Haulden in Roswell (UC, ADULT) (Complete)

[Patroclus76]

Winner-Round 11








Disclaimers and Spin:
This is a parody of the style (not the content, obviously) of Catcher on the Rye, which I have just finished working through with an adult learning class. It is also sending up the recent novel Vernon God Little (which was, in a sense, a send up of Catcher on the Rye). I do not own Roswell, alas, and that remains the properity of Katims, WB et. al. as the novels remain the property of their respective writers. Nor am I presuming anyone's sexual orientation.

SINCE I started writing this, and in discussions with people and above all BDT, Haulden in Roswell has morphed in some complex way into the PREQUAL to the Roswellian Codex - I am not sure how it happened - but it did!! I apologise to people who now find themselves having to read parts of the Codex to make sense of the later parts here = pm me if you want some guides or a synopsis!! I hjave taken the liberty of posting a link but there is no need really to read it!


_____________________________________________________________

My name is Jamie Ralphs and I am a poor fucked up geek boy whose parents are liberals. I’ll spare you all the David Copperfield `I was born in a barn’ crap and just cut to what is the current outstanding issue in my sad, privileged little life: I am a gay geek boy, a hybrid, which means I am totally fucked up. I am not pretty enough for the gay boys nor ugly enough to qualify for qeekdome. I am toodemanding and smart for airhead conversations about pant bands and boy bands but too shallow to worry about quantum mechanics. Too gay for the geeks, who say things like `hey its in the genes’ and `have you had counselling’. I am too gay to beat the shit out of them as well, although I am working on this – gym three times a week – massive ulterior motives, plus massive hard ons – but revenge is one of my main motives. I am building a monster in the basement of my soul.

To add to the kaleidoscopic madness of my angst ridden sexual hunger, my father is in the military and while he struggles with the `hey Jamie, I love you whatever you are’ crap, he clearly wishes he’d traded me in a birth. Mother is like `its ok, he’s just different’ which is kind of sweet but irritates the fuck out of me. She wishes I were a bit more girlie so she could at least have a surrogate daughter or something – I bet she would even help me cross dress! Instead she puts up with protein powders, weird pills coming through the mail and bits of useless work-out equipment scattered about the garage. Goddamn parents. I am the only child.

In August 1999 we end up in some astounding dump called Roswell. In fact it is off the Ralphs scale of dumpiness – over 15. Dad is excited because of some stories of alien cover-ups and secret military installations (sad bastard, as a child he used to have toy planes stuck to the ceiling of his bedroom) and mother has a new mission of turning another featureless moonscape of a house into a home. (She’s good at that). I get a bigger room and bigger and better places to hide my porn.

West Roswell High school is my third school in two years. I am 17 and my career has been fucked over by daddy’s promotional snail trail to the top of whatever ever outfit he is in. I set off this morning with the usual churning sickness that comes with a new school, plus the tense excitement over the potential boy talent I have waiting for me before my geekness outs me. Fuck am I doomed. A moth into the candle, again.

The local jocks are out on parade, a generic fucking breed, the hottie is the captain Kyle Valenti, cute but a bit short, bit mafia like. Nothing much in the toilets, no interesting graffiti (love that stuff, sitting on the pan imagining some hot dude pencilling in a nice fat cock on the partition wall, thinking his thighs have been on this very seat!) not even any clever witticisms. (like `monkey is the route of all people’ hey go figure!) This could be dull. Meet the geeks, another generic species, thick glasses and stripy jumpers (have they ever fucking heard of contact lenses?) - a lone landscape of societies and `events’ stretch out before me including (god help me) a college counsellor who looks like a god damn Bond villain (Mrs Topolkolsky or something). She’s new as well, so she thinks we have loads in common. She has already marked me out as her next major project. When I tell her I’m gay she’ll probably make that weird mewing noise women make at babies. Perhaps she’ll try and turn me by showing me her ass. I end up lunching with some spotty little bastard destined to be my best friend and a nice guy, weird but nicely weird, the resident computer king, Alex Whitman.

After school I try the gym – stinks of men like a stable stinks of horses – can’t beat that smell. The back slapping `oh we are not queer’ greek wrestlers have pissed off for the afternoon and the place is empty, warm in the September sunshine. Motes of light swirl about (fuck you see, I can’t even hide my geekiness when writing this). I am lying on an inclined bench contemplating a fly and thinking about my tits ands their complete FALURE to develop in any direction whatsoever when the door slams open at the far end and some dude walks in. He is looking for something. He is tall, about 6 2, and dark. I think he is Hispanic or Native American. I watch him out the corner of my eyes trying to perfect the tree hugging fly movement of the dumbbells without snapping up every bone in my upper arms. (I must look a total idiot, like a fucking butterfly pinned out on a board).

He comes over. He is wearing a tight vest, black, ribbed up over his stomach with sweat. He has a fucking awesome pair of shoulders, and the vest is cut low enough to show great slabs of pecs. My evil, ill mannered cock shows some interest, which at this angle and in these shorts is NOT good. He comes right up to me. `Hey’ he says. How the fuck do you look cool struggling with girlie weights and a semi-hardon? He comes right up to me and stands over the bench. When he looks at me something between my naval and my sternum snaps. At 17 I am surely too young to have a heart event. I can’t breath. I have never seen such a beautiful pair of hazel eyes in my life – never such a face, dark, framed by a wedge of black thick hair. He has a neck to die for. Fuck he is going to speak to me? (I am the only one here but even so, something has gone with a fundamental law of the Universe, no jock speaks to me, not in English)

`Hey you’re on my shirt’ he says softly. Where is the universal grunt languange of the gym – like `hey get the fuck of my kit, bitch’ – or is that what I want him to say – anyways, I am sweating on the boy Gods shirt. It is on the corner of the bench with my head on it. I am mortified.
`Shit man, I am sorry – I didn’t see it’ I am flustered, all girlie like, with my non geek id saying `get a fucking grip Jamie’ but my eyes are watering and I am holding out the dumbbells, spread eagled like a fucking Renaissance painting of Christ .
`Just lift you head up a minute’ he is saying. He has a deep, husky voice, hard to make out through the churning noise in my ears. I comply. He leans over. I see his arm pits, a boss of hair, a solid triangle of intercalated trapezium muscle, draping into a small tight waist. As I lift my head up I get his scent full in my face. I lift my legs up to disguise a tent like pole in my pants. I have gone redder than the fucking red planet. If I were outside on the street I would stop traffic. I am not sure he notices. He pulls the shirt away and smiles at me `Cheers man’ and turns.

Fuck who is this!!!!!!!

Part Two:

I have clearly died. Light years wheel over head and all of geekdom flashes before my contact colour-tinted eyeballs. My priceless stamp collection, my model of the Hubble telescope, my Jeff Stryker video with the fucked up 80’s hairstyles and all that gratuitous moaning. No, wait. I am alive, and about three minutes have passed with me clinging onto the fucking dumbbells, my blood in my groin. (No wonder I must have blanked out). Ego switches on and I am up like a bitch on heat: he must have gone to the showers, he stank like a horse, he’d just finished, he is CLEARLY too civilised to not wash. I try to stay calm, fuck I CAN be organised in moments like this: it’s my nascent computer skills. `Don’t fuck this up Jamie boy’ Too much is riding on this – god if only it was my ass or mouth or both - I ruffle my hair, (my best feature), ignore my subliminal physical presence and bound off to the locker room like a whippet out of a trap door.

As I get close, looking all cool and sort of fake tired, I hear water slamming onto tiles from the open stalls. Boy God is in heaven. My balls tighten and my stomach starts the San Andreas Fault routine. Being gay is fucking awesome, so much opportunity for a harmless stare. Straight men have no idea - `that’s because straight men don’t get to walk into the girl’s changing room’ – thanks super ego, the deep seat of all my evil rational geekness, speaks. I need help. My id wants this guys pants in my face and some loud techno mix on the ipod, super brained ego is thinking about string theory and Bach. The locker room – the inner sanctum of my tribe – rows of blue cabinets, a row of benches down the middle of each isle, the showers to the left at the end, the toilets to the right. Thank god for standardised design.

I start my remote sensoring routine. I position myself where I have complete `STRATEGIC VISION’ and start the god damn, perfected slowness of fucking around in my kit bag pretending to find things while gathering data like a Nasa satellite. Object is sited in about 0.00003 seconds. Boy God is absolutely bollock naked, sideways on, leaning his head to the tiles so the water runs over his back. His back is – where to begin – padded and quilted with more fucking muscles than can reasonably exist, wet and slippy like a dolphin, and before I get to the tight inner back and the bubble butt with the matching hard dimples I have to redirect all available energy back to life support. `What the fuck are you doing?’

