Chapter Text
Ah! Yes! Fuck me harder! Y-Yes! There!
My hands begin moving, stroking as I pick up the pace. My mind is caving in on itself, just staring at this porno that managed to load after 10 minutes of waiting for it to fully load without any sudden buffers or other annoying crap. My Dad is gone on a business trip for a week, and I'm masturbating at 7:35 A.M trying to get my urges satisfied before Michael gets to my house in his car; I begged him to pick me up today because I didn't want to have to get teased throughout the bus ride or walk to school, only to arrive sweating and stinking. He's been my best friend for 12 years, and I count on him for almost everything, we have each other's back and it's great.
My phone buzz and the text from Michael rests on my screen.
'jere im outside'
There goes my session. The only thing in my hand right now was the pre-cum from hitting the part where he put his dick in her, yea.. I clean my hand with the tissues I had placed on the table beforehand incase I actually finished and needed to wipe off my shame. I end up only wiping away semi-shame, which is both a good but bad thing. I step into the bathroom to clean up more properly since touching Michael's anything with my gross pre-cum filled hands is just gross and distasteful. My eyes land on the mirror.
Over frizzed short hazel brown hair, paired with light blue eyes and acne spreading across my face like stars in the galaxy. That's me.
Jeremy Heere.
And I'm one of the bigger losers of Middle Borough High.
I'm one of the tallest kids in my class, but not the most muscular. I'm skinny, pathetically so, and my hands are rather boney. Michael isn't much difference when it comes to an attractive level, he's chubby and short. Typically having naturally short thick hair that I'm usually jealous of, it's not frizzy and it's in a style that's typically obtained through gelling your hair, but his' is all-natural. He never changes his style, and that's fine, he's more of a retro type of guy; His skin is tan and his eyes are a more gentle hazel like color. While I'm as pale as one could get due to the fact my family is primarily American/European, Michael's family came from Cuba, or that's what he tells me. His skin is tanner thanks to his family line, and a lot of racist kids tend to throw a few slurs at him for it. I get called 'Pale ass' for my white skin, so there's another thing we used to get along on.
I realize I'm probably keeping him waiting, and step out my door after locking it and notice the painfully red PT Cruiser parked in front of my house. If Dad wasn't on that stupid business trip, he would've had a field day about this horrendous parking spot.
"Thanks, man, I owe you," I say first thing, when I step inside his car, treating myself to the passenger seat. I hear the sound of him slurping down a Seven-Eleven slushie he's never seen without before he stops to address to me.
"No problemo, Jere." Michael responded with his typical aloof smile resting on his face. Michael was a crazy guy, not in a bad way, he's a lovable crazy guy. Never without a bag of sushi, nor cup of a large Seven-Eleven slushie, Michael seems to just make any situation better when he's there with me. Of course, he's my best friend, one would assume he would make life a bit better just by generally being there. He started up his car, driving us to school as I took to watching the amazingly boring scenery of New Jersey, the green state that was, big surprise, not really green. I've seen more trees lined up in New York City, but what can you say, that's the New Jersey charm.
Michael indulges in asking me if I'm free today and during the weekend to try getting stoned in his basement while watching someone play and fail at Apocalypse of the damned. I'm not paying attention admittedly enough since I'm thinking about something that has nothing to do with the conversation going on, but to keep Michael, I said I was free those three days and would be able to get stoned with him. I haven't touched a blunt ever, Michael is a stoner for sure, and he gets high off his socks a lot during the weekend, but I never did since I never had an initial interest to do it. Dad would get on my case if I came out unable to respond and reeking of Marijuana, besides the euphoric aspect of doing weed never appealed to me anyways. I get the same euphoric feeling just jacking it off while watching some sexy lady sucking a dick.
But to each their own, I guess.
We arrive at school and already different group of kids find it necessary to occupy the front of the building just relaxing and talking about whatever floats their boats. Michael locks the car doors and motion for me to follow him. Entering the building, the school was alive and frankly annoyingly loud. I could hear everyone's conversation, and I feel my hearing have a tough job trying to filter through all the conversations and just trying to focus on Michael's voice. He's talking about how this guy might just beat the game and how they could use his strategy to beat the game themselves. I'm trying to listen, I really am, but god, the noises are just too loud. I reach my locker, and open to hearing Jenna Rolan- One of THE popular girl in school as well as a serial gossiper - talking about some incident where a girl lost intentionally at pool to screw Jake or something. I don't care and never will.
