Bisexual in Manhattan (boyxboy & lesbian stories)

six | almost a pussy

I wish I could tell you that Sloan and I bumped lady parts last night, and that I'm still recovering from rug burns on my hoo-ha, but the rest of the evening didn't go as smoothly as I would have hoped.

You see, once we returned to our apartment building, we came to the peculiar discovery that our key no longer fit into the downstairs door. At first I thought "hey maybe i'm just drunk and can't penetrate this doorknob like it deserves to be penetrated," but once Ariana, Harry, and Louis equally all had no luck, there was no other explanation other than the possibility that somebody had changed the locks while we were out at the club. Not everyone is so welcoming to new neighbors I guess. I really don't mind if one of these tenants has it out for us already on the first day, because once I find out who it is will surely suffer, but I do mind that they ruined my potential lesbian rondayvoo with a hottie. I mean come on, I thought I left the sorority pettiness back at college.

So anyway, we had to spend the rest of the night in the 24 hour laundromat across the street. Whenever the old lady who owned the place started to complain over our loitering, we popped some quarters into one of the machines and dried some air.

Oh, and incase you're wondering (which you probably are) Ariana didn't die from her concussion, and she didn't suffer any major side effects. She basically just ate vending machine pretzels into the A.M. We all just snacked on junk food and watched QVC all night because the landlord didn't show up to open the door until about eight hours later.

But that was then, and this is now and right now I'm conflicted as I sit in my plaid pajamas on one of the island stools in the kitchen of our apartment. A cup of tea sits in front of me, but I haven't had the stomach yet to drink it.

I press my thumb onto my phone to relight the screen that has dimmed on and off for about the fifth time now. I've been staring at Sloan's contact, debating whether or not I should be the first one to text.

I know I sound like a loser, or some silly high school girl, but I can't fucking help it. I promise I've never been this pathetic before, and quite frankly I'm making myself sick over the disgust, BUT I NEED TO HAVE SOME TYPE OF COMMUNICATION WITH HER.

I type "hey."

Then I add a smiley face emoji.

Then I backspace it all and restart with "good morning" and strategically insert a winky face emoji.

But then I backspace that too because I remember that just because I had only just woken up doesn't make it morning for everybody. It's actually almost 6pm, as the roommates and I slept in all day after our lack of sleep at the laundromat.

"Watcha doin'?" I hear Harry's gravely voice behind my head just before his hand comes to rest on my shoulder.

"Trying not to be a pussy," I confess and show him the blank text box on my screen.

"I see," he nods understandingly and rubs his sleepy eyes. "Well maybe you should wait for her to text you."

"When have you ever known me to wait for anything or anyone? I'm impatient," I remind him.

He takes a seat on the stool beside me and shrugs his shoulders. "But that was the old you. This is the New York you. Maybe the New York you is patient."

"Mhm, very unlikely," I groan and tap my fingers against my screen. There has to be something to say, the perfect something to say. I ponder my mind for all of the one night stands that didn't get the hint that it was a one night stand and tried to text me the next morning. I hope to god (Beyoncé*) that I'm not one of those.

"What if I ask her some kind of question? Like, "hey did you accidentally take my chapstick?" or something." I try.

"No, no, no, absolutely not," he shakes his head back and forth and I watch his coppery curls bounce about. "Then she'll think that you're too cheap to buy another chapstick. And not only that, you look ridiculous asking for this imaginary item back."

"You're right."

"I am."

"Oh hush,"

"Not hushing."

Louis stumbles into the kitchen with a horrible case of bedhead and I can practically see the words hungover  floating above his head. "What's all the noise for? My head is pounding" He asks us, and leans against the fridge with squinty eyes.

"Shay is being a pussy," Harry sells me out too quick.

"Am not. I'm trying not to be a pussy- which means I'm not a pussy yet," I correct.

"Same thing," he argues like a smartalec.

Apparently somewhere in the middle of this banter Ariana must have woken up too, because she joins us in the kitchen. She's wearing her bedtime cat ears. I'd explain why she wears cat ears all the time but then I'd have to get into her traumatic past about her cat hanging himself and I just really don't have time for that right now.

"Why do I keep hearing the word pussy?" She wonders as she stands in the doorway. The words hungover x2 float above her head.

"Because Shay is almost being a pussy," Louis fills her in.

While I sit perplexed on why this has become a house issue, I decide to focus on the bigger issue at hand. I still have a blank text box.

"Well anyway, I thought Mona and Sloan were very nice girls," Ariana announces. "Even if one almost killed me."

"Me too," replies Harry.

"Of course," I hear Louis mumble under his breath, but I think I'm the only one who catches it. Oh by the way, I totally know that Louis is in love with Harry. I'm not completely blind and stupid like Harry is.

"Mona told me about this writer's workshop downtown that her friend Meredith is in. Each week it's taught by a different author, and it's only like fifty bucks a session. I could definitely pull that off if I land a job- and that shouldn't be too hard cause she said the cafe she works at is always hiring," Harry tells us.

Oh great, another person in this house finds something to do in New York besides me. Ariana has an internship for Seventeen Magazine, Louis got hired to do some camera work on some documentary project, and now Harry has his writer's workshop and the possibility of a job. All I have planned is eating food from every sidewalk grub truck I can find.

Before I can make myself depressed over the fact that I have nothing going for me, my phone makes a dinging sound and Sloan's name pops up on my screen. This lights me up, and I can't help but crack a grin. Yes, yes, yes. This is what shooting heroin must be like.

"Is it her?" Harry asks.

"Yes!" I squeal.

"Is it who?" Ariana inquires.

"Sloan," Harry tells her. "Well what does it say, Shay?"

I unlock my phone to reveal the message I had been waiting for and read it aloud verbatim. "Hey, did you ever get let into your apartment? Hope so! Text me whenever you can. - love Sloan."

"Aw that's adorable," Louis says.

"I know right? A literal angel," I reply and I can't stop smiling as I gaze at my screen.

"Queen of adorable text messages," Ariana giggles.

"More like Queen of this pussy," I say.

///

so this was one of my favorite chapters because not much happens but it's still really cute to see the roommates interact with each other!! 

what did you think? are ya'll here for sloan and shay, or not convinced yet?

comment below and vote !!