Proximity alert goes off (too fucking late). Some blonde, punk kid is standing next to me, sweated up and about to strip. He has a beautiful bad boy face with great eyes. West Roswell has goes from –15 to +15 on dumpiness scale in less time than it takes to say `fuck me please’.
`Trying to find my stuff’ I say – tone perfect – neutral, no fucking wobbles, don’t provoke, don’t stare. He frowns at me as if he is considering whether I should live or not. `Well go and find your stuff somewhere else’ He is big, no where near as defined as boy God, but clearly alpha male. I say `sure’ like when my mom say’s sure which means `go fucking die’ and then boy God shouts over above the water
`Michael?’ Punk boy Michael, distracted from my imminent annihilation, looks up and over, and then he looks at me as if to say `yeah right, gotcha you, you little queer’ and says
`Hey Max’
MAX. Max I want you children, millions of them, I want my ass with your name branded on each cheek. I shall stalk you forever. I move my bag to the far end and start fucking mincing out of my kit like its shrank three sizes and I’ll have to be cut of it.
`What’s up’ Max sounds like he has turned around – bastard punk boy - Michael peels off his top. I am playing lucky dip in my bag still (what’s this, a shoe, three socks, jesus, last years chemistry assignment from another school). I am almost dressed.
`Nothing much’ Michael is naked as well, a bit lardy, just a bit, but hot. He saunters off to join Max. `You eating at the Crash Down later?’ Max asks
`Sure, don’t need to ask if you are do I!’
`Don’t start Michael. Liz isn’t working tonight’ There is a lot of splashing. Yeah don’t start punk boy. I think of Max just wedging his cock simply and effortlessly into Michael’s ass, his hand on his neck pushing him at right angles, just for the hell of it, a casual assertion of primacy. I am calculating the risks of another low orbital flyby when I discover I have left my gayboy hair product over at the other end of the bench. I go fetch it. As I lean down to pick it up I look up, all casual like. The two of them are facing outwards, hands behind their backs, like guys waiting for a fucking bus or something. Max’s abdominals are so separated they appear to be made up of metal sheets, his cock is thick and long, dark, cut. He trims his pubes (good sign). Shit I am good. I have fucking awesome peripheral vision. I should work for the FBI. Punk boy says `Hey fuck off out of here!’ I show him my gayboy hair fudge like you show a club pass to a bouncer. Then I am out of here – as I fire full retros I hear Max say `Michael for fuck sake, do you have to be so rude!’


Part Three:

Somehow I get back to moon house. My automated homing device must have switched on because I can’t fucking remember getting here at all. Parents are out tonight at some weird military bonding party, so I sit at the dinner table being read a list of emergency numbers and fuck knows what else to call if the Martians land or the Afghans turn up. No parties (yeah, right, with who?) no drink, no `noising about’ (sub-text leave my straight porn alone). Dad’s all energised like he has some high energy battery up his ass, Mum’s got that `I don’t want to go’ look that somehow Army Dude never sees (`hello! She’s doesn’t want to fucking go!!). I can’t really deal with any of this stuff because something is wrong with my goddamn eyes and there is a loud ringing in my ears. I can’t even fucking eat properly. Every time I fork something towards my mouth I see Max’s heavy smooth cock - `Jamie stop playing with your food’ - and when I look at The Parents they are far off and small like I am looking through the wrong end of a telescope. All I can see is boy god Max’s bubbled ass looming in front of me, wet and shining with sweat, hard, peachy, furred with a soft down………fuck I need help.

A whole inter-glacial period goes by before Mum is ready for the party and then when she leaves its like she’s going off to face a firing squad. She looks at me as if I will set the fucking house on fire as soon as they turn a corner. I give them the twenty minute statutory time limit (to allow for last minute costume panics, arguments, flat batteries) and then I hit the showers. Max is on me with in minutes, he just lifts me up like a lightweight and puts me on my back, my legs in the air, and as I look up he forces a few fingers in my ass, smiling. I try and assert my geeky brain power but its no use, he gobs elegantly into his other hand and starts to lube his cock up with his powerful hand. `I can’t take that, man’ I say in classic porn Orwell Speak (which means: fuck my brains out PLEASE) and he says `sorry man'; in that deep soft voice he has. Next minute his horse cock is somewhere behind my navel. Afterwards he gets me passed around his mates, including Punk Boy Michael, but in the end he takes me over his shoulders, his hand whacking my butt and says `you’re my little bitch Jamie, I’ll protect you’. Next minute I have fucking sprayed everywhere and everything with sad geek boy juice, including all those weird places you find hard to clean and are terrified that The Parents will find by error. I cream myself several times but the weird thing is that Max is always there, always in my mind. Shit. I am addicted.

School is the entire meaning of my life now. I am up each morning, showered, pampered, the only days I miss are `Severe Spot Days’ when I gauge that a spot outburst is F-5 on my zit scale. (The Parents are no fucking use here. If I grew a second head and asked my mother if she could see it she’s say `no dear’ it that totally insincere phoney voice she uses. Army boy doesn’t even look and says Jamie its fine.) Apart from being cornered by the Bond Agent/ Laura Croft look-alike with the ludicrous name Topolsky, to have `a session’ (?!) with her soon, I spend my entire fucking day on search and rescue missions looking for Max. He is fucking elusive. I keep a secret diary now in which I list all INFORMATION about him. I have interrogated my new geek friends, (carefully of course) but he is so high up in the food chain that they rarely see him. His surname is Evans (`please don’t hurt me Max Evans, this is my first time’/’Sorry Jamie, its what I do’) he has a sister – some Amazonian Goddess that the entire straight male population and a few gay sisters are after – and one of her admirers is Alex Whitman, head of the computer clan. Alex is proving really useful, he is only half a geek, he has links with other higher life forms in the school.

Constructing Max’s timetable is difficult. I chair endless committees trying to get this done. He never appears to be in class and I only have one goddam class with him. I have worked out his routes across the school and waste fucking hours in various place, like a fucking bird watcher. I should make a safari movie. Even when I see him he is usually in the vicinity of Punk boy Michael, or Isobel. Punk boy has the sensory acuity of a fucking shark. He spots me well before I get anywhere near a full visual of the suspect or can even fake a collision. moves into intercept as soon as I appear to get a visual. I need some sort of fucking cloaking device. I need to see Max at least three times a day minimum. If I don’t see him I shrivel and get all fucking girlie and can’t even jack off properly without thinking my life is meaningless. Some days are sheer fucking heaven though, like today.

At lunchtime today I discover the oasis where the boy god feeds. He is sitting quietly eating some fries, encased in a tight sweatshirt with red edging. His hair is thick and black and slightly Velcro at the front. If he fucked me hard it would keep falling in his face and probably stick to his eyebrows. I am about three feet from him, fucked up, over-excited, almost hyperventilating. I am pretending to read the contents of my mineral water VERY CAREFULLY as if I have just discovered it contains arsenic. He looks up and smiles. (Ohhhhhhhhh Myyyyyyyyyyyy Goooooooood) I resist the temptation to turn around and see what he is smiling at then the shocking, unbearable revelation dawns on geek boy here that he is smiling at me. `What’s up?’ he says `You think someone is poisoning you?’ Total synaptic failure. My emergency sub-routine of `witticisms for every emergency’ crashes and I go red again (fuck I hate this) deer in headlights. I manage to say, mumble, mouth? `yeah I do actually’ at which he frowns as if thinking `weirdo' (but in a nice way) and my heart stops and then he is distracted. I abort the mission to go and beat myself up and then hang myself from a solitary cactus. As I turn I see boy God is looking at the Queen of the science geeks, Liz Parker. Weird. One thing I have noticed in my lonely stakeouts about the school, with my fucking rhino hat on and a pair of binoculars (yeah right) is that Prim Parker is also there, usually ahead of me, and much better hidden. Shit I have competition, a fellow stalker.

[Patroclus76]

lol - hey thanks for that!!

Part Four:


Max spoke to me – no fucking mistake – he spoke, to me - and Liz later - but he spoke to me. shit!! His voice, the expression on his face, the way his deep, shy voice lifted up towards the end of his sentence. I must keep the mineral bottle with me, its my lucky totem. I’ll put it round my neck on a chain – ok maybe not.

I get back to moon house (or half-moon house now) and hold an emergency conference with myself. Prim Parker – no fucking surprise there – Max (OMG) Evans mentioned her to Punk boy while annointing his sacred rippled body in water the other day. She’s mates with Alex – and some freaky weirdo girl called Marianne or something – fuck I should have been an anthropologist. I should sit in the middle f West Roswell High in a tent like Evans-Pritchard, selling beads and taking notes. All begins to get interesting and complex. General jungle rumour is that Liz is the property of Jock Valenti, the leading alpha male (yeah sure, not in my books, cute face but looks mean, there s only one, MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAXXX – fuck this is worse than Wuthering Heights, he’ll be tapping on my goddam window soon and running with me over the desert, naked - OMG) but I saw the look in my fellow stalker’s eyes and she is IN LOVE with boy god. No fucking mistake there, she probably looked EXACTLY like I did minus the goddamn mineral bottle. I must write all this down with diagrams. It's what geeks do. We keep journals.

