Ryan's Journal
If I want a latex lollipop, I'll ask.
If I find this in ten years, I probably should write a little note so I know the story in case I forget.
Brendon and Jon went exploring. Brendon came back with the journal for me. Hopefully when I find this in ten years, he’ll have picked up the hints (like the totally inappropriate hug I gave him in thanks) and we’ll be together.
And this one has a lock. A real lock. Not like the ones fourth grade girls have on their pink, flowered diaries.
---
Nobody mentions the girls that write your name on their faces with permanent marker when you sign your record deal. Dude, they have to go to school like that tomorrow. How can their mothers let them leave the house like that?
---
Brendon is probably the most imperceptive person I know. I asked him to give me a massage after I got out of the shower. I was naked and making all these sexy little noses, but he still didn’t take the hint. It’s just me and my hand tonight, I guess. I’m jealous of Brendon’s hand.
Sometimes I can hear him at night. Usually he goes to the bathroom, but last night he just rolled over. I could see the muscles in his back tensing up. He was moaning, but he didn’t say a name. It would have killed me if he had.
---
I had sex today. With Pete again. I’m getting used to this gay sex thing. It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. And not for as long either.
He let me give him a blowjob first. I swear I’m going to be a pro by the time I get to suck Brendon’s cock. I want to be able to deep throat, but Pete says hardly anyone can.
When I came back to the room, Brendon asked if I was running laps. I told him I had sex and he just rolled his eyes. I hate how stupid he is.
---
Stardust chased by a broom
gathered and collected
things we all take for granted.
Broken down by the highway
and the shooting star’s on fire.
Yeah, we’re all just born to die
but we’re not getting (any) older yet.
---
Brendon bought me a vinyl. I don’t have a record player, but I guess I’m going to have to get one now. It’s The Beatles. And I know this is stupid, but I’ve only ever heard ‘Let it Be’.
---
I feel like I’m seeing the world with a fish bowl on my head. The edges are curved and if I don’t get to hide in a castle soon, the anxiety will fucking kill me.
---
Oily marks appear on walls where pleasure moments hung before.
I watch him while he sleeps and wonder if he ever dreams about me. Aside from the ones where we’re all naked onstage. I would not be surprised if Brendon ever ended up naked onstage.
---
I think slash is the greatest thing giggling teenage girls ever invented. My LiveJournal name is time2dance and I’m a member of every slash community for Panic that was ever invented, I think. Isn’t it sad that fourteen year old girls who can’t spell pick up my hints to Brendon better than he does?
Today he was being a total idiot (surprise, surprise) so I told him to suck my dick and he made these disgusting slurping noises.
Maybe I’ll just stick to the slash for now. Then again, some of these things they write are just as creepy. Like rimjobs. Patrick says they feel amazing, but I personally find that rather disgusting. What if he wants to kiss me after? What do you say to that? ‘Yeah, sure. Just as soon as you brush your teeth and use an entire bottle of Listerine.’
Brendon talks so much he probably doesn’t even realize there are much more productive things he could be doing with his mouth.
---
If Brendon tries to kiss me onstage one more time, I’m going to punch him in the balls. Pete says I have to kiss him back if I like him, so I swore at him and hung up. Pete is just like Brendon sometimes.
Patrick says it takes awhile to get used to because we’ve always been taught affection between two men is wrong. Either way, I’m going to punch Brendon in the balls if he tries it again.
They’re not even good kisses!
---
Brendon told me I need to get laid today, so I told him to go fuck himself. He said he didn’t need to with all these girls around. I punched a wall and two of my knuckles bled.
---
Patrick blew me. I can understand why Pete swears by that mouth now. And he held me after I blew him, which is nice because Pete doesn’t like to do that. Patrick says it’s because Pete has the potential to fall in love with anyone so he has to keep certain distances. I always thought it was because I wasn’t Patrick.
---
We had an OC marathon on the bus. Brendon fell asleep in my lap and I got to play with his hair. Spencer saw, but he didn’t say anything. I couldn’t carry Brendon to bed like he carries me.