"In other news, I heard there's a new kid at school and he's totally hot," Chloe says. Chloe is another one of those popular girls.
There's another guy at our school?
Michael stopped talking mid-way me going through my locker and I haven't noticed. Sorry, Michael. I close my locker door, noticing that Michael had put on his headphones for a moment, he owns these pair of headphones that are pretty cool. They've been working since last year and even got them labeled 'L' and 'R' for aesthetic reasons I'm guessing. Pulling them down, he looked up at me with his expression being eager to talk and overall happy. It's totally wrong, but if Michael was a girl, I would've definitely fallen for him. He's just so... cute when he looks at me like that, so eager and determined. Like a pup looking at its loving owner, wanting to play.
"Ready, Jere?" He asks; I nod in response. We walk alongside each other, typically I drop him off and walk to my own class but he started walking me to class and walking to his own by himself. People tend to forget the little details, but since Michael's my only friend - I know, that sentence is a very sad thing to read - that's all I notice. The little details. His hair, the way his smiles are when he's lying, happy, excited, sad, or anxious. It's scary how much you can read a person's face when you've been around them for years. You don't just wake up one day going, 'Hey! I'm totally know all of my friend's facial expressions now!' It's more of you wake up one morning, realizing that you know all of your friend's facial expressions without breaking a sweat. I may, or may not, be speaking from experience.
I’m pretty surprised the sheer livelihood of the school, kids that usually look dead inside and outside talking like they were given a shot of heroin. Talking nonstop and smiling like freaks from that one weird game that was being made by the same people that made BioShock. The one with the happy people, but are actually pretty psychotic. I wonder if anyone here knows what I’m talking about. Back to the topic at hand, Michael noticed it too, looking around and then at me, like I hold the answers to it. Surprisingly, I do for once. It’s the new kid, I heard this all over the place. ‘New kid this’, ‘New kid that’.
He must be the son of someone famous, or just really really hot as Chloe said. Maybe both. That would be hell for nerds all over the school, another pair of hands pushing us against the metal lockers of Middle Borough High. I wonder if I can sue them for causing bodily harm when I get out. That money would be some nice College money that is much needed. I barely take 3 steps forward before I hear that familiar voice.
“I haven’t actually met him yet.”
Her voice blessed my ears, it was like angels singing, and I just to want hear it forever. Christine Canigula. The gem of the shit hole known only as Middle Borough High School. Passionate about theatre, and personally in my humble opinion, one of the best actors that usually participate in the School’s plays. She’s... Mesmerizing. Beautiful. Gorgeous actually. Amazing...
Actually, just go to Thesaurus.com and search up synonyms for ‘Amazing’ and ‘Beautiful’. That perfectly sums up Christine Canigula. I sigh lovingly, you might not have guessed it yet, but Christine Canigula is one of my biggest crushes since 6th grade. She’s beautiful, and not in the skinny fake way that you would see on the front covers of most fashion magazines, she’s like Michael, chubby but in a healthy way. Her hair is short, and the perfect shade of brown, her smile is the most adorable thing I have ever let my eyes seen, and she can get really passionate for musicals.
Christine is pure, and that makes her even more adorable.
But I’m not an idiot, I know what’s within my boundaries and what’s not. Thinking that I have a chance with Christine is the last thing that would ever pop on my mind, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try. The most I got was saying ‘hi’, before running away before saying another word. We’re in a few classes together, and I tend to stare at her from a distance, but she doesn’t notice - Thank Christ - If she did, she would think I’m more of a loser than everyone makes me out to be.
In this school, I’m the Chronic Masturbator, a poor sad fuck who can’t get laid and instead has a loving relationship with their Macbook, watching porn every day and jerks off to the slightest touch made with me. The only friend I have is Michael, he’s a great guy, the best thing I could ever ask for obviously, but he isn’t very popular at school either. I know he hates it, but he’s known as just the stoner kid that is essentially a loser like myself. You can’t have one without the other, the school thinks, so after a while, we’re just seen as the gay loser kids.
Along with the slurs from the racist overrated white kids, we both get homophobic slurs, like faggot, dicking sucking queer, and I have a personalized one, ‘Queer stick’. If I wasn’t used to the harassment thrown our way, I would’ve found great offense with that, but honestly?