My concentration on my FACT FILE is disturbed by Parent One. Mum has started decorating the kitchen. Everything is covered in sheets and paint. It looks like the first five seconds after the Big Bang. I sit with my legs up on my computer desk stroking away, helpless, my hand is someone elses, not mine. I see Max kicking open my bedroom door, grabbing my leg and dragging me off clinging helplessly to the bedsheets. He is completely naked, a massive boner slapping against his hard tight abs. He just needs to use me, to force me down and cum in me to deal with his insomnia. `Max I am to tired man, too used’
`I will be quick, Jamie, I can't sleep, this is what you exist for’
I cum all over the fucking keyboard just as Mum calls me to give her a hand! Irony is not usually her strong point - fantastic timing. I get in looking flustered with my flies undone. Weird though, despite the continuing full on X-rating of my geeky imagination, I am worried that a certain girlie romanticism is sneaking into my rapefests: images of boy God speaking to me, and putting his arm around me and of me leaning into his face, smelling him, kissing him, with his tongue gently rimming my front teeth and them suddenly thrusting into my throat. He has this hugely erotic look of always being worried. Like the whole fucking world is on him. Max Contra Mundum. `Jamie for god’s sake hold the tray level’ mental blackout followed by emergency re-boot and close up of mother’s `why the fuck do I bother’ look. My mouth is dry and I have strange little white spots like sperm swimming about my field of vision.

Some weird shit went down yesterday. Liz got shot or something. Can’t be fucking right, not here in Roswell. People get shot in New York buying their milk or in LA for going through a green light, but Roswell! The school is like a disturbed ant hill, even the cheer leaders look distressed. It happened in the Crash Down café. (I MUST find this secret place) Alex is grey and morose and I call out several geek sleepers I have planted around the place but no leads. Parker appeared after lunch looking perfectly fucking normal (well almost, she looked a bit spaced out actually, like she'd had a fantastic shag but wasn't really sure it had happened or not). I put this down to small town hysteria and lack of decent cable TV. By final session though something very fucking weird is going on with boy God. I have his entire life style memorised. I even know when he takes a dump and what time he works out and when he gets up. I even know what godamn ceral he eats.

First weird stuff is he is actually in his fucking English lit class for the first time. His chair is usually empty and have fantasies of taking it home to my room as an icon or something. I assumed he was taking his certification by correspondence from home the amount of time he is actually around! But he is here, now. He looks fucking awesome, so HOT, so cute, so worried. He is like poured into a brown T-shirt and baggy jeans, and from where I sit I see his triceps and forearms on his chairrests. I am all over the place at this range – sweating, hard-ons, panic attacks, LONGING – I am sure he feels me looking. I may as well go and stick some pins in his fucking neck and a note saying `hey fuck me in the erasure room – Jamie’ He looks tired though, something is wrong in paradise – god I hope he's ok - fuck get a grip!

Second weird stuff is Punk boy Michael. They have been spending fuckloads of time together today. They stand really close to each other whispering. (bastard!!) At lunch time I see them coming out of the fucking erasure room together – can you believe it - which sends me into a major neo-asthma attack. What the fuck? I then see Isobel – Amazon goddess – coming out just after them. (thank god)Laters I am in the boys room in one of the cubicles with my pants down over my ankles reading Scientific America, and The Advocate perfectly timed two minutes ahead of Max’s afternoon piss (he is regular as clock work) when I hear him come in with Predator Punk boy. The place is fucking so quiet I am stuck on some pages showming me the inside of a whales brain and some jock boy from Seattle. Its so quiet I even hear them unzip together (the image of them side by side is too much, if I pass out now I'll slump off the pan and concuss myself and give the whole game away). I activate emergency breath through the nose routine. They have been having some sort of argument.
`Michael leave it alone, it’s none of your business’
`What the fuck is wrong with you Maxwell (?!) of course its my business, we’re together in this, I am not going to let you throw away what we have by bringing in some science chick’
`She is not a chick! Leave it! I couldn’t just let her die!’ someone goes over to the sink. It’s Michael. `You risk exposing us man, we have to keep what we are secret’
Max comes over and says in his beautiful soft deep growl, `Michael we’re going to be OK, you don’t have to worry. No one will know what we are, our secret is safe, trust me’
OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!All the lights go on and off like I have just won some fucking huge prize on a quiz show -or am I fainting -

They're fucking gay!!!!!!

[Patroclus76]

Part Five:

My head exploded – silently of course – but on the brink of imminent death it reforms under its own gravitation mass. There is more talking at the sink but I have gone fucking deaf. It all makes sense – perfect fucking sense – no wonder shark boy had swung into the gym that day, no wonder he wanted me to fuck off. They were gonna have hot boy sex all over the tiles! In the locker room – I mean – how GAY is that!! No wonder Boy Michael is always within three feet of his bitch – god – the thought of who tops who has just swam into my polluted liberal mind – hold it. OMG! Perhaps they just swap mid-shag, Max tossing punk boy over, and slamming into him, checking his watch, his own tight ring smeared with KY, and then there is a struggle and Max goes down, on his back, his thighs up onto Michaels,. OMG – heating overload. They’re gay! Perhaps I could sell myself to them and get thrown about like a sort of dodge ball, first come, first serve! `guys please, take you’re time’ Fuck – id is nowhere to be seen and I need some exogenous shock here!


This fundamentally reorders the Universe. It could make things worse – now instead of pointlessly wasting my boy seed over Max and the prospect of ACTUAL SEX, there is a remote possibility that I could get into his pants, I mean totally fucking remote, but no longer impossible!! I mean I could really work on this, devote my entire fucking life, kill Michael, kidnap Max, take steroids, become a cheer leader – jesus – get a grip Jamie. We’re rushing ahead. God these thoughts give me vertigo, like the cubicle had just dropped five flights at 12 miles per second. I manage to crawl out and splash large amounts of water over myself. As I do this someone comes in through the door – the advocate is nicely inside geek comic SA so I stay calm, a porn pro – as I come up, blotchy with excessive testosterone I see MAX in the fucking mirror!! This is the first really full on three dimensional hallucination I have had since I snorted Evian Water – oh shit – it is MAX!


`Are you ok?’ he has that indescribable anxious look he has all the time. He has his hands into his pockets so his packet looks huge, and he looks bemused by his own power, like he’s saying `sorry its so big, I had no idea’
`I’m kewl Max, I mean Man, I’m kewl – I have a migraine’
`I’ll get you to the school nurse? Please don’t touch me, if you do I will spring on you like a fucking limpet and I will have to be surgically removed.
`It’s Jamie isn’t it?’ OH MY GOD HE KNOWS MY NAME. `Hey, you look really unwell?’ I am going to tell him I love him here and now, its pointless hiding, Michael will come in and snap me over his knee but so what, I don’t fucking care!.
`Yeah, that’s right’ id has kicked in, emergency protocol alpha beta. I sound coherent. I can’t look at him; my eyes skim hopeless all over the place like I have stigmaticisms in both eyes. Next minute Michael is in – sniffing out his wayward man - `Max?’ he says – meaning `I’ve told you about talking to other guys – even geeks – especially pathetic ones’ Max smiles at me and says `take care’ and walks out. ARRRGGGGGGG. The other problem is now of course that whenever I see Michael swarming over the place like killer bees, I could become – fuck I can’t believe I am going to say this – JEALOUS. Insanely fucking shower curtain knife hacking jealous.


Towards the end of fifth session geek rationality kicks in and I am deeply confused. My initial euphoria has evaporated and I am thinking: hmmmmmmmmm, wait a minute. Prim Parker, miss Science of the Year, definitely has the hots for Max. I saw Max looking at her the other day – and then she gets shot (apparently) and Michael goes off about her being saved – description or metaphor – hmm – we need empirical evidence. Max could be bisexual, he could be trapped in a sexually violent relationship with Michael who is blackmailing him with shocking photographs (oh god we can do shocking really well) perhaps he’s confused (my baby!!) – poor hapless fucking Max, to who I have dedicated my LIFE. I have not noticed the heavy silence has fallen over science class and that I am the entire fucking centre of attention. Science dude teacher – twisted bastard with little glasses on that are probably fake – is walking towards me. `Did you say Max, Mr Ralph?’ shocked silence. Marianne quasi-goth, Liz’s best friend, and a whole pod of Valenti jocks are in the same room watching me. Its worse than Judge Judy. `Yes, as in maximum’ I say, cool, level, like I think Maximum all the time (which I do). The class holds its collective breath. `Ok’ Fuck,a close shave. I need to get some serious defragging. But I need to test Max, I n eed more information, I need to infiltrate Liz's geek circle and try and get to the BOTTOM of this. I have visions of carrying out Pavlovian experiments on Max, stripped naked and bound upright on my bed and covered in baby oil for no real reason whatsoever. I am wearing a white coat and holding up differing pairs of pants - `womens’
`mens’
`womens’
`mens’
and my assistant measures the width of Max’s cock and writes it on a clip board. Wow.
`Mr Relph, will you see me after the class please’

[Patroclus76]

the rain in spain falls mainly on the plain................thank god for WAP


A geek in detention is about as likely as Max and Michael jacking off together in the library wearing bin liners, but weirder things are happening!! When I get home my parents have almost declared a fucking state of emergency. Father gives me the full on, variant B `I am STAGGERINGLY’ disappointed in you speech, I am AT A TOTAL LOSS etc, WORDS FAIL (yeah, right) etc. Just kick me in the balls and send me to bed damn it! God damn liberals! Always so fucking nice – and mother does that Gretta Garbo soft uplighting routine. `Why? Jamie why, are you trying to punish us?’ and drifts off on castors for legs. She then sulks in the bedroom watching Pleasantville – always a bad fucking sign – freeze framing the DVD where the dude sees the rose turn red! Fuck just shoot me now!! I get into bed and Max is waiting for me. He is slightly drunk and when he pushes his mouth onto me I can taste beer. He is hot and his long eyelashes tickle my face. He fumbles at my belt and next minute we cascade into bed. Later, after he has buried his cock so far in me I fear permanent damage, he says he wants to run away together and live in a cave. He then kisses me long and hard and scores my face raw with his stubble. Next minute I am sitting bolt upright in bed with the light on thinking I AM GOING INSANE. I have been here under a week. Breath deeply, think of the greek alphabet backwards, DON’T think of Max unzipping his flies and pissing in a great triumphal arc into the urinals, whispering `hey Jamie, what do you make of this!’.