I watched him stumble to the bunks. He looked so . . . innocent. And quiet. Brendon’s never quiet. I wanted to kiss him. It kind of hurt.
---
I swear to God, if his mother wouldn’t cry, I would fucking KILL Spencer!
---
I blew a kiss to the train wreck
and it blew one back.
We’re all just signposts
and the crashes we hear
are just dances with wolves.
---
Brendon asked today. I didn’t know what to say to him. Pete and Patrick are the only ones who know. And if Brendon knew, he’d freak. I don’t want him to know. I just want him to love me.
---
“So she told me to talk dirty to her and I was like ‘choke on my dick, you dirty slut’. So she slapped me and called me a misogynist asshole (whatever that is) and kicked me out.”
Sometimes I cannot believe this is the guy I jerk off to.
---
Brendon asked again. I didn’t want to lie, but I couldn’t tell the truth. I just skated. “You know I’ve had girlfriends. And I like a girl.” Which is true. I’m not attracted to girls, but I like plenty of them okay.
I don’t get why he cares anyway. It doesn’t matter to him.
---
My jeans are too big again. I hate the stress weight loss. Remember when Dad used to call me Ryorexic?
Brendon and I went to the mall in sunglasses to get some. He was flirting with the cashier and I’m pretty sure she was a lesbian. Then again, he’s a really bad flirt.
---
The cigarette ash flies in your eyes and you don’t mind.
---
Today I blew a roadie. And it was pretty fucking pathetic. I kind of hate myself right now. I don’t even know him. And I swallowed. What if I get something? Fuck. Don’t they sell STD kits at Walgreens?
---
They do. Hood up, hair back, shades, and five ‘o clock shadow. I’m supposed to draw blood and mail it to some place. Then I wait a week and call.
---
That guy hit on me. I hid on the bus. I saw him talking to Jon, I think. If he told, I’m so fucking screwed.
---
Brendon was watching ‘Sleeping Beauty’ in his bunk. He grabbed my arm when I walked by and pulled me in. His arm was around me while we watched it.
I hate this.
---
I don’t have any STDs! God, why don’t they invent a morning-after pill for this shit? Girls aren’t the only ones who fuck up, you know.
---
I told Patrick about my brush with Roadie AIDS Death. He told me condoms are cheaper than herpes medication. But you don’t blow a guy while he’s wearing a condom. That’s like sucking on a cheap dildo. (Not that I have.) Who wears a condom during a blowjob? Seriously?
I know he’s right, but condoms and blowjobs? If I want a latex lollipop, I’ll ask.
---
Today I was reminded why cigarettes cause lung cancer. Because they make you cough your lungs out. This, in turn, causes cancer.
---
Because I never date my entries, I have no idea how long it’s been since I lost this journal. I’d guess about a month, but tour warps your idea of time. So it could have been a year. Fortunately (for journal-documenting purposes and unfortunately for all other purposes) pretty much nothing has changed except the name of the tour. Oh. And I finally stopped losing weight.
And how the hell did this journal end up in the bottom of the dirty laundry bag?
---
I saw a girl with a penis today. Then I went back to her bus and Will let me ride him. Her. Whatever.
Will is long. Like, long and thinner. Pete’s thicker, but shorter. I was kind of fucking amazing, but it hurt a little. Patrick says it’s from not having sex in awhile.
Apparently I need to buy a dildo. Yeah right.
---
Will left a hickey on my neck. Partially under my hair, so I missed it. Brendon and Spence didn’t though. And they could NOT shut up about it. I hid in my bunk, but then they just sent texts.
---
When we got to the venue today there was a priority mail package waiting for me. How ever can I thank Patrick for mailing me a dildo that I opened in front of Brendon, Spence, and Jon?
Maybe by CHOKING HIM WITH IT!
I turned fifteen and a half shades of red, said it was a gag gift from Pete, and threw it in the trash. Then (when I was alone) I rescued it. And I sent several texts to Patrick. Who is not responding. Probably because he and Pete are laughing at my misery.
---
Apparently Patrick sent me a warning text about the package that my phone didn’t receive. I don’t believe him. Maybe because of how hard Pete was laughing in the background of the call.
