One of the Boys

Oh, the billions of times I’ve sat in a classroom with you. I’ve looked at you so much – adored your looks and features.
Of course my grades suck – you suck all the willpower to learn out of me.
But the problem is that you see me as nothing but a buddy. A friend.
I know it’s my own fault, though. I have nothing that you want. I do nothing but repulse you.
For example in English. There’s a spider up in the corner of the classroom – right above the door. All the girls scream when they see it – running through the doorway to enter the classroom. But me? I’m fascinated by it. It’s resistant. It stays.
I guess that ‘s sorta what I do. I stay in the same place – next to you. ‘Cause we’re friends. Mates. Buddies.
And buddies belch and dare each other to do stupid things. So that’s what we do.
But that’s not what you want from a boyfriend.
‘Cause you don’t even want a boyfriend.
No. You’re straight. You love it when the girls scream and run – probably because of their bouncing boobs – and you love comforting them and saving them from The Big, Bad Spider.
But you never wanna save me. Or comfort me.
Whenever you look over and smile at me – usually through the hair of some slutty girl who’s on your lap – I always see the same look in your eyes. You see me as a friend. Actually, maybe more like a brother. Even though I’m older than you, then you still see me as a little brother. Or sister, even.
And even though I love being close to you – just enjoying your company no matter how you see me – then I want so much more. I wanna be more than a friend. I don’t wanna be a buddy to you – I wanna be someone that you like. I want you to want me the way I want you.

When summer comes, I’m excited to spend it with you. But no; you and your family are going on a two-month ski-trip. Who even goes to a cold place in the summer?! You’ve always told me you hate your parents, but you go anyway. You even seem excited about it.
But the day you drive off in your parents’ packed SUV, I realize that maybe it isn’t such a bad thing that you’ve left. It will give me a lot of time.
And so I start. I want you, and I’m determined to have you want me back!
So I read magazines. I search the internet. I even ask my mom, but of course kept the conversation ‘normal’. But yeah; when your 17-year-old son asks you if he’s an autumn or a spring, I’m sure any mom would be utterly confused.
But I keep on going. And before I know it, summer is over. You come back and I welcome you home – along with all of our friends. We have a great welcome-home-gathering, before we all have to go home because we have school the next day.
I’m the first to go home. I have to get up early.

When I wake up, I go straight into the bathroom. After shaving my face, I put the razor to my leg. My dark hairs come off easily, and soon my legs are as smooth as a baby’s bottom. I even give myself a trim near my privates.
I shower, before I grab all my make-up – and even some of my mom’s – and go back to my room. I throw it all on the floor in front of my floor-length mirror and sit down in front of it.
I focus hard on putting it all on right. I put some of my mom’s rouge on my cheeks to highlight my cheekbones, like I’d seen it done in a make-over in one of the magazines I’ve read.
My mom knocks on my door at some point and tells me she and dad are leaving. I just yell back, and later thank some higher power that she just left and didn’t open my door.
I line my eyes with the dark-brown pen that I also use to define my eyebrows. I put a bit of dark red eye shadow along my globe line and some lighter red eye shadow on my eyelids.
I finish it all off with mascara – not too much, but enough.
I get up and walk over to my dresser and turn on the flat iron.
I take off my boxers and reach into a drawer. I put on my thong – specially bought in a girl’s lingerie store, where I told the saleswoman I was looking for some sexy underwear for my girlfriend – and grab my matching patted bra.
I walk over and look myself in the mirror for a minute, before I go over to my bed and lift the madras. I pull out the black bag and turn it upside down.
The clothes fall out on my bed, and I tear off all the price tags before I start putting it on.
The skirt is a little tricky – the zipper being damn annoying – but once I have that and my top on, I look so darn good that I’m almost certain I’ll never take it off.
I walk back over to my dresser and grab the flat iron. I pull the plug out and go over to the mirror. I have to hurry to flatten all of my hair, before the iron goes cold.
I only burn myself once – which I’m proud of – and it only leave a tiny, red spot on my right cheek. It actually adds a bit to my cute look.
I put the flat iron back on my dresser and walk over to sit on my bed.
Mikey knocks on my door and says that he’s leaving. I tell him I’ll leave in a bit, but that he can just go ahead. Luckily, he leaves.
I take out my mom’s high heels, which a snatched from her closet last night, and put them on. I buckle the small buckle on each of them, then stand up.
I slowly walk over to the mirror, and I’m actually surprised at how easy it is for me to walk in high heels.
I stop in front of my mirror and look at myself. It’s weird to see myself from this high up.
But I sure as fuck look hot!
My red top goes perfectly with my black skirt, and those two colors put together make me look so damn hot. My mom’s black and white heels make my legs look a billion miles long, and the strap makes my ankles look thinner.
My makeup is still perfect, and my black, straight hair adorn my face so beautifully.
I snap out of my narcissistic moment, and go over to grab my bag. I’m about to walk out of my room, before I suddenly remember.
I turn back around and walk over to my night stand. I open the drawer and reach in to grab it.
I almost strangle myself putting it on, but once the pearl necklace is safely around my neck, I go off to school.

