CLAY-BOY
Misplaced ur penis?
Did u check ur pants?
ME
Girl at the art school has it and won’t let go.
I live in the middle of GAY HELL at my apartment.
You and Dmitri are graduating this year
and I’m gonna be a student forever.
Help.
Me.
Plz.
CLAY-BOY
Let’s get dinner Friday or something.
Our usual place, just U and me.
ME
I’m holding you to that.
After pocketing my phone, I curse my luck. Guess I’m on my own for dinner tonight. Maybe I’ll catch a bite and get some well-needed advice from Clayton on Friday without Dessie in the way. I mean, I like her and all, but when she’s around, Clayton’s eyes (which basically are also equivalent to his ears) are all focused on her. It’s both beautiful and nauseating. I’m happy for him, but seriously, aren’t they past the honeymoon phase by now? I’m shocked neither of them popped the question yet. They’re creeping up to their one year anniversary. For some reason, just thinking about that makes me feel kinda lonely.
And Brant’s sweet little emotions aren’t consoled in the least when I make it back to the apartment and find Eric cuddling with some dude I don’t recognize on my couch. The pair of them look up at my entry, as if I’m the one invading their space.
“Don’t mind me,” I mumble at them, tossing my bag on a barstool as I pass through the living room.
“Learn anything about the stars in astronomy today?” Eric asks, his voice a bit too sweet for sincerity.
“Yeah,” I grunt back. “They’re all fuckin’ crossed.”
My bedroom door shuts behind me. It’s only the third week of school and already I’m skipping classes. Oh well. Astronomy’s a blow-off anyway, I think. I know the planet names. Pluto’s been kicked out of the club. Jupiter and all the planets behind it are gassy, including Uranus, but we all know a chewable Tums gets rid of that problem. Then there’s Venus, the planet named after the Roman goddess of love or whatever, and it’s the only planet that rotates in reverse. Which I guess makes sense, because why the fuck wouldn’t the planet named after the goddess of love betray the rules of its own solar system, rebellious little bitch that it is.
Throwing myself on my bed, the springs squeak as I picture that last look mystery green-eyed girl gave me. I see the smart twist of her lips as she smirks at me. Why do I think that, with a whip and the right circumstance, that woman could make me her bitch with one loud, sound-barrier-breaking crack?
That thought is all it takes for me to get so hard, my pants become a denim dam of pressure. I unzip and unbutton, mercifully releasing not-so-little Brant.
When my fingers wrap around him, I sigh with relief.
The woman’s green eyes in front of me, her dark hair sweeping behind her, I start jerking off until I see stars.
My legs spread by instinct, the toes in my shoes curling. My other hand grips my balls and holds on tightly as I stroke so hard and fast that the sound of my fap-fap-fap fills the room unapologetically.
The woman leans down from the pedestal I’ve placed her on, her hair curtaining my face as her lips draw near. “Camera boy,” she calls me, almost like an accusation.
“Sketch girl,” I accuse her right back, biting my lip.
“Dog,” she moans, her lips touching my ear.
“I’m lucky, lucky, lucky …” I whisper back, out of breath as my working right bicep steals away all my energy. I’m already so close, fucking my sweaty hand and imagining it’s her tight pussy I’m invading. I even buck my hips, keeping my fist in place while I thrust my cock up into and out of it, pumping, pumping, pumping.
“You know how to work that big ol’ scary thing?” she asks. “You’re no artist.”
“I’m gonna art you so hard.”
“You’re no artist.”
“I’m gonna Rembrandt your ass. Brant’s gonna Rembrandt you.”
“You’re no artist.”
I clench shut my eyes, frustrated where the fantasy keeps going. Why am I so focused on those words of hers? She doesn’t even know me yet. Do I think she’s right? Do I not belong in the art school?
“Holy shit.”
I flick open my eyes. Eric is standing at the door, wide-eyed and holding a bottle of red wine. For a solid bucketful of seconds, we stare at one another, my cock stuck in my vagina-fist.
“Well?” I prompt him, annoyed. “You here to finish me off, or you need something?”
“Corkscrew.” He lifts the bottle, indicating it.