---
I had hid the dildo in a sock at the very bottom of my suitcase. And Brendon is a SHITTY FUCKING SNOOP and he found it.
“You’re so gay, Ryan. Just admit it.” He was on my bed when I came out of the shower. It was in his hand.
My first instinct was to hit him and my second was to grab it. Somehow my brain got confused and I ended up hitting him as hard as I could with the dildo. Which apparently hurt. A lot.
I locked myself in the bathroom and I fell asleep there. Now I’m hiding my bunk writing this and hoping I hit Brendon hard enough to cause amnesia.
---
“You attacked him with a dildo? Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? And, you know, flesh instead of plastic?”
Pete is a moron.
Brendon slipped a note in my bunk today. Further proof that he’s an idiot and further proof that I’ve got it bad. I’ll save it forever.
‘I’m sorry I snooped and found your special toy. I’m sorry I’m a nosy shit. I love you a lot and I don’t care if you’re gay. It’s not like it would be a shock (to be honest). I didn’t tell anyone you kept the thingy, so can we be friends again? No one else lets me keep the TV on all night at the hotel.
-B.’
How can I say no to that?
---
I came out of hiding and told Brendon we were friends again. Which, I guess, he took to mean he could ask me five million and three questions at the hotel tonight. And I honestly tried to behave because there was an actual bruise on his cheek from the dildo. (Light, but there.)
But he . . . he just doesn’t know how he’s hurting me here.
Q. Are you gay?
A. Yes.
Q. Who knows?
A. You, Pete, Patrick, and a couple of guys I had sex with.
Q. Does it hurt?
A. At first.
Q. Does the vibrator hurt more?
A. Haven’t tried it yet.
-We should.
-We?
-Yeah. Me and you. What are friends for if not for breaking in new vibrators?
I told him I needed a Tylenol. Then I got one and turned on the TV. He must have felt bad because he didn’t say anything for the rest of the night. And that is a feat and a half for Brendon.
Brendon and Jon went exploring. Brendon came back with the journal for me. Hopefully when I find this in ten years, he’ll have picked up the hints (like the totally inappropriate hug I gave him in thanks) and we’ll be together.
And this one has a lock. A real lock. Not like the ones fourth grade girls have on their pink, flowered diaries.
---
Nobody mentions the girls that write your name on their faces with permanent marker when you sign your record deal. Dude, they have to go to school like that tomorrow. How can their mothers let them leave the house like that?
---
Brendon is probably the most imperceptive person I know. I asked him to give me a massage after I got out of the shower. I was naked and making all these sexy little noses, but he still didn’t take the hint. It’s just me and my hand tonight, I guess. I’m jealous of Brendon’s hand.
Sometimes I can hear him at night. Usually he goes to the bathroom, but last night he just rolled over. I could see the muscles in his back tensing up. He was moaning, but he didn’t say a name. It would have killed me if he had.
---
I had sex today. With Pete again. I’m getting used to this gay sex thing. It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. And not for as long either.
He let me give him a blowjob first. I swear I’m going to be a pro by the time I get to suck Brendon’s cock. I want to be able to deep throat, but Pete says hardly anyone can.
When I came back to the room, Brendon asked if I was running laps. I told him I had sex and he just rolled his eyes. I hate how stupid he is.
---
Stardust chased by a broom
gathered and collected
things we all take for granted.
Broken down by the highway
and the shooting star’s on fire.
Yeah, we’re all just born to die
but we’re not getting (any) older yet.
---
Brendon bought me a vinyl. I don’t have a record player, but I guess I’m going to have to get one now. It’s The Beatles. And I know this is stupid, but I’ve only ever heard ‘Let it Be’.
---
I feel like I’m seeing the world with a fish bowl on my head. The edges are curved and if I don’t get to hide in a castle soon, the anxiety will fucking kill me.
---
Oily marks appear on walls where pleasure moments hung before.
I watch him while he sleeps and wonder if he ever dreams about me. Aside from the ones where we’re all naked onstage. I would not be surprised if Brendon ever ended up naked onstage.