I’m pretty proud they took the time to come up with a special insult just for me. No one else is known as ‘Queer Stick’. Just me. It’s not the fame I wanted, but any fame is relatively fine. Doesn’t help when I get pushed aside then receive some pretty nasty stares and hear others call me a freak and claim I’m going off to jerk off from being bumped into. They laugh and point their fingers like little kids.
For a moment, I forgot I was in high school and thought I accidentally stumbled back into pre-school with the maturity level I’m reading from everyone.
Michael doesn’t care about it. Slurs? Physical Harassment? Nothing phases this kid, I’m stuck between thinking he’s bottling stuff up to maybe he really doesn’t care. We’ll be talking, and some snobby ass rich kid pulls up beside us and calls us ‘faggots’ before shoving us down onto the ground. He’ll just stand up, help me up and continue our conversation like nothing happened with a smile on his face. I don’t get mad, it’s hard to piss me off when you’re used to something, but I do have moments of anger when I notice the bruises and marks the harassment has taken on Michael.
I share some too, but I bruise easily. The shock factor went away after a while, with Michael, he doesn’t bruise at all. Something so rare like a bruise on his face from punches pushes and other things always makes me feel… Angry. At the world, for making him go through something really shitty that he doesn’t deserve, and at myself because I’m not strong enough to defend him. It’s always him sticking up for me.
I just wish that I was stronger, maybe even popular so I could help out my best friend.
Michael walks me to my class and gives me a wave before heading out. I sit down at my usual seat at the back and wait for everyone to flood in, sitting down in their usual spots. I feel a sigh of admiration seep out of my mouth when I see Christine walk in the classroom sitting down in the front as always. Before anyone could call me out, I sneak towards the front, taking a seat 2 rows away from the front. Jake Dillinger, Jenna, and Chloe all sit in their own little circle, talking about the new kid. Christine is being forced in the conversation by Jake, who gives her this aloof smile, and I feel the pencil in my hand snap in two. Well shit, that was a good pencil too.
“I heard this kid was a SQUIP,” Jenna said, moving her head in a quick motion that sweeps the hair out of her face and over her shoulder. It’s a graceful action and I wonder how long it took for her to master it completely. Probably more than a week for sure.
“SQUIP?” Christine asked in a soft, delicate voice. I pretend to be doing work, the substitute (the teacher is absent) isn’t caring if we do the work, but the kids upfront will care. They’ll think I’m eavesdropping, which I am, but I don’t want them to know about it. The buzzing of the light and the lively hood of the class today because of the absence of our teacher makes it hard to concentrate on the topic they were discussing amongst themselves. I look at the time for a moment, and I notice it’s 8:37 A.M now.
“It’s short for ‘State Quantum University in Pennsylvania’.” Jake explained, pressing back against his chair like he owned the darn thing. If I did that, I would’ve fallen back, it happened before, like twice.
“Oh wow… Is that- Like a really good university?” Christine asked.
“No duh, Christine. It’s the place where all the geniuses go. You can’t apply for it, they have to scout for you,” Jenna spoke, her attitude was so egotistical, like she, herself was accepted to that pristine sounding school. Her legs crossed in that way, and she crossed her arm as well, wearing this bitch smile on her lips. I don’t know what else to call it, except what it is. Bitch smile. I feel like I’m watching Mean Girls reenacted in front of me.
“What's someone like that transferring here for?”
“I heard he was looking for someone to help out. You know, rub off some of their own intelligence in someone not as fortunate,” At this point, I wanted to groan and go back to doing my own things. That sounds like an egotistical jackass that thinks they’re a god among everyone else because society gave their intelligence a higher number. Sure, I can’t tell you most equations from the top of my head, but if you asked me to recite every single Pokemon from Pokemon Red and Pokemon Blue, trust me, I would do it. I could even do the rap if I was given 5 minutes to recall it.
Then again, knowing Pokemon doesn’t help unless I’m applying for a job in Nintendo, specifically to in the Pokemon Department, and I have no drive to do such a thing.
I continue to eavesdrop while doodling on a blank notebook page.
“Huh, when is he coming in?”
“I heard today.”
“That’s cool.”
“Mhm, Brooke saw him, and she said he was a tooootal hunk.”
I don’t really care anymore, I lose my interest and return to drawing something more detailed than whatever the hell this slab of shit was. It looked like a fail attempt at doodling Michael. I erase it.