Alex Faps
More about uglykitties' characters from Khalil's story. This time, the appealingly ambiguous Alex!
Since I made it with Laurent, I just feel... stupid. He couldn’t have been less romantic about it if he’d told me to put the money on the dresser. I don’t know what I’d been thinking, that I was some kind of bald Cinderella and he was going to be my Prince Charming? That he was going to take me away from all this? That he’d fucking fall in love?
In the brutal light of the next morning, I was able to see the stupid, stupid, obvious, childish flaws in that plan. He’d seemed so sexy and mysterious, but the main mystery was why the fuck he was unemployed and living in some other guy’s house with a bunch of kids. I know, I’m in the same situation, but I’m not even old enough to drink, and my parents kicked me out. If Laurent were anywhere near as awesome as I’d thought, he’d have his own place, a swanky job, a car, not be sharing a bed with that fucking weird Khalil.
The worst part, the absolute fucking worst, is that Laurent had KNOWN it was going to be that way. He planned it! He could have left me mooning around like a kid, happy and stupid. He took care of it like taking out the trash. I guess it’s less embarrassing for everyone this way... except that I still have to see him slobbering over Khalil.
What does he see in him? I used to think that Khalil was staring at me because he wanted to fuck me. Everyone stares, everyone wonders what’s in the freak’s pants. But now Laurent’s all over him, and it’s like he doesn’t even get what it’s about. Laurent coos at him, takes his side, cooks fancy food, touches him (don’t think I haven’t noticed) and Khalil sits there like a rock. He doesn’t even edge away like Laurent’s not his type. It’s not like Khalil’s straight- or at least, if he’d been after me, I’d know he wasn’t straight. He acts like he doesn’t know what his dick is for.
I wonder if he even has a dick. Maybe it burnt off, like his ears.
… Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m thinking the same shit about Khalil that I hate, when people think it about me. Maybe he was only looking at me because he was wondering if I was like him. Fuck. Even if he could talk, how do you start a conversation like that?
No-one ever talked to me about it. Never, not at all. Not when puberty didn’t hit. Not when it did hit, all at once and all wrong. I was wrong, with only the vaguest sense of what right might be. Suddenly, I want to hold Khalil, tell him it’s all right, we’re all right.
The other day, when I saw him playing with the fire-spinners’ equipment, he looked so different. More real, more there. I’d never noticed how broad his shoulders were, or how narrow his hips. I wonder how he’d feel in my arms, lying on top of me, solid and comfortingly heavy, just resting there. Laurent was angular, bony, and didn’t hug me at all.
Would Khalil be a good kisser? Has he ever gotten to kiss anyone? Maybe Laurent. Laurent thinks he’s sexy, what the fuck? Maybe he’s a great kisser. I imagine him kissing me all over, just exploring, not judging, not just getting on with it to get me out of the way. Yes, my hand is down my pants while I’m thinking about Khalil. I’ve wanted so many things, so badly. Why not this, too?
Khalil and I could explore each other, investigate what it means to be freaks together. His broad hands on my chest, my leg cocked over his thighs. So what if he hasn’t got a dick. There are other ways to have fun. I know he’s got an ass. I don’t know what it looks like with those baggy clothes he always wears, but from seeing him move the other day, it’s probably built. Maybe round, a cute little bubble butt.
I picture him lying face-down, so that I can see his broad shoulders, round ass and strong, muscular legs with a dusting of black hair. I could lie on top of him, grind against his ass. I imagine him writhing under me, panting even though he can’t speak, bucking up against me. I’d ask him, order him to clench his ass for me, making a tight, soft crease for me to rub into. I hump my hand, imagining that it’s his ass, bite the pillow imagining that it’s his the back of his neck.
When I come, the rush of hot wetness over my fingers is followed almost immediately by a rush of disgust. Did I seriously just get off thinking about Khalil? He’s a creep. He’s always sweating, always staring. What the Hell is wrong with me? Chasing down Laurent, lusting after Khalil, I must be fucking desperate.
In a foul mood, I get up to watch some TV. Maybe looking at the normal-looking freaks on the reality shows will make me feel less pathetic.
