Noah
The boys' locker room had the pervasive odor of sweat and axe. Wasn't there some sort of study that showed that the majority of girls don't actually find that smell attractive? 'Hey. Look at me. I'm such a chick magnet. Girls' eyes literally water when ever they're around me....because of the axe, of course.'
Duuude. Just think about it for a minute. It hurts to smell you. You're like an onion. Layer after layer of perfumed skin. It's almost like skunk spray. Even if you take a shower, the scent doesn't leave. It soaks into your pores. Every freaking inch of you smells like how Ambercrombie and Fitch (I have a sister, don't ask questions) models look; like you think you're the hot shit. Or, as a censored, slightly more awkward, younger me would say, you look like you think you're all that and a bag of chips.
"So, there was is one bitch. God, was she easy. Fucked in less than a week." I overheard someone boast proudly.
"What about your girlfriend?" Another voice pitched in.
"What about her? That skank ain't going nowhere. She wouldn't last a day without me." The guy replies, getting on my nerves. I turn the corner and sure enough, two axe-spraying dickheads stand in front of their lockers.
"Watch your mouth." I growled, letting out my inner feminist.
"Oh?" He smirked, lifting an eyebrow. Unfazed by my aggression.
"Yeah. You heard me. Sexism isn't 'cool'. Its fucking immature. A real man is loyal and faithful and treats his partner with a little respect."
"A real man fucks. And you know nothing about that." He spat, standing tall, poised like a dog ready to attack.
"There's more to life than sex, pervert." I try to agree with my words, but sometimes all I can think about is how I'm sixteen and still a virgin and maybe I'm doing something wrong because Noelle still won't put out...not that we've ever talked about that sort of thing. We probably never will.
"Is that so, fag-tard?" He counters.
"Fag-tard? Really? So, what if I was gay and had a mental illness? It would be better than being a simple minded sexist that's main hobbies included, sex, sex, torturing innocent people, and even more sex." I grind my teeth.
He raises his arm, about to punch me square in the jaw, but then he stops, "You're not worth my time." He lowers his clenched fist and steps away from me. His face is flushed pomegranate red with anger.
In a way I'm thankful that he didn't decide to beat the shit out of me, right there and then. But, on the other hand, I just wanted that pain to be over with.