Tonight we have a field trip into the desert with the Geek’s United West Roswell Astronomy Society. I have planned meticulously for this, my first opportunity to meet Prim Parker, who will be attending unescorted, to hold the telescopes and generally keep order. I have worked out several fantastic lines to insinuate myself into her friendship. Before we get to this event however, the whole fucking school day lurches into the twilight zone. God is a humorist. Dodge ball has just finished and the usual suspects are trying to dress without the humiliation of showering (myself). I am totally spaced out because, entirely OFF SCHEDULE, Max is showering. According to my timetable he should be doing computer studies. He clearly lives under fucking water. He probably sleeps in a tank. He is looking ESPECIALLY awesome because he is clearly thinking of something else while he rotates slowly like a small fucking planetoid. He is miles away, and he soaps his cock and balls and curls up great soap lines across his abs to his pits as if he is in a porno shoot. How can he be so oblivious of his own god damn body!! All is covert and silent in the locker room, little glances, its like the final scene in close encounters, sneaky except for me who stands gawping at him as if he is about to ascend to heaven in one great fucking thunderclap. I am so blatant that Alex Whitman elbows me in the ribs. `Hey, chill man’

Then Valenti comes bounding in, doors flying, looking like Etna on a bad day with a full on jock stampede behind him. Several geeks and assorted nerds try to flee into the undergrowth but it’s too late, several are thrown aside or crushed underfoot. `Hey, Max!’ Valenti strolls up and stands just short of the shower head and graps Max’s arm. God Boy snaps too suddenly. `Keep your fucking hands of my woman’ Valenti clearly wants to get rough, but the bastard doesn’t want to get wet either. `What the fuck are you doing’ says Max, sort of quietly, he is still soaping himself. `Warning you to keep your fucking hands of Liz!’ he pushes Max back, but mafia man has underestimated Max’s weight and they end up in a scuffle as Max pushes back and strides out, bollock naked. (SHIT WHAT A SIGHT) All fucking hell breaks lose as three or four storm troopers jump onto him. Only Alex and I are left, but before I can switch onto level four diagnostic (`condition hopeless, RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIFE) I have thrown myself onto the nearest guy and am sinking my teeth into his arm!!

Max meanwhile, his nose bloody, has just slammed someone up against the tiles and has regained momentum, blood smears on the floor and puddles around the drain. Valenti is looking at me as if I am an extra in the wrong fucking movie – it is his arm I have clamped onto with my massively expensive set of braceless teeth. `Who the fuck are you!’ He proceeds to shake me like a terrier and Max is not looking too good either, its like Waterloo at about 3.40 in the afternoon. Then, like the Prussians, shark boy turns up just in the nick of time, making enough noise to wake the fucking dead. He strides through stripping guys off Max and throwing them behind him like sticks. He looks superb actually, and although Max is not slow in coming forward, trailer trash Michael looks mean with it, his eyes flashing, like he enjoys it. I bet he is a dirty bastard in bed, fuck even on the brink of destruction I feel my cock stiffening. For once I am pleased to see this bastard but then something weird happens and my vision goes off like a TV screen, a ping, a white dot and the electric buzz of darkness.

I come too in the school medical centre. Max is standing next to me with a plaster on his nose and eye, while Michael is having something done to his mouth. In the reception area, Alex is talking with Liz who keeps looking coyly at Max and then seemingly at me. Fucking hell! So much for covert careful undercover work!! I try to sit up but GOD says softly in full on, biblical surround sound `Jamie man, you ok? Take it easy.’ The school nurse –nicknamed Battle Axe One – comes over and looks into my eyes, flashes some lights and then says I should wait until my FATHER comes to fetch me. Fucking Marvellous! `I am in so much shit’ I moan
`Hey, it wasn’t your fault’ MAX IS SPEAKING TO ME.
`I’ll talk with him if you want me to?’
`And I have astronomy class tonight’ I say weakly. This whole dialogue is delivered in my full on Oscar `Max I love you, look after the children, please don’t give up sex after I’m gone’ voice.
`I can’t Jamie, you’re the best bitch I ever had, no ass is worth it. I will sit by your grave and read you Robert Frost poems’
`I’d prefer Sylvia Plath darling, Frost was a bit of white supremacist and he recently got dished in a biography by one of his former students’.
`But wasn’t Plath a manic depressive?’
Actually Max HAS just said something again, about `sorting it with my old man’ , but I can’t hear (god damn fantasy!) He looks at me and says `you’re a weird guy Jamie, but hey thanks!’ and he RUFFLES MY HAIR. My eyes well up with tears. Michael stands up and says `come on, lets go’ and as he walks away he gives me the full on `hands off’ look – or is it more coded than that? More the sort of `what the fuck did you bite him for? Look. I am then aware that Valenti is lying out cold in the next bay to me. His jock squad are assembled about him, looking at me, chewing gum. Something weird happens at the door. Liz passes Max and they look at each other, she goes red and looks away, biting her lip, and shark boy has to pull Max off towards exit. Liz holds her stomach. She then comes and stands next to her official boy friend. She looks at me and smiles. All is not fucking well in jockopolis.

[Patroclus76]

There are some huge fucking mysteries around us, I mean huge ones. Like why can we not account for the mass of the universe from visible matter alone? Where do all my fucking socks go on wash day and why can they never stay together even when I pin them and confine them into a box? Why is that when my parents have sex they think I lose the power of hearing? (And what does daddy try on when there is a loud slap and my mother says in hers specially cross voice `No! Desmond, no! We are not doing that ever again!) Why, after trying army boy’s liberalism to the very limits of middle class non-violence, does DADDY turn up looking pleased as fucking punch. I am escorted into the car, all smiles and concern – I half expect him to give me a fucking trophy with ribbons on! I am still feeling slightly out of my head, like I am on the fucking roof of the car. Father is all smiles. Perhaps there has been a mistake – perhaps he thinks I was ACTUALLY playing football or something. `Jamie what in GOD’S NAME are we going to do with you!’ but he says this with a sort of weird slippery grin. `And your mother is very upset etc’

Mother is more than very upset – she is off the fucking scale of grief – I have not seen her this bad since Princess Diana died, it;s like having an entire greek chorus in the dining room. `Oh have mercy Gods of Olympus for this women’s grief’, etc etc.
`We want you to see a counsellor’ - fucking marvellous – 17 and in therapy – all over my permanent record – I protest and splutter – but the school has already wheeled out Bond Villain Ms Topokshy for tomorrow morning. Only after an hour of reconstructing the scene of the crime (`you did what? CHRIST ALMIGHTY) am I left alone. I then try the `I am near to breaking’ voice I perfected some years ago to ask if I cannot still be allowed to go to the astronomy class tonight. Mother – who is lying on the sofa like some form of beached whale – shakes her head sadly like I am unable to denounce the devil but then – WHAT the FUCK – Army dad says `well if you feel well enough I suppose – ‘ I am speechless. There is a momentary `parents at cross purposes’ exchange of glances, odd secret mouth movements, frowns – fuck its like a wild life documentary. I go shower and change into my geek star gazing outfit – as I emerge – I hear DADDY saying `Max said he was incredibly brave and threw himself at the captain of the football team –‘
OMG
(mother: her little `I am still pissed off with you tone’ `Max Evans, the Lawyer’s son?’)
`Yeah’ says dad in this sort of approving voice like he is really saying yeah `go figure, Jamie geek pansy boy knows someone like MAX’. MAX HAS SPOKEN WITH PARENT? I have problems breathing. Boy God has worked his powers of physically re-arranging the universe one again. As I sit down at my desk and dig out my star charts I see Max in the door way, he is wet and has a white towel tightly wrapped about his waist. It accentuates his darkness, the tight V shape of his torso. The light catches the smooth cheek hollow between his mouth and ear, the hollow I trace out with my finger as he lies sleeping. He is more beautiful than anyone I have even seen `Hey, Jamie’ he whispers, `wanna fuck?’
`I am tired Max, I banged my head’. He looks behind him and sneeks in the room, he unwraps his towel `Oh come on man, this will make you better’ his thick hung cock is in his hand, he slaps it playfully across my lips, and curves it around my nose and chin, `just a quickie?’