---
I think slash is the greatest thing giggling teenage girls ever invented. My LiveJournal name is time2dance and I’m a member of every slash community for Panic that was ever invented, I think. Isn’t it sad that fourteen year old girls who can’t spell pick up my hints to Brendon better than he does?
Today he was being a total idiot (surprise, surprise) so I told him to suck my dick and he made these disgusting slurping noises.
Maybe I’ll just stick to the slash for now. Then again, some of these things they write are just as creepy. Like rimjobs. Patrick says they feel amazing, but I personally find that rather disgusting. What if he wants to kiss me after? What do you say to that? ‘Yeah, sure. Just as soon as you brush your teeth and use an entire bottle of Listerine.’
Brendon talks so much he probably doesn’t even realize there are much more productive things he could be doing with his mouth.
---
If Brendon tries to kiss me onstage one more time, I’m going to punch him in the balls. Pete says I have to kiss him back if I like him, so I swore at him and hung up. Pete is just like Brendon sometimes.
Patrick says it takes awhile to get used to because we’ve always been taught affection between two men is wrong. Either way, I’m going to punch Brendon in the balls if he tries it again.
They’re not even good kisses!
---
Brendon told me I need to get laid today, so I told him to go fuck himself. He said he didn’t need to with all these girls around. I punched a wall and two of my knuckles bled.
---
Patrick blew me. I can understand why Pete swears by that mouth now. And he held me after I blew him, which is nice because Pete doesn’t like to do that. Patrick says it’s because Pete has the potential to fall in love with anyone so he has to keep certain distances. I always thought it was because I wasn’t Patrick.
---
We had an OC marathon on the bus. Brendon fell asleep in my lap and I got to play with his hair. Spencer saw, but he didn’t say anything. I couldn’t carry Brendon to bed like he carries me.
I watched him stumble to the bunks. He looked so . . . innocent. And quiet. Brendon’s never quiet. I wanted to kiss him. It kind of hurt.
---
I swear to God, if his mother wouldn’t cry, I would fucking KILL Spencer!
---
I blew a kiss to the train wreck
and it blew one back.
We’re all just signposts
and the crashes we hear
are just dances with wolves.
---
Brendon asked today. I didn’t know what to say to him. Pete and Patrick are the only ones who know. And if Brendon knew, he’d freak. I don’t want him to know. I just want him to love me.
---
“So she told me to talk dirty to her and I was like ‘choke on my dick, you dirty slut’. So she slapped me and called me a misogynist asshole (whatever that is) and kicked me out.”
Sometimes I cannot believe this is the guy I jerk off to.
---
Brendon asked again. I didn’t want to lie, but I couldn’t tell the truth. I just skated. “You know I’ve had girlfriends. And I like a girl.” Which is true. I’m not attracted to girls, but I like plenty of them okay.
I don’t get why he cares anyway. It doesn’t matter to him.
---
My jeans are too big again. I hate the stress weight loss. Remember when Dad used to call me Ryorexic?
Brendon and I went to the mall in sunglasses to get some. He was flirting with the cashier and I’m pretty sure she was a lesbian. Then again, he’s a really bad flirt.
---
The cigarette ash flies in your eyes and you don’t mind.
---
Today I blew a roadie. And it was pretty fucking pathetic. I kind of hate myself right now. I don’t even know him. And I swallowed. What if I get something? Fuck. Don’t they sell STD kits at Walgreens?
---
They do. Hood up, hair back, shades, and five ‘o clock shadow. I’m supposed to draw blood and mail it to some place. Then I wait a week and call.
---
That guy hit on me. I hid on the bus. I saw him talking to Jon, I think. If he told, I’m so fucking screwed.
---
Brendon was watching ‘Sleeping Beauty’ in his bunk. He grabbed my arm when I walked by and pulled me in. His arm was around me while we watched it.
I hate this.
---
I don’t have any STDs! God, why don’t they invent a morning-after pill for this shit? Girls aren’t the only ones who fuck up, you know.