Since I made it with Laurent, I just feel... stupid. He couldn’t have been less romantic about it if he’d told me to put the money on the dresser. I don’t know what I’d been thinking, that I was some kind of bald Cinderella and he was going to be my Prince Charming? That he was going to take me away from all this? That he’d fucking fall in love?
In the brutal light of the next morning, I was able to see the stupid, stupid, obvious, childish flaws in that plan. He’d seemed so sexy and mysterious, but the main mystery was why the fuck he was unemployed and living in some other guy’s house with a bunch of kids. I know, I’m in the same situation, but I’m not even old enough to drink, and my parents kicked me out. If Laurent were anywhere near as awesome as I’d thought, he’d have his own place, a swanky job, a car, not be sharing a bed with that fucking weird Khalil.
The worst part, the absolute fucking worst, is that Laurent had KNOWN it was going to be that way. He planned it! He could have left me mooning around like a kid, happy and stupid. He took care of it like taking out the trash. I guess it’s less embarrassing for everyone this way... except that I still have to see him slobbering over Khalil.
What does he see in him? I used to think that Khalil was staring at me because he wanted to fuck me. Everyone stares, everyone wonders what’s in the freak’s pants. But now Laurent’s all over him, and it’s like he doesn’t even get what it’s about. Laurent coos at him, takes his side, cooks fancy food, touches him (don’t think I haven’t noticed) and Khalil sits there like a rock. He doesn’t even edge away like Laurent’s not his type. It’s not like Khalil’s straight- or at least, if he’d been after me, I’d know he wasn’t straight. He acts like he doesn’t know what his dick is for.
I wonder if he even has a dick. Maybe it burnt off, like his ears.
… Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m thinking the same shit about Khalil that I hate, when people think it about me. Maybe he was only looking at me because he was wondering if I was like him. Fuck. Even if he could talk, how do you start a conversation like that?
No-one ever talked to me about it. Never, not at all. Not when puberty didn’t hit. Not when it did hit, all at once and all wrong. I was wrong, with only the vaguest sense of what right might be. Suddenly, I want to hold Khalil, tell him it’s all right, we’re all right.
The other day, when I saw him playing with the fire-spinners’ equipment, he looked so different. More real, more there. I’d never noticed how broad his shoulders were, or how narrow his hips. I wonder how he’d feel in my arms, lying on top of me, solid and comfortingly heavy, just resting there. Laurent was angular, bony, and didn’t hug me at all.
Would Khalil be a good kisser? Has he ever gotten to kiss anyone? Maybe Laurent. Laurent thinks he’s sexy, what the fuck? Maybe he’s a great kisser. I imagine him kissing me all over, just exploring, not judging, not just getting on with it to get me out of the way. Yes, my hand is down my pants while I’m thinking about Khalil. I’ve wanted so many things, so badly. Why not this, too?
Khalil and I could explore each other, investigate what it means to be freaks together. His broad hands on my chest, my leg cocked over his thighs. So what if he hasn’t got a dick. There are other ways to have fun. I know he’s got an ass. I don’t know what it looks like with those baggy clothes he always wears, but from seeing him move the other day, it’s probably built. Maybe round, a cute little bubble butt.
I picture him lying face-down, so that I can see his broad shoulders, round ass and strong, muscular legs with a dusting of black hair. I could lie on top of him, grind against his ass. I imagine him writhing under me, panting even though he can’t speak, bucking up against me. I’d ask him, order him to clench his ass for me, making a tight, soft crease for me to rub into. I hump my hand, imagining that it’s his ass, bite the pillow imagining that it’s his the back of his neck.
When I come, the rush of hot wetness over my fingers is followed almost immediately by a rush of disgust. Did I seriously just get off thinking about Khalil? He’s a creep. He’s always sweating, always staring. What the Hell is wrong with me? Chasing down Laurent, lusting after Khalil, I must be fucking desperate.
In a foul mood, I get up to watch some TV. Maybe looking at the normal-looking freaks on the reality shows will make me feel less pathetic.