All Too Well - Erik Menendez

You Never Came [18+]

Beverly Hills. CA. 1988.

Eriks POV:

The texture of the ceiling is all I focus on. It's ridged bumps and egg-shell coloring is peculiar. The first night I slept in this room; the first night we officially moved into these walls; they spoke to me. Something about their gentle coloring but thin interiors suggested they would symbolize a fresh start; something new and fresh compared to the house we just came from. I had the naive feeling that this would be a castle of such; home to a new fairy tale where everything worked out in the end. I now know that's not true.

I've done what was expected of me; my fathers body has been serviced; satisfied, pleasured. By me. However given his mood, he's insisted on returning the act. I stare at this fairy tale ceiling, with the walls looking at me as I lay down, getting my body indulged by my father. By Jose. His hands travel my body as he orally copulates me. I don't feel much, I'm way too focused on wondering about what the walls are thinking as they gander at the scenario playing before them. How only they know the truth, how the truth will die in these walls before I tell anyone.

My body ultimately betrays me. I don't realize an orgasm is coming until it does. The feeling starts in my feet before it sparks everywhere inside me. My body confirms it feels nice. But my mind confirms something else; I'm sick. I'm disgusting. How can my body derive such pleasure from this.

He's wiping his mouth and getting himself dressed before I know it, my body only moves to shift into a fetal position, I find solace in wrapping my arms around myself, waiting for my dad to leave the room before any tears shed.

"Good boy." He's stroking my hair, looking down on me, with what; admiration? Pride? I'm not sure. He's elated, he's relaxed. It's the only times he is with me. After all, this is supposed to be my present for doing good. I've trained all day, I'm mastering my forehand recently, I even participated in meal time earlier. He's trying to reward me. This is his way.

"Take tomorrow off, don't worry about practice. I want you to head down to Rodeo Drive; pick up some going away presents for Lyle."

My head nods as his hand that was situated in my hair now feels its way down my neck, past my chest, rubbing my pectoral muscles and feeling over my abdomen. He turns away and as soon as my door clicks open and then closes seconds after, my eyes soak with moisture.

My urge to let out these haunting feelings possess me to throw the pillow beside me at my desk, it subsequently knocks over the bottle of Lyles fragrance he borrowed me. The smash of the glass is loud, it's deafening and I swear it rings out. The broken glass on the floor reflects his words earlier; it makes women practically strip down in front of you. Not just fucking women it seems.

My mind wants to blame Lyle, scream and hit him until he apologizes for making dad do this to me. But my conscious knows that's wrong. Because this isn't Lyles fault, my dad does this to me regardless of what I do or what I wear. He did it to me when I was nine in my spaceman pajamas, he did it to me after my cousins wedding in my barely-fitting child-sized tuxedo, he did it to me when I was just a boy wanting to shower after a long day of practice. He will always do it.

I don't take it lightly, the fact I've ruined any chance I had with Whisper. I can't find myself to move as I see the clock flicker to 19:46. She's waiting. Waiting for my car to drive up to her place, walking for her bouquet of flowers and her car door being opened for her as she thanks me with her smile, waiting for the journey to El Cholo, waiting to tease me about the fact I'm a fussy eater and can only have basic things off their complex menu. Waiting for all the laughs we wont experience. Because we can't experience it.

I cannot bring myself to even attempt to face her, what would I say?

"Sorry I'm late I was busy blowing my father before he returned the favour."