I am late for the ritualised viewing of Rigil in the constellation of Orion, but when I arrive Prim Parker is all over me. She is a weird one. Small, pretty, but all fucking eyes and ears, clearly doesn’t miss a trick. Alex is here as well. So is every spec wearing tooth braced bastard in West Roswell. I try to look super calm, and peer into the eye piece with Liz DYING to ask my about the fight. I can just sense it. She is wearing some curious girlie ear warmers and a blanket coat. She’s probably wired to Valenti and his mates in a nearby van with an elephant gun `he’s here, get ready, he’s bending down’
`Hey, Jamie’ she is looking at me with these very wide eyes and a smile she probably practices twice a day. It’s a good smile. `We’ve never really met – you’ve just arrived here, is that right?’
Damn right. `Yeah sure, I’ve been here a few weeks now – I’ve seen you about Liz, and of course I know…’ I stop for dramatic effect – ruined slightly by some hapless little bastard falling over and knocking the telescope down and causing an outburst of GEEK INDIGNATION – worse than then Universal cancelled Enterprise. (JONATHAN you have DAMAGED the eye piece! This is a very sensitive piece of equipment’) I concentrate on my own strategic use of silence.
`You know Max?’ she says tentatively. Always works – leave a sentence deliberately unfinished and your suspect will finish it for you – fuck I am a genius. `Yeah’ I say really coyly implying the subliminal imagery of `If only you knew how well I know him Liz, if only you had the foggiest idea of how well I know every fucking inch of that muscled bound god boy’s body, his smell, his taste, I even know he has a mole on his left bollock and shaves his pubes. I even know what he whistles when he pisses’
`You do?’ says Liz. FUCK. Did I speak that bit aloud? I go into a major tail spin.`How?’
`Well I am not sure I would know the exact tune, and he does have several themes he whistles’ She is looking at me in that way you look at mad people on public transport. `I met him in the gym’ I say quickly – cutting short the fucking abyss into which I am about to fall. Her eyes narrow slightly – she is probably thinking – you work out – but she is too fucking polite to say that. She adjusts here stupid ear muffs (probably because Valenti has just told her to get out of the line of fire) `Kewl’ she says `I am his science partner’ I suppress a gleam of a smile, a competitive rather ugly smile.
`So what were you doing in the locker room the other day?’ she springs this on me, cunning bastard. What was I doing? Jacking off over Max, trying to steal his underwear, saving his life. `Kyle’s my boyfriend’ she says – all level and casual – fuck she is good.
`Really?’ I pronounce this like the Germans in WW2 flics, all mean and long and meaning `like fuck is he’) `I thought you and Max were going out’ This is a wild stab in the dark, like an interrogator flicking a photograph across at the victim saying `its no use man, she already told us you did it’ Behind me, meanwhile, Jonathan geek boy has now graduated to knocking peoples thermos flasks over. He will not make it through the night. Liz’s eyes fall down and then up again and she says in a very small voice `he, he really said that?’ Fuck we have it bad. We should form a fucking club. Victims of Max Support Club. Rigil has gone behind a cloud and several geeks are suffering hypothermia, so we go. Just as Liz gets off the bus in Roswell I want to say, Nazi Gestapo like `One final thing, is Michal fucking Max? but as I stand up I trip over and drop my star charts everywhere.

I get off the bus some blocks from home, not far from where the Evan’s live. I have worked out several entirely irrelevant walks about the neighbourhood. Its cold and very quite, This is an expensive suburb, no pavements. He only people who walk here are hookers and the English. The Evan’s house is in darkness, but as I go cross the road and head home I see someone walking towards the house. I dart behind some beech hedge. Shark boy swims into view, hands wedged into his pockets, tactical scans and full alert. He walks over the drive and then down the side of the bungalow – what the fuck. The embodiment of stealth, I am over in a flash and down their neighbours drive, opposite Michael who is taping on a window. Silence. Tap. `Max?’ deep whisper. The dirty bastard – he has walked from his trailer park to bang up Max one at 12.30 am. The window opens and Max appears, sleepy `What is it Michael?’
`I have to stay over’ he climbs in like he has done it a thousand times and Max leans out afterwards and looking about, closes the window. I am crouched in the hedge turning into the deep deep green of profound and malignant jealously. Bastards. Can’t he even be discreet about this!

[Patroclus76]

This is war. This is fucking war!!! I am at home and it is 2.34 am. I am OUTRAGED and I cannot sleep a fucking wink. I keep seeing sharky boy falling onto the floor, hungry for sex. `Michael it’s late, my parents are home’ Max closes the window but he is grabbed by Michael. `Give it to me, man’. His hand is on the back of Max’s strong muscled neck, he pushes their mouths together, their tongues meeting, banging their teeth and noses together.

They stumble in the darkness and knock things over, a chair, Max’s luminous globe, his copy of Finer’s second edition of Calculus for Beginners. Max is torn between his fear of waking his parents, and his own lust. Next minute pervy Michael has moved his strong hands to the small of Max’s back and lowered his wet mouth onto his lover’s dark brown nipple, which he bites, suddenly, hard. Max groans and yields to him, allowing himself to be turned roughly, his boxers snatched down so Piranha boy can lick the curve of his spine and then kiss his ass.
OMG! I am torn between wanting to jack off violently and a desire to smash the entire bedroom!

I turn the light off, my mind racing. Weird though, Top Gun doesn’t even stay the night. He climbs out after about an hour (no fucking sense of romance, he looks all post coital, Max is probably lying unconscious in a pool of semen) and walks off to his white trash camper. As he climbs out the window he drops something, a magazine, or a book he had hidden down his pants. I wait until he had gone and retrieve it. It is a black exercise book. I put it down my pants and come home. I skim through it and then leave it on the floor. It isn’t in god Boys handwriting. I have already memorised his powerful, commanding script. I am too distressed to read it.

Prim Parker MUST know something is afoot between these two? She is like a fucking AWAC. That white spray-on smile, hiding what? I have NEVER had it this bad before, never in a career of teenage wank fantasies have I ever, ever felt so………….fucking determined! I curl up into my emergency crash position number two. Plans wheel through my brain, assassination, militias, public outing. I hear someone come into my room. They undress in the dark. I hear a belt buckle hit the floor. There is an ecstasy of anticipation, and then I feel the duvet thrown back and a weight on the bed. I tense up, all snotty and un-cooperative. Then I feel Max’s body heat close to me, I feel his hard stomach touch my back as he curves into me, his pecs on my shoulder blades. His hand goes under my pillow in a soft, invasive gesture of possession and he kisses my ear. I feel his eyelashes and his foofy velcro hair.

`Jamie’ he growls his stomach churning whisper, and I am filled with such an enormity of longing that I finally understand in my geeky imagination the meaning of infinity. `Hey, what's wrong?’
`Max!!’ I say, all pissy, - `Max, no!!’
Next minute Army boy is at the door, flicking the light on. Its 6.30 and he is up `Max?’ he asks, looking about the room. Then he does his bugle wake up routine.

At school I am so fucking tired that everything is too bright and too far away and I cannot hear what anyone is saying to me. There is a strange buzzing in the middle of my head and black dots worm around behind my eyes. Alex asks me if I am ok and gives me some powerful soft drink that makes me feel MUCH worse.
`It's Max’ I say bleakly.
He looks puzzled and yet knowing at the same time. `You as well, why doesn’t that surprise me.’ but before he has time clarify this latest little vignette, Bond Villain Toposky air drops into view on the end of a rope in some hot tight pencil skirt and wearing immaculate fucking make-up. She is holding a clip board as though she is doing a survey in the mall. `Jamie! Here we are, time for our meeting!’ She has to be some form of evangelical Christian. No one else could combine such gratuitous happiness with such a ridiculous out fit. I am led off for interrogation.

As we walk into her office I see Liz and Kyle looking straight at me - fucking weird - like they have just been talking about me - and then Mrs Toposkinski gives them both a sort of `die bitch die’ look, full on, point blank range. It blasts a fucking huge hole in the lockers behind them. Then she turns to me. She is clearly super weird, probably has OCD. She smiles WAY too much. I am sitting on a chair and she tells me that my parents are worried, anxious, concerned (yeah, ok, I get the drift) and that I am a studious boy and have a bright future (yeah, with Max, it’s the only future I have) and that `being gay is fine’ - oh fuck - here we go - I grit my teeth for the full on Republican version of `being Gay is fine as long as you don’t ENJOY it and at least try to think of a women once.’

Behind her, Max is standing in a white schoolboy shirt with his tie awry. He is wearing a posh blazer with an expensive private school badge on the pocket and a prefect’s pin. The blazer is black, as black as his hair, which is all spiked up thick, and he is unbuttoning his flies provocatively, like he is doing a dance. I want to die. I want to impale myself on him. Meanwhile Laura Croft is showing me fucking stupid cartoons of people and asking me which one I empathize with most. Oh god. None. They all look incredibly stupid. I keep looking behind her, which she tries to ignore but clearly notices.

Max has taken out his thick heavy cock and is waving it about the top of her head, waving his other arm in the air. It flashes and shines like a fucking fish, massive, the helmet is dark and wide and alive and he is running his tongue over his lips `Max for god’s sake man - this isn’t helping.’
`Max - ?‘ Bond women is holding a picture of people at a picnic under a god damn tree. Someone is hiding behind it, watching. `Max?’ she says again, very, very calmly. You can she her whole early warning system kick in. `The boy you were helping out in the fight?’ Shit. She looks at the god damn picture as if half expecting to see Max in there, holding the fucking teapot or something. I am starting to go red again, an expansive mottling around the neck. It I was attached to a fucking lie detector it would now be vibrating and scribbling massive black lines all over the place.

