tales from the list
BY PAIX ROBINSON
MR. HE WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED
September 12th 2006
This month has been intense. A type of intensity that comes with the territory in this gilded age of my present day. Having just graduated from high school in June, and then The Ailey school in New York two weeks after that, I find myself in the eye of it all. My character in American cinema would be asking all the questions any graduate would have. What’s next? What do I do? Where do I go? And will anybody love me? My balance between lovers and friends has been on one since I got back from New York. With only one week until I move into the dorms in L.A. there are a lot of people who want to be seen and two that I can’t look away from. I call them Summer and Winter. Given nicknames not to protect them from my facet of our truth but something I wanted to do, in order to separate my very different feelings for them while maintaining the personal connection to each person. Also making it less obstructive to speak of my loves in public without totally outing myself on both sides of the fence.
Every day I spend above the the sun’s innocent glow I grow more curious of the colder winds below.
For the record, I honestly said that. A few testimonies back that was a true statement to valid emotions. Chronicled forever so I be held accountable and lay testament to my overzealous and candid enthusiasm. Which brings me to my current stance in the well of the storm.
Last night, I decided to indulge in those Winter winds that plague me so. I will remember this night not for the overall romanticism but for the WB New Tuesday meets Punch Drunk Love type way in which I choose to deem it’s motions. One can always count on me to air on the side of dramatics. Not in forceful action but in it’s coating. Taking each opportunity as it comes under the tint of periwinkle and the long desired fables of conquest and discovery.
My parents were gone. Out of town. Off in Los Angeles, Houston or Chicago? I don’t really care to remember. Their absence makes it easy to relinquish the paranoia of the " [Enter parents stage left] " direction.
I invited him over without a moment’s fear of having to hold my tongue, or his for that matter.We hadn’t kissed since the first time last week and that’s pretty much all I was thinking about. That and the expression he made when we touched parts for the first time. See! That right there is how I know I’m fucked up. Just two days after said genital grabbing and the whole letting of lips do what hands do, I was tangled in Summer. Her body, my hands and our candor all in attendance. Coiled alone making heat for my empty house in the hills. Making love in celebration of our one year anniversary. There lies my body in waste. Held alone in purgatory. Hard time being served while saturated in desires to experience and the pleasure in doing so.
When I invited him over I knew exactly what I was doing and I wanted to do it. I had no clue what “it” actually meant and I still don't know what the hell happened and it happened. The water in the frame often left circling the handmade drain was tasted, its temperature was soothed like a nipple to a hungry child at 2pm on a Tuesday. And it was divine. I think I’m just in a place of excess. Which is weird, at least for me. If one was required to check a box on what the heart asks for and what you choose to give it in return, such porous mental races would cause logic to make meek of morals but justified in the resolute proclaimed by the tempest of sexual exploration.
He arrived and we immediately started smoking pot. It helped. He’s always wound so tight. Walking and running Cross Country between his own attitudes and the silent ordination of bringing honor to his family. The weed makes talking not so daring. Much needed grace for him and for me as well. I think. I don’t know. I’m surprised how good I’ve been with all this stuff. I just enjoy being around him and I know he feels the same. I think that’s where his sassy ass comments come from. As if he is the Joey to my Pacey or better, the Will to my Jack, if the pair ever got high and touched each other. Smoking with him in the back room made laughing a common causality to letting go and he liked it. I love that he liked it, or even allowed himself the time enough for me to know he likes it! We used smoking as a chalice to fill to the brim. Waiting for the edge to break and hoping someone will take the first sip before it falls to the ground, but like actually though.
