NaNoWr[y]Mo
The sixteenth prompt! (from antistar_e )
You always remember your firsts. Include the line, "Jane Eyre should have lived in sin!"
I don't know what it is with me and these recurring characters, but they just won't leave me be.
Most memories of my adolescence hang just out of my reach. Like my mind put them on the top shelf and forgot to provide me with something to stand on. Every so often I get little flashes things from my past, but nothing that solid, only wisps that wane and disappear.
Then there are the memories that haunt me. Trying to forget them only makes me remember. The first time I made my mom cry. My first break up. The first time I had sex with a stranger. The first time I drank. The first time I smoked cigarettes, then pot. The first time I took ecstasy, then pain meds. The first time I stole something. The first time I murdered someone. But I only remember the first times. I've done these things enough to ignore the guilt, but the first times will always haunt me.
Forcing these firsts out of my mind, I focus on the present. Little Evan, at sixteen he's not so little anymore, sits at my dining room table doing homework. I should feel guilty for this, for inviting him over here, for fucking him up for life, but I've done this so many times, I'm jaded.
"I can't believe we have to read this shit," he mumbles, playing with the buttons of his open oxford. Pure and white, yet crumpled from the afternoon's activities. I want to rip it off of him, but settle for helping with his homework.
"What are you reading?" I ask, settling into the chair next to him. Without realizing it, I begin playing with the ends of his shirt.
"Jane Eyre. There is no plot, until the very last bit. If the author would just cut out seventy five percent of the content, this could actually be an okay story," he smiles down at my fingers winding around his shirt tails.
"If you ask me, Jane Eyre should have just said 'Fuck it," to Rochester and lived in sin. Some crazy lady locked in your attic should never keep you from having sex. Who says they had to marry in order to live together? I don't get all these social necessities in all the old timey books. I get that your standing was really important, but Jesus, there was no way to have any fun," I lean over his book, reading words I haven't read in seven years.
"Lucky for you, it's not olden times anymore," he smiles and leans the rest of the way to kiss me.
"I don't want to get in the way of your homework," I laughed and pulled away. "Graduating is a necessity. I can't have your mom blaming me for your decline into a sketch lifestyle, full of drinking and debauchery."
"Very funny, Ms. Fritz," he teases, tickling me. "My mom doesn't know anything about this, and she never will."
"She better not, but come parent teacher conferences she'll bitch me out for letting such a bright and shinning pupil as yourself slip and fail. Because everyone knows that high school determines the rest of your life. Don't mess up now, Evan, you'll be fucked for life if you don't get straight As now," my smile undermining the serious tone of my words.
"My mom can go fuck herself," he closes the book for emphasis and leads me upstairs.
"Freud might have something to say about you mentioning your mother masturbating while leading an older woman to go fuck," I say, with a raise of my eyebrow.
"Rest assured, Jaynie, I do not think of my mother while I fuck you. I don't have an Oedipus Complex, I just like fucking you, that's all there is to it," he almost growls as he moves to take off the shirt.
"Leave it on," I say.
"Kinky," he smirks.
You always remember your firsts. Include the line, "Jane Eyre should have lived in sin!"
I don't know what it is with me and these recurring characters, but they just won't leave me be.
Most memories of my adolescence hang just out of my reach. Like my mind put them on the top shelf and forgot to provide me with something to stand on. Every so often I get little flashes things from my past, but nothing that solid, only wisps that wane and disappear.
Then there are the memories that haunt me. Trying to forget them only makes me remember. The first time I made my mom cry. My first break up. The first time I had sex with a stranger. The first time I drank. The first time I smoked cigarettes, then pot. The first time I took ecstasy, then pain meds. The first time I stole something. The first time I murdered someone. But I only remember the first times. I've done these things enough to ignore the guilt, but the first times will always haunt me.
Forcing these firsts out of my mind, I focus on the present. Little Evan, at sixteen he's not so little anymore, sits at my dining room table doing homework. I should feel guilty for this, for inviting him over here, for fucking him up for life, but I've done this so many times, I'm jaded.
"I can't believe we have to read this shit," he mumbles, playing with the buttons of his open oxford. Pure and white, yet crumpled from the afternoon's activities. I want to rip it off of him, but settle for helping with his homework.
"What are you reading?" I ask, settling into the chair next to him. Without realizing it, I begin playing with the ends of his shirt.
"Jane Eyre. There is no plot, until the very last bit. If the author would just cut out seventy five percent of the content, this could actually be an okay story," he smiles down at my fingers winding around his shirt tails.
"If you ask me, Jane Eyre should have just said 'Fuck it," to Rochester and lived in sin. Some crazy lady locked in your attic should never keep you from having sex. Who says they had to marry in order to live together? I don't get all these social necessities in all the old timey books. I get that your standing was really important, but Jesus, there was no way to have any fun," I lean over his book, reading words I haven't read in seven years.
"Lucky for you, it's not olden times anymore," he smiles and leans the rest of the way to kiss me.
"I don't want to get in the way of your homework," I laughed and pulled away. "Graduating is a necessity. I can't have your mom blaming me for your decline into a sketch lifestyle, full of drinking and debauchery."
"Very funny, Ms. Fritz," he teases, tickling me. "My mom doesn't know anything about this, and she never will."
"She better not, but come parent teacher conferences she'll bitch me out for letting such a bright and shinning pupil as yourself slip and fail. Because everyone knows that high school determines the rest of your life. Don't mess up now, Evan, you'll be fucked for life if you don't get straight As now," my smile undermining the serious tone of my words.
"My mom can go fuck herself," he closes the book for emphasis and leads me upstairs.
"Freud might have something to say about you mentioning your mother masturbating while leading an older woman to go fuck," I say, with a raise of my eyebrow.
"Rest assured, Jaynie, I do not think of my mother while I fuck you. I don't have an Oedipus Complex, I just like fucking you, that's all there is to it," he almost growls as he moves to take off the shirt.
"Leave it on," I say.
"Kinky," he smirks.