Page 7 of Manhattan Tormentor
I reckon I’m catching their popular fumes or something.
Did I mention my therapist once called me apathetic? That doesn’t say spotlight guy at all.
“We could make out.”
She’s up front, I’ll give her that.
I rise from the stool, pack my notebooks away. If I ever lost them I’d lose my fucking mind because they have my entire life in them.
“There’s a flaw in that plan, Chelsea, seeing as how I like men.”
She tuts and shoves out her hip.
She’s all fluffy hair and pouty lips. Any guy would be lucky to bang her brains out, to lose a few hours in her lovely round body, but my dick isn’t reacting.
Not even a flicker of interest.
She’s dry bread to my hormones and nothing is changing that.
I’ve known forever that I’m gay, as gay can be. This isn’t breaking news to anyone who knows me.
I forced a boy to hold my hand in third grade and cried my eyes out to mom when he didn’t want to be my friend. The moment I knew what attraction was, it’s always been toward guys. I never had that confused moment where I dated a shit ton of girls in hopes of “fixing” myself. I like guys, beginning and end.
“Give me ten… fifteen minutes tops, Sage, I bet I can change your mind.”
“It’s not my mind you want to change, but me and my dick have to decline.”
Sighing, Chelsea folds her body over the desk.
Again, it’s a subtle sexual pose that any other guy my age would lose his shit over and want to mount her.
“How do you know you’re not into girls, if you haven’t ever tried one?”
Ah, the old age question.
She’s funny and I lean over the desk, almost nose to nose with her.
I see her eyes haze over with lust.
She’s into me. But that’s not my problem. I’ve never led her on. She was friend-zoned by default.
I came to this school with a boyfriend. It didn’t last long, but everyone got my gay memo.
“Sweetheart, I’ve never thrown myself out of a plane, but I can say hand on my heart that it’s something I wouldn’t enjoy either.”
“Are you comparing me to skydiving?”
“I’m sure for some the thrill will be exhilarating.” I deadpan and she bursts out laughing.
“One day you’ll change your mind.”
She’s wrong. Chelsea will be disappointed if she’s holding onto some misguided hope that I’ll switch teams for her magical pussy.
I’d rather eat an actual dead cat. No offense to women, it’s how it is.
In the hallway, she hooks her arm through mine. I don’t enjoy tactile people, but I tolerate it.
It’s when I snag sight of inky black hair, towering above his court of jesters, that my stomach bottoms out. His gray eyes catch me staring at him.