`Do you know Max?’ she asks all easy and relaxed. Clearly she fucking does. Behind her, Max is smiling and winking at me. I am totally out of control, slipping and lurching like a car in mud.
`Er yes, I know him, yes, I know him through Liz Parker’ I have either said enough to save my ass or enough to hang myself, because Topolsky gives me a full on, lip gloss special and starts to write something down. Max leans over and watches her. His cock touches her ear.
`Just put it away!’ I say. She looks up, frowning. What the fuck happened to my silent mode of jack off fantasy! Why do I have to verbalize everything!!

`Jamie, are you quite alright?’
`I am really tired. I am very stressed at the moment, and my head is still painful’. I try the plea bargaining voice.
Her eyes narrow. `Ok, let’s leave this for another time. Max is a very special guy Jamie, isn’t he’ she says this cryptically. Behind her, Max does an exaggerated frown and nods in agreement.
`He is a bit of a mystery’ she says - is this coded for him being gay or for me being FUCKING INFATUATED WITH HIM - `and he does seem involved with Liz a great deal, and with Michael and Kyle’, Bond women is sucking the end of her pencil. Max is making this stupid shocked expression behind her, like she is sucking his cock. My eyes narrow now. `Yes, he does, doesn’t he?’ I whisper. This is a rhetorical question, meaning `yes, he is a a regular little whore.’ She starts to gather her papers `I can’t really talk about other children with you. However, I want you to know that if you have anything you want to say about Max or Liz you are free to come and talk at any time.’

Fuck. She probably thinks I am into threesomes or group action when all I want is him entirely to myself. I stand up, Max blows me a kiss and I give him my version of Mother’s `this isn’t over yet’ look. It's so effective that Topokinsky looks behind her for the first time. As I reach the door she says, all casually `Did you know that Liz has lost her journal, Jamie? She is very unhappy about this, she lost it last night.’

I get out, relieved, alarmed. Max is in front of me, sucking a red lollypop. He takes it out of his mouth and whirls it around my face making an aeroplane noise `Open the landing bay’ and he playfully inserts it onto mine. `Remember Jamie, the last question in a cross-examination is ALWAYS the most important. My father told me that’ Liz has lost her fucking journal so what! Fat chance that I would know – and then a terrible hot rush starts from my stomach and hits my head like an express train…………..

[Patroclus76]

DBT is to blame for these misfortunes of Jamie - she is to blame


I race home. I fake illness and skip the last two classes. Actually I AM ILL. Mentally ill. It’s fucking official. Something really shocking happens before I get away to the Holy Grail of Prim Parker that is sitting WAITING for me by my bedside. I am in English Lit struggling through some fucking obscure Frost poem, usually stuff, trees, snow, gate posts, no goddamn rhythm to the piece. Max has gone AWOL again (do they have credit points at this school - does he just get them for being beautiful?). All that remains of his god like presence are two symmetrical dimples on an empty chair. I suddenly find myself kneeling in front of it and laying my head where his butt cheeks have rested. For a minute I think this is some weird flashback but then I am sniffing the leather and thinking of his thighs, his cock and balls, his ass-ring snug in his boxers just millimetres from this surface! Its all I can do to stop myself howling. `Jamie?’ responsible adult approaches `are you ok?’ I look up. The entire classroom is angled to their side looking down at me. NO I AM NOT OK.


I race out to get my bike and get home to go through the evidence. As I squat down to unlock it I see MICHAEL sloping into school. He looks slightly distracted (so he should be, fucker, what was he doing with Liz’s diary huh?). I screw up my courage and as he passes by and go `Hey Michael’, all cool, like we play basket ball together or shag the same women. It comes out an octave higher than I intend though, bastard voice. I think he is going to ignore me but then shark boy stops dead in the water and swings around. He just stares at me - he is fucking cute when he is pissed - bastard - his eyes narrow and he looks like is about to say something. `How’s it going?’ I press on into the face of death. Perhaps he’ll just walk over and snap my neck. I wrap my bike lock around the seat as he walks over. He brings his face right up close to mine; I stare at his beautiful strong nose, his mouth. I notice he has a small spot near his eyebrow. He smells hot, like an overworked engine. His eyes are hard, brutal, I bet he screams when he comes and doesn’t wash afterwards. `Thing’s are just fine, Jamie’ he says this like it’s not my real name. He then grabs my collar and pulls me even closer, for one beautiful moment I think he is going to slam his mouth onto mine, force his tongue into me and then throw me aside.

Instead he says very quietly `I’m onto you, Jamie boy’ He drops me, swings around and flashes off into the deep blue waters of West Roswell High. My heart is thudding and I have a hard-on stuck painfully to the left of my pant band. I gulp for air, as I do so someone says `What’s this, trouble in paradise so soon?’ Valenti is standing with his Nazi body guard. He smirks and the jocks snicker. Shit, its like a cheap pantomime. He should have a parrot stitched on his shoulder and walk on a stick. Then he closes in as well (fuck I should just have a sign on my head saying HIT ME). But all wise boy says is `You should chose your friends more carefully, Jamie. Max means trouble.’


At home, MOTHER is doing something weird in the garden. She has either killed army boy or is planning to kill him in the near future. She has dug a fucking huge hole in the middle of the lawn. Perhaps it’s a fall out shelter or a swimming pool? I tell her I am going to lie down, that I am unwell and NEED ATTENTION, but she is already digging again. Fuck, she’s going mad. We all are. I feel all nervous and over-excited. I get the journal and go and sit on the bed. I feel all breathless, like I am about to look over a really filthy porn mag. I open the pages and my eyes are whizzing all over the place. Fuck I think I might start hyperventilating. I look for my EMERGENCY hyperventilation kit. It is under the bed with my ear plugs and my Rogers Thesaurus.

Liz has this typical girlie handwriting, all loops and thrills, like she fucking writes with a knitting needle. `Hi my name is Liz Parker and five days ago I died’ fuck - it reads like some cheap voice over for a Fox TV show - I look urgently for sex talk, innuendo, smut, but by page three I am wading through descriptions of the Crash Down and Maria being so kewl and loyal and - fuck - hold it. What's this? I develop momentarily cardio-arrhythmia. Shots, people falling over, screaming and then Max standing over her, his hands on her body, hot and close, `he makes me look at him’ swirling fucking lights and a sense of falling - shit why can’t girls just say he fucked my brains out and I came and it was wild - it's like a D. H. Lawrence novel `he ran his tongue up my moss covered valley until the birds sang’ jesus.


Hold it. He fucked her on the floor in the Crash Down? In front of every one? After she was shot - that’s weird - Max might be pervier than I thought. Hold it. No wait. He saved her life? Fucking metaphors - always get in the way - what - he’s doing something with his hands. (bastard Parker!). He is telling her that he is different, that he is an alien, that they don’t belong together!! Fuck I knew it - he IS gay!! Definitely gay, not out, clearly fucked up over it - OMG. I drop the journal to the floor. God has given me this small chance, this small opening. So where does fucking Trailer Trash Michael fit into this? My geek brain is now on overdrive. I break out into a cold sweat. Michael must have stolen the journal because he knows that Liz fancies Max - and he fears she might turn Max at a crucial time in his gay evolutionary life cycle - before he has emerged, fully formed!!

YES!! Oh god - this is complex. Liz is my ally because she will keep Michael out of Max’s pants long enough for me to come between them (I see it all) but she is a rival in that she might turn the poor boy into a life of delusional heterotopia - so Michael is my ally as well!! What to do, what to fucking do!!! Outside I hear the sound of earth being piled high in the garden. Perhaps my mother has found a fucking ancient burial site? Ok - I have it. Time to act. I switch on my emergency reserve power: I shall go pay Michael a fucking visit. I shall swing by the capital of trailer trash and throw my gauntlet down. He wants this fucking journal back because if Liz finds out he has it, she will tell Max and then things get messy for shark boy. Finally, oh yes, I have leverage.

[Patroclus76]

OK, I must be prepared. I must rise to the challenge (so to speak). Max is Alien because he fancies cock and boy ass and he is STRUGGLING with this concept, not helped by shark boy who is manipulating Max’s sensitivity (and lust) to his own evil advantage. Goddamn it I can hardly bear to think of it, Max used and slammed about and enjoying it but also hating it, and Michael smiling cruelly, stroking boy God’s thick hung cock, teasing him, watching him get hard, his beautiful face beaded with sweat as Michael runs his fingers over Max’s lips and inserts them into his mouth saying `its time for my experiments again!’
`Michael, please don’t, I think I should be into girls by now.’
OMG.

Mother is still out there building a scale model of the fucking Mid Atlantic Ridge, and Army Dad will not get home for ages. I am going to raise my whole game. I hit the bathroom with my hair lightening kit and my fake tan canister. I strip off and look in the mirror. Some minor improvements, a small crease down the stomach, less ribs than yesterday. I trim my pubes with DADDY'S electric razor. I shower.

I apply a complex hair dye formula wearing rubber gloves and protective eye gear and then attach a plastic cap to my head. Next I moisturize and spray my tan cream – I must look vaguely cute. Max might, after all, want to go for the exact opposite of himself – I mean – there is a certain logic. Oh fuck, there is a stinging in my eyes. I lift the eye shields and arrrrrrrrrrg god its worse – I stumble and demolish my mother’s entire cosmetic and moisturising MOUNTAIN and concuss myself on the door.

