Teachable Moments

2

Fuck him. Fuck him and his fucking perfect face and his fake fucking concern. No, Mr. Way, everything's not o-fucking-kay. Were I to open up to him where would I even begin. My shitty home life with my dead mom and stepdad who beats the shit out of me every night, my shitty job where I flip burgers and fight the urge to spit in peoples shakes, that shitty fucking school where I got locked in my own fucking locker for an hour without anyone fucking noticing.

I take a breath, trying desperately to quiet the thoughts swirling in my head. It's too much to deal with and I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. I debate on if I should go home yet or not, weighing the pros and cons of pissing Jay off by not coming straight from school. Sure, I'm going to get my ass beat if I'm out late, but that's going to happen anyway, at least if I stay out later he'll be sloshed and he'll get tired faster. I decide to enjoy a few hours of freedom away from the asshole who is squatting in my childhood home.

I don't really know where I'm going, I just wander the streets until it gets dark and the weekend party scene starts to kick up. I manage to find a pretty run down place on the edge of town, I highly doubt they card people here, and if they do I'm betting that an extra twenty will sway them into serving me.

The place smells like cheap beer and ball sweat. It's not exactly the most atmospheric place, but they're selling me alcohol so I don't care. As the booze flows, I feel my body start to sway to the choppy music playing in the background. What the hell, if I'm going to do it I might as well do it right.

The whole bar is dark, but the dance floor is a borderline blackout. The only light to be seen is the swirling strobes of a laser light mounted somewhere above me. For as small as this place is there are quite a few bodies clustered on the floor. They're already sweating out their drinks, making the smell all that much stronger, but there is something alluring about thrashing around in the mass of strangers' bodies.

It's strangely freeing being crushed in against so many people, like I'm able to escape myself and become part of the anonymous mass. In the chaos I find myself pressed against the back of someone else. I can't tell if it's a man or a woman, and I find myself not caring as they grind back against me with the beat. My hands start on their hips, clinging to the leather pants they're wearing so that the crowd can't separate us. I know it's getting late and I should be anywhere but here basically dry humping a stranger, but dear god does the friction feel good. Suddenly there are hands on top of my own, pulling them around to the front of their body and yeah, that's definitely a dick I just felt but it doesn't bother me like I expect it to.

I've never really had the luxury of questioning my sexuality. There's some pyramid shit that people are supposed to follow in order of their needs, I saw it in a textbook once, I guess I was never able to get high enough to think about if I liked girls or boys or both or neither. Now that I was confronted with the fact that I was grinding on, and being grinded on by, a man and that is was obviously turning both of us on I didn't know what to think. I'd have to have my existential crisis later because the stranger was turning around in my arms and pressing their lips to mine in a sloppy kiss.

Fuck, it felt good. It felt good to be desired, to be wanted, even if it was just for a quick fling. I didn't care at this point. This is exactly what I had been looking for. It had been so fucking long since I'd felt anything, especially anything as good as this.

We were against the wall now, no longer bothering to move with the music, just wildly pawing at one another. I wouldn't have been all that shocked if we went at it right there against the cracked plaster, but just my fucking luck the place was over capacity and the fire marshal stepped in to clear it out cutting the music and throwing on every light in the place.

There was a gasp, followed by a harsh shove that broke the tension between the stranger and I. I opened my eyes to find them wiping their hand harshly across their mouth, as if they were disgusted that they had been full on making out with me. At first, I was hurt by their rejection. I mean, I know I'm not a centerfold for Playgirl or anything but damn dude, harsh. Then, as my vision began to adjust to the light again, I began to recognize the face in front of me. It's the guy who took over for Mrs. Atwell. Mr. fucking Way.