And you have a carb-rich diet, I'm not taking any chances here."
"As luck would have it, I happen to be allergic to pasta."
"Really?"
"Yes. And I'm very sensitive about it." A tear conveniently formed at the corner of his eye. "I'm the black sheep of the family."
"Not a chance, gigolo."
He pouted.
"Do you have any lube?" I asked.
Enrique lunged towards his bedside drawer, proudly presenting an unreasonably large jar of petroleum jelly. And a tissue box.
"Sorry, habit." He said dismissively, as he put the tissues back.
"Only you would be proud of how often you pump."
"It's for everyone else's good. I get pervy otherwise."
"How selfless of you. You're practically a white Ghandhi."
If this was the baseline, I did not dare to experience him "horny".
I smothered my wiener and instructed him to do the same to his smelly orifice. No way, I was touching that with anything less than a 3-inch pole.
"Ready?"
He stuck out his tongue, and with a shaky voice assured me that he was "born ready". Already wishing for it to be over, I did not question this as much as I should have.
The moment I lost my virginity, I don't recall thinking much of it. I felt little. Other than an overwhelming sense of disgust. He clenched up as my penis probed deeper into the mysterious unknown.
We had barely been at it when his ass started sweating profusely, causing his long and curly body hair stick to his crack in spidery strands.
Shutting my eyes, I blocked it all out, seeking a state of meditation where I wasn't consciously aware of the fact that I was boning a registered sex offender. Not that he was one, as of now, but surely it was only a matter of time.
As long as I focused on the sensation alone, it was good. More than good. His butthole was far more satisfying than my hand. The muscles clutching my dick were tight and contorted, providing just the right amount of resistance every time I pushed deeper, and cramping around me, whenever I pulled out, as though wanting to keep me right where I was, despite what its reluctant owner was claiming.
While it took me some time to find a beat, I succeeded by singing sex bomb in my head, once I did, I was unstoppable. I pounded his hairy ass like it was a bell and I Quasimodo. Enrique kept entirely quiet, and soon the room filled with the noise of my balls smacking against his.
Convinced that he did, based on my own experience, I resisted the urge to ask if he was liking it. Noticing that he was pulling away slightly, I gripped his hips, yanking them towards me, and utilising the momentum, slammed into him. He let out an audible squeal.
Feeling pretty smug, I upped my tempo, in the hopes of getting another reaction out of him. I was rewarded with a whimper. This got me riled up. He was at my mercy, and I was treating him like the bitch he boasted about banging.
Enrique tucked his head into his chest, his fingers curled around the bedsheet, gripping it tightly. He was trying adamantly to hold back any noises, straining his face. Taking this as a personal challenge, I cranked it up, and pounding him like a wiener schnitzel. With a scream, he yanked the sheet right off the mattress cover.
He panted, in quick succession.
Was I making him cum? Holy macaroni, was I good at this?
Invigorated by my own inflated ego, I threw my own head back and let the satisfaction seize me. As I stared into the bright overhead light, stars danced in front of my eyes as my vison went blurry. My chest was trembling, my legs shaky. I had to hold onto his dick for stability.
Suddenly and without any warning, Enrique slid out from underneath me, shaking me off like an unruly pony. With no time to react, I fell backwards, rolled off the bed landing ass first. I was still coming to grips with what had just happened. The only thing I could conceive was an every-increasing pain in my tailbone, when something sharp stung my dick.
"What the fuck? What are you doing?"
Enrique was holding something that looked like a fancy pen, which, for some reason, he had stabbed right into my shaft.
"Calm down, you're having a seizure."
"No." Was all I could say, still dumbfounded by the absurdity of the situation.
With my last remaining willpower, I, rather harshly, kicked him away. I just happened to strike his face. Would anyone believe that it was unintentional? Even I was not too sure.
"Dude, what the fuck?" He said, cupping his jaw, which was rapidly oozing blood.
"What did you just do?" I barked. "Why is my dick is tingling?"
The sensation was equal parts uncanny and mortifying.
Enrique took a hand of his mouth, which gave way to a stream of blood, and reached for my twitching penis. My traumatised body instinctively inched away from him. I even crossed my legs to block access.
"You were having an allergic reaction. I told you not to wear a condom." He explained, struggling to get the words out, and ending the sentence by spitting blood onto the carpet.
"My medical knowledge is limited, but I don't think it was necessary to inject the EpiPen directly into my penis."
"It felt right."
"It felt deliberate."
"You're alive, no?" Enrique's face wore that stupid grin he used to gaslight the girls. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.
"I'm not complaining, I'm just suggesting that could have been accomplished without piercing my cock."
"Lucky for you I didn't take any risks."
I glanced at my bulging, punctured prick, the condom now slouching loosely around it, and let out a sad sigh. My little fella was going to patch himself back up, but an invisible scar would remain.
"At least I popped your cherry." I said smugly, as I peeled the condom off. Latex allergy, my ass.
He gave me the cold shoulder.
"That didn't count."
"Why wouldn't it?"
"For one, neither of us came."
"From what I hear, with you, that is a given."
"Blasphemy." He grunted. "Bryce liked it so much he cried."
"He liked it so much, he found himself a Serbian fuckboy."
"He's lonely, he just wants someone to talk to." Enrique said unconvincingly.
I sneered.
"Drago knows a total of 10 phrases. Half of which are sex related."
"Shut up. Drago's cock is bigger than yours too."
Neither of us had seen it, but deep down we knew it to be true. We shared a moment of silence, recognising our mediocracy.
Along that same line of thought, I finally realised the extend of what we had done.
"I'm an asshole."
"I knew you had potential. Welcome to the gang. Why do you think we hang together?"
Clutching my knees to my chest, I let out a pathetic whimper.
"Wyatt is not an asshole."
No, he was kind and empathetic guy, who struggled with an illness. For some reason I had taken his distance personally and felt entitled to revenge. Revenge for what exactly? He had been nothing but honest with me.
"Why do you think he wanted the Italian stallion?" Enrique said with a wink.
"I won't judge him for his mental illness."
From now on, I would be patient, and supportive. Sit by his side when he needed, and more importantly, wanted me to. I could still make the most out of this. It was all a matter of perspective. This could be a fresh start. Just the wake up call I needed to be the husband Wyatt deserved.
Maybe then he would stay married to me.
In the distance, Enrique was still talking, it took me a moment to register what he said.
"To steal me from his brother."
Perplexed by this sudden revelation, all I could do was stare at him, daring him to give an explanation.
"It's some sibling rivalry shit. Real easy to exploit. They grow up fighting for their parents' affection, so all you gotta do is slide in at the right moment."
"That is disgusting."
"Hey, I'm not controlling the weather, just making the most of it."
I tossed a pillow at his face, it did not have the desired effect, so I stormed out instead. So drunk with anger, mostly directed at myself, that I never put on pants.
-x-x-x-
"Are you doing this on purpose? Is this some sick revenge for not giving you enough attention growing up?"
I shrugged. Dad was not far off. The swelling had gone down significantly, and I was no longer afraid that my dick was gonna fall off, but I could not resist the chance to guilt my father into caring about me. Surely, he could not ignore an injury, and that opportunity was too precious to let go.
Sharing him with Judy had been surprisingly strenuous on myself. Though, I put no blame on him. She was his break from me just as he was mine.
"Dad, I did something bad."
"Something already tipped me off to that." He said with a nod towards my nether region.
"No, worse. I had sex with Enrique."