The sound of digging stops ominously. I hold my breath, my face and forehead on fire, and then the digging resumes. I reach for the towel and wipe my face and then try and rinse it off. The plastic head cap appears to have melted and is stuck to my ears.

When I remove my goggles the bathroom looks like a fucking war zone. There are red foamy blobs all over the sink, the carpet, and up the wallpaper and the towel is covered in big purples splashes. Bits of hair are everywhere and when I finally contain the damage, I realise that the water has made my tan streaky.

In fact its worse than streaky, I have fucking HAND prints all over my thighs and sides where I couldn’t reach and my palms look like I’ve got henna on! `Jamie, what are you doing?’ MOTHER has done a Delta Force special manoeuvre and is outside the door. `Nothing I am having a shower and then going out.’
`I thought you were ill?’ she says (not as ill as you, dear).


I get back to the bedroom and frankly look like an extra in a splat movie. There are red sores in my hair and I have white circles around my eyes. There is nothing to be done. I put on a pair of shades and a tight T-shirt that is tight enough to make me look as if I have pecs but just a bit too tight to breath in an emergency. I shove the journal down my pants and get the bike. All I need is a fucking headscarf and I would look like Margaret Fontaine.


I stop in town en route to White Trashville Trailer park. I need some extra strong mints to concentrate and some water in case I start hyperventilating. As I come out of the deli, I see MAX crossing the road, laden with shopping. I can’t see the jeep anywhere. He has that awesome fucking top on with the red edging, the one that make his shoulders look fucking curved and sculptured. I see myself clinging to them, thrusting my ass down on him, screaming his name, his hands on the small of my back so he can sink me down to his balls. He stops next to his mother’s car, as he does so he sees me.

`Hey Jamie’ he says. I look up, my mouth open and eyes entirely out of focus. I am unlocking my bike, almost on my knees as in prayer. `Max, I beg you, just fuck me now, it doesn’t matter, just take me here and then tattoo your name on my left breast’ but I say `hey Max’ and I see him struggling with the bags and so I approach him crab wise, because the handprints and the red/ blonde hair dye disaster look less obvious sideways on (yeah, I now understand why its called `Blonde Bombshell No 2’ , fuck knows what No 1 does!).

He says ` Hey Jamie, can you give me a hand’ He is trying to find his keys. CAN I GIVE YOU A HAND!! Does he have a sense of irony! God is mocking me.
`Let me have the bags.’ I am closer to him than I have ever been. He is so larger than life, fucking muscled, his hair is soooooo dark and thickkkkkkkkk. If I get any closer, I could perhaps just jump on him and wedge my mouth onto his and then claim insanity. `Jamie man, can you try and get my keys out of my pocket.’

He is wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. `Pocket?’ I ask as if this is a new word or a sort of weapon.

`Yeah, I have stuff in the bags that will break’. As he says this he swivels his body outwards and sticks his hip towards me. He means his trouser pockets. An unpredicted eclipse darkens the sky.

`In your pocket?’ I say again, but the words come out incredibly slowly like a bullet from a gun in slow motion. `Innnnnnn youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuur poooooooooccckkkkkkkkkkeettttttttttttt???’ Fucking inner chaos. Id is shouting to ego `JUST GRAB HIS BALLS, its an open invitation!’ while id is desperately trying to take control and assert some moral authority. `He is just naive and traumatised and needs a friend. Show him you are reliable!’ His jeans are black, tight. I can see where his legs have molded the material to their shape, and the ribbed shadows of wear on his crouch.

I can just about get my fingers in and I feel his thigh taunt beneath the canvas. I dare not look at the bulge of the keys so I close my eyes. It’s like fucking lucky dip. I have a very painful hard-on now as well, to add to my predicament. To draw attention away from this I stoop forward. I feel something cold and hard – mobile phone – and then his keys. I pull them out. His body sways a little. The keys are hot. I want to put them in my mouth and run off with them. I will NEVER wash my hand again.

`Jamie?’ he asks. He is frowning in that way that turns me to liquid. `Can you open the door of the car?’ I press the fob and the door unlocks. I open the back door and he gently places the bags on the rear seat.

`Cheers man.’ He bends over, the shirt rides up. It shows a browned muscled back, an incised spine like a groove and two small dimples in the small of his back just above where his butt muscles swell. I am not sure I can form words anymore or think. I might go into some form of erotic shock.

`Anything Max, I mean anytime Max, you know – ‘

`Jamie?’

Oh my god, He is going to say `Jamie look, this is weird but why don’t we go for a ride sometime and we can talk about Super String Theory and perhaps we could just jack-off together, you know, get to know each other’ but instead he says,

`Jamie, can I have my keys back?’

`Sure, of course. Sorry. ‘

He smiles in a puzzled way. `What have you done to your face?’

`I fell into some sort of boiling stew.’ I say entirely unconvincingly. He smiles quizzically, like I have just said something very clever.

`You’ve got some plastic sticking out of your ear.’

`That would be the wrapping – I mean – to the stew.’

`You put your head into a microwave or something? Jamie you should look after yourself’.

He smiles, climbs in and he drives off, manfully, his big hands on the wheel. I want to shout out after him ONLY YOU CAN TRULY LOOK AFTER ME.
Now for Michael……………….bitch.

[Patroclus76]

I cycle off to Trailerville, Trashopolis, home of the Michael’s of this world. I am all sweaty and over excited as I drop off my bike, dust about me, mongrel dogs yapping - fuck its like a western! Images of Max’s ass still swirl around my head causing odd moments of dizziness! I swivel my imaginary gun. Then I realise that I haven’t a fucking clue which trailer Michael lives in!

I am just about to activate emergency protocol four when, behind me, I hear a car pulling off the highway, slowing to a stop but with the engine still running. Someone gets out, thanks the driver, and slams the door. The gods have smiled! Michael is walking towards me, his head down. I am un-noticed.

I know what you did last summer, oh sorry, I know what you did last night and every fucking night since I arrived here! Bastard! Suddenly I have a major grade one panic attack. I look for my extra strong mints. I am not helped by more clinically accurate visions of Max’ butt cheeks appearing in front of me like small mushrooms springing out of the ground and then floating about me like little balloons. I look quickly at the label on the mint packet just to check they do not contain any disassociative substances! Michael spots me as I am squinting at the wrapper.

`What the fuck?’ he stops, his hands wedged in his jean pockets. For a minute I am not sure he can retrieve them, they look stuck. He looks about him. The place is deserted. `Lost our way did we? Jamie boy?’

`No, actually’ my mouth is all dry and my eyes are doing that weird skimming thing – I must look calm!. `I was looking for you, Michael’
Michael’s eyes narrow magnificently. I imagine he looks like this when he takes a piss, narrows his eyes, relaxes, then breaths through his nose.

`Really? Cool, glad we’re pals now! So what is this, a trailer call? What do you want, fucker?’ No messing. He looks preoccupied, probably worried shitless about the diary. You can tell he is intrigued though. I have gone up incrementally on the evolutionary scale by just being here. I am now just two notches above primordial ooze.

`Nothing, but I have something you want’ I say, all breathless. Fuck it’s like a porno movie, those really bad plotless ones where after three lines of bad dialogue (usually dubbed) someone flicks out their cock and forces it into something or someone nearby, you know, sort of randomly. Michael moves in quickly and just grabs my shirt, virtually lifting me up.

`And what’s that?’ I can see him looking at my hair. `You should have your scalp looked at by the way, I think you’ve got scabies.’ I ignore this as he drops me for fear he might catch something. My hand moves to my trousers and I pull out the diary!! The reaction is UTTERLY priceless. Never in the long wars of Geekdom has such a victory been so absolute (if not short-lived)!

To be fair to sharkboy, he does his double triple take without any unnecessary movement, except a strange sort of looseness about the mouth. This opens and closes several times as if he is trying to say something and stopping, or else he can’t breath. I can’t breath too well either, but this is because my extra-strong mint is lodged in the back of my throat on account of my stress at dropping the diary at Michael's feet.

‘Where the fuck did you get that?’ he asks this with effort, having run his hands over his mouth. He looks incredibly pissed off and shifty, eyes to the right and then up as if there is a police helicopter overhead. I manage to cough up my mint as if this is the sort of thing you normally do in a situation like this, all casual, like a dog vomiting on the carpet.

`You dropped it outside Max’s bedroom when you climbed in the other night, or was it when you climbed out!’ I squeak, hardly audible, my eyes all red. `Have you a glass of water?’ Bastard mint.

Michael grabs my arms and hauls me off towards a trailer. I allow myself to be pleasantly manhandled in this way. I am not sure if this is in compliance with my request for water or whether he is going to put me into a small pit with scorpions at the bottom. He throws open the trailer door and then drags me into his bedroom. Fuck! The inner sanctum! His clothes are strewn about the place, towels and socks. Jesus, and jocks! I must try and steal one for a later sale on eBay. I am alone with Michael. OMG! My heart is pounding. Even in the face of imminent death I have a hard-on. Even now I am thinking how I can fall onto his pants and sequester them about my person. Unfortunately this is not a wank fantasy.

`What the fuck were you doing outside Max’s house at that hour?’ he says brutually.

