Bisexual in Manhattan (boyxboy & lesbian stories)

five | wannabe

I was eight years old when I had my first taste of alcohol. My oldest brother, who was thirteen at the time, had dared me to drink a full cup of my dad's Scotch. I had no idea what alcohol was at the time, I just knew that it was something adults drank before they became silly and broke furniture. My brother told me that I'd be gay if I didn't drink it; so naturally I had to do it. What a waste of time right? If only he could see me now, getting dicks rammed up my ass. I drank the whole cup of Scotch like a champ and wiped my mouth clean with a grin. Fifteen seconds later I barfed all over my brother and his Star Wars Lego set, and then again on my living room rug. Next I puked so profusely into the bathroom toilet that I shit my pants. Really I'm going too far into ideal here, but the point of the story is that I never once denied myself of any cup of alcohol, and tonight at Club 8 was definitely no exception. I drank so many free shots from Nacho Libre that most of the festivities are a blur. Which is why now on our walk home, Harry is practically carrying me. Believe me, I'm eating this moment up. My left arm is thrown around his shoulder where he supports most of my body weight. Whenever we have to cross a street filled with cars he picks me up and hauls me to safety. I know this sounds incredibly excessive, and I'm most definitely acting a tad bit extra, but he makes me feel like a prince. A drunken, sloppy, prince who if ever became King would be the downfall of the kingdom and all of its people.

Despite my current state, I can't help but chuckle at the scene before me. Ariana is swerving on each side of the sidewalk like a drunk driver between lanes of a road, belting out Wannabe by the Spice Girls. Her cat ears are lopsided on her head and her stockings are ripped in about eight different places. Honestly, I'm a little nervous that she's going to sashay into oncoming traffic, but Harry doesn't let that happen and pulls her back whenever she gets too close to the curb. On a scale of one to mess, I'd rate us both a solid 'Britney Spears' performing on the 2007 VMA's.' Tragic.

Shay and Sloan are doing the impossible. They're eating each other's faces while they walk, and successfully dodging fire hydrants and stop signs, blindly. Mona is right on the other side of Harry, chatting him up when clearly he is busy with me and Ariana. Every once in awhile she giggles and playfully hits his arm. You can probably imagine my thoughts on this. I contemplate ramming my size nine shoe into Mona's rectum, however, unfortunately, I decide against it and only mumble "thundercunt," under my breath.

My tummy growls, and I suddenly can't remember the last time that I had eaten.

"I'm hungry, feed me," I announce to Harry.

"Okay, Lou, what should I feed you?" He replies.

Of course my mind goes to the dirtiest place, but I say "pizza."

"Pizza it is," he tells me and rubs my shoulder. But then I look down at my thighs and think that it would probably be best to eat a Lean Pocket.

"Just kidding," I tell him. "I'll wait til we get home."

Ariana turns to face us, and she looks as if a light bulb had just went off inside of her head.

"Guys I think I'm going to audition for American Idol," she reveals, smiling wide and big like a toddler.

"You're a little too late, Ari, the show is over after this season," Shay comes up for air to say. But I really wish that she hadn't, because this apparently strikes a major chord with Ariana. Her lips begin to quiver, her chins wrinkles, and her eyes become glassy almost on instant.

"Aw, don't cry, babes," Harry chimes in with his comforting voice. "You could always try auditioning for The Voice."

This hardly serves as a consolation for Ariana. "I just wanted to audition for American Idol. It's always been my lifelong dream." Tears are full out falling from her face at this point and I try to hold back my laughter. She's an ugly crier.

"That's bullshit," I reply. "You want to be a fashion magazine editor. You've always wanted to be that. You're just drunk and confused. Promise."

"This is an American travesty!" She frantically throws up her hands in frustration. "I feel like I'm being victimized here! How can a star shine, if it's never given the opportunity to be lit?"

"Uhh, I don't think you can light a star. Maybe you're thinking of a candle perhaps, or a light bulb?" Sloan interacts.

"Oh, same difference!!" Ariana replies and I'm convinced she's about to throw punch. She just continues to ugly cry instead.

Mona turns to face us with a shamefaced grin. "I guess now would be an awful time to remember that I gave Ariana a concussion before she started drinking..."

"You did what?!?!" I jabber with exaggerated shock value, purely to villainize her. What can I say? Bitch don't get cheeky with my man, even if he doesn't know that he's my man...

"I can explain. It's not like I went all Chris Brown on her, actually it's quite the opposite. I was giving her some real good head in the bathroom stall at the club and I guess she knocked her block into the wall. From that moment on she was concussed. I mean I'm not a doctor or anything, but she was seeing stars. Oh, and then we let her drink hella shots, which leads us to present time where she's totally bonkers and convinced she's the next American Idol."

"Before we all freak out over nothing, somebody do a quick Google search to see if somebody could die from drinking alcohol while having being concussed," Shay demands. At this point, Ariana is burying her face into her hands out of worry.

"What the fuck? You can't really lead with "don't freak out over nothing," when you end the same sentence with the possibly that a Google search might put the nail in your friend's coffin," Harry miffs with a glowering expression. He's pissed.

"Well technically Google wouldn't be the one putting a nail in Ariana's coffin. That would be Mona because she concussed our friend and then let her take shots," I counter argue to crucify this bitch. "But at least she was thoughtful enough to go down on her."

Concussed, concussed, concussed.

The word is used so many times that it doesn't even sound like a real word anymore.

"I'm googling it right now," Sloan announces.

"My mom says to only trust something if Dr. Oz verifies it," Ariana mentions, with her hands muffling the sound of her voice. I think she's trying to hide from the concussion.

"Ariana," Mona starts, "I just wanna let you know that if you do wind up dying, I'll totally donate all of my money to the Bisexuals-with-Concussions foundation.

"Aw stop, that's the sweetest thing," Ariana cheers and finally uncovers her face.

After a few more seconds of surfing the internet, Sloan looks up from her iPhone. "Okay, the result are in," she takes a dramatic pause, as is this was an appropriate time for one. My eyes widen in anticipation. "Mona, you are not the murderer."

Mona jumps up and down like man dodging fatherhood on the Maury Show, and I roll my eyes. I was hoping she'd land the electric chair. But at least my friend lives, right?

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hey hi hello!!!!!!!

we're officially off hiatus and i have a few chapters already written and edited for ya'll :))))) i'm as confident and ready as ever for this series and i really hope you are all as excited as i am to get the ball rolling again. 

please note that some of the faces in this story have been changed, as well as a few edits in the first four chapters. the biggest change is that cara is now shay mitchell because we needed some more representation in the main characters and i have more inspo for her tbh.

please please please comment feedback and opinions on this chapter! i love hearing from ya'll more than anything. oh and vote too if you like it :D