Summary- y/n was never really into guys, and now at a highschool party, she figures out why.
Warnings- just some swearing and underage drinking.
y/n was never really into guys-- she considered herself to be straight of course, wether it be from social defualt or lack of experience, she didn't even think of the possibility of liking any other gender. It was boys, it had always been boys; boys that her sister's blabbered about, boys that her mother talked of her ending up with, boys that her father threatened to beat up, and boys that all of her friends sat her up with.
She hadn't ever put much thought into her sexuality, had never even considered liking anything other than boys. Wether she intended it or not, at parties like this especially, she always ended up with a highschool boy, having to pretend to enjoy a conversation about something mind-numbingly boring that would soon after lead to a sloppy make out session in a bathroom, and going home with loads of regret.
She didn't exactly like the cycle, or enjoy it for that matter. But she was sixteen and had a group of impatient girl friends pushing her into dating well-known boys with rich daddy's in order to uphold her social status in their drab school, setting her up with a member of the football team every chance that they got and jumping at the chance of a member of their own faster than y/n could question it.
She may have been straight, but that didn't mean that y/n enjoyed being with men (if you could even call them that at this age.) She personally thought that every single boy that she had come across in this overly-sized highschool was not only obnoxious, but fucking boring.
I mean, take this boy for example-- his name was B.J. (yes, he actually chose to call himself by that horrendous nickname), and he had been running his mouth for the past half an hour, he was going on and on about this hiking trip that he had taken this summer, and the hiking trip that he had taken the summer before that, and the one before that. He had spitten all over y/n's face probably four times in the last two sentences he had spoken about the kind of tent that he had boughten for his last trip, a big upgrade from the one that he had used the summer before, apparently.
He was wearing this horrendous cologne that reaked off of his baggy clothes and attacked y/n's nose like the pleged, it was strong enough that she could practically feel her eyes burn as he got closer and closer in proximity. She knew it was Axe from the trade mark smell of pushy fuckboys that manifested most of her middle School experience. He had on more than one Nike product, the neon colours clashing enough to make his outfit actually painful to look at for long periods of time, and his breath reaked of cheetos and cheap beer, something that y/n noticed the second that he stepped foot in her personal space.
When he started to talk animatedly about how much fire wood he could carry in one go, y/n couldn't help but roll her eyes and bring the brim of her red solo cup up to her lips, downing the last of her drink as she watched the boy flex his nearly non-existent muscles, "I'm not drunk enough for this." She decided quietly.
"I'm going to get a refill." y/n announced to the blabbering boy, holding up her cup in front of his face and wagging it for effect, hoping he'd understand over the blaring music.
"Oh, okay. I'll come with you?" He asked, already moving to place his hand on the small of her back to lead her towards the kitchen before y/n stopped him, placing her hand on his tank top clad chest, and pushing him back to his original spot against the doorway.
"It's cool, I can do it alone." y/n tried to explain, hoping to God that he got the clear message of disinterest that she was giving off. But of course, like just about every other boy that y/n had ever encountered, he stayed oblivious to her desperate attempts and just shook his head in disagreement. y/n couldn't help but grumble in annoyance.
