! They made my week.Here is an early update in honor of the real V-day!
We became friends when I realized that she could do things with a paintbrush that most people couldn’t with a pencil. I love art, even if my skills stopped at the stick figure level. Still, we took art class together, and she helped me. That’s why most people thought we were dating… which was good because I didn’t have to explain why I didn’t have a girlfriend. In fact, it worked out REALLY well, especially in high school; when puberty hit and every guy wanted to date her. I don’t know why she didn’t date other guys, but everyone was so sure we were going steady that we could not convince them otherwise.
By freshman year, Tiffany and I both knew I was gay. Though admittedly, at that point I was still attempting to change by snapping a “bad thoughts” rubber band that I kept around my wrist.
And it was going really well, too, until I met Toby.
Toby.
He walked into art one rainy day Freshman year, wearing a pair of bright red cowboy boots.
Basically, you would have to be someone like Toby to pull that off. He was half an hour late, and when the teacher criticized him he explained it was her own damn fault that the building was so hard to find and that she should be happy he showed up at all.
“The state’s paying you for every student who shows up. Don’t yell at me for being late, yell at the building designer for making me late!”
He has an accent like a brick wall, so heavy the class was giggling in seconds. Later I learned he was from Texas, because everyone kept teasing him about the way he talked. Especially the art teacher. It didn’t take much for her to provoke him, and he got into fights with her EVERYDAY. Usually, Toby was wrong… but that didn’t stop him. He’s just one of those people who will never admit to being wrong unless he likes you enough. That’s why he always fell out of his seat. Everyone told him not to lean it back so far, that he’d fall. But he never listened or learned. I don’t know, perhaps the thought he was above the law of gravity.
He also was the only student failing art. Tiffany hated him because he always threw paper balls at her. I tried to hate him, too, but it wasn’t going to so well because every night I’d jack off to him and those red cowboy boots. I had these silly fantasies of him wearing nothing but those cowboy boots, maybe a gunstrap.
I don’t even like guns. Or the color red. I don’t think I have a shoe fetish. It’s just the way they looked on him that made me throw away my rubber band due to the rash it was causing on my wrist. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some straight guys who thought of screwing him from behind. But, I was too shy to say anything to him. Besides, from the way he always bugged her, I thought he had a crush on Tiffany.
And maybe it would’ve stayed like that forever, if it weren’t for her. For whatever reason, she was convinced Toby’s accent was fake.
I tried to convince her otherwise, yet I experienced diverted success.
One day, Tiffany yelled at him,
“STOP talking in that STUPID voice, Toby!”
The paintbrush was clenched in her hand like a weapon of war, and I tried to think of what to say to prevent a ‘showdown.’ Toby promptly got up from the table where he sat alone, and slowly walked to her. Tiffany glared at him then turned to me and whispered,
“If he talks in that voice one more time I am going to YELL in his ear. So hold your ears, okay?”
Suddenly, Toby leans over the desk, critically surveys her picture, looks to her then says,
“I’m from Texas. And that’s a really pretty picture.”
She blinked dumbly for a while and I started laughing as she mumbled out a thanks. He smirked, then looked at me for a fleeting moment before walking back to his desk. I stopped laughing and he grinned. Considering he was so unpopular, he had a lot of attitude.
When I went home that day to study with Tiffany, I noticed there was something on her mind because she was more distracted than usual. I thought it was probably a test or something in that range, when, out of the blue she said,
“You know, Toby’s actually not that bad.”
“You are just saying that because he complimented your picture.” I playfully poked her in the shoulder, “And have a thing for flattery.”
“Yes, I do.” She admitted, “And cowboys are kind of sexy. But he doesn’t have a thing for girls.”
I leaned back, “Nah, now you’re just in denial.”
“No.” she insisted, closing her book and turning to me, “I mean it. He’s gay as a fruitcake…”
“How can a fruitcake be gay?”
“--- And he never once looked at my chest.”
“That doesn’t say anything. Breasts are a focal point. Light meets dark. It’s hard not to stare, whether you’re gay or not. The fact that he didn’t stare did not say anything since he might just have low contrast perception.”
“You don’t stare at my chest either.”
“That’s only because you’re my---”
“Oh, cut the crap.” She told me, laughing, “He was also giving you the eye. You know… He actually has pretty nice eyes. If he worked them right---”
I shrugged noncommittally, “---We should go back to studying.”
She rolled her eyes for a moment, but that was that.
But, when I came home that night, I felt so… fucking… giddy. The Cowboy had a thing for guys--- maybe. But that maybe was enough to make me take the longest shower I ever took in my life.
My mom knocked on the door after what I guess was an hour to ask if I was OK; and I told her to come back later. Much later. Maybe never, or at least until I turned into a giant prune.
The whole time all I could imagine was Toby being in this shower, and me fucking him so hard he was crying out my name.
Maybe it was simplistic. But if you really like someone, those simple things are suddenly interesting.
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CHAPTERS
Part 1/9
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Part 2/9
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Part 3/9
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Part 4/9
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