State the Obvious

Written for a writing marathon in 2006 called BoomCrashDie (BCD). Used a line from a Panic! at the Disco song to start it off. Hormonal and quirky, it's a tale of two young boys that are heavily attracted to each other. A firstlove story.

Alright.  I wrote this as a teen firstlove story and with that in mind, yes it IS supposed to be corny sometimes.  I know that many of us cringe when teenagers speak of being "in love" so quickly but hey, let's admit it, it happens.  To be honest, who cares if it's true?  Who cares if they're really the big In Love or if they're happily In Attraction and Infatuation?  I'll say that at the moment, it doesn't really matter to me.  So here's the story.

 

Picture credit to Image Source.

 

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Let me state the obvious again.

 

 

He’s gay. I’m straight. So, really, it doesn’t make any logical sense that I like him and the he doesn’t like me.

 

I don’t like boys.

 

He does.

 

So why would I like him? And why wouldn’t he like me? Either way, there must be something wrong with me. He’s too perfect to have there be anything wrong with him. At least, not majorly. Not enough to keep me from liking him, right? Which leads me back to this problem.

 

This wouldn’t be so difficult if he would stop looking at me with such intent in his eyes. I know that when I stop zoning out he’ll ask where I’ve been. He always knows when I’m away. He’s known since, like, second grade. The day he met me. Or, really, I met him—at a full run. We both became acquainted with the floor after that, and I found that spaghetti and sauce are very attracted to white shirts, which we both happened to have been wearing.

 

What could I say if he asked? That I’m dreaming of—yearning for—satisfying buttsmex with the handsome jock in front of me? Maybe I’m lucky and it’s just hormonal.

 

Wrong-o. I come back from my dream land—only halfway—to look into his eyes. I melt. His voice carries me back up again.

 

“I saw that. Do you want to continue our meal or should we go watch more football? I’d certainly enjoy watching more boybutt,” he says. I laugh.

 

Inside tears are filling my body starting with my toes. Can’t he just look at my butt?  No, my head tells me. You’re straight. Normal, straight, and a jock. No boybutt for you.

 

As straight as a parabola, I reply to myself. Who is that talking inside of me? It’s probably just my mom’s voice being twisted into mine. After all, how could I believe all that when my best friend is a flaming homosexual? I smirk as I think of myself as “Barbie het-rosexual” as I once heard in a movie. Soooo not true.

 

“Football sounds good,” I finally muster. As long as you don’t mind my watching you instead. I’m glad he can’t read my thoughts. I’m sure he wouldn’t enjoy watching the positions my mind puts him in…

 

No, stop that! Gay, straight, bisexual, penguin, WHATEVER, you don’t need to be a complete gutter-shotter. ‘kay? He’ll think you’re a complete horndog of a prick.  Prick… I feel myself starting and immediately pull the switch.

 

Woah. Back to real-world time.

 

“What team should we pretend to root for this time?” he asks me as he stands and clears off his tray.

 

“I think the Pats are feeling mighty unloved today,” I reply without thought. He laughs.

 

“You’re right. Pat is feeling mighty unloved today,” he retorts. “I’m glad you’re back, though.”

 

I laugh too. His name is Pat. Always, always Pat. He’d kick me in the cup if I ever called him Patrick. It reminds him of that stupid Spongebob show, which his little sis’ is always watching. He’d kill me if he knew that I don’t always change the channel when it comes on…

 

“Your house or mine?” I inquire with a faked sexy nudge to his shoulder. Or at least, he’ll think it’s fake. He laughs that deep laugh and puts his arm around my shoulder before waggling his eyebrows. Thick, sexy eyebrows.

 

“I’m bringing you to my lair, girlfriend,” he responds. We both laugh and go back to walking home. The mall is boring, anyway. He thinks I come to pick up chicks. Haha, that’s a laugh.

 

“Is that you, hun?” his mom calls from the exercise room. He smiles at me as he calls back.

 

“Yeah, it’s me and Josh!”

 

“Sweet deal!” she hollars back—she’s trying to pick up the ‘cool phrases’—and adds, “Sandwiches and Cokes in the fridge if you want them.”

 

He gives the thumbs up and saunters off to the kitchen. Leans over into the fridge. I watch his broad shoulders disappear…

 

“Catch!” he so kindly informs me as a Coke flies through the air and nails me on the top of the head. Lands on the tiled kitchen floor. Stupid self leans over, picks it up, and…opens it.

 

Gee that fizz is cold. My hand will be beyond sticky now. I hope I don’t get it on my shoe, I think as I watch the beige foam ooze out of the can. Why can’t I think of anything productive, like, “Hey, I should put this over the sink”?

 

That’s what he must have thought, since he’s pressing me against the sink to keep the Coke over the basin. He’s warm. And muscular.

 

Coke is officially my favorite soda.

 

“Oh, sorry about that…” he mutters and drops my hand. Doesn’t move. He’s tense and I hear his breathe shallow… I turn to tell him it’s all right and find his strong chin awfully close to mine. His breathe on my lips.

 

“S**t, s**t!” he exclaims and attempts to move away. I step on his foot—for once on purpose—to keep him from adding even an inch to the distance between us. I move up, kiss him.

 

Pause.

 

His mind is whirling, I know. The same way mine was a half an hour ago. Now it’s just a broken record: So not straight, so hot, so horny.

 

I’m positive his is much more articulate, but hey, what does it matter? He’s responding to the kiss and that’s all that matters to me.

 

Soon we’re snogging like maniacs, him pushing me up against the sink and me allowing the Coke to pour out over the sink. Realizing this, I drop the stupid can of Coke and bring my arms around those broad shoulders.

 

I hear shuffling from the side door and the fridge open. Soon Pat’s mother materializes, smiling and clucking like the mother she is. “I’m all for you boys having a nice time, but I really need to do the dishes.”

 

We blush and hurry off towards his basement bedroom. Oh, my gosh. He’s holding my hand. I really hope I don’t faint going down the stairs.

 

“Wait, so, how long have you liked me?” I ask him as he looks away from the TV screen and down at me, resting against his well-muscled shoulder. He laughs and I feel it through his body. Nummy.

 

“Since that day you ran into me. Have I ever told you I love spaghetti sauce? Well, I decided I loved it especially on you.”

 

We both laugh and I blush at the memory of running both him and his lunch into the ground. Of course, I had landed right on top of him… We’d been inseparable.

 

“What does that make me?” I question further. Hell if I know.

 

“In love, I think,” he replies with a shrug and an easy smile. I’m made of mush. I think he’s a little right…

 

What does it matter, anyway? The football team knows. They just punch his arm and laugh.

 

I doubt I’ll be able to organize my outfits any better than I could an hour ago.