I cooked dinner before anything serious happened. I remember him criticizing my cooking style en queue as if a director stood in the wings, wryly giving incentives and praise for each measure of quick wit and vigor. I took every stab and said something just equally as harmful but with more innuendo. In sight of his inability to truly emote and my urge to push my truth through vulgarity, I pitied his idea of using heavy sarcasm to feel out loud and used his method to push my own. The dinner was all sharp tongue and slander. We talked for a time unmarked or measured. Like most teenagers, we became the subjects of our own conversation. I could trace the tension with my fork. He sat across from me at the opposite end of the dining room table with all 6 places in-between us, placed and set for no one. All of the little invisibles were talking so loud I don’t even remember how we moved, what happened to our plates or when we got downstairs.
I do remember smoking again in the bathroom across the hall from my bedroom. With the door closed and a towel at the foot of the door we listened to a Death Cab playlist on his iPod and kept the conversation kind of light, kind of awkward. When the cherry in the bowl went out I got up, opened the door and walked into my room. Ignoring my half of the earphone chord that ruptured our musical hug. I didn't wait for him to make a decision. I got on the bed and laid there. He turned off the light, closed the door behind him and came into my room. He placed the pipe on the window sill above my head and sat down beside me. When both of his legs soon followed he snarled for more space.
“Do you always have to be a dick?!” I said, then I kissed him.
We made out for a while and It felt like my lips were devouring his so I tried to pull back a little. I wanted to kiss him slowly. I wanted to take it all in and make every moment a scene from a film I would want to play in the future. Something good for the vault. We tousled and tangled until our engorged members began to throb at one another. The fencing match of our peens made it less awkward surprisingly. It was like, “ ah! There it is. ok. let’s do this,”. The funny part was, I had no idea what the fuck ‘this’ actually was.
I mean, yes, duh, I know or I knew what kinda was suppose to happen.
However, the Oakland Unified School District Sex Ed. classes we as kids didn’t quite cover the homo love in the appropriate pre heating rituals-and I’m not dumb. I get it, but still. I didn't know if I was suppose to do something and not the other thing or if he would take charge being the more experienced one, so I just went with whatever flow felt like it wouldn't embarrass me. I went in for the initial kill of gesturing around, in and/or on his pant button.
We made out for a while and It felt like my lips were devouring his so I tried to pull back a little. I wanted to kiss him slowly. I wanted to take it all in and make every moment a scene from a film I would want to play in the future. Something good for the vault. We tousled and tangled until our engorged members began to throb at one another. The fencing match of our peens made it less awkward surprisingly. It was like, “ ah! There it is. ok. let’s do this,”. The funny part was, I had no idea what the fuck ‘this’ actually was. I mean, yes, duh, I know or I knew what kinda was suppose to happen but the Oakland Unified School District Sex Ed. classes we as kids didn’t quite cover the homo love in the appropriate pre heating rituals-and I’m not dumb. I get it, but still. I didn't know if I was suppose to do something and not the other thing or if he would take charge being the more experienced one, so I just went with whatever flow felt like it wouldn't embarrass me. I went in for the initial kill of gesturing around, in and/or on his pant button.
He got up from the bed and I instantly thought it was all over. He stood there and decided to take off his pants while facing the wall. “I love your butt”, I said. “Omg stop, no you don’t.” he snapped back as he crawled onto the bed. I took off my shirt slowly and pushed his back onto the pillows behind him. I kissed him and held it there for a second. When I released my bulbous lips I gave his mouth another quick punch and then licked the bottom lip with just the tip of my tongue. I kissed his chin because it was there and on beat with the rhythm that I had to keep so I felt cool. I didn’t spend too much time in the chest area. He got really quiet and I couldn't tell if what I was doing was like...right. I kissed his belly button and felt his penis on my neck. Somewhat at the point of no return I just kept going. I let my lips slide down past his straight laced pubic hair and let my hand grab hold.
I haven’t gone full Traci Lords on many in my day, or any at all for that matter but I hella felt like a boss tycoon. I mean, “that’s that shit. I’m telling you. That’s that shit.” Big ups to Karen Steffans for teaching the world how to hold it down.- and for giving me and mine that quote. I would like to credit the appropriate saliva v. pre-cum ratio as lubricant. In that mouth-I’ll say full to make him feel better-full of a moment, I thought to myself, “Self-you are actually sucking a dick right now, that’s hella deep,”. He came dummy fast. I swallowed thinking I didn't have any other choice and it was either that or what, hold it there and be more reminded that it’s even there to begin with? No I wasn't ready to adopt that into my sack of tricks.
