Dear Kenneth,
I remember everything, you know. Not even just the kisses, or the funny times in my bed. Everything. It's all imprinted in my mind, and no matter how hard I try to get rid of them, they always will be. Even years from now, I'll remember you. I doubt you can say the same, so I'll try to remind you in this letter. I'm sorry. It's just that we never really talked about it, you know? So.
-
"Everyone choose their teams for relays and line up on the track," said Mr. Prudhomme.
You looked over at me. "You and me?"
I smiled, and said, "Yeah, okay." In case you hadn't noticed, I did blush a lot.
A smirk sneaked across your face, and you suddenly launched himself at me, knocking me over onto the blacktop, so that we were lying on our sides, face-to-face. Your arm was strewn across my side. I thought it was purely platonic.
"Get off me," I had complained, and I shoved you away. (I didn't really want you to, by the way.) We both sat up and I put my arm around your shoulders.
You laughed, and leaned into me. "Oh, shut up, you know you love me."
I gave a breathy laugh. "Yeah, I know." I was kidding. I didn't know, I never did know, but then again, there was nothing to know, because you never-- I'm sorry, I'll stop. Little steps at a time, I'll retell you our story.
-
Half an hour later, we were in the locker room, changing into our street clothes. You was sliding off your shorts, and pulled on your stupid basketball shorts. You yanked off your shirt and put on your stupid damned tank, you know, the one you wore every day back then? Yeah, that one. Across the bench from you, I stripped off my own shirt, and fixed my hair. To impress the ladies. Or you. Either one. Mostly you, but, whatever. I took off my gym shorts and put on my other pair, all the while blatantly ignoring you, although we usually talked a lot in the locker room and looking down and away. If you even cared, I'm sorry.
"Hey, Max, you okay?" Nicky asked. "You look a little sick."
"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine."
-
After the bell, I grabbed his trumpet case, and started towards the band room.
You called to me. "Hey, Max, wait up!"
I flinched, and turned around. I plastered on a smile. It was fake, but you probably didn't notice. You never noticed anything, and I'm getting off topic again. Anyways, you caught up, and we walked together to the band room, casually chatting about the Lakers loss the night before.
-
"Trumpets, play your F-sharp, it's flat," Mrs. Schroerlucke called.
"Oh my God, Max, get it together," you had said, grinning. Schroerlucke shook her head, and glared at you. You lowered his head, and muttered, "Sorry."
-
"I'm speaking, Max," Mrs. Miles said, sharply.
"What? Oh, yeah, sorry. I know. Sorry."
"What did I just say?" she asked.
I looked around, and stammered, "Uh--um, I don't--I, uh--" I was totally paying attention, obviously.
"Detention, after school," she said promptly, with an air of satisfication.
I opened his mouth to argue, but closed it quickly, seeing her expression. You know better than anyone that nobody argues with the demon.
-
"Damn it," I groaned. "Why do I have to get detention? Why didn't Matthew get detention? He was talking to me, but no, of course Miles doesn't give a shit."
You shrugged, and nudged my shoulder. "Hey, come on it's okay. Just detention, who cares about detention."
"I do! My dad will kill me. He doesn't even let me get a B on a test, and I have detention, fuck. What am I supposed to say, I can't say I wasn't paying attention, he'll kill me again. Fuck," I had said.
"Dude, it's not that big of a deal. Calm down, bro," you said, looking a little surprised. You chewed your pizza, and looked at me curiously. "Everyone gets detention once in a while."
"It's a big deal to me, 'kay? You know what, never mind. Never mind," I said, shaking my head. "Let's just go to the field."
-
Two days later, we met up at my place to work on the nutrition project. I rested against your shoulder "absently" (very absently, had no idea I was doing it, truly), doodling in the corner of the poster.
You smacked my head, and said, "Dude, stop, we have to focus."
"What do you want me to do, then?"
"I don't know, bro, just color in the logo," you had said, shrugging my head away.
"I'm bored, can we do something else for a while?" I asked. "You said you could stay for two more hours."
You groaned. Can't blame you, who would want to be reminded that they had two more hours with a bitch like me? I'm sorry, I'm just ranting. But there's time for that later. "Fine, fine, what d'ya wanna do then? You have Minecraft, don't you?"
"Yeah, but I was kinda thinking of something else," I said.
"Yeah? What else do you--" You were cut off, as I suddenly launched himself onto you, our lips colliding. You started to pull away in surprise, but I grabbed your shoulders, and pulled you closer. You gave a grunt, but you gave in. (but really, Kenneth, why would you give in if you didn't want to? It would've been less cruel to push me away in the beginning)
I leaned into the kiss, little gasps escaping my mouth. I could taste the oranges we had been eating earlier on your lips. You pushed me over, and you knocked me to the ground, hands moving from head to my chest. You finally broke the kiss, and whispered, "What the fuck are we doing?"
"Does it really matter?" I asked, pulling you down on top of me again. My hands ran through your hair. This sounds so ridiculously gay.
You gave a laugh against my lips, and murmured, "No, I guess not."
My eyes were bright (I think? I don't know, I'm trying to make this sound romantic okay), as you pulled away. I leaned back onto my elbows, still staring at you. Your hands were pressed against my chest. My gaze slowly traveled down your body and I was NOT lusting after you, even though I--well, just read on, if you really forgot. I struggled to a sitting position, and you adjusted so that your legs were on both sides of me. Fuck, it's coming. I can't write this.
Your mouth twitched, and your hands moved lower, as you kissed me again. "I swear to God, I thought you were straight." Well, joke's on you.
"Same goes to you," I said.
Your hands moved to my hips, as you began to grind against me, and I moaned. Can't help it, you see, when a very attractive boy is grinding on your lap. Not even the straightest man on earth would be able to not moan. I think.
I guess you agreed, because you moaned too. Was it real? I don't really want to know. But your hands moved up inside my shirt, and you pulled it off. Maybe it was real. I doubt it, but it's nice to dream.
Anyways, I pulled off your tank, running my fingers through your hair. You pressed against me, slowly rubbing, providing the friction we both desperately needed. I gasped, and clutched your shoulders. Encouraged, you started to pull down my shorts. [WHY AM I WRITING THIS THESE ARE REAL PEOPLE AT SCHOOL THAT I PASS ON A DAILY BASIS I WILL NEVER LOOK AT THEM THE SAME WAY AND EW YOUR FACES WHY DIDN'T I DECIDE TO WRITE FANFICTION ABOUT ATTRACTIVE PEOPLE] [no offense bruh] [i can't do this i quit how do i skip writing this oh god] [ok i got it] I'm sorry, I can't write this anymore.
Let's just skip forward to after we finished. But, I'll say one thing. I was really tight for a gay, wasn't I? SO, my parents came home a little afterwards. We had time to change, and all that, so they never suspected a thing.
a.n. DO NOT T ELL KENNETH OR MAX IWRTOE THSI OK JESUS CHRIST D O NOT OK DARREN ALREAYD REA DIT IF THYE FIND OUT I WILL CRY