`What were you doing in his bedroom at that hour!’ I sound plaintive and slightly girlie, as if I might start crying at any moment. He looks puzzled.

`You have been fucking spying on us!’

`Us? I was spying on Max!’ God there really is an US! This is quite upsetting. Perhaps Max is actually in a relationship, and far from being brutally mistreated and slapped up as Michael’s bitch, they might be – omg – in lurve – like really in love, like having tray meals in bed together and watching Judge Judy after sex.

`Who the fuck are you Jamie? Your dad works for the military doesn’t he?’

`Lets just stick with you and Max for the moment, shall we!’ I am quite motivated when jealous.

`Have you read this?’ Michael says this softly, pointing at the journal. He moves forward, like a lawyer.

`Yeah – all of it, every last word! Does Liz know you stole it! Does she know about you two, what you are!’ I say this slightly defiantly, not wishing to cut to the chase too soon. Michael looks genuinely alarmed at this stage. Its probably the first time I have seen punk child Michael threaten to look clueless. The effect on me is rather un-nerving. He closes the door quietly.

`She does know about us Jamie, and its unfortunate that you know as well.’

`What do you mean she knows about you? Is she kewl with that? I mean, doesn’t it affect her feelings for Max or something?’ I am slightly worried at the stillness that has overcome Sharkboy. He is dead in the water with his fins quiet still.

`Of course it does. I didn’t want Max to tell her, he broke his promise, but its too late now. I’m sorry you had to read it too, Jamie’ he is sitting now on his bed, taking out a pen knife. He is unfolding the blades in what my father would describe as an `unfortunate’ manner.

`Why? I'm not? Why are you ashamed of who you are! All this sneaking about! You think you can scare me off like Parker? What does Max want in all this, you or her? Or both?’ I was going to say `or me’ but then I managed to stop myself. Michael looks up at this stage vaguely puzzled again, as if somehow something in the grand scheme of things isn’t going to plan.

`Jamie what the fuck are you talking about?’

`You and Max! Its no use denying it! Max doesn’t love you!’ Fuck that sounds really camp, (I want to say `not like he loves me! Oh fuck, I am in some black and white movie on a gangplank wrestling with immigration officials, holding a baby). `I can see that! I am not sure he loves Liz either, but she loves him a damn sight more than Kyle. And Kyle hates both of you, and me (fuck this is complex). People like you make me sick! It’s nearly the 21st century and you are ashamed of what you are! I am not ashamed of what I am! Fucking aliens!’ I say this of course with virtually no hair and tan hand prints on my neck, but my oratory has momentarily moved me.

Michael is now open mouthed again and frowning as if I am speaking Swahili to him. Then suddenly, quite genuinely, he starts to smile. It is not a cruel smile, it is a nice smile, one of massive fucking relief.

[Patroclus76]

I am not sure I like this look on Michael’s face. I am not sure I like it at all. He is holding his lips together very tightly and his eyes are watering. Either he is suddenly overwhelmed by my look of hurt and injury and has been momentarily transported to tears, or he is experiencing some form of intense shooting pain in his front eye-teeth. Or perhaps he can no longer contain pissing himself with hysterics over my new hair style and the hand paint job. I am not sure what the fuck is going on. I brazen this out and sit looking at him, using an old variation of my mother's, which is to look through narrowed eyes and think about house cleaning VERY HARD. Ages pass. Stars wheel overhead. In the far off corner of the universe space collapses and laces the darkness with dust and ash.

`Ok, look, sorry man’ Michael appears to have mastered himself. He rubs his eyes a lot and slaps his face. `Look Jamie, this has gotten rather complicated’. He stands up in that odd rounded way of his, like he is top heavy. Complicated? You can fucking say that again, Michael!

`Its not complicated at all’ I say all snotty and injured. If I HAD been wearing my Margaret Fontaine headscarf, I would have adjusted it as I said this, fussing with the knot.

`Does Max love you? Does he love Liz? Is he bisexual? Are you bisexual?’

Again Michael seems to lose control of his face muscles and has to look away from me. I relent. It must be difficult for him to be confronted with such honesty and SUCH MATURITY. Again Michael manages to contain his emotion.

`Well’ he says with effort, breathing through his nose `Yes, Max is, bisexual, and yes, well he has the hots for Liz and I am sort of – ‘

`Jealous?’ I add coldly. Not half as fucking jealous as I am! I suddenly see Miss Parker holding a telescope in one hand and multitasking a filofax in the other, all prim and innocent, as if butter would not melt in her mouth. Yet seething beneath that surface is sheer unadulterated female LUST. Does Max know that each day a horde of people want to EAT HIM ALIVE. I feel a hot rush.

I suddenly see Max on my bed, brown tanned naked, like Blake’s Tiger. Licking his paws after a big feed. Or he is on his back with his butt raised and his legs in the air. I am shaving delicately behind his balls. I am feeling the dark stubble around his ass ring and jiggling the razor about. I have a lamp attached to my head like a miner. I see every part of him. He is moaning appreciatively while trying to revise his trigonometry notes.

`Max don’t tense please. I don’t want to cut you’ I say. He locks me playfully between his thighs, I see the smooth sleek muscles slide over as he grips. `You dare Jamie’. He is powerful and beautiful. He sits up. I look up and see him squared and muscled, resting on his arms, his abdominals concertinaed into hard ridges. His black hair is thrown across his face. His eyes are indescribably luminous, as if underscored with eyeliner, like a Hindu dancer, Shiva faced. He can toy with me, he can suddenly sink his teeth into me. I feel unwell. This is no longer sheer lust. I feel ill with longing. And someone inside me is screaming. MMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Michael is speaking to me. `And so let me guess, you want in his pants as well?’ He asks this with a very odd tone to his voice. I would like to see him face on, just in case he is playing with the pen knife, or whether he is working himself up to some fantastically immoral proposal, like we timeshare Max or something. Like I could have the top part and then the bottom part or we – OMG – more screaming. We could rent him out like a DVD.

`sorry Michael – what did you say?’

`You want his ass as well?’

`No’ I say - `I am obsessed with him. This is beyond fancy, this is so beyond anything.’

I say this CANDIDLY (as my father says). I want everything. Michael looks serious all of a sudden, and his eyes narrow. Part of me is beginning to LIKE this bastard, who is clearly more sophisticated than either he or his bedroom appear. Suddenly his cell phone buzzes. He looks at the number, flips it open and says

` Hey, Max!’ I try to re-group my forces and not look stricken. I fidget for my extra strong mints.

`How’s it going – er baby? Yeah sure, what?’ Michael’s brown eyes swing over and lick me then swivel back to the floor.
`Holy crap – when?’ I strain to hear God Boy’s voice. Michael paces about, playing with his eyebrow. `She wrote everything down? Everything? Well let's meet at your place, hey can I stay over? I, I miss you man.’ Michael looks at me, self-conscious, and well he should. I am turning slowly and violently green.

Max sounds puzzled though. I can hear his intonation clearly from where I am sitting, that curious way he repeats things when he is bemused. `You miss me?’ I narrow my eyes and bite my lip. Perhaps I could rush Michael now with a pencil and stab him in the throat. It would look like self-defence!

`Yeah, sure I miss you! You know that Max, more than I can say. Hey don’t panic Maxwell, I’m sure its all gonna work out’

I hear Max say `Yeah? Michael are you ok?'

`Yeah man, never been better! Look I’ve gotta go and fix something urgent, see you later, hey go rest and we can have well, you know, hot fun!’ he looks over at me and starts smiling, a sneaky smile that starts in his eyes. BASTARD.
`Sure, whatever’ he clicks the phone shut on Max repeating the words ` hot fun?’ There is an ominous silence.

`Hey Jamie boy, guess what! Liz has just told Max that her diary is missing!’

`So what are you going to do?’ I stand up now. I am standing on various books and sheets of paper, all covered with weird hemispheric drawings done in crayon. They are all over the place. Weird or what!

`I am going to return it to her and come to some sort of arrangement, some sort of peace treaty – and you are going to keep quiet. No one need know that you have read it. Is that a deal?'

This does not sound like a compelling deal for me. `And if I refuse?’ I say –I am tensing my jaw very badly. Michael considers this thoughtfully.

`Hey look Jamie, Max likes you a lot, I mean a lot. He talks about you all the time, and he spoke to your old man after you bit Valenti in the arm. He thought you were awesome in action’
The world grows utterly dark and I am spot lit from afar. `Heeeeeeeeeeeee doeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssss? He diiiiiiiiiiiiiid? ’ I say, in my strangled, crushed voice in slow motion again.

`Yeah man. He has never really met anyone as open as you or as clever. Look, Max is ok, he’ll work through this, and we can sort something out.’ He WINKS at me.

`Yeah? Like what?’ The cell phone goes again. We both know it is Max. We both know that, since Michael hung up, MAx has been sitting absolutely still looking at his cell phone suspiciously and frowning a great deal. As Michael flips the phone open, we both hear our lover say,

`Michael what the fuck are you up to? Who are you with?’

Michael shoots me a look and says `Sure, look gotta go, hey, Max, love you’ and he switched the phone off.

`He is a possessive bastard sometimes’ he adds, reaching for some keys.

Perhaps I have got this all wrong, hopelessly, hideously wrong, perhaps.........

Perhaps Michael is Max's bitch?