When it was his turn to return the fellatio favors he just sort of held it with one hand and kissed it. Licked it a little and put the tip in his mouth as if to taste a sucker when he already knew he didn’t like the flavor. Totally fine. Honestly he could have slapped his face with it and called me a little bitch and I’d be so down. He came up to kiss me and suddenly my stomach got a lil’ light in its loafers. I don’t remember an awkward silence about condoms or anything. I mean, with all the after school specials we’ve endured, that’s a duh.
He sat on top of me and did most of the work there. I couldn't feel anything different from sex with a girl except it felt like there was more. More to get through. Like, tougher to ease into. I tried to make the flow a little better with some slight hip and tailbone rolls. That only seemed to make him stop. I could only see his face through the light that had made its way from the street lamps outside, through the blinds, trying to find a curvature to hold onto. I thought of the cars that drove past. I thought of what song was playing on their radios when I was scoring a home run with XXXXX XXXXXXX. I remember I thought of his white Honda parked in the driveway and wondered if it would set off any alarming eyes in the windows of the neighbors.
He didn't seem to like the getting fucked part. He couldn't sit all the way down and I didn’t know any other positions even if he had asked. Yet, again, this is totally my first show at the rodeo but I think getting it all in is the way to do it, No? He’d make some noises that didn't sound too good and just kind of tensed up and wouldn't allow anything more or less to move. I could tell he was done and just like that he was. He dismounted and laid on his back next to me. I had no fucking clue what I was suppose to do. Felt like I had fucked it all up with something unbeknownst to me and probably to him as well.
To my surprise it wasn't over. It was my turn. I scooted over and opened my knees to my ribs as he instructed with his hands on my shins followed by my thighs. I held his waist with just my fingertips. He pushed himself inside my never-before-breached cavity and did it with the quintessential eyes-closed-mouth-open-slight-moan and then….exhale, thing. I was expecting something way harsh and honestly didn't really feel much. I mean, yeah there was a lil’ reverse fart feeling for a second and then the rhythm of it all just felt like, weird. Not bad, kind of just, there. He went slow at first, kept his eyes closed. I held on to his waist until I felt like I needed to switch it up. I found myself staring at the insides of my feet, praying my arches were in the right place.
He stopped when the heavy breathing became a constant. I could tell he hadn't had another orgasm because he'd already just had one and it didn't look like that. I opened my mouth to his charming member once more and sucked him off with a little more understanding than previously given. He came shortly after like in the movies and I felt like a bad bitch, again.
We crawled under the covers and went to sleep in the spooning position. Per usual with me as the big spoon.
When we woke up, things were different. I can't give it a name or anything but when we arose from our slumber, naked next to one another, our truths were clear and couldn't be ignored. We totally had sex. It happened. Deal with it. ‘Get it, got it and good’ I always say. We stayed there under the covers and talked for a cool amount of cupcakin’ time. Not making a big deal out of it and honestly just feeling out the moment. When we did move, he motioned toward the bathroom very comfortably, as if it was his own, I grabbed the pipe from above my head and followed suite. There were no clothes or pajamas for him to take off. I watched each of his rounded butt cheeks rise and fall as he hopped in. I wasn’t sure if it was obvious for me to get in with him and yeah, I wanted to but I didn't. I sat on the top of the toilet and talked to him. I passed him the pipe and lit it for him, kept smoking and just talking. We ate breakfast and fell back into our Frit & Frat routine only with a little more calm and a lot of side eye followed by a smile. It was nice. I can’t believe I actually let it all happen. Its totally fucked up. I’m fucked but I'm also 17 so fuck it. Cue the Death Cab.