dweezil

mulder and
skinner and
scully, oh my!

riddle

fall

pinnochio

 

 

You know, the scary thing is I think I remember the first time I saw him. Some little punk show or other. Long underwear beneath cutoffs, plaid combat boots and green hair, and I thought, hmmm. Don't know what the pronoun is, but the adjective is sure yummy. Push me and I could probably come up with a verb. Second thought, as he shifted around a little—he looks like me. The way he's standing, wrapping one leg around the other—that isn't just your regular punk slouch. No, that's the special boys who wanna be girls slouch. On me it's the girls who wanna be boys who wanna be girls, but they look awfully similar from even a few feet away…

Then Alan spotted him, and ran over to kiss cheek and bite throat and all that, and I wandered over to get introduced, thinking, another one of Alan's damn straight boys. "This is Dweezil," and I shook his hand and thought, "Oh. Shit." Dweezil was the last human being Alan had actually had sex with, a year or so before.

So there's the seeds of all of it, right there. Fascination, recognition, resentment, a touch of sexual jealousy. I spent lots of time bitching to my friends—that's me, if I was a white boy. Walking the same edge, closer to each other than to the folks we're supposed to share a gender with--but on the other side. Which makes all the difference in the world.

Being sensible and friendly folk, they argued with me. --What does he have going for him, really? He works in a car wash. –And I work as a secretary. –He hasn't had a girlfriend in 5 years. –I'm working on year 3. –Damn, look what his friends call him! –Oh, so you think it's fun having my name? I bet people don't ask him about his Olympic medal on a daily basis.

And then there's the thing which I only said to a few friends, and I clenched my teeth whenever I said it: He can have Alan whenever he wants.

So I continued glowering whenever I ran into him at shows or parties, talking about him a lot, thinking obsessively about him and Alan fucking. In real life, that's about it. I don't know how your lives work, but that's how it usually goes for me. Obsession strikes; I stalk my prey; I get over it until next time. Anticlimactic, true, but at least I'm not storing body parts in my refrigerator.

But hey, this is supposed to be pornography, and therefore a bit more interesting than real life. So let's return to that little punk show, and give it another shot. I'm watching the sexy andro creature watching the band, and Alan flits off to greet him. This time, Dweezil grabs Alan by the hand and drags him off to the back, to the bathrooms. I roll my eyes and concentrate on the not-very-good band. Then suddenly,

I'm not watching the band anymore. I'm in a very white room, kneeling and undoing Alan's jeans. Only my knees don't hurt, and he's not pushing my hands away. He's leaning up against the toilet and closing his eyes. And I'm going light-headed myself, making it hard to get his pants down, and I adjust myself on the floor where my excitement has tightened my jeans, and I realize,

I'm in Dweezil.

He doesn't know I'm there, though, and he's got Alan's jeans down, and is pushing aside his boxers with a shaking hand, and I'm swallowing his dick. The kid doesn't have TMJ, and I get it all the way down. I shut my eyes with the sheer pleasure of it, Alan inside me filling me up, and come up to breathe and steal a look at him. He's bitten his lip, and if I look at him much more I'm gonna die, so I shut my eyes again and make another trip down.

After about a minute Alan drags me up, roughly, and kisses me, and I give his salty taste back to him. He bites my throat, one of his vampire kisses, and puts his hands on me, and I'm gonna find out what it feels like for a boy to come,

But that moron, that utter unspeakable moron, Dweezil pulls away. Pushes Alan's hands off him, gets back down on his knees. And granted I enjoy sucking Alan's dick some more, and I really enjoy it when he comes—it tastes different, I wonder if all boys taste different to boys? But I am bitter about this nonetheless. I can't fully concentrate on the feeling 'cause I'm thinking about this other feeling, and I'm rummaging around and getting weird flashes from the kid, there's something he doesn't want Alan to find in his pants. And he doesn't want his dick touched, it feels all wrong. He'd rather just concentrate on Alan's pleasure.

I laugh, inside the kid's brain, when I recognize what that is about. Dweezil is stone.

Right after he comes Alan sags against the toilet a minute, and then he awkwardly rumples my hair, and says something about some woman—my name, he's got to get back-- and there's a flash of red in the kid's mind, jealousy? Anger? Desire? I don't know.

And Alan leaves. And alone in the women's room, Dweezil pulls down his cut-offs, and his long underwear, and jerks off through panties girlier than anything I've worn in my life. And I'm laughing so hard that I think he hears me, and he goes soft in my hand, and I guess I still won't find out what a guy feels like when he comes,

And Alan touches my arm. "This band sucks," and we're out of the club heading home.

"Those straight boys are insatiable! He dragged me into the bathroom and swallowed me whole. "

I shake my head. "Life is rough, Alan. Your life is so fucking rough."

 

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