As I approach the school, I’m almost pissing myself with fear. What if someone recognizes me? I mean, sure, I want Frank to notice and recognize me, but what if everyone else do too and mock me and beat me up and put pictures on the internet and spread it worldwide!!!
Okay. Relax. Calm down.
This is it. Now or… Now. It’s now!
I walk into school. I immediately spot you by your locker – at least 10 people surrounding you.
I walk determinately towards you.
Yet even though you’re the only one I want to impress, I still notice that everyone’s eyes are on me. The guys look at me as if I’m a piece of meat, and the girls look at me as if they’re wondering how much they have to pull my hair in order to make me cry.
But I ignore them. I ignore them all – completely.
And then you spot me. I try not to look at you, but it’s hard. I catch your eyes for a moment, before I look away – too shy.
But your eyes stay. You’re staring at me! You’re noticing me – as more than just a friend!
I walk past you and into my first class. You’re in this class too.
When the bell rings, you’re the first to enter the classroom. And you walk straight over to me and sit in the chair next to mine.
And you stare.
I don’t know if you recognize me, but I enjoy it anyways. I enjoy your attention.
And then you talk to me. You ask me if we know each other. I wanna laugh.
Suddenly the teacher walks in and starts talking loudly, and so I don’t answer you.
But you keep staring at me. You keep adoring me. And I keep enjoying it.

At lunch, I sit alone. But not for long. Before soon, you walk over. You sit next to me and try to strike up a conversation. I ignore you slightly, though. No matter how much I want you, then I don’t want you before you really want me.
And so I let you play your game. I let you try and get me. I let you.
And sure enough, I soon get what I want. You put your hand on my thigh and lean in close. You almost touch my ear with your lips, before you ask me if I wanna go to the prom with you. You ask me, if I wanna be your prom queen.
And I nod.
And you lean in closer – running your hand up my thigh. You let it run up underneath my skirt, before you whisper to me again. You breath tickles my ear. You tell me I smell like roses.
Your words and breath makes me shiver.
You smirk.

Before I know it, we’re out of the cafeteria and behind the curtain in the theater. Your hand left my thigh and settled for my hand as you dragged me here, but now it’s back on my thigh – running up underneath my skirt.
Your mouth is covering mine, and I do nothing but let you. And I only spread my legs further apart, when your hand runs across my thigh and onto my inner thigh.
I moan.
Suddenly you pull away. I open my eyes and see your shocked eyes. They’re not looking at me, but at my skirt.
I bite my lip – nervous habit.
You frown and look up into my eyes.
“Gerard?” you ask. I smile.
“Yeah,” I whisper back.
You just keep frowning at me.
I start feeling insecure. Exposed. I feel like I’m naked. I feel that at any moment now, someone’s gonna jump out from somewhere and take a picture of me and expose me to the world as a tranny who’s trying to get into his best friend’s pants.
Suddenly – out of the blue – you jump on me. You leap forward and crash your lips back on mine. You grind your hips against mine, and I can feel you hard and thick against myself.
I moan.
You pull back again, but this time you keep your hands on me – this time they’re on my waist.
“Damn, you’re hot.” I smile. You lean in close to my mouth and nipple at my bottom lip.
“I knew you only liked girly-girls.” One of your hands leaves my waist and settles on my cheek instead.
“I only liked you.” I blush. I then lean forward to hide my blush.
Our lips dance against each other.
I don’t wanna be just a friend. And I just got a chance to show you that I can be more.