---
I told Patrick about my brush with Roadie AIDS Death. He told me condoms are cheaper than herpes medication. But you don’t blow a guy while he’s wearing a condom. That’s like sucking on a cheap dildo. (Not that I have.) Who wears a condom during a blowjob? Seriously?
I know he’s right, but condoms and blowjobs? If I want a latex lollipop, I’ll ask.
---
Today I was reminded why cigarettes cause lung cancer. Because they make you cough your lungs out. This, in turn, causes cancer.
---
Because I never date my entries, I have no idea how long it’s been since I lost this journal. I’d guess about a month, but tour warps your idea of time. So it could have been a year. Fortunately (for journal-documenting purposes and unfortunately for all other purposes) pretty much nothing has changed except the name of the tour. Oh. And I finally stopped losing weight.
And how the hell did this journal end up in the bottom of the dirty laundry bag?
---
I saw a girl with a penis today. Then I went back to her bus and Will let me ride him. Her. Whatever.
Will is long. Like, long and thinner. Pete’s thicker, but shorter. I was kind of fucking amazing, but it hurt a little. Patrick says it’s from not having sex in awhile.
Apparently I need to buy a dildo. Yeah right.
---
Will left a hickey on my neck. Partially under my hair, so I missed it. Brendon and Spence didn’t though. And they could NOT shut up about it. I hid in my bunk, but then they just sent texts.
---
When we got to the venue today there was a priority mail package waiting for me. How ever can I thank Patrick for mailing me a dildo that I opened in front of Brendon, Spence, and Jon?
Maybe by CHOKING HIM WITH IT!
I turned fifteen and a half shades of red, said it was a gag gift from Pete, and threw it in the trash. Then (when I was alone) I rescued it. And I sent several texts to Patrick. Who is not responding. Probably because he and Pete are laughing at my misery.
---
Apparently Patrick sent me a warning text about the package that my phone didn’t receive. I don’t believe him. Maybe because of how hard Pete was laughing in the background of the call.
---
I had hid the dildo in a sock at the very bottom of my suitcase. And Brendon is a SHITTY FUCKING SNOOP and he found it.
“You’re so gay, Ryan. Just admit it.” He was on my bed when I came out of the shower. It was in his hand.
My first instinct was to hit him and my second was to grab it. Somehow my brain got confused and I ended up hitting him as hard as I could with the dildo. Which apparently hurt. A lot.
I locked myself in the bathroom and I fell asleep there. Now I’m hiding my bunk writing this and hoping I hit Brendon hard enough to cause amnesia.
---
“You attacked him with a dildo? Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? And, you know, flesh instead of plastic?”
Pete is a moron.
Brendon slipped a note in my bunk today. Further proof that he’s an idiot and further proof that I’ve got it bad. I’ll save it forever.
‘I’m sorry I snooped and found your special toy. I’m sorry I’m a nosy shit. I love you a lot and I don’t care if you’re gay. It’s not like it would be a shock (to be honest). I didn’t tell anyone you kept the thingy, so can we be friends again? No one else lets me keep the TV on all night at the hotel.
-B.’
How can I say no to that?
---
I came out of hiding and told Brendon we were friends again. Which, I guess, he took to mean he could ask me five million and three questions at the hotel tonight. And I honestly tried to behave because there was an actual bruise on his cheek from the dildo. (Light, but there.)
But he . . . he just doesn’t know how he’s hurting me here.
Q. Are you gay?
A. Yes.
Q. Who knows?
A. You, Pete, Patrick, and a couple of guys I had sex with.
Q. Does it hurt?
A. At first.
Q. Does the vibrator hurt more?
A. Haven’t tried it yet.
-We should.
-We?
-Yeah. Me and you. What are friends for if not for breaking in new vibrators?
I told him I needed a Tylenol. Then I got one and turned on the TV. He must have felt bad because he didn’t say anything for the rest of the night. And that is a feat and a half for Brendon.
♠ ♠ ♠
"Oily marks appear on walls where pleasure moments hung before." is property of Imogen Heap."The cigarette ash flies in your eyes and you don't mind." is property of Third Eye Blind.